Lots of things seemed to be happening the year I started school in Purdon. A singer named Elvis Presley was on The Ed Sullivan Show on September 9, 1956, but Ed wasn't even the host that night. I overheard my parents whispering that Ed had been hurt real bad in a car accident. We called him Ed because we watched his show weekly in our living room, and he seemed like a friend, even if an odd one with a weird accent and a dull, horse-shaped face. And he placed his hands under his armpits like he was trying to hide his hands or control them. It was really unsettling. He'd always say "Tonight we have a really big shoe." I waited a long time till I asked why he said that, and when I asked, the rest of the family laughed rudely at my question.
"It's just the way he says 'show'", someone called out in the darkened room, and everyone laughed again.
I was glad the only light in the room was from the glare of the black and white television screen. I crossed my arms and pouted inside myself, feeling like I wanted to cry.
Crying would have just made someone tease me more. My mother would have stopped the teasing, but then they'd probably be mad at me and wait till she wasn't around and bring it up in a mean-spirited way.
We watched Ed's show on Sunday nights almost every week. After it was over tonight, we had to go to bed because school was the next day. We'd only been in school a week. My brother Stephen, who was 13 at the time, was fascinated by Elvis, not by his gyrating hips, which they hardly showed that night, but by his hair. After we heard Elvis sing Don't Be Cruel and Love Me Tender, it seemed like my brother became obsessed with him.
He spent lots of time trying to sculpt his hair into a devil- may- care look. He didn't get the hang of it right away, but in the next two years, he perfected the look, even though at times the long hair in front looked like a bird had left an upward angled wing on his head while zipping by. He also started wearing a black motorcycle jacket with silver zippers to complete "the look." And he must have practiced the sexy scowl because slowly he morphed from a goofy 13 year-old to a more Elvis-like facial expression.
A lot of parents in Purdon were buzzing about Elvis's appearing on the show. The next day at school I heard some of the teachers talking about it.
"Can you believe that boy?", the sixth grade teacher said at lunch, leaning toward Mrs. Hagle.
"Who?" Mrs. Hagle asked.
"You know," Mrs. Walters said in a loud whisper. " That singer."
"Oh, him." Mrs. Hagle laughed, fingering the big teardrop pearls on her long elegant necklace "I liked his singing."
"Well, it's just scanda....," Mrs. Walters stopped talking abruptly and reached up absendmindedly, touching her hair as though embarrassed, as she returned the gaze of thirty sets of eyes focused on her by children sitting at the long gray plank tables that ran the length of the lunchroom.
Most of the teenagers liked Elvis's singing and bought his records and listened to them for hours on end, but spending time with Elvis was limited once school started as everyone who was anyone started practicing for the big sport at Purdon High School-basketball.
Both the girls and the boys played on teams, and the whole town, with a few exceptions, turned out for the home games. Caravans of cars often made the trip for out of town games in Blooming Grove, Frost, Dawson and points south and west. Tournaments at the end of the year were held at a huge old gym, a converted airplane hangar, at the junior college in Corsicana. But the local games played out in our own white clapboard gym with its creaking wooden bleachers.
Neila and Elton were already involved in practicing. They loved basketball and played it with a passion. Both of them were short, but feisty. I loved watching them play. It was like they were big athletic stars and I hoped to play like them some day. Several years they made the All Star teams, and I screamed so hard for them when they were awarded trophies that my throat was raw.
It was cold that Thursday night in November, and the three of us girls were sitting packed together in our heavy coats in the back seat of the Buick while our dad drove the car to the basketball game at the Purdon gym. Susan and I were talking about The Wizard of Oz, which was just shown on television for the first time the past Saturday. Of course the whole family watched it, except my oldest brother, who was gone somewhere on a date. We were talking about which of Dorothy's three friends we liked. I liked the Tin Man because he seemed kind, even though he didn't have a heart.
Susan liked the scarecrow. He seemed sincere and a lot smarter than he thought he was. She said he didn't give himself enough credit. She had a soft spot for people who thought they weren't smart; she always encouraged them that they could learn, and she believed it.
Neither of us liked the lion that much, even though he was funny during parts of the movie. But according to Susan, he seemed like he "liked drawing all the attention to himself".
Jan wanted in on the conversation even though I didn't really want to include her.
"Which one did you like?" Susan asked kindly.
"I like Toto!" she said in her high pitched voice, a little too enthusiastic to suit me.
"No, Jan," I said, without much heart. "It has to be one of the three who were Dorothy's friends."
"Um, Toto!" she said proudly-for the second time.
"Oh brother," I muttered, with increasing irritation.
"Jan, it has to be either the Tin Man, The Scarecrow, or The Cowardly Lion," Susan
explained. "Dorothy's friends," she added helpfully.
"Um, the witch! The good witch!" She was obviously proud of herself.
"Let's just don't talk about this right now," I suggested, not kindly.
"Ok," Susan said, "but she's just three. She likes to be included."
"Yeah, I know, but she doesn't listen. She just says something. Maybe we could talk about Mr. Potato Head or something. She could probably talk about that. Ok, we're here!" I said, glad to be able to fling open the car door, causing it to strain at its hinges. I took off running for the gym. Marie would be there saving a seat for me. Her mother taught at the school, and she always went early to help if she was needed.
Inside, the noise electrified me. Two hundred people talking and laughing, babies crying, large ceiling- mounted heaters humming loudly, ten or more basketballs bouncing on the floor rhythmically, balls hitting the wooden backboard, tennis shoes squeaking. Mrs. Burleson waved me through. "I'll get your ticket money from your parents," she smiled.
The stands were already packed. We never got anywhere early. Mother tried to do ten things in the five minutes before we were to leave the house for any place we were supposed to be. "Just a second, just a second," she'd say as Daddy sat tapping his foot, or honking the car horn. People were used to it, so they just expected us to all drag in just as the buzzer sounded.
Marie stood up and waved for me to climb up to where she was sitting on the sixth riser. I picked my way through the people saying "Scuse me, scuse me", and they put out their hands and steadied me or patted me on the back. "Sure honey," they'd say. "Go ahead up there. Marie's waitin' for ya." Mr. McElhenny, a kindly farmer in overalls offered his big, rough hand to me as I made the last step, and I sensed the stability of his grip, forged from years of work that began before the sun woke up and continued after it went to bed. He wouldn't miss a basketball game though, even if the crop had to wait.
The rest of the family sat on the other end of the bleachers. We could see the game well, even though part of the time we were playing with a tiny windup dog that Marie brought. People yelled, jumped up, screamed for their kids, covered their eyes when their kids messed up, ate sandwiches made by some of the mothers and sold in the concession stand, tossed popcorn into their mouths, chewed on candy and drank cokes.
Watching all that made me hungry, so I had to go look up my dad to get some money to buy food. I told him I wanted a tuna sandwich, and he told me I could get a coke and some candy and popcorn too if I wanted.
"One candy bar only," Mother said firmly.
I ran along in front of the bleachers, as close as I could get, keeping a watchful eye on the ball and the players who seemed to charge from the other end as soon as I started out. A player standing near me on the side of the court popped his hand on the ball and that seemed to cause most of the players on the court to start moving. He threw the ball in, and followed it inside the boundary lines. I took that as my cue to tear off to the concession stand.
My food was loaded in a little cardboard carton, one of the mothers selling the food commenting on a little girl eating so much. I didn't want her to know I'd had supper. We always did. All of us. Around that yellow formica table. I had gotten an extra coke for Marie, but I think she was referring to the amount of food, not the drinks.
I started back, walking the entire length of the gym next to the bleachers, balancing the cardboard carton with both hands. The game was safely in the center of the court most of the time. About the time I was starting to step up on the first bleacher, I heard a whistle and turned to see a referee talking to a Purdon player and a player from the Dawson team.
My first step up, someone helped me, but they weren't looking at me and talking nice to me like before. It was like they didn't really see me, but they reached out to help me anyway.
"Hey, ref. You need glasses?" one of them said, as he grabbed my elbow and gave me a little lift.
"What kind of call was that?" another said, while steadying me on the third step up, "Didn't you see him shove him?"
It went on like that for a minute or so, blind hands reaching to help me until I'd reached the sixth bleacher. Marie grabbed her coke, upsetting the balance in the carton, and I almost spilled my coke, popcorn, sandwich, and candybar.
About that time, I caught a glimpse of someone fairly substantial moving quickly out of the bleachers and onto the floor. Marie and I started eating the popcorn at the same time, stuffing our awestruck mouths full. Mrs. Haynes, the mother of the player that was fouled had left the bleachers and started after the referee with her huge purse swinging like a wrecking ball.
The referee was backing up fast, blowing his whistle, trying to avoid her swing and obviously not wanting to get into a fight with the mother of a player.
"You are not going to treat my son like that," she yelled. "You apologize to him. That was not his fault!"
I looked at her son. He appeared stricken. None of the players or the coach seemed to know what to do.
They stood frozen in place all over the court. Elton was standing midcourt, holding a basketball, staring at the action.
She pulled an umbrella out of her purse and began to jab at him. Then they did a little dance. Jab, quickstep, jab, jab, quickstep, jab, jab, jab, quickstep, quickstep, quickstep.
Finally, the referee looked like he'd had enough. His face was red, and sweat dripped from the tip of his nose. After the last quickstep, he planted his feet and refused to back up. Then the dance went in reverse. He moved toward her with a swush, swush, swush step, and she backed up with equally big steps, holding her umbrella out like a sword and her purse like a shield. Unbelievably, he danced her right back to the stands, where the last step caused her to stumble backwards and sit down clumsily on the bleachers, where still startled fans made room for her ample body.
"And stay there lady!" he yelled, blowing his whistle loudly.
Silence took the place of the jumble of noises that had filled the gym seconds before. You could have heard ice crunch in people's mouths, but no one seemed to be crunching. People who were talking seemed to have stopped mid-sentence and those who were eating let the food stick in their throats, too shocked to swallow.
Mrs. Haynes looked stunned. Her loud voice was still. People were staring at her, and at the referee.
Her son was looking down, toeing some unseen thing on the court. The coach took off his hat and wiped his forehead with a perfectly ironed white handkerchief. Elton looked toward his team mate with concern, but when his glance fell on Mrs. Haynes, he pressed his lips together and pulled them inside so he wouldn't laugh. I'd seen him do that many times.
Suddenly, the shrill sound of the whistle startled everyone into action. "Play ball," the same referee said with authority.
I looked at Marie and we both started laughing. Then I looked down toward my parents at the far end of the gym. My dad held his hat in front of his face, but I could see his shoulders shaking. Mother had a strange smile on her face, like she was in a strain of some kind. But she wasn't laughing. She was patting the knee of the robust woman next to her who was trying to stuff her umbrella inside her extra large purse.
Installed
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
I can see it! Delightful!
Post a Comment