The Obsession of Henry Enright

By J.I. Lorden

Poignant and heart wrenching yet replete with hope, The Obsession of Henry Enright captures the mood of an era through the eyes of a misguided soul seeking to know and be known.

A stranger in a strange town, Henry Enright is thirteen when he moves with his Irish Catholic family from Boston to Union in 1954.

The simple country life and relief from the oppression of his strict Catholic upbringing was at first freedom and joy but it turned to tragedy when he was forced to identify the bodies of his friends killed in a car wreck.

In a time when rock and roll has just started to play from the jukeboxes and the sexual revolution is on the rise, Henry, determined to remake his image and be accepted by his peers, begins to make a dramatic transformation.

With only his wits to guide him in his rebellion against authority and religious hypocrisy, Henry has no idea how devastating the consequences of his revolt against the world around him will be.

Presented as fiction but reading like a memoir the reminisces of Henry Enright reveal with candor what life was like in the rural town of Union, Massachusetts in the 1950’s.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 27, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462036738

J.I. Lorden

J. I. Lorden was born in Boston, Massachusetts, and is an artist and president of a design firm. He currently resides with his wife in a small town on the coast of New England. This is his first novel.

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Contents

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1

About the end of July, the summer got as hot as I’d ever seen it. It must have been a hundred, and it didn’t cool off at night. Laura’s family got kind of loose about what time she came home. It was getting so we were out ‘til one or two every night. We’d just sit in the Oldsmobile and hug each other until we were so sleepy we had to go home. It was just that kind of summer. You didn’t feel like moving much.

So one hot Tuesday night we’re doing the usual thing. We were tired. We’d been cooking hot dogs and shuffling cheeseburgers at Mush’s Dairy all day. We’d closed up about an hour before but were still sitting in the parking lot. It was dark—no moon, no stars. It wasn’t raining but it had that muggy feeling that made everything seem wet. I could hear a few cars around the lake—some kids cruising or fooling around. And once in a while I’d see some headlights by the cove, but nobody drove by us. Anyway we both fell asleep. She was sitting in the corner. And I had my head on her lap and my feet out the window. First thing we heard and it woke us up was a siren. I didn’t know if it was a fire truck or what, but it kept getting closer and it sounded desperate. There wasn’t any traffic in Union at two in the morning ever, so there was no reason to keep a siren wailing like you would in Boston. It turned out to be a police car. It came skidding out of Hobson’s Wood Road going about ninety and went screaming by us and up the lake road.

That’s my brother, Laura said. That’s Butchy! He’s going to kill himself driving like that!

Wow, I said. He’s going like hell! Something’s up!

Where’s he going you think?

How do I know? Come on. Let’s follow him, I said getting behind the wheel.

She chewed a fingernail for a few seconds. Uh-uh, NO! He’d kill me! I can’t do that! Why not?

Cause he’d kill me! We’re not supposed to have anything to do with his police junk. She put her knees up under her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs. I reached over and rubbed her thigh. The siren stopped so I said, Oh well, and kissed her.

In a few minutes there was another siren—a fire engine. Then another fire engine. Then a town ambulance and an out-of-town ambulance. So I said, Let’s go! We followed them up the lake road but we had to pull over because a police car and another ambulance from out of town went flying by and turned off at Mountain Hill Road.

Something really bad happened, Henry. I don’t think I want to go up there. I really don’t.

Don’t be scared. It’s probably nothing—maybe it’s a fire.

On Mountain Hill Road all I could see was my headlights. It was like all the police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances had been sucked into the darkness. But when we came around the big curve at Indian Head Road, red and blue lights were flashing all over, and it looked like the trees were on fire, especially this huge sycamore right at the corner of Indian Head. I stopped the car and put my arm around Laura and we both stared at the confusion. An ambulance that was blocking our view backed away, and then Laura said, Oh my God, Henry! Oh my God!

What? What?

Oh my God! She screamed. That’s Bernie’s car!

Where?

But even as I asked I saw it, crushed into the sycamore. The maroon trunk was shiny and simonized the way Bernie kept it, but the rest of the car was pushed into the tree.

Laura said, Let’s get out of here. I don’t want to see this.

I can’t! I sighed, Oh dear God!

She started to cry and I said Wait here! and got out of the car. But I just stood there, I couldn’t move. A radio, I think it was the one in Bernie’s car, was playing. It wasn’t rock ’n roll. It was some lonely piano music-like jazz, but it was caught between stations so it faded in and out. Everything else was quiet except for the click of flashing lights.

Butchy came up from behind me, touched me on my shoulder, and I jumped. He looked excited and his eyes were bulging. Goldman’s car!

Uh-huh.

Come here! he said, and I followed him into the circle of flashing lights.

I was going to ask is anyone is hurt, but I couldn’t talk.

You know these guys, Butchy said. Which one’s which? He pulled a dirty canvas tarp away and there was a line of bodies, all clumped together and laying face-up in the long grass by a stone wall.

Five of them, he moaned, and they’re all dead! I know which ones are Buddy and J. D., but I ain’t sure about the others.

I never saw death before. They looked filthy, splattered with oil and blood. I only recognized Buddy. His mouth was open and so was one eye. They can’t be dead! I wailed.

They’re all dead, Enright! They must have been going eighty miles an hour when they hit that tree. Fuckin’ shame. That’s J. D. on the end, he had a wallet on him, and Buddy’s on the other end. I’m not sure about the ones in the middle. They just have bathing suits and t-shirts on.

And white bucks, I said. The one beside Buddy is Dusty.

You sure?

My knees felt funny and I sat down on the road. Yeah, I’m sure.

You okay? he asked.

I’m dizzy.

Put your head between your knees.

I have to go home. I gotta get out of here.

Butchy helped me get to my car and put me in the passenger side. Can you drive this thing, Laura?

Henry’s been teaching me, she said.

Take him home. He’s not feeling too good. He closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. Better get going.

What happened? Laura whispered.

They’re all dead, Butchy said.

Oh my God, who? she whimpered. Who’s dead?

Buddy, J. D., Dusty, Jessie, Goldman. Stinking shame. And it’s a stinking shame you had to see this, Laura. You should have been home in bed, Butchy said. Get him out of here!

It was four miles to my house and my legs were still tingling when we got there. Laura and I were both frightened, driving slow and not talking. We weren’t holding hands or saying comforting things. It’s like we got disconnected and went back to being little kids. All we wanted was to go home and see our moms.

Laura dropped me off. She was shaking, but she said she could drive my car home. I told her she could come in, but I knew she didn’t want to. I guess I didn’t want her coming in anyway. She wasn’t old enough, but I let her take the car.

Ah shit! The house is locked. The old man hadn’t locked me out for a month. I was going to knock on the door and by the time I got into the backyard I wished I had. For the first time since I was a little kid I was scared. It was dark and there were woods all around. I just stood there for the longest time. I couldn’t move backward or forward. Finally, I scrunched down and kind of half crawled through the grass and in through the bathroom window. I sat on the clothes hamper thinking I should cry but I couldn’t. A long time later, I guess it must have been three or four in the morning, I felt my way into Mom and Dad’s bedroom and said, You awake? Can you wake up please? The old man stirred first and put on the light. Then Mom shot up in the bed, Wh… ?

Mom, Dad, I whimpered. They’re all dead. All my friends are dead.

They asked some questions and I explained it all to them about the accident and how Butchy made me look at the bodies.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Dad whispered.

Such an ignorant man, Mom said, Oh, Henry, how awful!

It was about the biggest thing that ever happened in Union. The Globe headline said, FIVE DEAD IN UNION CRASH and their pictures were across the top of the paper, right beside the box that said Boston Evening Globe Sports-Final-News. They were all smiling pictures, except for Buddy’s. He wouldn’t smile for anyone.

There was one undertaker in Union and J. D., Buddy, Dusty, and Jessie all had their wakes in the same funeral home. It was on Winter Street across from Buck’s Body Shop, which gave everybody the shivers because standing on the porch of MacDougall’s Funeral Parlor you could see Bernie’s Mercury, plopped in the middle of a rain puddle. There was a shoe on the dashboard, and the car was smashed to pieces with blood on the seats. A few men and a lot of boys stood around gaping at it.

Laura wouldn’t go. She said she didn’t want anything to do with wakes or funerals. So I went by myself. I sat on MacDougall’s front stairs and smoked about a half pack of cigarettes before I went in. There were three rooms. J. D. and Buddy were in the front parlor, Dusty was in the middle room, and Jessie was in the back room beside the kitchen. I asked Mom what to say. She said, Just say you’re sorry. What else can you say? Mom and Dad didn’t go to the wakes either. They said it wouldn’t be appropriate.

It was hot and gloomy and stunk of flowers but the caskets were closed, thank God! I prayed they were in heaven or at least in purgatory. Their mothers all hugged me and cried. I felt so damn guilty, and I don’t know why. Dusty’s mom held my hand and asked me how I was doing. That was embarrassing. I said something really stupid. I said, I wish this would all go away. I wish God would make it all go away. I meant to say something else but it came out wrong. Every time I think of what I said, I shiver inside and whisper Oh damn it! to myself.

She looked at me kind of odd through teary eyes and said back, "I know, Henry.

I know."

I never went to Bernie’s wake if he had one. I guess Jewish people don’t have wakes. I never met his Mom or Dad or did anything like that.

Some people in town were pretty pissed off at Bernie, blaming him, saying he was a troublemaker, and this wouldn’t have happened if he was hanging around with his own kind. It was just a lot of Jew talk, though, because a few days after the funerals it got around that it wasn’t Bernie driving but Buddy. It made sense, so everybody shut up. It was such an unbelievable thing to happen. It got so nobody wanted to talk about it anyway.

Around the middle of August, it was like everybody forgot about the accident. Things were quieter. The kids weren’t cruising much, and I was closing Mush’s stand at four or five o’clock every night. Laura didn’t want to work there anymore, and she didn’t come by much. She wouldn’t talk about the accident. I wanted to, but every time I did, she’d get upset. I tried talking to Dad—forget it. He wasn’t listening. And Mom would only say something like, There’s nothing to talk about, Henry. It happened, it’s over, it’s very sad, but talking about it isn’t going to make it go away. The best thing to do is just try to forget about it.

But Dusty’s white bucks kept flashing in my brain. Then I started thinking about Butchy that night. I kept hearing his voice say, You know these guys, you know these guys. Which one’s which? It wasn’t the same voice exactly. It was a blaming voice and it came at night when I closed my eyes and it wouldn’t stop ’til my eyes fluttered open. So I slept with the light on. I felt pretty stupid about it and about being nervous. I was always shy and crap like that but I was never nervous before.

It rained a lot at the end of August. Mush’s is right at the end of a lake, and there’s nothing as dreary as a lake in the rain. Laura and I never did anything except go parking, play cards, and go to drive-in movies. So I closed the stand one day and we took a train to Boston. We went to the Museum of Fine Arts, walked around Boston Common, and the Public Garden, and took a ride on the swan boats. We had a good time, but the day wasn’t right. I don’t know how Laura was feeling, but I felt all excited inside and I was sad at the same time. I mean we were laughing our heads off and goofing around but underneath I felt so lonely. I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular. I was just lonely and laughing at the same time.

We went back to South Station around the middle of the afternoon to check when the train was leaving. We had a couple of hours. She wanted to go to Jordan’s, so we started walking toward the subway. We were still laughing about some stupid thing. I had her hand and I let go because there was something in front of my eyes and I was trying to brush it away. I looked up at the ceiling and I saw pigeons, then specks of darkness filled my eyes, and I cried, Laura. My knees started shaking and I fell against her. She tried holding me but she couldn’t, and I slipped down her body and onto the floor. She told me later that my eyes were open and I was pale white and it scared the hell out of her.

Two traffic division cops with white hats and dripping raincoats were standing over me when I woke up. One of them with a bright red face and an Irish brogue was saying, Ah, he’s a big strappin’ lad. He’ll be fine, he’ll be fine.

So they walked me around for ten minutes to get my circulation going they said, talked to some conductor and stuck me on the next train out, the Lakeshore Limited. It was a Chicago train. The conductor told us it was probably the first time it had ever stopped in Union.

Dad was waiting at the station and the first thing he said to me was, Do you realize that’s probably the first time the Lakeshore Limited ever stopped in Union? I don’t know how they got ’em to do that. They never do that.

He didn’t know what to do with Laura. He had never met her. He said, Hello, young lady. That was it. Then she got in the back seat and I got in the front, and he drove her home and kind of nodded when she got out of the car. I was embarrassed about fainting but I was more embarrassed having the ol’ man meet Laura. He didn’t like her. I could tell.

2

The office of my father’s attorney, J. Arthur Gallivan is dirty, cob-webby and cluttered. There are stacks of manila folders on his desk and more stacks on the floor around him. We are at his office to pass papers on Dad’s business. The old man is finally letting go. Dad, my brother-in-law Philip, and I are lined up on wooden chairs, not saying much, watching Gallivan grind out copies on this clunky old machine he had, while Mom, my sister Janey, and Lily chat behind us on a hopelessly dilapidated leather couch. Since the early sixties, the old man has been trying to bring me and Philip together somehow so he can sell us his business. He changed the company name in 1965, so for the last fifteen years what was once Fences by Enright became Fences by Enright & Gale. Philip and I have spent the last fifteen years in Dad’s partnership hating almost every minute of it.

Philip and I don’t get along. We could, I guess, he isn’t a bad sort of guy, and at first, I accepted Philip as manager. I wasn’t too crazy about it, but I let him be the boss because I wasn’t interested in the old man’s business. Philip tried in his own way with me because he really wanted to make it work, but I didn’t bother much. Philip settled in with the old man, kept him pleased, made a career for himself hustling around, bringing up a family, and doing the right thing. I spent a lot of time dreaming of leaving the family business and becoming a college professor or some crazy thing. I was pissed I was still working for the old man. I was almost thirty, and I’d spent a lot of time dreaming hollow dreams. It wasn’t until I married Lily that I gave the situation a serious look and it struck me that sharing the business with my brother-in-law wasn’t such a hot idea, and I was pretty pissed at the old man for setting it up that way.

Lily and I have been married for ten years now and we’ve got four kids—terrific kids. She’s Pollyanna, I’m Jekyll and Hyde. I can’t say it works all of the time but there is love, I guess. We have good days.

This thing with Philip is making me nervous. I don’t know what I’m even doing here today. I’m not sure my father exactly trusts me. I had a few problems in my teens—rebellion, depression and anger—it got a little severe a few times, nothing I couldn’t work my way out of, but the old man listened to his own rat-a-tat and had me pegged as being too emotional, or so I heard from Mom. He never said it, but I was sure he thought I couldn’t handle any kind of business pressure.

I can’t figure out my old man. I’ve tried hard enough. I thought I could impress him. I dropped out of high school, but in my early twenties, I went back to a prep school in Boston. I got my diploma in two years. Pretty extraordinary, I thought, so I went to the old man and told him I’d like to go to college. I was sure he’d say, That’s great! Terrific! but instead he said, Do what you want, but I’m not paying for it. You missed your chance. And he meant it. Discussion closed.

What d’ya mean?

Just that! He shrugged.

I didn’t go on with him about it. We couldn’t talk to each other for more than two minutes without losing our tempers. Later, I asked Mom, What’s he mean? What’s he talking about, ‘I missed my chance?’

Mom gave me her stock answer, the only answer she ever had, that it was my fault. He always had high hopes for you, Henry. He went way out on a limb—you know, with his friend Jim Shanahan—to get you into Saint Bartholomew’s. Not that we could afford it—we hardly had two nickels to rub together—and then you went and flunked out. He felt terrible about that. And then you took up with that girl… and all the trouble…

Mom was always defending him.

I had the same exasperated answer. It wasn’t all my fault! You know that! I don’t know why we have to go over this all the time. Besides that was like twenty five years ago, I mean, come on!

No one’s blaming you, Henry. Daddy’s just saying you missed your chance because… she adjusted her long black hair and she pinned it. Well, I’m not exactly sure why. But I know one thing for sure. He wants you down the business. He’s told me that a hundred times.

I continue to watch Gallivan stack papers, and I’m fuming inside. I just want to get out of my chair and scream, tell everybody off, and walk out. I keep telling myself it doesn’t matter, over and over it doesn’t matter, just sign the papers. It doesn’t matter. I’ll figure it out later.

The women are still yacking away behind me, especially Lily. She loves to talk and entertain everyone.

My mind’s running all over the place. I don’t think I wanted a bunch of kids, a mortgage and a business. I admit I gave Lily that impression at first but I changed my mind. It’s another thing to fight