RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,365
(blocking the Lindermeres)
Dennis Marshall was a kid I knew. He was just
10 years - maybe - younger than I was and
he took care of a brother too. The brother was
probably another five years back. They never
had a mother - well, of course 'had' a mother,
but she was either dead or gone and I never had
seen her. The father, the guy of the house, to
tell you the truth I never saw him either. Those
two boys took care of each other, in ways I
never knew. They had a little cinder-block
house. Things like cooking and groceries
and cleaning? I never knew. Nor was there
a car in the household.
-
It was 1973 in a nowhere Pennsylvania place.
If I was 22, all the local boys, maybe six of them,
or a few more, who lived on that scattered corner,
where the dirt roads finally dumped out on to
something 'paved' at least, latched onto me -
a new stranger in their midst. It was crazy stuff,
for a while, and then it all went away. They got
cars (not Denny), and found things to do as well,
but they still came around in little batches. Listening
to records, talking Thoreaux (they had him in school),
and surely for real they struggled with the name. In
English, I tried to tell them, 'Not every letter needs
be pronounced.' I tried to imagine a baseball player
with the name Thoreaux and the mangled manners
of the announcers trying the same name in like
fashion. Sometimes things are just plain funny.
-
They soon caught on. A few got girlfriends, but
the farm girls were always too fat. To my taste
all the excess just detracts. 'They seem very
domestic,' my mother would say when she
visited and they came over. I think she maybe
meant how farm girls did a lot of stuff at home,
and knew how to bake and cook and clean. If
there's an opportunity there, it's one I never got.
-
There were any number of marginal cases like this
around. And right in the middle of it all, was the
home of Verna Bowman. (or maybe it was Baeuman;
I too have trouble over time with names). No 'man'
was ever there either, so I never knew the story, but
she had a nice, little house - a bit run down, but
not by much - and maybe four kids of her own of
varying ages. The oldest girl was about 18. That
girl had a boyfriend, Bob Santee, with a really
nice Austin Healey 3000, about a 1967. Soon
enough some issue arose with these boys and
Something about Bob having had sex with that
sister. Mike (her brother, the one with all the
'Thoreaux' problems. I used to always have
to tell him, 'There's NO 'X' on the end of that
name. Stop pronouncing one. It's more like
'Throw, say'), really had taken offense.
Quiet desperation, anyone?
-
So, one day when they were working on cars
in my barn area, they'd brought his car over
for an oil change and some work. In their odd
anger, they decided to trash it instead. It was
fixable and all, but they did a number on it.
A weird matter over one's sister getting laid.
Bob went crazy-nuts when he saw what had
happened. He called the State Police! Talk
about unsupervised boys! The State Police
showed up some time later (the barracks
were out east, by Towanda or Wyalusing
somewhere some 30 miles off or more),
and took the report, and even interviewed
me. I hadn't even been there, but since it
was my property, I could be implicated.
Also thy had the damages assessed after
the vehicle was taken away. They boys got
charged, malicious mischief or something,
and went to a hearing, were found guilty
(they'd owned up. No choice), and had to
somehow come up with damages and were
told to straighten up and work out the family
issues on their own. I was cleared of all.
not having been there at the time (working,
in Elmira, 25 miles away and unaware; but
it was a close call all around).
-
Funny things ensued: Bob disappeared in a
few months, and I never knew what happened
there. I don't even know how the news of the
'sex' had even got out, braggadocio maybe. I
found out years later, that Mike, the girl's
brother, after high school got himself to
Texas, (where his real father actually lived),
and stayed there with him, and eventually
managed to become a Texas Ranger or
whatever they call their State Police down
there). The rest of everyone, those boys,
(I haven't mentioned all of them here),
and their families, after we'd moved on
in a few years, I've lost all touch with.
No contact, but oh the stories. I'll touch
on some more soon enough.
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