Billy Tripod and the Eastside Band: A Novel

By Gerald Marier

Billy is a boy born to entertain, but bad fortune and hard luck stop his every move. He plods on, singing here, playing there- does a stint in the army, but never does he accomplish what he wants. A bad accident happens, and from there he moves up. Money comes in- he marries his love, and off in another direction, makes his mark.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496925251

Gerald Marier

Conveyor man is a story relating to the working man, covering many of the problems I encountered in my life. It is changed to suit him, but still tells much of the trials and problems one gets on the job. Conveyor man travels- covering all points of the globe as did I, and in that I wove much of his life. He marries, finds his niche and works on to the bitter end. It is there the story ends.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Billy was born in a house- it still stands today- 1246 Desoto Street on Saint Paul’s east side and it’s a dismal place- rundown would be a better word. The sidewalk is ripe with weeds, the steps are crooked, the paint is peeling, and if you look up to the right, the far window with the crack, that’s where Billy was born. Doctor Youngren officiated- he was affordable, and even if leaning toward the ether did the necessaries- tie this and sign that, you know, what doctors do. The room was sparse- one bulb burned from the converted gas light, the wallpaper was blue, as was the rug, and Marie, none the worse for the delivery held her Billy close. The day was June 13- a Saturday- the year was 1936 and tumultuous times were upon.

It was nearing war- like the one to end them did nothing, and in those times people learned how dear life was- as did Marie. Those old records were the prod. Many were the days she sang to them as Alek rocked Billy, tapping his toe as her melody deepened- it is safe to say that thru them the house rang of music.

Alek then- his first job at the meat packing plant lasted a month- as the returned WW1 vet worked his days in the New Brighton Ammunitions Plant- Marie stayed the housewife. In tune to Billy and Alek’s ways- happy to be home- a steady home- she cooked and cleaned while singing her tunes, giving Billy and Alek the life so desired-yes, those days on the road were but a memory.

In Billy’s growing days- in his by himself days, Billy mingled with friends- they were few in counting. There was the odd visit with the cousins, a day or two with Grandma and Grandpa, but Joey and Jack Peterfeso were his constants. They were twins, but you’d never know it- Joey was fat, Jack was thin, Joey swore, Jack didn’t, Joey was tow headed, Jack was dark- just total opposites.

Billy liked them though- he ran with them- they swiped apples and tipped over garbage cans, chased cats and sassed. Billy did once -— don’t you sass me, now go to your room and make a good act of contrition.

Yes Ma.

And up he went.

They played with guns and marbles- steelies were the shooters- actually Alek’s lifted ball bearings from the munitions plant. They had signal mirrors and whistles, knap sacks and mess kits- Billy was nearing six and those tumultuous times had worsened- America was at war again.

Billy’s home then was on Magnolia Street- they had moved up from the mansion on De Soto Street- it was just below Bunker Hill and up a ways from the railroad tracks. They hung out there and would hunker down as the engines labored by. It was chug, chug and smoke. Railroad flares were strewn about, some even worked, and men were there. Guards- mean ones as fleet as gazelles. No worry -— here they come, let’s run, and like gazelles they ran- it was war time.

At home peanut butter sandwiches were the stay- milk and nectar, sometimes cake- very little meat- then bye Ma, and Billy was off to explore.

Exploring was running the alleys- going way up to Forest Street, but now Billy was older. He gathered aluminum, tin foil and twine- anything of value because never lost was the fact that America was in need. It was dangerous out there- soldiers were dying- there was talk of cousins killed and bombs were dropped- evil people were about.

In those terrible days Billy was hearing things- Japs and Nazis were about, but never a one was seen. Black outs and searchlights made the nights, but never a bomb was dropped. Billy would peer thru the shade at old Mr. Barnes making his way up the street- white arm band gleaming like a beacon. Food was rationed and Billy went to the store with tokens. Marie said bring home meat. They had none and Abe the grocer, being generous, said take some potatoes.

But the memory that haunts Billy most is the lack of fathers. He had his- granted, Alek was not the peer God intended, but he was there- it was- had become- a mother’s society.

Mr. Peterfeso returned home before the war ended- he had a limp and a purple heart -— stand aside Marlene, he said, I’m taking charge, and Billy stared in awe- he was a big guy, and in that uniform, scary.

It was enough for Billy and he went home, thinking Dad wasn’t so bad after all.

CHAPTER TWO

Billy’s following years went well- the war had ended- Alek was civil- Ma was happy and he was in a good school, Saint Patrick’s on the east side. He lived in a comfortable house- there was meat on the table and milk in the fridge- what more could a kid ask for?

And with that post-war times approached.

Now fast cars sped along- there was still the jalopy, but those were disappearing- pretty women shopped the shops and there was much to buy.

Alek did- a new stove appeared, then a refrigerator -— no more ice, Marie said, and then furniture, lamps and chairs. Billy got a new bed with an adjoining cot- it was a magnificent change.

Gene Autry ruled the movies- twelve cents at the Capitol, and Billy went often. No longer was war the game- it was the fifty shot six shooter and the galloping horse- cowboy boots. Billy wanted a pair- Alek said no.

And no more were the tokens- no more scrounging for aluminum. It was name those cars -— that’s a Ford, that’s a Chevy. They had racy comic books. Billy got an allowance and could buy them. Marie found one -— get rid of it and go upstairs and make a good act of contrition!

Eeooh, better get up there, but after the good act of contrition he slipped it to Donald.

Donald- what’s to say about him- Donny Johnson- his new friend that moved in two doors away- a nice kid and true blue as the saying goes, but the trouble with Donny was, all he wanted to do was draw. No matter what, trees, faces, cartoons, he drew it all, and with a twist too. He has an older brother Max, a tall sinister kid with a built in scowl. His mother is alone- as in father gone, and when around he is trouble. That’s with a capital T- he is- was- a wife beating drunk.

Max would stand the guard -— Donny, you and Billy get out of here, the Old Man is in there, and across the street they would go. Never mind you could hear the thuds, never mind the screaming and swearing, it was happening and then he would leave- it was a sorry sight.

One time- after seeing this maybe four or five times- Max snuck up behind the Old Man, tapped him on the shoulder and when he turned, bam, right to the head. The Old Man went down like a ton of bricks and Max commenced to kick- kicking like gone nuts, and who came out?

None other than Alek- he stepped up to Max, touched him -— he’s done for, and then escorted him to Billy’s house.

They never saw the Old Man again.

Donny’s mother, Gretchen, took in laundry. Piles of it and she hung it all out to dry, and if windy you could hear the flapping from Billy’s house. You know what, Marie sent over washing and Alek toted it- it was like they helped Gretchen exist.

And during that change, the twins changed.

Billy started hearing there goes those damn Peterfeso’s. Then word came out they were stealing.

It was news to Billy- Joey had given him a pen knife and a harmonica. Billy thanked him dearly for being so free with the gifts, but a few days later- walking in the house munching on a Snickers bar- Marie said where’d you get that?

Joey gave it to me.

You dummy, don’t you ever take anything from those kids, they steal, and if you have anything else give it back, you hear! Now go upstairs and make a good act of contrition.

Billy finished the candy bar and did his contrition- he was getting good at it, then snuck the knife and harmonica on Joey’s porch. It was a sad thing he did- he had already mastered ‘far far away’ on the harmonica.

But those were minor things in changing times, Billy was changing too- he was noticing those flashy cars and fancy clothes- girls were wearing lipstick. Marie had a trace of it on- it looked good on her, and Billy was growing. Not by leaps and bounds, but he was taller than Jack now. No where’s near Donny, as he has those six foot genes, but the girls were at his level, and speaking of them, which now he was starting to notice too, he struck up a conversation with Annie Lonetti.

Annie lived across the street and was pretty- he sauntered over leaving the mower with a half cut row -— hi Annie.

Hi Billy.

He stood stupid -— who cuts your grass?

My dad does, why?

Just wondering -— it sure looks nice.

They talked at her gate for a full ten minutes. She was in his grade. She lived across the street. She went to the nine o’clock mass, same as Billy, and he knew nothing about her.

Would you like to walk around a little?

Yes Billy, I would.

They had malts at Nelson’s drug store and Billy escorted her to the movies- the Capitol only a block away and they would sit close as the movie played. Annie invited Billy over for dinner and they dined on ravioli. It was good and smelled even better, something totally new to Billy. Come over tomorrow, Ma will make us pancakes, Billy asked, going for it.

Annie went over -— these are good Billy, she said, after downing two, can I have another?

It was Marie’s call and the spatula went stirring.

In a month they were friends- close friends as in kissing and everything, and hand in hand they marched down Payne Avenue- it was the epitome of growth.

Sorry to say, not to last.

There was something shady going on in the Lonetti household. Alek had hinted and Marie would peer thru the blinds, but Billy only saw Annie. And then about ten one night up pulled a moving van, and in minutes hustle, bustle, bam. The lights went out and Annie, along with her mother and brother, followed in the car as Mr. Lonetti rode away in the van. They had emptied the house and all was gone.

Where did they go Dad?

Who knows, he was gambling and owed money. I guess the bank took the place.

Oh.

The next morning Billy peeked in their window. Yep, the house was empty.

Shortly after starting the eighth grade things took another turn, Alek got sick and Marie parked at his side. What a dilemma for a growing boy to go thru- what to do? Park beside and hum those tunes, take up with the twins, talk to Gretchen, as Donald had upped his way to shining shoes on lower Payne?

Billy did none of that, just made his way to school hoping for better days.

In that mood, he moped thru the lessons. Math meant nothing- English and geography were worse- he did his lessons waiting for the bell to ring. Then what? Back to Gretchen and maybe sort laundry, go home and listen to records?

It was a predicament for sure, and then Sister Mary came to his rescue- she called for music class.

Billy groaned- music class was twenty minutes of ‘row row row your boat’ as the finger tapped the tune. He started in singing low- just tapping away- when suddenly something came over him, and to the gasp of Sister and the silence of the class Billy belted out the first verse of ‘slow boat to China.’ It was loud and clear and Sister Mary was at his side.

William La Valle, well, I never, don’t you ever hold back in my class again! Now go see Father.

And to the giggles of the class- to the stare of Donny and the hoot of the Peterfeso’s, Billy made his way to the office. Was he to be punished- was Marie going to two-step him home?

No, for his punishment he had to join the choir.

Billy went reluctantly- after all, it was punishment, and he entered the sacristy with head hung low, said hello to the director, Mr. Teeters, and from then on was in his element.

They sang the songs of the mass, the Kyrie and Benediction- then it went beyond that- with Billy singing alto the choir took a new direction.

Now with a new and needed voice they branched out. Sure, the mass was sung, but after that everything from ‘amazing grace’ to ’harvest moon’ was done. Mr. Teeters was direct and knew talent- who to point at when the note went flat- Billy was pointed at once and it floored him.

So away they sang- things getting more interesting every week- more adept every week, and after three months of good time choir Mr. Teeters worked them up to a recital. It would be in the church. No mass, no prayers- just sing the tunes of the day and a few oldies for the vets. Billy sang the lead and Alek and Marie had buttons out to there- they were proud of their boy.

Sorry to say- that too was not to last.

As graduation approached Alek got worse, now depressed and hating life, he withdrew and Billy and Marie watched close as he worsened- it was sad times and Billy was to bear the brunt.

Billy, Dad and I need some time alone, Marie said, after it was obvious, Auntie Lucy called and they need help on the farm -— they want you to spend the summer with them.

Gee Ma, the summer?

But Ma had said and Billy went up to his room knowing it was no request- he was going to the farm.

CHAPTER THREE

The old La Valle farm that Alek left years ago- one hundred and sixty acres still in the hands of Uncle Marcel and Auntie Lucy- is located five miles north of Hugo on drained swamps acquired years ago from land grants. According to the old folks -— if you could make it pay, it was yours. If not, some other poor soul gave it a try. Evidently the La Valle’s are making it pay, because they’re still there today.

Anyway, with that bit of history known they welcomed Billy with open arms and fresh biscuits. Auntie Lucy took his grocery bag of clothes, threw them on the porch and then cousin Freddie led him off to see his new calf. Alek talked to Marcel for a minute, waved, and then drove off without even getting out of the car. That was it, wham bam gone, and Billy watched his disappearing trunk -— "bye Dad thanks," and then toed dirt all the way to the pen.

Freddie’s smelly calf- he was so proud of it- this scraggly thing plastered with shit and standing in even more. He’s got the scours, Freddie said, he’ll be better tomorrow then Dad’s gonna castrate him. I hear you’ll be here all summer.

All summer- no choir, no Donny, no Peterfeso’s, Freddie and calf shit -— nice calf Freddie, Billy said, overcome by the smell, too bad you’re gonna cut off his balls.

Huh, oh we don’t need another bull.

And Billy looked at Freddy as Freddy looked at him- he was on Freddie’s land until Alek picked him up -— why don’t you need another bull? he asked, thinking maybe not.

And by the time they got to the house Billy knew more about bulls, cows and heifers than a thousand city kids- Freddie was still talking as they kicked off their shoes.

The farm- that old home place Alek fled years ago- for Billy was the ultimate of gone. That said, his first days went good. He learned, ate up a storm and just plain followed, but as in all times away things were bound to happen- within the week he made his first of many mistakes- he whizzed an S on the barn wall.

Well, unbeknownst to him it wasn’t only Freddie he was impressing, it was Margie too. She had seen it all, and good by the look of it.

Freddie, Margie seen me, Billy said, zipping up.

Margie sees everything, Freddie answered, in a serious tone, and then buttoned his up and walked away. Billy followed, but worried- something had started.

Even so life goes on- farm life, but Billy was no stranger to it. He knew they planted corn- that they had cows and chickens- pigs and geese, but to actually farm- to be there from dawn to dusk. No, not a clue, and as the city kid, every day was a new day.

He drove the tractors- they had three- he ran the milking machines- they had four- he hauled feed and cleaned the barn. He did everything asked and did it willingly, still, there was always that underlying thought- what’s going on at home?

An unknown, and with no word whatsoever the days progressed. It was hitch up the plow, un-hitch the plow- hook up the cultivator, un-hook the cultivator- eat and work, sleep and eat again, and did they ever eat.

Billy had two bowls of cereal for breakfast- big bowls with fresh warm milk, and then washed it down with coffee. Then he went to the barn- it was milking time.

After milking was over, the main breakfast- which was anything left over from the night before- was served, and you guessed it, more warm milk with another round of coffee.

Thru the meal they talked over the day. Who would plow, who would cultivate and whose turn it was to go to town- that was a big one.

At around eleven they wandered in for dinner, meat potatoes and gravy. All served hot and all with milk, but this time it was cold- Auntie Lucy had put ice cubes in the glasses.

Then the long day was ahead, but at two in the afternoon Auntie drove out to the fields with nectar and cookies. Billy never even shut off the tractor, just drank and munched as the earth moved around him.

They came in as the cows wandered to the barn, and that was for the main meal- supper, and it was everything all over again, only this time cooked fresh. They ate it all- even had seconds, and then it was out to the barn for the evening milking and final cleaning.

After that it was relax with cake and ice cream while listening to the farm report on the radio. Would you believe by morning Billy was starving and nobody was fat- not even Auntie Lucy.

That was the food, go further and Billy learned chemicals- he had to- there were, without exaggeration, enough chemicals on that farm to support a war. They had weed killer that left the ground brown. They had fertilizer to mix with water, fertilizer to mix with seed, fertilizer to mix with fertilizer, and Marcel did it often.

One time he used the wrong mix and the corn dropped over like a limp noodle. He made a frantic call to the fertilizer expert and a week later spread on a new batch. The corn had grown a good three inches between and it stood up like an L. The farmers came from miles around, they though Marcel had done it on purpose. Bottom line for Billy was, when it comes to chemicals he washed his hands before he took a leak!

And work- there was enough work on that farm to support a prison, and all done with gas. The farm was home to those three tractors- a spanking new Oliver with wide front tires, a John Deere and Freddie’s ageing Farmall, a Ford pickup, an old Chevy stake box truck, two cars- both Nash’s- a war surplus generator- no muffler, and two single cylinder gas motors to run grinders- the only thing missing was a lawn mower.

Once a week the tobacco chewing truck driver would pull up to the big red tank by the driveway -— how ya doing Marc, and then pump in a million gallons.

There Marc, that should hold you for a while, and then away he’d go. Off to the next farm I guess.

Billy learned how to drive- he was there for that and had tractor ass within the week- it was a good feeling. He could watch the earth turn like waves and feel the power as the tractor snorted. He drove the pickup on the blacktop. It was only from the driveway to the far field, but it was on the main road and he felt trusted.

Now that’s a big thing too- to be trusted. Marcel (they dropped the Uncle by the first week) was the most laughing, best teacher, best driver and most trusting man around- he was great to be with.

And for that Billy worked.

It didn’t seem like work- he was enjoying himself and was one of the hands. On the farm that’s a big thing. Auntie Lucy was one of the hands- she fed them, consoled them and made sure all was well, and she slept with the boss- nothing is better than that. Freddie was a hand. Tractor driver, tank cleaner and silage hauler- he amazed at every step and he had that un-canny sense of danger -— look out, she’s gonnna kick, be careful, it’s gonna move, he was always right and put it nice.

At first Billy tried to find the irony of being nice- that no one really is- Freddie was. They never got to be brothers- no exchanges of personal things or thoughts- just trusting cousins with no real commitment.

Margie was a hand- she drove the tractors and ran milking machines- fed the cattle and gathered the eggs. She was at home in the kitchen as well as the field- it’s safe to say, she was farm clear thru.

It wasn’t long after Margie got that good look on the barn wall she came for a better one. Billy was on the Oliver in the far field, cultivating away without a care, when up pulled Margie on the John Deere. She ran him off the row and stopped.

Show it to me, she said, shutting off the motor.

What?

Billy wasn’t about to shut off the Oliver.

Take it out, I want to see it.

Here?

No, over there on the road- now take it out.

Billy shut off the Oliver and climbed down, there was no saying no to Margie, and as she looked he opened the buttons. Not good enough and she stepped closer, pulled his pants loose and yanked down his shorts.

The cool air hit and he came to attention- then started to grow, and grow, and grow. Margie looked with eyes like saucers, and at his largest moment, she flipped up his shirt, gave that evil twist to the belly, jumped on the John Deere and was gone.

Billy stood there exposed to God and everybody- had this happened?

It sure had and he stuffed him back in his pants, fearing for tomorrow.

Tomorrow came- it never does, but this one did, and Billy was back on the Oliver as Freddie pulled the drag on his Farmall, then there went Margie and Marcel down the road. Marcel honked- Margie waved the finger and they were gone. She likes you, Freddie said, nonchalantly, remember, I’m dragging so leave me plenty of room. I don’t want to hook you.

The next day, deep in the silo, with not a sound or soul around, Billy saw the most heavenly body a kid entering high school could see. Down below was silky and black, slender hips and breasts of a certain pink were above- it was a package, but only a look, and Billy was to learn that when Margie wanted a look, she got a look. When he wanted a look it was up to her, there was no ifs ands or buts about it.

I know what you’re thinking- well, that never happened. They never touched- they looked and they talked. Margie was in awe of Billy- saw him as the cousin in the know, but she had to ask -— Aunt Marie is part Negro, she said, then after a hesitation -— Billy, what’s it like?

It was a good question, and coming from Margie one to answer -— I don’t know Margie -— I guess I never think of it, why?

A question for a question -— Dad says they were entertainers, Margie said, evading the why, that Aunt Marie could really sing- do you sing?

I was in a choir.

Billy, you know your Dad is really sick. Something else she had to say.

Yea -— I know.

I like you Billy.

I like you too Margie -— what do they say about Dad?

Not much Billy -— he’ll get better. Dad said he left the farm to join a band, I think it hurt him.

He met Ma.

And it was left there.

Toward the end of the summer everything was growing- Billy was too, both in height and pounds. The corn was high, the hay was ready for the third cutting and the calves were grown. Now that is something to see- those scraggly things spotlessly clean and frisky. It made life on the farm, seem, in a way, Godly. The only thing wrong with that- time for Billy was ending.

He started hearing things- things like school will be starting- what a good summer we had. All past tense words and then -— your dad is picking you up on Sunday.

It came, even if expected, as a blow, and Margie excused herself and went to her room. The table was quiet for a while, and then Marcel said "Billy, you were a lotta help. You know we planted an extra forty acres of corn this year. That’s my cash crop and