Chapter 36
Monday October 27, 1930
Pierre and Antoine sat in the foyer of the Ohio National Bank. Antoine felt grumpy; it was two o’clock, which was just about the time he should be getting ready for work. He still bristled over being furloughed three weeks earlier than he expected. He worried over the money they’d spent, a school dress for Marie, basketball shoes for Jimmy. He knew they were over budget and at this rate they would blow through their current money supply in March or April, not May. A lot rode on this business at the bank.
The bank was high-ceilinged and much deeper than it was wide. To the right along the side wall were teller windows, to the left a bullpen of desks surrounded by a low, darkly-stained wooden fence. On the back wall inside the bullpen were four frosted half-glass office doors. All the doors had gold lettering on the glass; the rightmost said:
William A. Perkins
Operations Manager
Antoine watched customers, clerks, tellers, bank guards and others go in and out of his office. He watched as the well-heeled went in smiling and came out shaking Perkins’ hand. The more bedraggled customers went in nervously and came out like beaten dogs. He knew very well in which category he and his father belonged.
An apple-cheeked, heavy-set gentleman strolled up to the desk at the gate to bullpen. He spoke to the woman who sat at the desk. She nodded him through the gate, and he sauntered to Perkins’ door and went in.
Pierre growled.
“Something wrong, Pops?”
“It’s an hour past our appointment and that fat slob just waltzes into Perkins’ office. That dirty, lying so-and-so.”
“You know that man?”
“Not fatso, Perkins.”
“Perkins?”
“Yes. He was the manager at Akron Commercial. He’s convinced me leave my money there. Solid as rock, he said. Solid as rock, my ass!”
“Pops!”
Pierre grunted. “I don’t know how he ended up here, but you know how it works with these guys. They always find a way to take care of themselves and perdition to everyone else.”
“Papa, whatever happens today, please hold your temper.”
“When have you known me to lose my temper?”
Antoine wanted to say Never until recently. Pierre grunted again. Then he saw the look on his son’s face and nodded.
Antoine kept his eye on Perkins’ office as twenty more minutes ticked off the clock. Then Perkins and the fat man stepped out of the office and walked to the gate. They smiled and shook hands, and the fat man turned for the door. Perkins scanned the foyer and saw the Trombleys sitting the waiting area. His smile faded a little.
Perkins strode to them with his hand out. Pierre and Antoine stood and Pierre reluctantly took Perkins’ hand.
“Good to see you, Pierre,” said Perkins.
“Mr. Perkins,” said Pierre noncommittally.
“And who’s this young fellow?”
“My son, Antoine.”
“We’ve met, haven’t we?”
“Yes, I remember now,” said Antoine.
“Come along, then.”
He led them to his office and ushered them through the door.
“Please sit down.” He shuffled through some papers. “As you know, Ohio National assumed the debts and assets of Akron Commercial after its bankruptcy. The court has ordered us to pay Akron Commercial’s depositors twelve point five cents on the dollar for their holdings.”
Even though Pierre had received mail to this effect, he started to turn red.
Perkins continued. “Now, we recognize that you’ve been a good customer of Akron Commercial for many years. We have a little discretionary money for situations like this. A goodwill fund, you might say. So, we’ve decided to give you an extra two point five cents, which brings you up to fifteen cents on the dollar.”
Feeling Pierre tense Antoine put his hand on Pierre’s arm. Pierre nodded, took a deep breath, and sat back in his chair.
“I have the paperwork right here to convert your Akron Commercial checking and saving accounts into Ohio National accounts. Do you have the passbook for your savings account?”
Pierre took the passbook out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Perkins.
“Let’s see, the passbook says $7,419.76, but you had accrued a little interest on the account. The actual value is $7,426.83. Quite a tidy sum.”
“We’ve been saving for my younger brother’s college education,” said Antoine.
“Commendable. Now as to your checking account. Our records show you had $128.16. Does that square with your records?”
“Close enough,” said Pierre grudgingly.
“Alright, then.” He turned two pieces of paper to face Pierre. “This form shows the amount in your Akron Commercial checking account was $128.16 and the amount in your Ohio National checking account will be $19.23. And this form shows the amount in your Akron Commercial savings account was $7,426.83 and the amount in your Ohio National account will be $1,114.02.”
Pierre said nothing.
“Please sign and date each form,” said Perkins offering him a pen.
Pierre took the pen and signed.
“Very good,” said Perkins. He also signed each form and placed them into a thick folder.
“I want my money,” said Pierre.
“Perhaps I wasn’t clear,” said Perkins. He retrieved the two forms from the folder. “As you see the documents clearly state your Ohio National accounts will not be funded until January 1st. That is in accordance with the ruling of the court.”
“Are you saying I can’t have my money until January?”
“Well, you can have the money in your checking account in January, but the savings account requires ninety days’ notice.”
“But we gave ninety days’ notice in August.”
“That was at Akron Commercial; these new accounts will be with Ohio National. The clock will start in January.”
Pierre stood up and leaned over Perkins’ desk. “But my family needs that money now, not in,” he counted off the months on his fingers, “April.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Trombley. My hands are tied.”
The veins in Pierre’s forehead and neck popped out, his balled fist shook in fury. “You swine!” he shouted. “You manure-loving swine. You looked me in the eye and told me Akron Commercial was solid as a rock. How much money did you lose in that bank? Not a bloody cent, I bet.”
Perkins turned pale; the guard stepped into the office, hand on his billyclub.
“Everything alright in here, Mr. Perkins?”
“Come on, Papa,” said Antoine, taking his father’s arm. Pierre, unaware of the threat from behind, resisted being turned by his son. Antoine said gently in his ear, “We’ve done all we can do here, Papa.”
Antoine and Pierre sat down on the bench at the streetcar stop. Pierre hunched over and buried his face in his hands. Antoine put his arm around Pierre’s shoulders.
“What are we going to do, Antoine?”
“We can’t give up, Papa. We’ll get through somehow.”
“Even if we make it through to April, how long will a thousand dollars last?”
“I don’t know, Pops. But things will turn around eventually. I’ll get called back to work at some point. People will build houses again. It’s going to be okay.”
“I don’t know, son. It feels like the end of the world.”
Chapter 37
Saturday December 13, 1931
Antoine sat in the passenger seat of the Harrison Lumber Yard delivery truck as it bumped and jostled its way east on Mogadore Road. Larry Harrison, a man in his mid-forties, was in the driver’s seat, his once chubby cheeks contorted into an unaccustomed smile. Marie sat between them, bundled up in her winter coat and three layers of clothes. She was humming an unrecognizable carol.
Trying to take his mind off the lunch basket at his feet, Antoine leaned forward and looked out the passenger side window at the large side mirror; there was a Ford pickup and a Chevy sedan following them.
He put his arm around Marie and said, “How you doing, sweetie?”
“I’m excited!”
Antoine smiled. “Good.” He’d had misgivings about bringing her, but she’d raised such a fuss that Sarah urged him take her along, saying She has so little to look forward to.
“Don’t forget, we’ll find you a warm place if you get cold.”
“I’ll be fine. I played outside in the snow all yesterday afternoon. Besides, this is like a quest, like the Knights of the Roundtable.”
“Alright, just let me know, okay?”
“I will.” She was exasperated.
Fifteen minutes later Larry turned into a private lane and drove up to the farmhouse. The farmer, Mr. Donnelly, stepped out of the house as the party climbed out of their vehicles.
“You the fellers from First Presbyterian?” asked Donnelly.
“Yes, sir.” Larry offered the man his hand. “I’m Larry Harrison.”
The farmer shook the hands of each of the nine men, then said, “And who’s this little lady?”
“I’m Marie Trombley!”
“Nice to make your acquaintance, Marie.”
“Likewise, Mr. Donnelly.”
“Okay, fellers,” said Donnelly, “If you step over here, you’ll see the knoll where the trees are. It’s about a half mile down the lane there.” He pointed at the trees. “I’ve tied red ribbons on all the trees you can take.”
“We really appreciate this, Mr. Donnelly,” said Larry
“Not at all, you’re doing me a favor. The smaller trees need to be thinned out anyway. Those white pines make right good fuel for the stove and furnace, but the trunks won’t thicken up if they don’t have some room to spread out.”
“Still, it’s a big deal for a of lot families in our church.”
Donnelly nodded. “I’ve plowed the snow out to the knoll and plowed an area to turn around, but if I was you, I’d only take the big truck down there. Get too many vehicles out there and you’ll more’n likely get stuck in snow.”
Larry turned to the others. “Okay, men, hop into the back of the truck.”
He drove the truck carefully out to the knoll. The nine men split up into three teams. Larry had brought saws from the lumber yard, and each group took one. Antoine, Jimmy, and Marie followed Larry into the stand of trees. They found the first tree with a red ribbon and prepared to cut it down. Marie kept walking deeper into the stand.
“Hey,” called Antoine. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To find our tree, of course.”
“That doesn’t mean you can wander around out here by yourself.”
“Why not?”
“You could get lost.”
“Don’t be silly. All I have to do is follow my tracks back you.” She pointed to the calf deep snow.
“Come on, Antoine,” said Jimmy. “Don’t be such a worrywart. She’ll be fine.”
Antoine and Jimmy exchanged a look. “Don’t leave the knoll,” said Antoine sourly.
“I won’t,” she sang out, and walked off up the hill.
Antoine and Jimmy held the tree trunk while Larry went at it with the saw. After cutting two more trees, they each took one and dragged it out of the stand and laid them next to the truck.
They were working on their seventh tree when they heard Marie’s excited voice approaching them. “Antoine, Antoine,” she called. “I found it, I found it!”
Larry paused and looked up at her. “Alright, sweetie,” said Antoine. “Let us finish this one, and we’ll come take a look at it.”
“Okay.”
She danced impatiently around the three men, and, as soon as they laid the tree down in the snow, she shot off the way she’d come. The men followed her zig-zag path through the stand. She ran away from them and came back, away and back. Finally, they came to the tree.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” said Marie. She put her face and arms into the tree and hugged a branch. “I love this tree!”
“It’s a beaut, alright” said Jimmy.
Antoine noticed that this tree was taller and fuller and more symmetrical than any of the trees they’d cut so far, but it did have a red ribbon. Larry got down on the ground and lined up the saw.
Jimmy stepped in to hold the trunk. “Come on, Antoine,” he said. Antoine joined his brother and a minute later the tree was on the ground. Marie took a tag marked “Trombley” out of her pocket and tied it to a branch.
An hour-and-a-half later they broke for lunch. The church ladies had prepared fifteen ham and cheese sandwiches, homemade pickles, potatoes salad, cookies, and coffee in thermoses. They ate sitting in the cargo area of the truck and for the first time in quite a while everybody got plenty to eat. Marie sat in Antoine’s lap as he watched Jimmy eat with growing amazement.
“Where are you putting all that?” he asked.
“I’m a growing boy, y’know.”
Antoine said to Marie, “Did you get enough to eat?”
“Yes,” she said around a yawned.
“I brought a blanket for you if you’d like to take a nap.”
“Okay,” she said sleepily.
He helped her down the from the back of the truck. “Sit here for a minute,” he said pointing to the running board. He stepped into the cab and spread the blanket on the bench seat. He waved her into the truck and wrapped her in the blanket. “I’ll be back to check on you in a little bit, okay?”
She nodded and closed her eyes.
As he closed the door to the truck, he saw that Larry was finishing counting the trees. “How many?” he asked.
“Thirty-four.”
“That’s great.”
“Let’s load ‘em up so we can see how much room we’ve got left.”
“Sure thing.”
Other men were still sitting in the back of the truck finishing their coffee and smoking cigarettes; Antoine waved to them for help, and the nine men made short work of loading all the trees except Marie’s. The truck was a little more than half full.
“We ought to be able to get fifty trees in here easy,” said Larry.
An hour later, having cut all the tagged trees, the men loaded them into the truck, making sure Marie’s tree was last.
It was a few minutes after three and already getting dark when Larry dropped Antoine, Jimmy, Marie and her tree at their house. Marie ran ahead, going through the front door. Antoine and Jimmy followed her, carefully guiding the tree into the house. They could hear Marie’s voice piping from the kitchen where she’d found her mother.
The tree stand was already positioned in the corner of the living room on an old sheet. Antoine noticed right way that the house was warmer than usual. The two young men set up the tree, and, when Antoine looked up, Sarah stood with her arm around Marie admiring the tree.
“It’s beautiful, Antoine,” said Sarah.
“Marie picked it out. It’s her tree.” Marie grinned up her mother.
“Oh, it smells heavenly,” said Sarah. “I hope heaven smells just like this. Pine, popcorn and chocolate chip cookies.”
“There’re chocolate chip cookies?” asked Jimmy.
“Yes,” said Sarah.
“May I have one?”
“Yes, if by one you mean three.” Jimmy smiled and headed for the kitchen. Sarah followed in his wake.
Marie came and took Antoine’s hand. “Do you think Papa will decorate the tree with us?”
“I don’t know, maybe. Would you like me to ask him?”
“Oh, yes, Antoine. Would you, please?”
Antoine went to his father’s bedroom, knocked lightly, and opened the door, letting the light from the hall spill into the room. Pierre was lying facing the wall; he didn’t move or say a word. Antoine sat on the edge of the bed.
“Pops?” There was no response. He put his hand on his father’s hip. “Papa, we are about to decorate the tree. I want you to come out and join us.”
“Maybe later.”
“No, Papa, not later, now. Marie needs you to come out. We all do. You don’t have to do anything. Just sit and watch the rest of us while we do the work.”
“Well, all right. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Antoine took a heavy robe from a hook on the wall, pulled the covers off Pierre and held out the robe. Pierre groaned, slid out of bed, and slipped arms into his robe.
Pierre squinted and blinked as he stepped into the brightly lit living room. Marie cried, “Papa!” and ran to hug him around his waist. He patted her back and sat down on the sofa.
Sarah came in from the kitchen with a large bowl of popcorn. She took needles and thread out of the pocket of her apron.
When Sarah saw Pierre, she said, “How are you feeling, dear?”
Pierre had two-week’s growth of beard and bags under his eyes. “Fine.”
“Wonderful. Marie, would you like some hot chocolate?”
“Yes, please, Mama.”
“Jimmy?”
“Are there marshmallows?”
“Yes, a few.”
“Count me in.”
“Antoine?”
“Is there coffee?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll take some coffee.”
“Pierre?”
He shook his head, and she left to fetch the drinks.
Jimmy turned on the radio and dialed through the stations. He came to the local CBS affiliate which was airing a program of Christmas music. It featured Paul Whiteman and his Orchestra, popular singers and the Calvary Baptist Church choir. He put the box of ornaments in the center of the room; he and Marie carefully placed the individually wrapped treasures on the coffee table.
Antoine got himself a bowl of popcorn, a needle, and a length of thread. He alternated eating a piece of popcorn with stringing one on the thread.
Sarah brought everyone their warm beverage and then joined Jimmy and Marie unwrapping ornaments and hanging them on the tree. After hanging a few, she sat down on the sofa with her husband and joined Antoine stringing popcorn.
The family, excepting Pierre, sang the carols along with the radio broadcast: Joy to the World, God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, We Three Kings of Orient Are, I Saw Three Ships, and O Christmas Tree. They laughed at a funny version of Jingle Bells by Bing Crosby and listened to a soaring version of O Holy Night by Edith Day.
Once most of the ornaments had been hung, Marie approached her father and asked, “Papa, will you please put the angel on the top of the tree?” Traditionally this was his contribution to trimming the tree.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said doubtfully. “That tree’s pretty high.”
“Come on, Pops,” said Jimmy. “I’ll get the stepladder, and Antoine and I will hold you so you won’t fall.”
“Yes, please, Pierre,” said Sarah.
“Well, alright.”
Jimmy trotted out to the shed and brought in the ladder. Then he helped Pierre up the steps, Antoine handed him the angel, and they each took hold of the ladder and one of his legs. Pierre leaned out over the tree, and placed the angel on the very top, making sure it was straight and facing out into the room. Jimmy helped him down; Marie bounced and clapped; Sarah smiled at her husband. Even Pierre let a small smile escape his lips. He sat back down on the sofa.
Then Hark! The Herald Angels Sing played on the radio. They all turned to Pierre. In a beautiful baritone he picked up the song with second line.
Glory to the newborn king;
Peace on earth and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled
Joyful all ye nations rise,
Join the triumph of the skies
With the angelic host proclaim
Christ is born in Bethlehem
Hark! The herald-angels sing
Glory to the new-born king
They sang the second verse with him. And then the music ended. Marie ran to him, climbed into his lap, put her arms around his neck and kissed and kissed his cheeks.
After a moment, he took her arms from around his neck, and said, “Please, Marie, you’re wearing me out.” He put her off his lap. “I’m going back to bed.” He stood and left the room.
Marie turned to look at her mother and then her brothers. She turned and ran to her room. Sarah started after her, but Antoine touched her shoulder.
“Let me take this one,” he said. Sarah nodded.
The door to Marie’s room was open and Antoine saw that she was sitting quietly on the bed. He tapped on the door and she looked up.
“May I come in?”
“Yes.” He sat down on the bed. “What did I do wrong?” she asked.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, honey.”
“Then why did he get up and leave like that?”
“Papa’s very sad right now.”
“Why is he sad?”
“I don’t know, Marie. I’d just be guessing.”
“What’s your guess?” Antoine gave her a hug. “Please tell me, Antoine.”
“Well, maybe he feels like a failure.”
“But why?”
“It’s a father’s job to provide for his family. He’s not doing that.”
“But that’s not his fault, is it?”
“No, of course not. He’s tried very hard to find work. He knows it’s not his fault. He knows it here.” Antoine tapped his forehead. “But he doesn’t know it here.” He put his hand over his heart.
“Oh. What can we do to make him feel better?”
“I don’t know, honey. I think we just have to be patient.”
“Oh,” she said, disappointment in her voice. She sat quietly thinking. “May I tell you something?”
“Sure.”
“It’s about the tree.”
“Oh?”
“When I saw our tree, I thought it was so beautiful, but it didn’t have a ribbon on it. So, I took one from another tree and tied it to our tree.”
“Ah.”
“Do you think I’m really bad?”
“No, I don’t think you’re bad. But I do think you did a very naughty thing.”
“Do you think I’m going to hell?”
“Oh, goodness no!”
“You don’t?”
“No, of course not.” She looked up at him. “Why would you think that?”
“Antoine, I stole a Christmas tree! It’s a sin.”
Antoine smiled. “I don’t think it’s as bad as all that. If it helps any, I was pretty sure that’s what you’d done. I should have stopped it. As an adult, I was responsible.” A tear leaked down her cheek. “What now?”
“I was just thinking about how Maman said the tree smelled like heaven.” She wiped her face with her sleeve. “What should I do?’
“Well, you could turn yourself into the police.”
“Antoine! You’re not helping!”
“Sorry. How about this? Can you recite The Lord’s Prayer?”
“Of course:
Our Father, who art in heaven,
hallowed be thy name;
thy kingdom come,
thy will be done
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive those who trespass against us;
Oh! I should ask God to forgive my trespass. Should I do it now?”
“No, I think when you say your prayers tonight, you can also include The Lord’s Prayer with the tree in mind.”
“Okay.”
“One more thing. I think you should give Mr. Donnelly a chance to forgive you your trespass.”
“How can I do that?”
“You can write him a letter and tell him that you’re sorry.”
“Do you have his address?”
“I can get it.”
“Okay.” Then she cringed. “Should I tell Maman and Papa?”
“No, I don’t see why you should spoil their Christmas. Telling them won’t undo it.”
“Okay.”
He smiled at her. “There’s something you could do for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Since I bear some responsibility for this, you could put in a good word for me. During your prayer.”
“I always do, Antoine.”
Antoine laughed. “You do? Why’s that?”
She looked at him seriously. “You don’t believe in hell, do you Antoine?” He didn’t say anything. “Or heaven? Or God?”
“Lots of Christians say God is love. I do believe in love, so I must believe in God.”
“Don’t kid me, Antoine.”
“Marie, when I held you in my arms at your baptism, I promised to help you know all that Christ commands. What kind of brother would I be if I took away your faith in our Church and our God?”
“How long have you been practicing that speech?”
“Since the week before your baptism.”
She hugged him. “Thanks for taking me with you today.”
“You’re welcome.” He hugged he back. “Now why don’t you come out and finish decorating the tree. We’ll be eating soon.”
“No, I’m going to write the letter to Mr. Donnelly.”
“Okay.”
He found Sarah in the living room still string popcorn. “Where’s Marie?” she asked.
“She’s writing a letter to the farmer, Mr. Donnelly.”
“She’s okay, then?”
“Yes, I think so. She didn’t understand what happened with Papa. I reassured her that it wasn’t her fault. Then we talked about a couple of other things. I encouraged her to pray on it.”
She smiled a little smile and shook her head.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
Antoine looked around. “Where’s Jimmy?”
“He went to see Belle.”
“Belle?”
“Belle Thompson. His latest.”
“He sure gets around.”
“He sure does, unlike some people I know.” He refused to look at her, hoping they weren’t going to have this conversation again. “When are you going to find yourself nice girl?”
“Just never met anybody that measures up to you, Maman.”
“That is not going to work forever. There’re plenty of perfectly nice girls at church.”
“Now is no time to be courting. We’re having trouble enough keeping ourselves afloat.”
“I always suspected you liked that Bogdanovic girl. What’s her name?”
“Lada.”
“Yes, Lada. Whatever happened to her?”
“She got married. Some rich Serbian. It was never going anywhere, Maman. Her family would never approve, and I don’t think you and Papa would have been thrilled, either.”
“I would have, if she made you happy.”
They sat quietly stringing popcorn. Sarah finished a string and, moments later, so did Antoine.
Sarah said, “Let’s put the popcorn on the tree so we can see how much more we need.”
They tied six strings of popcorn together, then Antoine climbed up the ladder to start winding the popcorn around the tree starting at the top. Antoine climbed down the ladder to judge the placement of the string. He climbed up and down the ladder two more times before he was satisfied. By the end he was flushed and hot. He stripped off his sweater.
Antoine said, “You put extra coal in the furnace, didn’t you?”
“Oh, don’t be angry with me, Antoine. I knew the three of you would be out in the cold all day, and I thought it would be so nice and cozy to have a warm house while we trimmed the tree.”
“And hot chocolate and chocolate chip cookies and popcorn and coffee.”
“Yes.”
“Well, we may regret it in January, but I think we needed a cozy evening.”
“Oh, Antoine, you’re so surprising sometimes. You’re everything a mother could ask for.”
Antoine grinned and said teasingly, “And here I thought Jimmy was your favorite.”
Sarah rolled her eyes, “Jimmy is charming, handsome and easy to love. You, my little chestnut, are none those things and much more difficult to know. But there is one thing I do know. You’re now the rock we’re all relying on.” He frowned. “Does that worry you?”
He made just the tiniest nod. “A rock really ought to have a job.”
Chapter 38
Wednesday January 14, 1931
Nelson sat on his bed with his eyes closed. He didn’t need to study the scouting report. He’d played many pickup games with the players from East High School; he already knew their games. Instead, he was imagining scenarios that might occur during the game that night.
There was a soft rap at the door. “Time to go, Nels,” said Lester.
Nelson stood and gathered his bag when he noticed the “contract” still pinned to the inside his bedroom door.
The day he’d put it there, his father had demanded to know why he hadn’t posted it. Nelson showed him that it was pinned to the inside the door and that the contract did not specify on which side of the door it should be placed. His father had stalked off without another word.
It still felt like a victory a year and a half after later.
He’d never quite asked to be let out of the punishment, but he did complain about it at every opportunity. At first, he’d just grumbled, but, as time went by, his complaints got louder and more resentful. When the grounding ended, the family privately sighed in relief and prayed that Nelson would never be punished like that again.
Looking back, Nelson thought it hadn’t been so bad. Oh, the first two weeks were hard, listening to his brothers and their friends playing in the yard. But once football practice started, he didn’t have much energy for anything else. Then school started, and it was almost like not being grounded at all.
Nelson patted the contract on way out the door and pounded down the stairs. Lester and his father were in the vestibule wearing their coats and hats.
‘Daddy?” Asked Wilson, “Can I go to the game, too?”
“No, Wil, you know the rule. Home games only.”
“But East isn’t very far. It’s closer than church.”
“We’re taking some of Nelson’s teammates to the game. There isn’t room.”
“I’m not very big.”
“Drop it, Wil.”
“Why does Les get to go?”
Dr. McLaughlin glared at his youngest child. “Are you ready, Nels? Good. Let’s go.”
They stepped out into the bracing January darkness. Following their custom, Lester sat up front with Dr. McLaughlin and Nelson took the seat behind their father. He stared quietly out the window as the car pulled out into the street.
Dr. McLaughlin drove into a driveway. Billy Riggs burst out of the house, and hopped into his usual seat behind Nelson. Next, they stopped for David Goldberg, who took the seat next to Billy Riggs. Dr. McLaughlin drove to West High School, where his last passenger waited.
“Evening, Dr. McLaughlin,” said Abner Williams. “Howdy, Les.” He sat down in the seat next to Nelson.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to pick you up at home, Abner?” asked Earl. “That’s got to be a pretty cold walk.”
“Oh, yes, sir, I’m sure. You don’t want to be taking this fine automobile up into the colored section. There’s some mighty unpleasant folks back up in there. And as bad as those roads is, you like as not blow out a tire. Then where would West High be without its star player?” Everybody in the car knew he was referring to himself.
“Let me know if you change your mind.”
“Oh, I will, sir. I surely will.”
Abner turned to Nelson. He faked a punch to Nelson’s midsection, which made Nelson flinch. “You ready, Hoss?” asked Abner. Nelson nodded. “You ain’t gonna throw up, is you?”
“No.”
“Good, cause we is gonna kick some be-hind tonight.”
Nelson smiled. Abner was by far the best athlete in the school. He and Nelson had played varsity football together the previous fall. Abner played fullback on offense and safety on defense. He was also the punter and place kicker. Nelson was a tackle on defense and center on offense. They had worked closely together on special teams. Abner had spent a lot of time helping Nelson perfect his direct snaps.
Soon four more cars arrived at the school, and Coach McCarthy led the convoy on the short trip to East High. They arrived at exactly six o’clock and parked outside the entrance to the gymnasium.
Parker Bowles, the starting center and team captain, galumphed into the gym on crutches. The rest of the players grabbed their bags and headed for the visitors’ locker room. The starters took the right-side lockers and substitutes took the left. Nelson, who was taking Parker’s spot in the starting five, hesitated.
“Come on, Hoss,” said Abner. “Grab a spot over here.”
The West High section was in the northwest corner of the gym; Dr. McLaughlin and Lester took seats about halfway up and as far from the wall as possible. Not bad, thought Dr. McLaughlin. They’d had seats at some away games with an obstructed view.
The doctor opened his program and glanced at the West lineup.
_______________________________________________________
| |
| AKRON WEST HIGH SCHOOL LINEUP |
| Name Nbr Pos Ht Wt Yr |
| Parker Bowles*c 5 Center 6’0” 190 Sr |
| David Goldberg 12 Guard 5’7” 140 Jr |
| Charlie Hermanson* 22 Forward 5’10” 150 Jr |
| Nicholas Koufos 9 Guard 5’8” 145 So |
| Nelson McLaughlin 15 Center 6’2” 205 So |
| Red Mills 2 Forward 5’11” 140 So |
| Billy Riggs* 8 Guard 5’7” 145 Sr |
| Harold Sims* 7 Forward 5’10” 165 So |
| Abner Williams* 1 Guard 5’10” 185 So |
| |
| Coach – Andrew McCarthy |
| c - Captain |
| * - Starter |
———————————————————————————-
Dr. McLaughlin noted with some disgust that the program had not been modified to show that Nelson was the starting center. He studied the East lineup more closely.
_______________________________________________________
| |
| AKRON EASTHIGH SCHOOL LINEUP |
| Name Nbr Pos Ht Wt Yr |
| Ray Clarke* 6 Forward 5’9” 150 Sr |
| Harold Gray 18 Forward 5’10” 155 Jr |
| William Kirk 14 Guard 5’8” 135 So |
| Donald Martin 9 Guard 5’6” 150 So |
| Warren Miller* 6 Center 6’0” 180 Jr |
| Allen Shepard 23 Guard 5’7” 130 So |
| Jimmy Trombley*c 3 Guard 5’10” 165 Sr |
| Henry Weir* 5 Forward 5’10” 140 Sr |
| Carl Wilson* 7 Guard 5’8” 165 Jr |
| |
| Coach – Willard Cooper |
| c - Captain |
| * - Starter |
————————————————————————————
Dr. McLaughlin reckoned that West had the advantage in size, strength and maybe athleticism considering Abner Williams’ extraordinary physical talent.
But East was known for their quickness and deep shooting. Also, East’s starting lineup was all juniors and seniors. With Parker Bowles hurt, West had only one senior in the starting lineup and none coming off the bench. Then there was East High’s major advantage - Jimmy Trombley’s uncanny skill with the ball in his hands.
Lester clapped his father on the shoulder. “Are you alright, Dad?”
“Of course. Why do you ask?” Lester gestured to his father’s leg which was bouncing nervously. The doctor put his hand on his leg to stop it.
“Don’t worry, Dad. Nels’ll do great.”
“I hope so.”
Donavan Riggs and Dino Koufos, both fathers of players, walked up the stands and sat in front the McLaughlins.
“Big game, huh?” said Koufos.
“You said it,” replied the doctor.
“Even the coach at Ohio State thinks so.”
“What?”
“Oh, yeah. There he sits right across the way there, midcourt, half way up. See those three men? The blonde gent in the middle is Coach Olsen.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, indeed. Watch all the folks who go up to shake his hand.”
“I hope Nels doesn’t know about this.”
“Won’t make any difference to Nels,” said Lester.
Antoine, Sarah and Marie were already in the stands, too.
“Oh, I hate this part,” said Sarah.
“What part is that, Maman?” asked Antoine
“Waiting for the game to start. I love watching Jimmy’s games, but waiting for them to start makes my stomach nervous.”
“Really, Mama?” said Marie. “I love this part. Watching all the people come in. In a few minutes the cheerleaders will come out, and we’ll do some cheers. Antoine, can I get some popcorn?”
“Sorry, honey, I just brought enough money to get in the door.”
As usual Nelson was the last one to finish dressing. “Snap it up, Nels,” barked Billy Riggs, the acting team captain. “We need to get out there and warm up.” Nels hurriedly put on his socks and shoes, and jogged out onto the court with his teammates.
They warmed up with some stretches, jumping jacks, pushups, sit ups and four quick laps around their half of the court. They did various layup drills, then practiced shots from the floor – mostly two-hand set shots, hook shoots, and runners around the basket. One-hand set shots were considered risky; the jump shot, which hadn’t been invented yet, wouldn’t come into popular use until the mid-1950s.
Nelson took his turn practicing free throws. Like all players of the day, he shot free throws starting with his feet spread and the ball held in both hands between his knees. He launched the ball toward the basket with a smooth, under-hand motion. Nelson effortlessly swished through four attempts.
Abner came up to him and gestured toward the East High end of the floor, “Hoss, who’s the guy making all the set shots?”
“We already played him once this year, Abner,” said Nelson as he launched another perfect free throw.
“I know. Just trying to remember his name.”
“That’s Jimmy Trombley.”
“Oh, yeah. You know him?”
“I do. He goes to my church. Might be the best all-around basketball player in Akron.”
“He’s good, but not better ‘n me.”
Nelson swished another free throw and turned to look down court. “See the guy talking to Cooper, the East High coach?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s Coach Blair from the University of Akron.”
“For sure?”
“And you see the three guys sitting about three-quarters of the way up in the stands there?”
“Yes.”
“The middle one? That’s Coach Olsen from Ohio State.”
“And they’s here to see this Trombley fella.”
“Pretty sure they’re not here to see you or me.” Abner most certainly have could played for either university, except it was inconceivable that a young black man would receive a scholarship from either school.
At fifteen minutes before seven, the teams went back to their locker rooms. Coach McCarthy took Billy Riggs and Abner aside and spoke to them quietly for a few minutes. Then he took Nelson aside.
“How are you doing, Nelson?”
“Good, Coach.”
“Ready to play?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You know, if it was just a matter of starting the better player, you’d have started all season. But Parker was a returning captain and second team All-League last year, and I needed his leadership on the floor. I want you to know that I have confidence in you. Just play your game.”
Nelson nodded, McCarthy reached up and patted him on the shoulder then motioned him back to his seat.
“All right, boys, I know you think this is a big game. You might be thinking the winner will win the league championship. Maybe you think it’s for bragging rights in the city. But I don’t want you to focus on any of that. This is just another game. Go out and have fun, give it your best effort and all your energy. Then win or lose, we can be satisfied with the result. Alright, let’s huddle up.”
The players formed a circle, each putting his right hand in the middle; they bowed their heads.
McCarthy prayed, “Heavenly Father, let us be witnesses to Your Love through our competition tonight. Remind us that we are called to give our best and to finish the race while caring for others along the way. May we play fair, show kindness to each other, and always do Your Will. Keep both teams safe from injury and harm as we bring out the best in each other. In all that we do, may we always give You the glory. We ask this through Your Most Holy Name. Amen.”
The players responded, “Amen.”
Billy Riggs shouted, “One, two, three!”
The players shouted, “Team!” and headed back to the court.
Abner grabbed Nelson by the arm. “Don’t listen to any of that happy horseshit, Hoss. We ain’t come here to do nothing but win.”
Nelson’s grin displayed his prominent canines. “You bet your ass.”
The gym was now packed; the crowd was predominantly East students, faculty, parents and long-time boosters. Most had walked through the cold to get there.
The game in 1931 was significantly different than the modern game. There was no three-point shot, no shot clock, no backcourt violation. A player could leave and return to the game only one time. The coach was prohibited from delivering instructions from the bench, nor could he call a time out. The three second lane was only six feet wide, as opposed to the current twelve; this made the lane and free throw circle look like an old fashioned key hole, thus the origin of phrase “top of the key”.
But most jarring to the modern spectator – there was a jump ball after every made basket.
The teams worked layup drills until the referee blew the whistle to signal the start of play. Parker Bowles leaned on his crutches to get out onto court. The starting five gathered around him.
“This is it, fellows,” said Parker. “This is the game we’ve been pointing to all year and it hacks me off something fierce that I can’t be out there. Just follow the plan and win this consarned game.” The team started to break, but Parker stopped them. “I got one more thing to say.” He reached out and grabbed Nelson by the jersey. “Beat Warren Miller like a rented mule!”
“Count on it, Parker,” said Nelson confidently.
The team headed out onto the court.
The teams met at the center jump circle. Nelson [Visitors] eyed his opponent, Warren Miller [East]. Nelson had a two-inch advantage in height and a disproportionally greater reach. While not an explosive leaper, he had great timing and eye-hand coordination. Due to his size and technique, he dominated jump balls.
The referee tossed the ball into the air, and Nelson easily tipped the ball to Abner who streaked to the West basket for a layup.
———————————————-
| Scoreboard |
———————————————-
| East: 0 Visitors: 2 |
———————————————-
| Time: 9:51 Quarter: 1 |
———————————————-
On the ensuing center jump, the East squad guarded Abner more carefully to prevent an easy basket, and Nelson tipped the ball to Billy Riggs.
The West squad set up its offense: Riggs stood holding the ball at the top of the key. Abner and Harold Sims took positions on right and left side of the court between the free throw line and the sideline. Charlie Hermanson swung from the left corner to the right corner and back again. Nelson flashed in and out of the lane looking for a pass into the post.
East set up in a zone defense with Jimmy Trombley and Carl Wilson above the free throw line. Henry Weir, Warren Miller and Ray Clarke spread out along the back line. The east team, knowing that Hermanson was the only decent outside shooter, sagged off everyone else and clogged the lane.
The West High players passed the ball around the outside of the zone. The second time Hermanson got the ball, Jimmy and Weir trapped him in the left corner. Hermanson tried a pass to Abner, but Miller intercepted the ball.
With Abner, Nelson and Hermanson deep in the West end of the court, East could have run the ball up the court for an easy score, but West High was the better running team, and East had no intention of playing that sort of game. Miller passed the ball to Jimmy, who calmly dribbled the ball up the court.
West fell back into a man-to-man defense. East began an intricate weave, with players constantly in motion around the top of the key, giving each other the ball on short passes. Nelson did not follow his man through the weave. He knew that Miller was not a deep shooter, and Nelson held back to protect the basket.
Every third or fourth iteration of the weave, an East player broke to the basket, but West was alert to this maneuver. Eventually, Miller set a pick which freed Jimmy. Wilson passed the ball to Jimmy, and he drained an open set shot from nineteen feet.
———————————————-
| Scoreboard |
———————————————-
| East: 2 Visitors: 2 |
———————————————-
| Time: 9:51 Quarter: 1 |
———————————————-
Nelson tipped the center jump to Riggs; he passed the ball to Abner who scored on a floater over Miller.
———————————————-
| Scoreboard |
———————————————-
| East: 2 Visitors: 4 |
———————————————-
| Time: 7:20 Quarter: 1 |
———————————————-
Nelson tipped the next center jump to Hermanson, and he passed the ball to Riggs. East switched to a man-to-man defense, but still sagged off their men. After several passes, Hermanson took and missed an eighteen-foot set shot; Nelson rebounded the ball and made a hook shot over Miller to score his first basket of the game.
______________________________
| Scoreboard |
———————————————-
| East: 2 Visitors: 6 |
———————————————-
| Time: 4:58 Quarter: 1 |
———————————————-
Once again Nelson won the tip. West worked the ball around the zone. Riggs passed the ball to Sims, but it went off his outstretched hand and out of bounds.
Jimmy brought the ball up the court, and the East team started their weave. After two minutes Wilson broke free on his way to the basket, and Jimmy delivered a perfect pass. Nelson followed Wilson to the basket and blocked the shot from behind. Wilson and Nelson went out of bounds under the basket. The ball came off the backboard, and Jimmy, following the play, scored easily.
———————————————-
| Scoreboard |
———————————————-
| East: 4 Visitors: 6 |
———————————————-
| Time: 2:51 Quarter: 1 |
———————————————-
In the stands, Dr. McLaughlin turned to Lester. “Have you ever seen Nelson play like this?”
“A couple of times, when he was really mad. In neighborhood games he usually plays just hard enough to win. Mostly he needles the other team and laughs.”
Those five possessions were a microcosm of the first half. West won all the center jumps but two and outrebounded East on both ends of the floor. This added up to 14 possessions for West and only 9 for East.
But East played gritty, swarming defense, denying Abner and Nelson the ball near the basket. Their offense was brutally efficient. When the first half ended Jimmy had scored or assisted on all of East High’s baskets and had 4 points in the game. Abner had 6 points on layups and hook shots around the basket. Nelson had 4 points, including two-for-two from the foul line.
______________________________
| Scoreboard |
———————————————-
| East: 8 Visitors: 12 |
———————————————-
| Time: 0:00 Quarter: 2 |
———————————————-
“Holy smoke, Doc,” said Koufos. “What the dickens got into Nels?”
“Some guys are better starting than subbing,” said Riggs. “He’s playing like a dervish out there.”
“Probably should’ve been starting all year,” Said Koufos. The doctor tried to hide the smile these remarks provoked.
“I don’t know about that,” said Riggs. “I have a feeling we’re going to miss Parker in the second half.”
“Why do you say that?” asked the doctor.
“East is like a boa constrictor; they just keep squeezing you with that offense and defense ‘til you crack.”
In the West locker room, the players were talking to each other excitedly.
Coach McCarthy said, “Alright, boys, settle down. I said, ‘settle down’.” He waited for complete silence. “Alright, now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We had a seven-point lead with three minutes to go in the half, and they cut it to four. Those boys are tough; they’re not going to fold. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, coach,” said Abner. The rest of the players nodded soberly.
“Alright, then, we’ll run in our regular rotation of substitutions starting around the two-minute mark of the third quarter.” He paused and looked at Nelson. “How are you holding up, Nels?”
“I’m okay, coach,” he said looking a little worn down.
“I haven’t got anybody to sub for you. You’ll have to rest on offense. We’ll slow it down when the subs are in the game. Otherwise let Charlie know when you really need a blow and he can call a timeout. Now, Billy and Charlie.”
“Yes, coach,” they said in unison.
“Keep an eye on the clock. If we’re ahead with four minutes left in the game, go to the zone defense. If they get within two, go back to man.”
The two boys nodded and repeated the instructions as Coach McCarthy had taught them.
“Alright, let’s rest for a few more minutes, then we’ll go out and warm up for the second half.”
The second half started with a bang; West scored on three of their first four possessions.
———————————————-
| Scoreboard |
———————————————-
| East: 10 Visitors: 18 |
———————————————-
| Time: 7:41 Quarter: 3 |
---------------------------------------—
The teams traded baskets through the two-minute mark of the third quarter.
______________________________
| Scoreboard |
———————————————-
| East: 14 Visitors: 22 |
———————————————-
| Time: 1:37 Quarter: 3 |
———————————————-
Both teams started to put substitutes into the game. Nelson bent over and put his hands on his knees, breathing hard. Abner came up and hissed at him, “Stand up.”
Nelson turned his head and just looked at him.
“I said stand up.”
Nelson stood.
“We gonna start the stall now, so you gonna to get some rest. But you can’t show ‘em you’re tired, you hear me? Stay alert. We gonna need you during the stall. And be ready for a pass into the post.”
Red Mills came into the game; Riggs, Mills and Abner passed the ball to each other and occasionally interchanged positions. Hermanson trotted from corner to corner, favoring the side of the court with the ball. Nelson camped on the left side of the basket just outside the lane, occasionally stepping into the post.
Jimmy quickly realized that the stall was on, and he signaled to his teammates. The next time Mills got the ball, Jimmy guarded him closely making the return pass to Riggs difficult. So, Mills passed to Sims in the right corner; Wilson and Miller immediately trapped Sims; Jimmy, Weir, Clarke moved to cut off the pass out of the trap.
“Go help him, Hoss,” Abner shouted.
Nelson moved to an open space on the right side of the floor below the free throw line. Sims lobbed him the ball, and Nelson held it out of reach over his head. Mills streaked toward the unguarded basket, and Nelson hit him with a pass for an easy score.
______________________________
| Scoreboard |
———————————————-
| East: 14 Visitors: 24 |
———————————————-
| Time: 0:22 Quarter: 3 |
———————————————-
West got through their substitution rotations with seven minutes left in the game; East had scored twice and West scored one more time.
______________________________
| Scoreboard |
———————————————-
| East: 18 Visitors: 26 |
———————————————-
| Time: 7:10 Quarter: 4 |
———————————————-
East made a change to their offense. Miller stayed down around the basket and shifted quickly from one side of the lane to the other. Wilson occasionally came down into the lane to set a pick on Nelson. He had to chase Miller and fight around the picks. This quickly tired Nelson’s legs and Miller eventually scored on an easy layup.
______________________________
| Scoreboard |
———————————————-
| East: 20 Visitors: 26 |
———————————————-
| Time: 4:12 Quarter: 4 |
---------------------------------------—
On the next center jump Nelson did not get the tip, and the East High crowd cheered loudly. Before East could start their weave, Jimmy drove to the basket and Nelson left his man to defend the against the layup. Jimmy made a clever bounce pass to Miller who laid the ball into the backboard.
______________________________
| Scoreboard |
———————————————-
| East: 22 Visitors: 26 |
———————————————-
| Time: 3:57 Quarter: 4 |
———————————————-
The crowd stood on their feet and cheered. Hermanson called a timeout. Nelson gratefully sat down on the bench. The boys gathered around him.
“Any ideas?” asked Coach McCarthy.
Charlie Hermanson said, “Well, it’s just about four minutes to go and we’re still ahead, so I say we follow your plan and go to the zone.”
Billy Riggs asked, “Do we continue to stall?”
Coach said, “No, let’s fake the stall. When they relax, Abner, you drive to the bucket. Nelson, be ready to rebound.”
Nelson nodded.
Coach asked him, “Can you get the next tip?”
“My right calf is cramping a little, so I’m going to have to do it left-footed. But, yeah, think I can get it.”
“Okay, tap it back toward the East basket. Billy and Abner, you get back there to get it.”
Play resumed with the center jump. Nelson tipped the ball to Abner who passed it off to Riggs.
West set up as if to continue the stall. The second time Abner got the ball he faked a pass back to Riggs and launched himself toward the basket. He took two dribbles and soared toward the hoop; Clarke jumped to block the shot and fouled Abner on the arm and shoulder. The crowd gasped, but referee was not in position to see the foul and made no call. The ball caromed off the backboard and went directly to Hermanson; he took one dribble to the basket. As he went for the layup, Clarke committed his second foul of the possession, and this time the referee blew his whistle.
The players lined up along the lane, and Hermanson stepped to the free throw line. His first free throw hit on the right side of the rim, bounced off the backboard, rolled around the rim and dropped through the basket. The second free throw seemed to hit the same spot but did not take the same lucky bounce. Miller gathered in the rebound and handed the ball to Jimmy.
______________________________
| Scoreboard |
———————————————-
| East: 22 Visitors: 27 |
———————————————-
| Time: 2:28 Quarter: 4 |
———————————————-
West dropped back into a 2-3 zone. When Jimmy saw the defense, he paused. West had not shown this defense all season, and East had not prepared for it in practice. They passed the ball around the perimeter of the defense, but after a minute Jimmy called a time out.
With less than three minutes to go, Nelson was happy to get another rest. He sat on the bench and rubbed his right calf. Coach McCarthy was spouting rah-rah encouragement, but Nelson was not paying attention. His legs hurt, and he was trying to relax enough to catch his breath.
The referee blew his whistle; West took the floor and continued in their zone defense. Miller inbounded the ball to Jimmy, and he passed it to Weir. Miller and Wilson set a double pick on Riggs to free Jimmy; he took the return pass and swished a fifteen-foot set shot from the foul line.
______________________________
| Scoreboard |
———————————————-
| East: 24 Visitors: 27 |
———————————————-
| Time: 2:18 Quarter: 4 |
———————————————-
On the following center jump, Nelson tipped the ball clumsily to Riggs, and it bounced off his knee and into Jimmy’s hands. Jimmy raced down the court and laid the ball into the basket. The crowd, who were still on their feet, cheered wildly.
______________________________
| Scoreboard |
———————————————-
| East: 26 Visitors: 27 |
———————————————-
| Time: 1:58 Quarter: 4 |
———————————————-
On the center jump, both Nelson and Miller tipped the ball, and it fell to Sims, who was pushed from behind by Weir. However, the referee did not see the push and called Sims for traveling. Sims protested the call, and the crowd booed him. Hermanson led Sims away by the arm. By rule, only the captain could speak the officials, and Coach McCarthy did not permit the captain to dispute calls.
East passed the ball around the zone a few times then ran the same pick play on Riggs that had scored in their previous possession. But Riggs fought through the screen and stayed with Jimmy. Jimmy faked the shot and Riggs jumped to block it. Jimmy went by Riggs and headed down the lane toward Nelson. Nelson flexed his knees and spread his arms wide to deflect a pass. Nelson had seen Jimmy in this situation dozens of times in pickup games, and the options were all his. But Nelson decided to stay with Jimmy all the way to the basket. In a game winning situation, he expected Jimmy to want the shot.
Jimmy took a running hook shot two feet from the basket. The ball barely cleared Nelson’s outstretched hand, banked off the backboard and dropped into the basket. East went into lead for the first time in the game.
______________________________
| Scoreboard |
———————————————-
| East: 28 Visitors: 27 |
———————————————-
| Time: 0:22 Quarter: 4 |
———————————————-
Hermanson called West High’s second and final timeout.
Abner, Billy Riggs, Harold Sims and Charlie Hermanson all tried to talk at once. “QUIET,” shouted the coach over the noise of the crowd. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Once we get the ball, Harold and Charlie set a pick for Billy on left wing. Billy, pass the ball to Abner at the free throw line. Abner drive the lane and shoot the ball or pass it to Nels or Charlie. We don’t have time for much else.”
The referee blew his whistle.
On the ensuing jump ball Nelson went back to his right leg and easily tipped the ball to Riggs who dribbled the ball quickly up the left side of floor; he turned back toward the top of the key where Hermanson and Sims had set their screen. Coming around the pick, Riggs was surprised to see that East had double teamed Abner and he was not available for the pass. Jimmy came under the screen and reached in to try to swat the ball away. Riggs dribbled the ball off Jimmy’s foot, and the ball came to Nelson on one low hop. Nelson snatched the ball, faked to his left, pivoted to his right and went up for a hook shot. Miller fouled him, knocking the ball out of bounds and Nelson to the floor. Nelson cried out and grabbed his right calf.
Abner knelt down next to him. “You okay, Hoss?”
“Cramp, cramp, camp,” he said pointing to his calf. Abner grabbed Nelson’s leg and stretched his achilles by pressing the ball of his foot toward his knee cap.
Coach McCarthy came out on the floor and knelt down next to Nelson. “How are you, Nelson?”
“It’s just a cramp.” He pointed at Abner. “That’s good. That’s good.” After a minute the cramp subsided. His teammates helped him to his feet, and McCarthy handed him a towel. Nelson looked at the clock on the scoreboard.
______________________________
| Scoreboard |
———————————————-
| East: 28 Visitors: 27 |
———————————————-
| Time: 0:03 Quarter: 4 |
———————————————-
Nelson wiped his face, arms, hands, and legs.
The teams lined up along the lane as Nelson limped to the foul line. The referee handed him the ball. Ordinarily, Nelson never heard the crowd. But all 2,000 fans stood on their feet and roared. Nelson stepped up to the line and looked up at the basket. He bounced the ball twice with both hands, and, as he started the underhand motion, his right calf cramped a little. The free throw clanged off the front of the rim. I can still tie the game, he thought. The referee bounced him the ball. He put a little more oomph into the second foul shoot; it was right on line but clanged off the back of the iron. Miller easily rebounded the ball and held it until time ran out.
______________________________
| Scoreboard |
———————————————-
| East: 28 Visitors: 27 |
———————————————-
| Time: 0:00 Quarter: 4 |
———————————————-
Nelson felt rather than heard the response of the East High fans; he looked away from their open mouths and raised arms. He saw the East players hugging and the vacant look in his teammates’ eyes.
Nelson limped through the handshake line, barely touching hands with the East players. Jimmy grabbed his hand and wouldn’t let go. Jimmy patted Nelson on the chest and said, “Great game, Nels.”
“If you say so.”
“No, I mean it. You played great. You made it a great game. I don’t think I’ve ever heard the gym this loud.”
Nelson nodded and Jimmy let him go.
Jimmy, still in uniform, stood just outside the home locker room talking to a reporter from the Akron Beacon Journal when he saw the OSU coach come walking up the hall and waving to him. Jimmy excused himself.
“Coach Olsen,” said Jimmy.
“Great game, Jimmy, just great!” The coach gave him a congratulatory handshake.
“Thanks, Coach.”
“How’s your family?”
“We’re struggling a little.”
“Yes, I know, terrible. Your grades are still good, though?
“Yes. It’s pretty much final that I’ll be salutatorian.”
“Did you get your board scores back?”
“I did. Over 94th percentile in both.”
“Excellent.” The coach paused.
Jimmy didn’t let him off the hook. “What’s the word on the scholarship?”
“Well, we’ve just got that one spot left.” Jimmy nodded; he already knew that. “It’s pretty much between you and Bruno Kowalska from Cleveland Heights.”
“He’s a good player.”
“He is. Very good.” Again, the coach paused. “To be honest, Jimmy, we’re hoping that you could walk on. We’d get you some academic scholarships and some other aid money. Maybe some money from other sources, if you catch my drift. It would be almost as good as an athletic scholarship.” Jimmy pondered that. “What do you say?”
“I’m going to have to think about it, Coach. Talk it over with my family.”
“Of course, of course. You have my number; call collect any time.” Olsen turned and went back down the hall.
Jimmy decided to wait on the shower and give his family the news. He walked back to the gym, but Coach Blair intercepted him just inside the door.
“I saw you talking to Olsen.”
“Yes.”
“Did he offer you?”
“No. They want me to walk on. Take academic scholarships.”
“Doesn’t sound like they really want you.”
“No.”
“You know our offer. Half athletic, half academic scholarship.”
“Still no room, board, or books?”
“No. But the scholarships are guaranteed as long as you keep your grades up. As far as room and board goes, the university is not much further from your house than the building we’re standing in.”
“I’ll need a part-time job.”
“I think we can find you something. Library, cafeteria. Something. I can bring by the papers for your father to sign any time.”
“Tomorrow evening?”
“Absolutely.”
Jimmy looked around and saw Sarah and Antoine talking to Carl Wilson’s father. “Give me a minute. Let me talk to my mother and brother.”
“Take your time.”
Jimmy walked across the court. “Hi, Mr. Wilson.”
“Hello, Jimmy. Great game.”
“Thanks. Say, Mr. Wilson, I need to talk to my mother and brother for a minute.”
“Oh, sure.” He turned to Sarah, said “Nice talking to you,” and drifted away.
“What’s up?” asked Antoine.
“I talked to Olsen.”
“Did he offer?”
“No, they’re still slow-playing me, hoping to get Kowalska. Actually, it’s worse than that. Now he’s talking about a walk on and applying for academic scholarships.”
“Oh, that’s disappointing,” said Sarah.
“What do you think?” asked Antoine.
“I think one University of Akron in the hand is worth two Ohio States in the bush.”
“But the academics?” said Sarah.
“Yeah, I guess Ohio State is a little better than Akron, but it’s not like I’m turning down Michigan. OSU is just an overgrown cow college. Besides, what I get out of a school has more to do with me than the school.”
“So, it’s Akron, then,” said Sarah.
“If I’m going to college, this is my chance.”
Antoine nodded; Sarah confirmed. Jimmy looked across the court at Blair and nodded.
Nelson limped to the locker room, struggled out of his uniform, rinsed off in the tepid drizzle of the visitors’ communal shower. He went back to his locker still perspiring and started to put on his street clothes.
Coach McCarthy came up to him and said quietly, “There are a couple gentlemen that would like to see you when you’re dressed.”
Nelson nodded, turned back to his locker, put on his pants, socks and shoes; he packed his bag. He stood gingerly, gathered his coat and bag and hobbled to the locker room door where Coach McCarthy waited for him.
“This,” said McCarthy, “is Coach Olsen from Ohio State University.” Nelson shook his hand. “And of course, you’ve already met Coach Blair.” They shook hands as well.
“Am I to understand,” asked Olsen, “that this was your first start?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you’re just a sophomore?
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, that was quite a performance. You and Trombley really tore it up.”
“We had help. Especially me.”
“Given any thought to playing basketball in college?”
“Yes, of course.”
“At OSU?”
“That’s where my dad went,” he said, almost smiling.
Olsen motioned toward Dr. McLaughlin who stood a few paces down the hall. “That’s what he told us. He played football, right? You play football, too?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Which sport do you think you’d like to play in college?”
“Well, Coach, I really like football. But I love basketball.”
Olsen clapped him on the shoulder. “That a boy. Well, work hard in the classroom and on the court, keep your nose clean, and we’ll see how it goes. Alright? Nice meeting you, and good luck.” Olsen shook his hand again and walked away.
Coach Blair said, “Great game, Nelson.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
“Don’t forget about your hometown school, now.”
“I won’t.”
“See you again soon.”
“Yes.”
Blair walked down the hall after Olsen.
Dr. McLaughlin trotted up to Nelson and gave him a big hug. “Great, great game, Nels! I have never been so proud in all my life.”
Nelson stared at him. “But I lost that game!”
“Are you talking about the foul shots at the end?” Nelson made a single, curt nod. “Really? You played the entire forty minutes. Any fool could see you were cramping up. Nobody expected you to make those shots.”
“I expected to make those shots.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself.” Dr. McLaughlin saw his attempt at reassurance had missed the mark, and changed the subject. “Wait until I tell your mother that Coach Olsen was here and came to talk to you. She’ll be beside herself.”
They walked out of the gym to the idling Suburban and got into the car. Nelson stared out the window, eyes shining. After a few minutes Abner said, “Ain’t got a lotta time to fret, Hoss. Got another game on Saturday.”
“You’re the one that said we came to win that game.”
“Yeah, well, we didn’t get it done.”
“I didn’t get it done! I lost the game!” Nelson wiped his face with the sleeve of his coat and turned to look at Abner. “Did I or did I not lose the damn game?”
“Well, Hoss, you sure as hell didn’t win it.”
Chapter 39
Saturday May 2, 1970
*Note: This chapter is out of order; it should have preceded Chapter 28 in which Stephen and Bob participate in the burning of the ROTC building.
After breakfast Stephen Bogdanovic drove Bob Carlton down Water Street toward Main. Bob wrote down the names of major businesses – banks, stores, restaurants. They did the same thing on Main Street, and Stephen told Bob to add the mayor’s office and the police department to the list. Stephen drove back to the rundown apartment building where he had a third-floor studio apartment.
They flopped onto the beat-up sofa and Stephen rolled a joint. While they smoked, he looked up the telephone numbers for each entry on their list.
Bob said, “This is good shit, man.” He let out his breath. “Where’d you get it?”
“From this guy I know in Akron. Comes from California, distributed by the Hell’s Angels.”
“No shit?”
“That’s what he says.” Stephen took the last hit and put the roach in the ashtray. “Are you ready?”
“Why are we doing this?”
“To spread FUD.”
“Fud?”
“Fear, uncertainty and doubt. It’s a basic principle of Sun Tzu’s strategy to confound the enemy before the battle begins.”
“Who?”
“Sun Tzu. He was a military philosopher in ancient China; he wrote a book called The Art of War. We want the pigs off balance this weekend.”
“Right on, man.”
“Okay, I’ll make the first call.” Stephen picked up the list and dialed the first number and picked up the script.
“Portage Savings and Loan,” a female voice answered.
Stephen said, “Can I speak to the manager, please.”
“One moment.”
A male voice came on the line. “This is Mr. Newberg.”
“Are you the manager?”
“Yes.”
“We have tip for you, Mr. Newberg. There could be real trouble downtown over the next few days. Might even be a riot. It would be wise to put an anti-war poster in the window of your bank just so everybody knows where you stand. Power to the people.” He hung up grinning and turned to Bob. “Now it’s your turn.”
They worked their way down the list taking turns delivering the same basic message. They came to the last two items on the list.
Stephen said, “Okay, you call the mayor. I have something special cooked up for the pigs. This first number is the mayor’s office.”
Bob dialed the number. After several rings, he said, “No answer.”
“Well, it is Saturday. Try his home number.”
Bob dialed it. “It’s busy.”
“Hang up and try again.” Over the next ten minutes they tried the number multiple times with the same result.
“Maybe we’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest,” said Bob.
“Here, let me call the cops.” He took the phone from Bob and dialed the number.
“Kent Police Department.”
“Can I speak to the officer in charge?”
“He’s not available at the moment.”
“Can you take a message?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Let him know that outside agitators are bringing in a large quantity of LSD to put in the city water supply.” Stephen hung up. He smiled and Bob laughed.
“Do you really think they’re going to believe this shit?” asked Bob.
Stephen reached for the baggie of reefer and rolling papers. “Doesn’t matter if they believe it or not, as long as they take it seriously.”
Chapter 40
Friday February 13, 1931
Antoine had taken to eating lunch at the Arlington Baptist Church soup kitchen. It wasn’t much, a watery bowl of soup, a crust of bread, a slice of cheese, weak coffee, but it saved them the cost of that one meal. He had tried several times to get Pierre to go with him, but he always refused.
He walked into the house a little after lunchtime to find Sarah waiting for him in the kitchen. The house was cold; she sat at the table wearing her winter coat, hat and gloves. “Your papa would like to speak to you.”
“Something wrong?”
“I don’t know. How could you tell?”
Antoine found Pierre was sitting on the edge of the bed facing away from him, staring at the wall.
“You wanted to see me, Papa?”
Pierre held out an envelope without looking at him. It was a confiscation notice; the county was claiming their house for non-payment of the real estate tax. The deadline for payment in full was February 27th. Antoine was shocked.
“What do we owe?” asked Antoine, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.
Pierre put his face in his pillow shaking his head. “Whatever it is, we don’t have it.”
“What do you want me to do?”
Pierre shook head.
“Where’s the bill? It says here to refer to the billing of February 3rd.”
“I don’t know.”
“Think, Papa. Where did you put it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. What does it matter?”
“Do we have any money?”
Pierre gestured toward his dresser drawer. “Top drawer, wooden box.”
Antoine found it and opened the box. It contained $2.31 in change and twenty dollars in bills. This was a small fortune considering they hadn’t bought any coal in a month, and been out of coal for ten days. Antoine took the money out of the box.
Pierre asked, “What are you doing?”
Antoine turned to his father. “I’m taking charge of the money.”
Pierre sighed. Antoine sat on the side of the bed. “Please turn over, Papa.” Pierre had not cut his hair or shaved in almost four months. Both were long and gray. Antoine brushed Pierre’s hair out of his face. There were tears in his eyes. “I’ll see what I can do about this.” He held up the notice.
Pierre grimaced and nodded.
Antoine put his hand on his father’s chest. “Concentrate on getting better. Okay?”
Antoine went to his room, put ten dollars in his lock box, and went back to the kitchen.
“Is he alright?” asked Sarah. Antoine handed her the confiscation notice. “Oh, no!” she cried out. “What in heaven’s name do we do now?”
“I am going to the tax assessor’s office to find out what we owe.” He handed her a five-dollar bill. “Papa had some money stashed away. I’m going to order a couple dollars’ worth of coal. I’m tired of being cold; if this is our last two weeks in the house, we are going to be comfortable.”
She nodded.
“You hang on to the change, but don’t spend any of it without discussing it with me first. We make all the money decisions together from now. Okay?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t hold supper for me. I’m not sure when I’ll be home.”
Antoine sat in the county building waiting to see a clerk from the tax assessor’s office. After the cold house and colder streetcar, the office seemed overheated. While he waited, he made a list:
Goodyear Employment Office
Pastor Roberts
He’d started at Lada’s name, then crossed it out.
The clerk stepped out from behind the counter and called, “Pierre Trombley.” Antoine stood up, and the clerk scrutinized him. “You’re not old enough to be Pierre Trombley.”
“I’m his son, Antoine.”
“I can’t talk about the account with anybody but the owner.”
“I understand and rightly so, but my father is very ill and can’t come down himself,” Antoine handed the confiscation notice to the clerk. “I just found out about this situation today, and I can’t find the bill.”
“I see.”
“I need to know what we owe.” The clerk looked Antoine in the eye; Antoine looked back without flinching.
“Well, you understand this is highly irregular?”
“I do. I’d be in your debt.”
The clerk nodded and said, “Alright.”
Antoine retrieved his coat and followed the clerk to his tiny desk. He motioned Antoine to the guest chair. There was a thick folder laying on the desktop.
“Do you have identification?” Antoine showed him his driver’s license and library card. The clerk paged through the folder to find latest bill. “The total is $141.08.”
“That much?”
“Yes. there’s three months owing on a payment plan Mr. Trombley set up last year. There are processing fees and late fees on last year’s tax and this year’s tax.”
“I see.”
“Since your father owns the property outright, selling the house should more than pay the tax bill.”
“Who gets the excess?”
“When we confiscation the property, the title passes to the county; all funds derived from the sale go to the county.”
“You say my father was paying monthly for last year’s taxes?”
“Yes. Until October.”
“Can we make another deal like that? Pay something monthly.”
“If you father weren’t delinquent on his payments last year, we could have worked something out. As it is, the full amount is due on the 27th of February.”
Antoine said nothing, squeezing his narrow shoulders together.
“Is there anything else?”
“No. Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” Antoine stood and turned to leave.
The clerk pointed his pencil at the chair. “Don’t forget your coat.”
“Oh, thank you.”
There were flurries in the air, snow on the street and ice on the sidewalk. He walked around the corner to the alley beside the county building. He put his arm on the wall and his head on his arm. He gritted his teeth and kicked the wall one, two, three times. The third time he hurt his big toe even through his heavy work boot.
“Ow! Ow!” he said, hopping on one foot. Then he slipped on the ice and landed on his ass. Was he laughing or crying? Maybe both.
He laid flat on his back in the alley and stared up into the overcast. “I hope you’re enjoying the show,” he shouted. He got up and hobbled down to Market street.
Ten minutes later, walking almost normally, he arrived at the library and went down to the pay phone at the bottom of the stairs. He looked up the number of the coal company and ordered two dollars’ worth to be delivered the next day. He looked up at the clock at the library entrance; it was just before five. He looked through the phone book and found a second number.
“Hello,” said a woman’s voice.
“Hello, Mrs. Bainey. Is Mr. Bainey home?”
“Who’s calling, please?”
“It’s Antoine Trombley, ma’am.”
“Just a moment.”
After a bit Antoine started to wonder if they’d forgotten him. Then, “Good God, Antoine! It’s great to hear from you. How are you?”
“To tell you the truth, Mr. Bainey, I’ve been better. I was hoping I could come and talk to you.”
“Well, sure thing. When did you have in mind?”
“I’m a fifteen-minute walk from your house, if that would be convenient.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at the public library on Market.”
He could hear Mr. Bainey breathe into the phone. “Maybe we could come and get you.”
“No, Mr. Bainey, the roads are too dangerous. I don’t mind the walk, really I don’t.”
“Well, if you say so. See you shortly.”
“Yes,” said Antoine and hung up the phone.
Antoine rang the bell and rocked from one foot to the other waiting for door to be answered. A woman in her mid-fifties opened the door.
“Come in, Antoine. Let me take your coat. I’m so sorry I didn’t recognize your name.” The warm air and the smells of cooking were overpowering.
“That’s alright. No reason you should remember me.”
She opened the closet to hang up his coat. “Bill used to talk about you all the time. He thought you were pretty sharp.”
“That’s very kind of you to say, Mrs. Bainey.”
“Please, call me Maggie.”
Antoine smiled. “Maggie.”
“Now, we’ll be sitting down to dinner in a little bit and we’re hoping you’ll join us.”
“Oh, I don’t want to impose,” he mumbled, not having the will to put any force behind it.
“Don’t be silly. Bill will be terribly disappointed if you don’t stay.”
“Well, thank you.”
She sniffed him, which made Antoine a little uncomfortable. She led him to Mr. Bainey’s study where he sat behind his desk.
“Antoine, wonderful to see you.” He stayed seated.
“You, too, sir.”
Mrs. Bainey whispered into Mr. Bainey’s ear, then she turned and said to Antoine, “Wouldn’t you like to clean up before dinner.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Come along, then.”
Antoine followed Mrs. Bainey past the dining room, up the stairs and into a bathroom off the hall. She turned on the water in the tub.
“What’s this?” asked Antoine.
“A bathtub. That’s a towel and washcloth. This is soap. I presume you know how to use them.” She said with a smile. “I have some clean clothes I think will fit you. I’ve been meaning to donate them for years, but I’m sentimental.” She left and closed the door.
He could not resist a bath anymore more than he could diner. He peeled off his clothes. In the case of his long johns, he literally had to peel them off.
He slid gratefully into the hot water. He felt his joints pop and his muscles relax. My God, he thought, this is glorious. He scrubbed every inch twice, some parts three times. He shampooed his hair and beard. The water got quite murky.
There was a knock. “Antoine,” said Mrs. Bainey through the door, “I’ve left the clothes outside the door. Do you want to shave?”
“No. It’s passed the itchy stage now. If I shave, I’ll have to start over again.”
“There’s a bag here for the clothes you were wearing.”
“Thank you.”
He let the water drain, put a few of more inches of water in the tub and rinsed off again. He was embarrassed to see a ring of scum around the tub. He used the washcloth and rinse water to wipe it off.
The trousers, shirt and socks were woolen, quite warm, and just a little too big. His work boots didn’t quite match the clothes, but that didn’t worry him. He piled his old clothes into the bag and went down the stairs.
As he went by the dining room, Mr. Bainey, who was already seated at the table, called out to him. “Come on in. Have a seat. Would you like a drink?”
“Sir?”
He held up a large tumbler of amber liquor. “A drop of Scotch.”
“No, thank you.”
“Still a teetotaler, eh?”
“Oh, I’ve tried it. It just doesn’t appeal to me much.”
Mrs. Bainey came into the room carrying a large tureen, which she set in the middle of the table. She looked at Antoine. “Much better! How do you feel?”
“Marvelous, just marvelous. You have no idea.”
Mr. Bainey said, “I wouldn’t be so sure. I was in Cuba with Teddy Roosevelt in ’98. We got pretty scruffy.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Oh, yes. A boy scout outing compared to the last war.”
Mr. and Mrs. Bainey extended their hands to Antoine, and they all bowed their heads. Mr. Bainey intoned:
“Bless, O Lord, this food to our use,
and us to thy service,
and keep us ever mindful of the needs
of others. In Jesus' Name. Amen.”
“Amen,” said Antoine and Mrs. Bainey.
Mrs. Bainey opened the tureen and ladled out bowls of pot roast in rich gravy with potatoes, carrots, and onions. She passed Antoine the breadbasket, butter, and homemade raspberry preserves. Antoine tried to eat slowly and politely, but he was at the bottom of the bowl before he knew it.
“Would you like another serving, Antoine?” asked Mrs. Bainey.
“Yes please, Maggie.”
With a bowl of the wonderful roast already under his belt, Antoine was able to take a more leisurely approach to the second. He looked around the table and noticed the most delightful smile on Mrs. Bainey’s face. He also saw how Mr. Bainey’s hand shook as he spooned his food from bowl to mouth.
Mr. Bainey launched into a story about an experiment that Randel McCullers had assembled in the laboratory at Bainey Rubber. He had attached a pipette poorly, and, when the process put pressure on the assembly, the pipette broke loose and brought the glasswork crashing down. It sprayed acid on his trouser cuffs and a brand-new pair of alligator shoes. The story was so charmingly told and his impression of McCullers rant was so spot-on that both Antoine and Mrs. Bainey laughed, even though Antoine had heard it before and Mrs. Bainey many times.
At Mr. Bainey’s prompting, Antoine told Mrs. Bainey the story of his road trip to the Indianapolis 500 in 1925. Antoine finished up a bowl of peach cobbler at about the same time he finished the story.
“It sounds like a wonderful trip,” said Mrs. Bainey.
“It was. The best four days of my life.”
“Really?”
“Yes, it’s a memory that keeps me going.” He turned and looked at Mr. Bainey. “Thank you for that.”
“My pleasure, Antoine. Have you heard anything from Thomas?”
“Not since his wedding. What? Eighteen months ago?”
“I heard that was quite an affair.”
“Yes, it was.”
“You were there?”
“I was. I was a groomsman, in fact.”
“I didn’t realize that you and Thomas were that close.”
“We got to know each other pretty well on that Indy trip. After that I got to know his entire family. His mother, his uncles, brother and sister, cousins.”
“No kidding.”
“They were actually very helpful in the plant.”
“I always wished I could have gotten you something better than that.”
“It worked out. I was elected to the Goodyear Assembly.”
“You were?”
“Yep.”
“Antoine, you’re a wonder. Well, will you help me up and walk with me into the living room?”
“Of course.”
Bill got up out of his chair, mostly on his own power, put a hand on Antoine’s shoulder and shuffled into to the living room. Antoine got him settled into a large overstuffed chair.
“Ah, that’s better. Have a seat.” Antoine sat in a smaller chair that he figured was Mrs. Bainey’s. “Now, tell me what’s going on.”
“The county is going confiscate our house at the end of the month. Nonpayment of real estate tax.”
“I thought they weren’t doing that.”
“My father must have been counting on that. Apparently, it’s not the case.”
Mr. Bainey grunted. “What do you owe the county?”
“A hundred and forty dollars, thereabouts”
“Oh,” Mr. Bainey grimaced. “That seems like a lot.”
“Yes, there are late fees and money we still owe from last year. The maddening thing is that we’ll receive a sizable amount of money in April and we could easily pay the bill then.”
“I see. I suppose you talked to the county about this.”
“I was there today, just before I called you. My father made and broke promises. They’re not willing take my word or take smaller payments. They want the money at the end of February, or they want the house.”
“Well, a year ago I would have advanced you the money, no question. But now our money is tied up in a trust. We get an allowance each month, most of which goes to our living expenses and the support of our children and their families. I don’t have anything like a hundred and forty dollars lying around.”
Antoine hid his disappointment, quickly saying, “Oh, I couldn’t take your money anyway, Mr. Bainey.”
Mr. Bainey took a handkerchief out of his pocket and sneezed.
“Bless you.”
“Thanks.” Mr. Bainey eyed Antoine. “Then how can I help?”
“Well, first of all, I was hoping you might have some advice or guidance for me. I don’t know much about money matters, and I can’t ask my father. He’s not well and he’s made mistakes.”
“Haven’t we all.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Where’s this sizable amount of money coming from?”
“A savings account at Ohio National Bank. It’s what’s left of an account we had at Akron Commercial when it collapsed.”
“Yes, bad business, that.” Antoine nodded. “You could try to get a loan from Ohio National based on the payout of your savings account.”
“You think that would work?”
“It might.”
“I’ll try that.”
“Banks are mighty tight with their money right now. Unfortunately, I don’t know anybody at Ohio National. A bunch of scallywags from what I hear.”
“I don’t know, maybe. They did hire a fellow from Akron Commercial that gives scallywags a bad name.”
Mr. Bainey chuckled, then his face settle into a more serious mien. “Look, Antoine, you have to trust yourself. You’re a resourceful young man.”
Antoine nodded. “Anything else?”
“Just this: do what you have to do to take care of your family.”
“Do you mean I should rob a bank?”
“Of course not, but it’s a desperate situation. You may have to do something, um, if not illegal, then unsavory.”
Antoine looked down his boots and gave Mr. Bainey a quick nod.
“You said there were a couple of things. What else?’
“Whether we keep the house or not, we’re coming to the end of our rope; I need a job.”
“I don’t know of anything. If I did, I’d try to get it for my good-for-nothing son-in-law. Don’t tell anybody I said that.”
“Please, Mr. Bainey, I’ll do anything. I’ll shovel manure, I’ll dig ditches. Anything.”
Mr. Bainey sighed. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll call around to some friends on Monday. I probably have your phone number someplace, but why don’t you give it to me again.”
“Mr. Bainey, we haven’t had a phone in the house for almost a year.”
“Of course. Pardon my stupidity. How do I reach you, then?”
“I can call you. When would be a good time?”
“Why don’t we say Tuesday afternoon. Just for a progress report.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bainey, thank you.”
“Don’t get your hopes up, lad.”
“I know a job’s a long shot. Just the offer of help means a lot. This past year has been terrible, the last month a nightmare. And today, finding out about the house. I don’t mind telling you, I panicked.”
“I suspected it was serious when you called out of the blue like that. But I didn’t see any sign of panic when you walked into the study. But then you never did give anything away. ‘Still waters run deep’ as my mother used to say.”
“Yes, sir, I suppose so.” Antoine looked at the clock on the wall. “Well, I better get going if I’m going to make the seven-thirty street car.”
“My son, Bud, will be here in about a half hour. He’ll take you home.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary.”
“Nonsense, it’s all arranged. How about a cup of coffee while we wait?”
“That’d be swell.”
Antoine let himself in through kitchen door as usual, and he could see the glow of a candle coming from the living room. He set the bag and a cardboard box on the kitchen table and headed in that direction. Sarah, holding the candle, met him in the dining room.
“Antoine! Thank the Lord, I was starting to worry.”
“Sorry, Maman, I’m fine.”
She smelled the odor of soap. “You’ve had a bath!”
“Yes, and a good meal.”
“Well, let’s sit in the kitchen, and you can tell me all about it.”
When candle lit up the box and bag, she said, “What’s all this?”
“It will be simpler if you let me tell it in order.”
“Of course, dear.”
He told her about his trip the tax assessor’s office and the evening with the Baineys.
“And how is Mr. Bainey?” she asked.
“Not well. He has Parkinson’s.”
“Oh, no.”
“He seems in good spirits, though.”
When he told her about the clothes Mrs. Bainey had given him, she made him stand so she could get a better look. She opened his coat and felt the material.
“Ooh, nice,” she said.
He described his chat with Mr. Bainey.
“I was really hoping he would offer me the tax money, but that didn’t work out. Even so, I feel a lot better. A bath, a good meal, their kindness and interest. It was a tonic. As I was walking out the door, Mr. Bainey handed me five dollars and said, ‘Buy your family some food.’ And Maggie, Mrs. Bainey, handed me that box.” He handed Sarah the money. “Go grocery shopping tomorrow. The coal is coming tomorrow afternoon.”
“Good!” She inclined her head toward the box. “What’s in that?”
“More clothes; belonged to her son. He’d outgrown them by the time he was 15. Probably still a little too big for me, but I’m glad to have them.”
“Have you looked at them?”
“No. I’m tired, Maman, and the light will be better in the morning.”
“Of course.” She started to speak twice but held her tongue.
“What?”
“Before you go to bed, may I ask about your plans?”
“Well, let’s see. Tomorrow I am going to try to find a friend who I’ve done a little work for in the past.”
“Who would that be?
“You don’t know him.”
“What kind of work?”
“Sarah, please. It was perfectly legal but confidential.”
“I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s fine.”
She patted his hand. “What else?”
“Sunday, while we’re at church, I’m going talk to Pastor Roberts.”
“What can he do?”
“I won’t know until I ask to him, Maman.”
She nodded.
“Monday, I’m going out to the plant to see what’s up there, and to the bank to see about that loan. Tuesday afternoon I’ll call Mr. Bainey.”
“Then what?”
“Hopefully, one of these or some combination will turn up enough to pay the taxes. In the meantime, we should explore selling the house.”
“Selling the house?”
“If we can sell the house for more than the tax bill, we keep the excess. Otherwise, we get nothing.”
Sarah looked thoughtful and tapped the table. “Mrs. Peavey,” she said.
“Who is Mrs. Peavey?”
“A woman at church. Her husband is a real estate broker. We can talk to them on Sunday as well.”
Chapter 41
Saturday February 14, 1931
Antoine walked into O’Brien’s Tavern on North Summit a little after two in the afternoon. The place was almost empty; two of the ten booths had parties lingering over the remnants of lunch. A tall, thin man with acne scars stood behind the register chewing on a toothpick.
Antoine said, “I’m looking for Lance Morrison.”
The man looked at him speculatively, took the toothpick out of his mouth, and said in an Irish accent, “Never heard of him.”
Antoine narrowed his eyes. “How long have you worked here?”
“Going on four months.”
“Then you’re a liar.”
“Them’s fightin’ words,” he said with a grin.
“I’ve worked for Lance in past and I aim to work for him again. Right now, I just need to talk to him. Do you know where I can find him?”
The man looked him over again, then reached under the counter and pulled out a large bottle of aspirin. He shook out four tablets and gestured for Antoine to follow him. The man stopped at the waiter’s station and poured a glass of water. He handed the glass and tablets to Antoine.
“What’s this for?”
“Lance. A peace offering.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Nothin’ survivin’ the day won’t cure.”
The man led him to the door at the back of the tavern. It opened onto a narrow stairway. “First door at the top of the stairs. Don’t knock, just go in.” Antoine stood looking at him. “Well, go on.”
“Maybe I should come back at a better time.”
“From what I hear, there couldn’t be no better time. I thought your business was urgent.”
Antoine nodded and climbed the stairs. The hall at the top ran from the front of the building to the back. There were six evenly-spaced doors on the right-hand side. He opened the first; the shades were drawn, the room dim. He felt the wall next to the door for a light switch but didn’t find one.
His eyes adjusted to the gloom; there was a large round table with several wooden chairs around it. On the table were decks of cards, racks of poker chips, overflowing ashtrays and an empty whiskey bottle. On the other side of table was a snoring figure, lying on a bench, covered with a blanket.
Antoine went to the furthest window and drew the shade half-way up. He pulled a chair from the table and put it next to Morrison. Antoine sat down, wondering if he should wake him up. Just then Morrison choked, stirred, and opened his eyes.
He rubbed his face and groaned, “What evil son of bitch raised that blind.”
“I did.”
“Who the fuck’re you?” He shaded his eyes trying make out the shadowed face.
“Antoine Trombley.”
“Oh.” He closed his eyes as if to go back to sleep. “Trombley? What the hell are you doing here?”
“Well--”
“Wait.” Morrison got up and staggered to the small bathroom. He groaned with relief as he emptied his bladder.
Morrison sat down on the bench, and Antoine handed him the glass of water and the aspirin tablets. “Bless you, lad,” he said. He popped the tablets in his mouth and downed the glass of water, glug, glug, glug. “Ah, that hit the spot. I had a powerful thirst, I did.”
He reached into the breast pocket of his suitcoat, which had been lying under him on the bench. He extracted a small flask, unscrewed the cap, and offered it to Antoine.
Antoine shook his head. “No, thank you.”
He winked and said, “Hair of the dog”, saluted Antoine, took a healthy swig, and returned the flask to the suitcoat. “What time is it?”
“Getting on to two-thirty.”
“On Saturday?”
“Yes.”
He looked relieved. “Good. I was afraid I might have slept ‘round the clock. I have important business this evening.” He went back to the bathroom, washed his face and hands, and combed his hair and beard. He stepped back into room. “What did you say you were doing here?”
“I didn’t.”
“Well, speak up.”
“My family’s in trouble. The county is taking our house for back taxes.”
“So, you’re looking for money.”
“Yes.”
“Well, Let’s see what I’ve got here.” He pulled wads of cash out of his trouser pockets and put them on the table. Then he carefully picked up his suitcoat and laid it on the table. He opened it by the lapels and there was more cash and quite a few coins laying on the lining. He took more cash and coins from every pocket of the coat.
Antoine was astonished. “Where did all this come from?”
“A couple of out-of-towners, high rollers, looking for a game. Me and a couple of m’ friends obliged ‘em. I had the most incredible run of cards you ever did see. That and a couple of propitious bluffs.” He winked again.
They sorted and stacked the bills, ten bills per pile. They sorted the half dollars, silver dollars, one ten- and two twenty-dollar gold coins. They counted the piles twice and tallied the counts three times each. Antoine got the same amount all three times; Morrison had different counts each time, one of which matched Antoine’s.
“$487.50.” said Morrison. “How much is your tax bill?”
“A hundred and forty dollars.”
“Sorry, old son, I can’t afford to let you have that much. Most of this is already spoke for.”
“Suppose I give you two hundred in April for one-forty today.”
“There isn’t going to be that much left. And I need some for me own expenses.” He picked up a twenty and offered it to Antoine. “Not a loan. An advance on your salary. The project will be starting up again, in the summer maybe. When you’re recalled we’ll have you back on the Assembly as quick as may be.” Antoine looked at him. “Go on, take it!” Antoine pocketed the bill. “There’s m’ lad.”
“You got any other work?”
“Regrettably, not.”
“Know anybody that does?”
“No. I can check around, but there ain’t much shakin’. Check with me Friday.”
“How do I do that?”
“I should be here in the afternoon. If not, I’ll leave a note for ya. If I don’t see ya, good luck with that tax thing.”
Chapter 42
Sunday February 15, 1931
Sarah was waiting down the hall when Antoine came out Pastor Roberts office. “How’d it go?” she asked.
“Not great. He gave me this,” he held up two fives, “from the church emergency fund. He suggested we start to figure out what to do with our household goods, furniture, and so on. Do we know anybody who can store them for us? Can we sell them to the next owners? That sort of thing.”
“Oh, I didn’t even think of that.”
“And then, where do we go? He says there are a couple families in the church who are taking in mothers and children, so there is probably a place, at least temporarily, for you and Marie. But we have to figure out where Jimmy, Papa, I will go.”
“Oh, no! This is just awful.” Her bowed head touched his chest. He patted her back.
“I’m beginning to understand why Papa stays in bed all day.”
“Don’t say that!”
“Sorry. I just meant I had no idea how tough it must have been for him.”
“Yes, it‘s been very hard.” Sarah sniffled.
“Did you get a chance to talk to the Peaveys?”
“Yes, but it’s not good news, either. Even if we had a buyer lined up, which can take months, there’s no way to get through the paperwork before the end of the month. Just getting through the title search can take weeks.”
“Title search? What’s that?”
“I’m not sure, Antoine. Something about making sure your papa owns the house.”
“Is there some doubt about that?”
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t really understand it, either. All I know is Mr. Peavey was sure there was no way to sell the house in two weeks.”
“I see.” Antoine’s shoulders slumped. “Well, Maman, at least I know not to waste any time on that.”
Antoine was sitting at the desk in their room staring out at fading afternoon light when Jimmy walked in.
“It sure is great to have some heat in the house again, isn’t it?” said Jimmy.
“Close the door, please,” said Antoine quietly. “I want to talk to you.”
“What’s wrong?”
Antoine moved his eyes in the direction of the door. Jimmy complied.
“Sit down.” Antoine motioned toward Jimmy’s bed. Antoine took a deep breath. “The county is threatening to take the house at the end of the month for nonpayment of the real estate tax.”
“You mean our house?”
“Yes.”
“What the hell…”
“Keep your voice down. Marie will hear you.”
“What the hell is wrong with Pops. Why isn’t he taking care of these things?”
“You mean besides the fact that there’re no jobs and no money?”
“All he does lie is in bed and stare at the wall all day.”
“Pastor Roberts thinks papa has melancholia.”
“You mean like Hamlet. I thought that was just some made up Shakespearean thing.”
“I guess not. The pastor says you feel like you’re at the bottom a pit and you’re never going to get out. And it saps the energy from your body. At least that’s how he explained it to me.”
“Will he get better?”
“I don’t know.”
“What are we going to do?’ Jimmy wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and Antoine patted him on the leg.
“I’ve talked to a few people, asking for loans, asking for help getting work. Including the ten dollars I got from the church emergency fund, I’ve managed to collected forty dollars in three days. I have two weeks to put together the another hundred to pay the tax.”
“That does it! I’m going to look for a job, too.”
“Really? You’re going quit high school with a couple months to go? You’re going to give up that scholarship to Akron? Don’t be an idiot! You’re going to college in fall! That’s your job! Do you understand me?”
“Yes.”
“It’s what’s best for the family, and it’s where you belong.”
“But it feels so selfish. And…”
“And what?”
“It’s so hard when you’re hungry and cold all the time.”
“Maman is making chicken for dinner tonight.”
“She is?”
“Yes, with all the fixings.”
“Biscuits and gravy and mashed potatoes?”
Antoine smiled. “Yes.”
“And creamed corn and butter and milk?”
“Yes.”
Jimmy stood up, his mouth watering. “When do we eat!”
“At dinner time, Jimmy. Sit down.” Antoine took a breath and waited for his brother to settle on the bed. “I’ve decided we are going eat and be warm for the next two weeks no matter what else happens. So we have that to look forward to.” Jimmy nodded and tried to smile. “Let me worry about the house. Okay?”
“I wish there was something I could do. I feel so useless.”
“There is something you can do for me that would be a big help.”
“What’s that?”
“When I talked with Pastor Roberts today, he says we should make a plan just in case we lose the house.”
“What kind of plan?”
“We have to make plans for shelter, for example. He said he could find a church family to take in Marie and Maman. That leaves you, and Papa and me.”
“Are you saying the family won’t be together?”
“It will be hard to find a place that can take all five of us. It’s too much to ask.”
“Oh.”
“Pastor Roberts suggested that you might have a friend at school whose family might take you in. One of your teammates, maybe. I was thinking Carl what’s-his-name.”
“Wilson.”
“If Carl isn’t a good choice…”
“No, Carl would be okay. His dad’s got a steady job working for the water department.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“It’s… embarrassing.”
Antoine rubbed his face. “Would you prefer that Maman and I talk to his parents for you?”
“I would prefer that we not split up.”
“Jimmy, I’m doing everything I can think of to keep the house. If you have any ideas please let me know. Do you know anybody that has money that might be willing to help?”
“No.”
“Do you know of anybody that might give me a job?”
“No.”
“If you think of something, let me know. I promise you I won’t leave any stone unturned. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep us in this house.”
“Okay.” Jimmy took a deep breath and let it out. “About Carl?”
“Yes.”
“How about I talk to him and see what he thinks? Then, if it comes to that, we can figure out about the best way to approach his parents.”
“Thanks, Jimmy. That would be a big help.”
Chapter 43
Monday February 16, 1931
It amused Antoine, in a painful sort of way. The weekend had been unseasonably warm, but from Sunday night into Monday morning the temperature had dropped into the single digits. Antoine wasn’t laughing, though, standing in the line outside the employment office. He was too busy stamping his feet and flapping his arms in effort to stay warm. The only advantage to the bitter cold was the line of men was considerably shorter than usual.
It took an hour to get out of the cold and another hour to see an employment clerk. The clerk’s desk was in a large room filled with filing cabinets and other desks, only a third of which were occupied.
The clerk, a short, balding little man, took one look at Antoine and said, “Not you again. I told you we’d notify you when your callback comes up.”
“I know, I know. I do. But the county’s about to take my family’s house.”
“Everybody’s got a hard luck story, Mack.”
“Antoine.”
“What?”
“My name’s Antoine.”
“You’re all Mack to me.”
“Okay. I just want to know when you’re going to call me back.”
“There’s no way to tell.”
“Just your best guess.”
The clerk drummed his fingers on the desk. “If I do this, will you go way and promise not to come back?”
“Until you call me back. Yes, I promise.”
The clerk opened the top drawer of the desk and took out a steno pad and a pencil. “Spell your last name.”
“T-R-O-M-B-L-E-Y.”
“First name.”
“A-N-T-O-I-N-E.”
He got up and crossed the room to a table with a large number of loose-leafed binders. He selected a binder and flipped through it. He wrote something in the steno pad.
The clerk came back to his desk. “Okay, your callback number is 285,763. The current number is…” he looked at chalk board at the front of the room, “285,137. That’s a difference of… 628. That means there are 628 names ahead of you on the list.”
“Oh,” said Antoine in a disappointed tone.
“That’s not so bad, really. Of those 628, fifteen percent won’t respond to the callback.”
“Why not?”
“Who knows. They died, they found another job, they left Akron. Your guess is as good as mine. So, let’s say the number of guys that respond is 550 just to pick a round number. Now, let’s see,” referred to a sheet on his desk, “The draft this week is 62. That’s a little higher than usual; let’s say the average draft is 50 -- 50 into 550 is 11. If everything stays the same, you’ll get called back in 11 weeks.”
Antoine looked thoughtful. “Three months.”
“Yeah, late May maybe. But let me tell you, Mack, um…” he looked his steno pad, “Antoine. Things never stay the same. We could have another layoff; we could start drafting 150 a week. It’s my best guess, but it’s not a good guess.”
Antoine stood. “Thanks for your time.”
“If you want that call back, make sure to notify us if your address changes.”
“I’ll do that.”
“By mail.”
Antoine smiled “Got it.”
He walked into the Ohio National Bank a little after eleven o’clock. The woman at the desk looked up from her typewriter.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, I’d like to speak to Mr. Perkins, please.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, I don’t.”
“No one sees Mr. Perkins without an appointment.”
“Please, it’s urgent. My father and I know Mr. Perkins from his time at Akron Commercial.” She hesitated. “Please,” said Antoine.
She picked up the phone and dialed a number. “Mr. Perkins, there’s a…” she put hand over the phone. “What’s your name?”
“Antoine Trombley.”
“A Mr. Antoine Trombley is here to see you. He says it’s urgent… Yes, sir… Yes, sir.” She put her hand over the phone. “He says he’s too busy to see you today, but he can give you fifteen minutes tomorrow at 1:30.”
“Oh, that would be fine.”
“He says that would be fine… Yes, sir.” She hung up, opened an appointment book, and wrote Perkins – A. Trombley 1:30 – 1:45. “You’re in the book. We’ll see you tomorrow at 1:30.”
Antoine was once again seated at the desk in his bedroom, staring down at the list of names:
Mr. Bainey
Lance
Goodyear Employment Office
Pastor Roberts
Lada
Mr. Perkins
He was down to Mr. Perkins as his last chance to get enough money to pay the tax. Who else could help? he wondered. Who else has money?
There was tap at his door, and he jumped out of his seat. “Marie,” he said, “You almost scared me to death.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, no. it’s okay. Did you want something?”
“May I talk to you?”
“Of course.” She came into the room, stood next him and put her hand on the top rail of his chair. She looked him, eyes wide, but said nothing. “Well?”
“What’s going on?” she asked
“What do you mean?”
“The heat is on in the house.”
“Yes.”
“Maman made chicken for dinner last night.”
“Yes.”
“She in the kitchen making stew right now.”
“Yes.”
“But when I came home from school, I could tell she was crying. She tried to hide it, but I could tell.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Jimmy has looked really sad ever since last night, and you’ve been…”
“Distant?”
“Worried.”
“I see.”
“You always tell me the truth, don’t you, Antoine?”
“I do.”
“Then please tell me what’s going on.” He noticed that, while he was seated, he had to look up at her. When had she gotten so tall? Even though she had skipped a grade, she complained about being the tallest in her fourth-grade class. “It’s better to know than wonder.”
He took her hand. “Are sure?” She nodded. “Alright. There’s a chance the county will take away our house. We owe them some money, but I’m working on getting help with that.”
The big tears that had lurked below the surface welled up and spilled down her cheeks. She put her arms around his neck; while she made no sound, he could feel her skinny body convulse with unvoiced sobs.
“What will we do-oo-oo?”
“Don’t worry, honey. Even if the worst happens, Paster Roberts is sure he can find a place for you and Maman to stay. Jimmy is going stay with one of the guys from his team.”
She looked at him. “What about you and Pa-apa?”
“We haven’t gotten that far yet. We have to the end of month. I’ve been concentrating on getting the money.”
“But I’ll never see you again.”
“Of course you will. And anyway, it’s only going to be for a little while. I’m probably going back to work sometime in May. By the time you get out of school for the summer, we’ll find another place to live and we’ll all be back together again.”
“Promise?”
Antoine gave his head a shake. “No, Marie, that’s a plan, not a promise. But I will work as hard as I can to keep us together, and, if necessary, to get us back together. That is a promise.”
He got a handkerchief from his dresser drawer and handed it to her. She wiped her face and blew her nose.
“Are you scared, Antoine?”
“Yes, a little.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Have I ever let you down?”
“No.”
“I’m not about to start now. It’s okay to be afraid, but do your best at school, take care of your chores, and let the adults take care of everything else. Okay?”
She hugged him. “Thank you, Antoine.”
“Now, why don’t you see if Maman needs help with dinner?”
“Alright.”
She wiped her face one more time and offered him the handkerchief. He followed her to the door and stood there until he heard them chirping at each other. His shoulders slumped and he returned to his desk to brood over his list.
Chapter 44
Tuesday February 17, 1931
“I have a one-thirty appointment with Mr. Perkins.”
“Yes, Mr. Trombley. Have a seat; he’ll be with you shortly.”
At one-thirty-five Perkins stepped out of his office and scanned the lobby chairs. When his eyes landed on Antoine, he smiled. He met Antoine at the gate, and shook his hand warmly.
“How are you, Antoine?”
“I’m okay. How about you?”
“Fine, fine. Well, come on in.” Perkins led Antoine to his office and invited him sit down. “How’s your father?”
“Not well, I’m afraid.”
“Nothing serious. I hope.”
“Very serious. He’s bed ridden.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Antoine said nothing. Perkins cleared his throat. “Well, now, ah, how can I help you?”
“We have a serious money issue, Mr. Perkins. The county is threatening to take our house if we don’t pay the back taxes.”
“Let me guess. Your father owns the house.”
“That’s right. How did you know?”
“We’ve been seeing quite a lot of that lately. It’s only worthwhile to confiscate a house if there’s little or no debt.”
“So, we need money. I know you won’t give us a single penny from our savings account now, but we are due that money on April 1st and we also have the house. I would like to take out a loan for $170 using them as collateral.”
Perkins smiled. “Well, then, why don’t you let me introduce you to a loan officer.”
“I don’t think so, Mr. Perkins.” There was a hint of a threat in Antoine’s voice, and the smile faded from Perkins’ face. “You know, a year ago I urged my father to move our money out of Akron Commercial and into Ohio National. Kind of funny, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Let me explain it to you. If my father had listened to me rather than to your… let’s and call it blather. If he’d listened to me, we’d be able to pay that tax with no problem. To my mind, Mr. Perkins, you stole six thousand dollars from us, you stole my brother’s college money, and you stole my father’s health. If we don’t get the money to pay the tax, then you also stole our home. The way I figure it, Mr. Perkins, you owe us. So, I think I’ll deal with you, and let you deal with the loan officer.”
Perkins frowned and drummed his fingers on the desk. “Are you employed?”
“No.”
“Is anybody in your household employed?”
“No.”
“Then I’m afraid this bank will not be able to grant you a loan. We have a firm policy that a loanee must have permanent, full-time employment.”
“No exceptions?”
“If it were my rule, knowing you and your father, I would make an exception. But it’s not my rule, nor the vice president’s rule, nor even the president’s rule. It’s board policy. Oh, we could lie on your loan application, but I’m not the one that does the employment check. Your loan application would not get anywhere near a bank officer for approval.”
Antoine stood up. “Why you… you… you.”
“I know you’re angry, Antoine. I suppose, if I were in your shoes, I would be, too. But I did not mistreat you or your father. I was fulfilling my fiduciary obligation to the bank and, and, to the other depositors. I cannot tell a customer that it would be a good idea take their money out of my bank. If word had gotten out, there would have been a run on the bank that afternoon. Besides, Akron Commercial was in no worse shape than any other bank. Our customers just panicked.”
Antoine leaned over the desk. “You told him the bank was solid as rock. That was a lie. My father and I should have given you that beating when we had the chance.”
Antoine took the street car from the bank to the library. The twenty-minute ride gave him a chance to cool down. He went down to the pay phone and called Mr. Bainey.
“Hello.”
“Hello, Mr. Bainey, It’s Antoine.”
“Antoine, how are you doing?”
“To be honest, Mr. Bainey, I’m struggling.”
“Well, I might have some good news for you. Do you still have your driver’s license?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Well, I may have a line on some work. Not a sure thing. A friend of mine is going to get back to me by Friday.”
“Would this be a full-time job?”
“Well, no, I don’t think so. In fact, I’m sure it’s not. Just through the end of March, I think.”
“Oh.”
“Do you still want it?”
“Oh, yes, yes. Like I said, I’ll take anything. It’s just that I need a full-time job to get a loan from the bank.”
“I see. Maybe you should try some other banks.”
“Can’t hurt, I guess.”
“Give me call on Friday. I should know more by then.”
“I will, Mr. Bainey. Thank you.”
“Goodbye for now, Antoine. Take care of yourself.”
“You too, Mr. Bainey.” The receiver clicked in his ear.
Antoine closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. What to do? What to do? He opened his eyes and saw the telephone book opened to the page with Mr. Bainey’s number. He turned the pages to the D’s but could find no listing for Dragovic. He flipped to the business listings and found a number that might be helpful. He slipped a nickel into the slot, but hesitated and hung up. The nickel dropped into the change receptacle. He went and sat on the steps and stared at the phone. He walked tentatively to the phone but turned and went back to the stairs. He put his face in his hands, rubbed his eyes, stood and walked resolutely to the phone.
A familiar, husky, feminine voice answered the phone. “Bogdanovic Fabrics and Fashion.”
“Madame Mila?”
“Antoine! Is that you?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Well, how wonderful to hear from you! Are you well?”
“At the moment, yes.”
“That’s about all any of us can say these days, eh? When are you coming to Sunday dinner?”
“I don’t want to be a burden.”
“Nonsense! What’s one more family member at the table?”
“You’re too kind. Perhaps when the weather is warmer.”
“The house is quite crowded in the winter. Perhaps that would be best. Now, what can I do for you?”
“I need to speak to Lada.”
There was a long pause. “Lada is a married woman now.”
“I know.” It was Antoine’s turn to take a moment. “Mila, my friendship with Lada was never romantic, at least from my end.”
“So? You’re too good for my Lada?”
“Oh, no, not at all. I treasured my friendship with Lada, and I always wanted the best for her. From the very first moment I met her I knew that wasn’t me.”
“So, you decided not to fall in love with her.”
“No. I just knew it wouldn’t matter if I did.”
“Well, why do you want to talk to her? Maybe I can help.”
Antoine considered it, but he couldn’t see himself taking money from Mila. He had trouble imagining that all those Bogdanovics were much better off than his family.
“Mila, you can help me. You can give me Lada’s number.”
“It’s unlisted for a reason, Antoine. Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll call her and give her your message. What’s your number in case she wants to talk?”
“We don’t have phone at the house; I’m at a pay phone in the library. The number is,” he squinted at the dial, “Main 1764. I can wait here for half an hour or so. If I don’t hear back, I’ll call you tomorrow morning.”
“Okay. Sorry for your troubles, but it was wonderful hearing your voice.”
“You, too, Mila. Goodbye.”
“’Bye, Antoine.”
As the afternoon waned the temperature in the stairwell fell. He walked up and down the stairs to stay warm. He hoped to hear the phone ring at any moment, but as light faded so did his hope. But forty minutes into his wait it rang, and he raced down the stairs to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Antoine? It’s Mila. She says ‘Same time, same place.’ Does that make sense to you?”
“Yes! Oh, thank you, Mila.”
“Don’t thank me. Take care; this might not be so safe.”
“I’ve already exhausted all the safe choices, Mila. There’s no such thing as safe anymore.”
Chapter 45
Sunday May 3, 1970
Denny, keeping one eye on the road, searched for something on the radio. There was nothing worthwhile on the FM dial, so he switched over to the AM band. A voice came in loud and clear.
“…bert Abrams with a special report from CBS News. On Thursday evening, in a national address, President Nixon announced that he had ordered an expansion of the war to include the bombing of Cambodia. In the previous segment we heard from Pentagon spokesman Lt. Colonel Alan Wilkes as he described the strategic…”
“Have you heard anything about this?” asked Alison.
“No,” said Denny.
“… Now we will gather reactions from around the country. First, we turn to Jeff Sallot from the Akron Beacon Journal, who has been covering the events at Kent State University. Are you on the line, Jeff?”
“Yes, Mr. Abrams, I’m here.”
“Perhaps you could give us some background on the school.”
“Of course. Kent State was founded in 1910 as a teacher training school; it’s a part of the University System of Ohio along with schools like Ohio State, Miami University, Bowling Green and so on. It primarily serves the working- and middle-class families of north central Ohio. It currently has an enrollment of about 21,000 students.”
“Have the students been active in the anti-war movement?”
“Moderately active, I’d say. There is a chapter of the SDS…”
“Students for a Democratic Society.”
“Yes. The SDS has staged a few events, a couple of sit-ins over the last three years. Earlier this month Jerry Rubin, the head of the Youth International Party, gave a talk to a larger than expected audience.”
Denny pulled into a rest area and parked the car.
“Please fill us in on the last two days,” prompted Abrams.
“On Friday, the day after the president’s announcement, a little before noon, there was a peaceful demonstration of about 500 students on the Commons. There were speeches by student leaders stressing a non-violent approach and they announced there would be a larger demonstration on the following Monday, May 4th. Later in the day a group of history students buried a copy of the US Constitution, symbolizing its ‘death at the hands of the industrial-military complex’. The campus police reportedly recovered a sign nailed to a tree in the Commons that said ‘Why is the ROTC building still standing?’
“Later that night some people came out of a bar near campus and started throwing beer bottles at a police car. They vandalized some local businesses including a bank, which set off an alarm. Several other bars closed to avoid trouble, and then Kent Mayor LeRoy Satrom ordered all the bars closed. That put over a hundred people into the street. Some of them started a bonfire and others joined in the vandalism. The police cleared the streets with tear gas.”
“And the rioters were students?” asked Abrams.
“From what I can tell, no. They were mostly young people from Kent, with a few students mixed in. I talked to a couple of bartenders and they said it was a pretty normal Friday night crowd. A little more tense than usual, maybe.”
“And then yesterday?”
“Yes, on Saturday there were complaints that business owners had received threats. If they didn’t display anti-war posters, their businesses would be burned down. There were rumors that the students were targeting the ROTC building, the Army Recruiting Station and the Post Office; that students had caches of arms and were plotting to poison the water supply with LSD; that they were digging tunnels they would use to blow up the main downtown shopping area.
“Mayor Satrom was concerned about the ability of the police to handle these threats, so he called Governor Rhodes to ask for assistance. At around 5:00 p.m. the decision was made to move units of the National Guard to Akron and bivouac them in the Rubber Bowl.”
“The Rubber Bowl?”
“It’s a football stadium in Akron.”
“Ah, yes.”
“Sometime in the early evening a crowd started to form again on the Commons. The demonstrators spray-painted slogans on several buildings; one of the slogans was ‘Pigs off campus’.”
“Meaning the police?”
“Yes, but there were no police on campus until after the ROTC building had been set on fire. The fire department was called and came to put the fire out, but demonstrators appeared to be prepared for that and slashed the fire hoses. Other fire department units were called and the National Guard was dispatched around 10 pm. National Guard General Sylvester DelCorso ordered the Guardsmen to shoot any rioter that cut a fire hose. But by that time, it was too late; the ROTC building had burned to the ground.
“The Kent and Ravenna police, with support of the National Guard, used tear gas to quell the riot and restore order. There were three arrests for curfew violation and one student suffered a minor bayonet injury.”
“Have there been any further developments today?”
“Yes. An angry and emotional Governor Rhodes held a press conference this morning at the Kent Fire Station. Let me just check my notes. Ah, yes, here we are. The governor said, in part:
We've seen here at the city of Kent the most vicious form of campus-oriented violence yet perpetrated by dissident groups. They make definite plans of burning, destroying, and throwing rocks at police and at the National Guard. This is when we're going to use every part of the law enforcement agency of Ohio to drive them out of Kent. We are going to eradicate the problem. We're not going to treat the symptoms. Now I want to say this. They are not going to take over the campus. I think that we're up against the strongest, well-trained, militant, revolutionary group that has ever assembled in America.”
“Strong words,” said the Abrams.
“Yes.”
“What’s next?”
“That’s hard to say. The Governor claims there is a state emergency akin to martial law and that he will not tolerate any further demonstrations on the Kent State campus or anywhere in the city. However, the student leaders say that the demonstration on Monday will go on as planned. So, if I had to guess, I’d say that today will probably be pretty quiet. Tomorrow though? I think we’ll just have to see.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sallot. That was Jeff Sallot of the Akron Beacon Journal telling us about the unrest on the campus of Kent State University in northern Ohio. Now we turn to a completely different response to this issue at Princeton University…”
Denny reached out and snapped off the radio. He gripped the steering wheel and stared into the distance.
Alison put her hand on his arm “Denny?” He looked at her. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking… I’m thinking that my parents’ house is a half an hour from the Kent State campus.”
“Really?”
“I’m also thinking that my uncle’s funeral is on Tuesday.”
“What! Oh, Denny, I’m so sorry.”
He looked out the windshield again. “I have to be home for the funeral. I told my mom I’d be there on Monday night, but my plans just changed. I’m going home today, but I have to get you back to Athens first.”
Alison took a deep breath. “No. You don’t.”
“I don’t?”
“I mean, I think I’d like to go with you.”
“You would?”
“You’re going to Kent State, right? On Monday, I mean.”
“Yes, I want to see it with my own eyes. If they’re throwing rocks and burning buildings, I don’t want any part of it. But otherwise, I want to march.”
“Me, too.”
“Oh, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”
“Maybe not, but it’s a chance to actually do something. I’m sick of just talking about it.” He could see something smoldering in her eyes. “We have to stand up to that asshole Nixon.”
“I have to warn you; we’ll be standing up to my parents, too.”
“Your parents voted for Nixon?”
“I’m pretty sure my dad did, but I’m pretty sure my mom did not. But on this, they feel the same. Shit, my mother is more adamant than my father.”
“Really?”
“Last summer my mom and I had an argument about the war. I thought we were having an exchange of views, but that’s not how my mother saw it. She got pissed off and shouted at me, ‘If I ever catch you in a campus protest, I’ll cut you out of this family.’ I’ve never seen her that angry.”
“That sounds pretty scary.”
“It was.” Denny shook his head. “I didn’t know it, but she was sick. She had a hysterectomy two days later. She was mostly just scared, I think. Scared of the pain or dying, maybe. Scared of what was happening in the country.”
“Aw.”
“My parents are actually really nice; you’d like them. But I want you to know what you’re getting into. That we shouldn’t talk about going to Kent State in front them.”
“Okay, I get it.”
“And you still want to go?”
“Yes,” she said firmly.
Denny shrugged. “It’s your funeral. Would you look in the glove compartment for the map? I need to find the best way home.”
Chapter 45
Wednesday February 18, 1931
Antoine arrived at Kay’s and found it shuttered with a large “CLOSED” sign nailed to the door. He’d just come from his second bank visit of the day, where the loan officer had asked him, “If your bank won’t give you a loan, why should we?” The sign felt more directed at him than the luncheonette.
He leaned back against the door waiting for Lada to show. At least it wasn’t nearly as cold as Monday.
Minutes later a Cadillac Series 355 2-door Coupe pulled up to the curb. Lada popped out of the driver’s side door, and they looked at each other over the roof of the car.
Lada finally broke the silence. “Is the luncheonette closed?”
Antoine looked the sign and rattled the door handle. “Guess so.”
“Do you know any place nearby?”
“No.” He looked up and down the street. “We could just sit in the car.”
She smiled. “Okay.”
He got in the passenger side and was immediately struck by the rich smell of leather. He ran his hand down the meticulously hand-stitched upholstery.
“Nice car,” he said. Lada was wearing a green, worsted wool coat and matching cap. The cap, collar and cuffs were trimmed in fox. Her legs were sheathed in silk, and her ankle-length, high-heeled boots were same deep reddish brown as the fur. “You look great.”
She blushed. “It’s the first time I’ve felt like dressing up in a while.” Sunlight streamed in through the windshield, and he could see that the left side of her face was puffy.
“What happened to your face?” She blocked his hand as he reached out to touch her.
“It’s nothing. I slipped in the tub.”
“Okay.”
“Really, I did.” She looked down at the steering wheel. “Before you tell me what this is about, there’s something I’d like to say.”
“Alright.”
“I’m so, so sorry about how I behaved the last time we met. I regret it every day.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I understood. I still do.”
“It was so wrong of me to blame you.”
Antoine shrugged. “I miss you, Lada. You and your mother and uncles and cousins. I miss Thomas.”
“We all miss Tomislav. What I wouldn’t give to see Tommy.”
“Looks to me like you can afford a train ticket to Delaware.”
“Yes, you’d think.” She gave herself a little shake. “Enough about me. What did you want to talk about? Mama said you’re in some kind of trouble.”
“Yes.” He told her about his family’s home and his failure to come up with money he needed to keep it.
“So, you need $140.”
“Yes, to save the house. But it’s six weeks ‘til we get access to our saving account. We need money for food, coal, the electric bill, the water bill. It’s more like $170.”
“But, Antoine, I don’t have any money of my own.”
“I didn’t think you did. I was hoping that you would introduce me to your husband. Or at least tell me where I can find him.”
She was shocked. “Why?”
“I’ve heard that your husband sometimes lends people money.”
“Oh, Antoine, that’s a terrible idea. Once Frankie gets his hooks in you, he’ll never let you go.”
“I’m running out of options.”
“Did you ask my mother?”
“Your mother? Where would your mother get $170?”
“Are you kidding? My mother’s rolling it. The houses are paid for, almost all the men have jobs and pay their rent. The shop is booming. She’s lent money to a dozen of Serbian families. I don’t think she expects to get any of it back. She’d be delighted to lend you the money. Especially when she finds out she’ll get it back in April.”
He looked thoughtfully out the passenger window.
“What’s wrong?” she asked him.
“It’s just… Taking money from you mother, I don’t know.”
“That makes you uncomfortable? I’ll tell you what’s uncomfortable. Owing Frankie Dragovic $170 would be uncomfortable.” She paused; Antoine said nothing. “Let’s do this. I’ll drop you off at your house, then I’ll go talk to Mama and get it all arranged. You can call me tomorrow morning and I’ll give you the details. Hand me my purse, please.” She took out a grocery receipt, wrote down her telephone number.
He looked at the receipt with disbelief. They were saved.
He was lying on his bed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He hadn’t said anything to Sarah and wouldn’t until he had the money in hand. He was having trouble knowing how to feel about it.
The doorbell rang, and Sarah called out. “Antoine, there’s someone at the door for you.”
He went to the door and stood behind Sarah. A tall, well-built man in a fedora, overcoat and suit was standing on their front stoop.
“You Anton?” he asked in a Serbian accent.
“Yes.”
“You come see boss.” It was not a question.
“Boss?”
“Mr. Dragovic. You come.”
“Just let me grab my coat.”
Sarah followed him to the front closet. “Who is that?” she whispered.
“I don’t know.”
“Who’s this Drago person?”
“Dragovic. It’s complicated. I’ll tell you when I get home.”
The goon opened the rear door of a beat-up Model A Ford and waited for Antoine to get it. He started the car and headed west, then south.
Antoine asked, “Where are we going?”
No answer.
“Nice day, huh?”
No answer.
Antoine sat back, aware of his pounding heart. Eventually the car turned into a maze of alleys containing storage sheds, repair shops, small manufacturing concerns and medium-sized warehouses. The goon pulled into a warehouse parking lot.
He put a hand in Antoine’s back, and guided him into the warehouse and up the stairs to the offices. There were three men in the outer office. One of them was Ilarion Bogdanovic. He was seated at a desk scribbling on some papers. He didn’t look up. The other two were playing mumblety-peg with switchblades. A redhead looked up and gave him a wicked grin. Antoine recognized him as the leader of the gang that had beaten him senseless almost a year ago. The goon opened the door to the glassed-in office and slowly but irresistibly pushed him in.
Dragovic smiled, and said, “Thanks for coming.” His accent had a vaguely east coast flavor. Jersey, maybe.
“Did I have a choice?”
“Sure, you had a choice. You’re a smart guy, Anton; so, you made the smart choice. You come without no fuss.” He sat down on the window sill. “Okay if I call you Anton?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“You call me Frankie.” He laughed. “You know what’s funny?”
“No.”
He stopped smiling. “Frankie ain’t my real name. Anymore’n yours is Anton. So, let’s hear it!”
“What?”
“My name!”
Antoine nodded, “Frankie.”
His smile returned “Good! Now, let’s get down to business. I hear you got money troubles.”
Antoine blinked. “That’s why I’m here? To talk about my money troubles.”
“Not talk. Fix.”
“Fix?”
“Sure, sure. You’re a big friend of the Bogdanovics; any friend of theirs is a friend of mine. You do believe I’m your friend, don’t you, Anton?”
“Did Lada tell…”
“Who?”
“Lada, your wife.”
“Call my wife ‘Mrs. Dragovic’.”
Antoine raised his hands. “Okay. Did Mrs. Dragovic tell you about my money problems?”
“No, Mrs. Dragovic don’t tell me shit. But that’s alright. I got other ways of finding things out, and, you’re such a good ‘friend’, I found out lots about you.” He flipped open a folder on his desk. “Antoine Pierre Trombley, born March 15, 1906. Son of Pierre and Marguerite Trombley. Mother died September 17, 1917 of influenza. Brother James, half-sister Marie, step-mother Sarah. Unemployed rubber worker.” He clicked his tongue, tsk-tsk. “Not much of rival.”
“I was never your rival, Frankie. La…, that is, Mrs. Dragovic I and were just friends. And we’re not even that anymore.”
“But you went to her for help.”
“You followed her?”
“Naw. Like I said, I got ways of knowing things. So, you thought Lada would give you the dough?”
“No. I was going ask her to introduce me to you.”
“To me?”
“Yes. I was going to ask you for a loan.”
“Really?” He thought about it. “Don’t think you could afford the vig.”
“The vig?”
“Yeah, the vig, the nut, the juice, the weekly squeeze.” Dragovic saw that Antoine still didn’t get it. “There’s a weekly charge. On 175, that’s about nine bucks a week; over six weeks that’s almost 60 bucks. At that rate you wouldn’t even be able to afford the…” he flipped to another page in the file, “$141.08 you owe in tax.”
“How do you know that?”
“County clerks is cheap nowadays.”
“So, you aren’t offering me a loan?”
“No.”
“Then what am I doing here?”
“I was thinking I give you the money.”
“What do you mean ‘give’?”
Dragovic took an envelope out his top desk drawer and tossed it to Antoine. It hit him in the chest and he caught it awkwardly. It contained several twenty-dollar bills.
“Count it!”
“I don’t need to. You didn’t bring me here to stiff me.” Dragovic grinned at him. “What do you want in return?”
“In a minute. I’m gonna make a prediction first. I predict you ain’t gonna get the money from the Mila Bogdanovic.”
“So, you’ve got Mila under your thumb, too.”
“Oh, no. The harder you push Mila, the more stubborn she gets. I learned that when I was chasin’ after Lada. But here’s the thing. You take the money from Mila? Bad things will start happenin’ to the Bogdanovic family. Men will lose their jobs, the shop will lose customers, and they’ll slide right back to where they was before they give me Lada. And it’ll be on your head. All because you was too proud to take this money from me.” Frankie let that sink in. “Understand?”
Antoine nodded.
“Now we come to what I want. First: you don’t never tell nobody, family, friend or foe, where this money come from.”
“Okay.” Antoine was fine with that.
“Second: you don’t never talk to my wife again. You don’t call her; if she calls you, you hang up. You don’t never come to my door; you don’t never go to her mama’s house. If she knocks on your door, you close the door in her face. If you see her in the street, you walk the other way. You don’t send no message through family or friends. Not a word from you to her. And you better believe that I’ll know if my wife hears from you. Just like I knowed it today. Is that clear?”
“Can I have a couple of days to think it over?”
“No. You walk out that door, the deal is off!”
“Can I have a minute?”
“Take your time.”
Oh, Lada, Antoine thought.
He thought about what he’d said to his brother:
I promise you I won’t leave any stone unturned. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep us in this house.
And to his sister:
No, Marie, that’s a plan, not a promise. But I’ll work as hard as I can to keep us together, and, if necessary, get us back together. That is a promise.
And what Mr. Bainey had told him:
It’s a desperate situation. You may have to do something, um, if not illegal, then unsavory.
And, finally, what Lada had said to him last August:
Oh, Antoine, you’re so naïve. People are bought and sold every day.
Here I am, he thought, and here are my thirty pieces of silver.
Dragovic said, “Don’t tell me you’re gonna put your sister and sick papa out in the cold. For a woman that you ain’t heard from in six months.”
“No, I’m not.” Antoine put the envelope in his coat pocket.
Dragovic nodded. “One more thing, Antoine. You know what I do to people who cross me?”
“No.”
He picked up a baseball bat. “I bust ‘em up. Only it won’t be you, it’ll be your kid brother. No more basketball, no college, no future. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes.”
Dragovic gestured to his goon watching from the outer office.
He poked his head in the door. “Boss?”
“Bruno, take Mr. Trombley home.”
“Da, gospodaru.”
Sarah was just drying the last dinner dish when Antoine walked through the door.
“Maman.”
“Antoine, I saved you a plate. It’s in the icebox.”
He handed her the envelope. The flap was open and she counted it. “Why, there’s $180 here.” She put her right hand to her chest and her left on counter for support.
“Are you alright?” She nodded. “Here, sit down.” He helped her to a chair at the kitchen table. He sat across from her, holding her hand in concern.
“I’m alright, really I am. I never doubted you, Antoine, but it’s such a relief.”
“You had more faith in me than I did.”
“Where did it come from?”
“I promised not to say.”
“Antoine, you didn’t do something…”
“Illegal?” he shook his head. Just shameful.
“Praise be to God. You are a good man, Antoine.”
Antoine kept his doubts to himself.
Friday February 20, 1930
“Antoine, I’m so glad you called. I have good news.”
“I could sure use some, Mr. Bainey.”
“So, I called the manager at my bank and he’s willing to give you that loan with your collateral and my co-signature.”
“Oh, oh, gee, that is great, but I’ve already gotten the money from somebody else.”
“Really? Where? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“I promised I wouldn’t say.”
“A personal loan?”
“Yes, sir. In a way.”
“Mm, unsavory, then.”
“Well, let’s just say I would prefer your offer.”
“No sense in crying over spilt milk, as they say. No doubt you made the right choice.”
“I hope so, Mr. Bainey.”
“I do have something else for you. My accounting firm, Peal, Wilkens and Sweeney, do a lot of income tax work, and they have the need for some parttime help through the end of March.”
“But I don’t know anything about accounting.”
“You don’t have to. They need an office boy; somebody to run errands, deliver messages, get signatures, help with filing. That sort of thing. It won’t pay much, but it’s better than nothing. Does that interest you?”
“Of course. It’s a lot better than shoveling manure.”
“Good man. Their address is 23 South Summit. Do you think you can go by there today?”
“Yes, sir. I came downtown to pay the tax. I’m not too far from there right now.”
“Okay, ask for Robert Sweeney and tell them I sent you.”
“I’ll do that!”
“Alright then. Talk to you soon, Antoine. Take care.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Bainey, and thank you.”