Pure Dirt

By Francis Adams

Henry Abbott is growing up in South Trenton, New Jersey during the 1960s. He attends St. Mary's Byzantine Catholic school and sells newspapers on Sunday at his father's service station. He meets Danny, who leads him on an adventure to the abandoned Bow Hill mansion, where Napoleon Bonaparte's brother, Joseph, the King of Spain, had once lived with his beloved, Anette, a commoner who worked in a tie shop in Philadelphia. Her ghost is rumored to haunt the estate in search of her lost ring. A floundering basketball player, Hank plays on the school team, along with his younger brother Jeremy, because his father, Joe, is the team coach. The Abbott family moves to the suburb to care for Henry's grandmother, and his enrolls in the public school system. He meets Jack Malloy, an eccentric English teacher who conducts his film study class like a major Hollywood studio. Henry learns the art of filmmaking when he joins the Filmnuts. The Filmnuts congregate in the Nutroom, a teacher's prep room attached to Malloy's classroom, preparing their Super-8 films for the June festival assembly. He meets Pharo, who first bullies and then befriends Henry, and Jane, an artist whose creative talents he admires.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098327071

Book preview

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Email: [e-mail]

Back Cover: Curt Teich, Inc., 1943, Public Domain.

Copyright 2020, Francis Adams

Print ISBN: 978-1-09832-706-4

eBook ISBN: 978-1-09832-707-1

Contents

Chapter One: The Red Machine

Chapter Two: Red Hots

Chapter Three: The Red Barn

Chapter Four: The Red Team

Chapter Five: The Red Firetruck

Chapter Six: The Red Light

Chapter One:

The Red Machine

Rose rummaged through the junk on the side of the house looking for anything that might alleviate her boredom. Within minutes, her two young cousins who lived in the apartment upstairs greeted her.

What are you doing? Hank asked.

Nothing. Rose said.

Do you want to play red light? Hank asked again.

No. Rose replied, picking up an old window screen and examining it. There was a small hole in the top corner. She gazed at the front yard which was covered in dirt and scattered stones. Even the weeds refused to grow there.

I’ve got an idea, Rose exclaimed, Grab that bucket.

Hank and his younger brother, Jeremy, each took a side of the handle on the heavy steel bucket."

Bring it to the front porch. Rose commanded.

What for? Jeremy asked.

Rose pointed to the ground.

See this dirt? If we put it on top of this screen and shake it, the stones will stay on top, and the dirt will fall into the bucket. We’ll make pure dirt and sell it.

Rose scooped a trowel of soil and dumped it, shaking the screen back and forth until the small stones danced up and down, the fine powder of dirt sieved into the bucket.

Wow! Hank blurted, Amazing!

Rose, Hank, and Jeremy spent that afternoon scooping dirt from the yard with a trowel and shaking it clean through the window screen. The sun was hot, and they labored until they had a half bucket full.

Now what? Hank asked.

Rose looked around and picked up a snow cone cup from the litter along the fence.

We’ll put the dirt in here and put it in the fence out front. We’ll make a sign that says ‘Pure Dirt. Free Sample.’

Jeremy ran upstairs to fetch a marker, paper, lunch bags, and scotch tape. Hank and Rose fixed the cup of pure dirt into the fence bordering the sidewalk. The sales pitch was hung with tape above the cup.

The cousins sat behind the fence all afternoon waiting for anyone to come along and sample their marvelous invention. Their enthusiasm began to wane when an elderly gentleman came swaggering down the sidewalk. Spotting the cup, and the sign, he stopped and asked, What are you kids doing?

We’re selling pure dirt. Put your hand in the cup and see how soft. It’s 25 cents a bag, Rose pitched.

The old man was returning from a visit at the saloon. He placed his hand in the cup.

Would you like to buy a bag? Rose asked.

How much?

Only a quarter.

The old man reached into his pocket and handed Rose a quarter through the fence. Rose grabbed the coin. Here, she said to Hank handing him the bag. Hank walked to the gate and handed the bag of dirt to the man.

Thanks! he said.

You’re welcome, the man replied. As he teetered away, he burst out loud in a howl of laughter that caught Hank by surprise.

Hank and Jeremy dashed up the stairs and into the kitchen where their mother was stirring onions in an iron skillet.

Look at your hands, she scolded, What were you doing?

Selling pure dirt, Jeremy replied.

Pure dirt! Come over here, look at your hands, she commented turning the faucet at the sink. I don’t know how you kids get so dirty. I told you not to play in the front yard, she reprimanded.

What’s for dinner? Hank asked, attempting to distract her.

Hamburger hash, their mother, Willow, replied.

Can I have an ice cream cone? Jeremy asked.

No, you’ll spoil your dinner. Go to your room. I’ll call you when dinner is ready.

Hank went over to the small plastic organ in his room. He turned the knob on the side, and the plastic blower started to make a whooshing sound. Turning the pages of a music book resting against the stand, he pressed the keys following the numbers. Each note in the book was color-numbered to match the paper strip that ran along the top length of the keyboard. He picked out a familiar tune.

1 1 5 5 6 6 5 4 4 3 3 2 2 1

TWIN-KLE, TWIN-KLE LIT-TLE STAR, HOW-I-WON-DER-WHAT-YOU-ARE.

He felt accomplished, but quickly grew bored in a matter of minutes. In the living room, Jeremy sat and watched a Popeye cartoon on the black and white television.

Olive Oyl is so dumb, Jeremy remarked, she always gets caught by Brutus, and Popeye has to rescue her.

I think Wimpy is dumb. He always tries to borrow hamburgers using the same tired old line. Who would fall for that penniless beggar? Hank observed.

They watched as Popeye opened a can of spinach with a flame bursting from his corn cob pipe. He swallowed the spinach, and his bicep grew to three times its size. The guns of his battleship tattoo fired missiles across the bow of his skin. Brutus was in for it. Popeye landed a punch. Brutus landed in a pile of laundry.

I hate spinach, Jeremy blurted.

Come and get it!

The boys joined at the dinner table. A steaming casserole of hamburger hash, a bowl of mashed potatoes, and a bowl of canned asparagus awaited them. Willow poured each boy a glass of cold milk. Joe, the boy’s father, sat across the table in his stained green service station work shirt. His fingers were stained from grease even though he had thoroughly washed them with Lux.

What did you boys do today? the father asked.

Played in the yard. Mom, can I have juice instead of milk?

Joe lifted his eyes from his plate.

You need milk for strong bones. You don’t want to be weak, do you?

It tastes funny, the boy replied.

Finish your milk or you won’t leave the table.

Jeremy chimed in. This asparagus tastes funny. It’s mushy. I don’t like it.

You’re lucky that you have something to eat. There are children starving in China?

Hank looked up from his plate at his father, Can’t we send it to them?

Finish everything, or else!

Hank and Jeremy sat at the table long after their father had left the kitchen. Jeremy quietly placed asparagus stalks under the edge of his plate. Hank stared at the half-emptied glass of milk now approaching room temperature. He picked up the glass, pinched his nose with his left fingers, and downed the milk in a few quick gulps.

Can I leave now? Hank asked.

Willow walked to the table. Lifting Jeremy’s plate, she found a perfectly round ring of asparagus stalks. I told you to stop hiding food under your plate, she rebuked, Don’t tell your father. You can get up. Willow didn’t care for the canned vegetables herself. She filled the sink with soapy water, removed her wedding ring for safekeeping, and plunged her hands into the steaming hot dishwater.

On Sunday morning, Hank walked two blocks with his father to his service station. Hank was put in charge of sorting the Sunday papers and setting them in a row on top of the metal stand, growing excited at the prospect of earning tips selling papers to the customers. He watched as his father lifted the heavy garage bay door and uncoiled the long black hose on the ground around the pumps. He couldn’t resist slamming his sneakers on the hose causing the warning bell to ring in the garage bay. He pounded it repeatedly.

Hank! That’s enough! his father pleaded.

Can I have a Coke? he asked.

It’s too early. Wait until lunch, Joe said.

Hank walked over to the cigarette machine and pressed several of the illuminated buttons each displaying a different brand.

Get away from there, Joe said, that’s for grown-ups.

Joe leaned back in the swivel chair next to his desk. Hank walked over to the desk and picked up the colorful Sunday comics section of the newspaper. He paged through it. Li’l Abner was a lovestruck hillbilly. The Phantom was up to something mysterious. Silly little Nancy had a hairdo that looked like a buzz saw. Dondi was always smiling. What was he so happy about? Popeye! Better not mess with him. The bell in the bay rang, and Hank lifted his eyes. He left the office and walked to the newspaper stand.

Morning Joe, fill ‘er up with high test.

How’s it going, Ed?

Hank’s father pulled the back-license plate of the Dodge down, unscrewed the gas cap, cranked the handle on the gas pump, and inserted the nozzle.

What was the number yesterday? Ed Cummings asked.

419, Joe replied.

419…not even close, Bill said.

The numbers on the gas pump spun as the bell inside the pump dinged. The men walked into the office. Hank followed.

Have you been to the track? asked Joe.

I have the racing form in the car. I was thinking of driving down to Freehold, the tracks muddy, but I’ve been looking at the odds. Say, can you put one in for next week? I want 721 and 962…put two dollars on each.

Joe scribbled the numbers along with Ed’s name on a blank pad.

You need any papers? Hank asked.

Sure, Hank, get me a Trentonian and a Times, Ed said. Hank ran out to the stand and lifted the papers from the neatly stacked row. Here Mr. Cummings, Hank held the papers up, that’s seventy-five cents. Cummings opened his wallet and handed Hank a crisp dollar bill uttering the magic words: I just printed it. Keep the change.

Hank’s father took the bill and gave Hank a quarter from the register.

What do you say? Joe reminded his son.

Thanks, Mr. Cummings.

Don’t spend it all in one place, Bill replied.

The trip on the nozzle of the pump handle clicked, and Joe walked over to the Dodge. After hanging the pump handle up, he popped the hood and pulled the dip stick out of the engine block. He wiped it clean and stuck it back into its tube. Pulling it out again, he showed the stick to Hank.

See there? That’s how we know whether the car needs oil.

How much do I owe you, Joe?

Four dollars, Joe replied lowering the hood of the car gently.

Noon approached, and Hank traded a quarter for two dimes and a nickel. He walked over to the big red machine with white letters, stretched his arm up and put a dime and a nickel in the coin slot. Pulling the metal handle downward, the big red machine made a sound like a bowling ball knocking over bowling pins. Near the bottom of the machine, a green glass bottle pushed through a rubber door. Hank grabbed the cold bottle and popped the metal cap using the bottle opener on the machine. He lifted the Coca Cola to his lips and took a long swig. The carbonation caused him to belch. After finishing the cola, he sat on a stool and ventured into the sweet sugary ecstasy of his imagination.

Hank walked into the men’s room and began to undress. Little did anyone know that he had his blue tights on, and the red cape. He walked over to the Dodge, where Mr. Cummings was standing, and lifted the car into the air with his right arm. Change the tires? Hank asked. Setting the car down, he leaped into the