19 - September 1974

By the end of the summer of 1974, I had become fast-friends with Byron Johnson and his entire family. In turn, Byron became close to my family, too. When something happened to one of us, it happened to all of us. That was evident in the bleakness of autumn 1974.

The cold and damp of fall came early that year. With it came the smell of burning leaves and a carpet of gold and red upon the ground. That was especially true for the Johnson’s front yard, which had two giant sugar maples. Although it had been raining for most of the week, Mrs. Johnson sent the children out to rake the leaves and put them into trash bags.

While Byron and Erica worked, a motorcycle buzzed down the street towards their house. Both of the riders were dressed in ripped jeans, white t-shirts, and black leather jackets. It was Mikey and Todd Langtree.

“Hey!” Todd shouted from the back of the bike, “Look at the stupid porch monkeys raking the leaves!”

Mikey cackled as he revved the engine with the flick of a wrist. The motorbike sped off. Erica leaned on her rake with one hand and placed the other on her hip.

“If that isn’t the dumbest thing ever, I don’t know what is.”

“What?” asked Byron.

“We’re not even on the porch.”

Byron let out an enormous belly laugh. He loved how Erica always had a way of cutting through the crap that usually bothered him. In fact, it was her regular jovial attitude that made Byron a more patient recipient of the all-too-often racial slurs thrown his way since he’d moved to Mt. Adams. His patience grew as he watched his sister absorb it quietly and calmly.

Unfortunately, that didn’t go for everyone in our group.

Late one afternoon, everyone gathered at the Johnson house to hang out. That not only included Byron, Lee, and me, but also Fitzie and Erica and her friend Barb. Barb had played girl’s softball with Erica during the summer.

The boys were gathered around the Jugs machine while the girls sat on the back stoop and watched. I was feeding tennis balls into the hopper while Lee took batting practice.

Most of the time, he struck out.

“You’re not very good at that,” taunted Barb.

“It’s not as easy as it looks.”

“Apparently not.”

“I bet you can’t do any better.”

“I bet I can.”

The girls rose to their feet and walked over to home plate. Barb stuck out her hand as Lee offered her the bat. As she went to grab it, he pulled it away. She reached toward him as he held it high over his head.

“Give it here.”

“You come get it.”

Erica reached behind Lee and pulled the bat out of his hands and handed it to Barb. After that, Lee refused to move away from the plate.

“Go ahead and give me a pitch. We’ll see how brave he is then.”

Lee immediately stepped to the side.

Fitzie, who was pitching, presented the tennis ball in the standard fashion before dropping it into the feeder tube. It flew by Barb and smacked in Byron’s mitt.

“Ha!” spat Lee.

“It’s just one pitch. Give me a chance…”

Fitzie dropped another ball into the hopper and it spat out the other end. Barb swung and the ball hit near the handle. It popped up and went foul, sailing over the pine trees and into the Langtree’s back yard.

“See?” said Barb.

“See what? That’s not a fair ball.”

“Yeah,” said Barb, “but you didn’t hit it at all.”

Everyone laughed except Lee as Barb flipped the bat end-for-end and handed it to him handle first. She must’ve figured it was best to stop while she was ahead. Or, just maybe, she had nothing left to prove.

Lee snatched the bat and banged it on the plate as he got into his stance.

“Pitch me another, Fitzie.”

“Alright…”

Andy displayed the ball just as he always had. Then, he dropped it into the tube. It came out with a WOHnk. That was immediately followed by the “pop” when it smacked the bottom of Byron’s mitt.

“Give me another.”

“Come on, Lee.”

“No, I can hit it.”

As Lee waited for the next pitch, Mikey and Todd Langtree cut through the pine trees and leaned against the fence.

“Pitch it,” said Lee.

“WOHnk-pop!”

Lee’s last swing that afternoon was as wild as ever. He missed like the proverbial “Casey at the Bat”. When he did, both Langtree boys taunted him. The rest of the gang stewed silently.

“Pitch me another,” said Lee.

“No,” said Andy.

“Why should he?,” said Mikey, “You can’t hit it.”

“You can’t hit it either,” said Lee.

“Now it’s my turn to make you look like a fool.”

Mikey emptied his pockets into a pile on the ground and vaulted the fence with just his hands.

“I’m not pitching it,” said Fitz.

“Let me show you boys how to hit.”

Mikey crouched over the plate as he got into his stance. An old Pall Mall cigarette dangled form his lips and his wallet chain jangled as he rolled the bat around waiting for Fitz to deliver a pitch. I snatched the ball from Fitzie’s hands and dumped it into the feeder tube.

“WOHnk-smack!”

Mikey connected with the very first pitch, even though I didn’t give any warning at all. It sailed over the fence into Mr. Cook’s yard. His Samoyeds yapped as Mikey ran the bases. As he crossed second, he veered toward the fence and leapt over in a single bound. We all stood and watched. None of us ever went into Mr. Cook’s backyard, even when the huskies were indoors. Mikey fetched the ball and darted towards the far fence. With another leap, he was out of harm’s way.

Then, he turned around and fired the ball at one of the dogs. She let out a yip as the ball smacked her squarely in the nose.

“Watch it!” shouted Fitz.

“It’s just a stupid dog.”

Mikey sauntered through the neighbor’s yard before leaping the fence into his own. Todd ducked through the underbrush near the pine trees. The boys just laughed and laughed.

As the Langtrees disappeared into their house, Mr. Cook came outside to survey the goings-on at the Johnson house. He whistled for his dogs and gathered the other tennis balls in his lawn.

It was very nonchalant how it all went about. It was also one of the very few times he’d tossed the balls back to us. We were all thankful there was an adult around. It was the one thing that always kept the Langtrees in check.

A short time later, Mrs. Johnson emerged, carrying a tray of hot cider and sliced fruit. The children swarmed around her.

“Mommy,” said Erica, “you know how I love crabapple cider.”

“I know, dear.”

We sat on an assortment of chairs, benches, and patio furniture on the back porch and consumed everything Mrs. Johnson brought to us. Sitting out there in the cool evening breeze reminded us that the Crabapple Festival was only a few days away.

“You know,” said Lee, “they’re already setting up rides at Kennedy Park.”

“ “We should go,” I said.

 We always do.”

“I mean right now.”

We all looked at each other for a moment. Then, we all ran to the front yard, where the bicycles sat in a heap. It immediately turned into a race as we hopped on our bikes and sped off.

“Hey! What about me?” shouted Erica.

“Hop on the back of my bike,” I said.

She climbed onto the peg stands on the back wheel and rested her hands on my shoulders. When we coasted down the long hill towards Kennedy Park, she pressed against my back. I distinctly remember the sweet smell of her vanilla perfume. It was completely wonderful.

The red, white, and blue of the tilt-a-whirl sat in the middle of one of the baseball diamonds. The caterpillar ride sat on another. A small Ferris wheel sat right beside the Swimming pool. The nets had been stripped off the tennis courts to make way for the Midway. It was really beginning to look like a festival. All that was missing were the people (and, of course, the tons of crabapples).

As we rode through the construction, workers shooed us away like flies. We headed towards the other side of the park before we circled back home.

As we neared Byron’s house, a barrage of crabapples rained down. We knew exactly where they came from as they flew over the roof of the Langtree house and splattered on the street in front of us.

As I swerved out of the way, Erica leaned into the turn. The front wheel jagged as the bike crashed and we fell to the street. The Langtrees tossed more crabapples as we ran for cover.  Andy turned his bike around and rode into the Langtree’s front yard. He dumped his bike near the big oak tree in their yard and dared Mikey to come out.

Tommy came out instead.

“Hey, man, what do you want?”

“I want to beat Mikey’s ass.”

“Why do you wanna do that?”

“Look at what they did to Jake and Erica.”

“Don’t worry about them. I’ll take care of it.”

Andy stood there for a moment before he turned around and got back on his bike. A single crabapple flew through the air and hit Andy on the ear.

“Hey! Stop it, you idiots!” shouted Tommy.

He made quick strides towards the side yard and snatched both Mikey and Todd by their greasy white t-shirts.

“You fuckin’ apologize to him right now.”

“What?” whined Mikey.

“You heard me.”

“I’m sorry, Andy.”

“And tell him you won’t do it again.”

Mikey shook his head and Tommy immediately twisted Mikey’s arm backwards.

“I won’t do it again! I promise!”

“Alright then. It’s settled.”

Tommy unclenched his younger brothers and they returned to the backyard.

“Thanks, Tommy,” said Fitzie.

“Anytime, man.”

It was weird that Tommy was the one to come to our rescue. He’d been in and out of juvenile detention a handful of times already and by the time we were adults, he’d spend most of his adult life behind bars. Still, he never was into violent crimes – he just stole anything that wasn’t bolted down.

That was just Tommy’s way, I guess.

Meanwhile, Erica and I were a mess. We’d both scraped ourselves up pretty bad – bits of blacktop formed a crusty outer crust on top of the patches of torn skin.

“Oh dear,” exclaimed Mrs. Johnson, “are you two alright?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Go wash that dirt off there so I can get you all fixed up.”

We went to the restroom and cleaned the wounds as best we could as Mrs. Johnson ran to the hall closet for antibiotic spray, gauze, and tape. I winced in pain as the spray stung my open wounds. Mrs. Johnson quickly applied the dressings.

“There,” she said as she pressed her lips to each of our bandages, “all better.”

Her kisses left waxy lipstick prints. While she cared for us, Fitzie grumbled as he stomped back and forth in front of us.

“I can’t believe that Mikey Langtree. I swear, one of these days I’m just gonna punch his lights out.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Mr. Johnson, “you need to put your own temper in check before it gets you in trouble.”

“But those guys are hoods, Mr. Johnson.”

“It doesn’t matter what they are. A man is measured by how he handles the bad times as well as the good. You just need to turn the other cheek.”

“If I turn the other cheek, he’ll hit me again.”

“Mr. Johnson took a long and measured breath. Then, he extended his arms toward Fitzie and laid his hands upon each of Andy’s shoulders. He looked him straight in the eyes.

“Be the better man.”

“Yes, sir,” said Andy.

A couple of tense days passed at school as Andy and Mikey bumped into each other in the school halls. Words were exchanged, but that was about it.

Before we even went to the Crabapple Festival on Friday, we headed to the homecoming game against Bond Hill. Until Byron moved into town, we generally looked down at anyone from Bond Hill. We considered them black trash – kids literally from the other side of the tracks.

For Byron and Erica, homecoming was something even greater. Byron walked over to my place just before sunset.

“How are you getting to the game tonight?”

“I’m not sure.”

“My dad said he’s going. Just be at our house a half-hour before kickoff.”

“Why so early?”

“Dad wants to get a good seat near the press box.”

“Alright.”

I showered right after dinner and headed over to Byron’s right at 6:15. When I arrived, everyone was ready. Erica and Byron were sitting on opposite ends of the couch while Mr. Johnson sat in his rocking chair. Mr. Johnson checked his watch as I knocked on the screen door.

“I like a man who’s prompt.”

I smiled.

“I guess we can get going now,” he said.

“Daddy, we’ll be the only ones there.”

“Erica, there will be coaches and players and band members and cheerleaders and don’t forget about the athletic boosters.”

“But dad…”

“No buts. We’re heading out.”

It was a short drive to the High School and we were there within five minutes. The parking lot was nearly empty. Mr. Johnson parked right next to the concession stand. There wasn’t even a ticket-taker set up at the gate. One of the boosters greeted us and told us to go on in free of charge, so we did.

Most of those people Mr. Johnson mentioned were there, but they weren’t anywhere near the field. They were in locker rooms or on school busses. Even the boosters were hiding behind the scenes, getting the concession stand ready although the shutters were still closed.

We all followed Mr. Johnson up to the top row of the bleachers. He sat down and leaned his back against the fence. It bowed under his weight and felt like it was going to break. I immediately decided to lean forward on the bench next to Byron. Erica sat on her father’s left side, next to the press box entrance. It was noisy with the chatter of coaches and athletic directors.

“Jake,” said Mr. Johnson, “Aren’t the Dodgers playing the Reds tonight?”

“Yeah, but it’s in L.A. so it won’t start until later.”

The hardest part of being a Dodgers fan was always the time difference between Cincy and L.A. Most of the Dodgers’ games started around 10 o’clock Eastern Standard Time and didn’t end until long after midnight. If I went to school the next day, I was grumpy and tired. Even when the Dodgers played the Reds, those away games weren’t televised in Cincinnati. I’d have to listen to it on the radio. That was okay. I loved hearing Joe and Marty’s broadcast almost as much as I loved hearing Vin Scully – the voice of the Dodgers.

 By the time the football game started, the temperature dipped below 40°. It must’ve been below freezing at the top of the stands.

“Dad? Where’s your blanket?” asked Erica.

He pointed to the grocery bag sitting between his feet. She took the blanket out and wrapped it around her shoulders. It wasn’t long until we were all cold. Byron, however, was the first to speak up.

“Hey sis, get over here. I’m freezing.”

“Yeah, me too,” I said.

Erica shimmied by her father and sat between us. There was barely enough blanket to cover the three of us, so Byron and I fought over the loose ends as Erica stayed warm.

“Oh my god,” said Byron, “it’s too cold up here. I’m going to get some hot chocolate.”

“Me, too.”

“Me three.”

Erica kept the blanket wrapped around her as she tagged along behind us to the concession stand. We ordered hot chocolates and a cone of cotton candy. Erica paid for it, but only because she’d ordered the cotton candy.

The collective of people huddled together between the concession stand and the edge of the football field kept us warm. For the most part, we stayed in the middle of it all…at least until Lee and Fitz came along.

“What’s going on?” asked Fitzie.

“Just trying to stay warm. How about you?”

“Same here. We’re thinking of going to get pizza. You wanna go with us?”

We looked up at the scoreboard. We hadn’t even been paying attention to the game. Mt. Adams was beating Bond Hill by three touchdowns and it wasn’t even halftime.

“Sure, why not?” said Byron.

Erica and I followed.

Theo’s Pizzeria was located behind the High School, just beyond the visitor’s bandstand. Instead of fighting the crowd, we cut around behind the bleachers.

The area beneath the bleachers was prime real estate for the older kids. Some couples made out under the bleachers and some kids smoked. Some kids smoked pot. Still, others went down there looking for fights. Police patrolled the area, but Mt. Adams was a large school with large bleachers. Kids still managed to get into trouble down there.

“Let’s go this way,” said Fitz.

As we snuck through the metal framework, we ran into a group of smokers. Mikey Langtree was there.

“What are you turds doing down here?” he asked.

“We’re just going to Theo’s.”

“Nah, man. You’re not going this way.”

“Yeah,” said Fitz, “we are.”

“No, you’re not.”

Fitzie pressed on. We followed. Mikey grabbed Lee by the arm and held it between two support rods.

“Let go,” begged Lee.

“I don’t think so.”

“Let him go, Mikey.”

“You gonna make me?”

Fitzie shoved Mikey while he pulled Lee towards him. Mikey stood there for a moment, just watching Fitz.

“Mikey, you just gonna let him do that?”

Mikey stepped through the framework and snatched Lee by the jacket. The jacket ripped as Fitz continued pulling Lee out of the way.

Finally, as we reached the far end of the girders, a flashlight popped on and it shined upon us. It was a Mt. Adams police officer.

“What are you kids doing?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Get out from under the bleachers.”

The two groups quickly split up as we each went our own ways. Again, we were thankful for any kind of intervention. It seemed to be our lucky week.

Since it was the only place within walking distance of the football field, Theo’s was already packed with the kids who couldn’t get rides to the other hangouts. We only hung around in the parking lot until we found upperclassmen to take us to the Kennedy Park.

The Crabapple Festival was packed, too. None of us had much money, so we just walked around and looked at things. Erica and I got separated from Byron and the guys in the Crafts tent. Most likely, they didn’t even stay there long. Neither of us paid attention.

“where could they be?”

“I don’t have a clue.”

“Me neither. Let’s get some food.”

“I spent all my money at the game,” said Erica.

“Don’t worry. I got us covered.”

We ordered two spiced apple ciders, but we were starved so we got also ordered some corn dogs, a cup of French fries, a giant pretzel, and an elephant ear.

We sat at the small picnic table next to the tennis courts. We adjusted ourselves so we could keep warm beneath the blanket yet still get at our food. We gobbled everything until we got to the elephant ear. With that, we took turns feeding each other with our free hands as we kept the blanket wrapped around us.

We laughed as gusts of wind whipped through the blanket. In the blinking festival lights, Erica’s lips shimmered with sugar glaze as she licked her lips. I quickly pecked her on the lips. She pulled her free hand up and placed it upon my cheek as she returned the favor with a longer, lingering kiss.

After that, we locked eyes for the briefest of moments. Some of our classmates passed by and Erica simply pulled away, taking the blanket with her. It wasn’t much later that Barb and some of her friends came along.

“Erica! Jake! Did you hear what happened?”

“What?”

“Andy Fitzpatrick and Mikey Langtree got into a fight behind the Ferris Wheel. Police came along and broke it up.”

“Is Fitz alright?”

“Yeah,” said Barb, “but I think he went to the police station.”

“Oh, shit.”

None of us heard a thing from Andy all weekend. In fact, it wasn’t until I saw him in the hallway between periods that I even knew he wasn’t in jail or something. The rumors of what had happened were nothing compared to the story Fitzie told me.

“I was getting off the Tilt-a-Whirl when Mikey and his punk-ass friends jumped me. One guy held me by the arms and Mikey punched me right in the gut.”

“Did you get hurt?”

“Nah, but I got him good. Did you see his black eye?”

It was something alright. Nobody at school really saw any of the first part of the fight, but the second part was what everone at school was talking about. Fitzie lit up Mikey Langtree with a big right hook. Kids who saw it said it made a huge smacking sound right when Fitzie landed it. Fitzie must’ve gotten in a few more good hits, because Mikey’s face was still blue-black on Monday morning.

When Fitz came over to Byron’s house that night, Mr. Johnson lectured him about self-control.

“You just don’t go around hitting anything or anyone that gets you upset.”

“But he was wrong. I did it for Erica.”

“You don’t need to stand up for her. That’s Byron’s job.”

But, it wasn’t Byron’s job, either. We all knew that. Mr. Johnson preached patience before intervention. He was never the one to get between two people to sort things out. His motto was always “you worry about you and I’ll worry about me.” It was one of the best pieces of advice I’d ever heard him give.

.