BIG BANG August 1, 2009
It started with a couple of teenage boys on a hot summer night in a small town. The older boy, an upstanding Eagle Scout kind of kid, had just brought his younger cousin to a meeting of the altar boys at the church. Since his cousin was going to be staying for the summer they figured he could also keep in practice as an altar boy and fill in for kids who were on vacation. The meeting had gone well and Billy was already scheduled to help out at mass on the next Saturday morning.
Back in those days the churches in the little town were flourishing. There were three Catholic, one Congregational, two Methodist and one Baptist church. The Catholic population outnumbered the Protestants about ten to one. Jewish residents didn’t have a temple so they met at the homes of the three families representing their faith. Tolerance was alive and well in the town. People got along and inter-faith marriage was not even grounds for disowning the offending children anymore. The only person who seemed to have a problem with people who were not of his faith was one of the town policemen. His name was Bernie and he was a member of one of those three Jewish families.
The Eagle Scout boy, Peter was his name, suggested to his cousin Billy that they go up to the other end of Main Street to get a soda before they walked back home. The diner was open until ten and it was just a little past nine. He said that as long as they got home by curfew, which was also ten, everything would be fine. Billy agreed. Billy thought the town curfew was a dumb rule. He couldn’t see any good reason why a guy as old as sixteen or seventeen had to be home by ten-o-clock. Heck, it was barely dark at that time of night up here in the Northern part of the state.
At the diner Peter had a coffee. He liked to show how mature he was by doing stuff like that. Billy had a cherry coke and an order of fries. Since he had a little more money than his cousin and since he was a generous boy, Billy paid the bill. Billy almost always paid. Peter had a job working in the Catholic schools during the summer. He helped the janitors do the heavy cleaning as they got ready for the next school year. But the money he earned had to go into a savings account for college.
On this night, after the altar boy meeting, Billy was feeling a little restless. He didn’t really want to go back to Peter’s house yet because that would mean having to watch wresting on TV. He hated wrestling, especially up here where the program was from Montreal and was all in French. When wrestling was on his uncle and his grandfather and some of his younger cousins would be crowded around the tiny screen yelling like a bunch of maniacs. His grandfather and uncle would be yelling in French, the kids in English. It was enough to give a guy a headache. So Billy stalled drinking his cherry coke and eating his fries. Peter was making moves on the young waitress in the diner so he was losing track of time. A few minutes before ten Peter told the waitress that he would walk her home. Billy was all for that plan, anything to stay out a little longer.
The diner closed and the three teenagers walked up Main Street. A river ran through the town which cut the business district in half. The Main Street bridge over the river was high above the water. Built close to the bridge from the river banks about fifty feet below, were commercial buildings which rose four stories above street level and formed a large dark canyon. As the three kids crossed the bridge towards the girl’s street Billy thought about how cool that canyon was. He noticed how the rushing roar of the river far below echoed between the walls of the buildings. He also thought that a firecracker thrown from the bridge would make an amazing sound. It just so happened that the fourth of July was coming up and he had some excellent firecrackers right there in his pocket. But he had no matches.
When they reached the girl’s house they went in through the back door into the kitchen. Peter went into the living room to be introduced to his new girl friend’s mother. Peter was a fast worker when it came to the ladies. Billy held back in the kitchen and looking around he spotted several books of matches. He grabbed one and stuck it in his pocket. With the niceties of courtship being completed the boys headed out for the long walk back to Peter’s house. Peter said that if they were to run into the cop walking his beat Billy should keep his mouth shut and let Peter do all the talking. Billy said that was fine with him.
As they descended the hill towards the Main Street bridge Billy checked his pocket for the firecracker that would have the best effect in the giant echo chamber beneath the bridge. He found a winner, an M80. He actually found two M80s. The M80 is an awesome explosive. It’s shaped like a small barrel with a short fuse coming out of the side. They were originally designed for blowing small tree stumps out of the ground and were a common part of farmers’ tool kits. Billy wondered if he should tell Peter what his plan was or if he should just surprise him. On the one hand telling him would be good if they had to make a hasty escape. On the other hand the surprise factor would be really neat. Billy was lagging a few steps behind Peter as they reached the bridge. He took out his matches and one M80 and lit the fuse. He held the firecracker in his hand to be sure that it was well lit and wouldn’t land in the water before exploding. Then he let it fly.
The firecracker flew out in a beautiful arc between the buildings. The little spark of light from the fuse seemed much larger in the deep shadows. And then it exploded. The quiet night air was shattered by a sound never heard on Main Street in that little town. Some veterans of the recent war in Korea were probably familiar with that noise and were probably lunging for cover. Billy noticed a few men rushing out onto the street from the tavern a couple blocks away. He saw Peter turn to him and say something but the explosion had dulled his hearing. Then he noticed out of the corner of his eye a short fat guy in a police uniform laboriously running in his direction from about half way up the hill. His hearing came back and he heard Peter yell “Run for it!” and Bernie, the fat cop, yelled “Halt in the name of the law!” As he got his legs going Billy thought no one in real life would ever yell “Halt in the name of the law!” But he didn’t have time to think about the strange customs of small town cops. He took off after his cousin.
Unfortunately Peter wasn’t as knowledgeable about the town’s streets and back alleys as Billy. Being a basically good boy Peter had little use for escape routes. Billy on the other hand had spent several summers shadowing his younger cousins as they committed minor crimes and misdemeanors often requiring a hasty retreat. Peter made a quick turn next to the hotel and ran into a dead end. Bernie the cop was right behind and grabbed him by the back of the neck and pushed him up against the wall. Billy, meanwhile, had made several zigs and zags and had ended up in a spot just above Bernie and Peter. Policemen in those days were not as constrained by the rules protecting the accused as they are now. So Bernie was pretty rough on poor Peter. His questioning was harsh and accompanied by small acts of physical violence. He got Peter to confess to going to the altar boy meeting and the diner. A couple of slaps to the face elicited the information about walking the waitress home. Billy knew he was going to be given up if the punishment was any tougher.
Bernie was loudly proclaiming the defects of the wise guy Catholic boys in the town. “You guys think you can get away with anything! You think you can ignore the curfew. You think your monsignor will get you out of this? Who was with you on the bridge?” He continued on in this vein for some time. Billy waited. If the cop got more violent then he’d give himself up. But Bernie started to calm down. Peter told the cop that he hadn’t seen who was behind him on the bridge. Billy was amazed that Peter would lie. Peter never lied. The fact that Peter was lying upset Billy more than the slaps and shoves of the angry cop. So he jumped down from his hiding place and turned himself in. He told Bernie that he had been the one who threw the M80 and Peter didn’t know anything about it. He also said that the only reason Peter was out past curfew was because he was worried about the waitress walking home alone so late. And Peter wouldn’t have been so late if Billy wasn’t messing around on the walk home.
But Peter would have none of that. He claimed all responsibility for Billy and for himself. Then he started to yell at Bernie for being prejudiced against Catholics. When Peter would get into a righteous state of mind he could deliver a sermon worthy of a missionary preacher. He said that Jewish people of all the people in the world should be the most free from prejudice, except maybe against Germans. Bernie the fat cop was stunned by Peter’s tirade. Billy was sure that he was going to jail and Peter with him. But then it was over. Bernie, without actually apologizing, told the boys that they could go. He said, in a sheepish and conciliatory tone, that they’d better obey the curfew and lay off the firecrackers. And he walked away.
As they walked the rest of the way home Peter delivered another lecture. Billy listened respectfully and thanked Peter for sticking up for him. As they neared the bridge close to Peter’s house, a bridge quite a bit closer to the river with not nearly as much of an echo potential, Peter said “Got any more M80s?” Billy said “Just one. Need a match?”
The End.
It started with a couple of teenage boys on a hot summer night in a small town. The older boy, an upstanding Eagle Scout kind of kid, had just brought his younger cousin to a meeting of the altar boys at the church. Since his cousin was going to be staying for the summer they figured he could also keep in practice as an altar boy and fill in for kids who were on vacation. The meeting had gone well and Billy was already scheduled to help out at mass on the next Saturday morning.
Back in those days the churches in the little town were flourishing. There were three Catholic, one Congregational, two Methodist and one Baptist church. The Catholic population outnumbered the Protestants about ten to one. Jewish residents didn’t have a temple so they met at the homes of the three families representing their faith. Tolerance was alive and well in the town. People got along and inter-faith marriage was not even grounds for disowning the offending children anymore. The only person who seemed to have a problem with people who were not of his faith was one of the town policemen. His name was Bernie and he was a member of one of those three Jewish families.
The Eagle Scout boy, Peter was his name, suggested to his cousin Billy that they go up to the other end of Main Street to get a soda before they walked back home. The diner was open until ten and it was just a little past nine. He said that as long as they got home by curfew, which was also ten, everything would be fine. Billy agreed. Billy thought the town curfew was a dumb rule. He couldn’t see any good reason why a guy as old as sixteen or seventeen had to be home by ten-o-clock. Heck, it was barely dark at that time of night up here in the Northern part of the state.
At the diner Peter had a coffee. He liked to show how mature he was by doing stuff like that. Billy had a cherry coke and an order of fries. Since he had a little more money than his cousin and since he was a generous boy, Billy paid the bill. Billy almost always paid. Peter had a job working in the Catholic schools during the summer. He helped the janitors do the heavy cleaning as they got ready for the next school year. But the money he earned had to go into a savings account for college.
On this night, after the altar boy meeting, Billy was feeling a little restless. He didn’t really want to go back to Peter’s house yet because that would mean having to watch wresting on TV. He hated wrestling, especially up here where the program was from Montreal and was all in French. When wrestling was on his uncle and his grandfather and some of his younger cousins would be crowded around the tiny screen yelling like a bunch of maniacs. His grandfather and uncle would be yelling in French, the kids in English. It was enough to give a guy a headache. So Billy stalled drinking his cherry coke and eating his fries. Peter was making moves on the young waitress in the diner so he was losing track of time. A few minutes before ten Peter told the waitress that he would walk her home. Billy was all for that plan, anything to stay out a little longer.
The diner closed and the three teenagers walked up Main Street. A river ran through the town which cut the business district in half. The Main Street bridge over the river was high above the water. Built close to the bridge from the river banks about fifty feet below, were commercial buildings which rose four stories above street level and formed a large dark canyon. As the three kids crossed the bridge towards the girl’s street Billy thought about how cool that canyon was. He noticed how the rushing roar of the river far below echoed between the walls of the buildings. He also thought that a firecracker thrown from the bridge would make an amazing sound. It just so happened that the fourth of July was coming up and he had some excellent firecrackers right there in his pocket. But he had no matches.
When they reached the girl’s house they went in through the back door into the kitchen. Peter went into the living room to be introduced to his new girl friend’s mother. Peter was a fast worker when it came to the ladies. Billy held back in the kitchen and looking around he spotted several books of matches. He grabbed one and stuck it in his pocket. With the niceties of courtship being completed the boys headed out for the long walk back to Peter’s house. Peter said that if they were to run into the cop walking his beat Billy should keep his mouth shut and let Peter do all the talking. Billy said that was fine with him.
As they descended the hill towards the Main Street bridge Billy checked his pocket for the firecracker that would have the best effect in the giant echo chamber beneath the bridge. He found a winner, an M80. He actually found two M80s. The M80 is an awesome explosive. It’s shaped like a small barrel with a short fuse coming out of the side. They were originally designed for blowing small tree stumps out of the ground and were a common part of farmers’ tool kits. Billy wondered if he should tell Peter what his plan was or if he should just surprise him. On the one hand telling him would be good if they had to make a hasty escape. On the other hand the surprise factor would be really neat. Billy was lagging a few steps behind Peter as they reached the bridge. He took out his matches and one M80 and lit the fuse. He held the firecracker in his hand to be sure that it was well lit and wouldn’t land in the water before exploding. Then he let it fly.
The firecracker flew out in a beautiful arc between the buildings. The little spark of light from the fuse seemed much larger in the deep shadows. And then it exploded. The quiet night air was shattered by a sound never heard on Main Street in that little town. Some veterans of the recent war in Korea were probably familiar with that noise and were probably lunging for cover. Billy noticed a few men rushing out onto the street from the tavern a couple blocks away. He saw Peter turn to him and say something but the explosion had dulled his hearing. Then he noticed out of the corner of his eye a short fat guy in a police uniform laboriously running in his direction from about half way up the hill. His hearing came back and he heard Peter yell “Run for it!” and Bernie, the fat cop, yelled “Halt in the name of the law!” As he got his legs going Billy thought no one in real life would ever yell “Halt in the name of the law!” But he didn’t have time to think about the strange customs of small town cops. He took off after his cousin.
Unfortunately Peter wasn’t as knowledgeable about the town’s streets and back alleys as Billy. Being a basically good boy Peter had little use for escape routes. Billy on the other hand had spent several summers shadowing his younger cousins as they committed minor crimes and misdemeanors often requiring a hasty retreat. Peter made a quick turn next to the hotel and ran into a dead end. Bernie the cop was right behind and grabbed him by the back of the neck and pushed him up against the wall. Billy, meanwhile, had made several zigs and zags and had ended up in a spot just above Bernie and Peter. Policemen in those days were not as constrained by the rules protecting the accused as they are now. So Bernie was pretty rough on poor Peter. His questioning was harsh and accompanied by small acts of physical violence. He got Peter to confess to going to the altar boy meeting and the diner. A couple of slaps to the face elicited the information about walking the waitress home. Billy knew he was going to be given up if the punishment was any tougher.
Bernie was loudly proclaiming the defects of the wise guy Catholic boys in the town. “You guys think you can get away with anything! You think you can ignore the curfew. You think your monsignor will get you out of this? Who was with you on the bridge?” He continued on in this vein for some time. Billy waited. If the cop got more violent then he’d give himself up. But Bernie started to calm down. Peter told the cop that he hadn’t seen who was behind him on the bridge. Billy was amazed that Peter would lie. Peter never lied. The fact that Peter was lying upset Billy more than the slaps and shoves of the angry cop. So he jumped down from his hiding place and turned himself in. He told Bernie that he had been the one who threw the M80 and Peter didn’t know anything about it. He also said that the only reason Peter was out past curfew was because he was worried about the waitress walking home alone so late. And Peter wouldn’t have been so late if Billy wasn’t messing around on the walk home.
But Peter would have none of that. He claimed all responsibility for Billy and for himself. Then he started to yell at Bernie for being prejudiced against Catholics. When Peter would get into a righteous state of mind he could deliver a sermon worthy of a missionary preacher. He said that Jewish people of all the people in the world should be the most free from prejudice, except maybe against Germans. Bernie the fat cop was stunned by Peter’s tirade. Billy was sure that he was going to jail and Peter with him. But then it was over. Bernie, without actually apologizing, told the boys that they could go. He said, in a sheepish and conciliatory tone, that they’d better obey the curfew and lay off the firecrackers. And he walked away.
As they walked the rest of the way home Peter delivered another lecture. Billy listened respectfully and thanked Peter for sticking up for him. As they neared the bridge close to Peter’s house, a bridge quite a bit closer to the river with not nearly as much of an echo potential, Peter said “Got any more M80s?” Billy said “Just one. Need a match?”
The End.
1 comment:
Interesting story. I am more than a little curious who Peter and Billy really were? Good story Cuz...
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