4
Home with Father, Bud, Sally and my ponies, I am in heaven. Even school doesn’t give me any worry. I will be with the King boys, old Bean Soup, Dago and all my gang without Sis to mess with my clothes or hair, and everyone in town is my friend. I am about to bust with pride.
First day of school, 1904, is same old routine. New books, etc., except something has been added. We have a new boy in our grade. His father is a railroad man, and they are from Chicago. It seems this kid doesn’t like anyone and is bound to be boss of the roost, a real tough guy. So, at recess in the afternoon, my gang gets together and who do you think is elected to battle the new boy? Me! Just me, such an honor. I’m not a bit happy with the prospects. In the first place he’s bigger, and I am not mad at him or anyone else and have never had to fight but once, because everyone has been my friend. I have always done as Brother Bud said, help the little fellow, pick on no one, but let nobody push you around. And up to now, I have been doing well. Now I’m in an awful spot. No brother to advise. I’m on my own with just the kids to cheer me on. The do-or-die contest is to be back of the livery stable after school, and I don’t feel like fighting. I’d rather go home to my ponies. Suddenly I remember the boy in Sabetha, Kansas, who jumped me on my third day of school, and I remember he didn’t do so well and became one of my best friends. This waiting business is not for me. I like to do whatever there is to do, whether good or bad. I like action without waiting, so the rest of our afternoon was of no interest to me.
When three-thirty arrived, we headed for the bloody battleground. Sure, the affair was pretty bloody — but with my blood. This guy had been trained to box. No wonder he was so cocky. He hit me, I hit the ground. I took a beautiful plastering, but I did succeed in blackening one of his eyes and separating him from his shirt. And at least he never made me say “enough,” although I’d had enough before we started but was too stubborn to say so. The affair ended because we were both completely finished. Evidently he didn’t have strength enough to hit me again and I wouldn’t play dead, so we parted with my gang in much glee. Why shouldn’t they be? None of them has a bloody nose or a swollen cheek, and their clothes are all together, while mine are a mess of blood, dirt and tears. I am in rags.
And now the worst is to come. This is my first day of school and Father and Sally are home. Sally, I don’t mind. But to face Father in my condition is not good. While Father has seen me in pretty tough shape, he has never seen his young son worked over by another boy. This I know he won’t like. But he can’t feel half as bad as I do, so home for more medicine. Boy, I only hope Bud is there. He always knows the answers.
In the back way through the stable, then the kitchen where I hope to see Sally or Bud, but no such luck. Father is in the kitchen mixing up some of his favorite tonic. His first words are “Oh my God, it can’t be. Where is your brother, where’s Sally?” As I have just arrived, I know none of the answers, but answers Father must have, so to the living room we go, where my parent makes himself very comfortable while I tell him the facts of life.
Father is a swell listener. He waits until the end, then he surprises the pants off of me when he asks: “Hasn’t Bud ever given you any boxing lessons?” When he learns I haven’t even had a boxing glove on, he almost explodes. “No wonder, Son, you took a licking. Did you do it like a man? And what about the other fellow?” After my gruesome rundown, Father says, “Son, I have some news for you. The next kid you fight will be sorry he jumped you, because your brother is quite a boy with a boxing glove. Why the hell he hasn’t taught you before, I don’t know. The idea of letting you grow up without any training is something I want to know about. Go upstairs and clean up while I find something to put on that skinned cheekbone. Sally will be home soon and everything will be all right. And Son, I think you did damn well. I’m right proud of you. I just don’t want you beat up without a chance, and believe me, after Bud is through with you, things will be different.”
I only hope Bud doesn’t come home early. I don’t want him blamed because I get skinned up. And right now Father is mad as a wet hen. If Bud is late, my honorable parent will have time to cool off. My poor brother and Sally always are blamed if I get in a mess. It makes no difference where they are. Sally comes home and takes over, fixing up my skinned cheekbone and skinned knee. As for the nose, it’s swollen, which doesn’t add to my beauty, and when I think of school tomorrow I don’t feel so good. But I’m hungry. It hasn’t spoiled my appetite, and here is my big brother with his usual cheerful greeting for everyone: “How’s my family?”
Father starts with: “Take a good look at your young brother.” But Bud beats him to the answer. “I know all about the fight. I just came from town, and Dago says it was a peach of a scrap and your young son sent the new boy, who is bigger and older, home crying. Pard, let me look at you and how do you feel? Tell me, where did he hit you most?” When I reply, “Everywhere except the bottom of my feet,” Father explodes as though it was funny. To me, none of the business was funny, but at least all Father says is, “Son, just keep your sense of humor, and Bud, it might be well to give your kid brother some training in the art of self-defense.” Bud promises he’ll start next week when he returns from the ranch. The only reason he hasn’t started before is I was always so busy learning the things I liked best, roping and riding, and me being only twelve — he hadn’t thought it was quite time. “Next week, we will start, but the first lesson I’m going to give you, Pard, is for tomorrow at school. Look the new kid up and offer to shake hands and be friends. If he doesn’t want to, go back to the livery stable again — soon. We shall see.”
With this, there is a rap on our front door, which Bud answers. And of all people, it’s Mike and his father. At Bud’s invitation to step in, the man introduces himself as Mr. Mason, saying they walked all the way across town to our place to apologize for Mike and for Mike to apologize to me. He told Father he had requested a transfer from the railroad to our town just to get away from Chicago, because Mike had gotten in with a tough crowd and was always fighting and always in trouble. While Mike was only thirteen, Mr. Mason wanted to bring up his son and three daughters in a good community, and the very first day in school Mike had started a fight. He knew because he made Mike tell him the truth. Also, this was the first fight Mike hadn’t won quick and easy, so his pride was hurt. He wanted to go back to Chicago.
Here my father takes over. He welcomes Mr. Mason, offers him a drink of his favorite tonic, which he accepts, and they get real friendly, which gives me a chance to look Mike over. I guess he looks just as bad as I do. He has a black eye and a swollen lip and must be awful tired, having walked all the way out to our home at the edge of town. I take Mike up to see my room and tell him about my ponies and our ranch. He is a nice kid and agrees to help me learn to box when Bud starts on me. And best of all, I don’t have to look him up in school and offer to be his friend. This little matter has been taken care of by his father, who I like very much. He can’t compare with my father, but he’s very nice and I like Mike.
My first day of school in my twelfth year has ended well. Father won’t let Mike and his father walk home. He has Bud hitch up his harness mare to the runabout and take them home. So, our family has some new friends. A fellow can sure be proud of a family like mine.
Nothing exciting happens to me for the next two years, except an incident involving two wild horses coming out of a corral gate. They ran over me, breaking a couple of ribs and skinning me up some. It was all my fault. I didn’t see them until too late and they had no place to go, only over me. The doc tapes me up and that stops my roping for some time. One other thing which is worth forgetting: Our town is growing. The main street is now paved and the sidewalks in front of most stores are now cement. No more wooden sidewalks until you leave the main street. Also, the homes are having bathrooms. No more baths in the big galvanized tub, heating your water on the stove, or going to the barber shop for a bath. This, of course, the girls can’t do, so the new improvement was much appreciated by many. Besides, people are doing away with the outhouse, or “chick sales” as they are called by some folks. These establishments are always a target at Halloween. Nothing bad, just a run and a push and they are over on their fronts. To re-enter, they have to be raised and put in place. On Halloween, the timid stay just as far away as possible for fear of being an occupant at the wrong time. Many things happen on this night in our town. Such as the time someone put a complete wagon on top of our city hall and opera house. This was too much work for my gang, which concentrated on a few of the “chick sales specials.” One of our specials was owned by the biggest crank and miser in town. We didn’t fail him. True to our tradition, one of our first calls was on this gentleman’s outer resort.
At our usual speed, we had it down pat. Six of us would make a quick rush from the rear and over it would go, easy as pie. Not so this night. To what cost in time and expense he had gone, we never would know, but the frame had been picked up and moved just ahead of where it had always been and should be. By this time, I should be familiar with falling into places which I shouldn’t. If the hog wallow was bad, this was worse, only I am an experienced hand. Heading for home, smelling like anything but a rose, I go into the stable through the back door so there will be no inquiries from the house. I disrobe, tossing my clothes in the corral. With a broom and a bucket of water from the horse trough, I give myself a bath. I then beat it for the back door, which for the first time in my memory is locked. What the hell to do? I’m stark naked and damned cold, so try the dining room window, which, thank God, is unlocked and responds to a tug like a good window should. I am all in, just stepping to the floor, when the light goes on and Father is with me. His only remark after hearing my story is, “For God’s sake, can’t you just once fall in something that smells good!” That finishes me for the night, which will be my last evening to participate in any Halloween festivity. Taking Father’s advice, I heat a big pot of water and, with his help and some of Sally’s tar soap, I have a good bath. When he inquires what happened to the other five and did I leave any of them in the hole, I tell him Bean Soup and Dago were sick at their stomachs, the two King boys are going to kill the old man and the last I saw of Pat, he was going down the alley in a hell of a hurry This gives Father a good laugh. “Wait until tomorrow. Your troubles will really begin, so don’t get sore,” he says. “When someone holds his nose when you come close, just grin. They will only be kidding, Son.” I never dreamed that old man could be so smart. He must have been planning this little stunt for the whole year.
My fifteenth and sixteenth years are a decided change and two of the most wonderful years of my life. Father wants to send me east to live with his sister, Josephine, known to all the family and friends as Aunt Jo, and go to school. I’m to spend nine months with Aunt Jo and three months of vacation at home in Sterling or on our ranch. I am not a bit enthused with the idea, but Father and fate always know best. These two years will remain in my memory all my days. My Aunt Jo was one of nature’s noblest women.
My new home was up the hill from Marshfield Center, about halfway between Boston and Plymouth, in a beautiful white-shingle house at the front of a forty-five-acre tract of pine woods, overlooking the ocean and South River. Here everything was different from Colorado. I had no ponies but a beautiful Spaulding chainless bicycle to ride to school when the weather was good. When it was impossible to ride my bicycle, I took the school bus. My high school was Marshfield High. Here I met as nice a bunch of kids as I had ever known. They were friendly and kind and made me welcome from my very first day. I made the football and baseball teams, but my greatest sport was with a new shotgun Aunt Jo had for me. In the woods, which were full of partridge, quail and squirrels, I could hunt until tired. Then I had the South River to catch fish. And when the tide was out, there were always all the clams a fellow could dig. My time out of doors was spent doing the things I liked best, but the best of my life was indoors with my darling aunt. In our school we were through at one-thirty, as all studying was done at home. So my evenings were spent in preparing my lessons for another day.
At three o’clock Aunt Jo and I had dinner in front of the fireplace with just the housemaid to see that we had everything necessary. The food was always different. Some days it would be roast, with everything that goes with a roast. Other days partridge or quail, and always on Saturday and Sunday my favorite all of the time, Boston baked beans cooked in an earthen jar and brown bread, with raisins for me while Aunt Jo liked her brown bread plain. For dessert there was sea moss pudding; my aunt had hers with rich Jersey cream, and me she humored with Carnation canned milk, because I liked that best. After dinner I would study until I was through or until just before bedtime, when my darling would say, “Honey, take a pitcher and go down cellar and draw some wine while I warm up a raisin pie.” Before bedtime, with home-made rhubarb or dandelion wine and either pie or cheese and crackers, we would talk about all our family, Father and Bud, my uncles and aunts and all the Libbys in general. I learned about Father and Uncle Robert going around the world on a tramp steamer when they were very young. I learned that all the family was originally from Bangor, Maine, and that Aunt Jo had always lived in Boston until she bought this beautiful place to spend her life away from the city. She told me when our family first came over, sometime around 1630, which seemed to me a long time ago, which it was. One thing I was sure of, they never, any of them, had an aunt such as I had. When a fellow eats raisin or mince pie and drinks some wine and goes to bed, he is supposed to die. This could only be a wild dream, for during my happy days with Aunt Jo, I never even had a stomachache and I slept like a child.
I only wish I were elegant enough to describe my darling aunt, who was all things to many people. She was gifted with the ability to help those who needed help with a grace and graciousness which made the recipient think he or she had helped themselves. And above all, she was possessed of a charm which was obvious in any company. While others might be turning handsprings to attract attention, Aunt Jo, without attempting to do so, would steal the show.
Through this great lady I learned the meaning of the word “aristocrat,” by just looking at my father’s sister, Josephine Dame. God bless her. If it wasn’t that I missed my father and brother and my horses, I would never have left for home in Colorado. But come spring, I couldn’t get home to the ranch fast enough to hear Bud say, “Boy, am I glad you’re home. I sure have a job for you.” That was heaven, being with my big brother where I was needed.