The Grindstone

By Don Maker

Tommy Lerner is seven years old and struggling to cope with the craziness of school, Little League Baseball, uncomprehending peers, and incomprehensible adults. Growing up in a small Arizona town during the 1950s can be tough, but Tommy’s challenges are compounded by his innate intelligence and uncontrollable temper. Although small and thin, he is always ready to fight.

Fortunately, his family is loving and supportive. Also an orphan from the age of nine, Frank Lerner had to drop out of school to literally fight for survival. Complicating Frank’s efforts to give advice is the fact that he must hide a deep, dark secret from everyone related to Tommy’s real parents. Maria Lerner is a very devoted and devout woman, but only graduated from high school. Maria’s widowed mother, Abuela, offers Tommy as much advice as he will allow, drawing on her background as a teacher in Mexico.

As Tommy struggles with school, racism, bullies and himself, he gradually learns to think before reacting. Ultimately, the young man must come to grips alone with the knowledge of how totally Frank Lerner affected his life, for better or for worse. Success against the odds requires courage, determination and faith. And love – lots of love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Don Maker
• Release date: Jun 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310211065

Don Maker

I spent 20-odd years (well, some of them were certainly odd) as a marketing and communications executive. After an early retirement, I obtained teaching credentials to teach English and Public Speaking at the secondary level, as well as a Small Business Management class at an adult education center. During all of those year, I tried my hand at writing on and -- mostly -- off. I'm now a retired teacher and a freelance writer. I'm an active member of the California Writers Club, Mt. Diablo Branch of (meaning I actually make some money from my writings), where I serve as Chair of the Luncheon & Workshop Committee. Most of what I do for pay is non-fiction. Early in my writing career I wrote poetry and short stories. Now I write screenplays and novels; most of these are historical or comedy. The latter is difficult when you have no sense of humor, so I have to fake it. I just pretend I'm Robin Williams, only taller and without all the money. The historical is easy: all history is fiction anyhow, so I just do what the "real" historians do, only try to make it more interesting. I also do editing for others and on my own work. As a former English teacher, I'm a bit like the lawyer who defends himself in court, but it's a lot cheaper that way..

Book preview

Prologue

Frank Lerner tripped on the doorsill and sprawled onto the ground outside the bar. He landed flat on his butt, jarring his spine. His mouth gaped open as his head snapped back. A million tiny spotlights blazed against a black curtain, some fixed in the darkness, others spinning wildly. Embarrassed at his clumsiness, Frank’s mouth twisted to the side as he sucked in the cool, fresh air. His thoughts wandered as he scanned the heavens.

Too bad the beautiful nights of the Arizona summer could not make up for the days, which extracted the life from your body while it seared your skin. No wonder so many people hated the desert. Yet, no matter where he went or what he did, he kept returning to this small, god-forsaken town. He found that ironic, even though he knew the reason. He shook his head to straighten out his jumbled thoughts, then pushed himself to his feet.

I drink too much.

Frank fumbled with the pack of cigarettes in his pocket and fished one out. He lit the cigarette and stared at the match, breathing lightly through his open mouth, until the flame was close to his fingers.

I smoke too much.

He took a deep drag, held the fumes in his lungs, then released them in a pale cloud.

This is a waste of life. I have no one. I belong no where. I have to figure out a way to change it.

Frank moved one halting step at a time over the uneven tarmac as he turned to make his way back to the dive he was renting down the street. He reached the corner of the bar when a man’s voice came from the alley.

You whore! the voice yelled. Heroin whore!

Frank turned toward the voice. Thirty feet away, a man loomed above a much smaller figure sitting on the ground. The man was bent over, elbows resting on his knees. Like a rattler striking, he pulled his right arm back and gave the figure on the ground a violent smack across the face. A sharp cry of pain was followed by the sobbing of a woman.

What the hell you think you’re doing? the man yelled again.

Without thinking, Frank stepped towards the couple. The man raised his arm to strike the woman again.

Stop! Frank ordered.

He moved closer as the man stood and looked at him. In the bright moonlight, Frank saw a disdainful look on the man’s face. He seemed to have been drinking as well, but perhaps not as much. Frank automatically straightened his shoulders and raised his head as he approached.

What the hell you want? the man snarled. This is none’a your business.

I’ll let the lady decide that. Leave her alone.

The man laughed, a deep sound like the guttural snarl of a bear and the barking of a large dog at the same time. His sneer bared a crooked row of stained teeth.

This ain’t no lady. This here’s a snow queen, a white horse bitch. He whirled and smacked the woman across the face again. The movement was so sudden she’d had no time to raise her hands to protect herself. Ain’t you, bitch! he shouted, his face inches above hers.

All Frank’s current self-disgust, all his frustration at all the perceived injustices in the world, and all the anger of his drunken rage, focused on this one man. He stepped to within a few feet of the brute, his fists balled and his arms tensed.

I told you t’leave her alone.

The man slowly straightened up again. He stood a few inches taller than Frank, and probably weighed in the mid two-hundreds, but he looked soft, flabby. Frank tried to stop his slight swaying. The man’s sneer returned, more contemptuous than before.

Why, you stupid little shit—

Frank hit him with all his strength. The blow lifted the man into the air toward a low sidewalk. The back of man’s head caught the curb right on its crown. He lay there stunned, jerkily trying to move his hand to reach the back of his injured head. Frank stood over him for a moment, his fists clenched and ready for the fight, but the man just lay there moaning.

Frank turned toward the woman. She was silent, staring with wide eyes at the two men. He reached down to take the woman’s hand.

C’mon, lady. I’ll take you home.

Get away from me! she screamed. You hit my husband, you bastard!

The woman scrambled over to hold the man’s head in her lap. She stroked his hair and cooed over him. She held her hand up and stared at the blood dripping from her fingers. You animal! she screamed. You hurt him!

Stunned, Frank stood still for a moment. He blinked repeatedly as he stared at the bleeding man and the furious woman. Then he slowly shook his head. The world was obviously far too complicated for him. But one thing was clear: He had to change his place in it. Frank turned, staggered, caught his balance, and then stumbled away.

Chapter 1

The sun sank reluctantly toward the horizon, and Frank Lerner let his eyes wander from the dilapidated baseball field for just a moment. He reflected on the ways the past few years made this otherwise mundane sight so appealing. He exhaled slowly, relieved that the day’s heat would soon diminish, and that practice had gone without trauma. The long, sweltering session between two rivals insured that tempers ran ragged as they neared the end.

Strike three! cried the gangly seventeen-year-old umpire. You’re out. Game’s over. The teen removed his mask and wiped his sopping face with a bone-dry handkerchief. The handkerchief would be dry again in a few minutes, but now it left streaks of mud from the dirt kicked up by the hitters and catchers during practice.

Frank continued to stare at the field. The blazing sun made the baseball diamond into a failed mosaic, a ceramic platter placed too near the kiln’s fire. Cracks ranged from hairlines to several inches deep. The shimmering air danced over the uneven surface to create an adventure on every ground ball, a potential ankle trap on each pop up. The surrounding chain-link fence sagged in several places, creating an additional hazard on fly balls, whether fair or foul. For Frank it was his new life, an answer to his prayers.

As the rest of the players shuffled off the field to gather their personal equipment, Tommy Lerner whirled toward the umpire. Catching the motion from the corner of his eye, Frank turned in the direction of his son. Short for his seven years, Tommy looked like a road runner next to the eight- and nine-year-olds in the division. His face flamed with heat and anger.

That was way outside! I couldn’t hit that with a ten-foot pole!

Frank blinked as he heard his son’s voice and refocused on the scene. The umpire looked down at the boy with the superiority of height, age, and authority. Dirt on his right cheek enhanced the contempt of his sneer.

You couldn’t hit anything that guy threw with a ten-foot pole. And it was a strike.

The teen was unprepared for the ferocity of the boy’s sudden attack. Even as Tommy charged, Frank was on the move from the dugout to the field. Tommy landed several punches, a few kicks, and an unceasing barrage of vituperation on his stunned victim before Frank plucked him away.

Sorry, Nick, Frank apologized over his shoulder as he turned Tommy away from the poor teen, whose long jaw hung down in shock

Hanging by his shirt collar in mid-air, the boy flailed away, feet and fists making occasional contact with his father’s body. Nasty, angry words flew in all directions. Frank paid no attention to the blows. It was the words that bothered him.

Calm down now, Son, Frank said, his deep voice as soft and soothing as he could make it. There’s nothin’ to get riled about.

He made a lousy call! He cheated me! He said I lost the game!

Now, Tommy, he just said the pitch was a strike and the game was over. There’s no blame on you.

It wasn’t a strike! It’s not my fault we lost! Tommy squirmed, his face still flushed and twisted. Normally a handsome little boy, moments like this convinced many of the people in the small town of Paz de la Mente that he was possessed by the devil.

It was a judgment call, Son. People make ‘em all the time. And you know it takes the whole team to win or lose, so it ain’t your fault one way or the other.

Tommy’s slight body stopped moving. He hung helpless, like a feral cat gripped in the talons of an eagle, but still unbowed, looking for a way to escape. He glared into his father’s amused gaze with deep blue eyes that glinted like steel.

He called me out on strikes all four times. I hate him. I wish he was dead.

Frank’s heavy brows knitted. Tommy, you know I told you hate’s a real bad word. It ain’t got no place in a baseball game. And wishin’ somebody dead— his shoulders shook with a sudden shudder. I want you t’tell this young man you’re real sorry for what you done, and that you ain’t gonna do it again.

I won’t, Tommy insisted with finality, crossing his thin arms in front of him.

I ain’t gonna let you down ‘til you do, Frank assured him.

But you told me never to lie, Tommy said triumphantly. What’s worse, hating someone who cheated me, or lyin’ that I’m sorry I was mad at him?

Frank sighed. He didn’t think he was a stupid man, but once again he was caught by the quandary of Tommy’s clever words. How could he explain the world to a seven-year-old boy blinded by his anger at a perceived injustice? He thought involving Tommy in sports would make it easier, but it only seemed to provide more opportunity for trouble.

Tommy was still a year too young for Little League, but the officials had ignored his birth certificate when Frank volunteered to coach the team. Frank knew little about the game, but he agreed to read the tired old books the league made available. Because of his size and reputation, he rarely received verbal abuse from the parents who would not volunteer their time to help, but were generous with their advice and criticism once the games started. Reluctant to coach, Frank knew his son needed him close by.

What’s worse, telling some poor kid you’re sorry for kicking and cursing him, or hangin’ by the scruff of your neck all night?

Tommy glared at him more fiercely, until a sly smile came over his face. Then we’ll both miss dinner, and Mom’ll make us both feel real bad with her sad face.

Frank nodded. That’s true. But I’ll explain to her what happened, and she’ll be happy I done the right thing by you ‘stead of letting you be bad.

Tommy huffed several times, but finally let his arms hang in frustration. Frank could follow his thoughts: Tommy knew that sometimes he could out-talk his father, but he could never out-patience him. Patience was another thing he needed to teach the boy. Frank knew it was a very hard lesson.

All right, I’ll go tell him, Tommy conceded.

Frank pulled the boy close to him and kissed the small, upturned, dirty nose. I know you’ll keep your word to me, Son, so I’ll let you go tell him in your own way. He set the boy back onto the ground.

Tommy turned toward the tall, angular figure slowly shuffling away. He whirled back to his father.

I’ll tell him, but I won’t mean it. Then he turned and stomped away.

Frank sighed more heavily. For perhaps the thousandth time, he wondered if his desire for a son was worth the difficult reality. He immediately scolded himself for such an unworthy thought. Tommy was young and painfully immature. The boy would grow up to become the source of pleasure and pride he and Maria had always envisioned. As with everything, it was just a matter of time and patience. And, of course, love. Lots of love.

Chapter 2

Frank squashed the cigarette under his shoe. He felt guilty for having two after work instead of the usual one. It wasn’t like when he was a kid smoking two packs a day, maybe more. With a family to support, he couldn’t afford many luxuries—especially those he could do without. And now the money would get even tighter.

He sighed as he removed his dusty work boots and entered the cozy house. Anyhow, this life was much more satisfying than a drink in one hand and a smoke in the other. Inside the darkness, the steady hum of a small fan broke the silence and stirred the suffocating air. Only a few degrees cooler than outside, the dwelling was nevertheless Frank’s haven from the heat of the desert as well as from his labors of the day and the craziness of other people.

Maria slipped in from the kitchen, a glass of iced lemonade in her hand. She put it into Frank’s hand almost before he settled himself onto the sofa, the only padded piece of furniture in the main room. He smiled gratefully and took a long, slow drink. When he was comfortable and cooler, Frank was happy to oblige Maria’s beseeching look for a kiss.

"A hard day, mi amor?"

Frank sat up and engulfed his wife’s hands in his own. Nothing worse’n usual.

But a little shoulder rub would be nice?

In spite of his worry, Frank’s smile broadened. He leaned back against the couch while Maria stood behind him, kneading his heavily muscled shoulders. It was heavenly after the hard labors of the day.

Frank had worked on a medical office building for the past several months. Less than ten thousand square feet, the contractor hired extra cheap manual labor instead of renting excavators and other equipment. For Frank and his fellow laborers—many of whom were Mexicans, legal or not—that meant digging ditches, lugging and mixing concrete in wheelbarrows, hauling heavy framing beams, and performing other back-breaking chores in sweltering heat. The dangers of dehydration and even heat stroke aggravated the hard work. Only the strongest and fittest could maintain the pace, one of the main reasons Frank was a popular worker. But the shell would soon be finished, and Frank would again be out of work.

As Maria’s strong fingers dug into his shoulders, Frank breathed deeply, in and out. They both enjoyed the almost nightly ritual. Some evenings Maria’s mother took Tommy to the park. Then Frank would strip off his dirty, sweaty shirt so Maria could knead her strong hands deep into his aching muscles. Sometimes, the pleasure from this simple contact led to more intimate moments.

Tommy was outside, taking advantage of the remaining summer days before school started. Abuela was in the kitchen putting the last touches on dinner. Maria finished her ministrations, and Frank left to wash up and get a clean t-shirt. As he pulled it over his head, he could not help but think of the pain of finding more work.

Frank was skilled in carpentry, as well as finished concrete and masonry work, but there just wasn’t enough new construction in the town to keep him employed. He often drove to Tucson and as far north as Phoenix, accepting unskilled labor if necessary. Traveling had been okay before Tommy, but the boy was more than a handful for Maria. Frank didn’t think it fair to ask Abuela to deal with the boy at her age, although she never minded.

Born Angelica Maria Fortunado, the tiny, ageless woman served as grandmother to every youngster around. The wealthier Anglo children were not allowed to mingle with the poor kids, but that still left several hundred children of assorted ages who looked forward to seeing her soft brown eyes and gentle smile and hearing the kind, encouraging words of the town’s Abuela.

Frank did not allow his frustration to show at the dinner table. Afterward, Frank asked Tommy to go to the room he shared with Abuela and study his letters. Tommy closed the door to the small bedroom without protest.

Frank sat at the kitchen table while the ladies cleared away. When Maria and Abuela joined him again, Frank leaned forward, his arms crossed on the table. He kept his voice low.

Well, you know I talked with Miss Rubins, that counsellor, and she agreed with the principal. She reckons it won’t be bad for Tommy if we hold him back a year. Mrs. Boyette don’t seem real thrilled by the idea, probably because she’s worried she’ll get him in her class again. But she did say he’s behind on his studies and it’d help him catch up.

That would be a blessing, Maria said. Perhaps he could learn to concentrate a little better.

Tommy can concentrate just fine when he’s interested in somethin’. Frank’s voice was mild, but his words were clipped. He disapproved of Mrs. Boyette because she thought Tommy was not very bright.

And perhaps help him get along with the other children, Abuela added.

Frank knew Abuela had even more reason to dislike the woman. Abuela had volunteered in her class a couple of times and encountered Mrs. Boyette’s quick judgments. The woman took one look at Abuela, who was very old and very Mexican, and refused to let her help any of the students except Tommy. She apparently did not know or care about Abuela’s background as a teacher. After receiving the same treatment twice, Abuela did not to go back. In a rare moment of temper, she said that Mrs. Boyette acted like all of her students should be little robots, eyes fixed on her at all times and parroting back the lessons rather than her encouraging each child’s personality.

He listens real good when we read him stories at night, and I bet he’s in there right now working on his reading. Frank shrugged. But he does need to work on getting’ along.

Frank knew Maria was less concerned with Tommy’s school work than with his social problems. Tommy was young, she often said, and he would learn when he was ready. However, she admitted that his temper and ego were both a lot bigger than his body. Already some of the older boys picked on him.

Maria crossed herself. If staying back one year helps, then so be it.

Abuela fretted with her fingers, glaring at them. He really needs to be challenged, she declared. She rubbed her hands together furiously. "¡Ah, qué opciones difíciles! She looked up, first at Maria, then Frank. She shrugged her frail shoulders helplessly. We are all very aware that Tommy’s tendency to live in the moment, especially blurting out exactly what he thinks without any consideration for others, gets him into more trouble than he can deal with. Yes, it might be best if he has another year before starting first grade."

Frank grunted. Well, if nothing else, it would give him another year to work with the boy on learning how to calm himself down in times of stress—and how to handle himself in a fight, if it came to that. He folded his hands in his lap and looked from one to the other.

So you both think we should let the school have its way in this? His voice was almost a whisper.

"Yes, mi amor," Maria said gently.

Abuela gave a slight nod of her head. But it is a decision for you two to make.

Frank rested his cheek on a calloused palm as he looked at her.

Although he never said it out loud, everyone knew how much Frank respected Abuela’s opinions. Very few, however, knew all of the reasons. As usual, his two women agreed. Frank rubbed his face and gave a small sigh.

All right, then, he said flatly. I reckon it’s decided.

Chapter 3

The noisy machine drowned out Maria’s soft humming as she vacuumed the thin patch of faded carpet covering the living room floor. One of the early Model V Electrolux machines, Frank found it in a junk sale and fixed it to work well enough for her needs. It was late afternoon, and he would be home soon. As always, she wanted things to be as perfect as possible when her husband arrived: the house tidy, dinner cooking, and her clean and smiling, ready to respond to his mood later in the evening.

The house was small, even by normal standards for two bedrooms and one bathroom. It was a simple wood frame on a concrete slab. Frank whitewashed the stucco walls every other year, filling in whatever cracks had appeared from the extreme heat and cold of the desert. He worked tirelessly to fix leaking plumbing or squeaky door hinges, finding spare materials from construction job sites to patch the roof or cover the floors. Inside, their home was just as lovingly cared for. It was clean and orderly, and always filled with the tantalizing aromas of cooking. Maria and Abuela made almost everything from scratch, starting early in the morning for an evening meal, or sometimes taking days to prepare more complicated dishes.

Maria stopped humming and frowned, but kept the machine and her thoughts kept moving. Frank fretted at the lack of extra money for things, but somehow they always had food to keep them healthy and with enough money to pay the bills. He worried that Tommy was a burden on her mother and herself, but didn’t every sunny day have a little white cloud floating somewhere in that beautiful blue sky? He lamented that he wasn’t skilled enough, had no formal education, but he always found work, and usually enough for two men.

The vacuum cleaner slowed as she smiled. All of his worries centered on doing enough for his family. Perhaps the problem was that he did not know God, did not have her faith that there would always be enough. Whatever Frank might not be able to guarantee, God would provide. She only wished she could give him her faith along with her love.

Her eyes, as they often did, went to the corner of the living room where a shrine to Jesus and the Virgin Mary rested. The shrine was small, because Maria and her mother believed God was great enough to be worshipped without ostentation. But it was also modest out of consideration to Frank; the women did not want to flaunt their religion in his face.

Maria! Frank burst through the doorway, startling her so much she lost her grip on the vacuum. He swept her into his arms and off her feet as he had not done in years. He twirled her around several times, inches away from banging her feet on the coffee table and chairs.

Guess what? he exulted as he set her down.

"¡Dios mio! Maria gasped when she caught her breath. What is it, Frank?"

I been offered a job. A real job, with a big construction company!

"Oh, that’s wonderful, mi amor! She congratulated him with a quick kiss. I’m so happy for you."

For all of us, darlin’. This is a chance for all of us to have a better life.

Yes, of course, Maria agreed. I’m sure it will be wonderful.

Frank did not take his hands from her waist, but his smile disappeared. There was a trace of disappointment in his voice. Don’t you even wanna know what I’ll be doing? Or how much money they offered me?

Oh. Maria inhaled sharply. "I just thought you would be doing construction work, mi amor. If you are pleased with the work and the money, then I am happy."

Well, yeah. I mean, sure, I’ll be doing construction work. It’s just this is so much more than I’ve ever been able to find in the way of a job. It’s more like a career. I’ll be able to provide much more, not only money, but some real security.

A boyish smile lit his face, and she glowed at how handsome he still was. Not wanting to diminish his great joy again, she beamed back at him.

It’s somethin’ I earned from my skill and hard work, something a man can be proud of. See, I won’t be just a worker. They’re gonna give me training as a supervisor!

A supervisor! That’s wonderful. There was a tiny alarm ringing in her head, but she kept it from her voice. I didn’t think there were such big jobs around here for that.

Well, yeah. A frown replaced Frank’s happy smile.

Gently disengaging from her, Frank sat down in his favorite chair. He rested his forearms along the chair arms, the signal that he was assuming the role of head of the family. Maria felt a strange constriction in her heart and a sudden wetness in her mouth as she became certain there must be some bad news to go along with the good. She stood silently, her hands folded across her stomach like a school child in front of her teacher, not quite bowing her head to the inevitable.

There aren’t any. The job’s with Morrison Construction out of Bakersfield. They’re the ones building the new city complex I been workin’ on the past five months. The project manager noticed I was a hard worker and smart, and kept the other guys in line even though I wasn’t paid for that.

"Of course you are, mi amor, Maria murmured. She still worried what that positive review might mean to her and her family. You’ve always done more than your share."

I knew when I made it clear how big this is you’d be just as excited as me … and that you wouldn’t mind some changes we’ll have t’go through first. Well, maybe not much.

There was a ringing in Maria’s ears. Changes.

Yeah. Frank squirmed in his seat and gave a small cough. Well, like I said, they’re outta Bakersfield, which seems to be doing a lot of building right now, and they got plans for growing right along with the area. The fellow said there’s lots of workers—don’t we know—but they need good crew supervisors to help run the projects. He figures I need a couple’a months’ training, then they’ll let me run crews doing foundations and framing. I’ll make twice as much as I ever made before, but with regular work and some benefits! Frank became animated again as he described their bright prospects for the future, and spread his hands to show the magnitude of his words. What d’you think of that, Maria?

I think it’s wonderful. You will be a wonderful supervisor. But … well, where is Bakersfield?

It’s in Central California.

Maria’s legs grew weak and she sank down into her own chair. Frank’s hands returned to the arms of his chair.

But not near Los Angeles, he assured her. It’s farther east, and the climate’s a lot like here, only not so hot and dry in the summers. It’s farming country. I worked around there a few years when I was younger. Mr. Briscoe—he’s the project manager—says it’s getting too expensive for lots of folks to live in L.A., San Francisco, the big cities in California. Lots of folks’re moving there ‘cause it’s a real nice area with affordable housing. The company figures they won’t run outa work there for thirty, forty years. Meanwhile they’ll expand in California, and maybe here in Arizona as well.

So, Maria asked, her eyes going wide once more, we can stay here?

Well, no. Frank gave another small cough. Not really.

Maria could see Frank was disappointed at the sad look on her face, but she couldn’t help it. He knew how happy she was in Paz de la Mente, but he gripped the chair arm-ends more tightly. She gave a tiny sigh, and Frank’s cheek twitched in response.

Maria, honey, we’ll be able to live a lot better’n we do here, Frank pleaded. No more meals of rice and beans on tortillas unless we want ‘em. We’ll have medical benefits and a retirement plan. And we’ll be able to afford a nice, new house.

Maria’s eyebrows