As American As Cherry Pie

When I heard that Deputy Mike was in the hospital following a burst appendix I called “The Guys” to let them know. What we had in common was Valley Falls, Vietnam, and Deputy Mike. 

In our high school years he had been our nemesis in our quest to vanquish persistent virginity among our female cohort. He forcefully “counseled” us against drinking beer and driving our hot cars fast; opposing both the alcohol and the speed individually and in combination. He seemed to be everywhere breaking up our impromptu drag races or illicit beer runs to the next county.

Jimmy was the attending doctor when Mike was admitted. He was one of “The Guys” that had remained in Valley Falls. The rest of us had scattered far and wide. Mike was in bad shape and might not make it, he said. I emailed everybody in our group. Those who could afford it or had the time said they would go see Mike to pay their respects. After all, Deputy Mike was part of our history and coming of age.

He was a harsh enforcer whom we feared, not only because of how he treated us in particular but because of how we saw him deal with wife beaters, bullies, and thieves. The fact was that some kinds of transgressors received tough but measured rage, and that was what we really feared. What if he had turned on us?

By the time we arrived at the hospital he was dead. There was nothing for us to do except wait for the funeral director to finish his job and let us know when and where Mike would be buried. I suggested that we hold a wake with lots of beer under the trees by the lake next to the falls at the edge of town.

Valley Falls was a small town of a few thousand in farming country in the Great Plains. People generally knew each others business and actively participated in each others lives. When the Vietnam draft came to Valley Falls in '67 and '68, all of us who didn’t have college or physical deferments went and fought. Those that came back resumed their lives, more or less. As time moved on we scattered all over the country but “The Guys” kept in touch sporadically for years. The small town beginnings and our common experience in the war bound us more tightly than even some family ties.

Deputy Mike was exempt from the draft because of his job and because he was 26, the high end of eligibility. But he resigned in 1967, joined the Marines just in time for Tet and served two tours. In its mysterious selection process the Marines made him a medic. He earned three Purple Hearts and half dozen other highly regarded medals for his gallantry under fire. One old WW2 vet, himself a bemedaled grunt, said that if Mike didn’t have a medal for general badassery, he deserved one.

Being the state’s most decorated Marine, Mike got a hero’s welcome parade. He rode on a platform in the bed of the Mayor’s pickup, waved at everyone, then gave a two word speech in the town square. “Thank you,” he said. The next morning he dug a deep hole in his yard, buried his medals and his uniform and never mentioned the war again. A week later he was rehired as a deputy sheriff. He succeeded Sheriff Corky Adams and held the job for 30 years mostly dealing with small town crime and teenagers gone wild just as he’d done when “The Guys” were in high school.

The Wake

On the way to the lake we picked up enough beer for two wakes, ice, and the biggest cooler in the store. Once there we sat in a circle on lawn chairs under the trees, sipping beer. We reminisced about growing up in Valley Falls and how much it had changed. I wanted to talk about Deputy Mike but I couldn’t think of a way to do it without sounding sappy. I don't know what the others were thinking but I guess they didn't know where to start either.

We told more stories and drank more beer. Then Jimmy broke the dam. He told about the time Deputy Mike had fought off Danny Poage and his baseball bat. Jimmy’s mom called saying Danny was slapping his wife around again. It wasn’t the first time but this time Danny came out tapping a bat on his thigh when the Deputy drove up. It was gonna be a showdown.

Mike took off his gun belt, put it in the cruiser, and came up with a rope. The drunken Danny was confused. He was thinking of going down swinging. Instead, he went down when Mike snapped the weighted end of the rope like a whip around his ankles, jerked back hard, putting Danny flat on his back.

Mike straddled Danny and gave him two hard backhand slaps.

“Danny, four times you made me make this call. Four times I took you down. There will not be another time, you understand? I get this call again, folks around here will wonder where you’ve gone. Truth is I hope you try. Betty's tired of you. This town is tired of you. But most of all, I'm tired of you." 

Joey told about the time the Deputy had arrested a poacher, strapped him and the buck he killed to the bumper of the cruiser and sped down 20 miles of the 86 at 90 miles an hour before putting the guy in the back seat on the way to the county jail. The poacher’s lawyer couldn’t find a single witness to corroborate the bizarre tale though his client swore at least a dozen cars whizzed past in the opposite direction.

I saw Eddie reaching in the cooler for another beer and rubbing his head with his open palm.

“Is that the bump Mike put up side your head?”

“Yeah, going on 50 years now and it’s still there. Amazing. I never understood what he had against underage drinking.”

The Guys looked at him, recalled the old story and laughed.

“I was coming back from Maytown on the 86. I had friends there who could get me beer. Anyway, I drank a six pack plus another two brews and I was feeling pretty good. I hit the 86 just out of Maytown and opened her up. The windows were down, the radio was on, and I was doing 75 when I hit the county line. Deputy Mike ran me down; took his time getting out his cruiser, wrote down my license number on his little pad. He had his hand over his gun as he leaned close so he could smell my breath, I guess. He straightened up put his hands on his hips, looked me square in the eyes.

"He said, “You drinkin’?

"And I said, “You buyin’?

“Next thing I know he’s slamming my head on the fender and I’m seeing stars. He took my keys and told me to stay in my car until he came back. I sat there for three hours, not moving, worrying about what would happen next. Swear to god, I never got sober so fast.

When he came back he tossed the keys on the ground and said, “Now, Eddie, you do understand that there will NOT be another time like this, right? Go home.”

Joey took a deep swallow of beer, raised the bottle, a silent toast to Deputy Mike.

“I was just thinking about the time Bobby, Eddie, and Jimmy got locked in the trunk of my car at the drive-in in Maytown. It cost a dollar a head to go in so we figured three of us could hide in the trunk then get out and see the movies for free. We got in alright but when I went open the trunk, the key broke.”

Eddie:
“The three of us were packed in tight and it was hot inside. We could barely move then Jimmy farted like he always did after a few beers, except now it wasn’t funny. Bobby threw up and Jimmy farted again.”

Joey:

“We couldn’t start the car without the key so I went to the concession stand to get help. The manager, I can’t remember his name, was really pissed but came out to help. We tried to pull the backrest off the back seat but it was stuck tight. Guys in the trunk were beginning to panic, kicking and yelling “Open the trunk! Open the trunk!”

“Well, the manager went and called the Maytown County Deputy Sheriff who came over and yelled at the guys in the trunk to shut up then asked my name and who was in the trunk. I followed him to the concession stand where he phoned Deputy Mike.

“Mike, this is Deputy Bill from Maytown County. I’m at the movie drive-in here and I got four of your boys sneaking in without paying. Three of them are locked up in the trunk, key broke off. They’re from your county and I don’t have time to waste on these pissants. I got an 18 wheeler jackknifed at the crossroads I gotta take care of. Yeah, you guessed it. Gonna spend all night rounding up the strays. So, what do you wanna do with these kids?"

"He listened for a minute then said, “Ok. If that’s how you want it,” and hung up.

“The Sheriff turned to me and said that Deputy Mike was sending Rick and his tow truck to take us back to town. He left the guys in the trunk just like Deputy Mike told him. Rick made the 30 mile trip to the drive-in driving slow, owing to bad bearings on the front wheels. The trip back was even slower; Jimmy farted every time we hit a bump.

“Deputy Mike met us at the county line. He popped the trunk with some kind of cop tool and let the guys out.”

“I called your folks and told them you’d be home by and by. They won’t be coming for you so you better start walking now.”

"He unhooked the tow truck, got in his cruiser, and drove away. I caught holy hell from my Mom and Dad when I finally got home. We all did”

Bobby:

“Mike caught me and Jenny once behind the covered bridge off the 27. Jenny was a real tease, remember? Well, one night after the game I got some beer and convinced her to have some with me. She got silly pretty fast and I didn’t have to try too hard to convince her to give me some loving. So we drove down the 27 to the covered bridge. I parked the car, had some more beer and we started making out. It felt like an hour before I got her sweater off and I was unhooking her bra when Deputy Mike put his flashlight in my face. I let go of the bra and it flew open shooting wads of Kleenex all over the place.”

“Unless you’re going to blow your nose with all that Kleenex, Sonny Boy, I suggest you put it back. Take Jenny home NOW.”

“He turned his back while Jenny fixed her clothes then followed us to Jenny’s house. I walked her to the front door and her Dad saw the cruiser, jerked Jenny inside and slammed the door.”

Eddie tossed his empty can at me and said, “How come you never had run-ins with Deputy Mike? You weren’t exactly a Boy Scout.”

Now that Mike was dead I could tell my story about catching him and Cherry having a quickie in a corn field when I was 16. I had sworn I wouldn’t tell and he said he’d back off some. I was so scared of what he might do that I didn’t even think about getting on his bad side. A cop on duty having sex with an unmarried girl would get him fired lickety split in those days. Like a man holding a million dollars and no way to spend it, I had a power I didn’t dare use.

Mike and Cherry were an item and everyone assumed they would get married but something happened. They broke up. She married someone else. 

“Hmmmm. I remember Cherry. Wow, she was a real looker.”

The guys started commenting on Cherry as though they ever had a chance with her and I decided it was time to bring out the letter that the Head Nurse at the hospital had given me when I asked about Mike. "It's from Mike to you", she said. I read it in my motel room and brought it to the wake.

The Letter

"Guys, this letter is from Mike. He wrote it a few days before he died. It says...."

 

I don’t know why I’m writing this now. Both of us are old enough to tell the difference between things that matter and things that don’t. Maybe when you get to this stage in life it's time to settle accounts. I don't know.

You promised not to tell what you saw in the cornfield a long time ago and I know you’ve kept your word. Not that it matters anymore or that it mattered so much then.

Cherry was the girl all the guys wanted and all the girls wanted to be. She was beautiful and smart; didn’t have an enemy in the world. I loved Cherry more than anything in the whole world and she loved me, too.

Well, you know the story. She married somebody else and lots of folks gossiped and speculated about what went wrong with us.

What actually happened was we had set a wedding date in the summer of ’62. In the meantime I had my annual physical for my job and the doc noticed that I had had Chicken Pox when I was a kid. Long story short, the tests showed that I was sterile. I told Cherry and it nearly killed her to know we couldn’t have kids.

In the Senior Yearbook in the section “Future Plans” where everybody wrote they wanted to join the Peace Corps, or become movie stars and such, she wrote: “ I want to get married. Raise kids and pigs.” We all laughed, it was so funny. But she was serious. Remember, she was an orphan, raised by her grandma.

We talked about adopting but her heart wasn’t in it. It was clear she wanted her own brood with me as the daddy. The need to have her own flesh and blood was just too powerful for her to give up. I could understand that in my mind because I wanted kids, too. I could understand that she'd grown up without a  mom and dad, sisters, brothers, or cousins and that more than anything she craved to be close to her very own babies. It wasn't long after that we broke up.

It tore me up something awful to lose her and I tried to find someone else but Cherry was always on my mind. Sometimes it hurt so bad it made me howl. The pickings got less and less as I got older and I gave up looking. I still think about her now and then, what might have been.

You, Eddie, Joey, Jimmy, Bobby, Jenny, and Tommy became my kids, my family in my mind. I watched you close to keep you out of real trouble that could wreck your lives. And a couple of you came awful close. You all did lots of things that could have gotten you arrest records that would deep six your college applications or good jobs in the future. Instead, I was rough on you, maybe outside the law sometimes but I figured your parents would know how to punish you best.

I kept an eye on all of you all grown up, looking you up on the internet, asking about you here and there and I’m deeply gratified that “my kids” turned out as well as I expected.

 I don't have any family other than you to carry out my last wishes so I'm appointing you my executor. My lawyer says this letter is enough. If it isn't, sue me. I've already sold my place to the Jensens so you don't have to bother about that.

1. I wish to have my remains cremated and given to you.

2. You will organize a wake for me in which you and the others will lie about me shamelessly and also tell whatever truths you see fit.

3. You will consume as much beer as you can hold. I've notified the Deputy Sheriff to arrange transportation for you when the wake is over. He'll be in touch with you soon.

4. The following day, at sunset, you and the others will proceed to the cherry orchard next to my place and scatter my ashes there.

Mike 

Mama Bear update

UPDATE 5/24/2013
One of my readers sent me the following message.

Mama Bear

I didn’t see this but I heard it happened in a small West Texas town in 1955 or ‘56.

The annual 4^th of July Seniors Softball Game was in the 7^th and final inning. There were other games for younger citizens but you had to be over 40 years old to play in the Seniors contest. The games weren’t intended to be taken seriously, of course. They were meant to put a couple of hours between lunch and beer time. Most of the players were in their 50’s or more and out of shape. Besides that, July was a hot, humid month. Outfielders were known to stroll rather than run after balls hit in their vicinity and this led to scores more suited to college football. Last year’s contest ended with the Red Team winning 42 to 37. Slow underhand pitching made it possible for even the ladies on the team to hit the ball with some regularity. Or put another way, it was almost as easy as Tee Ball.

This year the Blue Team was at bat, two out, bases loaded, and Bill was the hitter. He was a pretty good and even a single would bring in at least two more runs. A double would put the game away. They were leading 26 to 21 but the Red Team still had a chance to win at their next at bat if the score held. They had last bats.

The Honorable Magistrate, Larry Wilson, was the umpire as usual. He seemed a wise choice being a judge and all but he had been known to favor the underdog in these contests especially when calling balls and strikes; balancing the scales of justice, so to speak. So when Larry called Bill out on strikes, he didn’t take it too well.

He flung the bat to the ground and began yelling at Larry who wisely kept his protective mask on. “Yer outa here,” he yelled back and folded his arms across his chest. Old Bill was furious but he stomped off. The spectators thought this was so much fun. They booed good naturedly at either Bill or Larry; you couldn’t tell which. Bill didn’t make it back to the dugout. Instead he came back to home plate and got in Larry’s face again. Larry gave him the “yer out” hand signal again and puffed his chest out like a banty rooster, putting on a show for the spectators. More hoots and boos.

This didn’t sit well with Bill either. He gave Larry a hard two handed push to the chest that sent him crashing into the backstop. Now Larry’s wife, Nana, played third base and was the cleanup batter for the Red Team. While most people thought of her as a mother hen who indulged her children and her husband, no one ever thought of her as a She-Bear. But when she saw her husband crash into the backstop and Bill looking like he wasn’t done, she picked up a bat, ran over and stood between Larry and Bill. Larry recovered from the push and saw Nana winding up to swing the bat upside Bill’s head and tried to stop her. As she reared back she struck him on the backswing. She heard the "thunk" as the bat made contact with her husband’s skull and tried to stop but it was too late. As her swing came around the bat flew out of her hands into Bill’s forehead, knocking him unconscious.

A few seconds of dead silence was followed by hysterical laughter from the people in the stands. Nana stood between the two men lying on their backs over the batter’s box. Larry was the first to recover his senses and Nana checked the lump on his head. Bill’s wife, Marsha, came to her husband’s side and helped him sit up. She cupped his head in her hands then slapped him awake. Others came to help the men get on their feet. The game was called. The scorekeeper announced the beginning of the watermelon eating contest at the far end of left field.

As Nana and Marsha escorted their dazed men to left field, Nana mouthed “I’m sorry” at Marsha who only winked and gave Nana a discreet thumbs up.