Ragamo Today: Paul Massiet a Sinner

By Paul Massiet

The book is all about the challenges in life, the story starts with Lee Goodmans 1st day as a CEO of the Goodman Metropolitan advertising agency. Sitting at his desk reminiscing the past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Apr 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9781490752723

Paul Massiet

When I was a child I was a loner. I wrote a lot of books in my head and forget about it the next day. I wasn’t serious about it. But when I started to write Ragamo, it was a different story. Right now I’m ready to put my work into writing.

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Copyright 2015 Paul Massiet.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4907-5274-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-5273-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-5272-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014922588

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Trafford rev. 03/06/2015

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Contents

Cliff’s Story

Julian’s Story

Matilda’s Family after the War

Heading for MCRD

At Camp Pendleton

England

Archibald’s Story

Aboard Ship

On the Ranch

Farewell, Jefe

Goodbye, Mrs. Goodman

Leaving OCS

At Home after OCS

Lee Leaves for Korea

Tokyo, Japan

Korea

Back in Japan

Leaving Japan

At Hickam Air Base

On the Way to March Field

Back Home

At Camp Pendleton

Leaving Camp Pendleton

Home Again

On the Way to Mexico

On the Way to Mexico

Back in Glendale

Working for Uncle Sam

The Beginning of the End

Ragamo Today

Hope

Going Away

A Miracle

Full Circle

T his story begins with the new CEO of the Goodman Metropolitan Advertising Agency sitting at his desk on the sixteenth floor of the newly constructed Goodman Wilshire Building, the biggest advertising agency in the United States and also the largest in many other countries. His private suite of offices occupy the entire sixteenth floor. His name is Lee Goodman. This is his first day in his new office. We find him thinking to himself, I didn’t come in today to roll up my sleeves and go to work! I just came in today to sit at my desk and get the feel of t hings.

As I said that, I looked at the plaque at the edge of the desk. I picked it up and looked at the inscription in gold lettering that read, Lee Goodman, CEO. I thought to myself, I’ve come a long ways … As I sat there, I looked at the huge office that has huge wall-to-wall panoramic windows, and when I pressed the button on my desk, the two huge drapes opened up from the middle outward, displaying the most fantastic and gorgeous view of the Los Angeles metropolitan and beyond. As I sat there behind my desk, I looked at my watch, thinking to myself, It’s early, 10:00 a.m., but if I had really come to work, I would have been late.

I usually start my day at 7:00 a.m. My private secretary and the rest of the staff start their day at 8:00 a.m. My private secretary did come in today. Her desk is in the outer office. The rest of the staff I gave the day off. I thought to myself, Claire is coming to pick me up at five o’clock so that we can go celebrate my becoming the new CEO. The party starts at six. And if I know my wife, she will be here right on time. After thinking that, I thought I sure love my wife with all of my heart! We’ve been through a lot together. And as I sat there at my desk, I thought about how every morning the first word I’ve always loved to hear Claire say is Coffee. She says it as if she were singing it. Then as she passes the rooms of our children, she melodiously sings, Breakfast! This may be difficult to believe, but Claire has that kind of carefree spirit that doesn’t ever change. She personifies a perfect example of what God intended all human beings to be. I have never heard her say an unkind word to anyone. She literally sees good in everyone.

We have two daughters whose temperaments are completely different. But they get along and love each other, that’s for sure. I give credit to the fact that they are being raised in a Christian home. The eldest, Rachel, has always teased her younger sister Ruthie a little too much. She teases Ruthie a lot less nowadays. I guess she is getting a little older, and it’s not as much fun as it used to be. She is fourteen, while Ruthie is just ten years old. Yet in many respects, Ruthie seems to act older than her elder sister. I guess she takes after me. Not meaning that I’m always serious, but I am a little more serious than my wife Claire. She is completely the opposite, always so happy and bubbling over.

I remember that my mother had a friend that was like Claire. Her name was Mrs. Owens, not to be confused with my secretary, whose last name is also Owens. She was a little older than my mother and her girlfriends. But when they would all get together, they would say, Don’t forget Mrs. Owens! After a while, they were all calling her Sadie.

Claire is always humming a tune. She either knows a lot of songs or she makes them up as she goes. I can’t tell, they all sound so good.

Our last name is Goodman, and that’s who I worked for almost all of my teenage life, Samuel A. Goodman. He was the one who created the Goodman Advertising Agency. He is my uncle, and I started working for my uncle Sam when I was thirteen, not for money but for experience, since he wanted me to join his staff after college. My family, including my uncles and my aunts and their families, was extremely wealthy. What one has to understand is when you’re that wealthy, you don’t work to make more money but for accomplishment and personal satisfaction. So I worked for my uncle Sam some Saturdays and a part of my summer vacation from school. I enjoyed it. We had a lot of fun with my uncle Sam’s name. For example, I would walk into my uncle Sam’s agency and one of the staff would jokingly say, Oh, Lee, who’s your uncle? And I would retort in W. C. Fields fashion, Yes, yes, my uncle Sam is a Goodman.

At first, I was mostly a pick-up and delivery boy, not outside of the agency but inside, throughout the agency. I was also the stock boy. I made sure that the staff had all the pens and paraphernalia for their daily tasks.

Two days after my fourteenth birthday, I went into my uncle Sam’s office. He said, What can I do for you, Lee?

I said, May I talk to you, man to man, sir?

Holding back his smile and trying to keep a straight face, he said, Of course, son, feel free to speak up.

I said, I thought I came to work for you to learn the business. And all I have been doing is supplying the staff and being a go-to guy.

Let me ask you this, Lee, do you think you have learned anything?

No, sir, I have had a lot of fun, but I don’t think that I have learned anything.

I also think that you have not learned anything new here either, Lee. What I thought you might have to learn is something that most wealthy people do not have, and that is humility. You did not learn humility here because you brought it with you. Your parents taught you well. I saw it when I visited your home, but would you have it at the workplace, among the working class? I had to make sure for when you’re working full time with people that you will have to dictate to.

I remember that conversation I had with my uncle Sam like it was yesterday.

Suddenly, I heard a buzzing sound that snapped me out of my deep thoughts. It was my intercom. I switched the switch, saying, Yes? It was my secretary, asking if I needed anything before she goes to lunch. I answered, No, thank you, have a good lunch. She buzzed me back, asking, Could I bring you something? and adding, I’m going to the delicatessen, and you haven’t had lunch, have you?

Hesitantly, I said, No.

What can I bring you, sir?

I said, Surprise me.

It wasn’t long before she was back and buzzing my intercom. I pressed the switch, saying, What is it? I heard myself in what was not a happy voice. I said, I’m sorry, I must have dozed off, forgive me for my harshness.

She said in a meek and almost incoherent voice, I have your lunch, sir.

I said, Great, shall I come out for it?

Oh no, sir, I can bring it in to you.

When she came in and laid the pastrami sandwich and the drink on my desk and backed off, I asked her, What in the world is wrong with you, Mrs. Owens?

She said, almost in a panicked state, Mr. Goodman, I need my job! adding, I don’t need the money, but I do need to work for you.

I was astounded as I said, I don’t understand, Mrs. Owens, you have been with me ever since my uncle assigned you to me, and as far as I’m concerned, they couldn’t drag you away from me ever!

Oh, thank you, sir. I thought that because you were making changes and because I am older than these young, beautiful girls, I might be one of the expendables.

She was breaking my heart. I said, Don’t ever think that again. I have always thought of you as my mother away from home and always will.

She said, I thought that I was the only one that thought that way.

What do you mean, Mrs. Owens?

She answered, When I first came to work for your uncle and I saw you, I thought that you resembled my baby boy, not so much in looks but you were what I imagined my baby boy to be had he lived. I cried when I lost him to leukemia when he was only four years old. If it were possible, I would have worked for you without pay just to serve you and to see you grow.

I had tears in my eyes, and as I took a deep breath, I said, My dear Mrs. Owens, we have been in love with each other for many years. I because I could see your love for me as a mother, and I accepted that motherly love. And you loved me, because, in your eyes, I became your son. We don’t know why God ordains this kind of love, but we do know that he does. He did it with his only begotten son. When his son Jesus was dying on the cross, as he was hanging there, he looked down from the cross. When Jesus, therefore, saw his mother and the disciple standing by whom he loved, he saith unto his mother, ‘Woman, behold thy son!’ Then saith he to the disciple, ‘Behold thy mother!’ And from that hour, that disciple took her unto his own home (John 19:26–27). Scripture indicates that it was the disciple John that took Mary, the mother of Jesus, home and cared for her. So for that reason, but not only for that reason, I want to care for you for the rest of your life.

Mrs. Owens says, It really sounds good, but I’m just a woman that likes her job and has for the last thirty years. If you can just keep me on for maybe two more years, that would be sufficient.

I told Mrs. Owens that if she could not do another day’s work, I would bring her into my own house, where my wife would just love her.

Mrs. Owens, all happy again, smiled and said, Well, I should get back to my desk. With a big smile, she jokingly adds, I have work to do!

I chuckled as she walked out. I wondered whether I was dozing or not when Mrs. Owens buzzed me. I thought that I better not get too comfortable. I stood up and I stretched my arms, and then I sat back down in a straight up position. I soon was thinking about the days of my childhood. I liked all of my childhood days, but I think that the ages of twelve and thirteen were the best years. It seemed like the days were longer, and for some reason, a lot more fun all through my childhood. And all of the guys agreed that twelve and into our thirteenth year were the greatest.

I was thinking about the guys. We were all about the same age, give or take a month or so. We were all in the same grade. There were twelve of us, no more than that ever. But one time one of the guys moved out of town and we wouldn’t allow just anyone to take his place as one of the guys. Unless someone would come around that we knew all through grade school and that we all liked, he could be one of the guys. If someone didn’t like him like a brother, he was not allowed to be one of the guys. There was nothing special about being one of the guys except we were inseparable. That’s why we all had to really like each other. We did, and we went everywhere together. Of course, parents came first. If the parents were doing something that required one of the guys to be there, that was no problem.

And I was their leader, I didn’t want to be their leader, and I was not voted in. It just happened. I think it started in kindergarten. I recall one day that two kids were arguing over a beanbag doll. They both had their hands on it, pulling on it. One was saying something like Let go, while the other was saying something like I had it first. I don’t know why, but one of the kids that was watching the tug of war came up to me real excited, saying, There are two boys fighting for a doll, and he pointed at them.

I looked at him with a look as if to say, Why are you telling me? Go tell the teacher. I guess he read my mind because he said, The teacher is not here.

My guess is the reason they would come to me was because I was taller than anyone in the class. And to a child, that could mean something. So I walked over to where the two boys were fighting over the beanbag doll and asked, Why are you fighting over that doll?

The one kid said, I had it first, and I wanted to play with it.

I said, How?

He said, I wanted to see how high I could throw it up and play tag with it.

I asked the other boy, Is that OK with you?

He said, Yes.

I said, Then why were you trying to take it away from him?

He said, It’s a girl’s doll, and I thought he wanted to play rock-a-bye baby.

That’s the way it started. I don’t think that our English in kindergarten was as clear as I’m remembering it. But we managed to understand each other.

As I was sitting there thinking about the guy, I thought I’m sure glad we didn’t go everywhere together. Twelve kids walking down the street together, we would have looked like a gang, maybe up to no good. But it wasn’t that way. We all hung around together, but we would meet almost wherever our plan called for.

First of all, eleven of the guys lived in the same town, Glendale, California, about fifty miles north of Los Angeles. I lived in a suburb of Glendale called Flintridge. And we all went to the same public school in Glendale. A lot of our plans were made in the school playgrounds during recess. For example, we would plan to meet at Franklin’s Drugstore. We went there often. A lot of school kids that were our age and older went there. The older students went there with their dates to listen to the jukebox and have a milkshake or an ice cream sundae or whatever. A couple of the guys had girlfriends that they would take to Franklin’s Drugstore. The rest of us didn’t have a girlfriend; not that we couldn’t, but we just would say that we were waiting for the right girl to come along. Franklin’s Drugstore didn’t have a dance floor. After all, it was a drugstore. But there was an open area by the jukebox that sometimes the older students would get out there and dance a little buggy wuggy or a little jazz. Mr. Franklin was a nice man. He didn’t mind their dancing as long as it was only one or two couples at a time.

Sometimes all the guys would meet at Lincoln Park public swimming pool. We sure had fun there. Sometimes we would spend the entire day there, swimming and horsing around. That’s what’s so great about the summertime. I know that a lot of the older people complained about it being so hot in the summertime, but us kids loved it. We just couldn’t wait for summer to come around. If we didn’t go swimming at Lincoln Park, we would go on our bikes just about three miles out of town to a country natural pond that must have belonged to the county. We would all take a lunch. We would spend almost the entire day there and most of it in the water, so much so that our hands would wrinkle up.

There was a farm nearby that we would walk to, and then we had one of the guys by the name of Ralph Long, whom we called Shorty—I can’t remember if we called him Shorty because his last name was Long or because he was shorter than average—anyhow, we would send him to ask the owner of the farm if we could have some oranges.

The farmer asked, Do you boys know how to pick oranges?

We all said, No, sir.

Come with me and I’ll show you how.

He showed us not to just pull on the orange but to hold the branch with the left hand and with the right hand break off the orange. Then he said, Do you boys like apples?

We all said, Yes, sir.

He said, Come over here.

We walked behind him for what would be about a city block until we were in the center of a apple orchard. He said, Now I don’t want you boys to pick the apples off the trees, adding, every apple on the ground is a good apple, is that understood?

We all said, Yes, sir.

Then the farmer picked up an apple from the ground and handed it to Shorty, asking him, Do you like to fish?

Enthusiastically, Shorty said, Yes, sir!

The farmer said, Good, there’s a worm in that one.

We all laughed. We went there often, but we were careful not to abuse the privilege.

And there were times when we would go to my home. We have an Olympic-sized swimming pool with a low and a high diving board. I was the only one of the guys that went off the high diving board. That was because I had more opportunity to practice diving with my father. As we grew older, most of the guys could dive off the high diving board. The reason for that was as they grew older, we all had girlfriends. They would come over to my house more often to swim rather than take their girlfriends to Lincoln Park or to the croppy pond in the country where we picked the oranges and apples. The guys wouldn’t have taken the girls to the croppy pond. It was just a guy’s place anyhow. We later found out the name of that pond was Croppy Pond. But when we were twelve, they didn’t want to try diving from the high diving board. As a matter of fact, they didn’t want to come over to my home too often. One day, I asked them why. They beat around the bush with Well, you know or It’s just, just you know. I said, No, I don’t know. Now let’s come clean, guys. Then Chuck raised his hand. I said, Why are you raising your hand, Chuck?

Well, you want to know why, don’t you?

OK, Chuck, speak up.

Well, it’s just that we have to be too polite all of the time. Your maids are always bringing us drinks and food and asking us questions.

I said, Questions, what kind of questions?

Well, like ‘Could I get something else for you?’ or ‘Do you need anything else?’

Then Shorty popped up with, Yeah, I don’t like to be too polite all of the time either.

I said, And what about you, Fred?

Well, every time they come out to the pool, I have to walk around with my chest out.

I stared at them for a minute then broke out laughing. In between my laughter, I said, Is that all, you crazy bunch of nuts? I love you all. Don’t you know that when they come out bringing you drinks and food and asking you if they could do something else for you, they’re not being extra nice. They’re being nice and bringing out all that stuff because that’s their job. And as for you, Fred, you don’t have to walk around with your chest out. They don’t expect a twelve-year-old kid to have a lot of muscles.

Fred said, Wow, that’s great. I was getting kinda tired holding my chest out.

We all laughed.

Another important place we all would often meet was at the Alex Theater. It was the biggest and most beautiful theater in town. And not only in Glendale, but it could be compared with theaters like the Orpheum and RKO Theater in Los Angeles. The Alex Theater was where all of us guys would take our girls to the Saturday matinee. It seemed that the whole school was there, buying popcorn, candy, drinks, or whatever.

All of the guys had girlfriends before I did. It isn’t that I couldn’t make out. I could have a lot of the times. Some of the girls would give me that come hither look or ask me, Are you going to the Alex next Saturday, Lee? I would say, I guess so. I’m not sure why I didn’t have a girl. I guess I was just a little more picky than the rest of the guys.

Before I had a girl, some of the guys had changed girls two or three times. One of the guys, by the name of Louis, was the worst of them all. The last girl he had was named Meleanoresy, but it was pronounced differently than it was spelled. One day, I asked him, Are you going to the Alex this coming Saturday?

He said, You bet, I am.

I said, Say hello to Meleanoresy for me.

Louis said, You finally pronounced her name right for a change, Lee!

I said, I know, it took me a long time.

Louis said, But I can’t say hello to her for you.

I asked, Why not?

She isn’t my girl anymore. My new girlfriend’s name is Ruth.

I was still twelve years old when I met my first and what I hoped to be my last girlfriend. I will never forget the day we met. The guys and I loved to play marbles, and we had a rule that we would never let a girl play marbles with the guys, no matter how beautiful she was. On this particular day, we were playing marbles in the school grounds. We were playing the game of ring, which was my favorite game. After that, we loved to play the game of fish. We used a wooden stick with a sharp end to it in order to draw a large circle in the dirt. We made a rule that not more than four guys could play in the same game at a time. Otherwise, it would take forever to get a shot. So the other eight guys would play in two other circles.

We had each put in ten marbles for a total of forty marbles. We lagged to see which one of us would shoot first. I was not the first shooter. When it was my turn to shoot, there was still about thirty marbles left in the ring. I had shot three times, and I was maneuvering myself around the ring to find a good position for my fourth shot. When I found it, someone stood behind me, blocking my light. I turned to tell him that he was blocking my light. And when I had turned, I saw this person standing there dressed in white with beautiful gold hair and a glow surrounded her. My mouth fell open, and I couldn’t think of anything to say. I heard a girl’s voice say, Can I play? I felt silly because all I could say was, Ah yaaa. The other guys were not seeing her with the sun behind her. All they saw was a girl standing there with blue slacks and a white blouse on.

They saw a very pretty girl, but rules are rules, and they wanted the rule of no girls allowed enforced. I said sadly, I’m sorry, but we have a rule.

She said, That’s OK. Do you mind if I watch?

With a big smile on my face, I said, I sure don’t.

I continued to luck out, shooting a marble at a time. But it was getting harder for me to concentrate on my game. I was happy when I heard her say, Can I have a shot?

Without thinking about the rule, I said, You sure can. The guys immediately began to complain. I told them She isn’t going to play. She is just going to take a shot for me.

Still complaining, they gave in, one of them saying, Just one shot, OK? while another one of the guys said, A rule is a rule.

She pulled out of her pocket a piece of wool and got on her knees then laid the piece of wool right on the margin of the ring. We all stared at her, wondering what that piece of wool was for. And then I remembered, it was called a knuckle pad. It was to protect your knuckles against the ground, especially if you’re shooting continually. After she fired that first shot, she continued like a pro to clear the ring of marbles. We all stood there in amazement. Not one of us had ever seen anyone play marbles with such expertise.

Afterward, she looked at me, saying, You can pick up your marbles now, and then she said, Thanks for the shot. She smiled and walked away.

The rest of the day, I kept thinking of her. As a matter of fact, we all kept thinking and talking about her.

Louis, who thought he was the lover boy of the guys, said, She is really a good-looking girl. Maybe I’ll look her up.

I said, Not this time, Louis. This time, it’s hands off.

One of the guys said, You’re not her type anyhow, Louis. She’s too classy for you.

Another of the guys asked me, Are you going to look her up, Lee? adding, Is she the one?

I said, I hope so.

That evening, I couldn’t stop thinking of her. My mother asked me several times, What’s wrong, Lee? Aren’t you feeling well?

I answered, I’m feeling wonderful, Mother.

She said, You look sort of melancholy.

"What is melancholy, Mother?"

"Well, there are a few definitions for melancholy. The one I’m thinking of that you might have is feeling sort of sad and always thinking of something or someone."

You know, Mom, I may have that!

My mother said, Really? Don’t tell me it’s a girl, is it?

It could be, Mother. I met a girl today at school whom I have never seen before. She must be new at school.

My mother asked, Is she a Christian?

I don’t know, Mom.

Well, how did you meet her?

The guys and I were playing marbles and she came over to where we were playing and asked if she could play. The guys said no, and I said yes. That is, she took my place in the game.

My mother said, A girl playing marbles? Poor girl. You boys didn’t embarrass her, did you?

No, Mother. She embarrassed us by winning all of the marbles.

The next morning, I woke up thinking about her, and as I was getting ready to go to school I wondered where I would look for her first. Since I was early for classes, I thought I would stroll around the school grounds. Some of the guys were out there at the basketball court having a game of basketball.

It was too early to check out a basketball, but one of the guys, by the name of Cid Macgregor, owned a basketball and he would bring it to school every day. He loved the game of basketball and would have loved to play professional someday for the NBA, and in a way, that was kind of heartbreaking. Not that he wasn’t good at playing basketball, he was probably one of the best, if not the best in the entire school. But the sad thing was he was short for his age and was born with his left leg shorter than the right one—not a lot shorter but short enough that he had a noticeable limp when he walked. He was good enough to be a star in grade school and maybe even in high school. He used that short leg to his advantage. When dribbling that basketball around that court, he would get so low by leaning on that short leg and he would move so fast that no one could block him before he took a shot at the hoop. But to play for a university or the NBA, only God knows.

I was so engrossed watching Cid playing when the school bell rang and we had to run for it so as not to be late. I got to my classroom before the teacher had roll-called. I went directly to my seat, and lo and behold, there she was, sitting in the chair next to mine in the left row.

Our teacher’s name was Mrs. Brown, and after she had roll-called she said, We have a new student today. She asked her to stand up, introduce herself, and give us a little bit of her background.

She stood up, took a quick look at me then to the front where the teacher was sitting at her desk, saying, My name is Sandra Anderson, and we just moved here from Denver, Colorado, where my father was a partner in a hardware store. He had an opportunity to purchase a bigger hardware store here in Glendale, on Glen Oaks Boulevard and Olive Street.

During class, we would glance at each other and smile. When it was getting close to lunchtime, I slipped her a note, saying, Do you want to go with me to the cafeteria and officially meet the guys and their girlfriends? She smiled and nodded yes.

I don’t know about other schools, but in our school lunch cafeteria the kids have their own tables staked out. And when they walk through that door, they head straight for their table. It was not legal, but everyone accepted it. So when Sandra and I walked through the door, that’s what we did. The guys were surprised to see Sandra with me after the beating they took from her yesterday. I introduced Sandra to the guys and their girlfriends.

Sandra and I became inseparable. Wherever I went, she went, and of course, wherever she went, I went. We were both gloriously in love. But as you would have it, adults would make less of it. Some would say they just have a lot in common or they like the same things or They can’t know what love is all about at their age. At the age of thirteen, they are merely children. It didn’t really matter what they thought. I am thoroughly convinced that there is something that happens to girls when they become thirteen, and I don’t mean that they become teenagers. It’s more than that. I mean that they become women. And that’s even more true in other countries. Think about it, a hundred and fifty years ago or so, in some parts of this country it was considered normal for a thirteen-year-old girl to become the wife of a man that could make a good home for her and take good care of her. And if a man could do that well, he could be fifteen years or older. Of course, the life expectancy then was about fifty-five years old or less. And even more so, almost two thousand years ago God chose a young teenager by the name of Mary to be the mother of his only begotten son, Jesus Christ. Of course, things were different in those days. There were many teenage wives.

I’m not saying this so that all teenage girls should go out and get married. In today’s society, the laws and quality of living have changed, requiring young people to pursue a better life through higher education. Sandra and I both know that, even though Sandra wants to get married as soon as possible. She knows that my parents want me to wait at least until I’m twenty-one to get married. And of course, I will honor my parents’ request. I don’t blame Sandra for wanting to get married as soon as possible. She can’t help herself. It is inherent in her as well as most girls. So people that don’t know what I’m talking about will always think of us holding hands and tralalawing down the primrose path. There is no doubt in my mind that I could live with Sandra for the rest of my life, even though everyone tried to tell us that we were much too young. And the funniest thing was that all of the time we were going together, we never once mentioned to anyone anything about getting married, with the exception of being in love. Sandra and I thought ourselves as being nothing more than kids. And we were not always together. And when we were not together, I would get a pain in the pit of my stomach. I never told her or anyone else about that, except one of the guys that I knew wouldn’t talk about it to anyone. When I told him, he said that he didn’t know what it was all about but that it did happen to him a couple of times. He did give me a best-case scenario. He said maybe it’s like a wolf that howls when he can’t find his female wolf friend.

What he said went right over my head. And I didn’t even ask him to clarify what he had just said. When Sandra and I were together, I would try to explain the way I felt about her. She would say that she knew and that she felt the same way but even more so. In my mind, I couldn’t imagine how she could feel more than I was feeling. And somehow when we would confess our feelings to each other we felt a little older. Instead of thirteen, we felt more like sixteen or even seventeen. I wonder what was so magical about turning thirteen.

It wasn’t just Sandra and I, but a lot of the kids at school that had turned thirteen would come to school trying to act sixteen by acting tough, and some of them would steal cigarettes from their parents and smoke them on the school grounds. Some of kids would say to them, You’re not supposed to be smoking in the school rounds. In fact, you’re not supposed to be smoking at all. And some of the kids would say, I’m going to report you to the school ground security.

That’s not as bad as it sounded. Ground security was not the Nazi secret police. They were students like ourselves that volunteer or were chosen by their good citizenship. They were identified by the white web waist belt that had another white web belt that went up and around the shoulder down to the waist belt. It was the same belt that the color guard wore when they raised the flag in the morning and lower it when school was out.

If a student was turned in for fighting, smoking, cursing, or some other infringement of the ground rules, they would be given a ticket and they had to take that ticket to the office of the principal, who would make them stay after school then go home with a note to their parents. If they were caught smoking or fighting, the parents of the student would be asked to come to the principal’s office. It could mean a suspension. And a visit by his parents to the principal’s office could involve the truant officer, who is always involved in students playing hooky from school and the more grievous violations. A lot of those that smoked would pay an extra penalty because they smoked. They would get very sick and be sent home, where the parent would also discipline them. There is a good saying that a little boy’s tummy and a big boy’s smoke do not mix. Nowadays, a Lucky Strike or a Camel cigarette could challenge any cigar on the market. In the forties, a cigarette was about two and a half inches long and packed with pure tobacco.

I don’t want to make the school sound like a bad school because of a few disobedient students. On the contrary, it was a good school. The guys and I never did any of those things to get into trouble, nor did most of the students in the entire school.

We did have one guy that we let join the guys late in the first grade. He was six years old and his name was Charlie, so of course we called him Chucky. Half of the guys became one of the guys in the first grade, the rest I knew from kindergarten. Chucky had a pretty big problem. He had a habit of cursing. The assumption at that age was that he picked it up at home. We didn’t know of his problem at first. We just knew that he was a happy kid, very sociable, and he easily mixed in with us guys.

One day, the teacher was teaching us how to make paste so that we could paste our cutouts together on our individual posters that we could take home. I was pasting a red car and some green lawn that I had drawn, cut out, and crayoned on my poster. And I had lucked out. My paste had a good consistency, whereas some of the other kids were having some difficulty. Their pastes were either too watery or too thick. I don’t know what was wrong with Chucky. He was having a hard time with his project. And this was a do-it-yourself project, so I couldn’t try to help him. Only the teacher could help a student who would raise their hand for help. And the teacher was quite away from Chucky. Then all of a sudden, Chucky threw his project down and barked out two or three of the biggest curse words I have ever heard. The noisy classroom became so quiet that one could hear that proverbial pin drop. It was almost comical to look around to see everyone’s mouth wide open. I know that it wasn’t funny, but I had to put my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing.

The teacher walked over to Chucky’s desk and said, What did you say? Then she said, Stop, I know what you said, adding, Where did you learn such a foul language?

All Chucky would say was, I don’t know.

The teacher continued, You must have learned it somewhere, didn’t you?

Chucky repeated, I don’t know.

Mrs. Brown said, I just can’t let this pass. She said, Come with me, Charles.

He said, Where?

We have to go to the principal’s office and let him handle this.

The principal had Chucky’s parents come to the school principal’s office, where Chucky’s father was questioned about Chucky’s problem of cursing.

Chucky’s father said, I did not teach Charlie how to curse. I didn’t know that he knew how to curse.

The principal asked, If he didn’t learn at home, where else could he have learned such foul language? The principal pressed, This is extremely important for the child’s sake!

Chucky’s father broke down and confessed, saying, Again, I did not teach Charlie how to curse. But I am a habitual curser! I did not just learn it from my father. Even more so, he taught me how to curse. He was an evil man. He didn’t always curse, only when he was angry, upset, or when he hurt himself, like missing the nail and hitting his thumb that was holding the nail straight, or when he didn’t get his way about something. Those were the times he would curse, and that was often. I became the same way. So I suppose Charlie saw and heard me cursing unawares to me. I never wanted to be like my father, and I don’t want Charlie to be like me in that respect.

The principal said, I believe that you are sincere, Mr. Todd. And I’m going to leave your son in your hands. But we will monitor his improvement here at school.

The next day, I was called into the principal’s office. Mrs. Brown was there with the principal.

The principal said, Lee, have a seat. And then he said, Mrs. Brown has informed me that you are the leader of a little gang at this school to which Charlie Todd belongs. Is that true, Lee?

No, sir.

Mrs. Brown, with a surprised look, said, Lee, please tell the principal the truth.

I said, Yes, Mrs. Brown. I am not a leader of a gang at school or anywhere else, sir.

Mrs. Brown interjects, Now, Lee, I know that you are the leader of a group of boys that are always together, including Charlie Todd.

With an artificial surprised look on my face, I said, Oh, you mean the guys! With sort of a giggle, I continued, That’s not a gang, sir. We’re just a bunch of guys that like to hang around together. And I’m not their leader, sir.

The principal asked, How old are you, son?

I’m six years old, sir, soon to be seven.

The principal asked me, When will you be seven?

I replied, After summer vacation, I will be seven and in the second grade, sir.

You’re a very intelligent boy, Lee. You have a very good control of the English language.

Thank you, sir.

What I would like, Lee, is for you and I to work together on this problem of one of your guys cursing. Would you like that, Lee?

Yes, sir, I would like Chucky to be able to stop cursing.

Fine then. All you have to do is stick closely to, as you call him, Chucky, and when you hear him curse, you come and tell me so that we can send him someplace where he can get help with that problem.

Mrs. Brown and I were both surprised at what he had just said. Mrs. Brown said, Sir, you can’t have this little boy help you do something like that!

Nonsense, Mrs. Brown. I can’t have a child cursing in a school classroom like a drunken sailor at a seashore saloon. If the school board committee should get wind of this, they could ask for my resignation.

Mrs. Brown said, They wouldn’t do that, sir. It isn’t your fault.

Then I said to the principal, Sir, I can’t help you trap Chucky.

And why not, Lee?

Because my father wouldn’t like that.

Your father? Yes, I could understand that.

Then Mrs. Brown said to the principal, Sir, we can resolve the problem here ourselves, and I think it would turn out for the best for everyone concerned.

Very well, Mrs. Brown, you take charge and keep me informed.

I will, sir.

The next day, I said to Mrs. Brown the guys and I didn’t know that Chucky cursed, we don’t allow cursing, and I told Chucky that this morning. I said that if he wanted to be one of the guys, he would have to stop cursing.

He said, I don’t like to curse, and I want to always be one of the guys.

OK then, whoever catches you cursing, you have to give him five marbles, OK?

Chucky said, OK.

At first, Chucky lost a lot of marbles, and the good thing about it, he gave them up without ever complaining. And once in a while something would happen that made him want to curse, and he would catch himself and stifle himself.

It had been a long time since I thought back that far. But today, as I sit in my luxurious office as the new CEO, the question occurred to me: did Chucky ever stop cursing altogether? I remembered that he did but not until one incident that almost devastated him. This incident occurred on Sandra’s fourteenth birthday. We had been going steady for about two years, and we were still head over heels in love with each other. All the guys and their girlfriends were there. I thought I can’t believe that all of the guys at that party were guys that I met in kindergarten or the first grade. Chucky and his girlfriend were there, and by then it was rare that Chucky would slip. I was late to the party because I couldn’t find a birthday gift that would satisfy Sandra. The problem was she would not accept expensive gifts. She would always say, All of your love and a little something is all I want. So when I arrived there, I went into the party, kissed Sandra and handed her the birthday gift, and greeted all of the guys and their girlfriends. I didn’t see Chucky, but his girlfriend was there.

I asked Sandra, Where is Chucky?

She said, I asked him to leave.

I said, You asked him to—what? You asked him to leave? What in the world would cause you to do such a thing?

He said a major curse word. And I know how much you hate cursing, so I asked him to leave before you got here.

You’re right, Sandra, I do hate cursing but not enough to lose one of my best friends. I asked Sandra, How long ago did he leave?

She said, It had been about five minutes.

I said, I’ll be right back.

I went outside and walked out into the middle of the street to see if I could find him. I was looking in the direction of where he lived. It was dark but I could see a long ways because it was a clear night. It was a beautiful night, so I decided to walk to Chucky’s home.

When I got to Chucky’s house, there was light in the house and I could hear voices inside of the house. I was stepping up onto the porch to knock on the door when I heard a screeching sound coming from the darkness of the porch. It was a porch swing. Chucky was slightly moving it. Chucky had his head down, and when he heard me walking toward the swing, he raised his head, saying, I don’t want to ever lose your friendship!

I said, And you won’t. You will always be one of my best friends.

He asked, You’re a Christian, aren’t you?

I said, Yes, I am.

He said, Could you ask God to stop me from cursing?

I, in turn, asked him a question. Do you think God can stop you from cursing?

He said, Yes, I do.

I put my hand on his head and asked God to release Chucky from the evil habit of cursing, in Jesus’ holy name. Amen.

Chucky said, I don’t feel any different.

I said, You don’t?

No, I don’t.

Then tell me a curse word.

No, I don’t want to! Oh, Lee, I don’t want to ever say another curse word for the rest of my life!

I said, And you won’t. Now let’s go and help the guys celebrate Sandra’s birthday.

By the time we got to Sandra’s house, the party was going full blast. Sandra opened the door, and as we walked in, Sandra told Chucky, I’m sorry for asking you to leave. It will never happen again.

Chucky said, I know it won’t.

Sandra looked strange as Chucky walked past her. She asked me, What did he mean?

He meant that he is never going to curse again.

She said, I’ll believe that when I see it.

I asked Sandra, Are you a Christian?

Of course, I am, you know that.

I said, So is Chucky, adding, now!

From that time on, I don’t know of anyone that ever heard Chucky curse again, including me. I heard that he went on to become a youth pastor.

I remember looking at Sandra that evening, saying, You don’t look a day over twenty, I mean fourteen.

Sandra smiled and said, Tell me that when I’m twenty.

What, that you don’t look a day over twenty?

She replied, No, over fourteen.

We both laughed then kissed.

I told her, Do you realize that it’s been two years since we first started going steady? adding, I remember you standing behind me in the school yard, and when I turned around, you looked just like an angel to me. Then when you started to play, you put that knuckle pad down and aimed at that big green marble, which was at the edge of a group of marbles. After that first shot, you methodically began to empty the ring of what was fifty marbles.

One of the guys standing next to me was named Joe Garcia, the only Spanish-American in our group and one of my best friends. He was an easygoing guy always smiling. He was extremely handsome and very popular with the girls.

Not talking to anyone in particular, I said, She is great! To reiterate, she is great, and she is fabulous!

Joe asked me, Are you talking about her shooting? Or are you talking about her?

I said, Both.

Joe said, Speaking of her shooting, she is fabulous. Her name should be Ms. Conecas.

I asked, What does that mean?

"What does what mean?"

That Spanish word.

"Oh, you mean conecas."

Yes.

"It means marbles in Spanish. Joe added, You know, like a great tennis player, they call him Mr. Tennis, so she should be called Ms. Conecas."

I said, That is great.

After that day, all of the guys called her Conecas. But their girlfriends didn’t. They called her Sandy.

I asked Sandra, Do you remember those days?

She said, "Of course, I do. The guys don’t call me that too much anymore. They went from Conecas to Sandy, and you have always called me Sandra or angel.

I said, Speaking of marbles, do you remember Benny Dorrin? Wasn’t he the biggest bully in the entire school.

Yes, that’s him. He was just twelve years old, like the rest of us, and the whole school was afraid of him, except the older kids. They just didn’t want to bother with him.

Benny Dorrin was just a genuine bully. All of the guys knew that and didn’t want any trouble with him. But it seemed like every day while we were playing marbles in the school grounds Benny Dorrin would come walking down the school grounds and inevitably walk right through the middle of one of our rings in which the guys were playing. And he would just keep on walking as if he were walking down any city street, and never look back. After he was gone, we would look down at the ring that he walked over. Certainly, the marbles were no longer where they were. Other than that, everything looked the same. And that’s the way it continued. If it wasn’t the ring I was playing at, it would be one of the other guys’ ring.

The only person in the guys’ group that Benny liked was Shorty Long, and that was because once in a while Shorty would play hooky from school with Benny. One day, Benny Dorrin told Shorty that if he would play hooky with him he would give Shorty a bunch of marbles. Shorty asked to see them. After seeing them, he said, These look like some of the marbles that I lost to the guys.

Benny said, They are the same marbles.

Shorty, with a surprised look on his face, asked, All of them?

With a smug look on his face, Benny replied, That’s right.

How did you get them?

Benny said, If you promise never to tell anyone, I’ll tell you.

Shorty responded with, No, I never keep any secrets from the guys.

Benny, bursting to tell someone, said, OK, I will tell you. You know how I always walk through the middle the ring whenever you guys are playing marbles?

Shorty didn’t respond. He just nodded.

Benny was so excited that he salivated when he was telling Shorty, I have holes on the bottom of my shoes. And when I walk over the marbles I pick up two or three, sometimes even four marbles. Maybe next time I’ll pick up four.

Shorty said, I don’t think so, Benny. I think you should retire.

Do you mean that you would snitch on me?

Not if you retire today. If you retire today, no one will ever know.

No, you wouldn’t tell on me. You’re my pal, Shorty!

I wouldn’t count on it if I were you, Benny.

The next day, Shorty assumed that Benny was not going to retire from his marble scheme, so he told the guys what Benny had been dong. They were all so upset, but they didn’t know what to do about it.

One of the guys said, Let’s get him and get him good.

I told him, Take it easy, Humphrey, we have to think about this and work out a plan. Maybe we could set a trap for him.

All of the guys agreed, but no one could think of what kind of trap. Then Sandra said, You know what could work, Lee.

Do you remember what you said to me, Sandra?

Yes, I remember.

Sandra said, At my father’s hardware store there are some little pieces of metal that look like the game of jacks, except the points are sharp and the jack-shaped metals are half the size of a game jack. There are about twelve of them in a little box, and they sell for 10¢ a box.

One of the guys asked, What are they used for?

She replied, I don’t know. I just saw them and thought that they were cute.

I said, We don’t want to injure him.

Then she said, Oh no, they’re too small to injure him. It’s like walking in an open field and into a splintered area. They hurt, but they won’t injure you.

I gave her a dime and said, Bring a box for tomorrow.

She said, That’s 1¢ and two tokens for tax.

I said, I don’t have any tokens.

Then give me another penny and I’ll bring back your change of three tokens.

I gave her another penny and then walked her home.

The next day, we were all excited, so at recess time we all went out into the school grounds as usual and drew our circles. As always, we drew three circles and decided who were going to play in which circle. And we put four jacks in each ring, one jack next to each marble in the center of the ring. We knew that Benny would always walk through the center of the ring, never looking down or to the side, just straight ahead. And when he did that and heard us complaining, he would act like we weren’t even there.

When we were out there waiting for Benny, it was hard to pretend that we were playing when were in fear of messing up our trap. We aimed away from the stack of marbles, and that was OK as long as no one was too near to the ring to see that we were not really aiming at any marbles.

The waiting was starting to get to us. One of the guys asked, What day is it?

I asked, Why? Did you forget what day you have a date with Shirley Temple?

No, I’m just wondering if this is the day Benny plays hooky.

I replied, That’s right, and then I remembered saying, No, he played hooky yesterday, right, Shorty?

He unwillingly mumbled Right.

I razz Shorty on purpose every time he plays hooky, especially when he plays hooky with Benny. It’s not my place to chastise Shorty. I said my piece a long time ago, and he has cut his hooky playing down quite a bit, so now I just razz him a little.

Then one of the guys said a little too loud, Here he comes!

I said, Keep it down and be calm. Remember, if he gets violent, according to our plan, we will all jump him and hold him down until help comes.

Funny how the mind works—the closer he got, the bigger he looked. I have to give the guys credit. They looked calm standing there as if waiting for the guy on the ground to take his shot. Then, Benny, displaying his predictability, came up and walked right through the center of our ring and just kept going. We all looked down at the center of the ring, and the marbles were disturbed, but what went wrong? We all looked up at Benny walking away with kind of a swagger or a strut that something unexpected happened. Benny stopped, turned around, looked at us for a minute, and then he cracked a big smile while just slightly moving his head up and down as if to say, Yes, you got me, then turned and walked away.

We were eager to check the marbles to see if the four jack-shaped splinters were all still there in the center of the ring. After checking, we could find only one splinter, which means that Benny carried off three splinters in his shoes instead of three marbles.

We will never know if Benny went home to lick his wounds or whatever. We do know one thing—Benny never bothered us again, and he never asked Shorty to play hooky with him ever again. As a matter of fact, we seldom ever see him except once in a while we would