29 - May 1977

“I’ve always thought that old goat roper should’ve been an Army Sergeant instead of a Lifeguard.”

That was something my dad always said about Jayne Rosen, the lifeguard captain at the Mt. Adams Swim Club. She was heavy set and gruff whenever she manned the pool deck, which is how most people viewed her. On the contrary, her true personality emerged when she manned the front desk, she was one of the most compassionate and understanding people you could ever meet.

Along with her husband Leo, Jayne ran the Swim Club. It was more like a family gathering place than a public swimming pool. The Swim Club always opened on April Fools’ Day and didn’t close until the Halloween bash on the last day of October.

During those times when school was in session and lifeguards were in short supply, the pool was only open six hours a day. Even then, only the smaller pool was open, and the water temperature was often unsuitably cold.

Lee spent one Friday night at my place that May. Unlike his usual sleepy self, he was up bright and early, knocking at my bedroom door.

“Get up! We’re going to the Swim Club.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s seven o’clock on the dot.”

Come on man, that’s too early. Go back to bed.”

“This is the perfect time to go to the pool because nobody’s there.”

“Okay, give me a few moments to get ready.”

We ate breakfast and then jumped on our bikes and headed over to Lee’s house, where he picked up his gym bag. We arrived at the Swim Club just before the eight a.m. swim break.

“See? Nobody’s here.”

“That’s because everybody’s still at home in bed.”

“That’s what makes it the perfect time to swim.”

The morning sun hadn’t yet warmed the deep end of the pool, so we just hung out near the diving boards. Jayne was there, too.

“Hey boys,” she said, “you know you can’t dip your feet in the pool during swim break.”

Lee looked around.

“I know,” said Jayne, “nobody’s here, but rules are rules and if I let you do it, then I have to let everyone do it.”

We pulled our feet out of the pool and stood next to Jayne.

“Why are you guys here so early anyway?’

“It was Lee’s idea.”

“You’ve pretty much got the pool to yourselves, but you know Mr. Fitzpatrick isn’t working today.”

“Oh, man, I forgot,” said Lee.

We hung out at the pool for only a short while longer before returning to the change house and switching back into our street clothes. We biked up to the Fitzpatrick house. Andy was mowing the front lawn.

“Hey guys, what’s up?”

“We were just going to ask you the same thing.”

“I’ve got chores.”

“When will you be finished?”

“Mom’s here alone so it’s my responsibility to give her all the help she needs.”

“You can’t get out for just a little bit?”

“Not a chance. After I mow the lawn, I’m going to give her car a tune-up, then help move furniture while she vacuums.”

“What now?” asked Lee.

“Are the Reds playing today?”

Lee shook his head.

“I wish one of us could drive.”

“I can drive,” said Fitz.

“But you’re busy.”

“Maybe I can squeeze a little free time in tonight.”

Fitzie returned to his yard work and we returned to our bikes, looking for something to do. We rode the rest of the way up the hill to Byron’s house. His mother greeted us at the door.

“Hey boys, Byron is with his sister at Mrs. Larinov’s house.”

Lee and I locked glances.

“Go on over there. It’s good for what ails you.”

We parked our bikes around back and went next door.

“Hello, hello,” said Mrs. Larinov, “it is very pleasant to see you. The more, the merrier, as they say.”

 Lee and I joined the fray, taking up dust rags and polish and going to work in the sitting room. With four of us on task, we’d whipped the whole house into shape.

“Is there a chance I can get help with the lawn, too?”

“That would be no problem, Mrs. Larinov.”

Byron took the mower and Lee took the weed whip while Erica and I cleared weeds out of the flower bed.

“I hope I’m not asking too much from you kids.”

“Not at all,” said Byron.

Erica and I chatted and laughed as we worked on the pesky weeds in Mrs. Larinov’s flower bed.

“If you can, just rip those vines out of there.”

“It shouldn’t be a problem, Mrs. Larinov.”

I began by pulling on the ivy right at the root. Then, Erica jumped in to help. The vine was firmly entrenched in place; its root was about half an inch thick.

“Pull harder!” I commanded.

We pulled with all our might, but that vine wasn’t going anywhere. Finally, we tumbled back off our heels and landed square on our back ends. Erica hacked and coughed as she cleared the dust from her throat. Then, she just stood there and watched as I gave a low growl and went for the ivy again.

She laughed as I tugged and pulled in futility. It was hard to tell which was more stubborn, me or the ivy.

“Why aren’t you helping?”

“I know when to quit.”

“We can get it if we work together.”

Erica crossed her arms and shook her head. Mrs. Larinov shook her head, too.

“Just give up Jacob, it’s no use. I’ve been fighting with that weed for almost half my life.”

I took up the rake and helped Lee clean the mown grass. It was another hour of hard work before we’d finished our work.

“Is there anything else?” asked Byron.

“One more thing,” said Mrs. Larinov, “Come to my dining room and have a seat.”

Byron and I went for one side of the table, but Erica cut off her brother, sitting to my left. Byron glowered at her as he moved to the opposite side of the table and sat next to Lee.

“Erica, my dear, can you help me in the kitchen?”

Erica went with Mrs. Larinov for a second and returned with an armload of place settings. Just like the old Victorian table and chairs, the dinnerware was ornate. Mrs. Larinov followed closely behind with a large baking pot.

“I fixed you dear children some taba tula, a famous Macedonian dish.”

She ladled it out onto our plates: a goulash of rice, vegetables, and lamb stock. Erica brought out a pitcher of orange-lemonade and filled everyone’s glasses.

“This is fantastic, Mrs. Larinov,” said Lee.

“It is,” added Byron.

There were onions and peppers and okra, all of which I hated. I didn’t tell Mrs. Larinov, though. I just stuffed spoonfuls of food in my mouth and chased them with large gulps of the orange-lemonade.

Luckily, the orange-lemonade drowned the strong vegetable tastes I could hardly stand.

“Jacob, would you like another helping?”

“I’m absolutely stuffed, Mrs. Larinov.”

I pushed myself away from the table and was soon followed by the rest of my friends.

“Thanks for everything, my dear, dear children.”

“No problem,” said Byron.

We went back to Byron’s house and sprawled out on the living room carpet as the box fan blew the heat from our sweaty bodies. Saturday morning cartoons gave way to early afternoon golf highlights, but only Lee liked golf, so we headed to the backyard and took batting practice while Byron crouched behind home plate and honed his mitt work. As the tennis balls filled Mrs. Larinov’s lawn, we stood on our side of the fence and watched the Samoyeds stand their ground, too.

“I’ve got it, kiddoes,” said Mrs. Larinov as she toddled back and forth through her backyard, fetching tennis balls for us.

“Thanks, Mrs. Larinov.”

“It’s my pleasure, kiddoes, my pleasure.”

Mrs. Larinov settled into the chaise lounge on her porch with a pitcher of her orange-lemonade and watched us while we played. After a while, Erica’s softball friends showed up and joined us.

“Boys against girls?” said Erica.

“That’d be too easy,” countered Byron.

“Oh, it’s on, big brother. We’ll even let you boys bat first.”

I batted first and Barb pitched. She wind-milled her arm and fired a pitch at the plate. I watched as it whizzed by me.

“You can’t pitch underhanded,” said Byron.

“Why can’t we?”

“This is real pitching.”

“You’re just saying that because you can’t hit it.”

Byron scoffed, “Alright, pitch it like a girl. See if I care.”

“Alright,” replied Barb, “I will.”

Barb fired a second pitch toward me and I hooked it towards first. I bounced against the fence and landed in the nook between the fence and telephone pole. Erica reached into the brush as I rounded first and sprinted towards second.

“Gotcha!” she said as she popped up with the tennis ball in her hand. As I backpedaled, she chased me the whole way to first. I stlipped on a patch of dirt and she leapt at me. She reached out for the tag and I dodged away. She stretched out her arm and tagged me right as I touched the first base dirt pad.

“You’re out!” said Barb.

“I’m safe!”

“Yeah,” said Byron, “he’s safe.”

“He’s safe by a mile!” added Lee.

Mrs. Larinov got up from her chair as we argued it out.

“I was watching the whole thing and Erica caught him by just a hair.”

“Aw, come on!” said Lee, “you’re just saying that because you’re a girl, too.”

Mrs. Larinov shook her head.

“Alright,” said Byron, “he’s out.”

“I am not!”

Byron just shook his head and directed me back to the bench. I sat down.

The game went on for about two more hours. Mrs. Larinov got up and went inside. She emerged with another pitcher of orange-lemonade.

“Maybe you kiddoes should take a little breather.”

We dropped our things and gathered around Mrs. Larinov. Her Samoyeds snapped and barked. Mrs. Larinov gave a command in a foreign language. The dogs bowed their heads.

“Here, hold this,” she said to Erica.

She grabbed her dogs by the collars and led them to the back door and shut them inside.

“There, that’s better.”

She joined us at the fence for drinks until we finished off the pitcher.

“Would you like some more?”

“You’ve done enough already,” I said, “Anyway, I think we’re going to the Swim Club.”

“Alright then, you kiddoes have a good day.”

We gathered the bats, balls, and gloves and stored them away. Then, the guys and gals split into two groups.

“Byron, are you going with us?”

Byron shook his head, “I have responsibilities here.”

I just nodded. I knew he didn’t like the pool at all, but never understood why. Even with that, Lee and I would not be deterred. I grabbed my gym bag and went with Lee to his house to pick up his swim trunks before we headed to the Swim Club.

Jayne and Andy manned the diving boards. Jayne stood on the pool deck while Andy sat in the lookout station. That meant we had to steer clear of the pool deck.

We moved a wooden back rest across the lawn, positioning it halfway between the diving boards and volleyball pit. In fact, a small group of classmates had gathered around the volleyball pit, too. Someone had brought a boom box and music blasted through the air.

Erica approached, her friend Barb was at her side.

“Hey Jake, hey Lee, mind if we join you?”

Lee offered up the blank space next to us.

“Why are you tagging along?” I asked.

“I’m just here to soak up the sun.”

The girls unfolded their towels beside ours and Erica lay on her blanket face down next to me. She turned her head away for several moments, ignoring me completely. Sitting next to her was unnerving as I listened to Lee fill the air with his conversation that seemed to drone on endlessly.

“Barb, what are your plans for vacation?”

“I don’t have any plans.”

“Isn’t your family going somewhere this Summer?”

“Yeah.”

“Where are you going?”

“Atlantic City.”

“That’s in New Jersey, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Atlantic City. You know that’s where all the rich people vacation.”

Barb gave a flip of her hair and turned her back to him. Lee pinched his lips in his teeth as he looked her over. Then, he reclined on the back rest and fit his sunglasses over his eyes, seeming not to care either.

The P.A. sounded a short time later.

“3 o’clock adult swim.”

All the lifeguard whistles sounded as swimmers were rounded up and helped out of the pool. Children yelped as they made their way to their beach towels and gathered money for the snack bar and game room. Meanwhile, a long shadow fell over me. I removed my arm from my face.

“Hey Fitzie, long time no see.”

“Hey Jake, what ‘cha doin’?”

“I’m just sitting here, wasting time until tonight.”

“What’s tonight?”

“You know, we’ve got the Hyde Park game tonight.”

Andy nodded, “Yeah, yeah, I don’t think I’ll be able to play.”

Lee sat upright, “What do you mean you won’t be able to play?”

“You know…I’ve got obligations.”

“Yeah, you’ve got obligations to the traveling team.”

“Jayne needs me. We’re short-handed at the Swim Club.”

“Who’s going to pitch tonight?”

“Coach Klein will figure it out.”

“Does he know you’re not going to be there?”

“Yeah, he knows.”

The guard whistles sounded again as the P.A. interrupted our conversation.

“3:05 – All Swim.”

“I have to go back to the pool deck.”

I followed Andy directly to the pool deck. Since he’d been lookout the previous hour, he rotated to the pool deck next to the diving boards for the 3 o’clock hour.

“You have an obligation to the team.”

“I have all sorts of obligations, Jake.”

“Your first obligation is to the team.”

“Boys, boys,” said Jayne authoritatively, “you know better.”

“I’m sorry Jayne, but Andy is supposed to be pitching tonight and he said he’s got to work here.”

“This is Andy’s last post. Then he rotates off staff.”

I stared Andy down.

“But you need my help tonight,” said Andy.

“Andy, you’re under 18, by law I can’t keep you on the clock more than 8 hours in any day. You know that.”

“But you need help.”

“Go play ball, Andy. I promise, the Swim Club will survive without you.”

Andy heaved a long heavy sigh.

“Alright, I’m in.”

“Does that mean I get my life guard back?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll get back to my duties.”

“That means I can get back to the lookout.”

So, it was settled. At four o’clock, we headed uphill from the Swim Club to our own separate houses.

I went home and headed directly for the restroom. I showered and changed and ate dinner with my parents.

Just before six o’clock, the Mt. Adams traveling team was to gather together at J.F.K., this time dressed in our jersey grays and maroons. That night, we’d face off against Hyde Park, one of our toughest rivals.

As game time approached, Coach Klein rounded us up for a pre-game talk.

“Where’s Fitzie?”

Nobody replied.

“Jake? Lee? Have you seen Fitzie?”

“We saw him at the Swim Club this just a couple hours ago.”

“You were at the Swim Club on a game day? Don’t worry about that now. We need a pitcher. Jake, how’s your arm?”

“It’s okay, I guess.”

“Then you’re on the mound.”

“I’m not a pitcher.”

“You are today.”

As I warmed up, Byron talked me through it.

“Don’t worry about trick pitches, just put it where I put my mitt and you’ll be fine.”

I simply nodded as Byron plopped the baseball in the well of my glove.

Meanwhile, Byron’s old nemesis, Andy Meyer, was pitching for Hyde Park. Mr. Meyer was in the stands behind the Hyde Park bench when he spotted Mr. Johnson. He got up and sauntered over to Mr. Johnson.

“Hello Robert.”

“Hey, Tom, how’s it going?”

“It’s going.”

Tom leaned a hand against the bleachers as he watched the boys warming up. Neither he nor Mr. Johnson said another thing to each other for two innings. At the top of the third, Tom circled around behind the bleachers. Then, and only then, he broke the silence.

“See you later, Robert.”

“Yeah, see you later.”

I breezed through two innings, only allowing two runners on base. For the most part, Byron was absolutely right. I pitched four strong innings, only allowing a handful of hits and two runs. At the top of the fifth, we led 6-2. Coach Klein pulled me aside.

“How’s your arm holding up?”

“It’s a little worn out, but I’m okay.”

“If you can get us through the fifth, I’ll find a way to get us the rest of the way through it.”

While we batted during the top of the fifth, Fitzie arrived.

“Where have you been?”

“I was taking care of my mom.”

“Alright,” said Coach Klein, “you’re pitching relief for Jake.”

Fitzie shot me a quick glance, “you were the starter?”

Yeah, thank goodness you’re here.”

Fitzie took over and made short work of Hyde Park. The final score was 10-2.

Immediately after the game, we went to Byron’s house. Mr. Johnson fired up the grill and cooked burgers and beans. Meanwhile, we took up Wiffle Ball bats and swatted at fireflies as darkness enveloped the sky. It was just like the good old days.

 “Come join us!” Byron called to the girls. It shocked both Erica and Barb, but they took up yellow plastic bats and joined us. A pale blue shaft of fluorescent light stretched from the streetlamp out front to the pine trees at the back edge. That narrow corridor was where firefly hunting was best. We stood with our Wiffle ball bats in hand like masked jedis-in-training, waiting for fireflies to reveal their location so we could swat them out of the air.

As dinnertime approached, Mrs. Johnson went over and fetched Mrs. Larinov and my parents. When they arrived, it was time to eat.

“Bats down, it’s time for chow!” bellowed Mr. Johnson. We ran to the porch and grabbed seats at the picnic table.

“Who likes their burger well done?”

“I do!” said Andy.

“Me too,” added Lee.

Mr. Johnson served everyone at the table before sitting down for a bite to eat. As we laughed and enjoyed each other’s company, a shout came from beyond the pines.

“Ain’t nobody done cooked me my burger? Y’all know I like it well done, right?”

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Andy.

“Just ignore him and he’ll go away.”

“Maybe you didn’t cook me a burger, but I know you got to have some watermelon, right?”

 “I swear, I’m going over there and knock his lights out.”

Mr. Johnson’s hand swept to one side as he grabbed Andy by the arm and held him firmly in place. However, Andy shifted his position and pulled away from Mr. Johnson. Then, he got up and strode across the lawn.

“Andy! Get back here this instant.”

“Who is that? Is that Mikey? Come out here and face me, you chicken shit.”

“Nigger lovers!” came a shout.

Andy hopped the fence and cut through the pine trees. There was silence for a few moments, closely followed by the snap of a pistol chamber.

“Boy,” said the voice, “you’d better scoot your ass back over the fence before I put a couple of holes in you.”

Mr. Langtree’s rough and rusty old voice, corroded with years of tobacco use, was unmistakable. We all feared it, including Mr. Johnson. Mr. Langtree had spent more of his life in the penitentiary and probably wasn’t afraid of returning. Andy, however, had never met the business end of Mr. Langtree until now.

“Larry…” stammered Mr. Johnson, “You don’t want to do anything you’d regret here.”

“I don’t need no goddamned advice from no nigger.”

His voice was cool and calm and unwavering. It sent a shockwave through my entire body. Erica’s left hand reached for my right. Her pinky wrangled a couple of my fingers and held on tightly.

“Come on, Larry,” said my father.

My father eased towards the fence until he got a sightline on Mr. Langtree and Andy.

“Come on back, Andy. Give Mr. Langtree his space.”

There was another long pause. Then, Mr. Langtree spoke it.

“Go on boy before my trigger finger slips.”

There were just a few more tense moments as my father stood helplessly on this side of the fence. Then, Andy came up and carefully put his tennis shoe on the fence rail as he began to climb over. His body trembled under the weight of his body. My father reached out and snagged Andy like a father would grab his infant son and pull him out of harm’s way.

They joined us at the dinner table, only to have Mrs. Johnson and my mother to stand up and begin clearing dishes away. We all followed suit, quickly and quietly moving towards the safety of the indoors. We did not finish eating. We did not say goodbye. Andy and Lee came over to our house and my father took them home.

The next few days were tense and we went down to Lee’s house whenever we wanted to play outside. That included the Saturday afternoon before

The diamond in Lee’s backyard, however, shared space with two weeping willows, a tool barn, a row of plant hangers, a concrete patio, and vegetable garden. Worse yet, Mrs. Heinz never really liked us playing in her backyard, so there was a long list of rules and exceptions:

1.  Anything in the garden is an out.

2.  Anything on the roof is out.

3.  Anything hitting the plant hangers is out.

4.  No roughhousing near the fence.

5.  Let the cats play outside when you’re out there to watch them.

6.  Be careful around the cats.

7.  Rotate the bases to avoid worn spots.

Those are the only rules I can recall now, but there were more (plenty more). It didn’t really matter though. The huge Willow trees devoured the rest of the fun.

“It’s just not like Byron’s backyard,” said Lee.

“You said it. Want to go to the Swim Club?”

Lee nodded, so we immediately hopped on our bikes and sped across the way through Kennedy Park to the Swim Club.

The place was packed. Both Pool 1 and Pool 2 were open, including all the diving boards and the water slide at the far end of Pool 2. Fitzie was manning the front desk.

“Hey, Fitz.”

“Hey guys, come on in.”

“When’s your break?”

“At the top of the hour. I’ll join you then. What took you guys so long to get here?”

“We were playing ball at Lee’s house”

“What?”

“Well, for a little while, anyway.”

“That’s got to be the worst place to play Wiffle Ball in the whole world. Well, at least you’re away from that boredom now. Everyone in town’s here, even Byron and Erica.”

“Really? Where?”

Andy swung his finger in a circle, directing us toward the Game Room. That was definitely not the place we’d expect either of them. They were both anti-smokers and never liked the crowd inside the Game Room.

As we turned the corner, we saw Byron. He wasn’t in the Game Room anyway. He’d brought his basketball and was shooting hoops. We joined him.

“It’s strange seeing you here,” I noted.

“I know, but my mom wanted me to look after my little sister.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s in there with some of her softball friends.”

“In the Game Room?”

Byron nodded; I left the court and headed straight to the Game Room. It wasn’t only Memorial Day weekend, but it was the hottest day of the year so far.

Laurie Bent, the swim guard at the entrance, simply waved us inside.

The room was packed with sweaty bodies. We cut through the crowd, winding our way to the back. The few jocks that hung out in the Game Room always gathered in the same place, between two old pinball machines that never got any play. Erica, Barb, and their friends were leaned up against the old pinball machine. It was the only machine anyone was allowed to lean against, which was only because it was broken.

“Hey,” said Erica.

“What are you doing in here?”

“Where should I be?”

She moved to the left and Barb moved to the right, like parting waters. Lee and I wedged ourselves between them. I stood next to Erica while Lee stood beside Barb.

Barb and Jenny (another of the softball players) were smoking cheap menthol cigarettes. I never knew how Erica put up with it, especially with her respiratory problems, I expected the worst, but she didn’t seem to mind it one bit.

“You want to go out to the diving area and hang out?”

“Nah,” she said, “I get burnt too easily.”

I shot a surprised look at her.

“What? You don’t think blacks get sunburns?” she clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth, “White people…”

Barb cackled as Erica gave me a little wink and smiled coyly. I didn’t get the joke at all.

“We could sit in the shade near the kiddie pool,” said Lee. I agreed.

“Maybe later.”

We were all silent for a little while after that. As promised, Andy was relieved of his duties at the pool deck and he came by the basketball court, played a game of H-O-R-S-E with Byron, and then came to the Game Room.

“Andy! Byron!”

The girls swooned at those two very differently than they did for Lee or me. Wherever we went, it was always that way. The girls liked the two tallest guys with strong chin bones and broad shoulders. Lee was shorter and pudgier. I was gangly and thin.

“Surprise, surprise, if it isn’t Byron Johnson?” exclaimed Barb.

She swung her arms around Byron and planted a big kiss on his cheek. He just stood there and let her.

“What do we owe the pleasure of seeing you here?”

Byron shrugged and stood there quietly. Barb peeled away from Lee and sidled up to Byron. He twisted his hips toward the broken pinball machine and rested his hands upon the buttons as if he was about to play. Barb moved again so her hip was leaning on his. Byron was still ambivalent to her; he just stood there and let her lean against him.

“God damn, big brother, my best friend has been chasing after you since the day we moved to Mt. Adams and all you can do is ignore her?”

“I’m not ignoring her. She’s right there.”

“I am right here,” said Barb, “but I think I am a little more exciting than a broken down pinball machine.”

Byron just nodded. The entire group burst out in laughter.

“Could you coons possibly shut the hell up?” shouted a familiar voice. It was Mikey Langtree.

Everyone in the Game Room went silent, but “The Damage is Done” by Foreigner was still blaring on the jukebox. It was significant, because the music was rhythmic and slow hard rock with a heavy downbeat. It gave us all moments to hear the whirring of the electric fan next to the exit and the sounds of arcade games still being played by a few of us. All available eyes were fixed on the three black people in the back of the room.

“Mikey,” said Fitz, “why don’t you just turn back around and mind your own business?”

Mikey and a couple of his goon friends moved towards us. Laurie, the Game Room attendant, switched off the music and fan.

“Stop it right now!” she commanded.

Mikey continued moving towards Fitz.

“I got it all under control, Laurie.”

But he didn’t.

Mikey lunged at Fitz with both arms and tackled him. Fitzie’s head hit the edge of game console as he fell to the ground, but they both ignored it. Fitzie wrapped his arm around Mikey’s head with one arm and started punching Mikey in the skull with his free hand.

“Stop it! Stop it!” shouted Erica.

Other cheers and taunts followed as the crowd tightened the circle around Fitzie and Mikey.

“Break it up, you two!”

It was Jayne and Leo. Actually, it was just Jayne. While Jayne pushed her way through the crowd and pulled the two apart, her husband stood in the doorway, supervising.

Jayne picked them both up by the arms and held them at length. The boys panted and gasped as they caught their breath. Jayne just looked at them.

“Mikey Langtree, why is it that whenever I have trouble, it always seems to be centered around you?”

“I didn’t start it. He started it.”

“That’s bull!” shouted Erica. Byron reached out and grabbed her by the arm. He pinched tightly as she jerked away. Then, she relaxed every muscle in her body. Byron had the same sense of complete calm, even when his voice boomed. He was the one you’d want at the helm of a sinking ship.

“It doesn’t matter who started it, I’m the one ending it.”

“But…”

“Mikey, I’m kicking you and your friends out of the Swim Club for the rest of the season. Next year when I see you, you’d better be straightened up.”

Well, that never came. That fall, Mikey and his brother Tommy were dumped into juvenile detention for theft and possession of stolen goods. The police found a complete mess of items in the Langtree’s garage, mostly stolen from houses around our neighborhood. Although we never found the JUGS machine, Mr. Johnson had always supposed it was them. He never accused them, though. He just said, “if they are bad people, they’ll get their due punishment.”

That was just Mr. Johnson’s way. It was Byron’s way, too.

“Mrs. Rosenthal, can I say something?”

She nodded her head.

“Michael called me and my friends a racist name. That’s why Fitzie – Andy – stood up to him. Mikey wrestled with Andy and Andy punched him in the head a half-dozen times or so.”

“Byron…” pleaded Erica.

“No,” he said, “that’s what happened. Mike tackled Andy and Andy punched Mike. It was two people unable to control themselves, period.”

Jayne nodded.

“Alright, Mr. Fitzpatrick, I’ll deal with you in a bit. Go get a shower and clean yourself up. Laurie, you’ll rotate into his position.”

“What about the Game Room?”

“The Game Room’s closed for the rest of the day. Now everyone scoot.”

She shooed us and we went along like cattle. Our gang hung out at the picnic tables next to the entrance until Andy came out of the office.

“What happened?”

“Nothing much,” said Fitz, “Jayne just got the facts and told me to take a break for the rest of Memorial Day weekend and she’d see me on Tuesday.”

“What do you want to do now?”

Andy shrugged, “maybe some Wiffle Ball?”

We all shook our heads.

“Maybe we’ll just go hang out at my house then.”

The Fitzpatrick house, halfway between the Swim Club and the Langtree’s house, was the perfect middle ground. We hung out and did nothing in particular for the rest of the day. That, however, was fine with all of us. We had enough excitement to last us the whole weekend already.

.