WHAT I KNOW

Leonard, Frances
Marvin, Marilin, Arthur

I should have said “What They Said – Aloud and A LOT”

 

Frances, my Mom: 

Her mantra was “The Lord Will Provide”

My brother Arthur and I, chronically broke and frequently bored, were not above poking fun at her – behind her back. We would exchange pathetic anecdotes about the depths of our poverty, the jobs we just lost, the depths of depravity to which humanity had sunk, then declare “but Girl [or Honey], the Lord Will Provide”…UNTIL…..

One day Arthur was getting out of my car in front of his apartment when an apparently homeless man approached and politely asked if we could spare $1 or even some change; he offered his wristwatch in exchange.  $1 or less at that time would actually have bought a meal. I was flat broke, Arthur was down to his last $3.00, but being Arthur he gave it all to the man and said “keep your watch, this is a gift”.  The man got teary-eyed, insisted we take the watch and Arthur vowed to keep an eye out and return the watch to its owner some day. Neither of us ever saw him again and I still have that watch, although my brother passed from this world many years ago.

Next Day:  Arthur opened his mailbox and found an envelope containing $3.00 cash – from our Mother.  Signed, Sealed and put into the mailbox the day before, probably about the time we were talking to the watch guy.
P.S.  We stopped making fun of her.  Yeah, we still said the Lord will provide, but we said it with a lot more reverence. Our brother Marvin always claimed that it was a hot watch, so of course the guy wanted to unload it, but to us that was neither here nor there. 

 

Fast Forward a couple years.  We needed a new source of mild amusement and Mom’s habit of doing things in 3’s provided it.  For instance…if we asked for cookies she would give us each 3, never more never less.  Arthur concluded that it was a religiously symbolic thing.  I concluded that he was nuts and it was because we never had enough of anything to dish out more than 3.

3 cookies, 3 bucks, 3 mills. 

Mills (correct spelling was probably milles but not in South St. Louis). Mills were plastic currency worth 1/1000 of a dollar.  In other words, if you “broke” a penny you got 10 mills.  Arthur’s 3 mills were a sore point, literally. He used them for tax on the bowls of chili he bought for lunch for 25¢ - or less - at the neighborhood store catty-cornered from Humboldt School.  Chili was served in a real bowl and taken outdoors to eat, at the proprietors’ insistence.  The store was very small and the chili line was out the door and around the corner every school day. Arthur got to go because he was a Big Kid.  Being a Little Kid, I did not. Little Kids could not cross streets without a big hand to hold.  Once, Mom ordered him to take me along.  He did it under protest and got even by making me share his chili (1 bite) instead of buying me the baloney sammich I was screaming for. Like all Big Kids, Arthur kept his lunch loot in his penny loafers. A penny, maybe two, occupied the coin slot on top; the rest resided inside his argyle socks and he walked on them till lunchtime. You thought those slots on loafers were just for decoration, didn’t you?

Leonard, my Dad:  “Write About What You Know”

Everyone’s parents said “Stick to What You Know” but Dad tailored his version specifically for me.  I don’t remember what I was writing when I first heard it, most likely it was a class assignment to write a piece of fiction - or, as Dad called it - “fairy tales”.  Dad didn’t believe in fiction unless it came in a book with an orange binding bearing the words “by Zane Grey”.  What I do remember is Dad’s tone of voice, best described as vehement, no-nonsense, borderline stern but directed more towards the teacher than the pupil.  He didn’t hold with telling a pupil to write any doggoned fairy tale; they should writing about what they know! I wish I could tell you that this spurred me on to write the Great American Non-Novel but as you can see, it did not.

Awhile afterwards I did write a pretty doggoned good book report, though. A biography of FDR, an assignment given to me by my Dad.  That was odd in itself, since he and FDR did not see eye-to-eye.  For my Dad the fun had gone out of taking me, too frequently, to the Soulard Branch Library. He decided that I was skimming, not reading. When Miss Schicker, my 3^rd grade teacher told my parents that I devour books like most kids devour candy they were proud, but it seemed to strengthen Dad's resolve to put me to the test.  Next library day he allowed me to choose my own books but insisted on a look-see (that's a Leonard quote) before  checking out.  At home he announced that I was to read the biography first, give it to him for safekeeping then write a book report. My reward, should I do well on my assignment, was his promise to stop moaning about trips to the library.  DID IT.  He not only approved, but took it to Miss Schicker, his way of  saying "you were right, she does really read that stuff" (not a Leonard quote).

Well, I Mean....

What did he expect the day he took me to Soulard for my first library card?  It was the very day I became old enough to qualify. He took me by the hand and together we ascended the majestic stairway. I believe the heavens opened and choirs of angels sang us up the stairs. At the top we stood face-to-face with massive sculptured library lions. CATS, can this day get any better?  Inside, he presented me to the Head Librarian and said "she wants a library card". 

Fast Forward a Few Years:

By high school my long-time friend Jan commented that she had never heard my Dad laugh. I didn’t understand that because I heard him laugh all the time. I countered by telling Jan that maybe she is not as funny as she thinks she is. She said “no, I mean he never goes Ha Ha Ha, it’s always a single HA!”  Well, she got me there. 

She also commented on how weird it was that Dad would drop a letter in the mailbox, close the little door then open it again to make sure the letter went down.  I took offense at that one because we ALL did it.  I still do.  Especially on a rainy day when the mail might have gotten hung up on a wet surface.  At mailboxes with no little door, there’s no harm in giving it a push on the way down, is there?  I figure if I don’t it might get hung up on the mail version of a roadblock down below.  We are masters of overkill in this family.

Well, I am getting tired, my cataracts are acting up and my cats are acting weird so that’s about it for tonight.

If you are my children, you have already heard all this stuff ad nauseum so I hope you didn’t waste time by reading it all again.  HA!   

Nighty-Nite