Beautiful Green Grass

By T.R. Connolly

The short stories in "Beautiful Green Grass" rely on communication by the characters to bring the themes of the story forward. Dialogue is always different. Dialogue can be guarded, as in the opening of the cover story when a landlord comes by to collect delinquent rent. For the two principal characters in the “San Juan River Inn,” one is desperate to recover her memory while the other will not leave until he helps her find what she lost. Dialogue is up and down, strong and weak, and not always equal. What helps even dialogue out is the ability of one or more parties to listen. In “The Tide is Turning,” Eddie Wheelwright is overwhelmed by the anger that Valerie Samson expresses, but it wakes him up.

Dialogue in short stories depends on the characters getting what they have to say out, without missing an old lady’s crystal clear “Memory” of what it was like to watch London being bombed at night. It means the younger listener needs to give this older lady the opportunity to bring those memories into the story at her pace. Dialogue also takes place in the mind, what the fashion designer says to herself on a night out in Paris as she is trying to remain calm when an older mentor comes on to “The Beauty Queen of Coamo.” A young reporter tells himself to be resolute in his fidelity – Sam Nichols finds temptation all around him in “Aftermath of the Afterparty.”

Conversation in a short story allows a tale to take place in a tight concise way. Anger, sorrow, and memories can all be brought forward in a short story through dialogue that enables its full development.

• Language: English
• Publisher: T.R. Connolly
• Release date: May 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005001025

T.R. Connolly

BECOMING AN AUTHOR:Most writers complete their careers before then turn 70. I'm a little different, I've got a lot of stories bottled up and they seem to want to come out now that I'm 71. You know what they say, 70 is the new 50. They could lower that a bit and I'd be comfortable. But seriously, this is not a bad age to begin writing. You learn a lot in 70 years and if you can put a sentence together you can probably get a good story told.After we curtailed the business, the stories started coming out. Why then? Probably because I had a fairly singular focus on making a living and supporting my family. "The Adored" is first book to get completed from that stream of stories; there are two more novels nearing completion and a book of short stories.PROFESSIONAL CAREERThomas R. Connolly was Managing Partner, Thundercloud Consulting Group and formerly an executive consultant in IBM's Higher Education Consulting Group. He aided organizations in aligning their business processes with their strategy. He is an employee relations expert with significant experience in HR re-engineering, policy and organization development, and employee/management communications. His article, "Transforming Human Resources", was the cover story of the June 1997 issue of Management Review.Mr. Connolly's prior IBM roles include Principal, Organization Change Competency, IBM Consulting Group. Mr. Connolly co-developed IBM's Organization Change methodology, developed IBM's worldwide Organization Change Competency team, taught the Competency team the methodology and mentored the team on assignments with clients. He also developed the Organization Change Intellectual Capital (IC)) team and built the initial IC data base. Previous to that assignment Mr. Connolly was Program Director, Human Resources Development, IBM corporate staff. He was project manager for IBM's human resource re=engineering efforts and was also responsible for the HR organization having the capabilities required by line management.Mr. Connolly attended Northeastern University, where he majored in management. He completed his master’s degree in Organization Development and Human Resources at Manhattanville College. From 1995 through 1997 Mr. Connolly served as president of the Human Resources Futures Association. He was a member of the management advisory committee for Binghamton University's School of Management.COMMUNITY INVOLVEMENT:-Mr. and Mrs. Connolly funded the high school education of 40 boys from Accra, Ghana-Mr Connolly created and taught a Management Development Program for the Chicago Urban League executive team.-Mr. and Mrs. Connolly endowed a scholarship program at Catherine Laboure School of Nursing, Dorchester, Ma. to support single working mothers seeking a career in nursing.

Book preview

Beautiful Green Grass

Short Stories

T.R. Connolly

Copyright © 2021 by T.R. Connolly

Smashwords Edition

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 prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. The names, places, characters, and incidents either are from the author’s imagination or are used factitiously.

For Kathleen

Short Stories

Beautiful Green Grass

Aftermath of the Afterparty

The Beauty Queen of Coamo

The Honey Truck Man

The Weeks Bridge

Two Ladies on a Bus

A Playdate for Papa

The Realm of Black Butterfly

Home, to the Amazon

The San Juan River Inn

How Julia found Vito

Café Carnaval

The Tide is Turning

Memory

Beautiful Green Grass

Ma, Lenny’s coming up the stairs, Emily Wills said.

Get away from the window! Don’t make a sound, Doris Wills commanded in a loud whisper.

Leonard Crane went up the five steps of the house at 302 McDougall Street. He pushed the bell that made no sound. He knocked on the door, three reasonable raps.

Leonard stepped back and turned around shaking his head. He looked across the street at the burned out house. Still standing, he said to himself. How long now, he thought? Two years? The fire was 2 years ago and they still haven’t taken it down.

The Smith house fire at 303 McDougall Street, reflected the name the neighbors pinned on homes that had been lit up and were still standing, naming the last family to have lived there. On either side of The Smith house fire were empty lots of beautiful green grass. Then there was the Johnson house fire just up the block at 247 McDougall and one block the other way, the Branson house fire at 348 McDougall. All still standing, all surrounded by empty lots of beautiful green grass, a cemetery for the other lit up homes that went before them.

Leonard continued to wait for Mrs. Wills to answer the door. As he waited the story of Detroit played in his mind. Here it was still reeling in 2019 from the job losses caused by the shift from American-company made autos to Japanese-company made autos. It was like a neutron bomb exploded: the houses and buildings remained but the jobs and people were gone. Except for parts of Detroit, like McDougall Street, where some of the people remained since they had nowhere else to go.

The decline began slowly with just enough poor workmanship over the years in American made automobiles that caused a revolt leading to the enactment of lemon laws. The Japanese autos had just enough quality control and competitive pricing that a tipping point occurred; once it started, it rained Nissans and Toyotas.

The unions were slow to react; in fact they never did react. The UAW watched as waves of layoffs just kept happening, like waves on a beach, each one eroding a little more of an industry under siege. The unions wouldn’t budge, they blamed it on poor management – no give-backs, no contact renegotiations. Management wouldn’t budge – poor workmanship by union workers, hourly wages too high, and exorbitant benefits. The two armies of the American auto industry, fighting each other on the beach as the Japanese imports poured ashore.

Then the unthinkable happened. Beachheads were established by the Japanese auto companies in the South, in non-union, right to work states. New modern plants went up in places like Spring Hill, Tennessee; Lincoln, Alabama; and Canton, Mississippi. State of the art manufacturing, good benefits, decent pay and job security. Not as good as Detroit, but better than anything the South had seen.

Like much of American manufacturing – poor management let it all slip away. When that was done, they gave the rest away – to the Chinese.

Outsourcing, offshoring, and technology transfers made up the language of the land. The farmers in China left their rural outposts, moved to instant cities and became manufacturers of everything the world needed. By moving whole industries – electronics, autos, computers, phones, textiles and more to Japan, China, Viet Nam, Thailand, Jordan, Egypt and the rest of the previous third world a new economic order emerged. America could no longer compete. The bosses at the top of American industry – all of them – surrendered. But with a little financial engineering they figured out how to be paid like ball players while losing millions of American jobs. The formula was amazingly simple. Revenue minus the cost of labor equals gross profit. If they could pay someone in China $8 a day rather than $200 a day in Detroit, then most of that gross profit would eventually flow to net profit. Big profits meant big bonuses for these titans of American industry and bigger stock options. Ball player salaries were here!

The final straw for the citizens of Detroit was the great recession of 2008. In the space of 4 years beautiful neighborhoods were emaciated by the banks. Lost jobs and unemployment insurance were exhausted so the banks foreclosed. Families moved from their former homes. All of the empty homes became targets: for gang bangers, for insurance scams or, just to feed anger, criminals lit them up. This past 4th of July there were 30 different house fires in Detroit.

******

Leonard knocked a little louder the second time. He looked into the side yard. Henry Wills’ car was not there. This was a good sign. When Henry was home the conversation tended to amp up pretty fast.

Mrs. Wills. It’s me, Lenny, he paused for effect. I know you’re home. I saw someone in the window.

Mama, Emily whispered from inside the parlor. He saw me.

Shut up. He’s bluffing, Doris Wills sneered at Emily. He didn’t see you.

I can hear you whispering in there, Mrs. Wills, Lenny said removing his ear from listening at the front door. He straightened up. Stepped back again. Greed is behind it all, he said out loud. This used to be a beautiful street.

It did, Lenny, Mrs. Wills said opening the front door as Lenny spun around to face her. She took a step forward. Leonard did the same and they embraced.

How long you been coming here, Lenny?

Must be 9 years now, give or take a few months.

How much you figure I paid you? she asked him.

More than it’s worth now.

Why don’t you burn it down, collect the insurance like everyone else? You can split it with me, Mrs. Wills laughed.

The insurance won’t pay up. It’s worth so little now. They fight every claim. Anyway, where would you and Emily and the big guy live? Lenny asked, then added, We’re stuck with each other.

She shrugged her shoulders, You want a cup of coffee?

I’d love one, Lenny said, and he took a handkerchief from his rear pocket, dusted off the top step, lifted his suit jacket up and sat down. A gentle breeze blew the beautiful green grass across the street.

Fifteen years ago, Lenny Crane had been an accountant with GM, one of a long row of bean counters along the south wall of GM’s Detroit-Hamtramck assembly plant on Grand Avenue. His team tracked the disappearing profits at the auto giant. One day it hit him. This business is going down the tubes, he recalled as he sat on Mrs. Wills stairs waiting for his cup of coffee. The memory was still as clear now as then. He was at a baseball game between the Tigers and the Orioles. It was between innings and he went for a hot dog and a beer. As he was coming back up the ramp to his seat he saw, down below, the entire financial hierarchy of cost accounting from his building. They were whooping it up, not watching the game, but hanging out by the beer stand. He could still see it. There were eight of them; each man had 2 beers in hand. He stood watching; far enough away, masked by other passing fans, he would not be noticed; near enough to overhear their drunken discussion. Here’s to the Japs, one shouted, raising his cup. The financial planning manager added in, They’ll own us all in 3 years. Laughter erupted. They own us already. Hilarious; they roared.

As they went on like that, Lenny made his way back to his seat. And the black cloud that emerged that day got darker. The Orioles beat Detroit 18 to 0.

Three years, he said in his ball park seat. I have three years, he said out loud on Mrs. Wills stairs, remembering his decision.

Mrs. Wills came out with two mugs of coffee. You have three years for what?

Oh, I was day dreaming, and he tapped the top stair next to him. Mrs. Wills sat down beside him, to his right.

I’d love to have a day dream, Lenny, she said. What was yours about? Three years for what?

This, he said, gesturing outward with his left hand.

This? she frowned, looking at him. This isn’t a day dream. It’s a nightmare.

Now, he said, switching his coffee mug to his left hand and putting his right arm around her shoulders. Then, Doris, this was my dream. I was going to make it big as a land owner in Detroit.

******

That day following the loss to the Orioles, now 15 years ago, Leonard Crane created a financial plan for himself. Crane had always been good with money, saved religiously and had few bad habits. He lived modestly, having come to Detroit after graduating from Columbia University’s Stern School of Business with an MBA in accounting. He grew up in Stamford, Ct and befriended very wealthy sons of the 1%. But realizing he would never run in their circles, despite trying to keep up, he got practical. He remembered one professor in psychology saying, Move away from your mistakes. The professor was talking about the psychology of growth, of confident mental development. If you are always reminded, always haunted by your mistakes, you’ll never advance in life. You’ll never make the breakthroughs you need to make. Lenny interpreted that as he needed to move away from Connecticut and New York. Being around his friends, sons of the 1%, would be a big mistake. They had way too much money, Crane was way too needy, and he would never attain what they had.

Besides, the professor had said, Only a head case could live and work in New York. You’ll be consumed by greed. There is no end, once you’re infected, it’s incurable. Lenny realized he had been touched by the disease. In the company of his lifelong friends, the enormous wealth they possessed left him weak. Physically weak. He knew it would be bad to stay. So he left. The cure worked. He was satisfied working, saving and building a nest egg. And in those three years he continued working for GM but began building his modest real estate empire.

Mrs. Wills repeated her question again, when she saw Crane thinking, So you were going to make it big in real estate?

Big to me, Crane said returning from his thoughts. I wanted to be my own boss.

Mrs. Wills looked at him. You’ve been your own boss ever since I’ve known you.

Back then, 15 years ago, I was just a cog in a wheel that had broken. We had a flat tire. Anyway, back then I was frustrated. So I gave myself 3 years to invest in property. Home prices were dropping like crazy. I started buying from the banks, you know foreclosures.

Been there, done that, Mrs. Wills said knowingly.

Where’d you live before here?

We owned a place over on Cormier, nice cape, smaller than this. But nice neighborhood.

Good, he said, and Mrs. Wills frowned, I mean, I’m glad I didn’t buy your place, that would make it difficult.

More than it already is?

For you or me? Leonard Crane said, looking at Mrs. Wills.

How is it possible we lose our house, my man loses his job and we live in a bigger house?

It’s possible because you haven’t paid your rent for 8 months, Lenny reminded her.

Not because I haven’t wanted to, Doris Wills said to him, looking at him.

I know. But you need to be paying something. I’m a patient man Doris, but you need to meet me half way.

Can we do half? she suggested.

Half of $600 – I can do that, Crane acknowledged, smiling. I’ll view it as a good start, and now he laughed.

Thank you, Lenny, and she was grateful. Doris Wills was aware of her circumstances, aware of friends who had found themselves evicted after missing 3 month’s rent.

It’s the only way this whole thing works right now. One of my tenants 4 blocks over, you know what he told me yesterday, he paused waiting for her question, which never came. He told me, Get off my property. Can you believe it? Get off his property. Then I reminded him it was my house he was living in and it was time to pay the rent. Know what he said then? and this time he waited, his eyes begging Doris Wills to ask, what did he say.

What did he say? Doris complied.

He told me to Screw. Try and collect. I ain’t paid you in 6 months and I ain’t going to start now."

Jesus, I wish I could be that bold, Doris laughed.

"Then you’d be out on the street with him. I went from his house to my lawyers. There’s a new fast path on delinquent renters. No payment in 6 months, 30 days notice