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With Norman and Mitchell, and a host of minor collectors collecting bottles daily, the loss of income was deeply felt by Bryer and Masako, but so long as the boys were not cutting their classes on a regular basis, the principle and vice principle did not know how to stop the young entrepreneurs without revealing their own embezzlement. After almost four months of greatly reduced extra income, the highly mortgaged homes of both men were on the brink of foreclosure and they knew that some way, somehow, they had to stop all of the bottle collectors, and they had to start with the Kings of Empties. 

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On Thursday, December 14, 1950, at precisely 1:22 p.m., a runner came into the seventh period civics class of Norman Parminter and Mitchell Lipensky, whom, coincidentally, had this one class together.

“Parminter…”

Looking up from the open book on his desk, “Yes, Sir?”

“Lipensky… Lipensky!”

Behind the open, propped book on his desk, his head slipping from the palm of his hand, his eyes opening, “Huh?”

“You two! Mister Bryer wants to see you…”

Uh-Oh! Thought Norman.

“…on the double!”

Glancing at Norman, “Oh, shit!” Mitchell muttered under his breath.

                                                                    ****

With humbly bowed heads and wildly thumping hearts, the boys stood before the highly polished, oak desk of the fearsome, eminently exalted, god-like personage of Mister Donald Bryer, the principle of Harrison Technical High School.

Tall and thin with a narrow face, pinched nose, muddy gray eyes, and the remnants of a disappearing head of sandy-colored hair, sitting with his back to the window, hunched over his desk looking through the contents of first one, then a second file folder, as if comparing one to the other, Mister Bryer’s head moved from side to side as he looked from file to file. Ominously muttering, “Hmmm!” and, “Uh-huh!” every few seconds the principle would look up, into the distraught faces of Norman and Mitchell, and, Tch-tch-tch, click his tongue.

A study in terror, the boys stood above the principle looking at the top of his bent head, and the reflection of light from the overhead fixture that shone through the long strands of hair that Bryer had combed from left to right in a vain effort to cover his balding pate.

Finally, closing the files, putting them together, dramatically tapping their sides on the edge of his desk, looking up, Bryer’s muddy gray eyes stared first at one, then the other of the two terrorized boys. “You two hoodlums,” he said in a flat, unemotional voice, “have been stealing from the lunchroom.”

“Stealing? Well…” Mitchell nervously cleared his throat, “I wouldn’t call it steal…”

“And,” Bryer cut him off, “I thought I’d talk to you before I call the police.”

“Stealing? Police? Excuse me, Mister Bryer.” Finding his voice, “Stealing what?” Norman asked.

“Parminter, you do not speak to me in that tone of voice!”

“Sorry, Mister Bryer, but I thought you said that Mitch’n’me have been stealing money from the lunchroom.”

“So I did!” he said emphatically. “And so you have!”

“No, Sir, we have not!”

Turning his wilting gaze from Norman to Mitchell, “Oh, and what do you call it, Lipensky, when you illicitly return merchandise that isn’t yours…” Speaking in a normal tone of voice, Bryer now roared, “and get paid for it? Huh, Lipensky? Just what in the hell do you call it?”

Mitchell stared at the stone-like face and horrific gray eyes of the principle a moment, then his gaze wilted and his eyes dropped.

“Well, Lipensky?” Bryer’s gaze, though, did not wilt, and he now added an impatient tapping of his fingernails on the hard wood desktop. “I’m waiting…” tapping, “for your answer!” tapping, “If it’s not stealing,” tapping, “what do you call it, Lipensky?” tapping… tapping.

“Free enterprise.”

“Huh?” Amazed at his friend’s simple, brilliant answer, Norman’s head snapped to the left.

Knowing his blustery, bluffing theatrics had paid off on Lipensky, about to lay into Parminter, Bryer had turned his attention to the other boy, but, Free enterprise? Turning back to Mitchell, “Free enterprise?”

The words dredged up from God knows where, surprising even himself, feeling total confidence with this answer, remembering, May as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. Staring back at the principle, “Yes, sir! That’s what we in America call it: Free enterprise!”

His eyes boring into the boy, “Free enterprise, Lipensky?” the principle shouted.

His stomach jumping, outwardly Mitchell did not flinch.

Rather surprised that his bluster was no longer rattling the boy, “What the hell’s this got to do with free enterprise, Lipensky?”

Still going with the sheep-as-a-lamb theory, “In civics, Mister Olensky said our economy, the American economy is based…” Mitchell said, proudly, proving that he’d learned something, “on the free enterprise system, and that what me’n…uh, Norman’n’ I did, was to see an opportunity and apply the, uh, theory of free enterprise.”

Rather sure that Mitchell had slept through that lesson, Norman bit his lip in a near futile attempt to keep from laughing.

“Yes, Lipensky,” Bryer said disgustedly, “I’m sure if you and your people…” the corner of his lip curling scornfully, “only learn one thing in America, it is bound to be the free enterprise system… and how to make money!”

“Mister Bryer,” more cognizant of anti-Semitism than Mitchell, catching the barb, actually a bit shocked by the fact that his principle would make such a remark, “the fact that Mitch’n’me are Jewish has nothing to do with this,” Norman said. “You are still talking about the bottles, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Parminter, I am still talking about the bottles! And that the two of you have been cutting your classes to do your, uh, collecting. And one thing more…” Fishing, trying to find anything that would once again fluster these two, lying. “It’s been brought to my attention that the two of you have been taking bottles, without permission, from girls and freshmen… smaller freshmen, and cashing them in yourself.”

“Okay, yeah, we’ve cut a couple’a classes a couple’a times to work in the lunchroom,” shocked at the allegation, “but Mister Bryer, I swear…”

Angrily cutting him off, “Mister Bryer,” Norman said, “we’ve never taken so much as one bottle from anyone who didn’t want us to have it! And if you’ve got anyone that says we have, we’d like to hear him say that to our faces! And if someone pays a two-cent deposit for a bottle and doesn’t want the bother of standing in line to bring that bottle back, then, being as this is America, and, according to our civics teacher, if, in fact, we do operate under the free enterprise system, if that bottle is paid for and if that person does not want to bring it back him or herself and we do, then why shouldn’t we get the two cents?”

“Why?” Becoming red in the face, Bryer slammed his fist onto the desk. “I’ll tell you why!” Thinking, Smart-ass kikes, he paused, trying to think of a plausible reason… “Because the Board of Education does not give Christmas bonuses, this extra money, the refund money, that you two have been stealing, is saved in a special fund to give to the poor old ladies that work in the lunchroom as a Christmas bonus! That’s why!” Bryer looked from boy to boy, hoping they bought this story because he wanted, very badly, to end this conversation. “Enough!” His mounting anger apparent, “I don’t owe you two any explanation! The collecting of all bottles is to be stopped as of today! As for cutting classes,” this said out of habit, “I want the two of you to have a parent here, tomorrow!” The principle made a dismissing motion with his hand, but neither boy moved. “Parminter, Lipensky,” he said, “this conversation is over!”

Not buying the little-old-lady story, thinking of the loss of money, but also, about cutting classes, with a C average, “My dad’s a businessman who does believe in the free enterprise system, and I don’t know about Mister Parminter,” glancing at Norman, “but I do know my father will want to talk to you about this!” Once again thinking of the sheep/lamb theory, bluffing, Mitchell added, “So I’m sure he’ll be here tomorrow!”

Looking at the boys a moment, “Hold it!” swiveling his chair around, looking out the window, thinking, Lipensky’s old man just might object to us teaching one thing—god damned free enterprise system—and when his kid’s got an opportunity to practice what we preach, we… I won’t let him do it. And who the hell knows who these Jews know?

Mentally calculating how much money he and Masako had put into their pockets each day, not counting school holidays and vacations, Jesus, almost $7,200 a year, each, times… Christ! Thinking of the years they’ve been partners in this, I sure as hell don’t want anyone from downtown coming here and doing a lunchroom audit on unpaid, goddamned two-cent deposits, for Christ’s sake! His mind shifted to… Jesus Christ! Internal Revenue and, shuddering, Mister Donald Bryer thought of all the taxes he hadn’t paid. Okay, pulling his thoughts together, these two sure as hell aren’t going to tell their parents they’ve been cutting classes to do this, but if I make them haul a parent in, sure as hell the shit’ll hit the fan. Rotating the chair, forcing a smile, “Tell you what,” he said, “if you two agree to stop your, uh, little illicit business I’ll pass on seeing your parents, and irregardless, I’m sending a memo to the lunch room staff anyway telling them that deposits are to be refunded two-cents at a time, only!”

Looking at Mitchell, who nodded his head affirmatively, “Okay,” Norman said begrudgingly, “what choice do we have?”

Shrugging his shoulders, “Yeah, I guess.” Mitchell agreed.

                                                                    ****

“You were bluffing about your dad, weren’t you?”

“I’m not sure.” Crumpling the empty package, he tossed it into the snow before lighting a Chesterfield. “My dad thinks that what you’n’me have been doing is really neat.”

Mitchell had told Walter that the collection of bottles was his idea, which, it was, and his father was proud of him, so Mitchell had thought, for the first time in his life, which was also true .

“You tell him you were cutting to do it?”

“Shit, Normie, it was only gym!”

“Yeah, except for all the times you cut fourth, and that was math.”

“Nah,” smiling, “that I didn’t tell him.”

‘Yeah, I bet!” Norman smiled. “My mom would’ve killed me if she found out I was cutting anything for any reason.”

“Yeah, but think about it; since we started in the lunchroom I haven’t ditched a day, not once in almost four months.”

“Yeah, Lipensky, you couldn’t afford to miss a day’s school.”

“That’s true .”

“Norm, the more I think about it the more I think there’s something really fishy about the story Bryer gave us about the lunchroom ladies getting Christmas bonuses from the bottle money.”

“Why?” Norman flipped his cigarette into a shoveled mound of snow alongside the sidewalk. “You think he’s bullshitted us? You think, maybe, he’s keeping the money himself?”

“All I know is he sure changed his mind fast enough when he thought my dad would want to talk to him.” Thinking a moment, “Yeah, I think what he told us is bullshit, and I also think the prick’s rooking the lunch room. How’s ’bout you?”

Thinking a second, “That Bryer’s rooking the lunchroom? Nah!” Norman said facetiously, “Principles ain’t supposed to do stuff like that.”

“Stuff like what? Like robbing kids…”

“Yeah. And little old ladies.”

“Like adults ain’t supposed to lie, huh.”

“Yeah.” Norman smiled again. “’Cept for telling kids stuff like their mother’s swallowed a watermelon seed when she’s knocked up.”

“Yeah,” smiling back.

“You got much money left?” Norman asked.

Amazed at how fast it had gone, “About eighty, ninety bucks is all.”

Having no idea where he’d spent it either, “Yeah, me, too.”

“Thought it might be kind’a nice having some money for summer for a change, so I thought I’d try hanging onto some.”

Lighting another Lucky, “Yeah,” Norman said, “that’s what I’ve been thinking, too, and I thought that maybe, after New Year’s, maybe we ought’a try finding a job so we can hang onto whatever money’s left.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been thinking, too, and I thought maybe it might be a good idea seeing if we can find a job selling women’s shoes.”

“Women’s shoes? Why selling women’s shoes?”

“That way we can combine business with pleasure.”

“How’s that?” Norman asked suspiciously

“Mmmm, yeah!” Licking his lips comically. “That way we’ll get to look up all the

girls’ skirts.”

“Shit, Lipensky!” Scooping up a handful of snow, molding it into a snowball, “Is that all you ever think about?” Norman threw it at Mitchell…

Who ran and ducked… but got hit anyway