THE PRIEST AND THE PEACHES
LARRY PETERSON
Copyright © 2011 Larry Peterson
Except for the use of short passages for review purposes, no part of this book may be reproduced, in part or in whole, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically or mechanically, including photocopying, recording, or any information or storage retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.
Smashwords Edition 2011
Cover design: Emma Michaels
ISBN: 978-0-9837418-4-8
Tribute Books
PO Box 95
Archbald, Pennsylvania 18403
(570) 876-2416
Email: info@tribute-books.com
Website: www.tribute-books.com
Visit the book’s web site at www.ThePriestAndThePeaches.com and email Larry Peterson at larry@tribute-books.com.
For my sister and brothers
Carolyn, Danny, Bobby (1954-2007) and Johnny
Love always
Remembering
Bob Lindeman and Loretta Peterson
Always in our Hearts
A
special thank you to my publisher, Nicole Langan of Tribute Books,
for her ever-present support, encouragement and professionalism. You
are a "class act" and I am proud to be associated with
you.
Last but not least: To all the many kind and gentle priests who have remained always true to their faith and vocation and have been and continue to be a shining example for so many. God bless you all.
I
will raise up for Myself a faithful priest:
he will do what is in
My heart and in My mind, says the Lord.
1 Samuel 2:35
CONTENTS
Chapter Three: “Now we're orphans, right?”
Chapter Four: “How could they lose his leg?”
Chapter Five: Back to the hospital
Chapter Six: “God likes to laugh too”
Chapter Seven: “Yimey's New Year's Eve Jamboree”
Chapter Eight: The Floating Leg
Chapter Nine: “What's a chastity belt?”
Chapter Eleven: Father KO's “Trumpet Man”
Chapter Twelve: “I don't have any money”
Chapter Thirteen: Pops' grand finale
Chapter Fourteen: “The keys are in Pops' leg”
Chapter Fifteen: “I have five orphans living above me”
Chapter Sixteen: Going to see Aunt Vera
Chapter Seventeen: “Batman & Robin” collapse a ceiling
Chapter Eighteen: Running from the cops
Chapter Nineteen: Father Sullivan visits Beatrice
Chapter Twenty: Beatrice Amon and the Peaches
CHAPTER ONE
“If only I had…”
“Yes, doctor. All right.”
Joanie hung up the phone. Bronx Hospital? How am I supposed to…I mean…who?
Thoughts were smashing around inside her head. Pops was curled up on the living room floor. He had gone from screaming in pain to sobbing, “Please help me. Please do something.”
Dancer was kneeling next to Pops, rubbing his father's back. Beeker and Joey were sitting on the sofa absolutely terrified. This was their father and he was crying and begging for help. The situation was backwards. The kids were supposed to be the ones who got scared and cried, not the parent. Joanie, experienced in dealing with family crises, dashed to the front window and looked down at the street. Dave Roth's car was parked in front of the building. “Thank God,” she yelled. “Dave is still home. Dancer! Dancer!”
Her brother did not answer. He was too busy rubbing Pops' back. She hurried back to him and grabbed his arm. “Listen to me. Dave is still home. Go downstairs and get him before he leaves for work.”
“We gotta help him, Joanie. We gotta do something.”
“Didn't you hear me? We are doing something. Now get down to Dave's before he leaves. Hurry up!”
Dancer snapped to it and was down the stairs as quick as a cat. Dave was just locking his apartment door. The timing could not have been better. A half-hour later, Pops was in the emergency room at Bronx Hospital. Initial diagnosis? He was having an acute attack of pancreatitis brought on by too much alcohol consumption. The pain was so intense that Pops was on the verge of going into shock. He had a fever of 103 degrees caused by an infection and his abdomen was swollen from fluid build-up. Initial treatment? Administer antibiotics, IV fluids and pain medication, then nothing to eat or drink. He would have to stay in the hospital for a few days until the pancreas calmed down. It was too soon to predict anything.
Pops, making a valiant attempt to appear okay, looked at his daughter and said, “Joanie, the boys need you at home. Don't worry. I'll be fine. So let Dave bring you back. He has to get to work anyway. I'll talk to you later. Now, give me a hug and kiss and get outta here.”
Joanie hugged her dad and kissed his cheek. Pops smiled and said, “Hey Dave, thanks for everything. L-Y-N.”
“Yeah, Yimey, L-Y-N to you too. Take care of yourself.”
***
Teddy, who had arrived at the legal drinking age of 18 a few months earlier, stopped at Corcoran's for a beer on the way home from work. After a few, he headed home to discover that Pops was in the hospital.
“I know he was kinda moaning last night. I asked him before I left this morning if he would be okay. He said he was all right so I left for work. Never thought he'd wind up in the hospital.”
Joanie, crying, said to him, “Well by seven thirty, he was curled up on the floor screaming in pain. I was so scared. I swear Teddy, I thought he was going to die right there.”
He put his arm around his sister's shoulder. “That bad, huh? And all this is from food poisoning?”
“No, no. Dr. Schwartz said he wasn't sure anymore. He said it might be a case of—oh nuts, I can't remember. Something like pancree…peree…something. Oh, I don't remember. All I know is it was caused by his stupid drinking. It’s not food poisoning, that's for sure.”
“Drinking—oh man. Dang, I knew he was drinking too much. Hey, Scratch isn't working late again, is he? He could come with me to the hospital.”
“Yes, he’s working a double shift. Won't be home ‘til after midnight. And stop calling him Scratch. His name is Denis, not Scratch—it's so dumb. It sounds like he's a big itch. I hate it.”
“Oh c'mon, Joanie. Not that again, especially now. We have more important stuff to worry about. You oughta just get used to it.”
“Whatever. I don't care. I'll never get used to it. It's dumb. What's with all these crazy names anyway? Beeker? His name is Robert, and Pops started calling him Beeker and no one knows why and now he’s Beeker. And Dancer's name is James and Pops calls him Dancer and even my boyfriend, Denis, he calls Scratch. It's like they’re all cartoon characters. I swear—oh, who cares anyway? I have to go to the bathroom. ”
Teddy turned and saw his three brothers quietly sitting side by side on the sofa. They were frightened. He went over to them and said, “Look guys, everything will be okay. I'm going to go see Pops and give him a big hug from all of you. Don't worry. Everything will be fine.”
Dancer said, “I want to go with you. I'm 14 and I'm not a baby. He's my father too.”
“C'mon, Dancer. I know you're not a baby. No one thinks you're a baby. But I need you to hang out here with Beeker and Joey. Just do me a favor and do that, okay?”
Dancer said nothing and shrugged. They were all looking at Teddy and none of them believed for a second that everything was going to be fine. They had seen their father doubled over howling and crying in pain. Beeker and Joey had quiet tears in their eyes. They knew this was a very bad thing. Dancer went out into the hallway, reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette he had swiped from Teddy. Striking a match he mumbled, “I'm not a little kid.”
Teddy cleaned up, wolfed down a bologna sandwich and left to see his father. But first, he made a quick stop at the Celtic Tavern, over on Teller Avenue. Though not on the curriculum, part of his apprenticeship also included the fine art of beer drinking. Knowing he was going to stop for a quick one before going to the hospital was the real reason he did not want Dancer to come with him. Teddy was learning the ways of manhood well.
He had walked away from his high school graduation with a State Regents Scholarship in his pocket. It might just as well have been an old newspaper. He knew he would never use it. Uncle Billy and Pops had convinced him that, for the time being, getting into the Carpenters Union was the smarter way to go. He could always do college later. Plus, Pops was on the ropes and the family needed the money. Even Father Sullivan had told Teddy that considering the family circumstances, it was probably the right thing to do. Father's opinion was the final catalyst needed to erase any doubts in Teddy's mind about his immediate future.
Teddy made it to the hospital around eight thirty, half-schnockered. Arriving at Pops' room, he looked in and saw a doctor examining his father. He stood by the door watching, as the doctor moved the stethoscope around Pop's chest. An IV tree, with several bottles of hanging liquid, had thin tubes extending down connecting to a needle in Pops' hand. Then Teddy noticed a huge bottle sitting on the floor next to the bed. A thin hose snaked from inside Pops' nose down into the bottle. Dripping from the hose into the bottle was brown, green and black gunk. It was disgusting. Teddy's gag reflex kicked in. Immediately, the after taste of bologna and beer was in his throat. His cheeks puffed up and he put his hand over his mouth. He had to look away. He was sure he was going to puke. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Slowly the feeling passed.
He watched as the doctor touched Pops reassuringly on his shoulder. Then the doctor turned and headed to the door. He was a big man, at least 6' 4” and must have weighed close to 275 pounds. He had a round face crowned by a balding head, thin wire rimmed glasses supported by a long nose and a somewhat grungy appearance overall. He instantly intimidated Teddy as he stopped and looked at him. “Hello, I'm Dr. Rothstein. I'm the chief resident. Are you here to see Mr. Peach?”
“Uh, yeah. I'm his son, Ted. How is he? Is he gonna be okay?”
“C'mon, Ted, let's step outside for a minute.”
Outside the big doctor looked hard at this nervous young man wondering why he was alone and a bit miffed at the smell of beer coming from him. “So, Ted, I was not here when your father was brought in this morning. Did your mom bring him in?”
“Uh, no. She died a few years ago. My sister brought him in.”
Dr. Rothstein was a little taken aback. Damn, that stinks. This guy is just a kid. Recovering he said, “Oh, I'm sorry. So, it's just you and your sister?”
“We have three younger brothers too. Hey doc, what does it matter?”
“I'm sorry, it doesn’t. I was just curious. I expected someone, well…no matter.”
Teddy did not respond and they both sort of looked at each other feeling awkward. Then Dr. Rothstein gave Teddy a quick overview of pancreatitis. He explained that excessive drinking had caused serious damage to Pops' pancreas. This caused the pancreas to overproduce digestive enzymes. These enzymes had attacked Pops' organs causing incredible pain and infection. Immediate treatment was to administer antibiotics, IV fluids and pain medication.
There would be no food or drink whatsoever. The pancreas needed to calm down. That was all that could be done. The big bottle with the gunk was fluid being pumped out of Pops' stomach to help with the calming process. Teddy thought, Just like siphoning raw sewage—GROSS.
Dr. Rothstein told Teddy that it would take Pops a few days to recover. “I think he'll be okay. His blood pressure and heart rate have lowered. That’s a good sign. If his pressure drops suddenly, it could mean he’s going into shock from the pain. But we’re watching him very closely. The bottom line is this—if he keeps on drinking, it will kill him.”
Teddy, quite inexperienced at this type of thing, shook Dr. Rothstein's hand and simply said, “Thank you, doctor.” He did not really know what to think, never mind what to ask.
He went back to Pops' room and stood just inside the doorway. He did not go in. The bottle of gunk was too much for him to deal with and he did not want to make a fool of himself. He was an 18-year-old kid oozing a know-it-all attitude reinforced by a couple of beers and his talk with the doctor.
Remembering Dr. Rothstein's shaky optimism, he said, “Hey Pops, this is pretty serious. The doctor said you gotta stop the drinking, or it could kill you.”
Pops said nothing. Besides pain and fear, there was a resolute sadness etched into his face. It frightened Teddy, although he did not understand it. Their eyes locked, blue on blue, father and son, sharing what would turn out to be their final moment together. Teddy thought he noticed a solitary tear drip from Pops' eye and slowly roll down onto the pillow. Still, he remained by the door.
He broke the silence saying, “Okay Pops, I gotta get home. See you tomorrow.” As he turned and headed to the elevator, Pops raised his hand and held up his thumb and pinky finger, but Teddy did not notice.
Walking away from the hospital, Teddy briefly stopped, turned and looked up at the third floor. He located the window of Pops' room and stared at it. Whispering, “I love you, Pops,” he began to cry. He knew he should go back but he didn't. That decision would transpose into a lifelong, heartbreaking memory transfixed around the words—if only I had… Sometimes, you just don't get a second chance.
CHAPTER TWO
A few years earlier, the Peach family was no different than most of the other families who lived on Sherman Avenue. It was a typical Bronx neighborhood with people of diverse backgrounds and cultures crammed into apartment buildings doing their best to live their lives and get along with each other. There were some Jewish families and even some Lutherans and Presbyterians, but for the most part, the vast majority were Catholics from various ethnic backgrounds—German, Irish, Polish, Czech, Swedish, Italian. The Petrossian family was even Eastern Rite Armenian Catholic. Yet on Sundays, most families worshipped at St. Ann's Church on Morris Avenue. During the week most of the children attended the parish school.
The majority of the bread winners were hard working, blue collar workers; firemen, cops, construction workers, longshoremen, truckers, bus drivers, railroad workers and so on. Pops was a cab driver and, like most of the men in the neighborhood, had no aversion to downing a drink or two. He would usually stop for a few beers on his way home from work and shoot the breeze with the other guys.
The women usually got to know each other through their children, meeting each other as they pushed their newborns down the street in a carriage or once the little ones started school at St. Ann's. That was the way it was. As for the Peaches, their family linchpin wore out prematurely. Elizabeth Peach, wife and mother, passed away at the ripe old age of 39. Just like that, the Peaches were no longer the same as everyone else. Happy New Year, 1962.
Beeker, who was six at the time, began keeping an eye on the front door. He was sure the next twist of the knob or turn of the key or maybe the sound of footsteps outside would be his Mom. This stuff he was hearing about, something called leukemia, was dumb. He knew that they were wrong and at any moment she would be opening that door. When she did, he would be ready and make sure he was the first one to rush to her. She would bend down, grab him in her arms, and hug him till he couldn’t breathe. He watched and waited, day after day after day, but it was always someone else opening the door. His hope-filled smile slowly turned straight.
Joey, who had just turned two, was the youngest of the five kids. Besides needing to be fed, bathed, have his diaper changed, his runny nose wiped and his bottle filled with milk—he also needed something else. He needed to sit in his Mommy's lap with his head nestled into the crook of her arm while he listened to her sweetly humming “Rock-a-Bye Baby.” But that part of his very young life was gone forever. Behind his little chest beat a child's heart with a huge ache in it. He was like a lost puppy, weaned from his mother too soon and thrust into a scary new world of fear and loneliness. At two years old, he did not understand, he simply felt.
At that time, the Peach family also included Grandma, Pops' mother-in-law. A no-nonsense German immigrant, she had never liked Pops and ignored him as much as she could—not easy to do in a small apartment. When her daughter died, her grief dragged her to the edges of insanity. She decided that Pops had killed his wife and that he was a murdering good for nothing.
Pops worked at least 10 hours a day, five or six days a week, driving a big yellow Checker cab around New York City. He always came home with fascinating stories about the different passengers he would have. And always, without fail, he would stress how everyone was God's child no matter who they were or where they came from. He had always dreamed of someday getting his own medallion, a metal badge that fastened to the hood of the cab that proved ownership. Every year he said, “Maybe next year…” But it would never happen, medallions went for about 15 grand. You could buy a house in Jersey for that kind of money. So he drove for the King Cab Corporation and split the fares with them 60/40 with the majority going to King Cab. It was okay. The money he brought home paid the bills and put food on the table.
Mom's passing left Pops devastated. Like a fighter punched with a right hook to the side of the head, he was dazed and on the canvas. He tried to get up and fight back, but he didn’t have it in him. So he threw in the towel and turned command of the household over to Grandma. Pops' thought process was simple. I'm a man. They NEED a woman. Grandma is not only a woman she is their grandmother, too. But I can't be around her. Okay, I have no choice. Oh man, I need a drink. So he headed down the street to Corcoran's Pub and left his five kids with a new general.
The Peach family was cruising along the road of life. Now their engine was sputtering and backfiring. They were rolling along as if they were lost and had two flat tires. Pops was drinking more. He was driving the cab less, and he was getting home later and later. Father Sullivan knew the family well. He had trained Teddy as an altar boy and had worked closely with his mother when she was president of the St. Ann's PTA. Since her death, he had quietly kept tabs on the Peaches. He suggested to Monsignor McNally that it might be a good idea to give Pops some part time custodial work at St. Ann's. Monsignor, wanting to help Pops out as much as he could, quickly agreed. So Pops began working several days a week at the church and school. Driving his cab only two days a week, he was bringing home about half the money that he used to.
Harry, their grocer, offered Teddy some part-time work. After school, he’d arrive at four o’clock and quickly change his clothes, stock shelves, do general clean-up duties and deliver groceries. He’d make it home close to six thirty and then have to tackle homework—and if there was one thing the Marist Brothers at St. Michael's High knew how to do—it was to give homework. On Saturdays, he worked from ten until six. He was worn out, but the money was sorely needed.
Joanie, still in eighth grade at St. Ann's, was quite unprepared to be thrust into the role of probationary mommy. She was busy thinking about Stevie Cunningham who lived up the block. For some reason, he had gone from being a real pain to being VERY cute. The eighth grade dance was coming up. Would he ask her to go? If not, would he at least ask her to dance with him? Was he even going to go? Was she too fat? She knew for sure that her chest was way too small, especially if compared to the overly endowed Diane Carlucci, who all the boys were always staring at, including Stevie.
Yes, things had changed. Stevie Cunningham, and other such foolish things that filled the heads of normal 13-year-old girls, were put on hold. School work, starting high school, evolving boobs, applying lipstick, lamenting over light brown hair that would never cooperate with a comb and brush and other childish concerns—now ran a distant second to the tasks at hand. Only six months earlier, Mom had taken Joanie to Alexander's Department Store and bought her her first bra. Joanie was so proud that she actually made sure that she wore a blouse that would be transparent enough to allow the bra straps to be visible underneath. Full womanhood was around the corner. But Grandma had a different concept of womanhood. So did the nuns at St. Ann's.
The good Sisters at school truly cared and wanted to help. But their daily advice to Joanie on how to take care of her family and what her duties and responsibilities were, overwhelmed her. She did not want to hear how this was God's will or how this was her cross to bear.
She especially did not want to hear how happy her Mom was in heaven. Joanie was happy that Mom was happy, but she would have been happier if Mom was in the kitchen fixing supper or maybe helping her with her hair. My God, Joanie thought, they're even telling me how to change diapers. They're nuns. What could they know about changing diapers? The nuns had no need to be concerned. Joanie had a new guidance counselor and maternal role model at home.
Grandma wasted no time in implementing her new curriculum. Intense instruction in washing clothes, ironing, food shopping at the A&P, dusting, mopping floors, washing windows, bed making and toilet scrubbing filled the training schedule. Grandma's favorite, however, was scrubbing woodwork. She obsessed about this facet of home care. Every week it had to be done.
Grandma did love her granddaughter and probably, because of her own background, thought she was doing the right thing. But she was a bitter, unhappy woman who hated her life. No one ever talked about or even mentioned her husband. It was like he never existed. Her son, Conrad, had been killed at age 20 in World War II during the invasion of Normandy. Now her only other child, Elizabeth, was gone. Grandma was even angry with God and stopped going to Mass. Unfortunately for Joanie, she became the prime recipient of much of her grandmother's misery.
Teddy's adolescent life revolved around school and work. When he was home, he was more or less oblivious to all the noise and confusion that had escalated from a normal type of controlled chaos to a constant, tension-filled, everyday chaos. Dancer and Beeker could be fighting. Joey might be crying. Grandma might be yelling at them, “Sein Sie ruhig, Sie fahren mich verrukt!” The translation being, “Be quiet, you're driving me crazy.” The phone could be ringing, the TV blasting—it didn’t matter. Teddy would plop on the sofa, watch TV or read a book—oblivious to it all. Pops would say to him, “One thing about you Teddy, my boy, you'll never have an ulcer.”
One evening, with the usual chaos in full swing, Teddy thought he heard a noise coming from the back room. He headed back and poked his head inside. There was Joanie, sitting on the bed crying. Surprised, he ask, “Hey Joanie, what's wrong?”
Through her sobs she mumbled, “Nothing's wrong. Just leave me alone, okay?”
“So you're crying for nothing?”
“PLEASE, Teddy. Just leave me alone. You don't care anyway.”
“Fine,” he said. He started to leave but his instincts started screaming at him. He stopped, listened and turned around. He went over to his sister and sat down next to her. “C'mon Joanie, what's going on? Why are you crying? What happened?”
“Nothing happened, all right. Just leave me alone! I swear—I can't stand it! I just need to be by myself. Just go.”
Teddy did not go. Rather, he put his arm around her shoulder and said, “Look Joanie, I mean, I know I'm always teasing you and all but, well, you are my sister and I do love you.”
She exploded, “What! Love me? That's a good one Teddy. Yeah, sure, if this is the kind of love I get around here maybe I should just kill myself.”
Teddy was shocked. “What! What are you talking about? Kill yourself? What’s going on? That's crazy talk. What's wrong with you?”
“What's wrong with me? What's WRONG with me? I'll tell you what's wrong with me—that mean old lady in the other room. That's what's wrong with me. And nobody cares, nobody. Not Pops, not you, not anyone. She’s so mean to me. I hate her. I swear—I hate her. And now I'm going to hell because I hate my own grandmother.”
Teddy fumbled around inside himself trying to find something to say. His 15-year-old wisdom was still in the early developmental stages so all he could come up with was, “Hate her? Going to hell? That's ridiculous. I don't think…”
She cut him off and began to ramble, “Ridiculous! I'll tell you what's ridiculous. The fact that you and Pops don't have any idea what’s going on around here. That's ridiculous. She's gone crazy. Half of the time she thinks I'm Mom and calls me Elizabeth. Then she's nice. Then all of a sudden, I'm Joanie and I'm scrubbing the woodwork again and, then I'm not doing it right and have to do it over. Sure Teddy, you’re absolutely right. You don't think. The ceiling could fall down and you wouldn't think. Pops is never home. She hates him and is always saying mean things to him. So he stays away. LUCKY him. She tells the boys how rotten he is and tells them that he killed their mother…”
“What! What are you talking about? She tells them that? I never heard that.”
“That's because she knows you'll get mad at her and she don't want her precious Teddy getting mad at her. God forbid. She would never say it in front of you. So you don't know and you don't think. Do you remember me mopping the floors last night? You sat right there while I mopped around your big feet and you never noticed, did you?”
“Uh, no, I didn't.”
“Of course you didn't. And then this morning Joey spilled a little bit of milk and instead of just wiping it up she made me mop the whole floor again, I was late for school and got in trouble for it and everything. I swear, sometimes I wish I were dead like Mom. Why did she have to die anyway?”
As soon as she mentioned Mom, tears came to Teddy’s eyes. He took a deep breath and said to his sister, “She really told them that Pops killed Mom? She calls you Elizabeth? I swear, Joanie, I had no idea. That’s so crazy. ”
“I think she IS crazy, period.”
Teddy said nothing as the concept of having a crazy Grandma danced in his head. Joanie leaned her head over and rested it on her brother's shoulder. He wiped the tears from his own eyes and pulled her closer. It was a moment that both of them needed. Teddy said, “I'm sorry Joanie. I have to talk to Pops. This is nuts. He needs to be home more. He's drinking too much anyway. And I'm going to get after Grandma for you. She listens to me a little. I'll help you with all this. And by the way, I don’t think you're going to hell because you've been spending more than enough time in purgatory lately.”
It was a turning point for the two oldest kids. They joined forces and did succeed in establishing a modicum of calm in the house. Teddy got after Grandma about being so hard on Joanie. Grandma found it easy to do. She just called her Elizabeth a lot more often. Teddy tried to talk to Pops about it, but Pops simply said him to, “Look Teddy, just pray for Grandma. She has a great sadness inside her. It doesn't matter what she thinks about me or says about me. I need her around for the little ones. It will all work out. It's all God's will.”
Now, for the first time in his Catholic life, Teddy had questions that had no simple answers. What does he mean, God's will? Was it God's will that Mom should get sick and die? He gave her five kids. So what's the point of that? Are we all being punished? Is Pops being punished? Joey's still a baby. He's not bad. Beeker’s just a first grader. What about Dancer? If God loves us why would He will this? Not to mention, Joanie being tormented by Grandma. None of this makes any sense. Everything is such a mess. He looked at his father and simply said, “Yeah Pops, okay. But we better pray very hard.” He never mentioned Pops' drinking. He was afraid to bring it up.
A little over a year after Mom died another tire blew. Grandma, standing in front of the kitchen sink, suddenly appeared contorted with her head twisted sideways and her hands clamped onto the sink like vise-grips. She was having a massive stroke. Teddy managed to drag her seemingly unbending body from the kitchen to the bed while Joanie phoned St. Ann's. Father Sullivan hurried over and administered the last rites to Grandma. She was holding Teddy's hand the whole time and her grip was so tight Teddy thought his hand might break. Her five grandchildren were at her side and she knew the priest was there. As soon as Father finished anointing her, Grandma's hand loosened its grip, her body relaxed and she released her final breath. Teddy, tears in his eyes, kissed the now limp hand and laid it across her belly. Joanie and Dancer were both positive that they saw a slight smile briefly form across her twisted lips. Beeker and Joey were too frightened to notice anything. As for Pops, well, he was not home.
An unplanned routine fell into place for the Peach family. They ate lots of sandwiches, especially peanut butter and jelly, and Twinkies were usually dessert. Dancer and Beeker were put in charge of the laundry and would take a pile of it to the laundromat every Saturday morning. They would pile the laundry into the washers then stuff it into the dryers. Finally it was rammed into a waiting duffel bag and dragged home. The laundry that left the laundromat was undeniably a wrinkled mess of towels, shirts, underwear, socks, and various other things such as bottle caps, plastic toys, baseball cards, rubber bands, and crayons. The plastic and crayons never cooperated as the heat from the dryers usually melted them, adding new highlights and textures to the clothes. Nothing was folded or separated, but at least the laundry did smell clean.
Joanie, capitalizing on her training from Grandma, managed to keep some semblance of order in the house—no easy task for a high school girl living with four brothers and a father. She demanded that Dancer and Beeker do chores and they did. Teddy, as the big brother, backed her up and stayed on them about their duties and responsibilities. They took out the trash on designated days, picked up after themselves, washed their dishes and put them away, cleaned the bathtub after using it, hung up the wet towels, brushed their teeth, combed their hair before leaving for school, shined their shoes, and, most of the time, did not leave food or drinks lying around. Dancer was assigned the task of looking out for Joey and teaching him about personal hygiene. Pops and the older ones did not seem to realize that Dancer still needed training himself.
Pops was still only driving the cab one or two days a week, and picking up a few bucks at St. Ann's. Most of his free time was spent in the local bars. He had gotten into a comfort zone with his two oldest kids. They were, as he told his buddies, holding down the fort. Of course, there was Beatrice Amon, the miserable yet self-righteous woman who lived in the apartment below. She had always felt it her moral and civic duty to keep a close eye on the kids in the neighborhood, watching for improper behavior and whatever other misdeeds the little miscreants might happen to do. She even kept a daily log of neighborhood activities. But the one family that always had her main focus was the Peaches. Their Mom was gone and she just knew that father of theirs was doing an extremely inadequate job of caring for those poor, unsupervised, neglected children. Beatrice knew that the day would come where she would have to rescue them from their miserable existence.
CHAPTER THREE
The next morning, Teddy left for work as usual at six thirty. It was a 15 minute walk to the subway entrance across the street from Yankee Stadium. Along with throngs of other folks, he headed down the stairs and vanished into the black hole that was the subway station. Forty minutes later, he popped out of another black hole in lower Manhattan. He was one of millions of people who every day, like two-legged mice, ran into and out of dark holes that were all over the city, traveling through the underground maze to reach their destinations. His anxiety level was ramped up, and he planned to leave work an hour early and go right home to see how Pops and the rest of the clan were doing.
It was around nine thirty and the carpentry crew was standing around having their morning coffee break. A guy from the general contractor's office came onto the floor and yelled out, “Hey you guys, I'm looking for Teddy Peach. Where’s Teddy Peach?”
Plumbers, electricians, steam-fitters, lathers, tin-knockers and other tradesmen, turned and looked. Then they all turned back to what they were doing, all except Teddy, who instantly had a sick feeling rush through his body. Why would anyone want me…unless…oh no! “Yo! I'm Teddy Peach. What's going on?”
The man waved his hand motioning Teddy toward him. Jimmy Morissey, Teddy's foreman, headed that way also, wanting to know what this man wanted with his apprentice. “You Teddy?” the man asked.
“Yeah, what's going on?”
“You have a message from your sister to call home right away. Said it was urgent. We have a phone down in the trailer that you can use.”
Teddy immediately knew why Joanie was calling but he asked anyway, “Did she say what this is about?”
“Look, I'm not sure. Has to do with your father. You had better just go and call your sister.”
“He's dead, isn't he? He's dead.”
The man answered by simply closing his eyes for a moment and then opening them. Jimmy Morrisey said to Teddy, “I'm sorry, son. We'll be praying for you and your family. I'll take care of your tools. You just get home.”
Teddy responded instinctively, “Uh, thanks, Jimmy.” The very next moment he turned and headed for the subway. Once on the platform, he realized that he had forgotten to stop and call Joanie. As the D train stopped and the doors opened, Teddy did not get on. Instead, he ran to the end of the platform to a telephone booth. Joanie answered and he started babbling, “Joanie, he died, didn't he?”
“Yes…”
“Okay—I'm on my way home now.” He hung up and ran toward another waiting D train.
Joanie was still staring at the receiver of the phone. Oh my God, he hung up. I hope he's all right.
Once again, Teddy got back off the train and ran back to the phone booth. This time he called his girlfriend, Sarah. They had started dating a year earlier and, to those that knew them, it sure looked as if this was the real thing. He needed her now, desperately. He dialed her number. Answer the phone. C'mon, Sarah, pick up…pick up. When she finally did answer, all she heard was, “He's dead.”
“Uh, what?” she nervously asked. “What did you say? Teddy? Is that you?”
“Yeah, it's me. Pops is dead. He died. I'll call you later, I can't talk right now,” he said before abruptly hanging up.
Sarah stared at the phone for a moment. “Oh my God,” she mumbled. She thought for a moment and called Teddy's house. Joanie answered and told her that the hospital had called at seven thirty to tell them that Pops had passed away at three o’clock.
“Okay Joanie, okay. That explains his insane phone call. I'm leaving right now. Be there in a half hour.”
Sarah lived in the north Bronx on Sedgwick Avenue. She immediately headed for the subway four blocks away at 238th Street and Broadway. As she crossed Broadway, she spotted a cab and waved it down. The heck with waiting for the subway—I want to be there when he gets home.
***
The trip from Chambers Street took about 30 minutes. The train was somewhat crowded but not jam-packed. The seats were all taken, but there was standing room. Teddy stood with his back to the sliding doors pretending, like most everyone else, not to see anything while seeing everything. One guy stood holding the overhead strap, newspaper folded neatly in his free hand, while reading the bouncing print. A big, fat man, looking for a handout, was singing and playing a steel drum as he slowly moved through the subway car. He had a wide, black garrison belt wrapped around his coat and hanging from it was a big, plastic cup. In the cup were a few dollar bills and some loose change, purposely placed inside to give everyone a message.
The daily subway riders like Teddy simply ignored him. The guy banged away on his drum. He moved to the end of the compartment, opened the sliding door between the cars and moved on. Teddy knew if he was persistent enough and rode and played his music for the better part of the day, he would eventually make out okay. When a big, fat guy looking for money shoves a cup in your face while beating on a steel drum and singing some strange, unknown song on a swaying subway car—it can be intimidating to some, especially tourists. They were the ones who quickly dug fast and deep to fill the man's cup. Teddy was sure they went home and told a wondrous tale of their encounter with a crazy New Yorker.
Otherwise the trip was uneventful, except for the sudden stop and ensuing blackout that occurred between 42nd and 59th Streets. Experienced riders were used to suddenly being buried alive in total darkness, in a tunnel, under the streets of Manhattan with cars, trucks and people scurrying above. It happened all the time. After several minutes the train would lurch back to life. The lights would come on and with a staccato BANG-BANG-BANG, the couplers of each car would catch and the clackety-clack swaying would resume. Seasoned passengers never gave it a second thought.
Teddy got off the train at 161 Street and walked quickly, heading for the tunnel that went under the Grand Concourse, the main thoroughfare in the Bronx. Entering the tunnel, he was greeted by a relentless, biting 15 degree wind that was hurling invisible needles of ice into any uncovered face that dared confront it. He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, turned his face downward into the top of his coat, and forged through the tunnel, knocking the wind aside as if it did not exist.
Thought after thought was spinning back and forth inside his freezing head. What now? What now? You're the oldest. You have to be in charge. You have to take care of them somehow. But okay, you have to work. They can't be running the streets. Well, I guess between me and Joanie…but she has school and…oh man, Christmas vacation is over this week. Next Monday—well, Dancer can make sure that Beeker and Joey get there on time. Can I trust Dancer? He's got that big chip on his shoulder about something or other. I'm bringing home $83 a week. Pops took care of some stuff. Stop it, Teddy. Just get home and…yeah, that's it. For now, just get home. Oh man, they can't be running the streets. Can I trust Dancer? Joanie has school. I think Beeker needs shoes. Sarah's mother will love this. She'll be all over her like…whatever. Just get home, will ya? Oh, I forgot about Miss Amon. She'll be…just get home, Teddy. Just get home.
The Peaches' four room apartment was typical for the neighborhood. The kitchen counted as a room but was, at the most 6 feet wide by 10 feet long. Add in the stove, refrigerator, sink, cupboards and the small table and chairs and it was more like a cluttered closet. The family lived in the front of the building so the bedroom windows overlooked the street. If you happened to have a rear apartment, your rooms overlooked the alleyway that ran the length of the street. When you first walked into the place, you entered a hallway that was about 8 feet long. The bathroom was to the right in the middle of the hallway, and it’s where Teddy sought immediate refuge upon entering the apartment.
He paused at the sink, took a breath and then looked at himself in the mirror of the medicine cabinet. He had not worn his stocking cap and his jet-black hair was all over the place, a reminder of the wind that had so miserably failed to bring him to submission. He unzipped his green winter jacket and, instead of using the brush right in front of him, haphazardly ran his fingers through his hair. He took another breath, stared deeply into his own blue eyes and said, “Okay, they're all waiting. Let's go do this.”
The living room was 10 x 12, and compared to the other three rooms, it was huge. Along one wall was an old desk. Crowning it was a pile of opened boxes that a few days earlier had held wrapped Christmas presents. Hanging on the wall above the desk was a framed paint-by-numbers picture of the Last Supper. Painted by their mom years earlier, it had become a tangible way to retain her presence in the apartment.
In the corner of the room stood the Christmas tree. It was a pathetic looking tree, but after a half hour of intense dickering, Pops had paid three bucks for it then dragged it home from Zema's Market on Morris Avenue. He thought it was awesome. Yet after they all got working on it and Joanie meticulously hung the tinsel, it ended up looking pretty darn good. Next to the tree, on a rickety metal snack table covered with a red cloth, was the manger. However baby Jesus, Mary and Joseph were hidden under torn and crumpled wrapping paper.
There was an old green chair with frayed arms near the tree. Joanie was sitting in it holding Joey on her lap. Along the wall opposite the window, was the brown sofa bed. Sarah was sitting in the middle of it and to her right was Dancer with his head resting on his upraised fist. He had no place to go, but for some reason he was wearing his black pea coat and his black stocking cap. On Sarah's left sat Beeker. His head was nestled against her shoulder. He was crying softly and the tears were making his cheeks glisten. They were all anxiously awaiting Teddy's arrival home.
Teddy saw everyone at once and immediately started to cry. He did not even realize that it was Sarah who had gotten up and was standing there hugging him. His tears were contagious and within seconds the somber room was filled with crying young people. Sarah hugged Teddy then leaned back and held his face in her hands. She wiped away his tears with her thumbs and stared into his eyes. “Teddy, listen to me,” she said. “They need you to be strong. Okay? They need you to be in charge. They're all scared, even Joanie. They think they’re all going to end up alone. So, right now, try to be strong.”
He took a breath and looked down at her. “Alone? That's ridiculous. Me and Joanie are here and you…”
“Look, you are all in this together and have to survive it together. They just need some reassurances from you that everything will be all right and that they’re safe. Understand?”
The magnitude of the situation was starting to hit Teddy right between the eyes. At 18, he was quickly feeling alone and overwhelmed. Looking at Joey and Beeker, he suddenly realized how young they were. Dancer was only in eighth grade. I'm only four years older than Dancer. Beeker and Joey…dang, this is messed up. Okay, be strong, whatever that means… Then he heard a small voice that had been calling his name, “Teddy…Teddy?”
He turned to his right and saw Joey. Teddy rubbed the palms of his hands across his eyes wiping them dry. “Yeah, Joey? What is it?”
Joey sitting on Joanie's lap, had his head pressed back into her chest. His wide-open eyes overwhelmed his little face. He was slightly rocking back and forth with the top of his head staying right under her chin. Sniffles punctuated every third or fourth tear. He was frightened, all right. No doubt about it. He did not understand. He wanted all this talk about Pops being dead to stop. It wasn’t funny. It had to be a mistake. Why, Pops had even promised that no matter what he was going to let him watch the ball drop at Times Square at midnight. Well, tomorrow was New Year's Eve. Pops had promised. He was positive he would be coming home any minute. They were all stupid. “Are you bringing Pops home later?”
The innocence of the question caused all crying to stop and all eyes focused on Joey. They then turned instinctively to the oldest among them. They were waiting to see how he would handle this unexpected moment. None of them realized that this was also a defining moment for all of them—especially Teddy. “No, Joey. I'm not bringing Pops home later. Pops isn’t coming home.”
Joey burst out crying, “He promised I could watch the ball drop on New Year's Eve. He has to come home. He promised.”
Teddy went over to his little brother and knelt down. He put his hand on Joey's small shoulder. Joanie was watching intently. Teddy said, “Look at me, Joey. C'mon, look at me.”
Joey rubbed his wet eyes and took a big breath as Joanie hugged him. Teddy said, “I promise you, Joey, that I will make sure that you are up to watch that ball drop. Just like Pops said. Okay?”
“You promise?”
“I promise, no matter what.”
Joey pushed his head a bit closer into Joanie's chest and she kissed it. His small mouth sort of broke into a slight smile. His big brother had injected a small shot of security, not only into Joey, but into all of them. As Teddy rubbed Joey's blond hair, Joanie said, “Okay, Teddy. Now what?”
Joanie, by deferring to her older brother, had officially validated his position as the new head of the household. Dancer, Beeker and Joey were sitting still, staring at Teddy, waiting for him to do or say something that would not only stabilize the floundering Peach ship, but also give it direction. Teddy Peach, looking around, hoped that his crew could not see the fear and anxiety he was feeling.
Beeker suddenly said, “Hey Teddy, now we're orphans, right? Do we have to move?”
Teddy was stunned. “What? Move? Move where? What are you talking about?”
Dancer said, “He thinks we have to go live in an orphanage. He saw something on TV about kids whose parents died and how they were put in an orphanage, so that's what he's talking about.”
Teddy stared at Dancer. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He shook his head a bit and looked at Beeker and said, “Beeker, pay attention to this. In fact, all of you pay close attention. No one is going anywhere. Got it? We’re still a family. This is still our home. We are all going to stay right here, just like we've been doing—end of story. Now, get out your rosary beads. We need to pray and ask Our Lady to watch out for us. Beeker, take the phone off the hook. I don't want any interruptions.”
Dancer groaned, “Hey, Teddy, do we have to say a whole rosary? Can't we do it later?”
Teddy thought for a minute and said, “Well, okay, we'll say one decade and then finish it later. Okay, let's start. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. I believe in God the Father almighty, creator of…”
There was a knock and the front door opened. Teddy turned to see who would barge in uninvited and saw Joanie’s boyfriend, Scratch. “Hey man, get over here. We're about to say a decade of the rosary.”
“Don't call him Scratch. I hate that!” Joanie exclaimed.
“C'mon, Joanie, stop it. Will ya? You need to get over that.”
“His name is Denis, not Scratch. I swear! And don't tell me to get over it.”
“Okay, okay—fine. Scratch…oops, I mean DENIS. Would you join us in a moment of prayer?”
“Sounds like we all better say a bunch of prayers,” Scratch said smiling.
Scratch and his mom and dad lived in the apartment directly above and, like the Peach family below, had lived there for years. Scratch was five years older than Joanie but Sarah had a sense that they had eyes for each other. She had convinced Teddy that they should play Cupid and get Scratch and Joanie to go on a double date with them. They did and a year later, on Joanie's 17th birthday and with Pops' blessing, Scratch and Joanie got engaged.
Teddy shook his head, “Look, let's stop this so we can pray together.”
An impromptu circle formed in the cluttered living room. Teddy said, “Put your rosaries away for now and let's just join hands. We'll say the rosary later.” They joined hands and Teddy began, “Dear Lord, we need some help here. This is a bit of a mess—with Pops dying and all. So please stay close and watch out for us. Okay? Amen. Anyone else want to say something?”
Scratch was shaking his head and obviously stifling a laugh. Teddy looked at him and asked, “What, you can do better? Go ahead, be my guest.”
“No man, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything. But I have to tell you, that was a pretty lame prayer.”
Teddy and Scratch were more than buddies. They were like brothers and, like brothers sometimes do, they were always breaking each other’s chops. Teddy asked him, “What do you mean, lame? God doesn't care if it was lame. He knows what I meant. If you can do better, be my guest.”
“No, no. That was fine. I should have kept my mouth shut.”
“You two better not start with your stupid stuff. You hear me?” Joanie retorted.
Teddy and Scratch looked at each other and simultaneously asked, “Stupid stuff?”
Joanie, frustrated said, “That's right. You two always start with your dumb jokes and they are always about stupid stuff.”
Well, that was that. Scratch and Teddy burst out laughing, the over-the-top laughing about something that is really not funny but ends up being funny anyway. Through his laughter Teddy said, “Okay, Scratch. I'll be dumb. You be stupid. Or should we be stupid and dumb? I like dumb and stupid. Whaddaya think?”
“I don't really care. You decide. I have to scratch my itch.”
“Well, which is it? A stupid itch or a dumb itch?”
“Well, if you're dumb and I'm stupid, I guess it's a stupid itch.”
“Hey Joanie, this may sound dumb but, since I'm dumb anyway, why don't you help Scratch, scratch his stupid itch.”
Joanie turned around, wiggled her butt, and asked, “Why don't you both scratch this?”
Joanie's response was perfect. Just like that the whole bunch of them were up and dancing around, laughing, clapping their hands and singing to no particular tune, “Dumb and stupid…dumb and stupid…everything is dumb and stupid.”
It was a spontaneous, ridiculous moment that was sorely needed. It was also a moment they would always remember. Pops had always said that he was sure that God had a sense of humor. That moment may very well have proved his theory.
***
Later that evening Father Sullivan came by and led them all in praying the rosary. This time there was no laughing. Father had made arrangements with Nancy Kelly from the Kelly Funeral Home to pick up Pops' body at Bronx Hospital. The wake was scheduled to begin on New Year's Eve at two o’clock Father stayed with them for about an hour and, like sponges, they absorbed every bit of his calming, peaceful presence. Before he left they all stood and he prayed with them asking for God's mercy and love to be upon Pops and his children. He raised his hand, moving it in the sign of the cross, said in Latin, “Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus, Pater, et Filius, et Spiritus Sanctus. Amen.” These words simply meant, “May Almighty God bless you, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
Teddy walked Father to the front door. As he turned to leave Father said to him, “Oh, I almost forgot. Don't forget to pray to St. Joseph. He'll be there for you—guaranteed. Okay, see you all tomorrow.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“How could they lose his leg?”
At nine o’clock on New Year's Eve the phone rang. Joanie picked it up, “Oh hi, Mrs. Kelly.” There was a pause before she exclaimed, “What? How could that happen?”
Teddy noticed the strange look on his sister's face. “What is it?” he asked.
Wide-eyed Joanie said to Teddy, “I can't believe it. They lost Pops' leg. They can't find it anywhere.”
Pops had a wooden leg. To his kids, it was no big deal. That was just the way it was and something they grew up with and took for granted. The story—as they understood it—was that when Pops was about 10 years old, he and some of his more rambunctious friends tried to sneak onto the rear platform of a trolley car down on Delancey Street in lower Manhattan. It seems that Pops fell and his right leg went under the rear wheels of the trolley. Bye bye leg, simple as that. Pops walked fine and looked fine. After all, he had worn a wooden leg since he was a boy. No one could tell.
During World War II, Pops would go to different hospitals in New York City to visit with soldiers who had lost a limb in battle. He had a routine where he would have some music piped into the ward and then he would begin dancing around with a nurse, even doing the jitterbug. Naturally, his impromptu performance would really upset the bedridden G.I.'s. As soon as they started to yell at him, the music would stop and Pops would slowly undo his pants. As the wounded soldiers stared at this supposed nut case, Pops would let his pants fall to the ground. Standing there in his boxer shorts, the angry voices changed to gasps of amazement. Holy crap. Will you look at that? Damn. Praise Jesus. I'll be. Other assorted expletives were uttered as everyone beheld Pops' artificial leg.
A leather harness was wrapped around the stump of the leg and a lower wooden part was hinged to the harness for movement. A garter supported a black sock while a shoe adorned the foot.
“Okay boys, I've been wearing one of these since I was 10 years old and not one of you could tell I was missing a leg. So let me just say this to you. It will be a hard road, but you can do it. And, before you know it, you'll be dancing same as me. God bless you all.”
The finale was simple. Pops would sit down, untie the cowhide laces that held the harness together and remove the leg. Holding the prosthesis in his hand, he would stand on his left foot and hop out of the ward as fast as he could. Often times the applause and cheers continued even as he got on the elevator. Pops' charade gave hope to many a wounded vet and also gave them a much-needed laugh.