Willysville, by Gerald Reich

Willysville

by Gerald Reich

one

It was in the early 1950s, after the horrors big war and the small one in Korea, and before the bigger horrors of the bomb shelter craze. Many would, I suppose, call them "halcyon days", whatever that means. Actually, I just like the look of the word halcyon and had to use it.

It was a tense time for many but the tension of the growing atomic malaise did not affect me while I grew up in "Pleasant, Restful, Willysville" as the sign on the edge of town touted the finer attributes of the community. During the summer when I turned nine that promise seemed to sour for a time as tension took up residence in our quiet little town.

Like the Civil War period in American history when "brother fought brother" it seemed everyone suspected everyone else, even members of their own families – even those members they should never have suspected. It was like the "Red Scare" on a small, local scale.

But I am probably confusing you unless you were there in Willysville in 1953. And if you were there then, you will probably stop reading this memoir.

Ike had taken up the Presidency in January of that year and it was a pretty big deal even to me at only age eight. To have the hero of the free world assume leadership at such a time of crisis was an inspiration to the entire country, including the parts outside of Willysville.

Harry S. Truman had been sent packing. He was not to be trusted, claimed my uncle Fred, because he would never even tell us what the "S" in his name stood for. And how could we trust a man like that, I wondered? Such was the extent of my political savvy during the first decade of my life.

For me there were more important concerns than something as esoteric as politics. And not probably what you are thinking, either. This was quite some time before I had any interest in girls. Heck, this was before Tommy had even gotten interested in them.

Of more immediate concern to me was the new bicycle Ernie Gibbs had – and why couldn't I have one just like it, huh, ma? The economics of bread on the table meant about as much to me as to most kids at the time. 'Tightening our belts' was the watchword of the land and I understood it about as much as I understood politics.

But 'tighten our belts' is what we did.

"You don't really need that bike," Tommy consoled me in his best big brother voice, sounding like he actually understood the situation. Who knows? Maybe those extra three years produced the wisdom I needed. I sure wished I could be three years older right then and perhaps the lack would not hurt near so keenly. "You can always borrow it from Ernie if you want to. He owes me, y'know."

I nodded. Yes, I certainly knew that, though the actual understanding of the reason behind the statement was as foreign as the reason for tightening belts.

"Yeh. I suppose he can't ride it all the time."

"That's right, and neither can you. So what's the point of owning a bicycle if you don't want to be riding it all the time anyways?" He shrugged. "It'd just gather dust in the garage an' then you'd have to pay more money to get it fixed up again. Yep, better that Ernie should have all that bother."

"Yeh." Again I proved what an agreeable younger brother I was. I reasoned that the school year end was rapidly approaching which meant Ernie's family would be going to their summer place up in the Catskills – weird name for a place, I thought, killing cats sounded so cruel, and to spend all summer there! – which meant his bike would be free most of the time.

My older brother was about the smartest person in the world, I figured. He always seemed to know the best way to do anything and the fastest ways to get around town. And he was the best at solving problems – which turned out really good for me because I always seemed to have a lot of them.

As the end of school approached, the bad news arrived and destroyed my time with Ernie's bike. Ma announced she was getting a job to help us through this period of tightening our belts.

I felt pretty bad about that for a couple of reasons. First, the quarter a week I got for allowance seemed to be putting the family in this situation.

"Ma, you can keep my allowance money. I don't really need it and if it'll help you and dad…"

"Hush, Davey, don't go sayin' such things now. Your allowance will stay it the bank where it belongs. And we'll continue to add to it every week. It's for your future."

True, they had been giving me a quarter every week since before I could remember and putting it in the bank. It was my college fund, they told me. I figured there must have been a couple of hundred dollars there by now, at least, and I certainly would not begrudge them its use.

But she insisted on getting a job. The delivery plant dad worked at needed someone to help in the office and she got the position. At least if she was going to have to work she got to be near dad. I was happy for her. For them.

Who I was unhappy for was me. If she could have taken the job during school there would have been no problem, but as it was to start during summer vacation that could mean only one thing – and NOT me and Tommy having the run of the house all day: a babysitter.

"Darn!" Tommy was as far down in the dumps as I was, making my miserable feelings justified. "There goes our chance of having any fun this summer."

"Yeh." I thought babysitters watched you even closer than parents.

"If it's Ginny Jo we may as well be locked in our room all day."

"Yeh." I was sure I agreed. "Or that other one with the stinky breath. She just yells at us all the time."

He looked sidewise at me. "How'd you know her breath stinks?"

"Well, when she gets this close," I held my palm about an inch from my nose to illustrate, "and starts yelling, her breath is pretty strong. And warm." I grimaced. "And stinky."

He punched me on the shoulder. "You're right there, brother. She'd pro'bly be worse than Ginny Jo. At least she don't do much screamin'."

Side by side we propped chins in palms, elbows on knees and sighed in unison. It was not looking too hopeful for the coming summer.

Ernie may as well take his bike with him to the Catskills. The pond by Randolph's orchard may as well as be on the moon. And the caves in the hills farther down the road were beyond all hope of reaching.

All because of tightening our belts.

Suddenly I wasn't too fond of Ike any more. How could the hero of the free world allow something like this to happen?

And when all was darkest, when every last shred of hope was gone, I suddenly had a new hero. The darkness was dispelled and the golden dawn of summer rose before us although I was not to know her powers for a time yet.

All I knew was our babysitter was to be someone new, someone highly recommended, someone by the name of Hattie McCagle.

two

She didn't look like a hero at first glance. Large, sitting on our small couch, wearing a dark blue shimmery kind of dress with small white polka dots and a white pillbox hat, clutching a large white purse in her very dark hands when I first saw her.

"Oh, Lordy, no, child. My baby's has all growed up." She laughed what I thought of as an older person's laugh; more a punctuation than genuine laugh. "I do have some of my grandchildren that I'm watchin' though, while their parents are off to work."

She stopped when Tommy and I preceded Dad into the room.

"And these must be your two young-uns, now. I can see they take a shine after their father. Why don't you two boys come on over and give your Aunt Hattie a hug?" She set her purse on the floor and extended her arms, with some skin hanging down below them like older folks has.

I look at Mom, who nodded, and we went over to meet our Aunt Hattie. She scooped us into a hug that defined the strength of her arms as well as the prodigious softness of her body. She was grandmotherly in every way, though her kinky black hair showed not the faintest hint of gray there were lines creasing that round face of hers. Most seemed to be what they called "laugh lines" rather than "care lines", though I really did not understand the conceptual difference much at the time.

She relaxed the embrace but held us each by a hand. "This tall one must be Thomas and this other one, with that twinkle of trouble in his eye, must be David. Sakes alive! He must be a handful." She cackled with delight. And she had called us by our proper names though no one else ever did.

Mother smiled and nodded. "How many other children will there be?"

Hattie smiled and released us. "I reckon I have about forty of these wild injuns to look after for the summer. Less at times, you know, as some folks take off on vacation, but forty, forty-five most times, I reckon. But I got a real big back yard and lots of toys and books to keep 'em occupied." She laughed again. "Idle hands are the Devil's workshop, I always say, and so's I tries to keep 'em all busy doin' somethin'."

Mom looked to Dad. He must have nodded – I don't have eyes in the back of my head like some parents – and she smiled at us. "Looks like you'll be spending your summer at Hattie's.

"Boys!" Hattie held out her arms again and we were compelled to return to that strong but soft embrace. Then, "I 'spects we'll have a grand summer together. You boys can think of it as an extended recess." She laughed and released us and heaved herself to her feet. "I'll see you again tomorrow morning."

And the morning came earlier than we liked, Tommy and I. It was still dark – and this in summer when the sun was up earlier than usual! – when we were rousted from our beds and forced into wakefulness. I kept clear of Tommy as he was not a 'morning person' even back then. He kept up a seemingly never-ending stream of mumbling through a breakfast of cold cereal and all the way over to Hattie's house.

Hattie was waiting outside drying her hands on a dishtowel.

"Good morning, Mrs. McCagle." Mom started out of the car.

Hattie waved her back with the towel. "No need to bother yourself, ma'am. Just let the boys out and you can git on to work." She motioned to us. "Come on! You young 'uns git on in th' house and let your mother git on to work now."

We got out and the three of us waved to Mom as she drove off.

Then she led us through the small wooden gate and up to the porch. Even she had noticed Tommy's sour countenance.

"Thomas, you got a case of the bothers this morning?"

Tommy shrugged and I answered. "He's always a little sour in the morning." He gave me a look that proved my point.

"Surly to bed and surly to rise is the case, I reckon. Well, come on in, young man, and I think we can solve your problem." She held open the screen door and we went into the darkened living room. By the light coming through from the kitchen beyond we could make out several lumps on the floor. Hattie grabbed up a blanket on the couch and handed it to Tommy. "You're not the only one who finds this time of day a fright too early for a body. Curl up anywhere you like and git th' rest o' th' sleep you're needin'."

"Thanks, ma'am." Tommy actually looked cheerful for a moment and then he was down on the floor, asleep before his head touched down, if I knew my brother at all.

I followed Hattie into the kitchen where it was bright as well as aromatic. "Mmm! What're you cooking, Mizz McCagle?"

She chuckled. "Jes' some rolls and what not. An' don't you be sayin' Mizz this or that, David. You call me 'Hattie' or 'granma' if you like, but we don't need to be formal here. Here we're all jes' family."

"Okay, ma'am." Not 'formal' she said, but she still referred to me by my complete Christian name. Some folks were like that, I supposed.