Читать книгу A Basket of Gems - Robert J and Jean V. Stock - Страница 6

Sankertown is where I live. It actually should be part of Cresson, but we don’t want anything to do with those Republicans from Cresson. They say we’re from the wrong side of the tracks – I wouldn’t live in Cresson for anything. In Sankertown, everyone works in the coal mines or on the railroad; that is, except old Pete Moroney who runs the grocer store, and Abie Cohan, who owns the Popular Store. There are a few others too.

Our house is just a big barn, my sister Martha says. She hates to scrub the kitchen floor, because it’s so big; she calls it “the Acre”. She says it’s hard to get clean, because it has no linoleum, and gets so dirty from coal that’s tracked up from the cellar. I wish we had a gas stove, so I wouldn’t have to lug that coal bucket up the cellar steps. That old stove sure does keep me warm in the morning while I’m dressing for school though. Pop says the house will be warmer after he gets the shingles on; he only has enough for the North side. He says next year maybe work on the railroad will pick up and we’ll get the rest. Well, at least we have enough coal now; it isn’t like it was during the Depression when Joe and I had to go coal “Picking” along the tracks. If Jake Miller hadn’t thrown off that coal for us every night, I don’t know what we’d have done. In Depression, I guess a guy’s lucky just to get enough to eat; I hope I never have to eat blackberries on hard biscuits again. I missed our Sunday roast most of all. It was fun stealing milk out of Conrad’s back porch refrigerator though. Joe said it was okay since they had plenty and we had none. When I’d tell it in Confession, the priest always asked me to give it back. I always said I would, but most of the time we had already drunk it out in the back alley.

I didn’t like going to Mass with those “relief” clothes on – everyone knows “relief” clothes when they see them. One Sunday Father Brady caught me punching Jack Sheriden on the arm and made me kneel in the middle aisle all during nine o’clock Mass. All those “big shots” from Cresson stared at the hole in the sole of my “high tops” and the patch on the seat of my corduroys. Well, Sister Mary said that God doesn’t notice how you’re dressed in church. I got a new pair of black shiny oxfords for Christmas that year. I had my choice between shoes and a shirt. I opted for the shoes; since I figured my sweater would cover my worn shirt sleeves.

Wow! the turkey we had one Christmas! -- twenty-three pounds. Uncle Harry gave it to us, since we helped him dig his potatoes. He kept telling me, “Come next December 25; you’ll be gnawing on that bird’s drum stick.” I didn’t eat all I wanted, since I knew mom wanted it to last all week. Mom is good to us kids; the little money she has goes to feed and clothes for us. She never gets anything for herself or goes anywhere that costs money. She still talks about the only movie she’d ever seen, “Flying Down to Rio”, that Aunt Helen took her to a couple years ago. When I grow up, I’m going to make money and fix up the house for mom: get her a refrigerator with a round top just like the Smith’s; a big Atwater Kent radio, so she won’t have to go to Sherwood’s to listen to Amos and Andy; a bright new white gas stove; and a congoleum rug for the kitchen floor. I’ll buy her a new gingham dress too and take her to the movies at least once a month. Hope there isn’t another Depression!!