George Washington Ate Here!

By Mike Ryan

 

Gordon Beckwith quits hockey, needs good grades, dodges a bully, likes two girls, and recruits George Washington to save his town from evil.

Gordon finds magic behind the library, but the director plans to wreak havoc on the town's Fourth of July. What will Gordon do to thwart such mayhem?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613093047

Book preview

Dedication

To Jen and Kevin, two blessings.

One

Tom Sawyer’s Twin

Abbie Fortune considered Gordon Beckwith the most immature boy in school. She heard some of the cool girls praise his male qualities of light brown hair, blue eyes, blinding smile, and dimples. She admitted to herself that he wasn’t ugly. She pegged him as another obnoxious jock who was in love with himself. But Gordon was worse than that. He was a clown.

Abbie and Gordon had attended different elementary schools, so she hadn’t met him until seventh grade when they were enrolled in Mr. Francis Wagstaff’s English class. Wagstaff always sipped from a large, green-and-black L.L. Bean water bottle. He was an aging thirty-year-old trying to lose weight and prevent his hair from receding. He drank water incessantly. The water diet didn’t shrink his waistline. It only increased his dashes to the men’s room.

One day Wagstaff flew out of class to the bathroom. Gordon slipped over to the teacher’s desk and loosened the lid to the bottle slightly. When Wagstaff returned, he reached for his trusty vessel. He tilted it and a torrent of spring water flooded his shirt and tie. The f-word was dropped. Other swear words would’ve followed if Wagstaff hadn’t he realized where he was.

Who’s the wise guy? he asked, his face a bright crimson. This lid was secure when I filled it this morning in the teachers’ room.

A few students twittered when they saw the top of Mr. Wagstaff’s shirt and tie matted to his body. A few coughed lightly. Gordon kept a straight face. None of his classmates ratted him out. Abbie debated whether to squeal on him because she felt bad for her teacher. She thought he was a good teacher and didn’t deserve the prank.

That didn’t stop Gordon. It only encouraged him. He hounded Wagstaff throughout the year.

One morning Wagstaff sat on a fart cushion, sending the seventh graders into convulsions. Another time his work bag was hidden in the metal closet.

The class almost expected Gordon to pull off another fool’s errand. Gordon wasn’t sure why he was doing it, but he felt he was enlivening the class. He was bored by grammar. He craved and liked the attention.

For several months after the Christmas holidays, a truce sprung up. Gordon dedicated himself to the hockey teams he was playing on. Before the end of school, he devised one last stunt to celebrate the end of seventh grade. He knew Mr. Wagstaff’s water bottle quite well, so when he accompanied his mother to the nearby L.L. Bean, he bought a water bottle like his teacher’s. While she was surprised by the purchase, Martha Beckwith assumed the bottle would be used during hockey season.

Gordon knew where his father kept the liquor in the house, even though his parents never indulged. The booze was kept for company. One night when his folks were out, he found an open bottle of vodka. He poured it in the water bottle and put in his school backpack.

Gordon’s English class was scheduled to meet first period. He knew Wagstaff liked to bring a big cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee to school first thing in the morning because earlier in the year, Gordon had seen Wagstaff waiting in his ancient Toyota Corolla in the drive-thru line at Dunkin Donuts.

On this warm morning when Gordon and his dad left the store, he noticed that Wagstaff’s car was well behind them. Gordon flew out of his dad’s truck and into the school. His locker was near his English class. He looked around and didn’t see anyone.

Abbie had walked to her locker at the opposite side of the corridor from Gordon’s. She saw him slip into Wagstaff’s room. She was suspicious from the start because there was a ten-minute home room before the first period class. Gordon had Wagstaff for home room. She looked to her right and saw Mr. Wagstaff waddling down the hall carrying his bag and his large coffee. Gordon slipped out of the room before the teacher saw him. He returned to his locker without his backpack.

Abbie said, Good morning, Mr. Wagstaff. How are you?

I am well, thank you, Abbie, he replied. It’s a hot one today. I’m glad I brought plenty of water.

Gordon couldn’t figure out Abbie Fortune. She was definitely weird and wore ancient black-rimmed eyeglasses and crummy clothes. She didn’t seem to have any friends. Teachers liked her because she was smart and rarely spoke in class unless she was asked a question.

Gordon’s back was to the class. He tried not to laugh. After home room ended, Wagstaff usually stood out in the hall to supervise the horde of students. That would be Gordon’s moment to change the bottles.

But Wagstaff hadn’t pulled out his water bottle. Gordon hoped he wouldn’t have to dig into Wagstaff’s work bag to find it.

First period started. Wagstaff reached for his water bottle. He had already polished off his gargantuan coffee, and now he was dehydrated from the caffeine. He gulped down several drafts of water.

A few minutes into class, he said, Excuse me, class. I’ll be right back.

Wagstaff turned down the hall toward the male teachers’ bathroom. The seventh graders sat listlessly without a word. No one was fully awake. The kids knew the end of the school year was within reach.

Gordon emerged from his desk with his new L.L. Bean bottle. He switched the teacher’s bottle with his replacement. Only a few students, including Abbie Fortune, saw Gordon pull the switcheroo.

Wagstaff reemerged. Sorry. He took out a handkerchief to pat his moist brow. It’s terribly warm this morning.

He resumed class, but the thirst remained. He reached for the bottle, thinking it was heavier than he remembered. He opened the lid and took a deep drink. As soon as the vodka poured down his throat, Wagstaff started to gag and heave. Vodka spewed from his mouth, wetting three students in the front seats.

What the hell! he coughed out. He struggled to control his voice. His perspiration continued unabated, his face flushed with fury.

Who did this? he shouted. He whipped out his hankie and tried to regain control. Someone contaminated my water. Who’s the wise guy?

Some students stifled laughter. Gordon had awakened the rest of the English class.

Abbie felt bad for Wagstaff. He didn’t deserve this. He wasn’t a bad teacher or a bad guy.

That Gordon Beckwith is a jerk, she thought. He’s an idiot.

The whole class will get detention until someone steps up. Wagstaff paced up and down the rows. The silence was palpable.

Abbie didn’t want to be a fink, but the entire class didn’t deserve detention because of one prankster. She dueled with her conscience about spilling the beans.

Meekly, she raised her hand.

Wagstaff said, Abbie, you did this?

No, Mr. Wagstaff.  It was Gordon Beckwith.

Some of the cool girls pouted at Abbie, but she didn’t care,

Wagstaff pointed at Gordon, his face aflame and his shirt drenched with vodka. Mr. Beckwith, you and I are going to the office.

Gordon was suspended for three days. Marty Beckwith was furious and put him to work cleaning the liquor store and picking up trash in the parking lot. Dad ran him ragged.

You want to be a wise-ass? his father cried. You’ll spend all your free time busting your hump for me, buddy-boy.

Although he was exhausted, Gordon willed himself not to laugh.

But Gordon had accomplished the prank of the year. He was lauded by the guys and some of the girls. Even as he was cleaning bathrooms for his father, Gordon wondered how he would top this in the eighth grade.

Two

The Great Proposal

T raditional libraries will become a relic of the past, said the library director, Marcel Jacques.

The five members of the board of trustees collectively gasped.

Jacques smiled. Don’t worry. The town library you grew up with will become extinct, but we will still have a better, different, modernistic library.

Louise Bennington, longtime chair of the trustees and the library’s best patron, interrupted the new guy. She had been outvoted three to two in her opposition to his recent hiring. Mrs. Bennington had favored hiring assistant library director, Claudia Fortune.

Mrs. Bennington disliked Jacques for two reasons: first, he wasn’t a townie, and he wasn’t a member of the current staff. Second, he was born in a foreign country—Canada. Jacques was born in Montreal, the youngest of four brothers. He was fluent in French along with German and Italian.

Not that Mrs. Bennington hated Canucks... she just despised Jacques upon first sight as a cocksure upstart. Despite his Canadian birth, Jacques had lived most of his life in the States.

She considered him a poppinjay, with his exquisite designer suits and expensive woolen sport coats, his meticulously trimmed black beard, his shifty dark brown eyes, and his olive complexion. Jacques also reeked of tobacco. She wondered if he secretly smoked in the back of the library, disobeying the state anti-smoking law.

She stood. She was a formidable woman at almost six feet, her height enhanced by the hats she wore constantly. What do you mean by a relic and extinct? she asked.

The director wasn’t flustered, but he was secretly peeved that this battle-axe had cut him off.

Our newer model will only encourage our patrons to visit us more frequently, replied Jacques. We will feature a coffee bar, a multi-media center for research and homework, and a performance hall for music and our lectures.

Mrs. Bennington locked eyes with the newcomer. We can’t ask the town to raise the annual tax rate just for this scheme. Residents already defeated a tax override for a new middle school and the renovation of an elementary school. How will you accomplish these grand designs?

We will get rid of the books and sell them, he said. Then he paused to await the reaction. We will conduct a vigorous fund-raising campaign.

Mrs. Bennington squinted her left eye. A library without books? I may be advanced in age, but I hope my hearing isn’t going.

It’s not.

How can you do this?

Oh, we’ll still have some books, but we will eliminate most of them.

How?

Two words: electronic media.

I’m still lost.

We will obtain most of our titles in e-book version. We will buy a good number of e-readers for our users. Many titles now are available as free downloads, especially the classics. Dickens, Shakespeare, and Twain are available at little or no cost. More and more people are using e-book readers like Nook, Kindle, and tablets. Printed matter is becoming extinct.

Mrs. Bennington said, Your proposal is quite radical, Mr. Jacques. You were hired by this board because of your successes at other libraries. The board would like to see this on paper.

Certainly, he answered. The proposal will be spelled out in writing.

Do you have any other grand designs to the building itself? she asked.

I think the back of library, where the reading room is located, should either be razed or redesigned to accommodate the changes that will be outlined in my grand proposal. It’s an eyesore and a health hazard.

Is it in that a bad a condition?

Yes, like any old building, it has its problems. It’s riddled with dust and mold.

I thought it was given a good cleaning a few years ago.

The room triggers my allergies.

She had no further questions. The other board members were either struck mute or just too tired to say anything.

The four other members were passively receptive to this proposal and were younger than their chairwoman. They were Dr. Lowell Aldrich, a veteran family practitioner, Mildred Martinez, a software engineer, Bernadette O’Dell, the local florist, and Yvette St. Pierre, a social worker. The four were dumbstruck by Jacques’ bombshell. This quartet filed out quietly for home.

Mrs. Bennington waited for them to leave.

She touched Jacques’s arm. She sniffed pipe tobacco on his sport coat sleeve. Marcel, I’m almost seventy. I didn’t think I could be shocked at this point in my life, but I am. Mildred, Dr. Aldrich, Bernadette, and Yvette didn’t know what to say. I’m not saying your scheme is without merit, but it is highly radical.

It’s been done before, he said. It’s not the first of its kind. A private high school in central Massachusetts wiped out most of its collection, installed e-readers, bought e-books, and built a café.

There’s something comforting about holding a book, she said. It’s tactile. You’re going to get rid of most of our books?

He paused. Yes.

A library without most of its books? Blood pumped into her cheeks.

Absolutely.

Are you delirious?

No, progressive. I can save money and increase use of our library.

I still can’t wrap my head around this. For a medium-sized library, I thought we had a good collection. We receive many inter-library requests because of it.

We do. We’ll just free up space and put them in electronic form.

Bennington was tiring. We’ll talk more about this later. Good night.

Good night, Mrs. Bennington.

Jacques looked at the old clock: 8:32. Assistant library director Claudia Fortune completed writing her notes of the trustees meeting. She had been shocked at first when her boss told her earlier in the day about his great plan to revamp the library. She was as surprised as the trustees.

She liked her library stacked with books. She was appalled that caffeine would be available at the library. Claudia was skilled in the ways of electronic media and knew e-books were becoming prevalent. Jacques’s plan had merit, but it was drastic. She was disappointed by his ideas.

Jacques asked, Would you like to go for a drink? I know I could use one.

No thanks, she replied. Abbie’s waiting for me.

He smiled. Another time then.

Claudia thought her boss was attractive. He dressed well and usually smelled great before his tobacco displaced his cologne. Even his casual clothes didn’t come from the local shopping mall.

He wasn’t that macho guy her husband, Jack Fortune, was. Jack was a beer connoisseur; Marcel a sommelier. Jack was addicted to sports, especially sports gambling. Marcel was addicted to his job.

Claudia knew Marcel was single, but she didn’t know if he ever had been married. Legally, Claudia was married, but she hadn’t seen her husband for years. His only recent accomplishment was making the top ten list of deadbeat dads in Massachusetts.

Claudia collected her notepad and put it on her desk. As she exited the library, she tried to picture a coffee bar on the first floor.

Nah, she said to herself. That’s not my library.

Three

The Library is My Second Home

The first time Abbie Fortune, only child of Jack and Claudia Fortune, saw the reading room in the Josiah Sumner Folkstone Library, it spooked her. There were portraits of long-dead Folkstone town fathers staring at her from the walls. There was a touch of mustiness in the room that sometimes activated her allergy to dust, filling up her nostrils and watering her eyes. Eventually, she built up a resistance to the mildew. Abbie still carried her inhaler. She had finally tolerated the moldiness and stuck to her task.

Budget cuts eliminated one custodian and reduced the hours of the survivor to a twenty-four hour week. Abbie thought Mr. Albert Gougian was a nice man, but he was counting the days to retirement. A bad back and other ailments had curtailed his fight against dirt and grime in the library, especially in the reading room. The two public and the employee bathrooms remained his priority.

Inside the reading room, there were four long oak tables, four feet by eight feet, topped by glass. Underneath the glass were dust covers of famous books. Charles Dickens, Mark Twain, Shakespeare, Robert Frost, Ernest Hemingway, and Winston Churchill were among the many authors pressed there.

If she finished her homework in the reference section on the first floor in the front of the library, Abbie sauntered to the rear of the library to the reading room, usually to read magazines and newspapers. The magazines sat in piles on shelves built into the walls; newspapers were relegated to standing racks. Each newspaper edition was curled onto a long wooden rod. The rods hung in slots, giving the stand a window shade of newsprint.

She gravitated first to the news mags like Time and Newsweek. Next, she found American Heritage and Civil War Times. Abbie found the gossip and fashion publications a guilty pleasure. She knew some of the cool girls in middle school probably used those trifles as guides to daily living. Abbie giggled over the clothing her classmates wore to school. Some girls started the school day wearing respectable tops and skirts and later changed them in the girls’ room before the first period, emulating the waifish models who posed in the glamor magazines, or the scantily-clad bimbos in music videos.

Above the unused brick fireplace hung a copy of the painting of George Washington with his diminishing forces crossing the Delaware River to attack the British and the Hessians on Christmas Day. Abbie could tolerate George, but the other photos and paintings of the library’s benefactors gave her the creeps. She wondered if ghosts inhabited the room after the library was closed.

Two battered brown leather chairs guarded the sides of the fireplace. Abbie liked to take her magazine and plop into one of them. She felt as if the weathered, brown leather swallowed her up like a hug from a parent.

Abbie always chuckled to herself looking at the fireplace, which probably hadn’t been cleaned in decades. Gray ash still dotted the pit. A glass screen fronted the fireplace. That screen, too, needed washing, smeared by fingerprints of yesteryear. Behind one chair there stood the tools of the fireplace: shovel, tongs, and whisk broom. None had been used in this century.

By supper time, the patrons in the reading room and the rest of library had thinned out. Despite the creaks, groans, and hisses, Abbie loved having the room to herself.

THERE WAS ONLY ONE other frequent visitor to