A Prayer Answered

Uncle John arrives in his new green pickup loaded with heavy park district picnic tables. Aunt Marie directs my Dad and other uncles on where to put them. Grandpa and Grandma are busy hugging grandkids. Well, Grandpa not so much. Aunt Marie and Uncle Hank have the neatest farm, with its orchard and a pond with a Model T Ford half submerged in the middle of it. The dozen giant oak trees are what most fascinate me. They almost reach the clouds as they sway in the breeze. Behind the small white barn is the orchard with pears and apple trees and the old three seater outhouse (still used for all the family gatherings) and two calves sucking on cousin’s hands. 

Picnic tables, scrubbed and dried, are covered with red checkered oil cloths and the food is brought out. Dad made German potato salad, Mom made an upside down cake. Food for an army. Smoke from the hamburgers and polish sausages drift over the scene. Kids are fed first, then the ten uncles. Grandpa is stretching his legs while Grandma is resting from all the attention giving. Cousins are turned loose as all my aunts take to the picnic table to catch up on the news. Jimmy and Johnny Hansen show how cats always land on their feet when you drop them.

A walk down the road to tire the little ones out is led by older cousins. Horses drift up to the fence to see the parade and get hands full of grass. 

The next day Mom takes me to the Carlsen Paint Store to buy a Walter Foster art book, How to Draw Horses. Did I mention I asked for one when saying my nightly prayers?

If I Had A Nickel

Dropping a nickel into the change collector, then walking to the back of the swaying bus was the start of a new adventure. My brother was taking a pouch of coins to the Beacon News building. It was this week's paper route money. It was my first trip without Mom or Dad taking me. My brother, Michael, had actually volunteered to take me along. So many times he would go somewhere by himself, leaving me to play with my toy cowboy collection either under the porch or the lilac bushes. Rainy days were spent in the back of the attic drawing wanted posters, or Patty Mathew. Bad guys were chased across the attic floor by the fastest posse of toy cowboys. 

Crossing the old and shaky High Street bridge, the bus driver shifted gears as the bus struggled to get over it. Looking down, you could see steam engines taking train cars to the different shops to be fixed. The bridge spanned the rail yards of the CB&Q railroad. My dad and some of my uncles worked there, at the Q. 

The wood planks of the sidewalk bounced as the bus passed by. Someday this old bridge is just going to fall down, a man said to me. Passing St. Nick's church and Great Auntie Ann's house, the bus rolled on stopping here and there to pick up more passengers. Some people knew who we were and asked about Mom and Dad. 

Reaching our stop, Michael pulled the cord to stop the bus. He actually took my hand as we started to weave our way across town to the Beacon News building. Downtown was a busy place when I was little. A dozen boys waited to turn over their route collection money. Bobby Miller, Roger White, and two other Pigeon Hill boys were in line ahead of us. They were interested in trading comic books with Michael and asked if my brother had seen the movie at the Paramount, "Space Invaders.”  It was Saturday and tickets were half price up till six o'clock. Science fiction was Michael's favorite genre of books, and movies too. It was my first movie, even then I could see the wires holding up the flying saucer. There was a lot of booing and popcorn being tossed. 

The bus ride home had more adventure than that movie.  Robert Tayler in The Last Buffalo Hunter was going to be there next week. I began drawing buffalos then from a nickel I'd taken from Dad's dresser drawer.