BOW 29: Sammy

Schaumburg, Illinois

Monday, March 5, 1974

 “Detective Lowrey, did any of these people say which territories he sold them.”

“Yes. One in the Miami area, one Northern California and the lady in Southern California. You?”

“ ‘Southern California’…” knowing it was a stupid question, but “...is there anything we can do to get our money back?”

“It’s doubtful you’ll ever see any of that money again. Let me have your phone number and if anything comes up or we get hold of these crooks, we’ll contact you.”

“We’re moving to San Diego next month.”

“Let us know where you’ll be and, like I said, we’ll contact you.”

Breaking the connection, Mitchell went into the family-room where, shooing Sabra aside, he sat on the floor between his two youngest children.

Sitting upward with her back resting upon the sofa, snuggling closer, Sherry stretched her arm upward onto her father’s shoulder.

“Hi, baby, how was your day?”

“Fine, daddy. Lisa and me, we made a giant snowman after school”

“That’s nice, honey… Sammy, how was your day?”

Lying on his stomach with his head propped by his two hands watching television, turning onto his side, “Oh, well...” Sammy said “...I may as well tell you.”

Thinking, Uh-oh. “What do you mean, ‘you may as well tell me’. You may as well tell me, ‘what’?”

Speaking rapidly. “It happened after school but they stopped it and it was too late to call mommy today so they’ll probably call mommy tomorrow.” Sammy took a deep breath.

“Uh, ‘what happened? Who stopped it’? Whatever ‘it’ is. And why are ‘they’, whoever ‘they’ is, going to call mommy tomorrow?”

Confused by his father’s rambling question, and feeling that he needed the support of...

“Call Ellie.”

“Huh? What’s Ellie go to do with this? Whatever ‘this’ is?”

“Ellie’ll tell you! Call Ellie.”

“Okay.”

On the way to the stairs, coming alongside Marsha at the sink. “Do you know what happened with Sammy in school today?”

“Huh…” Marsha asked “...what do you mean, ‘do I know what happened with Sammy in school today’? Did something happened to Sammy in school today?”

Rolling his eyes, “I have no idea, but Sammy says they’re going to call you tomorrow.”

“Who’s ‘going to call me tomorrow’, and why?”

Shrugging his shoulders, “Don’t know.”

Going to the stairs, “Ellie!”

“Yes, daddy?”

“Can you come downstairs for a minute please.”

Going back to the family room and finding Marsha already sitting, shooing Sabra aside, Mitchell sat next to her.

…Standing with her hands held behind her back, her eyes downcast. “Yes, daddy.”

“Uh, did something happen after school today?”

Looking from her father to her brother. “I don’t know, daddy.”

“Nahh...” Sammy said “...s’okay. Go on, tell ‘em.”

“We were coming from school today…”

“After school,” Sammy interjected.

“Yeah. After school we were coming home when these two big boys…”

“ ‘Big boys’?” Mitchell questioned.

“Yeah...” Sammy said “ ‘eighth graders’.”

“ ‘Oh’.” Marsha said.

“Yeah...” continuing with her story “...Sammy and me…”

“Sammy and ‘I’.” Marsha corrected.

“Yeah, Sammy and ‘I’ were coming home after school when these two big eighth graders started calling me… Uh…”

“ ‘Nigger hair’!” Sammy said. “Those guys were calling Ellie ‘Nigger hair’ and one’a ‘em hit her hard with a snowball and made her cry, so I punched this one guy in the face and his nose started bleeding all over the place and then the other guy tried to jump on me so I kicked him in… uh…” pointing to his crotch…

“His ‘ balls’. “Sammie's father said.

Looking at his father, smiling. “Yeah…” Sammy said appreciatively “...I kicked him in the balls and he started screaming and that’s when the counselor came and told me that he’ll be ceiling you and mom tomorrow.”

Really, truly at a loss for words. “You, uh, you kicked this big guy in the, uh, ‘balls’?” Mitchell questioned.

“Yeah...” Ellie said “...Sammy really beat up those two jerks.”

Her lips tightly compressed to keep from smiling, Marsha nervously ran her fingers through her own naturally tightly curled black hair… that she had passed on to her daughter.

“Uh, these boys are ‘eighth graders’?” Mitchell asked.

“Yeah!” Sammy said defensively.

“And you’re what? In the sixth grade?”

“Yeah!” Figuring that Michael was old enough and big enough to take care of himself.

“They were picking on my sister and ‘no one’ picks on my sisters!”

Looking at each other.

“Mitchell...” Marsha said sternly “...I want to talk to you about…” pointing at Sammy “...this.”

Rather than going into the living-room where they might or might not be out of ear range…

“No...” Marsha said “...downstairs.”

Down to the four steps to the lower level, into the garage— well out of ear range.

“Oh, my God!” Marsha said breaking into near uncontrollable laughter. “How I ‘love’ that kid!”

Thursday, March 29, 1974

9:11 a.m. Central Standard Time

March, so it has been said, ‘comes in like a lion and goes out as a lamb’.

The late winter storm of the last days of February and early March certainly came blowing into the mid-west with the ferocity of a lion and on this day, appearing more as the lamb, the thinning remnants of winter still clung to naked tree limbs even as barely seen buds pushed through layers of winter bark.

Ellie and Sammy had been picked up on Wednesday morning and were on their way to San Diego with their grandparents and should be arriving at Walter and Myra’s new home sometime Friday afternoon.

Out of the movers way, Marsha and Mitchell sat at the kitchen table — that would be loaded onto the truck at any time,

Nursing the remains of a cup of coffee, Mitchell sat looking at his back yard which, as of tomorrow morning, would belong to Mister and Mrs. Limberger.

Memories of the past seven years at this home rippling through his mind as pages of a calendar, which, in fact were pages of a calendar.

The playground that came from Sears in three large cardboard boxes— with four huge heavy-duty plastic bags containing hundreds of nuts of ‘all’ thickness and sizes and hundreds of bolts in ‘all’ thicknesses and sizes and, so it seemed, thousands of steel washers of varying sizes.

The playground contained two swings, a jungle gym a slide and a teeter-tauter along with fifteen pages of instructions that, for a guy that has a hard time following written instructions, putting the playground together became Mitchell Lipensky’ equivalent of splitting the atom.

There were the countless barbecues and the hundreds of badminton games and the mowing and the ‘horsing around’… and the growth of his four children.

Then there was ‘Mercy’.

Believing that the ashes of a beloved pet should be spread where the pet was the happiest, the ashes of Mercy were scattered in this yard.

And once cleaned and new pebbles added, a bit of Mercy was also scattered in the pen.

Having two dogs; one on the huge side and one on the moderately large side, poop would certainly be a problem, so Mercy and Sabra had been trained to ‘make’ in the pen.

Constructed in the north-west corner of the five foot high chain link fenced yard, the pen was made of one six foot section of chain link giving Sabra and Mercy a five by six foot toilet.

And this worked very well throughout spring, summer and fall. In winter, however, the poop would freeze and then it would snow, and then the poop would freeze and then it would snow and so on and so on. So that by thawing time there would be a five by six melting pile of shit.

And as near fourteen year old Mercy hadn’t mercifully been ‘put down’ until early in December of 1973 a part of Mercy had been left behind for Mitchell to scoop into heavy duty plastic bags before the semi-solid stuff became a melting river of shit.

….“Mister Lipensky.”

His reverie broken, brought back to here, brought back to now, “Yes,” looking at Hank.

“We’re loading the kitchen now.” Handing him the clipboard, Mitchell signed the five part NCR form.

Pulling part five from the form, he handed Mitchell the ‘customer’ copy of the contract along with the itemized list of cartons and furniture.

“We’ve a whole house pick up in Milwaukee so probably we won’t get back on the road till eight or nine. So, if all goes okay, we should be seeing you in San Diego sometime Sunday afternoon.”

“Thank’s, Hank… See you then.”

“Yeah. Drive safe, now, ya hear!”

“You, too.”

****

“Okay?” Mitchell asked.

Michael and Sherry in the back seat with Sabra standing in the rear section of the Mercury Station Wagon amidst whatever luggage was needed containing whatever was needed for two adults, two kids and a Great Dane for the two and a half day drive from Schaumburg, Illinois to San Diego, California.

“Okay?” Mitchell asked.

The station wagon idling at the curb alongside two overloaded garbage cans and boxed debris awaiting the garbage company pick-up.

With the exception of Sabra – who’s head hung out the back window with her jaws clamped around her favorite toy: a life-like, life size latex baby’s arm from Sherry’s now discarded life size baby doll – all eyes were on what had been their home… that was now a vacant house.

Holding back tears, sighing, “Yes...” Marsha said softly “...let’s go.”

“Hey, you ‘promised’ to do it! So, you going to or not?”

“Yeah, Mikey, we’re ‘going to do it’.” Reaching into his breast pocket, Mitchell handed Marsha a partially smoked package of cigarettes.

“You know...” turning on the seat, looking at her son “..this is going to be a long trip and now may not be the best time to do this; to quit smoking.”

“You and dad both said that you’re starting a new life now and when we pull away from the curb you’ll throw your cigarettes away… You ‘promised’!”

“And parents don’t lie, do they?”

“No, mommy...” Sherry said “...mommies and daddies ‘don’t never lie’!”

“Okay. You’re right, ‘mommies and daddies do ‘not’ lie.”

Reaching into her purse, removing her cigarettes, Marsha leaned through the window and, lifting the lid to a garbage can, tossing both packs of cigarettes, “Okay...” she said “...let’s get this show on the road!”

Putting the gear from ‘N’ to ‘D’, moving from the curb, the staion wagon rolled through mile one of the 2,100 mile trip.

Thirty minutes into the drive, “Mommy...” Sherry asked “...why are the people in the other cars pointing at us?”

Turning, looking at and beyond her daughter…

“Oh, my, God!”

Just a bit disconcerting to the drivers and passengers of passing cars…

The Great Dane’s head still out the rear window with…

“Mikey…” doing her best to stifle laughter “...could you please reach behind you and take that baby doll’s arm from Sabra’s mouth.”

****

A bit more than an hour into the drive, “Marcie…” approaching Rockford, Illinois, whispering from the corner of his mouth “...I’m dying for a smoke.”

“Well, it was your idea to promise.”

Taking a ball point pen from his shirt pocked...“Seemed like a good idea at the time.” ...and putting it between his lips cigarette fashion, Mitchell placated himself by smoking his ball point pen.

Marsha, though, her strong inbred stubbornness at play, had no need at pretense, so never did smoke her pen.

****

Through Illinois into Iowa. About seventy miles from the Nebraska state line, nearing seven o’clock everyone was becoming hungry.

Also, although given the opportunity on two earlier ‘pit stops’, Sabra hadn’t ‘made’ since she’d pooped and piddled in her last trip to the pen.

“Mitchie, it’s been a really long day, so why don’t we look for a motel, find someplace to eat and make it a day.”

“Yeah...” Michael piped up “...I’m starving!”

Piping up also. “Yeah, mommy, I’m hungry and have to make sissy.”

Approaching the ‘West Des Moines exit’, “Okay.” The Mercury Station Wagon followed the cloverleaf road taking them into town.

 Next BOW 30: Sabra