Chapter 46
During the middle of his eighth grade year, students began talking about where they were going to go to high school. In Ron’s part of Newark, if you weren’t going to Barringer, you had to compete for entrance into a school.
“I don’t understand why he can’t go to public school,” said George.
“I don’t want him there.”
“How are we going to pay for it?”
“We’ll find a way.”
Ron listened to them talking and his face showed his utter contempt for George. George caught the look and said, “I’m just saying Ronald.”
“Saying what?”
“That Barringer is a good school.”
“It’s not as good as the private schools and they don’t put up with any nonsense,” said Marjorie.
George felt defeated. They never listened to him. He couldn’t even tell them that he’d won $50 in a card game because she would be crazy about him gambling.
The entrance exams were on Saturdays. They staggered them so that guys would have a chance to apply to the big three, which were Seton Hall, St. Benedicts and New Jersey Catholic. St. Peters was an even better school but it was in Jersey City and that thought frightened Marjorie.
The tests were long. At St. Benedicts, it was a three hour exam. Seton Hall and NJ Catholic were both two hours long. Each came with a $20 application fee.
For girls, the choices were more limited. Of course the nuns encouraged them to attend Our lady of the Forlorn, and there was East Orange Catholic but that was about it unless someone wanted the trek across the Passaic River to a co-ed high school called Queen of Peace.
His friends talked of little else. It caused a gender separation because none of them wanted to consider Queen of Peace.
Richie announced, “I’m going to Seton Hall.”
Dave Spenelli said, “I think I’m going to Jersey. My parents think it’s a good school and it’s the closest.”
Ron didn’t say anything. He’d been accepted into all three schools, but wasn’t sure if there was enough money for any of them. He would have liked to go to The Hall with Richie, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up.
“Ronald, I’m really proud that you did so well on the entrance exams.”
“Thanks Mom.”
“George is proud too,” said Marjorie. She was trying to cue George to say something. George nodded and grunted.
“New Jersey Catholic is a good school,” said Marjorie.
Ron nodded.
“The tuition isn’t a lot more than where you are now.”
“It’ll be fine,” said Ron. He was trying really hard to hide his disappointment. He was relieved that it wasn’t going to be Barringer.
He went into his room and tore up the acceptance letters to Seton Hall and Benedicts. Through the door he heard George’s muffled voice say, “I don’t know how we’re going to do it.” Ron punched his mattress as hard as he was able. He felt stupid. Why should he care if the sent him to Barringer or Seton Hall or New Jersey Catholic? Things still wouldn’t feel right. Right now the best thing about George that Ron could conceive was that he belonged to a club that had a rotation of paperback porn.
He found that certain lines excited him. He didn’t know why. He would just feel this rush after he’d read them and want to read them again and again, and then it would happen. At the same time that he loved his time alone with those books, they caused his disdain for George to even grow deeper.
He hid them, buried in the dirty clothes of the laundry basket in the bathroom. Ron would take them out and bring them back into his room and then return them. He knew that it was his mother who emptied the laundry. He wondered what she did with the books when she found them.
Chapter 47
Ron read and was impressed.
Paul Panini wrote: Not all Indian cultures were peaceful. Some were as brutal as the Europeans.
Mark Simon wrote: I liked the first part. How do you find a people?
Ron smiled. These two were smart and the classroom had been a catalyst. He thought, maybe a classroom has less to do with being a physical place than I thought it did. Maybe a classroom is only special for that time and those moments when it’s functioning.
His mind flashed to classrooms that he’s been in. The first one that he remembered was Mrs. Francis kindergarten class. It was a huge room with wooden floors that creaked and lots to do. He loved it. Things got darker. He saw himself in 4th grade hurling his books when he was told that he had detention for something that he didn’t do.
Ron glanced back at the papers. Edward Lang had written: Civilization comes at a price, but it’s good. Ron smiled and relaxed into his papers and forgot the time or where he was expected to be.
Celeste came into the basement quietly. Ron was sprawled on the bed and there were stacks of papers everywhere. His incredibly large and clumsy book bag was open. She smiled. She approached. He didn’t know she was in the room until a blur caught the corner of his eye. Now she was standing there naked. Ron scrambled to put the papers away. He knew that his boys would understand.
Celeste slept quietly and Ron put on the desk lamp. He finished reading William Bradford for the second time and tried not to hate it. Then he smiled. They would read it and hate it too. Maybe he could teach them to find a new perspective on the things that they seemed to hate but were forced to accept.
“This is what we have in our literature book as the first piece of reading. Let’s look at it. A hard crossing. Illness. Only a fragment left of what had come.
This is our fragment. Our piece of what has survived. That’s why I wanted you to read it,” said Ron.
Paul Panini said, “Don’t we have to read it?”
“That too,” said Ron. “I tried for a while to find some way to come here and tell you why I think that you should read this. It’s not great writing. It’s not even good. Why then? How can I stand here and expect you to trust me when I have to choose from a selected group of material? Answer is that I’m trying to work that out and giving it my best shot. Let’s see how it goes. I have an idea.”
Ron picked up their literature book. It was his copy. The pages were dog-eared. There were foreign objects slid between the pages. “I’ve taken a hard look at this and decided that it would benefit you to know what is in here.”
Ron looked out into the room. There were the two in the back, Panini and Simon, but there were two more. Sal Taleno could catch, He’d always been able to catch. He could run and he wasn’t afraid to take a hit, but he also was under some pressure to read. It was parentally induced. Ron understood that. But Sal was now in his class. Even though they had little contact on the field, they were on the team. There was a tentative bond. Sal looked up and met his eyes.
Sal grinned. “Tell us what it is.”
“This book isn’t what’s important here. It’s our minds meeting and exploring. There is some really good stuff in here. I’ll cut out the crap as best as I am able. This is what I want. You gotta read what I tell you to read.”
They were quiet. They weren’t sure what he was telling them to do. What was the assignment?
“I want you to read it until you understand it. When I assign too much, tell me. That’s what I want from each assignment.” Ron looked the football player in the eyes. “Can you do that Taleno?”
“Yes, Coach.”
Chapter 48
On the day that Ron graduated from Our Lady of the Forlorn’s Grammar School, his father and his mother and his Aunt Dottie embraced him with a warm feel of approval that was genuine.
His Aunt took him aside. “People seem to be pinning their hopes on you.”
“I know. What happens if I let them all down? Will my mother get sick again?”
She looked into his eyes. “Ron, it’s your life, not theirs.”
“What do you mean?”
“Their expectations don’t have to be your expectations.”
“Aunt Dot, I’m still not sure what that means.”
“That’s ok,” she said grinning.
They took photographs of him standing with each of them. There was always an arm around his shoulder. He was supposed to smile, but he was scared. What was he supposed to be?
Students who were accepted into Jersey Catholic were required to do summer reading. Ron smiled to himself as he scanned the list. He’d read four of the six. There was just these books called Lord of the Flies and another called Animal Farm.
Ron Tuck was an avid reader. He’d plowed his way through book after book that was supposed to be over his head and gleaned whatever he could and hoped that somehow, osmotically, enough would filter into him. He opened Animal Farm and began to read.
Neither book was long. He felt that they were his introduction to the high school. These books would tell him what the school expected of him. He grinned as he listened to Major. He wondered if pigs were that smart and told himself that he would look that up the next time that he was in the library.
When Boxer collapsed Ron’s heart sunk. He knew that horse was hurt and he believed so deeply in the farm and in the rights of the other animals to govern themselves.
Boxer had worked himself too hard. He needed to take more breaks and to relax once in a while. He wanted for the other animals to take care of their hero. His hands gripped the book tightly when he realized what was happening to the horse. Then he saw and felt his tears. They were rolling down his face and plopping onto the pages. He forced himself to keep reading. He couldn’t hear or see anything but the book which was now blurry.
His mind screamed for Boxer to break out of the cart that was taking him to the glue factory and to stomp those worthless, traitor pigs with his powerful hooves. It didn’t happen, and then they lied about what had become of Boxer. Some of the other animals knew but were too frightened to say anything. They had screamed for Boxer to break out of the cart.
The unfairness of it all seared into his brain as something that he couldn’t accept. He wanted to get it out of his head but it was stuck there and he was crying like a baby laying in his bed.
When he finished the book, his reaction continued. He couldn’t look at the cover without seeing Boxer too weak to break out of his confinement. His mind hadn’t processed Orwell’s ideas, but it felt the pain. Ron slid the book under a stack of others so that he wouldn’t have to look at it, but he still knew it was there. He fished it out of the pile and put it under the clothes in the bottom drawer of his dresser. Maybe he should toss it into the hamper with George’s porn. He pictured George as one of the pigs. His mind saw him sitting at their kitchen table shoveling food into his face. He did grunt a lot. Ron walked into their living room and stared down at one of the stains on the white rug. It was further evidence.
George looked up from his TV program and saw Ron standing there. His face was tear streaked and there was a sick look on his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” said Ron. He didn’t want to talk to the pig.
Chapter 49
The season opener was against Ridgefield. Larry volunteered to organize a pregame rally. Ferry looked at him with disdain. “You’re a coach, not a cheerleader.”
Larry Viola walked away, shoulders slumped. He stood next to Ron’s locker and mumbled, “He made it sound like an insult that I wanted to organize a rally.”
Ron pulled on his brand new coach’s game day jersey. It was gold with black lettering. His cap was black with an interlocking PH in the center of the front. When he and Larry had scouted together last year, Ron had been puzzled when Viola had said that he couldn’t wait for halftime because Bergenfield had one of the best bands that he’d ever seen.
None of the other teams scouting the game had coaches who watched the halftime. The stood in a circle eating hotdogs and talking about what they had seen in the first half. They tried to pick up on tendencies that the others had seen and maybe they had missed. It was friendly but competitive and no one ever showed anyone else what they had drawn on their play pads.
Ron stood towards the side of the circle of men who were wearing their team hats so that everyone knew who they were. He saw Larry up in the stands clapping loudly as the band finished a number. He was a good guy, thought Ron. He just wasn’t a football coach.
Ron was happy that he wouldn’t have to go to those games with Larry anymore. He’d been embarrassed to be seen with him. Now he felt sorry for Larry. He’d wanted to do it to make things fun for the kids and for him.
Ron would be in the booth wearing a headset that was connected to Steve Ferry. He was to tell him what the defense was doing and to make any suggestions that he thought would be useful. This would be one of the first times Ron got to see the varsity play live. Last year he was always out scouting with Larry.
Paul Pamenteri pulled Ron aside in the hallway. “Remember that I’m on the system too.”
“What do you want me to look for?”
“We can’t see the line splits from field level as good as you can see them from up top.”
“Got it.”
“Ronnie, listen sometimes during the game, Steve loses it. He gets disgusted by mistakes. He’s bitter about being overmatched. He forgets and starts calling plays that he hasn’t put into the playbook.”
“What do you mean?”
“Old plays from teams that he’s had in the past.”
“What do we do then?”
“I talked to him about it. This year, I’m going to send the plays that he calls in. I need you to be ready with something if he starts to lose it.”
“Ok.”
Paul looked at Ron seriously. “No one else knows. Not Artie and certainly not Larry. You can’t let Steve know that I told you.”
The game was evenly matched. In the first quarter, Ridgefield almost scored on a long pass play that was wide open but the pass wasn’t any good.
“What happened there?” growled Ferry.
“We bit on the short pass fake. It was wide open,” said Ron.
“God damn it! Why do we practice these things?”
Paul voice was composed. “Coach, we need a play.”
“Run the damn dive to the left. Maybe we can do that without screwing up.”
The blare of the loud speaker drowned out everyone’s voice. The play went for six yards. Ron said, “Paul, run it to the other side.”
Ferry said, “Ok, let’s see if we can educate them and get them to pack it in tight.”
The play ran for six more yards and they had a first down.
“Run that baby again,” said a gleeful Ferry.
This time the inside linebacker for Ridgefield anticipated the play and stuffed the hole for just a two yard gain.
“Linebacker cheated up,” said Ron.
“We saw it,” said Paul.
The quarter ended scoreless. Ferry said, “Now we fake the dive and run a toss to the same side. Go to the left, Paul.”
Ridgefield came out in an odd man front. Both guards were covered and when the onside guard pulled out to lead the sweep, the inside linebacker crashed the hole and blew the play up. The ball bounced crazily in the center of the field and then they were on it.
“Where the fuck did that come from?” screamed Ferry. “Ron didn’t you say that when you scouted the game scrimmage that they only ran an even front?”
“I wasn’t there, Coach. That was Larry.”
“Call a defense, Steve,” said Paul.
“Artie, set them in a 4/4.”
Ridgefield scored and then scored again. Perpetual Hope’s defensive back bit on the short pass fake again and this time the pass was true. It was 13-0 at the half because Artie had put in a play that defeated their second extra point attempt. It was an illegal play but Artie was betting that he could get away with it once a game. The defensive man over the center pulled his man forward just as he was snapping the ball. Things happened in the interior of the line. One ref was watching to see that the kick was good. The other was looking for an offside. They couldn’t see it.
At halftime, Ron came down to the locker room. The players ate oranges. There were no real injuries. The coaches gathered in the office. This had to be quick. They had maybe ten minutes and then they had to talk to the players.
Ferry said, “Well, we look as confused as a three legged cat on ice trying to take a shit.”
“We haven’t practiced against an odd man front all week,” said Artie. “Can’t blame the kids for being confused.”
“Can we protect?” said Ferry.
“Can’t run those sprint passes without exposing the backside and they have some speed. Now that the linebacker has a sniff of it, he’ll be up our asses every time,” said Artie.
“How do the flats look, Ron?’
“They’re packed in. If we can get it out there, there’s space.”
“Paul, two things. Get that fucking numbnuts who bit on that fake twice off the field. Sit him down. We’ll work with him this week.”
Paul nodded.
“Instead of carrying through with the fake on the dive, I want Scutero to teach that crashing linebacker a little lesson. Ring his bell.”
Artie laughed. This was his kind of football.
At the start of the second half Sal Taleno caught three passes in a row and when the defender fell on the third one, Sal scored. There was jubilation on the sideline. Ron pumped his fist from on top of the announcer’s box.
Ridgefield couldn’t move the ball. They went back to the wider splits of their even front. Scutero had rung number 51’s bell good. He was on the sidelines.
“Run the dive,” crowed Ferry.
“Stick it right down their throats,” screamed Artie. He had run over and yelled in Ferry’s ear. It was loud enough for Ron to hear. He looked down to see an animated Artie waving his arms and snorting as he stomped around in a circle.
On the third play of this drive, Perpetual Help fumbled again. This time they got it back but lost fourteen yards on the play. Ridgefield finally closed up the line splits and continued to sprinkle in the off man front. They were content to sit on their lead. The game ended 13-7.
Larry Viola walked into the coach’s room excited. “That was a great game. We almost had them.”
Ferry was in no mood. “It ain’t fucking horseshoes, Larry.”
Larry slumped again. Sure he could understand that losing wasn’t what they were after, but it was a sunny day. The stands were filled. Both bands sounded good. Didn’t you have to enjoy that?
Ferry picked up Larry Viola’s scouting report. “Didn’t you tell us that they exclusively ran an even front?”
“Yeah,” said Larry.
“Were you surprised today?” said Ferry with a note of menace in his voice.
Looking back on it, Ferry realized that he just should have said yes, but he didn’t. He was still stung about Ferry’s attitude about the rally. He blurted, “I didn’t notice.”
“That’s just great, Larry.” Ferry was already thinking about beer.
Ron needed Celeste and Angel. He didn’t shower or change. He drove to their house. Everyone was in the backyard. Ron walked around the side and up the driveway. Celeste loved the squeak mobile. It always alerted her. It was her friend.
Joey watched young Joey in the pool with Angel. She had water-wings. She was splashing. Joey cuddled his son and splashed back. He was getting soaked but didn’t care. Anna and Mario were watching. The garden was in full early September bloom. Tomatoes needed to be picked. There were peppers and zucchini. Tina was in the kitchen. The sauce was simmering. She added some fresh basil.
Celeste and Ron embraced. She felt ripe and warm and good. It stirred him. He wanted to take her into the basement and lay her face down and pump himself into her. The urge was strong. He resisted it.
Angel’s face lit up when she caught sight of him. She tried to climb out of the pool. Joey left his son flat in his tube and helped her. Then Ron was there and he swept her up into his arms and held her drippingly wet and her happy body clung to him.
“I’m so happy to see you,” he whispered.
She grinned with the feel of him. Lost herself for a moment in the embrace. Then she said, “I missed you.”
“I was working.”
She hugged him with her entire body. “Don’t work anymore.”
Ron’s heart was flipping in his chest. He lifted her back into the air and carried her to the pool. He plunked her squirmy little body back into the water and continued the embrace.
“I need some help to put dinner in the table,” called Tina.
Celeste went inside. No one asked if they won or lost. Ron didn’t care.
Chapter 50
Ron was nervous as he walked to school. It was the day after Labor Day and it was hot. Ron wondered why the weather always seemed to get hotter after school started. There would be those sometimes cool and rainy days of August and then he’d go back to school and SPLAT. Summer would seem to come back with a vengeance.
His blazer was gray wool and had the emblem of the school on its breast pocket. His slacks were black and his tie felt tight. After one block, he was sweating.
His books had been expensive and they were heavy. He thought that it was probably a mistake to try to cram them all into his book bag on the first day, but he wanted to make a good impression.
Although Jersey Catholic was one of the newer parochial schools in Newark, it was the largest. There were 2000 students and all of them were male. Students came from as far away as Cedar Grove and Verona to attend. Their bus ride was an hour long. Ron had a three block walk.
The school was housed in a huge stone building on Broadway that used to belong to an insurance company. Now it was run by the Christian Brothers. It was ten stories high and covered an entire city block.
The sight of it intimidated Ron. It was him feel small and weak. What was even more intimidating was the throng on young men who were gathered on the side steps waiting for the doors to be opened. They were packed in and all were wearing the same blazers. Ron tried to tell himself that he was one of them but it was a hard sell.
The way that the building was organized allowed for a floor for each year of students. Students were assigned a classroom and that’s where they stayed. Their teachers came to them. It had the unintended effect of making it difficult to get to know very many students outside of the ones that were in your class.
Freshman were assigned to the fifth floor. There were twenty-five freshman classes and each held thirty-five students. Ron looked at his schedule. Algebra was his first class, then French, then Latin, then History, Religion and English and Physical Education. Students were not allowed out of their rooms between classes. They were only allowed to visit their lockers before and after lunch. They were not permitted to use the elevators.
The room was hot and Ron tried to forget about the heat. Brother O’Shea was a short blonde man with a reddish tinge to his skin. Ron wondered if he was sun burned. He rocked back and forth on his heels as he spoke to the class.
“Take off your jackets men.” There was a wave of relief and activity as the guys removed their blazers and draped them over the backs of their desks. “After class make sure that you put them back on. It is the prerogative of each teacher to allow or not allow you this privilege.” He rocked back and forth on his heels. “My rules are simple. One chapter a week and a quiz each Friday. The only times that we will not have a Friday quiz is when we will be having a unit test. Your tests will be returned on Monday and then we will begin the cycle again.”
Rob thought that it seemed simple enough, but Algebra intimidated him. He’d never been great with numbers. He hadn’t really liked fractions and when Richie had tried to explain the concept of equations to him, his mind just went blank and wandered.
“Let’s begin,” said Brother O’Shea. “Take out your books.”
Now Ron was happy that he’d carried the heavy bag to school. He looked around. Not everyone had their books, and the kids that didn’t had this kind of frozen look on their faces and their bodies seem to have gone a little rigid.
O’Shea looked around and then he smiled. “Not all of you are prepared. What did you boys think we were going to do today? Did you think we were going to play Let’s Get to Know Each Other? We aren’t here to get to know each other. We’re here to get to know Algebra. You men without books, put your jackets back on.” Ron heard a groan from in back of him. He turned to see a slender kid with red hair in back of him outing his jacket back on. “Bookless boys, stand up!” said O’Shea. Move into the aisle and take a step either forwards or backwards and stand next to one of your classmates who did knew enough to come prepared. You can follow along.”
O’Shea ran his hands underneath the broad waistband that cinched his brown habit. “A quick review on the multiplication and division of fractions he said.”
Ron looked down. That was Chapter 1. His mind said, how do you review something that you never really learned the first time? Maybe he would get it this time. O’Shea spoke quickly but not loudly. He had the habit of sometimes speaking to the chalkboard instead of the classroom and this made him both difficult to hear and to understand. Ron did understand a lot of it. Maybe he would be ok. What O’Shea basically did for the rest of the class was say exactly what was in the book, using the exact words from the book, and writing the exact some examples that were in the book on the chalk board. He finished talking just before the bell rang. Then he quickly packed up and left.
They were alone. The guys looked around and grinned at each other. Somebody said, “Let’s get our jackets on.”
Two minutes later Brother Alvin appeared at the doorway. “Bonjour.” He said. The class silenced. He was a very tall man and he carried just his French textbook in his hands. “Bonjour, is the French form of greeting. Loosely translated, it means hello. It is expected that when someone says Bonjour, that you respond in kind.” He paused dramatically. “Bonjour!” There was a smattering of mumbled responses. He walked to the teacher’s desk in the front of the room and slammed the textbook down onto it. The sound was like the explosion of a gunshot and the boys jumped. They sat up straighter. “Bonjour!” he said loudly.
“Bonjour,” said the frightened students.
Brother Alvin did not mention their jackets and the temperature had risen. The students were sweating. The class seemed to go on forever. When it ended and Brother Alvin left…the students took off their blazers and fanned themselves with their books.
Ron barely tolerated Latin. There would be declensions and conjugations. His mind screamed, what the fuck for? Brother Delban was wirey. There was grit in his voice. He expected cooperation. The lack of it would result in punishment.
Ron’s mind ached. Was that the message? He was one of the animals on the farm. He’d be penned and instructed. His mind howled. It was time for lunch.