Memories - Chapter 24 - A Scouting We Will GO

September, 1954 -

Biloxi's Howard Avenue - At Lameuse Street 

      CHAPTER 24

A Scouting we will go...

September, 1954 -

Sunday was the day of rest.

And Sunday afternoons were for family - following Sunday Mass, and a big family meal.  There were no TV football games blaring from every house on the block. After the family meal, we dove into the Sunday paper – be it the New Orleans States Item or the Times Picayune. Dad and Mom got the “front sections” while we kids fought over the Dixie Roto Magazine and the Comics.  The Comics were a big feature of the paper - a full sized section loaded with pages of full color comic strips – literally something for everyone.

And buried inside the Comics was my favorite ... "Ripley's BELIEVE IT OR NOT..." - a bizarre collection of people, places, customs and man-made oddities - our version of today's X-Files.  But not even Ripley’s FIJI MERMAID could match the story of how a bag of hardware nails turned Mom into a Cub Scout Den Mother -believe it or not...

Like most “housewives” of the 50’s, there weren’t many free moments in Mom’s day  - taking care of two kids, shopping, preparing meals, doing laundry, cleaning,  making her own clothes, and even finding the time to paint the entire first story of the house! And, if that weren’t enough, twice a week in the afternoon, she "kept shop" in our bakery's retail store. On those days, my brother and I walked from school to the bakery.  It was a short walk - just two small blocks across town, but we had to follow “all the rules”: no crossing against the stop lights, no talking to strangers, no short cuts, no stopping - "come straight home".  We were ok with all the rules – except for one - the "straight-home-rule", and breaking it meant a long "discussion" if we arrived home more than 10 minutes past Mom's expectations. I'm sure she made one or two time trial runs on her own, and she knew exactly how long the trip took.  But we were kids - always pausing to look in a window along the way.  It didn't take too many windows before we were "overdue".  Eventually we came to an agreement to include "stop-overs" at stores along the way - the two "Five and Dime Stores".

By some quirk of fate, Biloxi’s only two Dime stores wound up in the same block - practically next door to one another separated by the miniscule Carpenter's Music store. Passing both "Five and Dime's" was a double temptation to stop,  but that wasn’t in the plan - so we alternated days between them!

Woolworth's was our favorite - mostly because of the lunch counter.  The cheapest thing was a dime soda fountain coke, and Chuck and I pooled our nickels ordering "One coke, please - with TWO straws!" – to the delight of the smiling waitress in the light green uniform.

Twice weekly mom worked the Bakery retail shop, and we trekked down Howard Avenue,  trying not to spend too much time looking in the store windows. The trip was pretty entertaining compared to our destination – nothing is as boring as a Bakery at day’s end. During our two hour holdover there were probably less than a dozen customers.  With little else to do we did our school homework, finished and looked for something else to entertain ourselves.   Sometimes, if  we finished our homework early, mom let us visit Ellzey's hardware store across the side parking lot. It was there that Chuck bought his famous "nickel's worth of nails."

Ellzey’s back door faced the parking lot. It was usually locked – not intended for the public – we had to knock loudly to get someone inside to open it. Regardless, Mr. Curtis and Ms. Lorraine Ellzey always greeted us with a smile.  The hardware store was filled with amazing and mysterious things; we were allowed free range – walking the aisles and asking typical kid questions – with the strict understanding that we were not to touch anything.  Some areas of the store were “off limits” – like the open display of knives and sharp tools, and we were gently reminded to avoid them.  During one visit,  when Ms. Lorraine saw the two of us coming, she began loading up a paper bag with nails from the mixed-nail bin – you know, the ones no one wanted to take the time to sort.  Grandpa was always amazed when he saw Chuck's "nickel bag of nails".  "Look what this kid's got!”, he chuckled. “They would charge me fifty cents - and he gets 'em for a nickel - the little monkey..."

Yes, Chuck had his way with the Ellzey's - those big dark eyes, and black bushy hair would melt any heart.  He was a kid of few words - all he had to do was point and say "more", and  Mrs. Ellzey tried to stuff in a few more nails - until at last she said, "Well, Chuck, that's all I can get in the bag.  We've gotta leave some room to fold the top closed..."

While Chuck got his nails, I continued surveying the store - asking lots of questions about this piece of pipe or that electrical gadget.  Mr.  Curtis was always so patient; he was truly amazed that I found a hardware store so fascinating.  He would say, "I wish Curtis Jr. was as interested in hardware!"  And he would look over at his son, Curtis Jr. - a strawberry blonde with a flat-top haircut matching his dad's.  Curtis pouted a bit and chimed, "I don't wanna do hardware, I wanna be a ball player when I grow up!"

Soon, it was time to go - either they were about to close or Chuck got tired of following behind me clutching his nickel bag of nails - the sharp points poking through the sides.  We left the store through the rear door and headed towards the bakery.  It was one of those days while making the trip back to the bakery, when I saw Mr. Clower and his father sitting just inside the open doorway of their furniture store - next door to Ellzey's.  He called out to us as we passed by.  "What're you guys up to?"

The conditioned warning signal went off in my head "...and don't talk to strangers."   I saw Mr. Clower lots of times in the bakery, and I knew that he, Grandma, and Grandpa sometimes went fishing together -so I quickly decided he wasn't a "stranger".  Still I made sure Chuck and I stood away - a respectable distance.  Well, he started asking us what we did after school - what hobbies we had – we didn’t even know what a hobby was...  Eventually he popped the question, "What do you guys think about becoming Cub Scouts?"

Hmmm.  I never really thought about it.  I had seen scouts at school wearing the blue uniforms and yellow neck-kerchiefs, once a week.   Yeah, I thought it was kind of neat ... Mr.  Clower went on - telling us what all the Cub Scouts did - the meetings, the activities - and how they became Boy Scouts and spent weekends at Camp Tiak in North Biloxi - where they cooked out and slept in tents...  Sounded pretty good to me!  I told him, I would ask my mom; then I excused the two of us and we hurried back to the bakery.  I couldn't wait to tell mom about this scouting thing.  And while we talked, Grandpa came downstairs to help mom close for the day.  Mom closed out the register - listening patiently to my endless prattling and pleading - every now and then answering "OK.  Well...  We'll see..."   Nearby, Grandpa helped Chuck finish sorting out his nails - putting them into smaller bags.   And each time you'd hear him say: "Geezum!  Look at the nails they give this kid for a nickel.  If it was me they would charge..." Chuck would smile proudly while folding over the tops of each small bag - carefully arranging them into a larger single bag - ready to carry home.

Mr. Clower was a regular Bakery customer, and soon word got back to him that our little talk had tweaked my interest in Scouting. He began hinting - this time to my parents, that we really should consider Scouting.  Mr. Clower spent most of his time managing his near-retiring father's business, but he was intensely involved in scouting – becoming one of the founders of the scouting movement on the Gulf Coast.  He was always looking for ways to expand the movement - especially finding new leaders.

My mother was his target - after all, she didn't work full time, the kids had "nothing to do" after school (not quite true) – but  she was certainly leadership material.  To be sure - if you ever saw my mom in action - waiting on a line of twenty customers during the Sunday-after-Mass rush hour, you'd see real leadership in action...  Mr. Clower was relentless - she was his sights to becoming a new Den mother - part of the new Pack 209!

Weeks went by; Mr. Clower did a lot of coaxing to get Mom to even consider the idea.  But Mr.  Clower was persistent, and eventually Mom gave in - he had convinced her Scouting was THE best after school activity for me and Danny.  Once mom was committed, that was it!  She was bitten by the Scouting Bug! Soon she began bringing home scouting magazines and manuals, reading up, and trying to learn exactly what made a Den Mother.

There were about ten members of the pack - and believe me, PACK described us perfectly.  The only ones I recall were Dickie Moran, Stephen Conroy, Billy Miles, Frank Corso, and my cousin, Danny.  But there were others who came and went during the Pack's brief history. My brother, Chuck was a bit too young to join the Scouts, but Mom always made sure he was included in the groups' activities.

Most of the kids in the pack attended our elementary school, SHA (Sacred Heart Academy) – many of them were classmates.  Dickie Moran was the only one I really knew well - we sort of hung out together on Saturday afternoons, and stuck together at school.  The Morans lived on Beach Boulevard East of us - across the highway from the old Biloxi Lighthouse.

The Morans were a very religious family - all the school age kids attended Catholic school.  Their house was a square white two story building - just behind the Gulf station at the foot of Porter Avenue. Inside the front door on the wall was a small holy water font - "to bless yourself with" as you entered.  Every room had at least one "holy" picture or statue.  It was the year of Father Peyton's famous "Pray the Rosary" campaign, and everywhere you looked there were signs or car bumper stickers proclaiming "The family that prays together, stays together".  And faithful to the pledge they had taken, the Morans remained at the table after supper to pray the Rosary together.  It was a very crowded table.  Besides Mr. and Mrs. Moran, there was Dickie's grandmother, his older brother, Joey, at least two younger brothers and sisters, and an older sister Beverly - who later became a nun.

That year I think Beverly was in the eighth grade – on the second floor – the all girls section of SHA.  As one of her responsibilities, Beverly took turns with other classmates tending the school bookstore during recesses.  The so-called "bookstore" was a really nothing more than a converted janitor's closet - with only one door and no windows.  Untrue to its name, the "bookstore" sold everything BUT books -the paper-back orange Baltimore Catechisms being the exception.  But you could buy lots of other things - pencils, pens, loose-leaf paper, and, of course - the bookstore's mainstay - candy! 

Back to Beverly’s brother, Dickie – he was a real prankster.  One afternoon, during recess, Dickie and I headed for the bookstore - we heard they had a fresh supply of our favorite candy - those red-hot cinnamon jaw breakers - a bargain at 2 cents.  Beverly, was tending the store by herself that day.  Somehow, Dickie had this notion that because his sister was in charge, he was entitled to a discount - or maybe even free samples.  But when Beverly wouldn't give him special treatment, he became a bit upset.  The situation was bad – very bad because Dickie had a temper, but he was also cunning, and he began plotting to get even with Beverly.

Coincidentally, Dickie saw the key was still in the lock outside door.  The plan was set!  When recess was over, it was time to close the store, and Beverly turned around to stowe the board that formed the doorway counter.  All of a sudden, Dickie slammed the door, and locked it!  The end-of-recess bell rang and the ensuing noise of kids rushing to line up for class drowned out Beverly's irate threats.

Sister Mary Lawrence's class-room was next door to the bookstore, and it took her a while to locate the source of the racket out in the hall - Beverly beating on the door and yelling for help.  Unfortunately, Sister Mary Lawrence happened on the scene as Beverly let out with a few "choice" words - intended only for Dickie's ears.  And, believe it or not, Beverly got two de-merits that afternoon: one, for being late to class, and another for foul language!   I suppose that if the nuns gave de-merits for having a precocious younger brother, Beverly surely would have been expelled that day!  ... And still - they called them Sisters of Mercy?

I smile thinking back of Beverly becoming a nun years later.  I keep having flashbacks of Beverly, Caroline Fournier and other classs-mates piled into Mr Moran's Woodie Wagon, chasing a pink Cadillac along Highway 90. 

Our family was out for its traditional Sunday drive when Dad spotted the Station Wagon approaching in his rear view mirror.  First the Cadillac then the wagon literally flew by us in the left lane as we passed Gus Steven's restaurant.  They were chasing a young singer who had just moved to the Coast.  We first heard about him from Mae Juanico, one of my mother's friends who worked at the local A&P where we shopped once a week.  As it turned out, Mae's daughter, June, was "going out" with the young singer - much to Mae's dismay - after all, the guy did work at Si Simon's - a local night spot whose reputation had gone down hill in recent years.  Who'd ever guess he'd become famous? Yes, I think back and smile. Just imagine!  Beverly Moran, who later entered the convent, chasing Elvis Presley!

I'm digressing.  Where was I..?  Scouting.  Oh, yes, Scouting...

By now, Mom had the list of the new scout candidates.  She phoned all the parents and scheduled an organizing meeting to be held at our house.  Chuck and I got our orders: we were to go upstairs, do our homework, keep quiet, and stay out of sight - no peeking down the stairs.  But, we were so excited and curious that Mom gave us a reprieve - at least until the first guest arrived.

A car appeared on the highway.  It slowed in front of the Bradford's house - obviously checking the address numbers, then it turned into our driveway.  In a few minutes the backdoor bell rang; Mom answered it. We began gathering our school work, preparing to retire upstairs, when we heard a very loud woman's voice.  She was so loud - she sounded like a football cheerleader. Seconds later, she and Mom entered the living room, and what we saw was incredible!

My first impression - she looked like something out of a Bugs Bunny cartoon I saw the week before - a Female Wagnerian Opera singer - less the helmet with the horns.  I mean, she was big - no, make that huge! And, the green Den Mother's uniform she wore did little to flatter her size.  I heard Chuck whisper, "Gosh, she’s big; I don't think I wanna be a Scout anymore...".

Her face was husky; she wore little makeup.  She had a squarish jaw line - uncharacteristic for a woman, with little folds of skin under her chin that sagged and shook while she bellowed.  Her yellowing gray hair was close-cut and tightly waved - sort of like Mr. Drysdale's secretary on The Beverly Hillbillys.  To top it off,  she wore a pair of huge button-shaped earrings that almost covered her ears.  On her, they looked like small pearl colored hub caps.  My mom introduced us.

"Boys, this is Mrs. Leonard.  She's the head Den Mother of Pack 209."

We shook her hand - at a long arms reach - afraid to get too close to her.  She shouted back a polite greeting - I forget what - I was still in shock - trying to guess how much she weighed, and if her waist was bigger than Dad's.  Well, we didn't need any coaxing to leave the room after that encounter!  Off we went as the doorbell rang announcing the next arrivals.

Once upstairs, we eavesdropped hidden safely at the top of the stairwell.  Soon the meeting was underway.  Mrs.  Leonard did most of the talking - make that - shouting.  She recited scouting history, then lists of rules and responsibilities both for the parents and the kids.  In the coming weeks, however, it was obvious that somehow, the kids never read the.  I suspect the parents were a bit overwhelmed, and they probably felt that with Mrs. Leonard around, disciplinary problems were the least of their worries!

Days later, Mom began the final preparations for our first meeting - sweeping out the garage - that was soon to become our Den. Dad brought home several wooden saw horses and plywood sheets from the Bakery.  In no time, the garage was transformed into fully equipped cub scout work room.

That was quite an event for us.  You see, in our neighborhood, there weren't any kids our age to play with.  It was time for the first meeting; kids began arriving at our house!  Strange cars pulled into our driveway.  Mom stationed me out back to flag them into the parking area.  One by one the kids arrived while the parents departed – no doubt happy to be rid of them for a few precious moments of freedom.  Dickie Moran was the last to arrive - his older brother Joey walked him to the meeting, and waited for him outside till the meeting was over.

That first meeting was pretty tame.  Ok, if the truth be known, it was really a bummer!  We did this Scout's honor thing, learned the official handshake, hi-sign, and collected our message slips from Mom - one for each parent, a "welcome" letter - telling the parents more about plans for uniforms, and asking them to send activity money.   There was always one high point to our meetings -REFRESHMENTS -  usually cookies and Kool-Aid.  The kids expected it - after all Dad DID own a bakery. They devoured the plates of oatmeal raisin, chocolate chip, and sugar cookies in no time.

We had a few more meetings - each one progressively more boring than the last.  Then the day came when Mom announced we would begin our first official activity project at the NEXT meeting.  It was a secret project, and we would just have to wait to find out more.  It seemed like the next week would never pass.

Now, Mom was never one to begin with the simple stuff and work gradually to the top.  I mean, she could have had us foraging for cancelled stamps, leaves, or any number of common items to make up a "collection" -  which was the typical den's start-up activity.  No way...  Mom decided we would do something more challenging - like basket weaving!  What?  Yes, basket weaving!

Weeks earlier, Mom had ordered basket weaving kits from Brumfield's department store.  It was Saturday, right after lunch when the phone rang.  I took the message: someone at Brumfield's said that "... Mrs. Klein's Scout supplies had arrived."  Mom was out in the garage, loading up the washer - for about the third time that day.  As soon as I saw her coming back to the house, I called out through the back screen door.  "Mommmmmm - Brumfield's called. They said your stuff is in." She was now walking back to the house.  "Ok, get Chuck and we'll pick it up," she answered from behind an immense stack of folded sheets she carried in her arms.

I called out to Chuck, playing on the floor in the living room.  But there was the matter of the keys - the car keys - Mom never put them in the same place twice, and every time we had to drive somewhere, we instinctively separated to look for the keys!  While Mom put the sheets away, I began the search.  Ah! Luck was on my side - I spotted them on the counter - peeking out from behind the toaster.  "I got 'em", I called.

"Ok, you two wash your hands and meet me out in the car", she called out from somewhere in the house.

Now, I don't know why, but whenever we left the house, we had to wash our hands.  There was a time I questioned why we always to "wash our hands" - I thought Mom was just trying to keep the car clean.  But after one too many, "Because-I-said so's"- she finally explained, "Because I won't have you seen in public with hands looking like you've been digging potatoes - That's why!  You never know who we'll meet in town!"  From then on, I stopped asking "Why?" ... she was right, you NEVER did know who you would meet in town - in those days half of Biloxi was downtown on a Saturday afternoon.

Now, with hands washed, and keys found, Chuck and I headed for the garage and climbed into the back seat of the blue Hudson - making sure – as always - the doors were locked.  Then Mom climbed in, and we were off!

Brumfield's was one of Biloxi's leading family-owned department stores. And, although the name was a bit unusual (Chuck had a habit of calling it BUM-field's!), it was easy to remember - because it was THE only major store in town WITHOUT two initials (unlike J. C. Penny's, W.  V. Joyce, S. H. Kress, F. W. Woolworth, ...).  Brumfield's was practically next door to the First National Bank. A small Jewelry Store built in the alley-way separated the two buildings.  Now, Brumfields was THE official scouting supply store in Biloxi.  They had the corner on the market for the smaller items -especially the uniforms.  Just two doors down across the street, however, Bel Bru's had the concession on camping equipment - after all, Bel Bru's handled sporting goods and Brumfield's handled mostly clothing – somehow it all made sense.

A trip to town, and especially Brumfield's was always a mini-adventure - to see the ever-changing displays and seasonal decorations.  Come to think of it, every store lining Howard Avenue - except for a few of the military outlet stores, were very big on window displays.  There were decorations for Fall, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, Easter, Graduation, June Weddings, Summer vacation, Fourth of July, Back-to-School, Fireman's Day, and other displays worked in between to celebrate the stores' founding anniversaries, or the birthdays of its owners and children.  You didn't need a calendar - you could always tell the time of year within two weeks by looking in one or two windows along Howard Avenue.  So, off we went to Brumfields.

Recently remodeled, Brumfield's front was continuous sidewalk showcase bordered by large panels of beige and black glass tiles.  Above the windows, modern embossed aluminum panels climbed upwards hiding the old 1920's brick facade.  Just above the entrance, a two story tall red neon sign with "BRUMFIELD's" in fancy script burned brightly whenever the store was open for business which was usually 10 to 6, Monday through Saturday.  (Like all the stores in Biloxi, it never opened on Sunday.)

Mom found a parking spot just across the street from Brumfield's - in front of Woolworth's.  As soon as Chuck and I hit the sidewalk we made a bee line for the white brick store next to Woolworth's.  This was the home of Pockie's - a small newsstand type variety store that also sold TOYS! Pockie's had the best - AND the most expensive toys in Biloxi.  I was the first child in the Klein family to discover Pockie's - when I was barely five years old. My grandmother would send me over to Pockie's - escorted by one of the bakery workers -to pick out toys.

Mr. Pockie was a short little gray haired main - barely five feet tall. He always wore a freshly pressed white shirt with a real bow tie.  He looked like a miniature version of Bud Abbot - but he wore large black - rimmed glasses.  He was a man of few words - and with good reason. Grandma had set up a secret charge account with Mr. Pockie, and told him to let me buy anything I wanted - just keep it quiet!  Well, don't you know, it was like Christmas on demand -every day or so...  Until, Mom got wise to my growing toy collection and put an end to the extravagance - much to the dismay of Mr. Pockie.  Knowing that Mom was responsible for closing down his prized account, it was years before Mr. Pockie ever spoke to Mom again.

Back to our trip to Brumfields…

Chuck and I browsed Pockie's front window intensely -cupping our hands about our eyes trying to catch a glimpse of the play treasures inside. Mom waited patiently at the curb - cautioning "You can look ... just look, and hurry it up!"

"Just a few seconds more... ", I called back.

We shuffled along scanning the entire length of Pockie’s two display windows - at last stopping as we reached the mysterious dark stairwell next door to Pockie's. ...  Rumor had it that the unmarked flight, led to an upstairs gambling parlor where you could bet on the horses, or play poker.  Thinking back - with the number of public bars and "back-room card games" in Biloxi at that time, I'm sure it was no rumor!

Tired of waiting, Mom called out, "Let’s go! … I said NOW!", and we dashed to the curb.  She checked again for traffic and tightly clutching our hands, we crossed the street together.

The entrance to Brumfield's lay at the end of a small sidewalk vestibule bordered by window showcases.  Within the museum-sized showcases lay all sorts of displays anchored on carpets of the most fake looking grass you'd find anywhere.  Brumfield's had an army of mannequins - men, women, boys, and girls - even a dog for the Buster Brown display.  That afternoon, the models displayed the latest in Fall fashions - each one frozen in some grotesque un-natural pose.

One window had a left-over Summer display - a man and woman wearing matching tennis outfits.   Being a bit tight on space in the window, both players faced each other barely two feet apart - racquets in position to serve.  It looked as if they were about to have an awful accident - each taking aim at the ball that hung motionless in between them.  I was amazed by the illusion of that ball magically suspended in mid air. Magic - until looking closer I discovered the threads.

Off to the couple's right was a river of colorful fabric.  The stream flowed and twisted all about, covering the entire floor of the window display.  In the foreground, islands of shoes in every imaginable color, shape, and style hovered above the cascading cloth that fanned out into overlapping layers.  The Florsheim Shoe sign - an advertising icon always to be found somewhere in Brumfield's displays - hung above the men's shoes - cocked at a jaunty angle proudly proclaiming "...for the best in men's footwear!"  Small white placards peeped out everywhere from within the display noting brands, styles, and - something you don't see much any more - prices.  Each card was custom made with red and blue tempera lettering that appeared surreally three dimensional.

Mom called out to us one last time as she held the door open for us. We backed away - hesitantly - still absorbed and fascinated by the fantasy land of goods on display.  Entering the store we headed for the Scouting Corner - to the left after making a big U-turn past the first display case.  There it was - the Scouting Corner - tucked away in a small nook.  A single waist-high showcase stretched across the opening. The showcase was flawlessly crafted from blonde hardwood - highly polished.  The fine lines of the wood grain were the only visible markings on the new display case.  The front and top were made of plate glass - perfectly clean, save for a few oily finger prints from some careless kid.  The only way into the case was by the row of sliding doors along the rear.  The interior was jammed full.  There, inside lay the stuff that Scouting dreams were made of - neatly arranged on three glass shelves.  There was everything from badges, books, compasses, and snake-bite kits to scarfs and hobby supplies.  Behind the counter, a matching wall unit proudly displayed the larger items -the American flag, the Boy Scout flag, the merit badge banners, and, of course, the current scouting display of the month.  Off to the side, blue and green uniforms hung neatly in a row on coat hangers in clear plastic bags, anxiously awaiting their new owners.

The Scouting Corner was, I'm sure, intentionally set apart from the store's other mundane displays - little boxy islands crammed with shirts, socks, pants, and underwear.  Yes, the Scouting Corner was Brumfield's oasis of patriotism -"Dedicated to good citizenship ... and the leaders of tomorrow" - as the sign above it all proclaimed.  It was a place that every kid viewed with awe and envy.  Awe - because of its unique treasures - things you just couldn't find any where else in town...  And envy ...  because if you weren't a scout, you could only look.  But now ... I was a scout, and I was endowed with right to browse, handle, and buy just about all the shrine had to offer - well, in principle, at least!

Mom followed close behind us - to pick up the kits.  Within seconds, Mr. Brumfield himself, came over to offer assistance.  Mr. Brumfield was a tall, neat, distinguished looking man with a firm athletic build. Everything about him said style and class.  He wore a crisp gray pinstripe suit with a neatly folded handkerchief tucked in his top breast pocket.  Peeking out, the handkerchief looked like the top of a picket fence.  (Later he gave me one - it turned out to be a pleated linen fake sewed to a piece of cardboard printed with BRUMFIELD'S DEPARTMENT STORES -BILOXI - MOSS POINT -PASCAGOULA.  I kept it for years, until the cloth yellowed, and mom insisted on throwing it away.)  Yes, Mr. Brumfield was classy - from top of his wavy gray hair down to the tip of his shiny black wingtips!

He wore a pair of gold metal rimmed glasses, and he was always smiling - proudly displaying the largest set of white teeth you ever saw.  He greeted us, then took his position behind the counter.  He disappeared below the counter, and pulled out a large flat box - two feet square on the side.  Then he pulled out several brown paper bundles tied with twine -each about four inches round and three feet long!  "What WAS all this stuff?" I wondered.

At last when the counter top was near full. Mr. Brumfield motioned for someone to help us while he wrote up the sales ticket.  I knew what was coming next, and I knew Chuck would get a kick out of seeing it for the first time.

With cash and ticket in hand, Mr. Brumfield reached beside the counter and picked up a short piece of brass tubing; it had black felt rings around both ends.  I watched Chuck's eyes grow wider as Mr. Brumfield twisted the tube open and slipped in the money and sales ticket. "What's he gonna do with that?", Chuck asked.

"Just watch...", I answered.

Mr. Brumfield walked over to two oversized metal pipes on the side wall.  He opened up a door on one -it made a whistling sound, and he slipped the brass tube into it.  WOOOOSSSHH!  It was gone.  Chuck let out a big grin, and looked at me.  "It's magic, huh?  Magic!"

"If you think that's great, just watch some more..", I explained.  By this time Chuck's big black eyes were about to pop out - he wasn't going to take them off the pipe where the tube had disappeared.  In a minute or two, there was a CLUNK! sound, and Mr. Brumfield reached into the other pipe, and took out the container that had disappeared earlier.  He walked back over to the counter, opened it up, and lo and behold, the paper money was gone - in its place was some loose change that he handed back to Mom.  Chuck couldn't quit smiling.  And I too was smiling  - at his innocent amazement.

The delivery boy had arrived, and Mom showed him to the car where he loaded the bundles into the back seat.  Chuck and I sat in the front.  "What was that rocket thing?" Chuck kept asking me.  I tried to explain it as best I could, but to be honest, I myself really couldn't figure it all out.

"You know, Bubbie?" Chuck answered back in amazement at my flawed explanation ... "You're a genius!  And, I'm a dumb genius..."

I don’t think so ... but I still had the most loving, admiring brother in all the world!

We could hardly wait to get home and explore those wrapped packages. Reading our thoughts, Mom was one ahead: "We'll leave this stuff in the garage.  Now make sure you guys don't get into it.  I have to read the instruction sheets."

That night Mom dug out the instructions.  I detected a bit of stress in Mom's voice as she studied the "Easy-Requires-No-Skill", but not-so-clear instruction sheets.  I tried to help her - pouring over the diagrams step by step, until, at last, we decided, enough was enough. After all we had several days to get ready for the scout meeting.

The next day, I arrived home from school to a surprise on the dining room table. It was, well ... this straw thing - that vaguely resembled a basket, but it was all warped and cracked.  The reeds were splintered, and the huge gaps in the sides certainly limited its usefulness.  There on display, for all the world to see was Mom's first attempt at basket weaving!   But she knew it was crummy, and her frustration was evident. You could almost read her thoughts ... If she couldn't do it, how was she ever going to teach the kids?  She was just about ready to return the unused supplies to Brumfields when she decided to give it one more go.  Later, after supper, she sat on the sofa, studying the instructions - very carefully.  Suddenly I heard her, say "Well, I'll be..." And then she rushed outside to the garage.

I followed her, wanting to know what she was all excited about. In the garage laundry room, he plugged up the two oversized tubs and began filling them both with water.  She was grinning a bizarre smile; I was getting a bit scared.  "Mom, Mom… what are you doing?"

"Just what the instructions said: “ - soak 'em", she answered while testing the warm water.

"What?"

"Soak em!  I found a missing instruction sheet, and that's what it said to do!  When you soak the reeds overnight, they soften, so you can bend and weave them!  I don't know what I was thinking - I should have known better!", she went on...

Well.  That did the trick!   Next day I came home from school to an unexpected surprise:  the ugly duckling basket was gone, and in its place was a tall, really neat basket - still damp - but perfectly made!

Two days later the kids arrived, and amidst reeds flipping and flopping everywhere, we began our big project under Mom's newly acquired skill!  It took a couple of meetings to finish the baskets, and some turned out better than the others, but we DID learn how to weave.  And Mom learned a valuable lesson about reading ALL the instructions.

The projects for the rest of the year weren't quite as ambitious.  Mom taught us to how to braid with plastic - round, flat, square...  We probably used up a couple of miles of mile colored plastic lacing from Brumfield's.  Braiding plastic was THE hot cub scout activity - Scouts everywhere were learning to braid.  I don't believe there was a father in Biloxi that year who didn't get a plastic braided key chain for Christmas!

As could be expected, our meetings had their chaotic moments - like the time Billy Miles' mother was late to pick him up.  And Mom asked him to wait in our living room while we cleaned up the garage - I mean, cub den. Everything was fine, until Mom returned unannounced and found Billy using the couch as a trampoline.  This, of course, was a big NO-NO!

Billy also had a tendency to wander off and away - even though Mom had made it clear - we were to not to leave the den during meetings.  I'm sure, there were times Mom had hoped Billy wouldn't return, but - true to her sense of duty as a den mother, she would put me in charge of the pack while she wandered about the neighborhood looking for the young escapee.

Eventually, Billy was un-invited to the meetings, and Mom made him an example she was not going to put up with any nonsense - and she didn't!

November... 

Dad had just planted the Winter grass.  Now, Winter grass, is nothing more than rye seed - it sprouts into a delicate baby fine green cover that mixes with the brown St. Augustine grass giving the illusion of a green lawn through the Winter months.  It's pretty fragile stuff - you can't walk on it.  Well, unknown to us, Dickie's brother Joey, brought a friend along to keep him company while waiting for Dickie.  They were both supposed to sit on our front porch, but apparently they got into a scuffle, and began rolling on the lawn - pulling up fistfuls of Winter grass in the process.  Mom was the first to discover them and gazed in horror at the damage they had done.  Her horror turned to anger, and without really thinking, she told Joey that he would have to go home, and that he was not welcome back.

Now this was not good... You see, Dickie wasn't allowed to make the trip from home by himself, so without Joey, Dickie would have to drop out of the Scouts.  Sadly, they departed, and walked home for the last time.

Later that night, as Mom was cleaning up after supper, the doorbell rang.  She walked to the window, and turned on the porch light.  There stood Joey all alone.  His eyes were red and swollen from crying. "Miss Klein," he stuttered "I came back to say I'm sorry for what I did.  I'll fix your grass - I'll do anything, just don't kick Dickie out of the Scouts for what I did.  Please." And he began sobbing again.

Well, realizing the situation, Mom was heartbroken for the poor kid, and almost began crying herself!  She opened the door, and asked Joey to come in.  She told him not to worry, and that he and Dickie could come back, but that he would just have to behave better.

Joey promised.

Mom telephoned Dickie’s parents, and told them she would drive Joey home because it was dark out.

That was November.

April – Spring time.

The State was restoring the beaches – replacing the sand lost to tides and storms.  All along the coast sand dredges lay anchored out in the channel, pumping silt from the shallow Mississippi sound.  Like homeless vipers giant pipes were strewn on the shore – reaching out to the dredges at the channel marker.  Each pipe spewed out fine, black silt, loaded with sea life, and it stunk for weeks on end - until the sun bleached it out.  There were piles of the stuff all along the twelve miles of beach between Biloxi’s Point and Gulfport.  At the foot of Porter Avenue just beyond the old Lighthouse, was the largest pile - a mountain of black flecked sand - twenty, maybe thirty feet high.  At that time, it was probably the highest point in Biloxi!  I remember passing it on the way to school everyday ... watching it get higher and higher - wondering just where it would stop. "Dad, do you think they'll make it taller than the Lighthouse?" I asked.

"No, I don't think so." he answered with a smile.

But I really hoped they wouldn't stop it.  I WANTED to see it taller than the Lighthouse.  We already had a name for it ... "Biloxi Mountain"!

Wednesday, Cub Scout day. 

The meeting was over, and Joey headed back home with Dickie in tow.  Two hours later, the phone rang.  It was Mr. Moran.  He asked if the kids were there - Mom told him no.

Minutes later.

The phone rang again.  This time Dad answered it. "Yes.  Yes.  Oh, Lord, no..." I heard him say.  Mom asked him what was wrong.  He left without explaining, and said he would be back shortly. We watched from the front window as he left the driveway in the old Chevy truck, and turning down Carter Avenue back towards the lighthouse - the same route he took everyday to work.  We just knew the bakery boiler had exploded, or maybe Grandpa was hurt - or maybe it was Grandma - maybe she had another one of her fainting spells.  We didn't really know what had happened.

Mom picked up the phone.  I don't know who she called, but all of a sudden she got real quiet.  She bit her lips; her face turned white, and she began crying -quietly - trying to hold back the tears.  Then she hung up the phone gently - without even saying good-bye.

"What the matter, Mama?" - Chuck and I begged her to answer.  "What's wrong..?"  She just shook her head, and tried not to cry.  But it was no use.  Then she heaved a sigh, and sat down on the bottom step of the stairway with her hands folded across her aproned lap.

"Remember me telling you kids about not going near that sand pile by the light house?"

"You mean Biloxi Mountain ?" I asked.

"Yes.  THAT sand pile.  Well, Dickie finally came home a little while ago and told his parents that he and Joey were digging a tunnel in it - and Joey was lost..."

"What do you mean, Mom?  Lost..." - Chuck asked.

"Gone..."  was all she could say. She teared up again.

Even though we were in our pajamas, the three of us walked out to the end of our sidewalk, and looked towards the Lighthouse.  A faint fog had rolled in from the Gulf, and the misty air pulsed with flashing red lights around the lighthouse.  Distant sounds of sirens and shouting crept in with the breeze.  More flashing lights arrived – then silence. It was scary.

I didn’t understand.  Joey was here -just a little while ago.

The familiar old gray Chevy appeared through the mist, and Dad turned up the driveway.  It was as if time had stopped.  The silence, the lights, and no carss passing by on the normally busy highway. We turned back towards the house - meeting Dad just as he came in the back door.  You could tell he had been crying too.

"The kid's gone..."   Again, it took some explaining to get it across to Chuck, but, I knew.  I knew what they meant.

I remember that night praying for Joey.  But, I wondered "What am I really praying for..?"   If Joey was with God, like Mom and Dad explained, and being with God was "perfect happiness" - like the nun's explained.. then what else was there to pray for?   "Oh, I know..."  - I finally figured it out... "I guess this means that Dickie will have to drop out of scouts!"   Yes, that's what I decided to pray for that night ... that Dickie would be able to come back to Scouts.

Two days later at school, there was a funeral mass for Joey.  The whole school attended.  I remember him lying in the small white coffin at the front of the church.  He was all dressed in white - it was his confirmation suit, Dickie told me later.  All the kids marched by the coffin silently staring at Joey.  I remember thinking that he looked asleep.  I tiptoed by - scared of waking him, but then I realized I was just nervous or being silly or something.  I was confused – not knowing or understanding my emotions. I had never seen a dead kid before - especially one I knew.

I'll never forget passing the pew where Joey’s family sat.  I spotted Dickie first - he looked so tired - like he hadn't slept over the last two days. And Beverly - her lips were moving in prayer, but her face was blank. Dickie's Mom was leaning against his Dad's shoulder - both grief-stricken and lost in memories.  But I especially remember Joey's grandmother.  She sat huddled at the end of the pew – staring into space; she was past whatever’s beyond heartbroken.  Joey was her first grandson – her favorite.

Yes, Joey was gone.  And later that week, Biloxi Mountain was gone too.

There were only a few more scout meetings – things were never quite the same. My interests were changing - I spent more time on the piano.  Besides, the idea of graduating from activities in our garage to sleeping out in unfamiliar mosquito infested woods, eating under-cooked eggs, and risking snakebite (with or without that deluxe kit from Brumfield's) - somehow, the whole idea became less appealing with each Scout meeting.  I think it was a mutual decision between all of us kids and Mom to disband the den.  We had our fill of reciting pledges, memorizing lists of Indian names, and braiding colored plastic.

The bottle cap boot scraper door mat was our final project – a square board with bottle caps nailed to it – teeth facing up.   And, for those who didn't finish, Mom doled out the remaining bottle caps, and nails - from Chuck's bottomless nail bag. She scooped handfuls of caps and nails into small brown paper bags for each scout to take home with their little hammers.  Imagine, young boys sent home with nails and a hammer.  Unwittingly, Mom had found the perfect way to “share the joys of Scouting” each cub’s parents - the parents whotook it easy while Mom supervised their "cute little cub scouts" - hacking, sawing, hammering, fighting, crying, and poking each other.

Ah, such are the joys of Scouting ...

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© 2014 – Fred J. Klein  - Revision 3/7/2014