Firestorm

By Lew Kaye-Skinner

Near the end of 1967, after three summers with Forest Service fire crews, a young man is hired to take over for a deceased high school Math teacher. He discovers an interesting assortment of faculty, staff, and students, including one mixed race student with unusual abilities. By taking his interest in the student to the principal, the teacher sparks a firestorm of racism, bigotry, and hidden identities. With help from likely and unlikely allies, he finds the truth and fans the fire of his passion.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lew Kaye-Skinner
• Release date: Aug 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201051761

Book preview

Prologue

The nightmare had changed. Since the end of summer, it had blended two fires: the one from his childhood and the one with the animals. One when he burned his arm and one when his face was scratched. One started by careless kids and one started for revenge. He had never wondered why some people associate fire and Hell.

Sunday, November 26th, 1967

On the Sunday evening after Thanksgiving, Jack Abramson snapped the ring box shut when Mrs. Casselman called from the top of the stairs to say that dinner was ready. He wouldn’t have looked for an apartment that included Sunday evening dinner, but the basement room hadn’t exactly been a choice. Stillwell didn’t have many options for a young, single teacher. Jack put the ring box into a desk drawer and went up to the main floor. Outside the back door, a 1960 Falcon was beside his ‘55 BelAir. It was dark enough that he couldn’t tell what color the Falcon was. The teacher renting the other basement room hadn’t shown up yet, so the car must belong to one of the women who shared the upstairs.

As he came into the kitchen, Jack heard two women laughing. Mrs. Casselman came in from the dining room. Oh, good. You’re here. Everything’s on the table. Come on in so I can introduce you. She was Wonder Bread fluffy, like too many older women on TV.

The first introduction was Alice Mondegreen, Art teacher at Stillwell High. Maybe in her mid to late thirties, as stereotypical as an Art teacher might possibly be, with flamboyant clothing, dark hair tied back with a green and purple scarf, and huge, dangling daisy earrings. A younger woman smiled warmly and stood to shake his hand. Mrs. Casselman introduced her as Theresa Tedesco, Spanish and girls’ Phys Ed teacher. Young, slender, blonde. No rings on her fingers. Even with glasses, she probably had a full social calendar. An empty chair was beside each of the women on opposite sides of the table. Mrs. Casselman sat closest to the kitchen and directed Jack next to Alice. While Mrs. Casselman prayed, Jack felt something lightly touching his knee. He glanced quickly at Theresa, and she signaled for him to bow his head. Well, when in Rome... Before he closed his eyes, Theresa tucked a small Star of David pendant back into the neckline of her green and pumpkin-yellow angora sweater. A Jew bowing for a drippingly Christian prayer. Welcome to small town America.

As the food was being passed, Mrs. Casselman said, Jack, I don’t want to be rude, but I’m curious about your scar. Are you willing to tell us about it?

He resisted the urge to trace the fresh arc from his forehead, through his right eyebrow, and down onto his cheekbone. Got too close to a raccoon.

Whoa! Alice said. It looks like it almost blinded you! That would be horrible.

There must be a story, Theresa said, if you’re willing to share.

He stretched his neck. Why couldn’t Sharon have shown that much interest? With considerable prompting from the three women, the story came out. At the end of his third summer working on Forest Service fire crews, his team had been caught in a small firestorm. They had been trying to escape and rescue some wildlife when he picked up a raccoon. The raccoon struggled and scratched his face before running off.

And, Alice said, why were you available to take over for Fred in the middle of the school year?

He tilted his head from side to side to stretch his neck. I didn’t have a contract.

Why not?

Alice, Theresa said before he could answer, some of us like to keep a few things more private than you do.

That’s okay, he said. I have a couple of applications out.

Oh... Alice paused with a spoonful of green beans over her plate. Are lots of schools hiring Math teachers this time of year?

No. He accepted a platter of thickly sliced ham from Mrs. Casselman. Though his parents had given up on religion before he was born, his mother never served any kind of pork.

I hope you won’t be leaving as soon as someone else wants to hire you, Theresa said.

I don’t know. Couldn’t they tell he didn’t want to talk about it? Until Mr. Rasmussen called, I had kind of given up on teaching.

Before you started? Did you have a lot of interviews last spring?

He looked from Theresa to his plate of distinctively non-Jewish food and to her again. No. My girlfriend and I were going to apply together this coming spring after she graduates.

Oh. Theresa looked down, and a blush colored her cheeks.

These two are single, Mrs. Casselman said, but when Ian is here, he always takes the seat next to Theresa. She may not be single for long.

Theresa took off her glasses and set them beside her plate. Ian knows how I feel about football and Vocational Agriculture. He may not like that bias, but I’m a city girl. I grew up in Neosho over in Osage. Where did you grow up, Jack?

Coventry. My father teaches at the U.

What does he teach?

He drank some water before answering, wondering how any of them would react. Russian language and literature.

That’s not a language I’ve ever tried. Do you speak Russian?

Not really. I understand some when my parents talk to each other.

Your parents are Russian? Mrs. Casselman asked.

Jack glanced at her. Yes.

You might not want to mention that when Ian’s here. He’s rather leery of the Red Threat.

Some teachers at the school, Alice said, hate Commies as much as Negroes, Indians, Jews, and homosexuals. Some people aren’t happy without a threat to spit on.

I don’t know how bad those threats might be now that we’ve gotten the missiles out of Cuba, Mrs. Casselman said, but I’m thankful for our freedoms and blessings. If we don’t stop the Communists in Vietnam, how long will it be before we’re the only free country left? If they get to the moon first, we’ll be in their sights every night. Were your parents Communists before they came over?

No, Jack said. He doubted that it would be helpful to point out that the moon wasn’t in the sky every night. During the War, Dad was an interpreter for the American military.

If your parents come to visit, Theresa said, they might like to meet Sarge Davis at the Diner. He did some sort of top secret work in Korea.

His daughter, Alice said, is the closest we have to an Indian or Negro problem here in Stillwell.

She isn’t a problem, Theresa said with a slight frown. She may be lazy, but she’s also very quiet. And you may recall our janitor is black. He isn’t a problem, is he?

Bill isn’t lazy. Everybody loves Bill.

Now, now, Mrs. Casselman said, we don’t need to bring race relations to our dinner table.

It’s your table, Alice acknowledged with a nod, but Jack needs to know the situation so he can teach most effectively. Is LaDonna Davis in one of your sophomore classes?

I don’t have rosters yet. I’ve been working on lesson plans.

Lesson plans are too restricting, Alice said, and I grade my students on their art, not on some arbitrary exam. Jack wondered how arbitrary her grading was, but he didn’t ask.

The conversation had wandered to other topics well before Mrs. Casselman served dessert, lattice-topped apple pie. As she was bringing the pie plates to the table, Ian MacTaggart, who rented the other basement room, arrived in grey sweat pants and sweatshirt with Property of Robinson State College across the chest. He sat beside Theresa, and Mrs. Casselman introduced him as the Industrial Arts and Vocational Agriculture teacher and assistant football and basketball coach. He was a large, loud man with a florid complexion and blond flat-top, about Jack’s height but much beefier. As they were shaking hands, Ian squeezed as if he were trying to get juice out of a rock. What happened to your face? As Jack was repeating his response, Ian put an arm on the back of Theresa’s chair and dug into his food with the other hand. Alice filled in more details of Jack’s encounter with the raccoon.

Soon after Ian’s arrival, Jack excused himself to retreat to the basement. Mrs. Casselman said she had a jigsaw puzzle started in the front room if he wanted to take a break later. He thanked her, nodded to the others, and went downstairs. The letter he had started to Dr. Drake was in the center of the desk, beside lesson plans for the first week. Jack’s mother had insisted he should thank Dr. Drake for suggesting Jack to fill out the remainder of the school year. She knew more about such things than he did. Jack thought it was enough to ask his father to thank Dr. Drake, friends even though the Math offices and Foreign Languages offices were in separate parts of the Coventry U campus. Before Jack finished rereading what he had written so far, he crumpled it and tossed it into the waste basket with the other attempts. Writing a thank-you when he didn’t feel thankful wasn’t easy.

It was impossible to miss the noise of Ian coming down the stairs. The door to his room had been open when Jack went down. Apparently, Ian had much more stuff than Jack did. Of course, if Jack hadn’t moved rather suddenly in the middle of November, he might have brought a few more books and maybe a chess set. He could always correct the omission after the semester break. Ian banging on Jack’s door made him jump.

You going to shut your door all the time? Ian asked.

Jack went to the door to open it. I hadn’t decided, he lied.

Well, mine’s always open if you need anything or just wanna talk. Old Lady Casselman says you’re grading tests.

It seemed like a question, so Jack shook his head. Lesson plans.

Ian responded as if Jack had responded affirmatively. The little twerps have waited two weeks already since Freddy boy bit the dust. They can wait till after Christmas.

I don’t want things hanging over my head.

Use what Freddy boy left behind. Nobody’s expecting you to reinvent fire.

I’ll... look at that option.

Yeah. Listen. Ian glanced at the stairs and spoke more softly. You want some beer or... He glanced at the stairs again. Playboys, just ask.

Jack nodded. Thanks. Not while I’m trying to work. There were also house rules against alcohol and off-color literature. He wasn’t going to ask whether Mrs. Casselman thought science fiction was off-color.

Ian glanced over his shoulder again. You got the Davis girl in class, don’t you? Anybody told you about her?

The others told me a little.

Pretty hot stuff for a half-breed. They tell you she’s always naked under her clothes and goes completely naked when she ain’t here in town?

Jack shook his head with a frown. Wasn’t everyone naked under their clothes? That... didn’t come up.

Probably won’t give you no trouble. Old Freddy boy said she cheats, but all the other teachers say she’s just lazy. Too lazy for clothes is pretty lazy, but I ain’t gonna complain.

Ian went to his room, and Jack sat again at his desk with his door partly open. The Math II lesson plan happened to be on top. Was that the class with the minority student. Why should that make any difference in a Math class? With everything going on in the world, there were many much more important things to worry about. He seriously doubted the truth of what Ian said about her. He got the ring box out of the desk drawer and opened it. He really should take it back to the jeweler... like he had told his parents he had already done. Race and Vietnam were two of the things Jack and Sharon argued about. Two of many, too many! Maybe he should have paid more attention to their arguments. Their disagreement about race didn’t seem that major, but now she was engaged to Gary Knox, and he was outspoken on the other side, claiming Martin Luther King and all the other Negro leaders were taking orders from Communists and Jews. Gary would get along well with Sharon’s dad. Maybe that was why she called it off. Since grade school, Jack and Gary were on the opposite side of nearly every issue anybody ever imagined, and Gary was in the Army Reserve now.

According to the principal, who had interviewed Jack via phone, offered him a contract, and arranged for the room in Mrs. Casselman’s basement, Fred Martin hadn’t left behind any lesson plans. Maybe they weren’t mandatory if you were close to retirement. What had the classes and substitutes been doing for the last two and a half weeks? There might be reports from some of the subs. Most likely, he’d just have to ask the students and make it up as he went, like when a fire didn’t behave as expected or when a chess opponent made a strange move. The students weren’t likely to be much different from when he was in high school not that long ago. They would be able to tell he wasn’t much of a teacher. Maybe taking this job wasn’t such a good idea, even if it did get him away from Gary and Sharon and out of his parents’ house.

Monday, November 27th, 1967

Jack was going to drive to school the next morning, but Theresa told him – didn’t invite, told – that they were riding with Alice. Ian in white briefs, T-shirt, and athletic socks staggered into the tiny bathroom when Jack was getting his leather briefcase from his room. One of his father’s old briefcases. Part of Jack’s teacher disguise. Ian acknowledged Jack’s greeting with a grunt. Alice’s 1957 Plymouth Belvedere was slow starting in the cold morning, and Jack was afraid it was flooded until it kicked over. She turned the fan on high, but it still was blowing cold air when they got to the faculty parking area behind the school.

The first person they saw inside the school was the janitor. This is Jack Abramson, the new Math teacher, Theresa said. Be nice to Bill, or he’ll leave messes in your room.

Oh now, Miss Tedesco, Bill said with a big, toothy grin. He was three or four inches shorter than Jack, compact, bald with dark brown skin. You knows I ain’t never done no such thing. He wore a plaid shirt and patched bib overalls.

Pleased to meet you, Jack said offering his hand. You can call me Jack.

Oh no! The teachers here are all Miss, Misses, and Mister. He gave Jack a firm, warm handshake. Miss Tedesco’s one o’ the nicest, Miss Mondegreen, too, but you bes’ not let some o’ the others see you shaking my hand.

Jack frowned slightly. I always learned to treat everyone with respect, Mr....?

Corbet, Theresa offered. Jack’s going to help us remember our manners.

Well, Mr. Corbet, Bill, I’m pleased to meet you, and I’ll try not to leave messes for you.

That’s mighty kind of you, Mr. Abramson, Bill said, but you let me worry about messes.

You can see why we love him, Theresa said with a smile. Do you know if Mr. Rasmussen is in his office?

No, miss. I do believe he in the faculty lounge, havin’ coffee an’ seein’ how ever’one is.

We’ll take Jack there, Theresa said. Thank you.

You go on ahead, Alice said. I need to take these things to the Art Room.

You be wantin’ me to take ‘em there for you, Miss Mondegreen.

No, I’ll do it.

You wouldn’t know it from his act, Theresa said when she and Jack were a little farther down the hall, but Bill’s a decorated Navy veteran. He served in both World War II and Korea.

What’s he doing here?

Cleaning up messes and pretending to be ignorant.

In the faculty lounge – which was more a place to work than a place to relax – they found several people, including Harold Rasmussen, the principal. Jack had never before been in a faculty lounge to know if it was typical or not. Theresa introduced him to the room at large and then identified each of the others by first and last names and the classes they taught. Only Cedric Burley, the advanced Math teacher, and Madge Ferguson, the Home Ec teacher, responded with more than a casual greeting. Cedric said they would be talking more after Jack got settled in, and Madge said she lived in the Congregational parsonage across the alley behind Mrs. Casselman’s house. Jack had noticed the church when he moved in but paid no attention to any of the houses.

Before anyone could ask about Jack’s scar, the principal handed him a paper cup of coffee. Most of the others had ceramic cups or mugs, many with their names painted on them. That would make it easier to keep names with the right people. He took Jack out of the room and upstairs to the offices. Morning, Agnes, he said to the woman at the desk behind the counter, without bothering to introduce her. Jack assumed she must fit with the Mrs. Riley name plate. She reminded him of the nosy neighbor on Bewitched.

The principal’s office was dominated by a large polished mahogany desk with a telephone and leather desk set. Two large, wooden file cabinets and a set of bookshelves left scant room for two chairs for guests. Apparently, he hadn’t looked at the name plate on the desk. A piece of paper was taped over Rasmussen with ‘Ass-muffin’ written in black marker. Jack suppressed a grin as he set the paper cup beside the name plate.

The older man touched a button on the phone and said, Agnes, bring a coaster for Mr. Abramson’s coffee. He let up the button and said to Jack, I try to keep things orderly. With your first paycheck, you’ll be getting a haircut, won’t you? This isn’t California.

Jack had gotten his hair cut on the previous Friday for the first time since Spring. Though it had been quite long, he always kept it clean and neat. Yes, sir. I’ll be getting regular hair cuts. Twice a year was regular, if not frequent.

Very good. Ken down on Main Street gives a discount to teachers.

Jack nodded. Yes, sir. This guy with his cute little bow tie and smile that didn’t go all the way to his eyes was a living, breathing reminder of why Jack had never yet met a principal he liked. Before, he had assumed the principals were always on the side of the teachers. Now, he began to wonder.

Mr. Rasmussen gave him one of those smiles and noisily set a stack of several thick manila envelopes on his desk, not sliding them across to Jack. Fred Martin’s widow had brought them to the school. They were filled with ungraded homework, quizzes, and tests. Harold didn’t want to say anything against Mr. Martin, but he wanted Jack’s top priority to be grading the contents of the envelopes. Understand?

Jack glanced at the name plate. Yes, sir. That nickname was definitely going to stick in his mind.

Good. He gave Jack his teaching schedule and grade book with rosters and attendance but didn’t give him time to look at them. They were followed by the scant instructions Mr. Martin had left for substitutes and the even scantier remarks from the substitute teachers since Mr. Martin’s death. Finally, Harold stood and hugged the manila envelopes close. With a smile below a piercing glare, he said, Top priority?

Yes, sir, Jack responded with a nod. Top priority. Though he was only a few inches taller than the principal, looking down to his level was much, much further.

As Mr. Rasmussen ushered him to the door, Jack accepted the stack of envelopes. He left his untouched coffee on the corner of the desk. Maybe Mr. Rasmussen would notice it and see what had been done to his name plate. The name would stick in his mind, but that didn’t mean it should be advertised. He would have to do his best never to say it aloud... especially when any students might hear. Strange and awkward as it felt, he was on the other side of the desk now.

It was getting close to the first bell, and students were coming up the stairs. Jack made his way to the faculty lounge. Alice was there getting her morning coffee. Can I pour you some? she asked. I can drink the anemic stuff Mrs. C makes, but it won’t keep anyone awake. This may taste awful, but you won’t fall asleep in class. Her over-sized mug was painted with whimsical flowers in bright colors.

Thanks, but I don’t drink coffee.

This place might make you start. Did Theresa help you find everything you need?

She got me here. You both did. I want to find my classrooms before I try pretending to be a teacher.

Are you on the same schedule Fred had? He and I always had first period for work. I’m usually in the Art room, but I could show you your rooms.

I haven’t had a chance to look at my schedule. He slid the envelopes onto a relatively empty table space. Alice had guessed correctly about his schedule; it had ‘Mr. Martin’ x-ed out and ‘Mr. Abrahamson’ typed beside it. That was closer than ‘Anderson,’ a more common way people got his name wrong. His classes were in two classrooms, one in the morning and the other in the afternoon. Alice showed him the table where Fred used to work. No other teachers had claimed it, so Jack moved his things there. The table was well-supplied with red pencils, rulers, a worn sliderule, and a photo of an elderly woman, whom Alice identified as Mrs. Martin. She took the photo and promised to return for the classroom scouting.

Jack began opening envelopes to sort the massive pile of work. Nothing like starting way behind and with a handicap of missing a knight, bishop, and rook. At least the papers were already sorted by class. Most of them had only the student’s first name. His much larger high school in Coventry had required first and last names. Fortunately, the grade books had both. When a bell announced the start of the first period, three teachers hurried out, leaving only Jack and a woman working quietly with her back to the room. To make alphabetizing easier, Jack was writing last names on the papers. He didn’t remember the name of the minority student identified by Alice and Ian. Merry Ferguson – maybe the daughter of the Home Ec teacher – and one other student in the sophomore class had written their first and last names on their papers: LaDonna Davis. The name sounded familiar. Was that who Alice was talking about? Ian, too?

Jack looked up when an elderly ball of energy bounced into the room. You the new Math teacher? I’m Kermit Camp. Pleased to make your acquaintance. He offered his hand with an easy, warm smile.

Jack Abramson. He shook his hand and returned the smile.

Jewish?

Jack opened his mouth and closed it again. So much for not drawing attention to himself. My... family was.

But you’re not?

After what the Nazis did...

"Hell of a mess. We should have gone in sooner. Actually, we shouldn’t have imposed such a punishing treaty after the first war. I fought