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4. Caroline

In the spring of 1939, Tom Pendergast went to prison for income tax evasion.

In the spring of 1939, Jake Halloran drove his big, blue car from Beech Grove, California, to Yuma, Arizona, and checked into the Oasis Motel. When he got into the room, he bolted the door, closed the drapes and turned the radio to full volume. He removed a bottle of bourbon from his suitcase and downed it. He took a piece of Oasis Motel stationery from the desk drawer and wrote a letter to the Kansas City Star. He addressed the envelope, sealed it, and propped it up on the desk. He took his rifle out of his suitcase, reassembled it, put the muzzle into his mouth, and pulled the trigger.

The Kansas City Star reported in the morning edition they had just learned From the Yuma Police that fugitive Jake Halloran had committed suicide in that Arizona town. They reported that Halloran had been wanted by the Kansas City Police for questioning in the Pendergast case. They reported that Halloran had left a suicide note in which he confessed to the murder of his longtime friend, Matthew Delaney. They reported that Delaney had also been sought for questioning because of his former association with Pendergast and because of a packet of records, dating as far back as 1915, which had been found in Delaney’s Bar in Kansas City during a raid by police last year. The Star reported that Halloran’s note had not given a motive for the murder, not did it implicate Pendergast in any way. Halloran had no known survivors, the paper reported.

In the spring of 1939, Esther came to Beech Grove. Santa Fe brought her west and dropped her off in Riverside. Greyhound brought her south and dropped her off at the Beech Grove turnoff. Her feet brought her the five miles from the highway and dropped her off in a rocking chair on Leonard’s front porch.

“Hi,” Eddie said, looking up from her storybook.

“Hello chile. You mus’ be Miss Caroline,” Esther said between puffs.

“I’m Eddie. Caroline’s my sister.”

“Oh my.”

“I run fast.”

‘‘I bet you do, honey.”

‘‘You’re old, huh?” “I guess I am.”

‘‘How old?”

“Le’me see ... seventy . . . nine.”

‘“That’s old.”

“Very,” Esther said, slipping off her shoes and rubbing her feet.

‘‘Daddy’s over at the hotel,” Eddie said.

“Honey, tha’ man ain,” Esther stopped abruptly.

‘‘I know he isn’t my real Daddy, if that’s what you were going to say. I saw my real Daddy blown up. Mama, too. Uncle Leonard’s my new Daddy. Aunt Amelia’s my new Mama. But she’s not here, either.”

Esther couldn’t speak. Eddie picked up her storybook and opened it.

‘‘Do you know how to read?”

‘‘Yes’m, I do,” Esther replied with a touch of forgivable pride.

“What’s this word?” Eddie asked, climbing up on Esther lap and pointing to the page.

“Well, Eddie, less’n they changed things since yo’ real daddy showed me how ta read, that word is tingle.”

“What’s tingle?”

“Tingle is what you get when you walks inta a room in the dark and scares yo’self when you catches yr’own reflection in the mirra’.”

“Oh! I did that once.”

“An’ it’s when you tries on a new dress, too.”

“I don’t like dresses,” Eddie told her.

“You don’?”

“Nope. I like baseball caps, though. Is that the same thing?”

“Well, I don’t know. I guess it coul’ be.”

There was a moment of silence, then Esther started to chuckle, then laugh. Eddie got the giggles, then the hiccups.

That’s the way Caroline found them when she charged out the front door, slamming it behind her.

“What is going on out here?” Caroline demanded.

“Hic,” Eddie said, giggling.

“Hello, Miss Caroline,” Esther beamed.

“Who are you?”

“Why, honey! It’s me, Esther!”

“I don’t know you.”

“Maybe you was too small when you lef’. I useta take care of you. Took care of yo’ daddy and his brother, too.”

“My father is dead.”

“Oh honey, I know.”

“There’s no one home right now. You shouldn’t be here.”

“But I’ve come ta stay,” Esther said.

“Here?”

“Yes’m.”

“Wait’ll Amelia hears this,” Caroline said as she raced down the porch steps and off toward the hotel.

“Dumb . . . hic . . . isn’t she?” Eddie said.

“Tha’s not a nice wor’ ta use on yo’ sister, Miss Eddie.”

“She is.”

“Still’s not nice.”

“Okay.”

A moment of silence.

“Persnickety! Tha’s the word you wan’!” Esther blurted out, then let loose with the biggest laugh Eddie had ever heard in her life.

“Persnickety! That’s wonderful! Persnickety Carolinickety!” cried Eddie, trying out her own version of the belly laugh she’d just learned. She kissed Esther on the cheek, then got the hiccups again.

The chair was rocking furiously. Eddie threw her arms around Esther’s neck, still giggling, still hiccupping. Every time it seemed that they were about to stop laughing, Eddie yelled “Persnickety!” and they’d start all over again. And the chair would start up again.

That’s the way Leonard and Amelia found them when they rushed home from the hotel.

“Esther!” Leonard shouted, leaping up the porch steps.

“O Mattie!” cried Esther.

“Who’s Mattie?” Eddie wondered aloud.

“An’ Miss Amelia! I am jus’ so happy ta see y’all.”

There were no Olympic Games in 1944. A leap year. The world was at war again. Roosevelt was elected to a fourth term as President. Truman was Vice President. Sartre wrote “No Exit.” Williams wrote “The Glass Menagerie.” Prokofiev’s “War and Peace” opera played Moscow. “Rum and Coca-Cola” and “Sentimental Journey” were the popular songs. “Lifeboat” ad “Going My U~y” were popular films.

The cost of living rose almost thirty percent. The G.1. Bill of Rights provided benefits for veterans. The Normandy Invasion, D-Day, set the mood for the last year of WWII on June 6, 1944.

Little Don Russell went to war in 1944. Caroline gave him a going away party at the hotel.

“Esther, why are these cakes sitting out here on the dining room, table?” Caroline asked as she stomped into the kitchen.

“They are there, Miss Caroline, because I put them there,” Esther replied calmly and with deliberation, giving much thought to the new California accent Eddie was patiently teaching her.

“I expressly told you they were to be taken over to the hotel, Esther. They are for Donald’s party!”

“An’ I ‘spressly ain’t a-goin’ to the hotel jus’ now, honey. So iffen you want’em there now, you hasta take’m yo’self. Or ast Donald ta do it.”

‘‘Esther!”

“Miss Caroline!”

Miss Caroline stomped out the back door. Esther returned to her dirty dishes with a grin that did not make her feel guilty. She heard Miss Caroline tiptoe in the front door, take the two cakes from the dining room table, and tiptoe back out with them.

Eddie passed her sister on the front porch. They did not speak.

“What was that all about?” Eddie asked when she got into the kitchen.

“Miss Caroline was playin’, playing, at being Mistress of the house again,” Esther laughed.

“You’d think she’d learn after a while,” Eddie said, taking two cookies from the jar and then straddling a kitchen chair backwards.

‘‘Can’t you sit like a lady?”

“No. What time’s the whing—ding?”

‘“The what?”

‘‘Whing—ding. You know, Little Don’s party.”

‘‘Oh. Two.”

“You goin’?” Eddie asked.

“Going,” Esther corrected.

‘‘Are you?”

“Yes. Are you?”

‘‘No, I ain’ goin’,” Eddie said.

‘‘Eddie, you stop that. And you should go.”

“He’s dumb.”

‘‘He is not.”

“Well, she’s dumb.”

“And you should stop using that word, young lady.” “Persnickety!” Eddie shouted, then laughed.

Esther looked around first to make sure no one could her them, then she laughed.

“Now, von go get ready for the whing-ding,” she told Eddie.

‘‘I ain’ goin’!”

“Really, Eddie, you can speak better than that,” Amelia said, entering from the dining room. “And where is it that you are not going?”

“Oh, mama,” Eddie said and ran out of the room.

“Eddie! You come back here!” Amelia cried.

“No use, ma’am. You know how she’s been lately,” said Esther.

“Oh yes, I know. Those are the first two words she’s said to me in a week. She talks to you, Esther. What is wrong with her?”

‘‘She doesn’t talk about that, even to me.”

‘‘Perhaps if you asked her outright?”

‘‘I don’t know.”

“Will you try?”

‘‘Yes’m, I’ll try.”

‘‘Thank you, Esther. I’m at my wits’ end.”

‘‘Mother!” Caroline shouted from the dining room.

“There’s the other one. Give me strength,” Amelia sighed, and went to see what Caroline wanted.

Esther finished the dishes and went to look for Eddie. She found her sitting at the edge of the creek, throwing rocks into the water.

‘‘You make an old woman climb down this hill to talk to. Could’ve broke my neck,” Esther said, lowering herself onto a rock next to Eddie.

“It’s not as though I asked you to come,” Eddie said.

“Honey, what is the matter with you these days?”

‘‘Nothin’.”

“You are sullen and moody all the time. Cranky most of the time. You don’t talk to people, ‘cept me. And then you won’t tell what’s wrong.”

“There’s nothin’ wrong, damnit!”

“You listen to me, daughter. First, you don’ talk like that to me. Second, you can’t go on like this. You’re almost twelve now, and you…”

“Exactly!”

“What?”

‘‘Twelve!”

“Twelve what?” Esther asked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

‘‘Nothin’.”

“Tell me.”

“It means I’m gonna die! That’s what it means!” Eddie cried out.

“Lordy, chile, what made you think that?”

“Caroline told me.”

“Oh she did, did she.”

“Yes. And I almost remember the doctor saying it myself. ‘She’ll be lucky if she lives to be twelve,’ he said. ‘It affects the heart,’ he said.”

“Oh, Eddie, you haven’t had any problems with that all these years. They said you’d have problems first if anything was really wrong. And that doctor last year up in Riverside, he said you was sounding ‘real good’ to him. Your heart is fine, honey, But you’re going to fret yourself to death .And as a certain little girl I know would say, ‘That’s dumb.’ Now, I’d give you a big hug, but I don’t think these old bones will let me bend over that far.”

Eddie raised herself into Esther’s arms.

On June 21, 1944, Eddie turned twelve without a mishap. Esther made a chocolate cake with fudge icing for the party. Eddie invited Carl and the chef’s son, Hugh, and the barber’s daughter, Gloria. She even invited her sister, but Caroline graciously declined, saving she was too old for children’s parties and that she had to get Donald’s sweater finished. That was fine with Eddie; she only invited Caroline to the party because Esther told her she had to. They played tag and hide-and-seek outside, then came inside for quieter games. They even played spin-the-bottle. Kissing didn’t seem quite as yechy as they once thought. Although Carl, at ten, still wasn’t so sure about it.

On June 21, 1944, while Carl was at Eddie’s party, his parents got the telegram from the War Department. The War Department said they wanted to inform the Russells that their brave son, Donald, had given his life for his country. They said the Russells could be proud that their son had died in action. They said that Little Don was one of the heroes at Normandy on D-Day.

Gandhi was assassinated in 1948. A leap year. Chiang Kai-shek was reelected President of China. Harry S. Truman was (re)elected President of the United States. Swing and bebop danced. Existentialism was. Cole Porter’s “Kiss Me, Kate” opened in New York. David Lean made “Oliver Twist” D. W. Griffith died. Prince Charles was born. The LP record was invented. The Olympics resumed after a hiatus for the war. Kinsey published his “Sexual Behavior in the Human Male.” America sang “Buttons and Bows” and “All I Want for Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth.”

The old bus coughed and sputtered as it jerked its way from the highway to the Beech Grove Hot Springs Hotel. The banner on the side of the bus said “King Kole and His Krazy Kats.’ King Kole was a Glenn Miller dropout whose real name was Homer Alsop, according to one of the Kool Kats. The Kool Kats were Homer’s wife, Ellie, and her two cousins, Gert and Sally. Homer was on a self-proclaimed mission to help the West make the transfer from swing to bebop, then to the new “cool jazz.” Gert said she didn’t think the West was ready. King and the Kats played the out-of-the-way places, the dives and wherever their bus broke down. On Saturday, July 3, 1948, their bus broke down just outside Beech Grove.

Leonard was already in his cups—as they said in those days, or gassed as King Kole said—when the Kool Kats’ bus chugged up to the hotel. Leonard hired the Kats to play for the big Independence Day Dance he just decided to have on Sunday night.

Grampa Leonard was gassed most of the time in those days. The hotel was enjoying a post-war revival, so there was plenty of money coming in. Leonard had hired another six or seven employees, leaving him with very little to do, except drink. A dozen or so new families had settled into Beech Grove by ‘48, and once all the existing houses were taken, Leonard allowed people to build new ones on the other side of the creek, as long as they kept them far apart and stayed within the general style of the rest of the village. By ‘48, Beech Grove had its own gas pump, a general store with its own pharmacy, a little school house with its own real school teacher. There was also a part-time doctor. The hotel chef opened a snack bar for those who didn’t want to eat in the restaurant and let his son, Hugh, run it. And in 1948, Beech Grove got a one-lane bowling alley, which was the result of one of Leonard’s drunken binges and which cut off the veranda that used to run all the way around the hotel.

On July 4, 1948, Beech Grove had a big Independence Day Dance, featuring a ragtag combo called “King Kole and His Krazy Kats.”

Since Leonard was unwittingly paying the Kats twice their usual gig fee, they offered to play for the Sunday Service at no charge.

Amelia had started the Sunday Service during the war. Initially, it was just Amelia, Ginny Russell and Lydia Vance, Hugh’s mom. Within six months, they had all the kids involved; by the end of the year, most of the town was in attendance every Sunday morning. Many had been hesitant because it wasn’t a real Church service, while others stayed away because they thought it might be. The early meetings were Bible readings, then poetry became an acceptable alternative. Then music, quiet music, until Grampa Leonard booked “King Kole and His Kool Kats” to play at the Sunday Service.

Amelia was not pleased. Gram’s idea of music for Sunday Service—her idea of music, period—was a little Brahms played quietly on the piano or, perhaps, the children singing a hymn. Amelia was the choir director, and her choir opened and closed the meeting every Sunday. ~1’hcre were twelve members of Amelia’s choir, thirteen if you counted my mother. Amelia said Eddie sang like a sick frog, but she looked so nice up there with the other children that she wouldn’t think of not having Eddie in the choir All the kids in Beech Grove had to be in the choir, but Eddie was the only one who wasn’t allowed to sing. The choir thought the Kats were the best thing that ever happened to Sunday Service, the best thing that ever happened to Beech Grove. It was usually so boring.

That night the kids actually danced to that strange music, that bebop, that cool jazz. Even the little ones. But Homer Alsop wasn’t stupid; he threw in a couple of swing numbers

here and there to keep the old people happy. The rest of the time, the old people just drank and shook their heads.

Eddie and Hugh were sweet on each other that summer. They were sixteen. They thought they were probably in love.

Poor Carl and Gloria, fourteen and fifteen respectively, got stuck with each other as there was no one else their age in the village at that time. The next batch of kids down the ladder were five or six years younger, children, they said.

Caroline wasn’t at the dance. Aunt Caroline was at home in her room, taking phenobarbital—goof balls—one every hour until she passed out. For years, it had been chloral hydrate—mickey finns—starting the day after that telegram from the War Department came, saying how proud they could all be that Little Don had died in action. Aunt Caroline couldn’t make herself feel “proud.” The doctor gave her chloral hydrate. After a couple of years, he changed her to goofballs, thinking she might have become addicted to the mickeys. So Caroline wasn’t at the big Independence Day Dance, featuring the Kool Kats.

Mom and “Uncle” Hugh danced every number that night, and went for a long walk afterwards. They talked about the stars and the moon. They talked about Beech Grove. They talked about Hugh’s plans to become a chef like his father. They talked about Eddie’s plans to see the world, or maybe go to college and become a teacher, or maybe to fall in love and get married and have children. They sat by the creek, his arm around her shoulders, and threw rocks into the water.

Eddie could hear the shouting long before they got to the house; then she gave Hugh a little peck on the cheek and sent him home. She walked quietly up onto the porch and sat in the old wooden swing. She didn’t want to hear the fight, but she couldn’t force herself to leave.

Leonard was drunk again. He’d been drunk all evening and, according to Amelia, had made a fool of himself at the dance.

“It was bad enough you had that awful band here once,” Amelia shouted, “but I cannot believe you actually invited them to come back next year!”

“The kids liked them.”

“The children are not the only ones who had to listen to that noise!”

“You coulda left, Amelia. No one was holding you.”

“You would’ve liked that, wouldn’t you? You would’ve liked me to leave, so you could throw yourself at that . . . at that floozy!”

‘‘Floozy?”

“The fat one with the saxophone!”

“Clarinet. And Gert wasn’t fat.”

“Gert was obese, you bastard! And if you weren’t blind drunk, you’d know it!”

“Amelia, such language.”

“Don’t get cute, Leonard. I’m sick and tired of your lechery—your fornication—and I’m warning von right now, if you ever…

“You don’t warn me, bitch!”

“Shut up! shut up! shut up!! You’ve got to stop this! I can’t stand it anymore! I saw you with her!”

‘‘Who?!”

Amelia had tensed every muscle in her body, pulling herself erect, with her arms rigid and shaking. Suddenly, the tension disappeared. She slumped into a chair, drained.

“With Caroline,” she whispered.

“I….”

‘‘Don’t you deny it,” she said calmly. ‘‘I saw you there. I walked into that room and I saw you, slavering on that poor, half—conscious girl. I saw you with your head do\vn l)et\ve . . . down there. I saw you, damn you, I saw you. What has happened to you that von could do such a thing? Poor Caroline. God knows she’s just a walking zombie, she didn’t even know’ you were there.”

“Amelia, honey, I’m . . . please . . . ?

“Oh, I don’t suppose that was the first time you used her body like that. You’ve always been somewhat of a pervert, haven’t you?”

“Really, dear.”

“Oh, I know about Jake, too. I know you and Jake Halloran were . . . I know he came to Beech Grove that day . . . in the big, blue car Eddie tried to tell us about. I know you saw him that day. I know you talked to him. What

did you talk to your old boyfriend about? What would Jake Halloran and Matthew Delaney have to say to each other after all those years? Good times, maybe? Maybe not. Maybe they talked about murder. Maybe they talked about twins, and how no one would know which twin had been killed. Just have to make sure no one saw that ear, Mark’s funny ear. No problem it turned out—no one saw anything. Did you stop to consider that my sister might be with Mark when it happened? Tell me, dear, what did you and Jake talk about that day?”

Eddie didn’t wait for his reply, if he had one. She walked slowly down the porch steps and around to the back of the house. She opened the back door quietly and sneaked through the kitchen to Esther’s room. She knocked very softly on Esther’s door. The door opened immediately, as though Esther had been expecting the knock. Esther looked through her own tears at the tears streaming down Eddie’s face. Esther closed the door and led Eddie to the edge of the bed and sat her down. Esther sat next to my mother and cradled her in her arms. Esther sang a lullaby she remembered from her childhood in Missouri—a lullaby about pretty little fireflies you could hold in your hand.

Eisenhower became President in 1953. Elizabeth II was crowned Queen of England. Khrushchev took power in the U.S.S.R. Dag Hammarskjöld became the first Secretary-General of the United Nations. Eugene O’NeiII and Dylan Thomas died. Sergei Prokofiev died. The Piltdown Man was revealed as a hoax. Kinsey published his “Sexual Behavior in the Human Female.” Robert Anderson wrote “Tea and Sympathy. “Arthur Miller wrote “The Crucible.” Cigarette smoking was first mentioned as a cause of lung cancer. America sang “Ebb Tide” and “Doggie in the Window.” The war in Korea was coming to a close in 1953.

Somewhere in their late teens, Beech Grove’s inseparable foursome changed partners. Carl and Gloria never did get romantically involved, but everyone was sure Hugh and Eddie would wind up married. Then, overnight it seemed to everybody, Hugh and Gloria started dating and Eddie stopped thinking of Carl as a little brother.

Hugh and Gloria got married first, with Eddie and Carl standing up for them. Then, six months later, the day before Carl went into the Navy, they switched places at the altar and Mom and Dad said their vows.

Carl said he wouldn’t mind if they sent him over to Korea, since Truman had had the good sense to get rid of MacArthur. Carl was scheduled to go to Korea, but he got the measles and his ship left without him. Where it left him was in Long Beach, California.

Dad had easy duty with weekends off, so Mom, Hugh and Gloria used to drive to Long Beach ever~’ weekend and the three of them would terrorize the Nu-Pike Amusement Park. When Morn tells the story, their little holidays were all shopping in the odd little shops, playing games for Kewpie Dolls and romantic walks along the famous Rainbow Pier, the wonderful old arc of a boardwalk, which used to run out over the water around the Municipal Auditorium. When Dad tells the story, out of Mom’s hearing, those were weekends of roller coaster riding, drinking and screwing. Until the night they went on The Rotor.

I rode The Rotor a few times shortly before they tore down the Nu-Pike. The Rotor was a padded, giant coffee can. You walked into it through a little door at the bottom of the cylinder, then everybody stood along the wall facing the middle. Once you were all in position, the little door would close and the cylinder began to turn slowly. There would be a few squeals and groans as the speed picked up and centrifugal force flattened you against the wall. The groans and squeals increased with the speed. The screams reached hysteria when the bottom dropped out. And there was no warning either—the floor simply fell about five feet all at once, leaving you pasted to the padded wall. The female screams remained throughout the ride, but the male screams quickly changed to laughter, then to teasing. I once saw a woman, a very fat woman, slide an inch at a time all the way down to the floor five feet below, screaming hysterically for them to stop the ride and fighting furiously with her dress to keep it from coming up over her head. They did not stop the ride and her dress did come up over her head.

Carl and Hugh had been trying for months to get Eddie and Gloria to go on The Rotor. One Saturday night, a pitcher of frozen peach daiquiris got Gloria in the mood. Eddie was dragged along, protesting. She protested when the little door closed, protested when the thing started to turn, protested when the floor dropped. She screamed something about it might hurt the baby! Now, they never stopped that ride for hysterical sliding fat ladies and they never stopped that ride for people who threatened to vomit, or actually did, but when Carl shouted, “You stop this goddamn ride!” they stopped that ride. That was always the way with Dad: he was a quiet, easygoing man, but when he felt strongly about something he spoke up and you knew he meant it. They stopped that ride.

Aunt Caroline kicked her drug habit to help Eddie out during what was supposed to be a difficult pregnancy, but wasn’t. The doctor was afraid Eddie would put a strain on her heart, but she didn’t. Eddie had to find things for her sister to do because she didn’t really need her help. She did, however, want Caroline to stay off the drugs, so she found things for Caroline to do. But Caroline caught on to Mom’s little game and started popping a few now and then. When it turned out there was only one of me, instead of two, Aunt Caroline went back to her pills full time.

I was supposed to be twins and would be too much for Eddie to handle alone and she would need Caroline’s help. But I wasn’t. Apparently, I had been echoing in there because the doctor told Mom and Dad there were two heartbeats. Therefore, I would be twins. When I came out alone, they went in to get the other one out, but there was nobody in there. They even searched me, for extraneous growths that might have once been a sibling. I was clean. But since I came out alone, I got both of the names they had picked out for the twins. Matthew and Mark. If I had been born a girl, I would be Sarah and Virginia. That was in 1955.

“Rock Around the Clock” put rock and roll on the popular charts in 1955. Diamonds were artificially manufactured for the first time. Alexander Fleming, Thomas Mann, James Agee and Charlie “Bird” Parker died. Prokofiev’s opera, “Fiery Angel,” debuted in Venice. Cole Porter’s “Silk Stockings” opened in New York. So did “Damn Yankees.” Nabakov wrote “Lolita.” Inge wrote “Bus Stop.” Nuclear power was first used in the United States. Albert Einstein died in 1955.

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