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