Issue number One of The Oddville Press will appear on September 1, 2008. We are still accepting submissions of fiction, poetry and art for a few more days.

My friend Hawke, over at Hawke’s View posted this description, which is better than anything I could come up with:

“So, why the name ‘The Oddville Press’?” you ask.

Simply put, the word “odd” is something all writers know very well, the first twinge experienced the first time someone asks us what we do. Yes, writers are odd. We know it. And the looks on the faces of the folks we tell says they know it too. So, why not embrace it? The “ville” part is the sense of community we writers gravitate toward. Writing is very much a solo act, and though being unique is kind of cool in itself, being lonely is a real killer. So we tend to group up on writing forums, writing work shops and creative writing classes, in real life and in internet life, helping ourselves by helping each other. Hence, the name The Oddville Press.

Ah, but this magazine is unquestionably for you, Dear Reader. We bring quality Fiction, Poetry and Artwork from around the world to the public by respecting the minds of those we are invited into, publishing the professional and the burgeoning—today’s geniuses and tomorrow’s giants.

So if you’re a writer, poet or artist, why are you still here reading this? Give us your weird and wonderful. Give us something “odd.”

The Oddville Press is an online non-profit magazine dedicated to bringing high quality Fiction, Poetry and Artwork to the forefront.

Check it out at the oddville press

Trapped by the snow

Robert pulled off I 90 at the first rest area, grabbed his cell phone, and hit speed dial 1. She answered on the third ring.

“Hi, Marge. I just got on the interstate.”

“So, what time will you be home?”

“It’s starting to snow, and the forecast is bad. It may be eight or nine.”

“So, did you finally get to meet Caroline?” It was more a snarl than a question. “Is she young and cute?”

“Well she’s young. I wouldn’t call her cute. “

“Did you two go out to dinner?” she pushed.

“No, we didn’t. She went home to her husband. Why do you always suspect me?”

He pushed the ‘end’ button.

He drove his 2004, green Plymouth minivan toward home. Big snowflakes floated down in front of his windshield, portending a wet sloppy snow; the worst kind for driving. He found the Buffalo radio station, WJYE Soft Rock. Pittsfield was 400 miles away.

Things hadn’t been good at home for a while. The romance had gone almost to zero. When she heard that he would be out of town for a week, she blew up at him. But he smiled as he thought about shooting some hoops with his son, Bobby.

A few miles east of Buffalo, he saw a car down a shallow embankment. He slowed and pulled over just beyond. He walked back and the young woman sitting at the wheel was sobbing. Robert tapped on the side window. She unlocked her door for him to open.

“Are you all right?”

She looked down, checked her hands, then leaned over to check her face in the mirror. She sniffed a few times and rubbed her sleeve across her face, drying tears and smearing eye shadow with one stroke.

“I’m OK, but God, look where I am. I’ll never get out of here.”

“Let’s get you out of the car first, and make sure you’re not hurt.”

She was young, probably in her early twenties. Her hair was all tousled, her makeup a mess, and tears speckled her cheeks. He couldn’t tell if she was pretty, except for the cute shy smile.

Seeing that the girl wasn’t hurt, he walked around to check on the car. Her rear tires were completely off the shoulder, and the car was resting on its frame.

“Man, thank you for stopping.” She said as he came around the car. “This storm is a bitch; I couldn’t steer at all. Shit, I am in so much trouble. My dad is going to kill me. He let me borrow his car for the trip.”

“There’s no real damage to the car. The good news is you’re far off the road, so if a plow comes along it won’t crush your car. What we need to do now is figure out how to get you where you’re going.”

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I’m going to Massachusetts. Pittsfield.”

“Wow, that’s crazy. I was going to see a friend in Albany.

“Your car isn’t going anywhere. Do you want to wait for the police, or do you want me to drop you somewhere? I really have to get rolling. This snow is getting worse.”

“Albany’s near Pittsfield isn’t it? Can I ride with you to Albany? You could drop me at a rest stop, and I could call my friend from there to pick me up. We can take care of the car next week.”

“Do you need to call someone?” He reached for his cell phone.

“Naw, I just dropped my parents at the airport, and I was spending the week with my friend. There’s nobody to call until tonight.”

“Well, if you’re coming with me, grab your stuff and let’s get moving. This snow isn’t quitting any time soon.”

He took the suitcase from her, she grabbed something that looked like a CD case, and they headed to his car. He had left it running, and when he let her in, it was cozy. The girl wiggled out of her coat and tossed it into the back seat. Then she pulled down the visor and started fixing her face.

Robert brushed the accumulated snow off the rear window, and got into the car. He checked his mirrors, and got back onto the highway.

“My name’s Robert. What’s yours?”

“I’m Amy. Amy Jessup.”

Robert took his eye off the road to glance over at her, in spite of the constant snow blowing across the road. She was cute, with a kind of innocent look about her. She had snuggled into the seat with her knees pointed toward him. With her coat off, he could see a lovely young body. He forced his eyes back to the more mundane thought of the road and the snow.

“Do you mind if I find another station?” she asked.

“No, that’s OK, as long as it’s not rap or hard rock.”

He had to listen to some of that, but the rule for his son was that he could keep it low or use earphones. In the car, it would be too much for him.

She found a classic rock station, looked over at him for an OK. He nodded, smiled. She snuggled back down and closed her eyes.

He was approaching Syracuse, and realized he had only covered 250 miles of his 400-mile trip. There as no sign of the sun, but he could tell evening was approaching. He looked at the clock in the dash, and it was 4:20. He had been driving eight hours, and it was six hours since he picked the girl up. The snow was not as intense as before, and he thought I can still be home by eight.

Just before the Van Buren exit, a Highway Patrol car sat beside the road, with lights flashing. An officer was motioning him to slow down. He asked the girl to roll down her window, as he slowed to a rolling stop.

“What’s the problem, officer?” he asked.

“You’ll have to get off here. We’re closing the road in both directions for the night”

“When do you think I’ll be able to get through?”

“Not tonight.” The officer said. “ We have multiple tractor trailers and a few cars all tangled up. We don’t even know how many yet.”

“So, what’s the best way around this?”

The officer shook his head, as he looked across at the girl.

“There is no good way. All the main roads are closed. Why don’t you and your daughter just find a hotel, and settle in. Things should be OK by noon tomorrow.”

Robert was about to correct the officer about the “daughter” issue, but then decided against it. At 41 years old, he had just a few gray hairs showing through the dark reddish brown hair. He wondered if he looked older, or she looked younger than he thought.

Within a few blocks of the exit, he saw a Hilton hotel sign. Normally he would go for something less expensive, but at this point, he just wanted to be somewhere; anywhere. He pulled in under the awning, and got out. Amy got out on her side and as Robert started into the hotel, she just stood beside the car. As the sliding doors opened, he turned to her.

“Come on.”

“I can’t afford a place like this,” She stammered.

“Well, we have to stay somewhere. All the roads are closed, and won’t be open til tomorrow. You heard what the cop said.”

He walked back close to her.

“Look, You’re my daughter, OK. I’ll get two double beds. I promise you’ll be safe. I’m a happily married man. Is that alright?”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she looked away.

“I know I can trust you. I’ve trusted you this far. I just didn’t want to go stomping in like I expected you to take care of me.”

“Come inside and wait while I register us. It will be fine.”

They went in and Robert went to the desk. Amy stood, turning her head this way and that, looking at the dark red carpet, the chandeliers, the hardwood trim and paintings on the wall. She also noticed the entrance to a steakhouse in the corner of the lobby.

They each picked up their single suitcase, and headed for the elevator. Inside, she looked in the full-length mirror, and fussed at her hair, then smoothed the wrinkles in her blouse. Robert was able to watch her in the mirror without being too obvious. Her mousy brown short hair and fitted black jeans gave her slightly tomboy look, but her body was all woman.

He saw her eyes switch to the menu in the elevator. He let her read for a moment.

“Let’s go freshen up and rest for a few minutes. Then we’ll go see what they have for dinner downstairs.”

“I don’t have any really nice clothes. If I put a skirt on, do you think that will be OK?”

He smiled at her in the mirror. “I’m sure that will be fine. On a night like tonight they will be glad to have us.”

They got to the room, and when he opened the door, she bolted through.

“Sorry, I’ve been holding it for 100 miles.”

She pulled the bathroom door halfway shut behind her.

When she came out, she had her jeans in her hand. Seeing her standing in her panties caused Robert’s heart and other parts to become more alert. He turned his head away slightly. She flopped onto the nearest bed, and let out a big sigh.

“This place is beautiful. I’ve never been in a fancy hotel. We’ve always stayed at Motel 6, or some little place beside the road. I don’t know how I can ever repay you for this.”

Robert considered making a suggestion. It had been a long time, and he wasn’t sure things would be any better with his wife after a week away. He tried to push the thought away. He wasn’t about to take advantage of a young woman just because he was helping her. He checked that his pants weren’t going to tell on him, and then headed for the bathroom himself.

After a brief rest, they both got dressed and went downstairs. There were several people in the restaurant, and it seemed total strangers were chatting about the storm, where they were headed, and how long it might be before they got back on the road. A woman at the next table spoke.

“So where are you two headed? Oh, I’m Alice, and this is Tom.”, Nodding toward the man with her.

Robert decided to avoid confusion and raised eyebrows. Even among strangers, he was a modest man.

“I’m Robert, and this is my daughter, Amy. We’re headed home to Pittsfield.”

A little grin slipped along Amy’s lips. She gave him a soft kick under the table. He frowned but said nothing.

Dinner came, and since they were both tired, conversation was limited. They soon headed back to the room.

Robert called his wife, and explained the snow problem. He decided that telling her he had picked up a young woman would not be wise. That discussion could wait until they were face to face. Or so it seemed at the moment. He got his pajamas out of the suitcase, went into the bathroom and put them on. He then got into bed and slid under the sheet. He lay looking at the ceiling, considering the day.

Amy went into the bathroom. Robert could hear the shower running. In a few minutes, she came out, wearing nothing but panties, with her hair wet and sticking in all directions. Droplets of water decorated her shoulders and belly. She leaned over him, and her firm breasts rubbed against his chest as she kissed him on the lips. Then she lifted the sheet, slid into the bed, and snuggled against him.

He pushed the sheet aside so he could see her lovely body. As they caressed, his hands remembered where and how to give a woman pleasure. Soon she pulled him onto her, and their passion exploded.

A thin slice of sunlight sneaked in from between the drapes. His brain floated somewhere between half asleep and half awake. The dream played back in his mind; the storm, the girl, the hotel. The smell on the pillow was not his wife, and he realized he was not at home. He rolled over and saw her suitcase in the middle of the bed, where she dumped it when they first got in. She was not a dream. The wonderful lovemaking was real.

He realized he was alone in the bed, and could see that her bed had not been touched. He looked toward the bathroom, and saw the door open. Then he noticed that her shirt and jeans were gone. Down to breakfast already? Maybe she takes early morning walks. After all, he didn’t know her habits.

He got out of bed and started his morning ritual; a few stretches to loosen up, shave, then shower. As he was shaving, he took a close look at his face. I’m only about sixteen years older than her, he thought. I’m in good shape. I never should have said I was her father; it makes me feel like a letch. But it was good.

Robert headed down to breakfast, thinking he would find Amy on the way. He looked around the lobby, then stepped out the front door and looked around. The sun was brilliant on fresh snow. The street had been plowed; just one lane, but that was encouraging. Out here in the Snow Belt, they knew how to handle snow. They would be able to get back on the Thruway later this morning, he was sure. Since he didn’t see her, he got a table near the entrance, where she could find him when she came in. He ordered coffee and an English muffin, and relaxed. He thought about his wife, the little lie when he phoned her, and the much bigger lie that happened later. It was just this one night. I don’t have to let it change anything. I’ll put it out of my mind for good.

She still hadn’t arrived as he was emptying his second cup. He reached in his pocket to get his wallet. He’d charge the meal to his room. The company should pick up the expense. He liked to leave the tip in cash. He took out a dollar, but something was wrong. He looked closer, and there was only one more dollar. He had over sixty dollars left of his travel money. His license and bank card were still there, but his Visa credit card was gone. Robert got a sick feeling in his stomach. He felt his pants pocket to be sure his keys were still there. Good. He started walking toward the elevator, and decided to look at his keys. They were all there except his ignition key. He turned and ran out the front door. The bare spot of ground, and the tire tracks told him what he feared.

Robert stood there in the freezing cold, feeling violated and stupid. How could this girl decide to rob him after all this? How could he possibly explain this to his wife without telling the whole story? Would his marriage of 16 years survive this one stupid mistake?

He would have to figure this out, but first he had to call the police. Local police would have to start it, and they would call the highway patrol.

The westbound lanes of the Thruway opened early. The snowplow pulled up beside the car, clearing snow as close a possible. A police cruiser followed. They were going down the interstate looking for people trapped in their cars by the snowfall. They came to a green Plymouth minivan. The plow crew got out, grabbed shovels, and cleared a space by the driver’s door. They swept snow off the side window, and could see it was empty.

A police officer went to the back to record the license plate. He looked at the tracks.

“This car didn’t skid into the bank. It drove in, and recently. Look at these fresh tracks.” he said to his partner.

He noted the plate number, went back to the cruiser and entered it into the computer.

“Hey, we’ve got a hot one. This car was just reported stolen.”

Amy had her next victim.

Business Integrity Payback
Why executive integrity pays

Business integrity and ethics has been a popular topic for several years. Consultants make presentations, books abound, companies establish business ethics programs, and advertising companies help businesses pitch their ethics agenda.

Integrity is its own reward. Most of us behave honestly and fairly because it makes us feel good. We value our own self worth. When it comes to business, we become more selective. We allow ourselves to believe that we cannot afford to apply our personal values to all aspects of the business. I will attempt in this essay to demonstrate that the opposite is true; that you cannot afford to NOT run all of your business with integrity.

We will need a few definitions to continue. Most ethics discussion is about “Situational Ethics” - a system of ethics by which acts are judged within their contexts instead of by categorical principles (Merriam-Webster online). Situational Ethics addresses questions such as “We just found out that our wonder drug will kill one patient in 500, and we don’t know which patients are at risk. What should we do?” At times, we see such an ethical dilemma being addressed by large advertising campaigns, not solving the problem, but “spinning” it.

“Ethic” is defined more broadly - the principles of conduct governing an individual or a group. (Merriam-Webster online)

John Dalla Costa author of The Ethical Imperative says simply “Ethics is others.”

“Integrity” is ethics, plus another dimension.

The Merriam-Webster online dictionary has two definitions of integrity that apply to our thinking:

Firm adherence to a code of especially moral or artistic values

The quality or state of being complete or undivided

Former Wyoming Senator Alan Simpson said: “If you have integrity, nothing else matters. If you don’t have integrity, nothing else matters.”

The undivided nature of integrity is essential, as seen in an illustration. Suppose that my ethical principle tells me to treat my customers fairly, and to take responsibility if I make a mistake. That is a good ethic. However, suppose I do not apply that same value to my suppliers, or to my employees? Many managers will not admit a mistake to their employees, in fear of losing authority ? Applying an ethical principle selectively shows a lack of integrity. The executive’s mind is divided, not whole.

Integrity is a universal and fundamental set of principles, which can be used to judge every decision you, make, and determine what is the correct approach. Integrity is not a list of rules. It is impossible to write a rule for every situation, because in the real world, situations will occur that have never happened before.

There is a classic illustration of the difference between rules and principles. The Christian Bible is two very different documents. The first part, called the Old Testament by Christians, describes a period of four thousand years in which a group of people tried to live by a specific set of rules. The basic rules were phrased as “You shall not …” and contained the obvious list of kill, steal, witness falsely. You could get ready for bed at night, ask yourself, “Did I do any of these things”, and call it a good day if you didn’t. There were also rules about what you can eat, how you should prepare foods, when and how you should worship, and many more.

The New Testament (or covenant), as presented by a man named Jesus, restates the rules as principles. Jesus explained things. “All of the laws are based on love. If you love everyone, the laws will take care of themselves.” (paraphrased, but that’s what he said.). Then he told a story to make it clear. The outcast Samaritan found a guy beaten up and lying in a ditch. The rules didn’t say you had to help him, so the good guys didn’t bother. The Samaritan didn’t need to read the rules. It was obvious that love demanded he help the guy. That is integrity.

“But we’re talking about business, and business it’s eat or get eaten.” you say. That is true. It doesn’t mean you can throw out your integrity.

Who is an executive?

The integrity of any organization is the responsibility of the executives of that organization. To make this discussion relevant, we should share an understanding of who is considered an executive

Peter Drucker, in “The Effective Executive”, says an executive “… is responsible for a contribution that materially affects the capacity of the organization to perform and to obtain results.”

An executive doesn’t have to be a president, or even a high level manager. Anyone who has a significant influence on the way an organization operates is an executive.

An organization doesn’t have to be a for-profit company for integrity to be important, or to have a payback. The payback for a non-profit organization is the results that can be achieved with a given amount of funding.

Integrity and yourself

Before you read this section, take just a minute and write down (yes, on paper) the five or six things that make you feel great. Stop and think about them.

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Now ask yourself, does my personal integrity enhance these valuable things? Will I keep these things if I behave dishonestly? Is it worth risking these things? The things that are important to you are all connected to your personal integrity.

Integrity must begin with you. When a person truly learns to value him/herself, then it is possible to be caring, forgiving, generous, patient, and fair with others.

Wherever you are in the executive ranks, you came to this position for fulfillment. A big paycheck is important, but it isn’t why you are in this position. Power may also be a part of the motivation, but you don’t have power if you don’t have respect. Do you feel OK knowing that your secretary is a single mother with two kids, and you aren’t helping her grow in responsibility so she earn a better salary? Is it OK to meet all of your goals, but wake up one day realizing your kids are grown, or your wife is gone, of your heart won’t carry you up a flight of stairs?

My story

To introduce the idea of integrity payback, I’ll tell you about how I learned this. I was no big company executive. I worked for a few small companies, and joined IBM for ten years. Then a few friends and I saw an opportunity to start a business providing software and services to large hospitals.

We had time to discuss how we wanted to do business before we formed our company. We all believed that if we were open with our customers and treated them with respect, that they would, in turn, treat us with respect. That began our experiment, building the foundation for business integrity.

The first block in our foundation was “If it isn’t good business for both parties, it isn’t good business.” If it was not good for both of us, we would walk away from it.

The second block was responsibility. If we made a mistake, we would pay to fix it. This was a scary proposition in the first year of business, when we didn’t have money to spare. It turned out that I was the first to make a mistake. The mistake cost our fledgling company an airline ticket, two nights in a hotel, and sixteen hours of non-billable time. But that was who we were. That doesn’t sound like good business but it was. Here is the payback. That customer had several friends in the business. Instead of telling them that we failed, he told them how we corrected the problem.

The third block in our foundation was respect for our employees. One example is that our first employee became our first Division Director.

The payback came in many forms. The most obvious was that we very quickly started receiving calls from hospitals that wanted to do business with us. We paid for a small amount of advertising, but word of mouth was our main source of new business. The more subtle paybacks were in the feeling of satisfaction, and the ability to sleep well at night.

Summary

Business integrity is much more than situational ethics. It is the foundation of a successful business. Everyone with the ability to influence the decisions of the company is an executive, and therefore responsible for the integrity of the business.

In following chapters, I will discuss how to build integrity into the mission of the business, and how these principles apply to marketing, sales, service, employees, customers, suppliers, and the greater community.

The “Awl” Business

We were a team, like Laurel and Hardy. We were ordinary guys alone, but together we were magic. We were computer consultants, and usually spent a week in one city. If you have to be on the road, it’s good to have a drinking buddy. Mark was the best.

Mark was a big guy; six two, two forty, head like a bull, He never found a suit that liked him. If the width fit his shoulders, the sleeves would hide his hands.

We were at a hospital in Houston. It was Thursday, and by 5:30 we had finished our week’s work. Friday we would head home to Cincinnati. Mark and I went back to the Comfort Inn. We agreed to change into casuals, and meet back in the lobby. My casual was a golf shirt. Mark came down in a denim shirt with big shiny buttons, black jeans, and blond riding boots. There was a country restaurant just a block away, where we could have a few drinks and a steak. We hit the bar while waiting for a table, and ordered frozen Margaritas. Tequila is not a civilized liquor, but add some lime, and lots of ice, and it is a wonder on a hot Houston night.

We each ordered a T-bone, and got a bottle of Barking Owl Australian Chiraz, we picked for the label.

Mark was giving me the latest on his pre-teen daughters. Our waitress came over to top off our coffee. She was petite with short blond hair, barely 20. “So what do you guys do for a living?” Mark grinned. “We’re in awl.” in a fake Texas accent. “We had a fire in a wellhead, and had to call Red Adair to put it out.” Mark could pass for an oil man, with his big build and cowboy shirt.

I wouldn’t even try. “I don’t know much about oil. I just keep track of the money Mark brings in.” Then excess alcohol got hold of my tongue. “We have to fly to Stuttgart tonight. We have some Deutschmarks into yen.”

Mark would not be outdone. “Our jet’s waiting for us now. We have to stop in Newark to clear customs, and we’ll be in Germany by daylight.”

The girl’s eyes got big “You’re going to Newark tonight? My mother lives in Newark and she’s sick. I’ve been saving money to fly up to see her.” She stopped, her cheeks flushing.

“We have to leave soon or we’d offer you a ride.” Mark said.

“I only live ten minutes from here. I could be ready in half an hour. Oh, thank you.” She ran back to the kitchen.

I was sober enough to know we had offered a young woman a ride on our imaginary plane. I walked toward the pay phones on the wall, picked up a phone and talked for a moment, without bothering to dial. Mark watched me, and when the girl came back, her eyes followed Mark’s gaze back to me. I came back to the table, and ignoring the waitress, looked at Mark intently.” Buddy, we have a problem. Our Denver crew boss went missing. We have to get there right now.” Then I turned to the girl. “Oh, you were going to ride with us. I’m sorry. This mess changes our plans completely. Come on Mark.” I pulled out my wallet, found a hundred, handed it to our waitress, and we got out of there.

We made several more trips to Houston. Somehow, we never got back to that restaurant.

Lover

Sometimes I hate this “road warrior” game. The job itself is great, and I get to meet interesting people, but I’m always in a strange place. The folks I’ve been working with have their homes to go to, and I head back to the hotel. This time it was Cincinnati, a nice little hotel, and the staff  know me.

I came in from the job, and took the elevator to my room. It’s bad when you have “your” room at a hotel. Mine was 326, in the back, away from traffic, in the corner with windows on two sides. Ditch the briefcase, toss the jacket on the bed, loosen the tie, and head back down.

The bar was a little local place, maybe eight stools, and three small tables along the wall. Most nights there would be a few locals, and other road warriors. Carla was pouring that night, and I didn’t have to order. She saw me come in the door, took down a glass, poured a double Black Jack, ice, splash of water, and handed it to me as I walked in. Call me predictable. I hadn’t been in town for a few weeks, so she greeted me, “Hi hon, how’ve you been? Where were you last week ? Nice meaningless chatter. Then she had things to do, and I settled back to let the alcohol fry a few brain cells that needed to be gone.

The pheromones got to me first. It isn’t even sexual at that first moment. Science identifies five senses, but this gets you somewhere completely other. I turned slowly, afraid of breaking some spell. She was at arm’s length on the next stool. Straight Jet black hair hanging to the bottom of her ears and angling back and down to the nape of her neck. Translucent skin that I instinctively labeled as Irish, she was slender but not fragile. Emerald eyes stared at me confidently, and just the hint of a smile curved the tips of her mouth. Her short silver-gray jacket was draped over the back of the barstool, leaving a black sleeveless thing that revealed her arms and shoulders. Her skin shimmered, muscles rippled gently from just above the wrist up over the shoulders and just to where you couldn’t quite see her breasts. Looking at her had the same effect as the shock I got from her essence.

 “Hi Jim” She waited for me to speak. I had to take a sip to wet my lips, but the drink was still strong and I choked. That loosened her smile

Memory floated in as from a past life. I knew this woman. We were friends for ten years, lovers for a few months. Why was this coming to me through a haze?

It was my move. “Hello Angela. What are you doing here?”

“Let’s go somewhere private.” she said.

The room wasn’t a mess; just my jacket on the bed from earlier. She kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the bed. I had to untie my shoes, then joined her. She reached out a hand and rubbed my arm, inviting me closer. “I’ve missed you, Jim, it’s been a long time.” 

“I miss you too, my angel. Why did we let it end without a struggle?”

“We were both young, in a hurry to make life happen”

Is it different now? I wondered.

She rolled closer, placing a leg on top of me. I reached back to unzip her skirt. A flurry of buttons and zippers, and her naked body was on top of me.

“Is something wrong with your drink?” Carla asked.

I looked to my right at the empty stool. I could feel the heat in my face.

“What’s wrong, hon? You look sick”

“No Carla, I’m OK. I was just remembering an old friend”

“More than a friend, I’d guess. Would you like another Black Jack?” 

Gangster in town

It’s not as if they were rich. No one in Quarryville was rich. It was 1939 and this small town was still in the Great Depression. Quiet desperation was the common disorder. But the Westlakes were different. The old man in his black shirt with red tie, and that short little beard like he just came form the barbershop. In the winter he wore a felt, German looking hat with a feather in it. Can you even believe that ? And there were rumors, something about the big city gangster, Jack “Legs” Diamond. Westlake was different for sure. I guess the rest of the family was sort of normal, except for that city way of talking.

Let’s see, Eddie must have been twelve, which would make me eleven. We were best buds and in sixth grade we were big stuff. Eddie was big and strong, if a little on the chubby side. He had a crooked smile from the scar he got going over the handlebars of his home built bike. I was the smart one, so it didn’t matter that I was skinny and the shortest one in the class. Most times Eddie would let me be in charge. We’d both been hearing our folks talk about Westlake, they called him Ben. They wondered how they could find out what he really did in the city, and why he moved way out here, and why he didn’t even have a job. Well, me and Eddie knew the adults would never do anything but talk, and we knew it was time for some detective work. Who better than me, with my trusty assistant, to get to the bottom of this mystery?

We had heard of “Legs” Diamond before. He was a gangster, but Diamond didn’t sound like any Eye-talian name we knew ( we liked saying “Eye-talian” cause it’s kind of an insult, but we can just say we thought that was how it was said. ). Westlake doesn’t sound Italian either, so we decided they must both be Irish gangsters. Now we had our first clue.

So Eddie and I started planning, or at least I planned while Eddie listened. Who do we know that’s Irish? Old Mr. McCann, always sitting outside in his rocker. And his wife might give us a soda too. So off we went. “Uncle Patty” as everyone called him was on his porch, sure enough, in the same brown corduroy pants, long sleeved shirt, and funny cloth cap that he always wore. We had to be friendly first, just “hello” and “don’t you like this weather”, so he wouldn’t know we were up to something. Then I asked, just casual, “you know about New York City, right Patty?” and of course he couldn’t say no to that. Then “Do you know about Legs Diamond?” And then he starts talking. “Sure, Legs is the sportiest gangster in the whole city” he says in his funny Irish way. “He even has a summer place just up there in the Catskills, about 20 miles from here. He’s a bootlegger, you know what that is?” I knew, but I let him tell me that he makes illegal whiskey.

If we were going to solve this thing, we would have to get in close. That would be tough, because the family was big, and it seemed somebody was home all the time. But Sunday was different. The family was Catholic, and the rule was that church came first, even if you were a gangster. If we were going to do some “research” on Sunday, we had to get ready. Eddie and I had played in the yard before, but this time we were planning an expedition. This time we went over there like we wanted to play, and we wandered around and cased things out. There were two good places to start searching, the cellar and the barn.

On Sunday morning we were ready. Eddie had a flashlight and I made sure he checked the batteries. I had a note pad and pencil, and a screwdriver in case a door was padlocked. I decided we should check the barn first, because it would be safer for our first trip. Going right to the house could be risky. They had church at nine o’clock, so we got there early to be sure they all left. They always all leave; it’s a rule.

We got to the barn, and I told Eddie I would open the door and he should shine the light around before we go in. He looked around and couldn’t see anything but bales of hay and some tools. But there was a door at the far end. I let Eddie go in first, cause he’s big.

Eddie pulled a pin out of the latch and slowly opened the door. It creaked, and we both jumped a little. Then he opened it enough to shine the light in. Two huge yellow eyes glared back at us, and Eddie dropped the flashlight. Then we heard a loud noise, like ah-ah-ah-ah. Eddie turned and ran, but I grabbed the light, and stepped in where I could see the horns of a very big billy goat. I knew people who have goats and most of them are small and not very scary. This goat was not small, and he had horns as wide as a car. Let me tell you, I followed Eddie out of there fast.

The next Sunday, we were ready to try again. The last week didn’t go so well, and this week was going to be harder. We had to get into the basement. The good news was that the basement door was in the back of the house so it couldn’t be seen from the road. The other good news was that you didn’t have to go down some dark stairs with spider webs. The yard sloped down in the back, so the door to the basement was like a regular door.

This time I took the flashlight, since Eddie panicked the week before. I wasn’t happy about that, being as how Eddie was big and strong, but what could I do. So just like last time we got there early to be sure they al went to church. Then we looped around to the back. We got to the door OK, but sure enough it was locked. Well, not locked like a house door, it was just a padlock. Eddie had the screwdriver, and in a minute we had the lock off, and Eddie opened the door while I held the light. I went in first and shined the light around. There was a big closet on one side, like a bedroom closet, but not with decorations on it or anything. Just plain dark wood. I told Eddie to open it, and it was full of jars with vegetables; carrots, tomatoes, beans, even beets I think, they were dark red anyway. I hope it was beets, not blood and body parts. We were about to leave when I noticed an opening to another room to the side. No door on it, just a different part of the basement. I poked the light in, and knew right away this was what we were looking for. There was a table and some big thing like a radio on it. We found the cord, but it wasn’t plugged in. But we knew it was how he sent messages to New York. Beside the radio thing there was a machine. It was kind of long and skinny, and it had a motor on one end. The long part was something like a railroad track, and in the middle of the track thing, was a part that had a short blade in it. I never saw a machine like that.

Now we had some real clues to start working on. We would have to find a way to listen in on the radio messages, and do some research on the machine. But we had a problem. School was starting, and we wouldn’t have any free time to do our detective work. Well, we would have free time, but you have to leave time for kickball, and going for ice cream sodas, and maybe even girls.

All that was sixteen years ago now. Eddie got a job at the local paper mill doing who knows what, and then he moved and we lost track of each other. He told me they had a machine there like the one we found, and it was called a lathe. I went off to Pittsburgh to study chemical engineering. We haven’t seen each other since high school graduation. During our high school years, our parents got to know old Ben Westlake. They found out he was just an insurance salesman in New York, and retired because he was sick. We never did hear how the gangster story got started. Eddie and I had more important things to think about. That was one exciting summer. Next month is our ten-year high school reunion. I hope Eddie will be there. I’ll remind him about the summer we were detectives.

© 2008 Jim Stay

Sinister

Here I sit, just beyond the wrist

    Lazy, improper

Unable to write or throw a ball

Yet useful in a lesser way

Playing my supportive role

Half of an unequal pair

    Of twins

I hold the board while Dexter saws,

The paper while he writes

And so we are a team

Recent sickness took away the meat

    But left my bones.

Skin wrinkles, purple veins protrude

The joints complain of too much use

And knuckles seem too large

Nails cut short for outdoor work

   Speak of age

Yet health shows in the pink color

So I serve my purpose well

Sinister one

When you’re eleven years old, some days are tough, like being in history class on a sunny day and you can smell the sweet spring air coming in the classroom window. Some days are good, usually Saturdays when there is no school and no church. Some days are perfect and this was one of those.

It was June; almost summer, but still chilly in the morning. The sun was just coming up as I got out of bed, yanked a tee shirt over my head, and jumped into my dungarees ( we didn’t call them jeans back then ), socks and shoes. My day didn’t start without breakfast; I sure did love to eat. Grab any bowl at hand, toss in some shredded wheat, bury it in cold goats milk, and top it off with sugar. Chores were pretty simple; feed the goats and put them out to pasture. Dad did the milking and had it done while I was eating. There were always weeds to be pulled in the vegetable garden and lawn to be mowed, but I could tell before I got out of bed that today was for sneaking off.

I have always been a bit of a solitary creature. I had friends, brothers and a sister who would have gone with me, but if I really wanted a free day I would likely go off alone. Once the chores were done I went back in the house, fixed a peanut butter sandwich, found a small paper bag stuffed the sandwich in and jammed it in my jacket pocket. I had a Boy Scout canteen, but I wouldn’t need it today, because I knew there was a natural spring where I was going, and there is nothing quite like ice cold spring water with your sandwich.

The dirt road that went past our house continued past a neighbor’s house and then became a wood road, a wide path really, wandering almost two miles before opening onto another road. This woodland was filled with stone quarries. In the early nineteen hundreds New York city was being paved and the sidewalks were paved with smooth gray-blue sheets of bluestone from this part of upstate. Now in 1951, the quarries were long abandoned.

As I walked along the wood road I heard a crow call out from somewhere on my right, then it flew from behind me directly over my head, and straight in the direction I was going, and calling its raspy warning. I knew I would not be seeing any animals for a while.

I walked on down the path until I came to a fork, took the left branch, went over a small hill and came to the quarry that was my goal. This was the most interesting of the many quarries because it had the most “stuff’ around. The central focus was a crane made of two huge wooden poles, one straight up and one at a steep angle, connected by several cables, and a large gear wheel to haul the stone out of the quarry.

The prize here was a truck, a Dodge I think, with a narrow hood that opened on hinges from both sides, exposing its engine with all the wonderful parts that made it work. I had been here with my father and older sister and brother, and had been given a lesson on the parts that make a car engine work. The steering wheel still turned, and the gas, clutch, and brake pedals still pushed, so I knew that it was just a matter of a few adjustments and I would have it running. I began checking all those engine parts, but my little wrench and screwdriver were, alas, no match for years of rust.

Soon it was time for lunch, one of my favorite times. Pooh bear and I have this in common. The spring was not far away, and I wanted a drink with the sandwich. I did not bring a cup, so I first rinsed my very dirty hands in the downstream side of the spring ( at least I knew that much ), and then used my cupped hands to bring a few sips of that elixir to my mouth. My sandwich was much the worse for its time in my pocket, but it didn’t affect the taste at all. As I ate, I noticed some blackberry bushes growing on an old rock pile nearby. Blackberries, ripened in the sun would be the ideal dessert. I climbed up the pile and was about to pick a lush berry when I realized I had company. A black bear was standing on her hind les at the opposite side of the berry patch, no more than 15 yards away, casually eating berries. I am assuming it was a female because it was quite small, shorter than me, though quite a bit rounder. We stood there looking at each other, quite calm, saying nothing, for three or four seconds. Then she lowered herself to all fours and turned away. I went back down the rock pile, heart pounding, and could hear her moving away from me. At that point I decided I’d had enough adventure for one day, and headed on home.

As I look back over very many years, I find this all as happy now as it was at the time, and also greatly amusing. Meeting a bear was a special treat. I began my fascination with wild animals when I first tried to catch a chipmunk at about four years of age, and it has never left me. The truck had probably been sitting out in the weather for ten years and everything was covered in rust. I know it was an old design with a crank starter and a spark advance. I knew nothing at all except the name and purpose of some of the parts. The wonder of being young is that none of those limitations had any effect on my perfect day.

© Just Jim 2008

You walk into my space

    claiming it as your own.

Your eyes, clear and open

    look deep within,

    speaking of equality.

I take your hand and trace a line

    from wrist to fingertip.

Your kiss is warm, inviting,

    taking me to special places.

We walk together hand in hand,

    being, not possessing

Words cannot say these things