Behind the Curtain

 

Behind the Curtain   

    The country school audience watched two first graders on wood plank stage, singing to each other.  Susan; “I’m Sunbonnet Sally,” me; “I’m Overall Jim,”  We were seated in  old rocking chairs and dressed in old time clothes   Hidden at the side of the stage, behind the curtain, was 6^th grader Dennis who had been singing along with me—providing the volume so even the back rows could hear.  We finished the song and as the applause dwindled, Dennis smiled at me and pulled the bed sheets together; closing the curtain on a month of practicing our song together.  I had a brief glimpse into the life that was much different than my own.

    Dennis was slim, of medium height, light complected with nicely combed brown hair.  He was quiet and polite, a serious student.  He smiled easily.  He didn’t get in playground fights.  He was clean, as were his patched clothes, not always true of kids in those days.  He liked recess and schoolyard games, especially softball.  He had a very old glove, and could catch any fly or grounder that came his way.  He liked to sing and had a good voice.  

    During our practice sessions, he was very nice to me, and asked me questions about my home and family.  He liked to hear me tell what it was like to come home to a warm house, with milk and cookies and parents and to have supper as a family, even to ask  what we might eat that evening.     

    In those days when neighborhoods rarely changed other than through births or deaths, everyone knew all that there was to know about their neighbors.  We all knew about Dennis in that way.          

    He lived a mile from school with his dad, a drunk, in a decrepit two story house, weathered black, a few upstairs windows boarded up, an old outhouse and a junk filled yard that a few wandering goats trimmed.  His Dad spent most of his days and nights at the Wolf Creek bar, doing a few odd jobs for neighbor when he needed more beer money.  Dennis was left pretty much to raise himself after his mother got a divorce and left with his young sister to live in Denver.   

    Dennis worked for his farm neighbors to earn money for his own needs.  He bought an old bicycle to ride to school and proudly showed us the handlebar basket, bell and light he added.  He went barefoot in the summer and for school had an old castoff worn set of work shoes that were many sizes too large.    

   His neighbors, Mac and Nancy, raised string beans for Stokeleys.  Dennis could earn few dollars some weeks for long days of crawling up and down the rows picking string beans, to be weighed and sold at Milltown.  Nancy often invited him to join them for meals. They kept his money for him, carefully keeping a ledger of his earnings and purchases.  If he needed something, Mac let him ride along in the old Ford truck when he hauled the beans to town.  Dennis had worked this out with Mac to keep his dad from beating him to get beer money. 

     His neighbor across the road, Old Man Wicklund, raised 20 acres of watermelons on his sandy River Road farm.  Dennis earned some money hoeing melons and in the fall, helping load the trailer to take to them to town.  He got all the melons he wanted for free.  Many late summer  days he brought a melon to school, overfilling his bicycle basket.  He put it in a cold spring near the school house, and brought it out at noon for the whole school to share.   

    Dennis bought most of the groceries for him and his dad and did the cooking, washing and cleaning at home.  Dennis pumped water outside and heated it on the stove.  He always came to school clean and with clean clothes that he patched himself.

    The summer Dennis finished 7^th grade, he got a steady summer job with a nearby farmer.  He earned more money and took a 20 year old car as part of his payment.  When school started he proudly drove his car to school instead of riding his bike or walking.    He kept working for the farmer during the winter.  Everyone in the neighborhood knew he was too young to drive and that he hadn’t licensed the car, but as the town constable said, “Dennis has it hard enough with out us piling on too.” 

    When spring came, he passed his eighth grade exam and graduated with his class.  At the last day of school picnic he told us “My Dad say’s I am 14 and on my own from now on.  I got decent tires, two good spares, and all my stuff loaded in my car and a little money I saved.  I am driving out to Denver to see how Mom and Sis are doing.  If they will have me, I will stay and get a job and try to go to high school there.”

     He brought out a well folded US highway map and showed us his route.   As the picnic wound down, he went around to his neighbors and his school chums and said his thank you’s and good byes.  We gathered round as he got into his car, lightly loaded with   all his worldly possessions.  He started it up, waved a last time and disappeared forever from our lives, south down the Old River Road.  We watched until the faint trail of blue smoke disappeared.  We hoped he was heading into a better place.