Three Days Before the Shooting ... (179 page)

“Then he gets real emotional and says, ‘One of the prime wonders of the animal kingdom, out here, thousands of miles from the ocean, stranded on a flat-car with his natural eyes replaced by
lightbulbs
! And as though
that wasn’t
enough of a crime against nature, a little con man of a railroad watchman sees the whale and decides to make a few nickels and dimes out of anyone who’ll pay for listening to his cock-and-bull rant about whales. Then to make his scam more effective he connects the whale’s lightbulb eyes to a power line, uses a water hose to connect the poor animal’s airhole to a fire hydrant, and lays in wait for his victims. Among the first of whom turn out to be a bunch of little kids and their teacher. And after snatching their nickels and dimes he’s off and lying like a circus barker.

“‘But when some of the kids turn out to be too smart to accept some of the things he tells them, he reacts by opening the valve that’s connected to the whale’s head and punishes the whole class by making it appear that the long-dead animal is spouting them with spray from its airhole—good Lord!’

“He really sounded sad, but right away he mumbles something about innocents refusing to be slaughtered and starts laughing and crying again. Then he asks me what Jack the BooBoo Beaujack was doing while the whale was spouting, and before I can get my memories together the words took over.

“They said, ‘Hey! Don’t you remember
that?
When the little one-legged man made the great whale spout we ran down the tracks a-ways to escape the spray. Then as we watched the rainbow it made in the air we see Miss Kindly herding the class back to school and decide to play a little hooky. And with me being a fool for watching railroad trains and the Union Station just up the tracks from the whale, we decide to be there when my number one favorite, the Santa Fe Chief, comes rolling in.

“‘So we get to the station, and who do we see in the crowd of passengers and red-capped porters but Jack the BooBoo Beaujack, who’s doing his thing. With his mother and his teenage sisters, he’s standing smack in the middle of the crowd, and we’re just in time to see him throw back his head and yell, “Here we is in the Union Station, and we all dressed up in our
union
suits!”

“‘That’s right! Standing in the center of all that hot public space the fool’s talking up under the clothes of his own dear mother and his sassy big sisters! And when his poor mother sees passengers stopping to stare and porters scowling like they’re trying to decide who to kill first, Beaujack or a big white man who’s pointing at his mother and laughing, she’s so shocked and embarrassed that she damn near dies!

“‘But that doesn’t stop ole BooBoo, because by now he’s reading off the station’s billboard signs like some kind of a runaway foghorn that’s done gone on a toot:

FINANCIALLY EMBARRASSED?
SEE HARRIS THE BANKER.
RADIATOR LEAKY?
SEE PUCKETT, THE TINKER!
FEELING RUN DOWN AND OUT OF LINE?
FEEL FINE WITH BEEF IRON & WINE!
LADIES, DO YOU HAVE BEARING-DOWN PAINS?
LYDIA E. PINKHAM’S IS THE ANSWER!
LOSE THAT OLD BLOATED FEELING,
THAT PAIN IN THE HEAD WITH BROMO QUININE!
CHEW BROWN’S MULE TOBACCO!
DRINK BEVO, THE SPARKLING BEER!

“‘Then he points his finger and yells, “Look a-yonder, Ma, that one over there reads Carter’s Little Liver Pills! Hey! Mine’s kinda little, so maybe I could use me some….” ‘

“So with that my visitor asks me a question which I don’t hear. Because all of a sudden I realize that after starting out with Jack upsetting Miss Kindly by flipping his pickle, the words had reduced him in age and in size. So naturally I’m puzzled, because there was no way in the
world
for the BooBoo in the station to have been the size he was in the classroom. Not if my visitor was actually the kid who’d been with me at that time. Anyway, with those words building up steam there wasn’t time to figure it out. So while my visitor listens with tears in his eyes they began filling him in on Jack the BooBoo Beaujack’s mother.

“They said, ‘Now, Jack’s poor mama was truly peacock-proud of his being able to read so good, but with him proclaiming those cures for ladies’ bodily complaints and his sisters blushing and giggling, she claps her hand over his mouth, and next thing we know she’s rushing him and his sisters out to the street.

“‘So with that excitement come to an end we hurry out to the platform that faces the tracks just in time to see that Santa Fe Chief come rolling in. And that’s when we spy this man who’s leaning out of a dining-car window with a fat greasy bag in his great big hands.

“‘Dressed in a white cook’s jacket and a tall chef’s cap, he’s the one who kicked a waiter by the name of Sam Shagwaugh square in the butt for saying that he had hands so big that if either one was baked and served with sliced pineapples and a light-brown sauce it would look so real that anyone would think it was the ham on the menu which had been misspelled S-m-i-t-h-f-double-e-l!

“‘Now, this handy ham-man was Mister Big Smith the chef, who was the number one cook on the Santa Fe Chief, and he’s looking out the window for his pretty little wife and his six little children. Then, as the Chief rolls closer, a commotion breaks out in the crowd behind us and we see six little boys pulling little red wagons come bursting through the door. There’s a lady dressed in blue right behind them, and when they spy Mister Big Smith holding that big greasy bag they let out a cheer like it’s already Christmas and he’s Santa Claus. Then the train comes to a halt and they all run to greet him, and when we draw closer we see Mister Big Smith look his missus in the eye and start laying down some jive.

“‘He says, “I brought it to you, baby, all the way from Chi!”

“‘To which his little missus bats her big brown eyes and says, “Oh, you did, did you darling? Well, now, that’ll make the crackers more crumb-rum-bumbling and the cheese taste fine! But how come you treating me so gentlemanly kind?”

“‘To which Mister Big Smith smiles and says, “It’s because I loves you, baby, better than I do my handsome self.”

“‘To which Missus Big Smith then replies, “But that’s “how it’s supposed to be, considering that all these hungry younguns truly happen to be ours.”

“‘ “They sho is, baby,” Mr. Big Smith says, “and that’s exactly how come I brought it all the way from dear ole
Chi.”

“‘At which the six little children start to licking their lips with a gleam in their eyes.

“‘And that’s when Mister Patrick O’Sullivan, the Santa Fe Chief’s chief steward, sticks his red head out of a window with his Irish up.

“‘ “Tell me something, Smith,” the chief steward says, “how could you bring it
from
Chicago when we both know damn well that it was already sitting in the freezer on our way up North? Aye, and begorra, it was there and getting bigger on the morning we arrived!” And when we hear him squawking in that angry tone of voice we almost run for cover.

“‘But we don’t, because with Mister Big Smith’s madam and boys all standing there listening we’re much too curious as to what will happen next. So we move a little closer, and when we hear it we have visions of a race riot breaking out.

“‘ “Man, what the hell you talking about?” Mr. Big Smith says. “Why, you make this Santa Fe’s Chief sound like some kind of one-hoss, one-way line—which it sho to hell ain’t! Therefore like I say, I brought it here from Chi! Which even
you
ought to know is the boar-hog’s special hangout and the she-pig’s grazing ground. And besides all that, why else would I be slaving on this
railroad ‘lessen it’s to fill all these hungry bellies which I swore to God I’d feed?”

“‘Then, turning ruby red and blinking his eyes, the chief steward says, “Just exactly what the Santa Fe railroad has to do with how you spend your nights at home is too much of a riddle even for a traveling man like me—but if you have an honest answer you’d better let me have it!”

“‘And that’s when Mister Big Smith starts preaching him his answer in a deep bass-baritone.

“‘He says, “When you hired me for this job, didn’t you insist you had to have a man who was
fast
with his hands and
steady
on his feet?”

“‘And the chief steward glares and says, “That’s right!”

“‘ “Well that’s
me,”
Mister Big Smith says, and to which the six little children yell a loud “Amen!”

“‘ “And didn’t you say you wanted a
strong
man who could swing and sway like What’s-his-name on the radio and bring it in the cold of December and the heat of July?” Mister Big Smith says.

“‘ “That I did,” the chief steward says, “that I did….”

“‘ “And in the light of day and the dark of night?”

“‘ “Right!”

“‘ “And in Kansas windstorms, Oklahoma sleet, and in all that hellish Texas heat?”

“‘ “Right again,” the chief steward said, “that’s the man this line requires!”

“‘ “Well, so you got him,” Mister Big Smith says, “cause
I’m
that man!” And the six little children yell, “AMEN!”

“‘Then, trying to switch the argument back on the track where it started, the chief steward holds up his hand to get him in a word. But Mister Big Smith won’t let him do it, not even edgewise.

“‘ “Naw,” Mister Big Smith tells him, “you started this mess so now
I’m
gonna finish it: You said you wanted
a family
man who’d be forced to keep on the job and stay on the ball—and that’s
got to
be me! Take a look at all those kids down there,

every damn one has a gut as vicious as a tiger….”

“‘… And grinning like they were truly tiger cubs, the six little children yell,
“Aaa-men! Aaa-men!
And agin
Aaa-men
!”

“‘ “What’s more,” Mister Big Smith says, “they have to have clothes and the other necessaries! Like schoolbooks, pencils, and yellow writing pads! And pretty soon they’ll have to take off and go to
college
!”

“‘ “They’ll have to do WHAT?” Chief O’Sullivan cries, and he stares down at the crowd like Big Smith’s either telling lies or hitting him with a corn shuck that’s steaming hot and nasty.

“‘ “You heard me, man,” Mister Big Smith says, “just like those kids of your’n they have to git to college! That’s how come I have to skimp like hell and lay away the cash!”

“‘ “Well, I’ll be damn’,” Mister Pat O’Sullivan says, and as he stares at Big
Smith’s kids he starts to tremble. Then his eyes stretch wide like he’s been hit with a vision of train wrecks, arson, and national disaster.

“‘Then he stares at that big greasy bag in his chief cook’s hands and says, “Dammit, Smith, I’ve been waiting to hear the connection between what you’re saying and what you have stashed in that
bag!
So now tell me in plain English, what the hell is it?”

“‘ “If you need more of an answer,” Mister Big Smith says, “that’s up to you. Because since you were smart enough to hire a man who’s loaded down with all this weight
I’m
carrying, then you ought to know without being told that he’s got to make ends meet so his family can eat, and his kids can be strong enough to face up to the future! So now I repeat, this here greasy bag and all what’s in it is
mine
, yeah! And I brought it all the way from what you call
Chur-caa-ga
!”

“‘So by now the chief steward’s idea of geography is so warped and scrambled that he can’t tell north from south. And with all those college degrees and dollar signs whirling in his head all he can do is stare and stammer like he’s up and lost his mind. While Big Smith, who’s blasted the poor man’s logic with his different point of view, stares back with a look of firm conviction in his eyes.

“‘Then we see the chief steward start looking uncertain as he tries to find a flaw in Big Smith’s argument, but it gets him nowhere. Because pretty soon his body starts to sag and his face begins to quake, and all at once he’s grinning like a possum with a bad toothache. And with that we see Mister Big Smith give his six little tigers a wink and a grin. Then he slaps Chief O’Sullivan on his back and whispers in his ear. And the next thing we know they’re laughing and wheezing and pressing the flesh, and it’s like watching a couple of close soul buddies out on a spree. So with that, after they’d engaged in a war of words and had us thinking that the next step would be a hard-fought, head-knocking, butt-kicking Battle of the Greasy Bag, it was done and over—or at least reached a truce….’ ”

“And that’s all it was, a truce,” a man yelled through the roar of applause, “and you better believe it!”

And as Hickman watched Cliofus waiting to continue he smiled and thought,
They’re really enjoying it, but I doubt if it could have happened that way. But now let’s stop the noise and let Cliofus—or whoever it is that’s inventing this lie—get going so I can learn more about Janey’s visitor…
.

“Thanks, ladies and gentlemen, I appreciate that,” Cliofus said, “but some of you might be thinking that my little buddy and me were being too optimistic. But don’t forget, ladies and gentlemen: Both Big Smith and Chief O’Sullivan were dedicated
railroad
men. And although members of segregated lodges and unions they were
also
good Scottish Rite Masons in the thirty-third degree. Which in those days—if you dig what I mean—was far more a cause for hope and understanding than if they’d simply been blood brothers who happened to have black and white skins….”

“Oh, we dig you, Cli,” a voice called from the bar, “because on the job those
cats could be one thing and something completely different when they met on the sidewalks! Which for us is ancient history. So what we want to hear
now
is the rest of what the words had to say to your visitor and how he took it!”

“That’s what I’m waiting to tell you, man,” Cliofus called back with a frown, “but the words aren’t concerned with history, they deal with what really happens to folks before history gets written!