Chicago, Illinois

September 7, 1948

Freshies / Fukawees

Back doors slamming simultaneously, they ran down the three flights of stairs.

This day, Tuesday, September 7, 1948, was Norman Parminter and Mitchell Lipensky’s first day of high school.

Within their district they had their choice of two schools: ‘Farragut’, to the south and ‘Harrison Tech’, to the east.

The boys, against the wishes of their parents, had chosen ‘Harrison’.

Their parents’ reasoning had been two-fold: ‘Farragut’ was closer, about a mile away. while ‘Harrison’ was almost three miles away and also, Farragut had a goodly number of Jewish children in attendance, while the kids at Harrison were primarily Polish and Italian. Norman chose Harrison because he wanted to join the ‘ROTC’, which Harrison had and Farragut didn’t. Mitchell chose Harrison because Harrison had ‘Phyllis Koscinski’ and Farragut didn’t.

 She was an older woman, sixteen and a sophomore and, outside of living next door for years and knowing that he was that annoying kid that always looked down her blouse when they played baseball, Phyllis didn’t know Mitchell was alive. Or, if she did, she could not care less.

 Mitchell, on the other hand, was in love with Phyllis.

 Last spring, before graduation and summer vacation one day Mitchell accidentally saw Phyllis naked… Well, half-naked really.

                                                    ****

He’d been on the toilet and could hear the sound of running water, then the knocking of pipes from the neighboring, across the hall apartment when the shower was turned off. Finished, he washed and dried his hands, opened the door and, going to the kitchen, turned to the left. As he began to walk he looked over his shoulder and there, on the opposite side of the air well, standing, staring towards the front of the apartment as though in deep thought, or possibly daydreaming, was Phyllis.

 Obviously no one was home and obviously it had been Phyllis in the shower because she was naked, at least from the waist up.

 Unaware that Mitchell, at a corresponding window on the other side of the 8X10 air well, no more than ten feet away, was looking at her… Looking? Not exactly, he was gawking.

 Her eyes seemingly focused on some faraway point to the west. Reflected in the golden rays of the setting sun, Phyllis’ face had a shining glow. Her dishwater-blond hair hanging in straight, wet strands down her back. Her head held high. Her neck arched and her youthful, pink-nippled breasts pointed outward and upward.

 Standing with his heart pounding, thinking, My, God! She’s beautiful! He’d stared at this wondrous picture for what was in reality no more than five heartbeats. Then, sadly, Phyllis moved out of sight. But still he stood looking. Hoping. Wanting her to return, but she didn’t and through the ten feet of airspace Mitchell Lipensky had fallen completely in love.

 From that day, whenever he’d hear the door on the opposite side of the landing slam shut, he’d go to the front window, pull it open and look down and if it was Phyllis, he’d go downstairs and wait, nonchalantly, so he thought, for her to return.

 Oh, God, Phyllis would think when she’d see him sitting on the stoop. what’s that damn pest want now?

“Hi, Phyl!” Mitchell would say. “Want some help with those bags?”

“Sure,” she’d say, shrugging her shoulders indifferently. “Why not?” And Phyllis Koscinski would allow Mitchell Lipensky the privilege of carrying the two heavy bags of groceries up the three flights of steps, then, opening her door, she’d take the bags from his hands and, having slightly more manners than Amy Pearlman, Phyllis would mutter a barely-heard, “Thanks,” and kick the door shut behind her.

 Oh, yes! ‘Harrison Technical High School’ did have Phyllis Koscinski and, for all the good that ever did him, Mitchell Lipensky.

                                                         ****

The boys met in the juncture of the alley.

 “Hey, Norm!”

 “Hi, Mitch! So, you ready?”

 “Jeeze, yeah! I guess so.”

 Carrying their lunches in brown paper bags, each had ten cents in their pockets: a nickel for a lunchroom bottle of milk and a nickel for an after-school snack. Cutting through the alley, they crossed ‘Nineteenth Street’ and followed the same route they’d taken to the ‘Douglas Theater’ for years.

Coming to the ‘Douglas’, they stopped to see what movies would be shown when the features changed. Then went on… A’nd on!

 Walking to the east, the rising sun shining in their eyes, since there was no shade on either side of the street, soon perspiration covered their faces and ran down their necks.

 “You know, Norm, it never seemed this long when we’d go to the ‘Marshall’.”

 On ‘Marshall Boulevard’, one of their choices of a movie theater, ‘The Marshall Square’ was one block north of Harrison Technical High School.

 “Well, I guess we could always take the streetcar, then.”

 “You kiddin’, Norm! They ain’t gonna give us another penny for the streetcar! Not after the way you’n’me fought ’em to go to Harrison. They ‘did’ tell us we wouldn’t wanna walk so far every day.”

 “Well, I guess we could give up pop…”— The nickel was for milk, but they both knew they were going to get pop — “…and ride one way, or we can give up the ‘nosh’, too, and ride both ways.”

 Hefting the bag, feeling the weight of two salami sandwiches, an apple and a package of Twinkies. “No, I don’t wanna do that!”

 “Hey, Mitch, you’re the one that’s complaining.”

 ‘Marshall Boulevard’, finally! Turning right, walking one block, there it was: ‘Harrison Tech’.

 “ ‘God’! Normie,” Mitchell said in awe, “it’s ‘gigantic’!”

 Talking. Yelling. Horsing around. Re-acquainting themselves with friends they hadn’t seen in more than two months. Thousands of teenagers, so it seemed, milled in front of the entrance and all of them were…

 “ ‘Holy shit’!” Norman said. “They’re so big!”

 Last spring, in the eighth-grade graduating class, Norman and Mitchell thought of themselves as the biggest kids in school. But now both felt like… What? Shrimps! Norman was of average height for his age and Mitchell was better than an inch taller. But in their minds both boys felt small in comparison to the giants that bumped, jostled and elbowed by them.

 Mitchell looked to see if he could spot Phyllis or anyone else he knew, but there were so many kids it was impossible.

 “Mitchie! Normie!”

 Feeling a poke in their backs, the boys turned and, Oh, shit! they thought simultaneously.

Of all the people in the world, Norman thought, it’s gotta be these two!

 “Hi, Roz.” Mitchell said with ‘minimal’ enthusiasm.

“Hi’ya, Ron.” Norman said in the same flat tone of voice.

 ‘Big’ Rosalind Feigenbaum was big in both height and girth. She had short, kinky red hair and her heavily freckled, light complected face, was, as always, broken out with pimples.

 Ronald Muskowitz, whom they called ‘Mushuggi-witz’—the Mushuggi, as in crazy—lived on the other side of Christiana Avenue.

 Smaller than average, Ronald had tightly curled platinum blonde hair. Besides being a blonde Jew, there was not much else wrong with the way Ronald looked... Except, at birth he’d been an instrument baby and the doctor had extracted him from his mother’s womb with forceps. Consequently; his face was long and thin, especially above both temples where his head, going from his forehead back about two inches, was deeply grooved where the inch-wide forceps had grasped and pulled. In these one-inch wide, two inch long strips no hair grew, giving Ronald a kind of satanic, crazy appearance, hence, ‘Mushuggi-witz’.

 However, being physical outcasts made Rosalind and Ronald the best of friends and actually, aside from their appearance, they were clever, quick-witted and...—their verbal sallies toward one another often leaving whom-ever was within hearing holding their stomachs gasping with laughter.— ...Bitingly sarcastic to each other. Also, as though when God made them ugly, he gave them brains to compensate. Ronald and Rosalind were the two top-graded students in their graduating class.

 Maybe... Mitchell had thought one day while trying to understand a math problem that Rosalind, at the blackboard, was in the process of easily solving ...that’s why I’m not so smart, because God gave me a good-looking face. Look at her! She’s ugly as hell and knows ‘everything’!

 The bell rang: So began Harrison Technical High School’s class of 1948.

 The four ‘freshies’ melded in the stream. Got caught in the current and were carried away with the flow.

 ‘Cavernous’ hallways.’ Monstrous’ stairwells.

  Harrison Tech is ‘gigantic’!

 “Where we supposed to be?” Rosalind asked Ronald.

 “I d’know!” Answered Ronald.

 “Where we at?” Asked Rosalind.

 “Beats the shit outta me!” Answered Ronald.

 Jostled as pin balls in a pinball machine by the massive throngs of students rushing to...

“Where we going?” Rosalind aske Ronald.

 “I d’know!” Answered Ronald. “

‘Scuse me’!” Sarcastically stated to a kid bumping by.

 “You ‘don’t’ know where we’re supposed to be! You ‘don’t’ know where we are, and you ‘don’t’ know where we’re going?”

 “Yup, that’s right!”

 “I guess we’re lost, then.”

 “Well...” Ronald said, turning sideways to avoid being run over by a big guy in a blue crew-neck sweater with a white ‘H’ on the front. “...In the words of that famous old Indian chief…”

 “Hey! Watch where you’re going’!” Knowingly or unknowingly, always each other’s foil: “Uh, what ‘famous old Indian chief’?” Rosalind asked warily.

 “You know, Roz…. ‘Scuse me’!... The chief of that wandering tribe that moved someplace else every day… The ‘Fukawees’.”

 ‘Big’ Rosalind looked at ‘Crazy’ Ronald. “Uh, the ‘Fukawees’?” She questioned.

 “Yeah, the ‘Fukawees’!” Ronald said seriously. “Every morning the old chief would climb to the top of the highest hill, shade his eyes with his hand, look around and say: ‘Where the fuk’a’we’?”

___________________________________________________

Chicago, Illinois

1949

Sophomore 1 /Tower ofBabble

Chicago is a hodgepodge of language.

At any time, hanging onto the overhead strap swaying with the motion of a crowded Loop E, you might hear the spoken language of any number of countries.

Tuning your ears and listening to the two elderly men sitting in front of you, “Damn him!” says one. The other, speaking in Polish, “Psha krev!”while angrily waving his arms.

Listening to the two middle-aged women in the seat to the left,“Es waren sehr viele leute in der bank.” Speaking in German.

There was the man and woman in the seat to the right,“Mein zon gait chsnah obbin!” Speaking Yiddish, from anywhere in the world.

But then a phenomenon took place.

Added to the mishmash of talk from around the world... and beyond, came a host of new languages spoken of, by, and between the kids: There is Ig-pay-atan-lay—‘Pig Latin’. There is Kraflin Karp—Franklin Park. And also there is Kuk-I-nun Tut-U-tut—‘King Tut’.

Hanging onto that same strap, on the same Loop El, in addition to Polish, German, Russian, Lithuanian, Spanish, Yiddish, and a host of multitudinous tongues, you might also hear…

“My ig-bay other-bay is a ain-pay in the utt-bay!” Meaning, in ‘Pig Latin’, “My big brother is a pain in the butt!” Self explanatory, this language spoken by one thirteen-year-old girl to another on the ‘Douglas Park’ El speeding along the overhead tracks to the Loop.

“Ho, nam! Kate a kool! That droub’s tog trag tits!” In Kraflin Karp, meaning ‘Franklin Park’ pronounced backwards, which is the way this language is spoken, meaning, “Oh man! Take a look! That broad’s got great tits!” Oh, by the way, in Kraflin Karp there is absolutely no way to disguise the word tits, nor would any self-respecting west side guy ever want to.

“Oy togga gib sa!” From one of two sixteen-year-old punks standing outside of Sally’s Ribs on Ogden and St. Louis to ‘Big’ Rosalind Feigenbaum who was on her way into Sally’s to pick up a double order.

“I gotta a big ass, huh?” Closing her meaty fist around the five-dollar roll of quarters that was to pay for the two large slabs of baby-back ribs, french fries and baked beans, “Oy gib kumush!” she said, meaning, “You big schmuck!” as she whacked him on the side of the head.

“Ow!” the guy said, meaning, “Ow!” because in any language Ow! is Ow!

Teen-age girls who had constantly failed spelling tests throughout grammar school and even in high school, and still had to use a dictionary to spell dictionary could properly rattle off ‘King Tut’ at machine-gun speed.

Teen-age guys, whose attention span lasted no more than a momentary glance at a bit of white flesh from a partially exposed thigh or breast, or a padded, high-pointed brassiere beneath a tight-fitting angora sweater passing in the hallway, could easily understand the seemingly incomprehensible jumble of ‘King Tut’, which is spoken by adding a ‘U’ to consonants and using the proper, phonetic enunciation of all vowels. Leg, for instance, would be pronounced, lul-E-gug

Frank Parminter, still at the kitchen table drinking his after dinner cup of coffee, stopping in mid-swallow stared at his son.

“Yeah, Mum-I-tut’chie, they’re lul-O-kuk’in at Mum-E like I’m cuc-rur-azy.”

Meaning, ‘Yeah, Mitchie, they’re looking at me like I’m crazy’.

Frank looked at Ida, who had been washing dishes, but had turned away from the sink and soapy water, from the sopping dishrag in her hand, which was dripping over her bare feet as she, too, looked at her son.

Sitting in the living room, Myra and Walter Lipensky had each been reading a section of the Daily News. Hers now lay on her lap and his hung as a wilted flower, doubled over in his hands.

“Nun-O-rur-mum, this’ll tut-E-A-ch’em to tut-A-lul-kuk Y-I-dud-I sus, uh, H in fuf -rur-O-nun-tut of us, huh?”

Meaning: “Norm, this’ll teach’em to talk Yiddish in front of us, huh?”

“Yeah!” Laughing. “O-kuk, I’ll sus-E you tut-O-mum-o-rur-rur.”

Norman put the receiver on the cradle, smiled at his slack-jawed father and his wet-footed mother, stood, and left the kitchen.

Across the yard, Mitchell also put the receiver on the cradle and he, too, smiled at his wide-eyed father and his open-mouthed mother, stood, and left the dining room.

Walter Lipensky looked at Myra Lipensky.

Frank Parminter looked at Ida Parminter.

“What’d he say? Myra asked Walter and Ida asked Frank.

“Damned if I know!” Frank said to Ida and Walter said toMyra.

Oh, by the way, in King Tut, it’s pronounced tut-I-tut.

___________________________________________________

sophomore 2: A Cigarette

November 23, 1949

Chicago, Illinois

For late November, for Chicago it was a nice day. Radiating a bit of warmth, the sun shone in a brilliantly blue sky and there was no wind.

Norman Parminter, Big Rosalind Feigenbaum, Joey Solomon, Crazy Ronald (Mushuggi’witz) Muskowitz and Mitchell Lipensky, for some unknown reason, had decided to walk home together.

On the corners of Cermack Road and Marshall Boulevard, three minutes into their walk, the four almost had a parting of the way when they bumped into each other because Norman, Joey and Mitchell turned to the west as Rosalind and Ronald continued walking to the north.

“We go this way, on ‘Cermack’,” Mitchell said.

“Guys,” Rosalind said, “why walk on a dirty street when you can cut through the park?”

“ ‘Cause it’s shorter,” Norman said.

“But it’s prettier in the park,” Rosalind said.

“But it’s faster this way,” Joey said.

“Bullshit!” Ronald said.

“ ‘Cause we stop at the Polack deli and buy pickles.”

Looking at Mitchell “ ‘Pickles’?” Ronald said.

“Yeah! Ain’t you never gone to the Polack deli? It’s ‘bout halfway between here and Kedzie.”

“ ‘Pickles’, Lipensky?”

“Yeah, Ron. They got just ‘bout the best kosher dill you ever tasted.”

Looking from boy to boy. “Let me get this straight,” Ronald said. “Every day you guys walk home on this dirty, noisy street rather’n cutting through the park so’s you can buy a pickle? ‘Jesus’!” Speaking to Rosalind. “And they call me crazy!”

“Hey, for a nickel you get one about this big.” Mitchell said, holding his hands about seven inches apart.

“Yeah?” said Rosalind, “I’d love to see one ‘that’ big!”

Turning to her. “He’s talking about a pickle, you dumb shit. And even if you had one ‘this’ big,” holding his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart, “you wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

“You mean about the size of yours, ‘Mushiggi-witz’? The ‘hell’ I wouldn’t!”

“The ‘hell’ you would, ‘Big’ Rosalind!”

“So,” Ronald asked, “you guys coming with us or not?”

“How’s come you an’ Rosalind like to walk through the park so much?” Joey Solomon asked.

Pretending to whisper in Joey’s ear, but speaking loud enough for all to hear, “ ‘Cause she lets me feel her up.” Ronald said.

“I heard that, Mushuggi-witz! You ‘wish’! You just wish I’d let you feel me up.”

“Hey, Big Rosalind, you just wish I ‘wanted’ to feel you up. But if I did, I wouldn’t know where your fat ends and your tits begin.”

Laughing at this friendly tirade, making the decision for the other two boys. “Okay,” Norman said. “We’ll go home your way.”

No sooner did they round the first bend and Cermack Road was out of sight when, reaching beneath his jacket into his shirt pocket, removing an unopened package of Chesterfields, Ronald stopped walking. “It’s such a nice day,” he said , sitting on a park bench. “You guys ‘do’ smoke, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Rosalind sat next to Ronald. “Let’s rest a minute.”

“Uh, no,” Joey said, jerking his thumb towards Mitchell and Norman, “we don’t smoke.”

Tapping the pack of Chesterfields on the back of his hand. Pulling the red tab off, Ronald let the cellophane top flutter to the sidewalk. Tearing the tinfoil open and pushing up from the bottom, he propelled five cigarettes upward. Using his front teeth, pulling one out, Ronald then offered the package to Rosalind. Taking one without hesitation, sticking it in her mouth she reached into her pocket, removed a book of matches, struck one and held the flame to Ronald’s cigarette, then hers.

Inhaling deeply, “Ahhh!” Sounding as though smoking a cigarette was the greatest enjoyment in the world, Rosalind and Ronald exhaled… Ronald offered the package to Joey.

Joey looked at the cigarettes then at Ronald, who wiggled the package in a go-ahead gesture. “Well…” hesitating, “okay,” Joey took one.

The pack of cigarettes was pointed towards Norman.

“No, I’d better not. My mom’ll kill me if she finds out.”

“Who’s gonna tell her?” Ronald asked. “Do they smoke?”

“No, not her, but my dad does.”

“So, if your father smokes, why shouldn’t you?”

“Don’t know. Guess I never really wanted to.”

“Norm, all the cool kids in high school smoke! Come on, stop acting like a baby!” Taking a deep drag, Ronald held the smoke in his lungs a moment, then with an enjoyable, “Ahhh!” exhaled through his nostrils. “Come on!” he coaxed. “You don’t want to be a kid all your life! It’s ‘adult’ to smoke!”

Convinced—somewhat convinced—Norman haltingly reached to the pack, changed his mind and moved his hand away, then quickly, before changing his mind again, pulled a cigarette out and jammed it into his mouth.

“Hey, just hold it between your lips. Don’t ‘nigger-lip’ it!” Offering the pack of Chesterfields to the third boy. “Mitch?”

Walter smoked Chesterfields, too, and Mitchell had always admired the nonchalant way his father held the cigarette between his index and forefinger because it looked so masculine. Now, glad to have the opportunity, he reached to the pack, took a cigarette, rolled it lightly between his fingers then holding it just as his father did, put it between his lips, just as his father did.

“Great! No chickens here!” Flicking the flywheel of his ‘Zippo’, Ronald passed the orange-tipped flame from boy to boy.

Each taking a light, tentative puff, Joey and Norman held the smoke in their mouths a moment, then blew it out.

Showing off, Mitchell inhaled deeply. The smoke went into his mouth and he tasted the bitterness of it. The smoke went down his throat and he felt the burning of it. The smoke entered his clean, pink lungs and his lungs rebelled and he began to cough and the stinging, burning smoke came up through his lungs, throat, mouth and nostrils. He coughed harder and his face turned red. He coughed harder still and the veins in his neck became pronounced. He coughed even harder and his eyes began to tear and gasping, he bent at the waist trying to draw air into his lungs, trying to breathe.

Norman pounded on his back but still he continued to cough…

Till, finally, at last able to draw air downward, the harsh coughing changed to even harsher gagging and his stomach seemed to be reaching upward, into his throat… “Gaacchh!” Drool dribbling from his mouth, Norman, Joey, Ronald and Rosalind moved out of splattering range as Mitchell vomited lunch, breakfast and last night’s dinner… Gasping. Gasping till finally able to draw a full complement of air into his lungs Mitchell was able to catch his breath. His eyes were red and his face, now that the redness had left it, was deathly white. Saliva hung from his mouth, mucus from his nose and there was a wide, red smear of vomit on his chin.

“Hey, Mitch,” Ronald said, holding the pack of Chesterfields forward. “That was really neat! Here, have another; your old one’s kind’a soggy.”

The cigarette he’d dropped barely distinguishable under the splatter of steaming vomit. “No thanks,” his back still bent forward,” not just now.”

                                                    ****

…“Mitch, you want to go for a sus-mum-O-kuk?”

Dinner almost through, he’d answered the phone himself. Hesitating a moment before answering. “Yeah.”

Meeting in front of Mitchell’s building, they walked one block south on Homan Avenue, to the candy stand in the El station and for twenty cents each, Norman bought a pack of ‘Lucky Strikes’ and Mitchell a pack of ‘Chesterfields’—the brands of choice of their fathers.

                                                       ****

When Norman returned home forty minutes later, feeling her son’s head, “You’re so pale!” Ida said. “You don’t feel so good?”

“No, Ma, my stomach’s kind’a’upset. I think I’ll lay down for a while.”

Looking at Mitchell as he walked into the living room and flopped down on the sofa, “You look sick,” Myra said. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sure, Mom.” Closing his eyes, he fought the nausea.

                                                             ****

On their way to school the next day they lit up and spent the best part of the morning trying to control their stomachs.

They lit up again on their way home that afternoon—cutting through the park— and this time their stomachs behaved… more or less.

The next morning their mouths felt like sewers.

Within a month their fingers and teeth began to stain and they found themselves doing more and more coughing in the morning…

But it’s ‘real’ cool to smoke and Mitchell Lipensky and Norman Parminter felt like adults.

 To be continued as: Into A Diffrent World