________________________________________________________________________

“Okay, kiddo.” Reaching for his cigarettes, “Tomorrow it’s just you and me.”

“I wanna ask you, Dad, why’d a guy wanna do it? Put his, uh, penis in a lady’s, uh, what’ch’ma’call’it?”

“First off,” lighting a cigarette, “it’s God’s way of creating life and making sure that there’s always people here, and also, because God made it feel so nice, people always want to do it.”

His thought of ‘how nice it’s got to feel’ confirmed, the thought of intercourse still repugnant, though, “Well, not me!”

“Oh, yeah? Just you wait. You just wait!”

______________________________________________________________________________________

Chicago, Illinois

June 15, 1944

“…Hi! This the Rizzo home?”

“Yes,” in a thick, Italian accent, “this Mrs. Rizzo.”

“Mrs. Rizzo, hi! This is Mitch Lipensky, a friend of Frankie’s from Baylor… Is Frankie there?”

“Yes. I call him for you.”

“…Mitchie! Hi! How’ya, pal?”

“Fine. How’ya doin’?”

“Great! Went to the movies this afternoon with a couple’a guys I know, an’ we met these two girls an…”

“Yeah, me, too,” cutting him off. “I went with Norman.” Whispering, “Frankie, I can’t talk no louder ’cause my mom’n’dad are in the next room an’ they’ll hear, but tonight, after we ate, my dad called me in the kitchen an’ told me all ’bout… it.”

“‘It’?”

“Yeah! ‘It’! You know! ‘It’! What you’n’me’s been talkin’ ’bout.” Speaking even softer, “’bout girls’n’stuff!”

“Oh! Yeah? No kiddin’!”

“Yeah! An’ he even showed me pictures…”

“Pictures! No shit! An’ you were able to see it?”

“Kind’a. In a way. But they were drawings an’ you couldn’t really see… you know, it. But he explained lots’a stuff to me, an’ you know what?”

“No, what?”

“Ol’ Skorp’s a dick! He don’t know shit ’bout girls! You know all that stuff he told us ’bout the names of, uh, girl’s things?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, none of it’s true . A girl’s pisser ain’t really called…” the pitch of his voice dropping even lower, “…a cunt.”

“What’s it called, then?”

His mind suddenly blank, the words vulva, vagina, womb, penis all forgotten, but…

Room. Remembering the word he’d mispronounced, “A girls pisser’s really called a room.”

“A ‘room’?”

“Yeah.”

Well, Frank Rizzo thought, if guys wanna put their pricks into a room, why not? It kind of made sense to him.

“Mitchell, who are you talking to?”

Her voice, coming from behind, startled him. “Frankie, Mom. I’m telling Frankie ’bout our new baby, an’ stuff.”

“Say hello to him for me.”

“Frankie, my mom says hello.”

“Yeah,” impatient to hear more, “tell her hello for me, too… What baby?”

“One’a the things my dad told me is that him’n’my mom’s gonna have a baby. An’ that’s why he wanted to explain ’bout girls’n’stuff’n’where babies come from. An’ ’cause my mom’s gonna have a baby, she ain’t goin’ back to work, so I can’t go back to Baylor next year.”

“Mitchie, I was gonna call an’ tell you that, too.”

“No shit! Your mom’s gonna have a baby, too?”

“No, dopey! That I ain’t goin’ back either. My pa’s bought a little store over on 63rd, an’ they’ll need the extra money, an’ also, they need me to help out there.”

“Boy, Frankie, I’m really glad that I ain’t goin’ back, then. Wow! It sure would be tough bein’ there without my ol’ dago pal.”

“Mitch, I been thinkin’ it’ll be real easy for you to come an’ visit. You know where Western Avenue is?”

“Yeah, it’s on the other side of the park.”

“Well, all’s you gotta do is take the streetcar south on Western to 63rd an’ I’d meet you there, an’ I know you’d have a real good time ’cause I told this girl that I met at the movies today all ’bout’j’ya an’ she—her name’s Gina—an’ she let me touch her titties in the movie an’ she want’s’a meet my good lookin’ Jew pal.”

“No! Really? Come on! This girl you only met today let you…” whispering, “touch her titties?”

“Yeah, really! An’ guess what else.” Not waiting for him to guess, “She lets guys see her, uh, room,” whispering, “if the guy’ll show her his prick, an’ she knows Jewish guys got different kind’s’a pricks then us Italian guys and she don’t know no Jewish guys so she’s never seen a Jewish prick. So guess what?”

“Uh…”

“Seein’ as you’re the only Jewish prick I know, I told her ’bout’j’ya an’ she want’s’a see yours an’ she’ll show you her’s.”

Disbelieving, “Nah!”

“Yeah! Really!”

“Really, Frankie!” Mitchell shouted, then looked over his shoulder to see if his parents had heard, then, lowering his voice once again, “She said she’ll really show me her’s if I show her mine?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe she was kiddin’ you.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too… Then, when I was walkin’ her home after the movies, she said I should come into her hallway with her so we did, and I did…”

“You did, what?” Mitchell asked.

“She asked to see it…”

“No! Really?”

“Yeah, really, so…”

“So?”

“I showed it to her.”

“You did?” Mitchell laughs. “You whipped it out an’ showed it to her?”

“Yeah! Of course! Sure! An’ she did, too.”

“No shit! She showed hers to you? You saw it? Wow! An’ you really think she’ll do it with me, too?”

“Yeah, Mitch, like I told you, Gina really want’s’a meet you! An’ I’ll tell you somethin’ else: If she likes you, most likely she’ll even fuck with you.”

“Jesus, Frankie…” Even if the girl/female had to, as his father had said, “be in the right position”—whatever that meant—still, the thought of actually seeing a girl’s—whatever it was called—was unbelievably exciting. The thought of actual intercourse, however, to Mitchell, was still yucky. “You, uh, going to do it with her, uh…” whispering again, “fuck with her?”

“Yeah, Mitch,” he said without hesitation, “I will! Soon’s I can!”

Thinking a second, “Yes,” Mitchell said, “guess I would, too.” Though, truly, he wasn’t really sure he would. “How’s, uh, whats’er name look? She pretty? You’ll call me an’ let me know all ’bout it after you do it?”

“Pretty? Gina’s okay, I guess… Yeah, sure I’ll call you, Mitchie. An’ remember, anytime you wanna come here you just let me know, an’ probably you’ll be able to be fucked, too. But certainly, least ways, you’ll get to see what a c… room looks like.”

Knowing they were nearing the end of their conversation, “Yeah,” Mitchell said rather quietly. “I’ll call you an’ let you know when…”

Their common denominator had been Baylor, but with Baylor no longer a factor in their lives, both boys, one from a Catholic culture and one from a Hebrew culture, sensed this as a wide fork in the road of their friendship.

“Well… guess I’ll be seein’ you then, Mitchie.”

“Yeah, Frankie… take it easy.”

Forcing a chuckle, “I’ll take it any way I can get it.”

“Yeah, me, too…”

The Greatest Show in Earth

June 16, 1944

The sun shined warmly through light, wispy clouds and a gentle westerly breeze blew over Lake Michigan cooling the city. The man and boy stood on the safety island waiting for the eastbound streetcar that would take them to the Chicago Stadium and the Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Baily Circus. Looking at the two, anyone passing by could easily see that they were father and son. Both were dark complected with straight, dark brown hair and their faces—giving for their twenty-nine year difference—were noticeably alike, except the man had dark brown eyes while the boy’s were light green.

The man is six feet tall and, with the exception of a slight bulge around his waist signifying the beginning of a paunch, Walter was well built, handsome and, for his age, youthful.

Inches taller than any of his friends, looking older than his actual age, at almost five-eight he was about four inches short of his lifetime maximum height. Though near fifteen pounds overweight, Mitchell’s bone structure carried the weight well, giving him a robust appearance.

Women, both younger and older, turned their heads discreetly (or sometimes not so discreetly) to look at both, father and son.

Dressed in white cotton slacks and a dark blue blazer, the man’s white sport shirt was open at the neck revealing an abundance of chest hair.

Mitchell was wearing dark blue cotton slacks and a light blue, short-sleeved polo shirt.

Well aware of his appearance, Walter basked in the glances he knew he was receiving. He was not aware, though, that the looks of passersby were as much for his son as himself—maybe even more so, because the boy radiated not only beauty, but the healthful glow of youth.

Looking upon his son as a noisy, in his opinion, “not too smart kid,” the argument with Myra the night before over his attitude towards Mitchell had left him feeling, for the first time in his life, older, and, Maybe she’s right, he’d thought. It won’t hurt to spend some time with the kid, to try to get to know him better. When Mitchell was younger he did feel love for him, but then, try as hard as he might, rather than the warmth one would think a father would feel for his son, Walter felt a void.

This day was the first time in their lives that they’d been together without the company of others, and Walter, quite honestly, would rather have been home reading the Sunday newspaper.

As for Mitchell, there was no place in the world that he’d rather have been than right there, at the side of his father.