Night Train to RonKonKoma

By Dov Silverman

A collection of short stories by Dov Silverman, award winning history fiction author - touching on moments in history, things we should not forget, and how the heart never forgets.

Tennessee Mountain Music
A Man’s Reputation
Banjo Eddie
Elvis Helps Me Courting
Amphitrite (Women’s Prison ship)
Recall the Flagman
The Retarded Mother
Presidential Sicilian Connection
The Laughing Moon
Charge of the Black Brigade
Where’s Daddy going?
The Cherokee Saint
Francois Dubois
Top Shelf
American Work Ethic
Heeeeelllllppppp!!!!!
Iwo Jima Rabbi
No Problem
Ohau
An Amorous Alligator
The Fifth Marines
The Zoo
Cruelty to Animals
One Good Look
Ma Bollinger
Theodore Roosevelt
Taken for Granted

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dov Silverman
• Release date: Sep 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301766758

Dov Silverman

Born in Brooklyn, New York, Dov Silverman has served as a U.S. Marine in the Korean War, worked as a Long Island railroad conductor, been an auctioneer, and even established the Autar Microfilm Service. While working so hard on the railroad, he earned his high school diploma and went on to graduate from Stony Brook University, Long Island, New York, cum laude, at the age of 39. He and his family settled in Safed, Israel in 1972. He credits a spiritual meeting with God and a Tzaddik (righteous man), Jules Rubinstein, in the Brentwood (New York) Jewish Center, with setting him on the path of study, religious involvement and settlement in Israel. His novel, FALL OF THE SHOGUN, appeared on the London Times Best-Seller List and has been published in multiple languages. He also won a 1988 Suntory Mystery Fiction Award, Japan, for REVENGE OF THE GOOD SHEPHERDS.

Book preview

TENNESSEE MOUNTAIN MUSIC

Mary Ellen hopped out of the car, ponytail bouncing, pink skirt whipping her bony knees. Grandpa, she said. I like rock music, not this hillbilly stuff.

Yeah, Jeff her younger brother said, Me too. He wriggled his hips, bent his knees and flailed the air with both hands. Can we rent those water scooters tomorrow? He twisted his wrists, pursed his lips and gave out with a loud, Zoom! Zoom! Zooooommm!

The flashing lights of the Opry House reflected in the eyes of his two grandchildren. Tomorrow, Bob Davis said. "That is if you're a lady and gentleman at tonight's show.

You've got a deal, Grandpa, Mary Ellen said. She pointed to the old music hall. Why is tonight's music so important?

It's in memory of a brave man. Bob Davis turned to his grandson. Jeff, here's money for popcorn. We'll meet you at the ticket booth.

Is the man going to be here? Mary Ellen asked.

No, he's been dead a long time. He patted his granddaughter's head.

Jeff hurried back. "Grandpa Bobby, I got the popcorn and the lady's telling everyone to go inside.

They settled into their seats and the theater lights dimmed. On stage, shadowy figures carrying musical instruments moved out from the wings, taking positions in front of mountain scenery. A fiddler played a haunting tune and the banjo followed. The old fiddler led the musicians through a medley of lively songs. Voices and instruments blended in full, rich harmony. The audience clapped, sang and stamped their feet in time to the music.

The lights came up and Mary Ellen looked at her grandfather and was frightened. You're crying, She said.

Have more popcorn. Bob Davis said and he knuckled his eyes dry.

Mary Ellen passed the popcorn to her brother who put it between his knees so he could clap in time to the music. Mary Ellen stole quick glances at her grandfather until the music overcame her concern and her feet began tapping out the tunes of the wild mountain music. She and Jeff rocked with laughter when Uncle Goofus appeared on stage in colorful mountain-man's costume. He made jokes, rolled his eyes under a floppy hat and skipped across the stage doing the Mountain-man's Clog Dance.

The two youngsters joined in singing hymns learned at home and in church.

Then the music stopped and the old fiddler moved to a bench at center stage. The theater darkened, the spotlight focused on him and the audience fell silent. He pointed with his old resin bow and the spotlight illuminated a torn and battered American flag hanging on the wall. His deep mellow voice recalled the history of the flag. He started at Tun's Tavern 1775, Bunker Hill, reminisced about Valley Forge, talked of Andrew Jackson in New Orleans. He cleared his throat when speaking of Bull Run and Appamatox. Then he spoke of the Battle of the Argon and Belleau Woods during World War I; Guadalcanal, Anzio, Normandy and Iwo Jima during World War II. The smooth, eloquent voice dwelled on Korea and Vietnam and the Gulf Wars.

During the telling of the story of America, people began to stand and face the flag with their hands over their hearts. Someone started to sing GOD BLESS AMERICA and everyone joined in. Low and subdued at first, the voices rose in power and volume, swelling every heart and soul with pride.

At song's end, cheers rang out. The house lights came up, the performers bowed, and the audience showed it's appreciation with a sustained ovation.

Finally, reluctantly, in thoughtful silence, people began filing out of the theater. But Bob Davis remained in place with his hand over his heart.

Grandpa Bobby, aren't we going back to the lake house? Jeff asked.

Mary Ellen was concerned for her grandfather. She tugged his sleeve. Everyone's leaving, she said.

Sir, Bob Davis called out to the old man with the violin on stage. I have a request.

Thank you kindly, the old man replied. But the show's finished.

Sir, this is most important to me.

The old fiddler shielded his eyes from the lights and looked out at Bob Davis. What is it you want?

For you to play Old Rocky Top, that first tune you started the show with. Would you please play it all the way through?

That appeals to you, does it?

In Korea, over 50 years ago today, a man gave his life for me and the men of Item Company Fifth Marines."

The old man clutched the violin closer to his body.

Sir, Bob Davis continued, not noticing the musicians returning to the stage. There was this truck driver, and he was brave. Three times he brought us ammunition in broad daylight up the Changdang Valley. Twice we were about to run out of bullets and grenades and we fixed our bayonets to beat the enemy from our trenches. But that driver came through a minefield, machine-gun and mortar fire to bring the ammunition in time. If not for him, my entire outfit would have been wiped out. And then on the third trip, he was killed. Bob Davis drew his grandchildren close. If not for him, Jeff and Mary Ellen wouldn't be here.

What does my playing have to do with your story? the old man asked.

Sir, I never learned that truck driver's name. But he was special not only for his bravery. He was a talented, trick fiddler from somewhere in Tennessee.

Did you hear him play? the old man asked.

At USO. shows. He would be introduced as a concert violinist to the movie stars and actors. We Marines knew he was one of us, a country boy. He'd begin by playing Mozart. The Hollywood people would look sophisticated and clap politely. Then he would rip that bow across the strings. We knew what was coming, Old Rocky Top. He fiddled high and he fiddled low. We saw the green hills of home. We could hear the streams running wild over the rocks, birds singing where there were none. He played while dancing, he played on his back. He played behind his back, standing on his head, under his leg and hopping across the stage, never missing a beat.

Bob Davis caught his breath but the old man remained silent wishing to hear more.

"The Last USO show was with Bob Hope. Mr. Hope shook that young fiddler's hand and told him, 'Talent like yours must be encouraged. I make this solemn pledge before the men of the Fifth Marines. If this bright young fiddler comes to Hollywood, I will personally see he gets a screen test and nightclub bookings. He'll stay at my home until his career takes shape. I am certain he will succeed.'

Five days later that young Marine died saving us. The tune you began with this evening was the same one he performed for us at the USO shows. I'd like you to play it all the way through in his memory.

Grandpa Bobby, Mary Ellen said. "The old man is crying.

The musicians gathered around the old fiddler. He dried his tears, tucked the violin under his chin and ripped his bow over the strings, filling the theater with the haunting melody of Old Rocky Top.

Tears ran down Bob Davis' cheeks. He bowed to the old man and said, Thank you sir.

The old fiddler stepped forward to the edge of the stage. He looked over the footlights at Bob Davis and his children then said, I taught that truck driver to play the fiddle. He motioned to the musicians around him. These folks are his family, brothers, sisters, cousins. I'm his father. He pointed to the flag. And that is the Fifth Marine battle flag you and he fought for in the Changdang Valley. I tell the story of the flag at every Opry. Just so folks won't forget what America is about. And what my son gave to keep it.

SEMPER FIDELIS

A MAN'S REPUTATION

Dear God,

I couldn't be at Mike Murphy's funeral. I sent my prayers. They were probably mixed in with many others. Murph was always concerned about his reputation. We first met during the Korean War. Both of us were sergeants, him with a machine-gun and me commanding a tank retriever. We met under fire. For six long hours enemy light weapons targeted us. He covered me and my crew with his machine-gun. We had to wrestle a disabled gun-tank from a ditch in front of the main trench line. The tank had been hit and was on the verge of tipping over and rolling down the mountain into enemy hands. I evacuated the crew from the tank and one by one brought them to Murphy’s bunker. He sent them further down the hill until they were needed. Murph and I joked about the extra twelve dollars a month we would get for combat pay. He was always in more danger than I or my crew. His machine gun bunker was made of old sandbags and logs. The enemy’s heavy machineguns tore apart the sandbags and a direct hit from their light mortars could easily demolish his bunker. Yet, he kept up the covering fire. He had to change overheated machinegun barrels on several occasions. His was the only weapon in position to cover us and keep the enemy occupied for those long six hours. Murph shared his food and water with me and my men. He helped me bandage and evacuate my driver who was hit. We eventually used three tanks including our retriever to drag the damaged tank off the hill to safety.

I shook Murphy’s hand and said, Thanks for the covering fire,

He gave me that sweet Irish smile saying A man's got to keep up his reputation,Several years later we met as brakemen on the Long Island RailRoad. We were both married with children and living in the same town. Our wives became friends; our children played together. Murph and I took turns driving to work on the evening shift.

Sometimes, on our way home, we'd stop in the Station Café, in Babylon. One Thursday night, we took the two of the only three empty stools near the door. The bar was lined with railroad men and commuters.

Hey! The bartender shouted, Catch the size of this Caddy pulling up! Look at the body on the blond getting out! Alone! She's alone!

Everyone stood on the bar rail to get a better look. We all sat and stared at our drinks when she entered. I watched her in the mirror behind the bar. Lord, I want to tell you, she was built, and a face like an angel. Her clothes didn't exactly fit the bar. They were nice married lady clothes. But we were thinking what was under those clothes and it dried every eyeball in the house. She stood in the doorway, looked around, and then took the only empty stool, the one nearest the door and next to Murphy.

Will you buy me a drink? she asked him.

What'll you have? Murph said.

Scotch, neat.

Murph put 20 dollars on the bar. There was absolute silence as the bartender poured. Every guy in the place was watching her in the mirror. I looked from the corner of my eye past Murphy and saw her pick up the drink, sip and pull a face.

She put the glass down and said, I've got a motel room. Do you want to come with me?

Murph cleared his throat, put his drink on his money and slid off the stool. Bobby, wait for me, he said.

I nodded. Every head swiveled to watch them leave. Once again we were all standing on the bar rail looking out the front window. The Cadillac pulled away and the barroom erupted.

Every man's dream is sitting at the wheel of that car, the bartender shouted.

"That lucky little Irishman! Another shouted.

Bobby, they shouted to me. You took the wrong seat.

The story of my life, I wailed But oh how the mighty have fallen. Murph never fooled around before.

Yeah. But he never was offered something like that. She's beautiful.

A glum silence blanketed the bar. Everyone locked into his own fantasy. Men slid off their bar stools, stepped back to look at Murph's empty place. All wished they had been sitting there. Slowly the idea circulated that a fund should be set up and the chair donated to the town museum. The bartender refused. He raised $23.00 for the Heart Fund by charging a dollar each to rub the spot where her backside had been.

The 1 a.m. Train arrived and its crew came through the door. The laughter on their lips died when they saw the long faces at the bar. What the hell is going on? the conductor asked. Did someone die? It looks like you're holding a wake in here.

We're dead with envy, the bartender said. You wouldn't believe the beautiful blond who walked in here, tapped Murphy on the shoulder and took him with her, to a motel room.

Everybody in the bar moaned. The conductor went to sit on The Chair but the bartender waved him off. That seat is going to be enshrined.

The conductor turned to me, Bobby, you're Murph's best friend. What happened?

She had a Caddy, a motel room and you don't see Murphy, do you?

The guys at the bar told and retold the story to the new crew. The Cadillac got bigger, the blond more sexy and Murphy more aggressive.

Two a.m., the bartender announced. Drink up. Time to close.

Murph's money is still on the bar," a commuter yelled. Others joined in the protest.

A chant went up. No one goes until Murphy shows! No one goes until Murphy shows!

OK, the bartender said. Alright! Keep quiet! I'll back everyone up one last drink and put the lights out. No noise! I don't want to lose my license.

Except for the red glow of the neon Budweiser sign in the front window, it was dark in the bar. Whenever a pair of headlights approached, everyone stood on the bar rail to peer out the window.

At 2:30 a.m., the Cadillac rolled up to the curb. We abandoned the bar and crowded to the front window. Murphy got out. He closed the car door and waved. The blond waved and drove off. Murph straightened his tie and buttoned his uniform jacket as he came toward the bar.

Everyone ran back to their places and held their drink as if nothing happened.

Bobby, get the door, the bartender said with a catch in his throat. Murph will think we're closed.

I hopped off the stool and yanked the door open. It's about time, I said to Murph.

He didn't look at me. He entered the darkened room, slowly walked to the bar, downed his drink and swept up his change from the 20 dollar bill.

Out of the dark came hushed whispers. Tell us what happened.

Was she as good as she looks?

Did she really have a motel room waiting?

Murph had to do a double take before he realized how many people were waiting for him to answer. You'd better believe it! He said. This lady had it all. She was even greater than she looks.

A long low moan swept the bar.

Did you make a date to see her again? the bartender asked.

Murphy chuckled. What would you do? He grabbed my arm. Come on Bobby, I'm petered out.

Some of the guys moaned others shouted. Murphy ignored them and pushed me out the door.

It was my turn to drive and I waited for Murphy to say something. Five minutes then ten minutes passed. I slammed on the brakes, skidded to the side of the road and turned to Murph, If you don't tell me…. I shoved my fist in his face. You may not want to tell those guys in the bar what happened but I'll kick your little Irish ass if you don't start talking.

He shoved my fist away and laughed.

Did she really have a motel room? I demanded.

Yeah, with a full bottle of Dewar's White Label and two glasses.

You're still sober. You can't hold that kind of booze.

Murphy stared out the window. We didn't drink, he said.

I can understand that.

We talked.

Talked, I repeated.

"We talked,' Murphy said and looked me in the eye.

You talked? That's all you did was talk? With a woman like that how could you talk?

Bobby, nothing happened but talk.

I rubbed my head with both hands and said, "In a motel room with a gorgeous, beautiful woman who was looking to go to bed with you? What the hell did you talk about?

She's Catholic, like me.

Catholics like sex.

She found out her husband was cheating on her. This was her way of getting even. She decided to go to bed with the first guy she could find. I convinced her to talk to a priest.

You've got to be kidding!

I called Father Geoff Powers at St. Anne's. He agreed to meet her after she dropped me off at the bar.

We drove in silence to his house. The lawn light lit his sweet Irish face. I can't figure you, I said.

Bobby, he said, don't tell the guys. A man's got to keep up his reputation.

God, its many years since that Caddy pulled up to the Station Café. If Murph isn't with you, I thought it might help his reputation if I told you this story.

When God asks you to dance, let Him lead.

BANJO EDDIE

Long Island RailRoad Ticket Receiver/ Trainman's Room

Pennsylvania Station New York:

Hey Bobby, The ticket receiver called from his cage,

I, doffed my Conductor's hat, slapped down a bundle of cancelled tickets, my cash report with thirty dollars and said, I want change.

There's a message for you to meet Banjo Eddie.

Who the hell is Banjo Eddie?

Mike Murphy said Eddie will be up stairs in the pool hall waiting for you?

Did Murph say what it's about?

Nothing! Nada! Niyet!

That little Irish Leprechaun gets me into more trouble… What does this Eddie look like?

He's shorter than Murph. Older than the three of us put together and never takes his off hat. He'll have cigarette ashes all over an old suit jacket and a pool cue in his hand. He hangs upstairs around the fight crowd in Madison Square Garden poolroom

I got two hours before my next train.

So I'll tell Murph you went to see Eddie?

Yeah, and I'll thank you for the change.

Bobby! Bobby! You hurt my feelings.

Stuff it. And thanks.

Upstairs only a few tables in the large, long pool hall were in play. I never got used to seeing girls shooting but I knew those who hung out here were sharks of the highest order. Eddie was easy to spot. Cigarette, ashes and all. He was practicing a trick time shot I'd never seen. He rolled the Ace ball to the end of the table, dropped his stick into his left hand then fired the cue ball in the opposite direction. Both balls passed each other twice then met in the center of the table, clicked together and the Ace ball dropped neatly into the side pocket.

I slapped the table twice, (a sign of pool hall respect) Great shot!

The ash dropped from the cigarette in Eddie's mouth onto the sleeve of his jacket. He didn't bother brushing it off but looked up at me and said. Murph told me you were big. You're Bobby, right. He offered his hand. The hand was so small I closed mine over his thumb and all the fingers. He didn't seem to mind and asked, You want to shoot a game.

Not after watching that time shot.

Bet on the break? He asked.

I'm good at that. I understated. Truth is I grew up in Pop's pool hall on Wilson Avenue in Brooklyn and made money betting on breaking the rack.

I'll rack them, Eddie said and herded the 12 balls into the wooden triangle. You take first break.

I pulled a No. 18 stick from the rack, looked down its length, rolled it on the green felt table to check for unseen irregularities and chalked the tip. How much we betting? I asked.

Make it easy on yourself, he said.

I placed the cue ball out six inches from the near cushion and just behind the foul line. I felt a little sorry for the old guy and said, A deuce, and dropped two dollars on the rail.

You’re covered, Eddie said.

I spread my feet for balance, leaned over the table and moved the stick back and forth like a piston approaching the cue ball. I regulated my breathing in time with the movement of the stick. When it felt right I put all my strength and weight into one great thrust. The white cue ball smashed into the ace ball on the point of the rack and the follow up I put on the cue ball carried both balls them through the mass of balls sending them rocketing in all directions. I heard the familiar sound of a ball falling into a pocket and Eddie dropped six dollars on my two. Three to one odds! he said.

Right, I answered and picked up the money.

A deuce, he said. Ace ball in the side pocket.

That's seven to one odds!

Am I covered? He asked

You're on. I said. He dropped two dollars on the rail, leaned over his stick, took aim and hit the cue ball a medium tap with drawback. The rack hardly moved. But the Ace ball on the point came out on an angle and rolled slowly across the green felt into the side pocket. The cue ball returned to the exact position Eddie had placed it.

Another bet? Eddie asked.

Hell no, I said. I've seen some of the best. Even played a couple of racks with Jackie Gleason in Sharkey's but you're not getting any more of my money. I handed Eddie $14.00 and racked my cue stick.

Come on, Eddie said, I'll buy you coffee.

I need something stronger than coffee.

I don't drink.

Did Murphy tell you to set me up?

No he told me that you're going to put on a show for the patients in Central Islip State Mental Hospital.

That's right, a Chanukah show.

Can I join in?

Are you Jewish?

You only take Jews?

Well… it's a group from the Brentwood Jewish Center. But what can you do?

I play banjo. Played with Paul Whiteman and his Eskimos. Appeared at the Clinton Hotel for years. Had my own fifteen minute show on WOR radio. They billed me as Eddie Notto the Fastest Banjo player in the world.

I could use some help, I said. I'm the only entertainment on the guitar. I know five chords and sing loud.

According to Murphy you also sing lousy.

And he's my friend. We go there Wednesday afternoon. How will you meet us?

I'll take the train from here.

I tore a backer from a pad of tickets and wrote, then handed it to Eddie saying, Give this to the rear end man on the 2:39 PM to Babylon. Change at Jamaica for the Ronkonkoma train and give it to Jackie Jordan the head brakeman. They'll ride you.

I know Jordan, Eddie said. You Murph and him are ex-Marines.

I'll pick you up at the Brentwood station; you'll eat at my house.

Wednesday afternoon at Brentwood station I watched Jackie Jordan hand a beat up banjo case to Eddie Notto and wave to me. He pointed at Eddie, gave a hand signal to the engineer and the train started off. Eddie walked toward me leaning to one side so the case wouldn't scrape the ground. He was quiet in the car and I sensed something wrong. Janet had the table set, greeted Eddie showing him to his seat. He no sooner sat down than he bounced out of the chair apologizing. I'm sorry Mrs. He said to Janet. It's not the food or anything like that. His eyes flitted around the large kitchen. I'm just not used to being invited to houses and, and…and being with families.

Eddie, I said, Tell me what we can do?

He ignored me and spoke to Janet.

Mrs. Janet, it ain't nothing to do with your cooking. In fact Bobby said your having steak. If you could make me a sandwich and Bobby will take me to the nearest pool hall he can pick me up on the way to the Hospital. That would be the best.

Janet gauged the man and said, Eddie, you haven't hurt my feelings. Do you want mustard, mayonnaise or ketchup on the sandwich?

The minute we were out of the house Eddie relaxed. I drove him to town. I parked near a row of motorcycles in front of the pool hall. The place was full of guys wearing tattoos rather than shirt sleeves on their muscled arms. A haze of cigarette smoke hung eight feet off the floor and the smell of stale beer mingled with tobacco reminded me of Pop's Pool Hall. Eddie inhaled, smiled and said. This is my place. Pick me up when you're ready to go.

I returned an hour later, all the tough guys were crowded around the center table learning how to make trick shots. They made Eddie promise to stop in the next time he came to Brentwood.

In the car he asked. What kind of hospital is this?

I pointed through the front windshield, See those large red brick buildings in the distance.

Cheeze! He said, It looks like a giant factory with those two big smokestacks.

That's the generating plant. There are eighteen thousand patients and five thousand employees.

That ain't a hospital, it's a city.

Most patients are old and been abandoned or committed by their families.

That's disgusting.

Do you have family?

I thought of adopting a son.

So you were married?

Naw, who'd marry me? I picked up this fighter from the mid-west. A real hick come to the Big Apple. He was a heavy hitter and could take a punch. But he didn't know how to box. I started teaching him. Got him a trainer and he came up fast, too fast. Ever here of Gary Query?

Sure, he lost to Muhammad Ali. Is that the guy?

Yeah Eddie said and lit another cigarette from the one he was smoking. Gary and me shook hands on a contract. The big promoters got to him. They threw me a couple of thousand bucks and that was the end of it."

I stopped the car in front of the Hospital Administration building and introduced Eddie to Mel Springer and the group from the Jewish Center. I led them into the auditorium.

A lady from the hospital greeted us, showed me how to work the microphone. We moved two tables together to form a stage and she disappeared. The room had rows and rows of chairs. People filed in by groups led by white jacketed aides. Mostly they were older people who shuffled with heads lowered, eyes downcast. The aides seated them, counted them then stood at the side of the room arms folded watching them. The patients made little noise and rarely spoke to each other. Not one of them in the crowded room made eye contact. Mel came to my side and whispered, Not that it makes any difference but a lot of these people are wearing crosses.

I asked a hospital Aide leaning against the wall. We have only two aides to a ward, He answered. Seventy patients on each ward. We can't separate them and watch them so we brought two wards with the most Jewish names. Some of them don't even know who they are."

No problem, I said. But why are they wearing so much clothing. It's not cold out and warm in here?

They wear everything they own, the Aide said. People steal.

A woman, younger than the rest was being led into the front row of seats. She waved her braids in my face smiled and said, I ain't Kosher! I ain't Kosher!

Oh boy! I whispered. She's a couple of cards short of a full deck.

Eddie poked me in the ribs, You're the one missing the cards. The kid is a joker.

What are you talking about?

She's showing you her pigtails. Pig ain't Kosher is it?

Damn! I said. Now I got a little Guinea teaching me my own religion.

Somebody better teach you something, Eddie said. If you don't start this show they'll walk out on you.

The Aide said, Hold off giving the presents, that way they'll be quiet until the end.

How about trying to entertain them? Eddie said. Give them something to be happy about.

I climbed onto the table stage, took the microphone and told them who we were and where we were from and that at