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BEERCANS ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD
By

Kenneth Wachsberger

A THESIS

Submitted to
Michigan State University
in partial fulfillment for the requirements
for the degree of

MASTER OF ARTS CREATIVE WRITING

Department of English

l98h

ABSTRACT
BEERCANS ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD

BY

Kenneth Wachsberger

—*__“

of youth growing into adulthood and dealing with the age-old
societal question of ”Whadareyagonnado?“--meaning. what role
will you select at an early age to define the rest of your
life. Enclosed within these pages are the first eight

chapters of the thirty-four that make up the entire book.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank Doug Lawder and Bud Drake. and
especially my wife and partner Emily, for their invaluable

help with the writing of my novel.

ii

Ch.
Ch.
Ch.
Ch.
Ch.
Ch.
Ch.

Ch.

VOW-EMA)!“

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Henry Reads The Handwriting On The Wall......... 1
Dr. Larenjitistern Tells Henry To Be Mature..... 1h
Henry Takes A Test Ride......................... 25
Bill Gives Henry Credit For Not Buying On Credit 33
Rubber Duckie Lulls Henry To Sleep.............. 51
The Second Day.................................. 56
Henry Gets High With A Beercan On The Side Of

The Road........................................ 62

Henry Meets Peggy And Passes Out................ 80

iii

Chapter One

HENRY READS THE HANDWRITING ON THE WALL

Mama gasped for breath suddenly. her face turning red
as a result. and slumped back onto the sofa chair so that
her head hung over its back and her arms drooped to each
side. Tears came to her eyes. She pulled out her handker-
chief from the front pocket of her apron and blew her nose.
Hwy son. my son. where did I fail you?“ She cried profusely
before regaining her composure.

She shook her head in disgust then as she threw darts
at me from the nail of her pointed finger. “And don't let

me hear anymore of that talk about dropping out of school.
Henry Freedman. Now. quickly. be off or you'll be late for

Simchas Torah services.“

In embarrassed silence. I kissed her cheek and left
the home of my parents.

The streets were alive with suits and ties and mink
stoles and crewcut treelawn and friends who knew what they
wanted to be when they grew up and parents who had found

1

2
their niche in society. Shul-walking was a community

activity now. and had been since the congregation sold the-

downtown building to a Black Baptist congregation and built
a new structure on the Jewish side of town at the turn of
the decade. Simchas Torah is observed. according to the
Jewish calendar. on the ninth and last day of Succos. It
is one of the most joyous holidays of the Jewish year.

But as I walked the six blocks to Temple from Mama and
Papa's house. I was feeling glum. The future loomed
ominously near and I didn't feel prepared. Graduation was
three terms away. After twenty-two years as a dependent.

I would be shot like a cannonball into the job market.
where I would be forced to fend for myself. with only the
love of my family and mm to keep me grounded in my

travels. and I was supposed to believe I had nothing to
worry about because I had a diploma. The diploma was my
ticket to the future. they said. and I felt like I was on
the wrong bus. I still didn't know what I wanted to be
when I grew up. For some reason. I had never outgrown my
fixation with being a cowboy. but Papa said I should be
practical. there were no job openings for cowboys in
Midlincum Heights. Michigan. I thought seriously about
being a writer because I kept a journal anyhow. but my
guidance counselor told me I couldn't capitalize on.my
journal until I became famous. and I needed a major until

then. When I had to declare a major. I chose Law because I

thought I might be able to use my writing in a practical

3
way. but I didn't really want to be a lawyer. I continued
to write in my journal because I thought better on paper
than out loud. but I didn't know where to sell what I wrote.
so to pay rent and tuition I took a part-time job at Eden
Towers. where I worked as a secretary for an insurance
agency. Between the job and homework. I didn‘t have much
time left for writing. I thought of the early Hebrew nomads.
in the desert for forty years. and I felt very out of tune
with the spiritualism of my ancestors.

The service was held in the large sanctuary. where the
far wall opened to a back room. equal in size to the first.
The combined capacity of the two rooms comfortably sat the
entire congregation. with one guest per family. I walked
down the aisle looking for a familiar face next to an empty

seat.

I recognized Hr» Ginslinger. Papa's card playing buddy.
sitting in his usual seat in the front row next to the
middle aisle. He was whispering back and forth over an
empty seat with Mama's good friend. Mrs. Goldbladder. He
stood when he saw me. ’Well. Henry Freedman.‘ he said.

“it's so nice to see you. Do you know Mrs. Goldbladder?‘

“Of course I know Henry.“ Hre. Goldbladder said. as she
brushed off my seat. “I've heard some wonderful things about
you. young man. You make our community very proud.’

“Yes. sir. he's a real pagans-giver to his parents.“

Mr. Ginslinger added proudly. ”A straight fourbpoint student
from way back. How's school treating you. Henry? Still

getting straight A's?‘

4

“I got a B once.“ I said.

TMust not have been a very smart teacher.” He winked
knowingly.

Mrs. Goldbladder was a staunch liberal. the local
chairperson of the Democratic Club. She had campaigned
vigorously for every Democratic presidential nominee since
Adlai Stevenson and in the 1968 Democratic primary campaign
kept the books for the Eugene McCarthy Fundraising Committee.
When.McCarthy bolted the Democratic Party and started his
own. after losing to Johnson in the primary. she switched

to LBJ. but now. eight years later. she still felt bitter
toward the antiwar'movement on campus because the radicals

there failed to cut their hair en.masse and go Clean for'Gene.
Mrs. Goldbladder believed the pen was mightier than the

sword and during the war she often wrote angry letters to
Congressmen threatening to vote against them in the next
election if they didn't vote to limit defense spending in
Vietnam.

Hr» Ginslinger. our mayor. had been a Nixon man since
Checkers and supported law-and-order like it was his idea.
Running in a non-partisan election. he easily outdistanced
his opponent. another member of the congregation. whose
main issue was a demand that City Council not patronize
industries who do any war-related business in Vietnam.
Himself the owner of a highly successful liquor business.
the mayor had contributed large sums of’money to any

national candidate who promised victory or jobs.

5
The 1970 Kent State killings were in local news again
because just the night before a political activist from Kent

had spoken at the high school on the issue of why Ohio
Governor Rhodes and the upper echelons of the Ohio National
Guard should be indicted for'murder. Because of their own
personal involvement with Kent State. both.Hre. Goldbladder
and Mr» Ginslinger attended the meeting.

Kent State had shaken Hrs. Goldbladder noticeably
because she was in Kent when it happened. managing a dress
shop. She recalled that May as being the worst month in
over eight years and added that the owner had to put his
whole spring line on sale because all the students went on
strike and left town. ”I supported their goals but I didn't
agree with their tactics.” she said. gripping her necklace
to support the courage of her conviction.

Hru Ginslinger had also been personally touched by Kent
State. His son. Cordon. a political science major. had
dropped out of school in his senior year to organize the
student strike on his campus. When he came home for summer
vacation. his hair was down to his shoulders and he had a
full length beard. As the mayor so sadly recalled. “I
lost a son in the war.“

”Frankly.” he said to Mrs. Goldbladder. as he leaned
over the armrest and winked at me because he expected great
things from me. ”I think if those hippies don't like it
here. they should go to China.“

“It's just terrible.“ concluded Hrs. Goldbladder.
reflecting the war's continuing impact on the community.

6
"When is it all going to end? Why. only yesterday the

Ableman boy with the beard was arrested at State for smoking
marijuana. He'll have that blemish on his record for the
rest of his life now. It killed his parents.

Mr» Ginslinger stroked his chin and shook his head
in sorry agreement. ”He was such a bright boy. too. He
had so much potential..

I followed their conversation like it was a tennis
match. then spaced them out and looked straight ahead at
the Temple's new Chagall to rest my neck. I thumbed through
the prayer book to see how many pages we had to read for the
service. I wanted to be at Shul about as much as I wanted
to eat a worm. but Mama had a weak heart and she was already
worried about me because I kept threatening to drop out of
college. so I went to keep her happy. She saw me as her
only hope to succeed as a good mother and said if I dropped
out she would hold a hot iron to her cheeks until she was
blind in both eyes.

Mama and Papa were both first generation children of
East European immigrants. Papa graduated high school.
Mama didn't. Both worked for as long as I could remember.
although Mama said she stayed home with me the first three
years of’my life. Papa never could run a business. Three
attempts went under before I was born. He attributed it to
lack of a college degree and always swore his son would not
be a useless bum like him. which was synonymous with not
having a degree. He earned a respectable living at Kil-Gro

Chemical and with Mama's income as a secretary at Mount

7

Sinai Hospital we made the move to Midlincum Heights before
I could ride a two-wheeler. Papa always said if I couldn't
find a job elsewhere I could probably work at Kil-Gro. but
he was sure I could do better. If Papa's other investments
had caused him t o i . in me he thought he had a winner.

“....Now take young Freedman here.“ the mayor said.
He slapped my knee to make his point. “A fine example of
America's youth.“

“Mru Ginslinger.“ I said to him. “I want to drop out
of school.“

The organist pounded a long harsh chord.

“Nonsense. Henry.“ He patted my knee. “You're doctor
material. Don't disappoint your parents.“

The congregation looked forward in respectful silence
as the rabbi entered stage right. He wore a long black robe
that had been handed down to him through four generations of

rabbis and a fedora-like yarmelke that he wore to call

attention to the plight of the Soviet Jews. The rabbi was

a controversial addition to the Temple payroll. Mrs. Gold-
bladder said the rabbi was “way ahead of his time.“ Mr.
Ginslinger called him “a damn Commie.“ During the war. he
supported the National Liberation Front in Vietnam. and in
his sermons. he often compared them to the early Zionists in
Palestine after the First World War. Most everyone in the
congregation had said they were against the war. but when
the rabbi was arrested in front of the Washington Monument
during Nixon's inauguration in January. 1973. many of them

8

called upon him to resign. saying it was unkosher for a
rabbi to mix religion and politics. He smiled as he passed
the four*members of the Temple Board of Trustees. who
occupied four honorary seats on the stage. and they smiled
back.

“Now. what's this I hear about you.wanting to drop out
of school. Henry?“ Mr» Ginslinger whispered to me as the
rabbi adjusted his robe and cleared his throat. ”I won't

say I'm surprised. although I am. Never be too quick to
take a stand. I always say.“

I whispered back that I was thinking about it. “I'm
tired of doing what's expected of me.“ I said. “I want to
be free to do what I want.“

“I think you would be making a tragic mistake. You
need your degree.“ he said.

“Why. you don't have one.“ It was common knowledge.
Everyone knew Mr» Ginslinger's life story because he was
the regular guest speaker at the annual Junior Chamber of
Commerce awards assembly and he told his rags-to-riches
success story every year. The oldest of five children
born to a.German immigrant couple. his parents had both
died when he was in the ninth grade so he dropped out to
support his brothers and sisters....etc. etc. until he
struck it rich. His moral always was: “With hard work.
you too can all be successes.“ He never said anything about
college. because it was assumed we would all attend.

“Henry. things were different when I was your age.”

9
he said. “We're living in a more specialized time. Nowa-

days. you need a degree if you want to make it in the
business world.“

“Why. a degree doesn't mean I know anything. A lot
of people have degrees and look what shape the country is in.“

“Yes. but people unfortunately think it does.“

“Maybe that's why it's in such bad shape.“

The service began with the rabbi's usual Simchas
Torah greeting. Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. the two
holidays which begin the High Holy Day season. were the
only two days of the year when the entire congregation
showed up. but by Simchas Torah. the sanctuary was half
empty again. so every year the rabbi welcomed us with the
same joke about how sorry he was that his long lost friends
could only stay two days. Then he said. “Our service will
begin on 931 my gzbgw'im v' b w w. page 1%.“ and the
background noise resumed.

We smalltalked as we prayed. mostly polite Question
and Answer conversation about school and courses and sports.
We both seemed to avoid my area of concern. as if it were a
clove of garlic on an empty stomach. But even “so what else
is new?“ has a way of sticking close to the underlying
feeling of the moment. like a cat guarding its territory.

He winked at a pretty congregant in the next aisle and in an
aside asked if I was getting any snatch. I assured him I
was getting a fair share and he noted that frustration in

one area of one's life is often caused by frustration in

10
another.

“So stick it out. Henry.“ he said. “You may not think
you need a degree now. but wait until you try to find a job.
Interviewers look very carefully at your job transcripts
and a degree looks good on your record.“

“But that's unfair.“ I said. “It shouldn't be that
way.“

“I know it's unfair. Life's unfair. But that's how
it is. You can't fight City Hall. Henry. so why try? Believe
me. it'll open doors for you that you never knew existed.“

We rose for the Shema.

“Look. Mr. Ginslinger.“ I whispered to him as we
returned to our seats. “I haven't said I would never go back.
Maybe I will finish school someday. I don't know. But right

now I've got to see the world.“

“Better to get it out of the way now. Henry. even if it
seems hard.“ he said. “because it'll be a lot harder when
you try to go back. It's like I always say. 'It's better to
be safe than sorry.'“ '

“But what if I did it a different way. What would be
wrong if I travelled for a few years and worked at odd jobs
to survive and then finished my degree when I had a better
idea of what I wanted to study?“

“What would your resume look like then if you went
from job to job? Job stability is as important as that
little piece of paper. Employers don't want you to be

creative. just consistent."

11

We rose again and prayed silently.

The festival of Succos goes back to the days before
the second Temple was destroyed by the Romans. For this
holiday. the ancient Hebrews journeyed to Jerusalem with
the first crops of their final harvest and the first born
of their flocks and offered them as sacrifices to God. Now.
Jews celebrate Succos by erecting succohs. booths made of
branches from fruit trees. to commemorate the tabernacles
under which our ancestors slept during their stays in
Jerusalem. During the Simchas Torah service. the cantor
finishes chanting the last chapter in the book of Deuteronomy.
the fifth book of Moses. and begins immediately to chant the
first chapter in.Genesis. the first. Thus. one complete
reading has come to an end and a new one has begun. In
this way. the rabbis teach us. we learn that if something
feels good. we should do it again. In addition. we recall
in symbolic form how the Hebrews prayed at one time to
celebrate and give thanks for a successful year just ending
and to ask God for a good year to come.

Simchas Torah is also the time when young Jewish boys
and girls are called up to the stage to receive their own
Torahs. Then they all parade around the sanctuary behind
four of the men who are carrying the four Torah scrolls. As

the rabbi explained. our ancestors in.many different eras
of our history often had to hide their Torahs. When we

march now. it is not off to war but to rejoice for our

freedom. I was one of those men who carried the Torah.

12
but I didn't feel especially free.

The service ended on a high note with the announcement
by the President of the congregation that the Building Fund
had reached its goal again for the fourth straight year.

“Mazel tov.“ he said to everyone.

“Mazel tov.“ they replied.

“Mazel tov.“ Mr. Ginslinger said to me. He looked sad
like a puppy.

“Henry.“ he added. as we stood to leave. “I know it's

corny. but. as you know. I never got that useless piece of
paper and I've always felt like there was something missing
in my life. You've gone so far. why don't you just finish?“

He smiled suddenly as the first of many voters came over
to shake his hand. Mr. Ginslinger was a celebrity in the
congregation because of his distinguished record as a
community servant and it was rumored that he would run for
state senator in the coming election. While he dismissed
such talk as half truths and innuendos. he never expressly
denied the allegation. I said I would meet him in the lobby
and walked on ahead.

A message in the mensroom stall caught my attention.
I caught my zipper on my pants as I read: ”Give up your
college education now before it's too late and you get sucked
into the illusion of status. materialism. power. or fame.
I sold Utopian Essays for 10¢ at a garage sale today.
Shakespeare went for a quarter. 0n the other hand. my
genuine velour and velvet horse picture went for five bucks.

You college creeps are a bunch of schmucks who don't even

13
have the balls to write good graffiti--One who knows. The

ghost of the Sixties.“ A religious flow relieved my
insides as I read the handwriting on the wall.

I met Mr. Ginslinger in the lobby and we left the
Temple together. As we walked up the street. the mayor
explained to me why I should vote. as an expression of‘my
faith in the democratic process. even if I didn't like either
of the two major candidates. and he advised me to stay away
from third party candidates because it was a waste of a
vote. He illustrated his position by recounting tales of
votes he made in council that made a difference. He asked
how Mama and Papa were feeling and I said they were fine.
I asked him how his wife was feeling and he said she had

his vote.

Chapter Two
DR. LARENJITISTERN TELLS HENRY TO BE MATURE

We split up at the first intersection from the Temple.
Mr. Ginslinger crossed the street and continued towards his
home. I followed my feet through the adjacent parking lot
to the sidewalk of Midlincum Shopping Center.

Midlincum Shopping Center was the last of the great
local shopping centers to be built before the first enclosed
mall was introduced to the area. Stately light poles were
a reminder of the center's earlier dignity. but broken side-
walks typified its present state. The parking lot was grossly
undersized for the local population and it was confusing in
its layout. but the Cavemandelbaum family. who owned it.
refused to modernize it because their cash flow was invested
in the newer'more profitable malls.

The Cavemandelbaums were powerful figures in the local
community because of their wealth. They gave generously to
all Jewish charities and Temple funds and were known equally

1h

15
as philanthropists and entrepreneurs. They owned as many
forests in Israel as they did properties in the greater
Midlincum Heights area and Miami Beach.

When I was six. Mama and Papa surprised me with my
first two-wheeler that they bought from Mru Click. the nice
old Schwinn dealer who had his shop at the center. When Mr.
Click turned 70. he put up his shop for sale. One man agreed
to buy it if he could take over the present contract. The
landlord. an heir to the Cavemandelbaum fortune. insisted
that any new tenant would have to renegotiate the contract
at a higher rent. Mr» Click couldn't find any other buyers
so he had a month-long going-out-of-business sale and retired
anyhow. His former shop was one of several empty storefronts
on the block.

I walked aimlessly down the sidewalk toward the alley
thinking of the advice Mr; Ginslinger had given me at Shul.
Mr» Ginslinger was a successful man. I thought. and he had
the perspective that comes with experience. I felt so unlike
him now. except for our shared Jewishness.

“What does he know?“ I said to myself. trying to dismiss
all that he had said. I had to admit that I wasn't sure. so
I turned and walked to the opposite end of the sidewalk.
There. between the shoe store and the record store. I entered
the only door that had a gate across it during working hours.

I never thought I'd see the day. but there I was at the
shrink's office. It was laid out in a perfect square. and
all the wallpaper was white. There was no dust on the floor.

One straight back chair stood in front of each wall. One

l6
faced towards the wall on its left. and one faced toward
the wall on its right. The third looked right at the wall.
and the fourth faced the enclosed upraised square in the
center of the office.

The secretary sat behind her desk on the square facing
the door to the office. She was obese and was eating one
of the hard candies Dr. Larenjitistern gave to patients
who suffered spasms due to unresolved oral fixations. She
took my name when I came in. then dictated it into the
machine that alone occupied her desk. A series of numbers
appeared on the screen. followed by a wave graph that
resembled an ocean at low tide. This was followed by
random letters of the alphabet. streaks of light shooting
wildly in all directions. and the countdown pattern. At
blastoff. my name flashed suddenly on the screen amidst a
field of rainbow explosions. followed by instructions to
sit on the chair of my choice and think about why I was
there. I sat down on the fourth chair. Ten minutes later.
Dr. Larenjitistern came into the room.

“Henry Freedman.“ he called. looking to every corner
of the room even though I was the only person there. “Ah.
Mr. Freedman. come into my office.“

He smoked a pipe and was bald and bearded. His
fingernails were bitten down to his skin. and 1/8“ of skin
was chewed. calloused. and re-chewed. He wore one blue sock
and one black sock and the knot on his bowtie was crooked.

“You look like a nice boy.“ he said. as he twirled his
pencil with both hands and coughed to clear his throat. “I

1?
know you.make your parents very proud."

Two other patients were sitting on the floor. despite
an ample supply of feather pillows. They were leaning their
backs against one of the walls and facing Dr. Larenjitistern.
Mrs. Malignan was a 32-year old divorcee with bright red
teased up hair and a severe case of eczema that she covered
with dimestore makeup. A drugstore bag containing a box of
Carter's liver pills that she used as a dietary supplement
was on her lap. and her polyester ski pants were torn at
the side zipper.

Mr» Mavin was a 60-year old head of the Customer
Service Department in the downtown department store. He
wore black framed glasses around a flaky scalp and his
eyelids fluttered like he was preparing for takeoff. His
toupee blended perfectly with his fashionably streaked grey
hair and he wore a neatly pressed grey suit with a red tie
and a white shirt.

Mrs. Malignan welcomed me to what she called their
happy family and Mrs Mavin gave me a firm handshake. Dr.
Larenjitistern sat facing them on a chair in the middle of
the room. Except for the chair and the pillows and a wiffle

bat. the floor was bare. although mattresses covered the
walls. I sat on a feather pillow next to Mr» Mavin.

I was surprised when suddenly' Mrs. Malignan began
sobbing uncontrollably and hitting her head with her fists.
Then she reached for the wiffle bat and aimed it at her head.

“That is incorrect. Mrs. Malignan.“ the doctor scolded.
He casually crossed his right leg over his left knee.

18

She turned the bat on.me. I pressed back against the
wall until I couldn't move. Mrs. Malignan was about a half

a bat's distance away.

“Bad idea.“ The doctor stomped the floor with both
feet.

I relaxed as Mrs. Malignan dropped the bat and fell
face down on her knees sobbing and kicking. “She's learning
anger.“ said Mru Mavin out of the side of his mouth. The
doctor looked at his watch for several seconds. then said.
“That's enough.“ and she stopped.

“Mrs. Malignan. why don't you tell us how you were
just feeling.“ he continued.

“I was angry.“ she said. She wiped her tears with a
crumpled kleenex. A

“You didn't look angry.“ He looked at me.

She whimpered.

“Why don't you tell us something about yourself.
Henry?“ the doctor began. They all looked at me. “What
do you want out of life? Perhaps you might begin by telling
us what three wishes you would make if you could have anything
in the world? Mrs. Malignan did very good when she called
us one happy family. I'm sure we would all like to know
you better. wouldn't we?“ Mrs. Malignan smiled. Mrs Mavin
gave me another handshake. I gave the doctor's suggestion
all the respect of a final exam question and asked for “all
the money in the world. world peace. and to drop out of

school and have no responsibilities.“

19
The patients looked at me like I had badmouthed Moses.
“That's unpAmerican!“ Mr. Mavin exclaimed.
“Do you at least like Twinkies?“ Mrs. Malignan asked.
Dr. Larenjitistern remained calm so I could feel the
feelings that came to me as a result of their reactions.
“I feel confused.“ I whispered to Mr» Mavin.

“'Confused' is a thought. not a feeling.“ he whispered
back.

“He's into his shit.“ Mrs. Malignan whispered to Mr.
Mavin.

Mr» Mavin nodded in agreement.

Mrs. Malignan. who was sitting on her knees. began
shouting again. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.“ She
looked at the floor and pounded a pillow with the wiffle bat.
“You have to get your degree because it's next (pound). and

then get a job (pound). the climb the ladder of success

(pound). retire (pound). nestegg (pound). stay on schedule
(pound). watery quiche....“ She fell forward in tears on
an upswing. The bat smacked the mattress behind her at
about the same time her face hit the pillow. She pounded
the pillow with clenched fists as she cried.

Dr. Larenjitistern took notes copiously as we inter-
acted. His eyes darted from patient to patient to patient.
but he never moved his head. He looked again at his watch
as the conversation turned to silent pounding. “That's
enough. Mrs. Malignan.“ he said. and she stopped.

He turned his attention again to me. Mrs. Malignan and

20
Mr. Mavin did the same. “Of all three of your wishes.“
the doctor said. “there's only one that concerns me.“

He inhaled on his pipe. then looked away from us
respectfully and coughed into a cupped fist. The door
opened just then and the doctor's secretary appeared at
the entrance. carrying a glass of water on a cafeteria
tray. The doctor signalled for her to enter and she marched
over to him. The doctor stared at his watch as he drank
from the glass. then repositioned a half empty glass on
the tray just as it was and wiped his beard. “That's
enough. Nurse.“ he said. and she left.

“My boy.“ he began again. as he cleared his throat.
“your first wish is perfectly normal. Wanting all the
money in the world is a natural drive that satisfies the
desire for material security.“ He smiled. obviously pleased
with his analysis. “And as for your second. the reason you
want world peace is because you really want inner peace.“

I thought of the great peacemakers throughout world history
and realized then that they were all merely at war*with
their inner selves.

“But what really concerns me is your third wish.“ He
looked visibly nervous.

“Henry. you can't go through life without responsibili-
ties. You've got to have responsibilities. Everyone has
responsibilities. It's part of being mature....It's the
American Way....Mom....apple pie....responsibilities....

It's always been. therefore it always must be....Our fathers

21
and forefathers had them....therefore....“

“But. Doc.“ I interrupted. “you didn't ask me what I
need. you asked me what I want. I want to be free. I want
to blow like a leaf.“

“But you've got to settle somewhere.“ Mru Mavin
insisted. He didn't shake my hand. “You've got to
establish roots.“

I said I wanted that very much. “But I don't want to
establish roots in a swamp.“

“Roots don't grow in a swamp.“ said Mrs. Malignan.

She gave me the raspberries.

“That's right exactly. And everyone knows that. but
most people establish roots in swamps anyhow. And you're
right. they don't grow. And I'm scared that'll happen to me
unless I just get away so I can think about what I want to
do next.“

“But how will you find a job without a degree?“ Mr.
Mavin asked.

“I don't know. I'll figure that out when I get to it.“
I said.

“See? You better listen to what Mr. Mavin says.“

Mrs. Malignan warned. She clutched desperately to her bag
of liver pills and smiled caringly. “I'm responsible for
the welfare of’my four children.“ she said. Dr. Larenjitis-
tern nodded approval.

Mr. Mavin wiped the piece of dust that was swept into
his eye by the vacuum effect of his eyelid flutters and said.

22
“I'm responsible for answering our customers' complaints.“
Dr. Larenjitistern nodded approval again. and then asked.
“What did your parents say when you said you wanted to
drop out?“
“Mama said she would hold a hot iron to her cheeks until

she was blind in both of her eyes.“ I said.

“See. and he's thinking about it.“ Mrs. Malignan
straightened the sleeves of her blouse.

Mr» Mavin cleared his throat. wiped sweat off the palm
of his hands. and scratched his crotch. Mrs. Malignan
blushed and looked at Dr. Larenjitistern for guidance.

IJr. Larenjitistern said nothing for several moments as
his pen caught up with his observations and conclusions. The
doctor was a learned man. He had studied under the greats
of Vienna and had diplomas to prove it. We waited in
silence for his wise analysis.

“Henry.“ he said finally. He tapped his pencil on his
knees as he searched for the next word. "First of all. you
have to be mature and act your age. Second. if you don't
like it. you'll just have to adjust. that's all there is to
it. And as for that ridiculous desire to drop out of school“
--he sprayed a mist of tobacco smoke from his mouth--“need-
less to say. you have a responsibility to your parents. as
a son. to allow your parents to fulfill their responsibility
to you. as parents. of making sure you will be able to take
care of your responsibilities as an adult. So forget it.“

“See? You better listen to what Dr. Larenjitistern

says.“ Mrs. Malignan warned again. She covered her face with

23
her kleenex and scratched her nose.

Mr; Mavin fidgeted in his seat. “My son was a Business
major.“ he said. “I told him that after he graduated. I
didn't care what he did. If he wanted to be a beachcomber.
that was okay with me. but I wanted him to be an educated
beachcomber.“

“But I'm not learning anything.“ I said. “What kind
of education is that?“

“Just wait until your parents find out.“ Mrs. Malignan
concluded. “They'll talk some sense into you.“

Mr. Mavin offered a challenge with a pat on my back.
“Cmon. Henry. old boy. you've got to attack those responsibi-
lities and beat them to submission if you want to succeed
in life.“ He pounded a mattress with a clenched fist.

“But what's more important. success or contentment?“

I asked. “Is success contentment? Is contentment success?
If I make it and I'm not content. have I made it. and will
I know when I make it like I'll know when I get my degree?
Why does fulfilling responsibilities lead to frustration?“

Only Mrs. Malignan knew the answers. She sat straight
back without touching the wall and folded her hands against
her chest so that her elbows stuck straight out. “It
doesn't matter.“ she said. “Don't put off til tomorrow
what you can do today.“

“So then I should drop out of school.“

“No.” Mr. Mavin hung a fist firmly in the air. “You
have to prepare for the future and the diploma will help you

pave the way.“

2h

I saw a plush green forest--raped by a cement highway.

“But why can't I get it later?“

“Because it's your next step up the ladder of success.“

A sharp pain attacked my gut then and I wanted to scream.
but I didn't know what I wanted to say. so I held it in. I
was still feeling the pain.when I left the office because Dr.
Larenjitistern interrupted the discussion at that moment to

announce that this week's session was over. They all left

without saying another word.

Chapter Three

HENRY TAKES A TEST RIDE

My alarm went off at 9:30 the next morning. which was
Saturday. I was back home in Lansing at the time. The event
found me lying on my side curled in a fetal position under
four covers because the women in the apartment in the rear

of the house controlled the temperature and they were

trying to work off calories by shivering. I was at the time
lost in a state of nocturnal frustration. trying to make love
on a giant IBM Self-Correcting Selectric II typewriter with
a faceless maiden who had an invitation to my Bar'Mitzvah.
Seated by the typewriter was the cause of my frustration. a
demonic rainbow whose colors blended into a tarnished grey
at his fingertips. He laughed hysterically as he typed.
forcing us to dodge the attacking keys. Passionate love
was impossible: even touching was an achievement.

“My B-B.“ I shouted from one end of the keyboard to
the other. “R-U-O-K?“

25

26

“O-N-R-E.“ she pleaded. “I-M-N-E-Z. Comma-2 me.“

“L-S.“ I cried. “Y—U-N-I? U-R—Z-N-O-¢-N-I-2-M-T-. but
R-N-M-E—S—N-V-S.“

Frustration overwhelmed me and I screamed at this
nameless nemesis. “I-8-U!“

“P-N's.“ he answered. “go to L.“

At his command. we did.

He pressed “Return“ and an ear-splitting “Brrringg“
woke me from my ordeal. My left hand. limp and sweaty.
reached for my alarm. as another “Brrringg“ brought my
pillows over'my ears.

“Brrringg. Brrringg.“ I pressed so hard I thought it
would break. but the cacophany clanged continuously.

My hand slid to the phone and I picked up the receiver.
“H'lo.“

“Hi. Henry. this is Ed Faller. Do you want me to bring
the car over?“ '

Daytime consciousness descended upon my nighttime
mind. “Uh huh.“ I stuttered. not sure what I was consenting
to.

“I'll be there in half an hour.“

He hung up and so I hung up and allowed my thoughts to
guide me. As the day's haze began to raise. I remembered.

I was going to look at a used car I had read about in the
classifieds.

I rolled out of bed and stumbled to an at-ease. The

circulation process that followed ignited a heat flash in

my stomach that caused my awareness to refocus on the

27
effects of the potato chips and crab dip and rum and coke
that had combined to nurse me to sleep the night before.

A glass of orange juice calmed my bellycose and a Dr.
Bronner's gargle dissolved the pasty fog that involved my
tasty grog. A slow deep breath opened up all my inner
passages that were still refusing to trust my consumption
gumption.

Now that I could think. I set about to devise a plan
for the day. I decided first that if the car looked
promising. I would get a compression test done on it. I
checked the Yellow Pages to see who was open on Saturday.
Sameday Auto Service was the first place I called. and they
said if I brought the car in at eleven they could test it.
Being not a connoisseur on compression tests. their availa-
bility was quality enough. I said I'd be in. As I was
hanging up. there was a knock on the door.

The knocker was a short squat man with a broad chest
and a flat face. This was Ed Faller. the early morning
caller. Standing beside him was a tall thin lad with smooth
skin and hair parted in the middle and combed neatly on each
side. I immediately characterized them as a pencil and an
eraser. It was apparent that Ed was a parent because he
called the lad “Son.“

“Here we are.“ he smiled. I knew that because there
they were but I smiled in grateful acknowledgment of his
explanation. “This is my boy. He's quite a boy. He's a
fine boy.“

*Glad to meet you.“ I said.

. 28

“He's the center for Central High. He was All-American
last two years. Been to six colleges. I think he's gonna
pick Michigan. They gave him the best offer. Free ride
for four years. books included. and he's close enough to
come home on weekends. Pretty good. eh boy? I'm proud of
you boy. He doesn't have to buy any books. He never did
like to buy books.“

His son grinned sheepishly. as if the joke was on him
and he didn't get it. even though Ed wasn't joking.

“Tell him about the girls. Dad.“ he said.

“Oh yeah. the girls. That's quite a story. Ya see.
there was these two girls at Michigan. Sorority gals. One
of the better sororities on campus....“

“Oh. so that's the car.“ I observed aloud. It seemed

like a good opportunity to change the subject. seeing as he
came here to show it to me. Ed was flexible.

“Yeah. that's the car. It's quite a car. It's my
son's. Not this one. the other. He goes to Michigan. too.
He's quite a guy. He's a mechanic. He really loved that
car. But times change. ya know. He's gettin older now. He
graduates this spring. He's gettin married when he graduates.
so we're lending him the money to buy a new car. You know.
new wife. new car. He's a man now.

“But. ya know. if he had his way he'd never buy anything
new. Take this car for instance. He just had it tuned.

Put in a new battery. too. So you're gettin quite the deal.“

“Did he put those curtains in. too?“ I asked.

“He sure did. His girl made them for him. He's really

29
proud of that girl. I'm proud of that boy.“

They were the gaudiest looking curtains I had ever
seen. being a faded brown mural of butterflies and angels
which could have been symbolic of rebirth and immortality.
connecting the steps in the process of existence which finds
us not dying but instead being transformed to a higher level
of consciousness that would find the stage called “death“
not the end. as so many fear. but merely another step on
the glorious ladder that leads to the heavens where we
become angels. and perhaps eventually God.

But I doubt it because she also was the author of the
poem which I found taped to the dashboard and which read.
“Here I sit all green and wary/Tried to fuck a giant canary/
Tried to lure her with seeds of sesame/The little pecker sure
made a mesame.“ '

“Yes. she's quite a girl.“ he repeated. “He's quite
a guy.“

The sunlight in the windows reflected a lustrous shine
not unlike that of Vaseline on the body of a weight lifter.
Unfortunately. the dents on the hood could not be compared
to muscular definition. The tires looked good. the gas tank
was full. and the oil supply was adequate. I looked at Ed.
Ed looked at me. Son was still waiting for Ed to tell me
about the girls. and Ed said. “Wanna take her for a cruise?“

“That's the next step.“ I answered.

“Well. hang on. that was only Question Number One.
Number Two's the big one. Seeing as we're just cruising

30

anyways. do you mind headin somewheres in particular?“
“Where do you want to go?“

“No problem.“ I said.
“My son's got a honey he wants

“Austin.“ he replied.
He's takin the little lady to Miami.

to pick up down there.
That is. if you

I told him we could maybe drop him off.

don't mind. “
I glanced at Son. who was still at the sorority.

“No. not this one. the other. I've got three. Three

She would'a gone to

Madge insisted.
Money

Good thing it only took four.
He's at the house.“

Eguys and a gal.

‘twelve to get one.

don't grow on trees. ya know.

I'd never been to Austin before but I'd heard so much

about it. The Mecca of Texas it was called. I'd always
twanted to go to Texas. ever since Walt Disney introduced me

‘to Davy Crockett. I knew a trip like this would be a dream

'to me.
I looked at the clock in the drugstore across the

street. 9345 it said-~my compression test was at eleven.
“Sounds good.“ I said. “Hang on.“
I ran inside the house. grabbed my blue Samsonite
suitcase with the “Go State“ decal and filled it with two

Pairs of pants. two shirts. two pairs of socks. and two
I hurried into the bathroom. because I

chfilrlges of briefs.
didn't want to keep them waiting. and grabbed my jar of

allergy pills. along with my pen and my journal that were

°n the floor.
In the kitchen. I grabbed a paper bag from underneath

31
the sink. and filled it with a gallon of apple cider. four
apples. and four dozen homemade chocolate chip cookies.
“Something to nosh on.“ I said.

“Chocolate chip cookies--good work. Kid.“ Ed said as
he grabbed a dozen. “We're gonna get along okay.“

He gave one to Son. one to me. and said. “Onward.“

Ed drove the first stretch. from my house to his. We
dropped off Son. picked up Bill. and hitched up his trailer
to the car.

My first impression of Bill was one of awe. I wasn't
sure what it was: he was not his generation's Gable. But.
like Ty Cobb sliding into third or Papa bluffing on ace
high. I knew he had confidence that when he attempted
something. he would succeed. Bill had lived. by Ed's
count. a total of twentybeight years from the time that
Madge's first failure was officially confirmed. He stood
an inch or two taller than average height. but he carried
a much slighter frame. He wore shoulder length brown wavy
hair that reminded me of a broom with a permanent and a thin

mustache that resembled two false eyelashes tied together
below his nose. Bill bought the trailer to live in because

he spent a lot of time on the road. In the last two years.
he had worked as a lumberjack in Alaska. a mechanic in Quebec.
a ski instructor in Colorado. a fisherman in Maine. and a
longshoreman in San Francisco.

“Yeah. if it makes you miserable. why do it?“ he said.
“The trick is to do what you want to do anyhow and get paid
for it.“

32
According to Ed. “My boy's done his road time. Been

everywhere. Chip off the old block. I'm proud of that boy.“

Chapter'Four

BILL GIVES HENRY CREDIT
FOR NOT BUYING ON CREDIT

We made one stop before cutting loose on the main
highway. at Caveat's Department Store. so I could buy a
strap for’my'sunglasses. Bill and I went into the store.
while Ed volunteered to guard the car. He also made himself
protector of the cookies. As we left the car. he was
storing them in a safe none could enter. his stomach.

Caveat's was the largest department store chain in
the free world. having stores in every major city and most
of the minor ones. Its slogan. “Where Urban Blight Is Out
Of Sight.“ was a public relations jingle that encouraged
towns to pave the way for new additions in the name of
providing jobs and boosting local economies.

This particular Caveat's outlet was like every other
Caveat's outlet in the world. It was an.imposing structure

in the middle of a twenty-five acre lot and it was located
33

3h
off the uptown exit of the city's main highway. Fifteen
adjoining acres of plush forest are still available for
Caveat's to purchase for expansion. according to the
agreement Caveat's made with the city.

On the west end of the parking lot was a Caveat's gas
station and a recycling center for glasses and newspapers.
On the south end was a pants store that advertised itself as
a competitor to Caveat's but that was actually owned by the
Caveat's chain. In the store. they sold clothes for all
sexes and ages. They sold household items for every
imaginable purpose. They sold equipment for all sports and
tools for all crafts. They repaired all makes of vehicles
and sold parts for the do-it-yourselfer. For the ladies.
there was a beauty parlor where they could get their hair
done while their cars were being fixed in the auto repair
garage. For the men. there was a bar. For the children.
of all ages. there was a daycare center. an amusement park.
and a drive-in theatre.

If anyone would have whatever I wanted. I knew Caveat's
would have to have it. and I didn't want to drive all over
town just for a strap. So it made sense to me that we
stopped there.

I couldn't help noticing. though. as I watched a
security guard directing traffic by the front entrance to
the store. that something was making Bill appear tense. I
wondered if I had offended him. I glanced over'my'shoulder
to see if someone was distracting him. A high school

employee was gathering stray shopping carts. and the parking

35
lot was bustling with anonymous shoppers. but no one
else was in the vicinity. But. no. I knew ~he couldn't
mean me. Nice Henry they used to call me. much to my manly
embarrassment. until I won my first of six high school
elections. After that race. I made niceness my trademark.

“Vote Nice.“ “Nice is a h—letter word.“ “I Like Nice.“

I even had a slogan for the politically corrupt. “Vote
Nice Twice.“ I shook hands with a firm handshake. not
like a fish. when I was introduced to someone. To Bill. I
had even offered a chocolate chip cookie.

So. no. I couldn't imagine why he was mad at me. but
just to check it out. I said. “Bill. did I do something to
piss you off?“ ‘

“I hate Caveat's.“ he said. as if he had been waiting
for permission to express anger. “This place is too big.
It's taking over the world.“ Then. in a speech like I
would have expected to hear from the angry lips of flaming

revolutionaries who burned banks and threw rocks at cops

during the Vietnam war and then disappeared from TV News.
he launched into a spontaneous critique on Caveat's
“involvement as a reactionary force in world affairs.“
listing “examples of decadence and of complicity with the
oppressor“ like I would have listed activities from my
yearbook.

Archibald Agnoo Caveat. Sr.. the founder of Caveat's
and President of the Board of Directors for the entire

Caveat's chain.had been an influential fundraiser in the

36
last presidential election. he began. A.A. Caveat. Jr. was
promised ambassadorial positions from both presidential
candidates and Caveat's stockholders contributed generously
to both campaigns.

In world news recently. during the liberation struggle
that took place in one of the white-controlled sections of
black Africa. guerrilla leaders rallied poor Blacks around
the revolutionary cry to nationalize Caveat's holdings.
Caveat's responded with alarm and stock prices plummeted.
The CIA assassinated the king and put in a black Catholic
who had studied in a French university to serve as dictator.
The Communists called him a puppet of the imperialist forces
and nicknamed him the Caveat Emperor. On the day of his
coronation. ten thousand political dissidents were arrested.
The next morning. Dowaones showed a nine-point gain amidst
heavy trading. Caveat's stock split three for one and had
high volume for the day.

Meanwhile. on the local level. Bill said he practically
grew up at Caveat's. He told me that Ed was a member of
Caveat's Health Club. Ed used to spend Saturdays there while
Madge and the kids shopped. then they'd all spend the night
at Caveat Quarters and leave Sunday morning after breakfast.

They brought in the New Year with Guy Lombardo at the
Caveat Ballroom.

In addition. he said Ed and Madge bought Caveat stock
for all their children when they were born. During his high

school years. Bill worked Saturdays and summers as a cashier.

37
He quit his job and sold his stock when he discovered that
Caveat's exported. to outlets in developing countries.
chemical fertilizers that were found to be carcinogenic and
were outlawed in the United States. During the grape and
lettuce boycotts. he picketed there with the United Farm-
workers because Caveat's sold scab lettuce in their grocery
department. He was arrested for trespassing and conspiracy
to violating the rights of customers and spent the night in
solitary confinement because he refused to sign his finger-
print card. He hadn't been to Caveat's since the boycott
ended.

“I'm here now because you're here and I'm with you.
but I don't like it--so let's move fast. okay? And let's
drop the subject.“ '

He marched angrily to the curb like demilitarization
depended on it. I fingered the souvenir “I Like Nice“
campaign button in my coat pocket and followed him.

Inside the revolving door. we were greeted by the lady
at the information center. With her help. we flagged down
a Caveat Mobile. The Caveat Mobile. according to Bill. was
actually no more than a renovated golf cart but since comple-
tion of Caveat's modern sixtyblane bowling alley. activity
on Caveat's golf course had slackened. A lady in the Caveat-
Hannibal. Missouri furniture department suggested the carts
might be used more efficiently if they doubled as sit-down
shopping carts. In order to implement the program. manage-
ment raised prices on all domestic goods by 2%. They

38
justified the increase on the grounds that they were
providing a service to customers and. after all. nothing
is free. In the first two quarters of the year. profits
rose 27% over profits of the year before. Management doubled
its fleet of shopping carts and the manager of Caveat-
Hannibal was promoted to Midwest regional director. For
her suggestion. the lady was awarded five dollars and had
her picture taken sitting next to her store manager on a
Caveat Mobile. for publication in the Caveat employee
newsletter.

We directed the chauffeur to the hardward department.
As bad luck would have it. as soon as we got into the
Caveat Mobile. the tire went flat. The Repair Mobile was
busy charging a battery on a Caveat Mobile by the body
protection department where they sold deodorant. so we
were told it wouldn't be available for another fifteen
minutes.

Bill looked resignedly at the chauffeur's watch.

Oh well. what the hell. he suggested. the walk would
do us good. I agreed. “Where is the hardware department?“
we asked.

“It's six aisles up on the northbound aisles and
three more to the east. south corner on the intersection
where Pennsylvania and M come together.“ Nine aisles. I

looked in the northbound direction and discovered that I

couldn't see where the sixth aisle ended. With three more

to the east. then. it looked like a day's journey. Luckily.

39
we flagged down a ride from another Caveat Mobile heading
our way. The passenger was short and chubby and probably
wore Huskies as a kid. He was dancing in the Caveat Mobile
as he pointed at Bill.

“Yip. yip. yip.“ he cried. like he was a coyote with a
toothache.

Bill looked at this passenger in surprised disbelief.
“Marit. I can't believe it's you.“

He was Bill's old organizing buddy from the war. “The
guy's nuts.“ Bill whispered to me. with not even a trace of
detectable malice. “You've gotta meet him.“ They exchanged
backslaps and traded addresses before any more words passed
between them. Then Bill commenced with the formalities.
They met. he said. while working with the Youth International
Party in.Miami Beach during the summer of 1972 when the
Democratic and Republican Parties held their nominating
conventions there.

“Well. not exactly.“ Marit cut in. Actually. he explained.
although there was only one party that called itself Youth
International Party. the anarchist party was divided into
two factions that year because of ego-tripping competition
between rival leaders. a political contradiction that caused
both Bill and Marit to remain on the outskirts of both
groups. Bill joined the Yippies because he happened to
meet them before he met the Zippies. For the same reason.
Marit joined the Zippies.

Nevertheless. on the outskirts they were on the day

#0

they'met in front of the Fontainebleau Hotel the afternoon
of the Yippie Puke-In.

According to Bill. it didn't work quite like they
planned it. “but then again. none of us had previous
experience in synchronized puking.“

The week before the Puke-In. he said. an undercover
‘Yippie had infiltrated the Republican organization and
ripped off their schedule of activities so the Yippies
knew the Republican National Committee was holding their
platform meeting at the Fontainebleau that morning. Immed-
iately afterward. they were to have a reception. “We
thought it would be a righteous act to make them as sick
about eating as we were of their existence.“

He pointed to a small box on a shelf in the drug
department as we passed it by. “That's the stuff we used.“
he said. “Ipecac.“

Ipecac. he explained. was a non-prescription.medicine
that doctors gave to patients who drank certain poisons to
make them puke it out. A pharmacist said it usually took

about five minutes for the Ipecac to take effect. so nine

Yippies bought one bottle apiece. For lunch the next day.
they ordered a coke and a large pizza with green pepper.
sausage. and extra cheese to make sure the Ipecac worked.
Then they drove to the hotel. The Zippies were already there.
having their own demonstration. so the Yippies thought they

could sneak around the back without being seen.

“Weren't they being devious?“ said Marit. speaking

#1

for the first time beyond our introduction. He was quieter
than Bill and had a wry sense of humor that delivered
obvious sarcasm with a deadpan expression. “They were the
only ones in the hotel who weren't wearing suits or dresses .
The Secret Servicemen couldn't figure out what they were up
to so they just trailed them from behind.“

Bill waited for*Marit to elaborate. He didn't. so
Bill continued: “We divided into two groups and snuck

around the back. walking along the beach and meeting by the
tennis courts. We took one gulp apiece and moved in. In the
five minutes it should've taken us to puke. we were upstairs
outside the meeting room. Alas. no nausea. just a guard.
'Do you people have room keys?’ he asked.

“'Well. actually. Pal. it's like this....' I said.
We started fumbling around in our pockets trying to act like
we couldn't find them. Then we saw the cops and one of us
split and the guard started shouting. 'Out. out. out.' and
so we all split out the front door and joined the Zippies.“

A woman by the candy counter cursed the chauffeur for
almost hitting her and longed out loud for the good old days
before the advent of the Caveat Mobile.

Marit said to Bill. “The guard stopping you guys was
the best thing that could have happened to you. If it had

gone like you planned. no one would have ever known about it.“

Bill agreed. “It's true. The whole summer was a media

game. Nixon was telling the country he was winding down

the war and bringing our boys home. He wanted everyone to

believe that everyone else was satisfied with his

42
performance in the hopes that no one would want to be the
lone dissident. so he tried to cover up our activities. We
wanted to get media any way possible to let people know we
were down there so it was just as well we got kicked out.
The original goal of the Puke-In was to gross out the Repub-
licans. but if that had worked. we would have had to spread
the news ourselves. This way. we were led out to where
sixty Zippies were rallying in front of cops. fat cats. old
people. and all kinds of media to do the work for us.“

Still. although five minutes had long since passed. the
Ipecac had not yet taken effect. Bill. however. figured it
wouldn't be long. so he borrowed the megaphone.

Bill straightened his back against the seat of the
Caveat Mobile. “This is what I said.“ He cupped his mouth
with his hands and cleared his throat.

“'People. I have an important gut-level statement to
make. We're from the People Uptight about Killings Every-
where (PUKE) and we want to talk to Richard Nixon and to
Double-A Caveat and to all you Republican Fat Cats. We
want to tell you that we're tired of your lies and your
deception. You promised us jobs and you gave us the wage-
price freeze.'“

Bill paused and said to me. “The cameras were on me
the whole time I was talking. Meanwhile. I kept looking to
the side to see if anyone was looking nauseous. Everyone
was just looking befuddled. so I kept talking.“

Again. he spoke through cupped hands: “'You've wired

all our phones so we can't even make a private phone call.

“3
And now you've just finished your National Platform Committee
meeting where we all know you made plans to bring us more CIA

heroin. more bombed dikes. more drowned babies. more
napalmed innocent citizens.‘

“And then I looked at Phil. the skinny kid everyone
thought was a cop.“--Bill looked this time at Marit--“He
might have been. but he was the hero that day. He was
getting pale and was starting to gag. so I led into my
conclusion.“ He cupped his hands: “'And now you celebrate.
Feast. Banquet. Eat all you want--you can afford it.
After all. it was paid for with our tax dollars. But don't
ask us to join you: we've eaten enough of your shit.'“

To me now. he said. ”The cameras were still on me.
watching my every move. so in my last paragraph I pointed
my finger at the focal point of the whole camera crew and
said....“ and he pointed straight down the aisle. “'We've
had enough. Richard Nixon. We've had enough. Republicans.
Your obscene acts are more than we can handle. And all I
can say is'--my finger drew an arc from where it was to the
stooping figure of Phil: the cameras followed--'We're just
sick about it.’

“'Ulbleeeh!'--perfectl

“At least four spectators turned white. Another Yippie
lost it. and the cameras turned to her. Then another.

Then another. Between the nine of us. we puked for a half

hour. and everytime someone heaved. someone else grabbed the

megaphone and gave another reason why the Republicans made

41.

us sick. We all had time to say everything that came to
our’minds. and the cameras had a field day. But then their
editors got hold of their film and censored the whole thing .
The Miami Herald mentioned it in one word--'disgusting':

one point for us. But the rest of the straight media
wouldn't touch it. I couldn't figure it out“--he shook his
head in sarcastic confusion--“as hard as we tried. the
world's first media-oriented Puke-In was no match for any
given day's worth of obscenity by Nixon and Company and he
got extensive coverage for everything he did.“

Marit concluded. just in time. because the hardward
department was directly ahead: “So it romains for the
people's media to tell the story of the Yippie Puke-In of
the Summer of '72.“

In my heart and my notebook. I vowed to include the
story in.my first book.

We all got out at the hardware department. There.
while Bill and Marit continued their*reminiscing. I asked
the salesman if they sold straps for sunglasses. He said
they only came in the package with the safety glasses. I
asked if maybe they might have a defective pair of glasses
that they were going to mail back to the manufacturer that
maybe had a strap that they were just going to return anyway
that I might have. He said he couldn't do that because it
was against the rules. but he suggested I check with the
salesman in the optical department. turn right at the
photography department.

45

The section of the store that housed the optical depart-
ment also contained windows for IRS. a loan department. the
credit department. and the employment department. I asked
the clerk at the optical department for a strap. He showed
me a size and shape assortment of black straps and asked if
I would be paying with cash or a credit card. I said I was
low on cash and I didn't own any credit cards but that I
had valid identification and planned to write a personal
check.

He said they didn't accept personal checks anymore and
gave me a Caveat's Credit Card Application Blank. “Shopping's
No Fuss When You Shop With Us“ was their slogan. On the
back of the application. I was informed that my Caveat's
Credit Card could be used in all fifty states to charge
anything Caveat's sells in any Caveat's retail store and
from the Caveat's catalog by phone or'mail. Also. starting
this year. Caveat's credit cards would be as good as cash
at most banks and insurance agencies. Below that enticement
were the hard facts in the form of my Caveat's E-Z Buy Charge
Account and Security Agreement.

“Just what you need.“ I heard Old Uncle Albert say. as
he threw the cash on the counter and helped me pay for my
first electric train. “a credit card so you can buy things
you don't need with money you don't have. It looks so easy
until the bills come and you don't have the money to pay
them. Better to pay cash. you're always safe.“

I ignored the form and gave the clerk a dollar. Bill

#6

saw I was ready to leave so he said goodbye to Marit and
joined me. He saw the agreement on the counter. then he
looked up at the clerk. The clerk's tie was held neatly in
place with a Caveat's tie clip that he won for being the
rookie of the year’employee forty years ago. With the
grace of a bulldozer. Bill picked up a pen that said
Caveat's and wrote on the Caveat's application blank. “I'm
sick about it.“ I was glad I paid cash. Thanks. Uncle
Albert.

“You thought I'd sign. didn't you?“ I asked.

“I'm proud of you. Boy.“ he said.

He waved his thumb at the first Caveat Mobile to
drive by. It stopped. we got in and headed toward the exit.
“And they say unions cause inflation--bullshit.“ he said.
“It's those damn credit cards. Folks buy what they don't
need with money they don't have. and then they have to raise
the prices in their stores to make the money they'll need for
when the credit card payments are due. Then their customers
get their bills. and they can't pay them either because the
other guy's prices are higher. so they have to raise their
prices to make their payments. And we've got the upward
inflationary spiral.“

He shook his head to evaluate the state of humanity.
“It's daffy.“ he said. “The whole world's daffy. I'll tell
ya. when we burned draft cards back in '70. we should've

burned credit cards. too. That would've stopped the war.

And receipts. Receipts are the foundation of America. They

4?

prove that we exist. It's all there in accounts receivable.
'Stop the Daft.‘ we could've said. We still can. but we
won't. Everyone's having too much fun buying things.“

At a red light. the chauffeur stopped. and so did Bill.

“This place is too big. that's another thing I don't
like.“ said Old Uncle Albert.

I was only seven but I understood anger. Caveat's
moved into the neighborhood that year after a controversial
and stormy three year court battle that pitted irate

citizens' and environmentalists' groups against the Caveat

Corporation. whose main offices were in New York.

The land had been zoned. previous to Caveat's interest
in the property. as a wildlife preserve area. and it was
located in a non-business district. The site was a favorite

spot for campers and a retreat from the city for residents.

One year. Mrs. Elsie Bradley. a lifelong resident of
the district. who was known countywide for her award-winning
petunia and daffodil gardens. requested permission to sell
flowers from her home. City Council turned down her request
on the grounds that they wanted to preserve the district's
non-business purity. Then Caveat's bought their first ten
acres with an option to buy thirty more and City Council. by
a close vote of three conservatives to two liberals. voted
to re-zone the entire district.

The citizens protested. saying the shopping center
would upset the ecological balance of the land and diminish

the already scarce water supply. but Caveat's countered with

#8
their plan to create a park on one acre and name it Caveat
Gardens. Small businesses and other shopping centers
protested their inevitable loss of profits. but Caveat's
promised jobs for everyone and a higher tax revenue for
the city. Two of the conservatives were among the three
Councilmembers who retired at that term's end one month
after the decision to re-zone.

Mrs. Bradley became a cause celebre because of the
obvious injustice she had suffered and she was a landslide
victory in the next City Council race. far outdistancing
the conservatives who finished second and third. Running
a one-issue campaign. she promised to raise hell or die
trying until Caveat's was chased out of their neighborhood.
Unfortunately. by the time the liberals were in the majority
four years later. construction was already underway.

Mrs. Bradley continued to raise hell and was eventually
made chairperson of the Zoning Committee. Everyone was
stunned when she suffered a heart attack and died during a
dramatic takeover of Caveat Gardens that she compared to
the Indians' takeover of Alcatraz. In death. Mrs. Bradley
became a cult goddess because of her self-fulfilling prophecy
and her grave became a soapbox for ambitious liberals. Her
husband. a university professor. wrote a book about her life
and called 1’6 MY MAJ—61 The 9:25.15 Eases: 22m.

Old Uncle Albert didn't know Mrs. Bradley from beans
seeing as he lived on the other side of town and he didn't
read English. but he shared her hatred of Caveat's. especially

#9

after he was forced to close his downtown shoestore. which
he had operated for the past thirty years. since coming over
from the old country. because Caveat's shoe department was
the largest shoe department in the free world and they
offered free parking. Uncle Albert didn't know who to
blame for his plight. the department stores that drive the
family stores out of business or the people who let it
happen because they prefer the convenience of a department
store to the personableness of a neighborhood store. “Places
like this choke out all the neighborhood folks and their
family businesses because people are in such a hurry.“
Uncle Albert continue. “Now back home“--he paused to blow
his nose with the handkerchief he inherited from his father.
“Ach. but they're in such a hurry. No one wants to listen.“

The light changed. Bill spoke again: “Places like
this don't have merchants. they have clerks. and the clerks
don't care what they sell you. They're just getting paid on
commission or slave wage. They've got to work so they can
pay their credit card bills. Either way they lose. So do
we. but it's convenient. I'm choking on convenience.
There's no law against big in this country. gut we don't
have to support it. Americans vote with their wallets and
mine's staying in my pocket until we get out of here.“

When we got back to the car. Ed was beaming from an
expression of happiness that extended well beyond the
reasonable limits of chocolate chip satisfaction. “Whadaya

think?“ he grinned. as he pointed to a box on the back seat.

so
“Bought it on credit. Twenty dollars down and twelve
months to pay.“

With that. we hit the road: me. Bill. Ed. and Ed's

new portable color TV.

Chapter Five

RUBBER DUCKIE LULLS HENRY TO SLEEP

Ed was still driving. He was five miles past the
1-69 entrance on Logan Street. the point at which he said I
could take over. when the irony of him driving when I was
the one who was out for a test ride suddenly struck him as
absurd. He asked if we had already passed 69.

“About five miles back. Ed.“ I answered. “I just
figured you knew what you were doing.“

“It's the road. Kid. Does strange things to my head.“

We were in Dimondale by that time. Ed kept the wheel
until we found another 1-69 on-ramp. It took us thirty
miles to get there from the thme we left the house. Then I
took over while Ed retired to the back to catch some sleep.

This first day on the road was a perfect day for driving.
Outside. the temperature was chilly all day. but I was in
the car the whole time so it became an asset rather than a
liability. The sky was a clear sheet of blue satin until we
discovered clouds toward nightfall.

51

52

I glanced at Ed's TV through the rearview mirror and I
thought I saw a typewriter. I was reminded of one thousand
form letters I had to type by Tuesday to escape the wrath
of my boss. a tall gangly stringbean.with an Adam's apple
whose protrusion required him to wear size 16 pinstripe
dress shirts that coordinated with his two-inch wide paisley
ties only because his wife bought his clothes for him.

Then my eyes were directed to an apple tree with a flat tap
that had been downed by a flash of lightning and I felt
strangely liberated.

Most of the scenery was barren plains going through
Michigan. After some two hours on the road. we crossed
into Indiana where we were given the Hoosier welcome by
Governor Bowen. then further enlightened to find that
“Hoosier Hospitality Is No Accident.“ Finally. as an after—
thought. we were warned to “Watch Your Speed--We Are.“

And we were in farm country.

The car was a '67 Chrysler Station Wagon. The tape
deck played static in stereo. so we were usually without
music. and the shocks recorded every bump in the road.

The right turn signal clicked when it was turned on. but

the light didn't work. However. to compensate for that. the
amazingly bright red light above the oil gauge was always on.
The gas gauge didn't work perfectly either. Basically. it

was fine. but. as Ed described it. “When I fill it. it
registers full for about four blocks and then it drops to
3/h. But when it falls to Empty. I've still got 1/“ left.“

53

Other than that. Ed said the car was in good shape.
He was a little concerned about the tires on the trailer.
but only because the trailer was weighted down. Also. he
told me he had just recently installed a new master cylinder.

My own driving took us all the way south on 69 to the
#65 innerbelt. which circled Indianapolis and led us onto
70. While I was driving. we made two stops for gas and
coffee. once ninety miles north of Indianapolis and once in
Terra Haute. When I got us onto 70. a distance of 267 miles.
I let Bill take over. I was still going strong. wide awake.
alert. and high energy. but I wanted to write before coming

down.
In the back. I discovered two added bonuses: The mattress

in the back section of the wagon and the overhead light by

the tailgate enabled me to set up my own office and write
even in the dark of the night.

One hundred and forty-three miles after giving the
wheel over to Bill. I took over again. in Illinois somewhere.
ninety-five miles short of St. Louis. Ed was still asleep.
and Bill. after checking the map. soon followed. So I
pulled an apple out of my paper bag to keep me company--I
wasn't much of a host. I ate it.

And I drove on. solo. into the great unknown.

I counted the rest stops and coffee shops in Bond County.

In Madison County. I memorized their names. After Staunton.
I turned onto 270. where I noted my options heading west.

But I chose none of them. Instead. I trudged on.

5h
eyelids heavy. trailer swaying. until I crossed that border
into Missouri.

Meanwhile. the window was becoming more and more caked
with the splatterings of dead flies. I felt like an astro-
naut guiding my spaceship past billions and billions
of hot flashes. quick with my reflexes. knowing that one
late move and it was all over.

Only I couldn't dodge the flies.

WHOOSH-SPLAT--a red one on my right.

WHOOSH-GUSH--a yellow one on my left.

I could handle the ones to my side but there came one
directly toward me. It splotched a deep green right at the
point on the window where my eyes. looking independently out
at the world. first come together to focus on a common object.
That common object became the dead green fly. I couldn't see
the road so I had to pull over and wipe the window.

Twenty-nine miles later. I had semi-circled St. Louis.
still on 270. and come. at last. to I-hQ/US 66. where I
headed south towards Oklahoma City.

We were headed due south when the sun became lost from
view. At the time. it appeared as a bright orange ball on
the right hand corner of a canvas that was streaked red in
the background and hilly green in the fore. It was splendid.

After twenty-four miles. we finally located an open
Standard Oil station. where Ed could use his credit card. so
I pulled off the road and into the station. There. in the
town of Fenton. while listening to Rubber Duckie on the radio

55
for the third time in twenty minutes. I let Bill take over
so I could sleep. I was hyper from a frantic combination
of driving. writing. and seven cups of coffee. but I dozed
off in about a minute.
Outside. the only lights were from cars passing us

going north.

 

Chapter Six

THE SECOND DAY

Sleeping on a damp mattress for the better part of
four hours with my head resting on a thick dirty pillow
and my body protected from the chilly wetness of the night
by a beat up old army green sleeping bag produced the
anticipated results: my clothes were sticky and smelly and
therefore so was my body. and my hair felt greasy and slick.
like it might feel if I went for two weeks without washing it.
As I awoke to the tune of “Fill 'er up.“ I imagined

that to be a classic circumstance of the seasoned Roadie of
the morning. I fantasized myself a man of the world. It's
tough being free. I thought.

We were at a Standard Oil station in Springfield.
Missouri. eighty miles north of Joplin. which was just north
of the Oklahoma border. Bill was still at the wheel. looking
tired but alert. Ed hadn't budged all night. His head still
rested against the left back window and he was still snoring.

56

57
I coughed. stretched. rubbed my stiff neck. and yawned.
The yawns had it. I was still tired. My head protested the
early onslaught of morning. but the car's front shocks
convinced me that I wouldn't be falling back to sleep for a
long while. so I climbed into the front seat with Bill. In
the transition period. I noticed that the ground was damp.

The attendant said it had drizzled all night in Springfield.
“So tell me.“ I greeted Bill through the buzz of the

backseat baritone. “what kinda shape's the car in?“

“The car.“ he smiled as he veered slightly to the left
to avoid what looked from a distance like the body of a brown
striped cat but what was in actuality a Davy Crockett coonskin
cap. “Yes. the car.“

“First let me tell you about Dad.“ he began. “He's
quite a guy. He's been through a lot. His dad grew up on
the east side of downtown Cleveland. Cramps was pretty
happy-go-lucky as a kid. “He used to go to the ballpark
everyday with his buddy Ray. What a scene that must've been.
The drunks were there in their Sunday best. Or their Monday
worst--Gramps said it was all the same. You could smell em
from deep left field. And the hawkers. Everybody had a
ticket to sell. 'Buy two. get one free. Best seats in the
house.' they said. They charged four times as much--never
could tell how they lived. He said the funniest guy he ever
saw was a guy they called Toof because he didn't have any
teeth except for the rotten one in front that he saved for

show. And the photographers who flashed their cameras at

58
you and handed you a ticket so you could send in your money
to purchase your pictures-~Gramps said they never used film.

“He and his buddy Ray used to walk to the Stadium every
morning to collect autographs and souvenirs for their scrap-
books. They'd stand outside the gate and wait for the players
to arrive and then they'd follow them into the Stadium as
far as they could before a guard caught em. They got caught
nearly every time. but they kept trying and every now and
then they'd make it. The players thought they were pretty
funny because they were so persistent so they went along
with it and didn't warn the guards. They got to know Cramps
and Ray pretty well and one day the club trainer asked them
if they wanted to be batboys. Cramps nearly cried he was
so thrilled.

“He spent the next four summers at the Stadium. two
with the visiting teams and two with the Indians. Those
were the days when the Stadium on Sunday was the place to
take the family. Celebrities dropped in for visits when
they were in town. He got to know everybody. Not just

baseball players--Tom Mix. Red Grange. everybody.
“But his favorite was Ruth. They used to go out

drinking at night when the Yankees were in town. Whorin.
too. They were out drinking together the night the Babe
ate himself into what the newspapers described the next
day as the world's worst stomach ache. Cramps said that
was all a p.r. lie to save the Babe's image. He really had
syphilis. Cramps caught it. too. that night. The lady

became his wife. My Cram. She was a good woman. Not too

59
bright. but. then again. neither was Cramps. But they loved
each other and they got married at home plate. The Babe was
Master of Ceremonies. Cram was four months pregnant with
Dad. Cramps became a housepainter the next year to support
his family.

“Then the Depression came and Cramps couldn't find
any jobs. so Cram went back to whorin. Cramps went back
to the Stadium and started working the concessions. Dad
grew up selling peanuts and popcorn.

“Dad doesn't talk about that period of his life but I
know his memories hold a lot of pain. They didn't have much
food to eat and Cramps' boss was a crook. He used to short-
change them on food and supplies. but Cramps was so scared
for his family he never said a thing. The pressure broke
him and he died. Cram shot herself six weeks later and Dad
hit the road. He spent the next six years travelling any-
where a job would take him. He must've lived in every state
at least once. He rode the trains. built houses. washed
cars. Had to steal. too. Hunger does that. He served time
in a dozen states. It fucked his head.

“He met Mom at a pool hall--she was a waitress. he was
a hustler. They fell in love. had me. and got married. Mom
settled him down more than he had ever known and he got his
first steady job on the line at Olds. By this time. though.
he was pretty hungup about money. He hated cops. too.
Having a steady job didn't change that. Poverty's a state

of mind. ya know. He'll never go hungry again. but he still

6O

worries about it. He's an honest man and he'd never deli-
berately cheat anybody. but he's been known to exaggerate.“

“Is the car gonna get us back to Lansing?“ I asked.

“It's hard to say.“ Bill answered. “The brakes'll
hold but not for much longer. You'll have to replace the
shocks then. too. But watch out for the transmission.
Better check the front suspension. too. We'll make it to
Austin okay. but not much further.“

As we talked. acres and acres of orange-brown colored
grass that I had never seen before connected Springfield to
cities within the next fifteen mile stretch. From there.

the land became hilly and barren. I saw Missouri to be the

kind of land that had enough scenic beauty to make me want

to travel through it. but not enough to make me want to stay.

In at least one stretch. I was reminded of a golf course.
The land is unfit for farming. so the farmers there raise
cattle.

Governor David L. Boren welcomed us warmly as we
crossed the Oklahoma border and found ourselves headed
towards the Will Rogers Turnpike. He informed.us that we
were now guests of one of America's Bicentennial States.
which. coincidentally. was true of every state through
which we had travelled during those first twenty-eight hours

and which was probably true also of all the other states in
the Union.

Directly behind him were a handsome cowboy with clear

skin and a fierce looking Indian chief who looked as if his

61

daughter had eloped with a white man. They shared with us
their warmest greetings by saying. in unison. “We're glad

you're here.“
Not long after that. I pointed out the first Indian
souvenir stand. The voice in the back mumbled. “Did you

say 'IndianS?' Reminds me when I was a kid. Yeah. those

'were the days.“ Then he fell back asleep.

Chapter Seven

HENRY GETS HIGH WITH A
BEERCAN ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD

I was driving alone going through Muskogee in the

early hours of the morning. Ed and Bill were both sound
asleep in the backseat. and goosebumps were stampeding like
a herd of buffalo on my arms. Ed was using my coat for a
pillow so he could rest his head against the door handle
without busting his head. which meant I had to keep the
windows closed and the heater on high to keep warm. With
the windows closed. I couldn't hear the natural sounds of
the morning. so the only sounds I heard were those of the
squeaky tape and the fan. Oh yes. and the snoring.

The lamplights were still well lit and so when I
spotted a hitchhiker up the road. standing underneath a
lamppost. I could almost read his sign. But not quite.

I pulled off the road and stopped a hundred feet past
him. He grabbed his pack. which had been leaning against a
62

63
road marker. and ran to the car. I opened the door and he
jumped in. pulling his pack onto his lap.

“It's about time someone stopped.“ he snapped. as if I
alone had been passing him all day long.

Then. with a sudden force equal to his disgust but
opposite in direction. he threw open the door. tossed his
pack on the ground. tore off toward the marker. which was
still visible by its red reflector on top. halted. ran back
and inspected his pack for possible careless damage. then
raced back toward the marker. He bent down and picked up
something that I knew was small because he put it in his
pocket. then he jogged back and got into the car once again
with the pack. .

“Thanks for waiting.“ he said as he untangled the knots
of his long black hair with his fingers.

“It's cool.“ I said in return. “What'd you forget?“

“My dope.“ he answered.

HIS DOPE! Dope: the word itself goosed my goosebumps.
Dope--Hope--Crope for the truth-~Nope. I can't do that.

What would the folks think if they knew I smoked dope?

What would happen if I got caught? I'd never get a job for
that evil misdeed--Weed--Freedom's just another word for
nothin left to losers are the ones who never try anything
new. And I knew I needed a change because being a typist
was a drag. But if I took one drag off his marijuana cigar-
ette. I'd never again be able to say that I'd never smoked

marijuana. It would be a permanent blot on my perfect

6h
record. I hoped he wouldn't even ask me so I wouldn't
have to deal with it.

“No kidding.“ I said. “How'd you do that?“

He told me how when he hitchhiked. he usually walked
facing traffic with his thumb out. but when he was hitching
with dope. he stood in one spot and hid his dope in the
grass or the bushes next to his backpack. That way. if a
cop stopped and hassled him. he didn't have any weed on him.

“When a ride staps.“ he said. “I just stuff my stash in
my pocket and split. The trick is you can't forget you left
your weed there.“

Papa was pointing to the weed that was hidden between
two shrubs and partly covered by a leaf. “You left that
weed there.“ he repeated. “I pay you $2.50 to weed the
lawn and look at that. A weed. My son the artist. So
good with his hands he can.write poetry. but he can't pick
up a crummy weed.“

He positioned his asthmatic body behind the driver's
wheel of his new Cadillac and wiped his forehead with dust-
powdered hands. He was a foreman at Kil-Cro Chemical
Company. a conglomerate that produced chemicals for killing
bugs and making animals grow faster. The chemical manufac-
tured at the plant where Papa worked was invented. according
to the advertising slogan. “by Dr. G.S. Corington. noted
scientist. to kill the weeds in his own backyard.“ so Papa
was especially sensitive to weeds in his own backyard.

Papa was also an obsessive gambler. This is the bedtime

65
story he used to tell me: “Once upon a time. a little boy
was in such a hurry to go play with his friends that he
didn't clean up the pile of leaves that had a million
dollars hidden under it that he could have spent on anything
he wanted. including a college education. if he had found it.“
The moral of that story. which incorporated character devel-
opment. plot development. tragic flaw. just reward. and
guilt trip into one sentence so Papa could tuck me in and
go out for his cardgame. was “A clean yard is a wild card.“
His favorite saying was: “Life is like a pair of deuces--
ya win some and ya lose some. but don't bet on it.“

I pulled the weed from the ground and threw it. and
the leaf that had concealed it. into the trash barrel.

“Jesus Christ. Papa. it's only one weed.“ I said.

“Did you see what the yard looked like before I started?“

“What do I know about before? I'm just seeing after.“

He rubbed the left side of his head but it was too late.
the pain was already unbearable. The pain was like the kind
you get on the side of the nose when you eat ice cream too
fast. only Papa got them all over his face and head whenever
he was tense.

He laid his head against the headrest that Ed had
installed to prevent whiplash and then he took off his shoes.
crossing one leg at a time instead of bending over. “Shit-
kickers“ he called them. black leather army boots that may
or may not have been comfortable but that certainly held in

an odor that shook the car when his boots were off.

66

Ed grunted but didn't wake up. I nonchalantly opened
the window. as if because I was warm.

“Pretty bad. eh?“ he asked. “First time in two days.“

“I guessed a week.“ I said.

“It's the second time this week I nearly forgot my
weed. though.“ he continued. as he recalled the first time.
“Sometimes it just doesn't pay.“

It happened. he told me. while he was hitching through
a town near Denver. A hitchhiking referendum was on the
ballot and the cops were being especially tough because they
relied on hitching busts to meet their quotas.

“I leaned my pack against a sign and hid my stash in
the grass like I always did. and I was lucky because a cop
stopped. frisked me. and kicked me off. Unfortunately. he
watched me until I was off so I had to leave it there.“

To get to the next freeway entrance. which was in the
next town. he had to hitch down two main streets and a
couple side streets. His first ride on the freeway took
him to an intersection that split into three roads.

“He was going one way. I was going another. two freeks
were hitching by the other. We started talking and I told
them about how I had lost my weed. One of the freeks
whispered to the other. and then the second pulled the bag
out of his pack and said. 'Is this yours?‘ I couldn't

believe it. they had arrived at the same spot five minutes
after I got kicked off. I was lucky they were honest.

Unfortunately. when my next ride came. I forgot the weed

again.“

6?

He shook his head the way Papa shook his the time the
check for the mortgage payment bounced.

“Oh well.“ he continued. as he straightened up and
looked my ear in the eye. “it's like taking out auto
insurance. When you forget it you kick yourself and wish
you had been less paranoid and just packed it. but the next
time. when you pack it. you get busted. Do you mind if I
turn on the radio?“

I said sure. but he was turning it on anyhow. “Thanks.“
he said. as he traded the squeaky tape for an AM station.
“All I've heard the last four hours have been passing trucks."

He was surprised to hear what sounded like a passing
truck on the radio station. but it was only an ad for CB
radios that sold under the name of “Smokey Detectors.“

Then a song came on. The singer was a young white
crooner from the Bronx who sold records because his company
had poured a lot of money into making him a sex symbol and
it was working.

He sang: “I feel happy when you're happy/I feel
crappy when you're crappy/I feel hate and I feel love/And
blah blah blah and God above.“

He switched the radio to another station: “....I feel
love/And blah blah blah and Cod....“

Switch: “....I feel crappy....“

Click.

“He feels crappy? We have to listen to that shit.“
he said as he turned the squeaky tape back on. “That guy's

68

the number one reason why the government oughta ban

saccharin.“
Talking relieved his anxiety. I could tell because he
was beginning to mellow. Watching his mood change gradually

from tense to relaxed. I imagined myself following an elec-
tric burner from High to Off. I rolled up the window because
his feet were aired out and the cold air was displacing the

stale.

He unfolded a AAA road map on his lap and tapped onto
it some marijuana from his plastic bag. Then he rolled two
joints. If moods were hairstyles at that moment. he was a
surfer and I was a princeton. I tried to change the subject.

“By the way. what's your sign say?“ I asked. Joe Cool.

He showed me one side of a shopping bag that looked.
from its creases and wrinkles. like it had travelled across
the country in his back pocket. Four bright colors of
Magic Marker were smeared across the page. reminders of a
hitch in the rain. but the letters still clearly spelled
out the words: “Home To Mama.“

He laughed and for the first time I saw a gap. where
his front teeth were crooked. that was hidden by his long
untrimmed mustache. “I always talk to the cars when I
hitch.“ he said. “Ya gotta do something to get their
attention or they don't even notice you.“

He said he first started carrying signs with slogans
three years ago. “It's not like it used to be.“ he began.
“Used to be every longhair and every VW van meant a ride.

sure thing. but times change. People were passing me by

69
without even noticing me.“

At first. he said. he took it personally. but he soon
realized they didn't even see him. “No. they saw me.“ he
said. apologizing for his use of poetic license. “They
just didn't want me to know that they knew that I knew that

they saw me and were still passing me up. so they would try

to act as if they didn't see me. Most of them become so
good at it they really don't see me. I'm like a beercan
on the side of the road.

“Then one day. I was hitching through this town where
a young high school couple had been murdered and the girl
raped by a guy they picked up hitching. The town was
paranoid about hitchers and citizens' groups were lobbying
to get the City Council to pass stiffer anti-hitchhiking
laws. The cops were on the lookout for any longhairs. I
just wanted to get out of that town. But I figured while I
was there. I'd better have something to say to them while

they were passing me by so they didn't throw beercans at me.

My sign said 'FREEPORT' and I didn't figure that was enough.
so I made me another one that said 'I AM UNARMED.‘ I figured
I better let em know I was innocent so they didn't kill me.“

He took a drink from the jug of water that was on the
floor by his feet. Then he continued:

“So anyhow. I used that sign. I was just lucky I was
using a grocery bag for my signs or I'd'a never had enough
room for another one. When I used that sign. everyone noticed

me. Some of them even pointed at me and laughed. Most of

70

them still didn't pick me up. but at least they didn't
shoot at me. and I made it outta town in one piece. Some
of the ones who stopped even said. 'Hey. I liked your sign.’
It got me to thinking. I realized that people were stopping
because they thought my sign was funny. People like a sense
of humor. Most of them still don't stop. but at least they
notice me. I become a beercan on the side of the road with
a sense of humor.“

“Are you on your way to your mom's?“ I asked.

“No. but anyone who's hitching across the country to
see his mother can't be all bad. It's getting me rides.“

He lit one of the joints and I saw my perfect record go
up in flames.

“Wanna get high?“

He directed the joint toward my mouth so I could accept
his offer without taking my hands off the wheel.

Ed snored and then Bill snared. My eyes glanced in
the rearview mirror from one to the other. Ed was still
leaning against the window. Bill was asleep with his arm on
Ed's portable TV. A commercial came on and I was presented
a BO-second silent film sequence wherein a young man with
curly hair and a long nose drops out of school and in spit-
fire rapidity he smokes a joint that is given to him by a

Puerto Rican junkie: he murders a high school couple while
hitchhiking: his father has a heart attack and dies: his

mother leaves him a note that says. “After all I've done.

you should know from. Don't forget to wash behind the ears.

 

71
Love. Mom.“ and commits suicide: and he goes on to harder
stuff and jumps off a bridge while high on heroin. The last
picture showed a.Mexican boy with one front tooth. standing
in the middle of a field of Acapulco gold. saying. “Ya don't
have to be Jewish to know why they call it dope.“

Zoom-~a beer truck passed me on a curve. My grip on
the steering wheel tightened. My salivary glands spoke for
me. “Yes.“

Papa was pointing his finger at me. “No son of mine
would ever take drugs.“ he said. He gave me a dollar for
my straight A report card and patted my brain. “But why
should I waste words? I know you would never disappoint
me like that.“

“No.“

Momentum planted the joint in my mouth. I gasped and
inhaled. “Hwew.“ I coughed. My eyes turned red like
electric pimentos. I got the hiccups. My God. what have
I done? My throat was a desert cactus. My brain was a
rainbow balloon. My stomach was a double bean burrito.

I felt guilty.

The hitchhiker inhaled off that same joint. A ghoulish
laugh blew smoke through the gap in his front teeth. He
looked at me like he was a fart in church.

My God. I thought. he wasn't even high yet. Or was
he? What with chromosomal damage and all. maybe he was
always high. He might kill me to get a fix. and not even
know it. I almost screamed. but I didn't want to wake Ed or
Bill.

72

He took a long ominous puff. I looked away and unrolled
the window. “What are you worried about. your chromosomes?“
he asked.

I denied his allegation emphatically. then felt my
nose to see if it had grown.

“I suppose you don't have to escape reality then.“

“That's right.“ I said. I sat firm. I felt proud of
my morals. “My folks worked hard to make me a man and I

don't want to disappoint them.“

“Well good.“ he said. “a man of his convictions.
Society needs more people like you.“ He took another long
breath of smoke. then exhaled. “I. however. am one of the
deviants. Surely you've read about me.“

I stuck my neck out the window to ensure my lungs
some fresh air. I thought of fleeting fame and fetid fumes.
I asked what I must have read.

“My mind.“ he answered. with the determination of an
insurance salesman. His eyes were on fire. “Mind. Your
own business. Your business is to know what's on my mind.“

He took another breath. a slow one this time. with his
lips sealed tightly around the neatly rolled burning square

of paper. I counted to ten before he stopped. His eyes
were bloodshot red by seven. I ducked my head out the
window for fresh air at eleven. He coughed and hacked and
wheezed beginning at twelve and he didn't come up for air

until twenty-three.

“Good grief.” I shuddered. “He's tripping.“

73
“Allow me to introduce myself.“ he resumed calmly. “I
am Artie Fishel. And you“--he pointed his finger'menacingly
at my temple--“are a secretary.“
A reflex action akin to orthoneurological rigor mortis

jolted the gas pedal. The car jerked forward. then stabi-

lized at 80. I regained my composure and resumed the proper
speed limit. “How did you know?“ I asked.

“Because I am reality.“ he said. “in all its spontaneous
majesty. And you are my uptight carbon copy. I am every-
thing you were and everything you can be. but I am nothing
like what you are now. I live for the moment. you live for
everyone else's. I am your real present. you are a holdover
from your past. And I owe it all“--he inhaled once again.
held it for a quick three-count. then exhaled it effortlessly
--“to drugs." His voice pitch fell two octaves.

There was silence. It wasn't easy to pretend I wasn't
part of that drug-oriented conversation but I tried. I
turned on the radio: “I feel crappy.“

Click.

“0y. I feel crappy.“

“Of course you feel crappy.“ he said as he rolled a third
joint. “because you're so uptight. I was like you. too.
until I took“--he did it again. an inhale. a three-count
hold. an effortless exhale. and a two-octave voice drop--
“drugs.“

“And now I'm free.“

Aunt Clara was chanting loudly enough for passersby

7a
to hear as she sprinted down the center of the town's main
street. from the hospital to the park where she had sexually
assaulted an orthodox rabbi in a field of roses at high noon
six months ago. “I'm free! I'm free!“

The arresting officer testified in court that she was
screaming “Roses are scarlet. violets are green. I am a
harlot. and you are my queen“ at the time of the arrest. The
psychiatrist who examined her testified that she had probably
lost her sanity well before the incident in the park and he
spoke for his profession in apologizing that no one had
detected any early warning signs.

To Aunt Clara. the answer was more involved but she was
unable to explain it that day. “I don't know what got into
me.“ she sobbed. “I don't even like beards.“

Poor Aunt Clara. All she wanted in life was to sit
alone on the riverbank behind her house and paint nature
scenes. Aunt Clara taught me to tame my youthful chatter
during the summer picnics we shared together in her favorite
spot. I learned to appreciate silence then and I grew to
crave the solitude that enabled me to gather and organize
abstract thoughts on paper for the first time. Aunt Clara's
paintings hung in museums and galleries but no one wanted
to buy them. so she was forced to contract her talents to
local businesses. Everyone agreed she hadn't been the same
since Insipid Greeting Cards Company hired her to paint

floral scenes for love poems. Her fellow workers praised

her and she was promoted to art director within a year. but

75
by that time she had already taken to frequenting gay bars
as a fag hag. trying to pick up young boys and straighten
them out. It was around that time that Uncle Alex left her
and took the children with him. Aunt Clara closed down
more than one bar but she never missed a day of work.

Two attendants in white coats chased after her. calling
to her to stop at once. She met me at the park and embraced
me. burying her face in my arms. “Oh Henry. my darling
nephew. I'm free.“ She downed two white pills and tore
apart the hospital gown she still was wearing.

The attendants were breathless and sweaty by the time
they arrived. “Be careful. Son. she's dangerous.“ warned
the first as he grasped her by the arms. The second shot a
tranquilizer into her veins and she collapsed on the ground.
whispering. “I'm free.“

I looked at the naked figure passed out before me and
sympathy replaced sap in my family tree. “If you're free.“
I said out of philosophical pity. “then freedom is a bad
habit. and you're addicted.“

The longhaired hitchhiker next to me was insulted
personally. He turned to me angrily and demanded. “Who's
addicted? And to what: You punch a clock. which I don't.
You go in hock. which I won't. You work late. which I hate.
I'm addicted? You kiss ass. You're a puppet. Gives you
gas.“

“Now stop it.“

“Everyday is the way I've depicted. In a suit and a

76
tie. you look cute.“

“I could die.“

“But you have no choice. they tell you how to dress.
You won't toke. but you drink. It's no joke. don't you
think?“

“Yes I do. and it's true. my life's a mess. But my
company has promised me a very nice promotion if I stay with
them until I'm 65. I've insurance and a pension.“

“What does that do for your tension? You may not even
get out of there alive.“

“And my company will honor me and give me a gold watch.“

“Which you're buying with martini. gin and whiskey. rum
and scotch. And with Maalox for your ulcer. not to mention
Bayer and Bufferin. And you tell me I'm addicted?--Buddy.
you're the one who's sufferin. Give me weed to ease my
tension. light my joint to get me by. I don't need your
mind depressants. No. I much prefer to fly. I can travel
to the moon and back. It's one small step for freekness.

While you're puking in the corner. I'll be winning in the

Preakness.“
The Mexican kid in the TV ad stared over the bridge

the curly headed man with the long nose jumped off of while
high on heroin and sang. “Jews or goyim. what's the dif?

Smoke weed and end up a stiff.“
The folks lay in traction on the hood and sang. “It's
okay we slave for you. We'll even go to the grave for you.“

01d Stretchneck. my boss. dressed in leopard skin.

77
stood by the timeclock beating his chest as the employees
punched in and chanted. “You peon. me exec. I see neon. you
see dreck.“

And my fellow employees. what a bedraggled lot. lining
up behind their typewriters and filing cabinets singing in
four-part harmony. “Yes. sir. No. sir. Yes. sir. No. sir.“

Ed and Bill sat. arms locked. eyes glazed. in the back-
seat. heads bouncing in unison from left to right like a
typewriter. four beats to a line. chanting. “Drugs. Drugs.
Drugs. Drugs.“

As Artie handed me the second joint. “Freedom means
being able to choose your own drug.“ he said.

“I want to be free.“ I cried.

“Go for it. Henry.“

“Hwew.“

A powerful flash of sunshine dissipated the grey
clouds that still lingered from the five-inch rainfall of
the previous night. leaving in their place a sky of crystal
blue. The trees were just beginning to bud. and scattered
among the browns and rusty reds of early morning late winter
were splotches of a stunning purple.

I drove and drove. onward. past the two hundred mile
mark. energized by what was happening inside the car. loving
what was Being outside the car. wanting to be out there.
wishing I could be. and then I was struck with the question.
“How come I'm n21 out there?“ I couldn't think of any good

reason. nor could Artie. and since Ed and Bill were both

78
asleep the vote was unanimous. so I pulled off the road and
stopped.

A small incline led down to the lake named Eufaula.
Being a hill of loose rocks. it was easy to descend. My
pen began to swell with subjects and predicates so I sat.
facing the water. to relieve it. but I breathed in so much
energy. I had to run--in the water. back up the hill. across
the street. to the other side. I memorialized the moment

as I ran:

I'm scared to be a hippie in Mississippi
Afraid to be a freek in Flat Rock Creek

We'll take anything to beat the doldrums
'Cause in Redneck ountry. things look pretty bleak

Yeah.bit's tough being white in the town of Kite.
o

The same is true about bei a Jew
Down South it ain't easy be ng different
If you were here. you'd feel the same way. too

I'm going back to Boulder. Colorado
Lansing. Michigan or Sebasco. Maine

Ain't no way I m staying down here with you
To live Down South I'd have to be insane

'Cause they'll beat you if you're lippy in
Mississippi

They'll try to make you meek in Flat Rock Creek

But they've got some pretty potent marijuana

I'll meet you in Muskogee in a week

I smelled the flowers. tramped in the mud. felt the
cold water pouring out the irrigation pipe in the side of

the mountain. When I returned to the car. I felt strong
enough to transport it.

Ed and Bill were still snoring in unison. “Ed! Bill!
Bill! Ed!“ I splashed water in their faces to bring them

to. “Get up. I want you to meet someone.“

79

From a deep sleep. they emerged to a state of partial
consciousness and surveyed the surrounding area.

“Kid. you been dreamin?“ Ed asked. rubbing his eyes.

“What are you on?“ said Bill. through a muffled yawn.

Confusion saw nobody standing beside me. A joint was
in my hand. I slipped it into my shirt pocket. Disbelief
looked at the VW van across the road. A bearded hitchhiker

bent down by a nearby marker with a red reflector on top.

put a small package in his pocket. then jogged to the van.
As it rounded the corner. he was untangling the knots of

his long black hair with his fingers.

Chapter Eight

HENRY MEETS PEGGY AND PASSES OUT

And then came Texas.
To show you what kind of place Texas is. we visitors

weren't even met at the border by a real person. Instead.

private enterprise welcomes us: “Johns-Manville Welcomes
You To Texas: Just Ahead Is Our Denison Pipe Plant.“

That monstrosity. which tends to upset the sensitive
individual at the same time that it is blatantly raping the
red clay of the legendary Red River. was only the beginning.

The situation progressively worsened until this environmental
affront to our senses culminated in Dallas. What began with

an annoyance of oil wells here and industries there was now
a carelessly designed mass of oil wells. businesses. plants.
and shopping centers. I kept expecting to see the old west
everywhere in Texas. and whenever I got an iota less. I
became disappointed. I was disappointed often. According
to Bill. Texas is where the businesses from the north reloca-
ted when they realized they could make more money here from

80

81

cheap labor. He called it “progress“--“to some it's a
watchword. to others it's a euphemism. The dividing line
is an economic one.“

On the right of the line. he explained. are the oil
magnates. those who control the money. Their wealth now
and the nation's need for oil is making Texas the healthiest
state in the Union. They're making so much money from their
oil they don't know what to do with it. so they're turning
to the open country and developing it--with additional aid
from money interests in New York--by building houses and
shopping centers and industries. thereby making more millions
off their investments. They justify their millions by
pointing to the fact that this growth. the statistics show.
has given Texas the lowest unemployment rate in the country.
Money for them. jobs for the poor--that to them is “progress.“

On the left are those people with no power. “the reali-
ties behind the statistics.“ he called them. They recognize
that employment is high but they also know that so many
people are looking for work. employers can pay minimum wages.

They also know that. while the builders can always find a

good reason to construct something new. those same builders
don't need reasons to do as they please because their power
is reason enough. The people also know that the result for
them is always the same: their land is raped. their rivers
are polluted. they still have barely enough money with which
to live. and they have absolutely no power to change things.

“Progress“ for them. then. is growth for growth's sake. a

82
statistical game where the rich always win.

The three levels of highways gave Dallas a Futuristic
aura. Driving onto the ramp that led to the top. I imagined
myself being launched into outer space. but once I exploded
from the barrel. I found myself driving right through Dallas.
traffic lights and all.

Not all of Texas was true to my initial impression. I
appreciated the fact. The color green first appeared on the
scene almost immediately upon leaving the outskirts of
Dallas. where yards replaced buildings and stores in the
suburbs. Continuing south past the whole Greater Dallas
area. the sky opened up all around us revealing the deepest
richest blue I had ever seen. The plains were pretty because
they were natural. and the cacti were wondrous in their
simplicity. What I reacted to most strongly was the absence
of all the oil wells.

But I didn't get to see much because. by this time.
the evening dusk was giving way to total darkness. and
whatever scenery was beyond the reach of the city lights was
no longer visible. That. then. was all I saw of Texas during
our ride in.

69 teamed up with 75 somewhere in Oklahoma and they
split up in Denison. Dwight Eisenhower's birthplace. We
took 758 to 635e, which became 35e a half hour after Dallas.
I got us onto 35e. and then we pulled over for dinner at a
truck stop.

After dinner. Bill. well relaxed from a long lazy

83
day. relieved me in the driver's seat. I took over on
the mattress and was out in no time.

My first impression of Austin. then. wasn't “So this
is Austin.“ but. rather. “Huh. wha. ya mean we're here
already?“ We were at a service station. where Bill had
stopped to call his lady. The interior of my head was like
London on a dark chilly evening. but Ed was coming alive.

showing the first signs of life since he fizzled out in

Dimondale.

“Hey. you'll like Peggy. Kid.“ he said to the first
flutter of my eyebrows. “She's quite a lady. A little on
the plump side but she's got blue eyes that'll drive ya wild.
Hair's gold as a haystack.“

“Where'd he meet her?“ I yawned.

“Girl next door. ya know. Me and Madge. we always
knew they'd do it. just takes awhile. She's like one of the
family. I always did like her. I said to Madge after three.
'Hey. Madge. why don't we take Peggy for a daughter?‘ Madge
wouldn't hear of it. She wanted her own. But Peggy's all
right. Yes sir. like one of the family.“

A mockingbird. the state bird of Texas. chose that

moment to drop a huge white turd on the window. “What is
the symbolism of that act?“ I wondered.

“Look at the size 0' that one.“ Ed laughed. “Reminds
me when I was a kid.“
“But seriously. Son.“ he said as Bill emerged from the

night. “I'm proud of you. Yes I am. Chip off the old block."

84

We were ten miles from Peggy's. who lived in Taylor-
ville. a small town to the east of the city. Bill drove
with the accuracy of a sewing machine. weaving in and out
of traffic at a constant speed. I couldn't help but notice
his silence. Ed caught it. too. “A little nervous. eh
Son?“ he asked. “Been quiet since we left the station.

Yes sir. who said times change? I couldn't talk for a week
before I popped it to your*mom. I was never so happy to get
the finger in all my life.“

Ed laughed and I laughed. Bill's expression made
Locke's tabula raga look cluttered as he gazed at the boards
that sealed the door to the storefront at the end of the
deadend street. Peggy lived alone in an apartment above the
empty storefront. Her apartment was similar to any other
storefront apartment: kitchen. bedroom. bathroom. front-
room. dining room. porch. The only difference was that at
Peggy's. the atmosphere was more mellow. That was why the
local folk gathered at Peggy's and not just any house with
a kitchen. bedroom. bathroom. frontroom. dining room. porch.

Music could be heard coming from the porch. so we
followed our ears in that direction. Standing by the doorway.
we looked out into the darkness. Six singing figures could
be seen improvising on a folk song that recalled the hills
of Kentucky. Singing lead. I could tell not from her voice.
for I had never heard her sing. but from the golden sunshine
of her hair. was Peggy.

Bill watched her as she sang. She was. in her own way.

85

a local celebrity because she had made it out of Taylorville
and performed in a coffeehouse in Austin. Still. any time
someone was organizing a worthwhile fundraiser. she could
always be counted on to lend her name and her talents. The
local folks loved her and claimed her as their own.

From her seat at the far end of the porch. Peggy
glanced away from her guitar and saw us. With a twist of
her neck. she flung her soft flowing tresses far behind her
head and whispered hoarsely. as if to address only us without
disturbing the musical surroundings. “Bill! Papa Ed! You're
here!“

“Hey.“ Ed blushed. feigning modest embarrassment at
the sudden attention. “sorry to keep ya waitin. Beautiful.“

We walked to where Peggy was sitting so as to relinquish
the spotlight to the music. Reaching up without standing.
Peggy hugged Bill. Then Peggy hugged Ed. She nodded at

me and I smiled at her as Ed continued. “We would'a been
here sooner but we stopped to help a couple cops.“

“You? The perpetual cynic?“

“Sure. whadaya think? We saw a cop car pull up to a
house and two cops jumped out. I ran up to them and said.
'Citizen Faller at your service. Men'-eI was doing my
patriotic duty--'What's the problem?’ I thought maybe
someone was hurt. They said they was lookin for a bank
robber. So I says. 'Hey. that's too bad. but I can't help
you.‘ They said. 'How come?‘ and I says. "cause I hope he

gets away.'“

86
Peggy's laugh was that of a daughter.
“Hey. this is quite a place ya got here. Gorgeous."
Ed rambled as he scanned the room and discovered the six
musicians to be only a segment of the whole scene.
“Oh. we have these get-togethers all the time.“ she
explained to Ed's back as he vanished into the crowd and

she re-focused her gaze on.me. “Everytime I practice.

someone seems to always drop in to listen. Next thing I
know. there's a huge gathering and everyone is either
listening or playing.“

A black fly buzzed by Bill's face and landed on his

right cheek. Bill swatted it and the fly retaliated by
oozing guts into Bill's eye. Bill wiped the result with the

index finger of his right hand and transferred it to the
seat of his jeans. Next. he pulled up the legs of his jeans
and knelt down so that his knees and the tips of his toes
were touching the stone floor and his eyes were level with
Peggy's.

“Join me for a walk?“ he asked. She nodded and rose.

I watched them as they disappeared into the dining room.
My ears followed them down the stairs and into the street.
I watched them as they walked down the street and rounded

the corner.

Then I spotted a keg behind me. I passed out long

before they returned.