The Story of Bobby Hearst, Part III

Mike Spencer's Barber Shop was a place where grade school boys hung out. Directly across High Street from St Joe's school and Church, the Barber Shop was where the boys went and ate their bag lunches. Not all boys were invited to spend lunch time there. Jimmy Brown invited me, he was one of the cooler boys who the girls seemed to like. I was still one of the cootie boys, as far as the girls were concerned. Jimmy and Mike Koster told Mike the Barber about my drawings. 

I usually ate my lunch in the classroom when it was cold, or sitting on the  black top playground hiding under the fire escape. Mike Koster told Mike Spencer how I was drawing in class all the time and how good they thought I was. The nuns forbid the boys from spending time at the Barber Shop. If caught, it could mean extra homework. I never really knew why the nuns made it off limits, maybe the magazines. Most were about hunting and fishing, a few were detective magazines with some adult illustrations. There was also the fact Mike Spencer wasn't Catholic. Sister Bernardo warned us about playing with non-catholics. Dad said to ignore that. I think dad had it out with the nuns about that. My brother Mike told me once dad gave the nuns red ears about a number of things. A red ear just meant a real good talking to. 

Jimmy Brown and Mike Koster took some portrait drawings of mine to show the Barber and he invited me to join the other boys. Of all days for me to go to the barber shop, Bobby Hearst was there getting his haircut. Bobby waited for the right time to whisper he still owed me one. I could see him waiting for me on one of the school swings. After showing my drawings to Mike the Barber, I decided it was time to face Bobby and get my punishment over with. I left my drawings with Mike and slowly walked across the street. Torn shirt, a punch and it was over with. He told me to tell that sister of mine she was next. Cathy wouldn't be so easy, she had a sock full of marbles. 

Mike the Barber gave me my first set of oils, an easel, canvas and a carrying box which I still have today. I’m not sure why Bobby never bothered us again. Maybe he met the sock of marbles... 

The Story of Bobby Hearst, Part II

Setting the table was one of the little things we did each night. One night you would be setting the table, the next night drying or putting dishes away.

Cathy sat quiet, after setting the table, not mentioning her pitching abilities to Mom, who was standing at the kitchen counter chopping onions. Cathy set the table, took her seat and waited for Mom to announce dinner was ready. It was liver and onion night, Dad’s favorite night, but no one else’s.  Tiny red potatoes with skins on were first passed around, followed by cooked baby carrots - all from our garden. Loading one's plate with potatoes and carrots in hopes of no room for the liver was the idea. Dad was handy with his reach, and fork, though, giving everyone a share. Mom always had more on the stove if anyone dodged a piece and the liver plate got empty. 

Liver on his plate, dad interlaced his fingers, bowed his head, and led us in prayer. Who had picked the potatoes began the after-prayer conversation. He knew Francis was sent to the garden that afternoon. Dad just liked acknowledging Francis's part in the meal each night. Cathy and I worked on our liver hiding skills, as Francis told us about his day. Placing bits of liver under our plates was our best effort. Bits in pockets were good too. Major, our dog would be getting those bits when we turned our pockets inside out. 

Pat told Dad about her job at the dry cleaners and her walk home over the High Street bridge with its missing sidewalk planks. Michael talked about books he needed from the library. Playing with her carrots, Cathy suddenly blurted out how she struck out both Donny and I and hit a ball out of the infield. Dad stabbed a piece of Cathy's liver from under her plate - her reward for striking us out.  “How's the mitt,” Dad asked me. Just then arriving at the table, Mom said Carol Lenardi drove Michael to his Polio treatment, as she took her seat.

There was a call from Mr. Brown, the park grounds keeper, Mom injected while asking for the carrots. Something about an overturned dugout. Cathy instantly began telling the story how she pitched to this older kid and how I grabbed the ball barehanded on the fly. “How did the dugout end up overturned?, Dad asked.” I remained speechless as Cathy went on.  Dad held back a grin, Mom was horrified that Cathy tried to bean a boy with a hardball.  Cathy had a reputation, she once took a hammer to a bully’s front teeth.  Mom couldn't believe that one, till the kid showed up with his Mom, showing his half a front tooth.  

I got out of my dish drying duty, despite offering, because it was a paper route collecting night. Dad handed me the collection book and the change bag and said the dishes would be here when I was done with the collection. Last house on Mountain Street was the Hearst house. Luck was with me - Bobby's sister answered the door and paid for three weeks of paper delivery. My Saturday luck ran out at Mike Spencier's Barber Shop though, where I received a hard, friendly punch from a smiling Bobby. Just his way of saying he had more for me…