Two Guys in AmericaA

By gloria hanson

Although set in the early twenty-first century, this story resonates today. The main protagonists, Cecil and John, represent characters who have lived through the tumultuous sixties and seventies and rolled with the changes in the late twentieth century. Despite their different life journeys, they re-established a bond first devloped during their youth in South Philadelphia of the fifties.

 The strains of race and culture test the ties of friendship between the two men and their families, but the human links give the reader a tale of hope and redemption.

• Language: English
• Publisher: gloria hanson
• Release date: Mar 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393656951

gloria hanson

Gloria Hanson has been writing poetry and essays since she was in grade school. As a bookworm and curious teenager, she would indulge in flights of fancy during those long after-school hours without television or computer. Following a career in biology and a long job as wife and mother, she returned to graduate school. During her professional life she devoted herself to writing articles in her field of clinical social work. With the departure of children for their own lives, Gloria returned to her early love affair with writing. Now the passion consumes most of her days, resulting in the publication of eight books.

Book preview

Gloria Hanson

2016

Two Guys in America

by

––––––––

Gloria Hanson

Copyright © 2016

––––––––

ISBN  10  1523347325

EAN-13  978-1523347322

All rights reserved.

This material may not be reproduced

in  whole or in part by any means,

electronically or in print without

written permission of the author.

Acknowledgements

Thank you Edward Robinson for your willingness to share your wisdom and experience with me. You helped me understand how men, and particularly black men, think and behave in our American society.

Where would I be without the technological help from my friend, Martin Snyder and the invaluable knowledge, support and editing skills of Kelly Ferjutz? Gratitude to Ty Drago for putting all the pieces together for the front cover.

And finally, I want to give credit to my late husband, Richard, who, after fifty five years, led me to a greater understanding of what it means to be a compassionate yet conflicted white man living in the USA.

Two Guys in America

Springtime in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania in 2002 was a cornucopia of sun, breeze, blossoms and benevolence. Gone was the icy cold of winter, the grey skies and salted, pot-holed streets. Philadelphians were a happy crowd as they shed their puffy down coats, boots and long underwear and donned light spring jackets, jeans and sneakers. Moods lifted as they greeted the new season, hoping that life would be easier and gentler, family and friends might adopt a re-vitalized spirit, and although rain would fall and humidity would rise, life on the planet would improve, especially in this city of brotherly love.

The South Philadelphia High School reunion of the graduating class of 1952 was the main event of the season for residents of this Philadelphia neighborhood. The school on South Broad Street had been set up as a boys’ manual training or technical school for the mostly Italian and Jewish immigrant children who were thought to be good at working with their hands. The building was built in 1907 by the Board of Education for the boys but was then expanded in 1914 to house more students while another building in the same design was built for the girls, where an open field at 10th and Bigler streets became an athletic area around which sports program would be developed. The surrounding neighborhoods were home to children from different walks of life. Small African-American and Asian groups hovered in the area rounding out the mostly low-middle income community. This was the proverbial melting pot, an experiment in integrated living, or at the very least close-proximity living. 

The first meeting of the fiftieth year reunion took place at 8PM on a Saturday in the gymnasium of the high school. About one hundred people had shown up for this event, the initial party of the weekend; and although grey hair and stooped shoulders dominated the crowd, the guests were smiling, joking, straining to read the name-tags and roaring in delight when they remembered a classmate or recalled a humorous event, tickled by the sight of the familiar face or gesture. They did not notice the surroundings that had weathered many an assembly of raucous students, the stained benches and leaky windows. At first glance it appeared that there were more women than men. Then, who knows, since more women had dyed their hair and stood out in the sea of gray.

Two men standing to the side of the crowd appeared to be onlookers as the classmates swirled around them. Outsiders? Abandoned spouses? They caught each other’s eyes and stepped back in startled surprise.

Cecil Porter, is that you? the tall, white-haired man with piercing brown eyes exclaimed.

That’s me. I think you’re John, the geeky Italian kid.

You got it, John Ricci. We went to this old high school many years ago, and it’s my first time back. How about you?

Oh, this is my first reunion, too. Been too occupied with life to attend any others.

The heavier, darker-skinned gentleman wearing the neatly pressed white shirt, grey suit, striped tie and immaculately polished black shoes looked at the name tag to confirm his guess. They shook hands and kept the personal distance that men of their generation prized while they continued to size each other up for signs of wear and tear.

John stood out as a casual dresser with the black silk tee shirt and rumpled tweed jacket and khaki trousers. His crowning jewel, his white hair, was neatly trimmed and a source of pride to this man whose many friends had lost their hair or lived with wisps or comb-overs.

It’s so good to see you, Cecil. I think of you often – our ferocious pickup games and our sneaky snatching of my old man’s stash of Budweisers that he kept in the basement. We lost touch so it’s good to be able to catch up.

Is that all you remember? I recall a few more daring escapades into the forbidden world of South Philly.

A voice over the loudspeaker announced that dinner would be served shortly and that all diners should start looking for their assigned tables.

Let’s try to meet later. If we lose each other tonight, take my card and call me. We’ve got to get together.

Will do.

That reunion in 2002 was in stark contrast to the ten-year reunion of the class of 1962. In the sixties the composition of the returning classmates reflected the basic Caucasian make-up of the neighborhoods surrounding the school – Italians, Polish, Irish sprinkled with a few Asians and African Americans. As the white migration to the suburbs steadily increased in the succeeding decades, the makeup of the neighborhoods changed to turn the previous character in the opposite direction. Now the black population far outnumbered the other groups.

It took Cecil a few weeks to get that card out of his suit pocket and call John. He had been hesitant to pursue the relationship for fear of being branded a loser by his former high school buddy whose family had moved out of South Philly to pursue the American dream in Manayunk. The Schuylkill River had been a barrier to those old friendships, and the skin color variation added to the difficulties in maintaining relationships. Manayunk was white working class with a hesitancy to allow people of color into the neighborhoods.  Now he wondered whether John had moved even further from inner city Philadelphia. He, on the other hand, had ended up living close to his family’s row house home in the old neighborhood.

Oh, what the hell, I can handle this. I’ll call him. If I don’t, I’ll be giving in to my shame and regrets, and it’s taken me all this time to stand up straight.

Chapter 2 The First Meeting

John was the first to arrive at Joe’s Coffee House on Ninth Street in South Philly. He sat in a booth and ordered a cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin. Dressed in his usual casual khakis and worn woolen cable knit sweater he looked respectable but not fashionable. He could not help but wonder whether Cecil would show. He had not seemed too interested to re-connect at the reunion. John, on the other hand, was looking forward to meeting his old friend and getting re-acquainted. Why? He wasn’t quite sure. Was it because he felt guilty about moving out to the suburbs and forgetting his buddies? Was it because he had no African-American friends, only black work colleagues or casual acquaintances? Was he rummaging through his past to tie up some loose ends? Did he want to be cool and feel less alienated from his countrymen? He didn’t know for sure, but all of the thoughts running around in his head seemed possible and probable.

As he looked out over the crowd having their coffees, he noted that there were folks of every size, gender and color. Here it was – genetics in action. He taught Biology and Biochemistry at Drexel University and tried to imbue his love of the subject to his undergraduates. Perhaps he would imbed some of his observations of the old neighborhood into his discussion of skin color. He could use statistics and studies, but hearing about getting down and dirty in their own town might wake them up from their naps and homogenous enclaves.

Cecil opened the door and scanned the crowd, immediately spotting John in a corner booth. He took a deep breath and walked towards him smiling and offering his hand. No cultural knuckle bumps in this exchange. Cecil found himself feeling happy to see his old friend so he took a seat across from John and nodded to the waitress. He had not had breakfast so he ordered some pancakes and coffee. They made small talk to break the ice, and then settled into the familiar comfort zone they had enjoyed as adolescents.

So tell me, Cec, are you married? Got kids?

"I am married now to a nurse I met when I was in the VA Hospital. We have a daughter, Wanda, who’s now 18. My wife, Charlene, attended our high school but was in grade school when we were at South Philly High. How about you, John?

Well, I’ve been married since 1962 to my Irish sweetheart, Mary, whom I met while we lived in Manayunk. We have or had 2 children, but one died of a drug overdose at the age of 20. There I said it! My daughter, Margaret, a teacher in the public schools, is married but has no children.

"I’m sorry to hear about your son. That’s a tough one. I had a few kids before I married Charlene, but they have been distant from me since they