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“You think I got an ugly pisser?” Frank couldn’t believe he’d say this. “You’re the guy with the ugly pisser! Don’t you know Jewish guys always get the ends of their pissers whacked off when they’re babies?” He’d heard some of the older guys on the street talking about this once, too. “My pisser’s just the way God made it!”

He laughed, saying, “Then God sure made it ugly!” and filed a question away for future asking, if he could find anyone to ask: “Was the end of my pisser really whacked off when I was a baby, and why?”

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Evansville, Wisconsin

January 14, 1944

Girls Got Nothing

“…Zeig, heil! Zeig, heil!”

Their arms extended in the Nazi salute, Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck and Pluto goose-stepped, their voices singing in unison: “Right in zee Fuehrer’s face.

                                Und zee Fueh-rer says, it is

                                a great disgrace, to be heiled,

                                heiled, right in zee Fuehrer’s face!”

The bus was late and the boys waited, gladly, because it allowed them to watch, for a second time, the three cartoons, the R.K.O. Newsreel, and the fifth continuing chapter of “Terry and the Pirates.”

“Pssst!” Mister Menchens, Baylor’s bus driver, groundskeeper and janitor, “Come on!” rushed the boys out of the theater because it looked as though it was going to start snowing any minute and he didn’t want to be caught on the road when it became treacherous with pre-war, all-but-bald tires.

The sky was dark and foreboding with the definite feel of snow in the air. The cold darkness subduing the boys, they returned to their previous seats with minimal disorder.

“Go on, Mitch, you sit by the window this time.”

“Thanks. How’s come I get to sit by the window when it’s dark out?”

They hadn’t spoken for a few minutes when, “Mitch,” Frank put his head closer to Mitchell’s so Stan and Pete, sitting in the seat directly in front, would not hear their conversation. “You know what I’ve been thinkin’ ’bout?”

Having a pretty good idea, he asked anyway. “What?”

“I’m still thinkin’ ’bout girl’s pissers.”

“Frankie, how’s come all of a sudden you’re thinkin’ so much ’bout girl’s pissers?”

“D’know. Guess I’m just curious. But you know what I think?”

“No, Frankie, what’d you think?”

Giggling, “I don’t think they got ’em.”

“Huh? You ‘don’t think they got ’em,’ what?”

“Pissers, Mitch! Girls don’t got ’em. Girls got nothin’ there!’’

“Frankie, you’re jokin’ me! What’d’ya mean, ‘girls got nothin’ there’? Girls gotta have somethin’ there!”

“I tell you, Mitch, girls got nothin’!”

“You stupid, dumb, wop fart! How do’ya think they pee? An’ if the don’t got nothin’ there,” he began to giggle, “then what keeps their tuckas on?” The giggle erupted into infectious, high-pitched laughter, which broke the solemn atmosphere in the bus.

“Smart-ass, Jew!” Playfully grabbing Mitchell about the throat, “I’m tryin’ to teach you somethin’!” Frank struggled to hold his building laughter back, but was unable to.

The boys turned in their seats to look at Frank and Mitchell, who were both laughing hysterically.

“I knew things were too quiet!” Mister Menchens looked in the rear-view mirror. “Hey, you guys, keep it down back there!”

Ignoring him, gasping between spasms of raucous laughter, Mitchell uttered, “It’s like the invisible man down there, huh? Just a big hole that you can see right through, huh?”

Laughing, not knowing why, not caring why, the laughter of the two boys infected the entire bus, even Mister Menchens, who by then knew that he was going to beat the snow home.

                                                                                   ****

“…Mitch, come on. You’ve got to be the one to ask!”

Sunday night, shortly before taps, sitting on the edge of Mitchell’s bed, the conversation more serious then earlier, the speculation regarding the difference between male and female genitalia had continued.

“Frank, I can’t!” Looking for some excuse, for any excuse.

“Why?”

“’Cause my dad said I ain’t supposed to do nothin’ different from the rest’a you guys, and what if Miss Stoldig tells Captain Whyet an’ he tells my dad? He’ll kill me!”

“She won’t tell on you, Mitch.” Frank smiled. “Anyway, what’s so terrible ’bout us askin’ a question? It’s school here! We’re supposed to ask questions!”

Oh, yeah, sure! That’s all you want me to do…” the thought made him smile, “is to ask Miss Stoldig if she’ll draw a picture on the blackboard showin’ us what her pisser looks like. Why me? You got lots more guts’n’me. Why don’t you ask her?”

“Why you, Mitch? ’Cause she likes you best in the whole class.”

“Yeah, Frankie, that’s ’cause I’m the dumbest an’ she thinks she’s gotta help me more.”

“Mitch, that ain’t true ! I’ve told you a thousand times, you ain’t dumb at all; it’s just that you don’t concentrate. Anyway, Harley’s the dumbest.”

Smiling again, “Yeah, that’s true ,” Mitchell said. “No one’s dumber’n ol’ Harley!”

“So, you gonna do it?”

“No, I ain’t gonna do it! All the guys’ll laugh.”

“You kiddin’? No one’ll laugh! Don’t you think all the guys wanna know ’bout this stuff, too? God, they’re even dumber ’bout it than you’n’me, an’ if you ask her you’ll be some kind’a hero.”

“’Some kind’a hero’!” His eyes widening, his right eyebrow went up. “You think so? You really think they won’t laugh, an’ Miss Stoldig won’t tell Whyet?”

“Of course they won’t laugh, an’ she won’t tell Whyet. Look, tomorrow, when she asks if we got any questions,” Frank smiled, “well, this is sure one humdinger of a question! So? You will!”

Reluctantly, “Yeah, I guess… But only if she’s wearin’ a bright hankie.”

Miss Stoldig

January 15, 1944

In her room, at her desk, peering into a makeup mirror, A red one! she thought. Turning from the mirror, looking out the window, Oh, yes! On such a dull day, definitely a red one.

Inside the top drawer of her dresser there were dozens of precisely folded silk neckerchiefs of varying colors and hues. Thumbing through the stack, Miss Stoldig selected a bright cherry color with a thin white floral border. Matching the center-folded points, she folded it precisely into one-and-a-half-inch folds, put it around her neck, tied a loose square knot, then, with a jaunty flip, tossed the ends over her shoulder.

Miss Eunice Stoldig was 43 years old. Born in Quebec Province, Canada, she had earned her teaching credentials at age 25. Taking advantage of an opportunity to teach French at an exclusive all-girl school, she’d migrated to Chicago ten years later. Five years later, because her career had grown stagnant and wanting a change, she had accepted a position at Baylor Military School.

Eunice Stoldig had two surviving members of her family, both younger brothers.

During the early days of World War Two, before America had entered the war in Europe, both of Miss Stoldig’s brothers had immigrated to England where Stanley, the youngest, was billeted on a British destroyer somewhere in the North Atlantic. Lawrence was a fighter pilot with the Royal Air Force.

Miss Stoldig liked to amuse the boys of her fifth grade class with stories of fictional daring and heroic deeds performed by Stan and Larry. For this reason many of the pictures drawn by her younger “men” depicted a British Spitfire, a yellow, blue, white and red bulls-eye on its fuselage, roaring through blue skies and white clouds, triumphantly firing wing-mounted machine guns at the swastika’d planes above or below.

Miss Stoldig was a tall, thin, severe appearing woman who always wore high-necked dresses of somber colors. Silk neckerchiefs—pre-war silk neckerchiefs—being her only frivolity; the color of which reflecting her daily mood. The men of her class knew that how far they could go depended upon the brightness of the color around her throat. Her austere appearance, though, was not a true reflection of Miss Stoldig’s personality because she had a sharp mind, a quick wit, and did become emotionally involved with the children of her class, taking the time to personally help each child with what may not be understood or absorbed.

In Miss Stoldig’s class the last few minutes of each day were reserved for any questions or problems the boys may have, usually pertaining, but not necessarily restricted to, that day’s classes.

“…Class, you may put your books away.”

There was a rustle of movement and the squeak of hinges as the boys lifted the tops of their desks and put their books and papers inside. A top accidentally fell and slammed shut.

“So, class, any questions today?” She looked about the room, but, as usual, without her prompting no arms went up.

Glaring at Mitchell from across the aisle, Frank motioned upward with his thumb.

Looking at him, Mitchell shook his head negatively.

Making a fist, Frank silently mouthed, Go ahead!

Deciding, “Uh, eh-um,” nervously clearing his throat, Mitchell lifted his arm but, bent at the elbow, it was barely seen behind the head and shoulders of the boy sitting in front of him.

Miss Stoldig searched the room, looking for the boy… Why, it’s Mitchell! Surprised because he never voluntarily raised his hand, standing, she walked to the front of her desk. One of the quiet boys, he was a hard learner and she did like him. “Mitchell,” she asked, “you have a question?”

“Uh, yes, Ma’am… eh-um,” clearing his throat again.

She waited for him to go on… “Mitchell, no one’s going to bite you. Why don’t you stand up so we can all see you.”

Standing, fidgeting nervously with the pencil in the grove of his desk, he glanced at Frank, who encouragingly nodded his head, then, looking at some point behind and above his teacher’s head, “Uh, Miss Stoldig…”

Patiently, “Yes, Mitchell?”

“Miss Stoldig, uh, eh-um… What’s the difference between, uh…”

“Yes, Mitchell?” she prompted. “What’s the difference between…?”