Chapter 66
It was a seven on seven drill, something that was done for the linemen to improve the crispness of their timing and to learn to move like a unit. Ron was running the drill with Artie Harris but he felt that the holes were opening too slowly. Finally he handed the center a ball and said, “Oh my count, snap it back to me.” The players looked confused. Artie looked confused. “I’m going to run through the holes, don’t tackle me,” said Ron.
He stood in a shotgun position that would roughly mimic how far behind the line the running back would be. He would wait a beat to simulate the handoff, and then he would run through the hole. He felt the rush of adrenaline rush through him as he ran and planted and cut up into the hole. The play got crisper. He did it again and again. Bodies were flying around him, he loved it! He’d forgotten what this felt like. He had been sure that he would never feel it again.
When the drill ended, the coaches gave the team a water break. Artie came over and said out of the side of his mouth, “You’re fucking crazy.”
Ron nodded and grinned. “So they tell me.”
“God-damned craziest, animal, English teacher I ever met.”
Ron laughed and felt his chest swell.
In the coaches’ room, Artie said to Paul Pamenteri, gesturing at Ron, “This maniac was taking the ball up through the holes in a seven on seven.”
Paul looked up at Ron in disbelief, “What for?”
“I think that it improves our timing,” said Ron.
“I can’t afford to have you getting hurt,” said Steve Ferry.
Ron nodded. He had almost felt unstoppable, but maybe they were right. He couldn’t afford him getting hurt either.
Ron showered and changed back into his street clothes and walked down to the teachers’ room where he’d left his book bag. Larry Viola was there and he was working some scissors on a piece of cloth.
“Hi Larry.”
“Hey Ron, what do you think?”
Larry draped what Ron now saw was a sheet over his head. He had been cutting out eyeholes.
“What’s that for?”
Larry beamed excitedly. “I convinced Brother Howard to let me try my pre-game rally idea. This is going to be for when we play East Side.”
Ron eyes got larger. “What do you mean?”
“They’re known as the Ghosts, so when their bus pulls in, I’m going to be there with a group that I get together to help me and we’ll be wearing these.”
“You can’t do that,” hollered Ron.
“Brother said I could try it out. I have his permission.”
“Larry, do something else.”
“Why?”
“Paterson East Side is basically an all-Black and Hispanic school.”
“So?”
“Are you fucking crazy? They are going to come to an all-White suburban school and be met by a group of people with sheets over their heads?”
“They won’t take it that way.”
“They sure the fuck will and they’ll never get off the bus and they’ll go to the newspapers and you will be so screwed that you won’t even know what hit you.”
“Well, I’m doing it. It’s all in good fun. They’re the Ghosts.”
“And you’re a moron.”
“Fuck you. I don’t need your approval.”
Ron was in a quandary. When he had gone to Brother O’Malley before, the results had been brutal. If he went to Brother Howard about this, Larry Vila could be in serious trouble. Why were these things finding him? He’d just wanted to change and go to see Celeste and Angel but now here he was stuck with this mess. Larry couldn’t be that naïve to think that he could do something like that, could he? He was a history teacher for Christ’s sake.
Ron saw Brother Howard walking back to his office puffing his after dinner cigar. He sighed and put the book bag down. Damn that thing was heavy. “Brother can I have a moment?”
Brother Howard smiled and said, “Sure Ron, come on in.”
Ron sat in the office as Brother Howard turned the lights on and slide down in back of his desk. “How was practice?”
“We’re getting better.”
“Are your classes going well?”
“Yes, Brother. I’m enjoying them.”
Brother Howard looked perplexed. Classes were going well. Practice had been good. He hoped that Ron wasn’t going to need time off or worse still have found a new job and need to leave them. “How can I help you Mr. Tuck?”
“Brother, I know about the pep rallies that you gave Larry Viola permission to organize.”
“Alright.” He puffed his cigar and scarped the ash into the ashtray. This wasn’t going to be some foolish thing about coaches being above all of this was it? No, Tuck didn’t seem like the type.
“Brother he’s planning to have kids wear sheets over their heads when we play East Side.”
Brother Howard’s laugh was more like a guffaw. “You’re joking right?”
“I wish that I was. He’s in the faculty room now, cutting eyeholes into sheets.”
Howard guffawed again. “Well, he can’t do that.”
“I tried to tell him Brother but I honestly don’t think that he believes that it is a problem.”
“Why don’t you just go on home now, and I’ll casually wander in to see what’s going on. We’ll keep this conversation to ourselves.”
Ron felt relief. “Thank you Brother.”
It was about eight o’clock in the evening when Celeste carried Angel, straight from her bath, down into the basement. She still wore a diaper at night, and she was wearing a lilac nightgown. She crawled into his arms with her brown eyes filled with wonder and wrapped her very small and fragile arms around Ron’s neck. Celeste slid in next to them and entwined her feet with Ron’s feet.
A surge of the need to provide and protect rushed through Ron’s body with one of the most delightful jolts that he’d ever felt. Angel purred like a cat and put her small hands up against each of his ears and leaned in to kiss him. Ron felt his spirit soar. She was magical at this moment.
Celeste watched the love affair with a warm and heartfelt smile. She wished with everything had she had inside of her that this had been his baby, and would be his child.
Angel nestled between them and wiggled her body from one to the other and then drifted off to a contented sleep. Celeste and Ron gazed into each other’s eyes and smiled.
Chapter 67
Ron was standing in the main office, on the first floor of Jersey Catholic. He’d never been here before. The female clerk said, “What is it?” Her tone wasn’t hostile, just businesslike.
“I need an elevator pass,” said Ron. He offered up the note from the doctor’s prescription pad.
She read it. Ron watched her hands and then her face. “One moment.” Her tone was clipped and she turned away from the counter to prepare the pass. Elevators were reserved for faculty and those students who had incurred some form of injury that would grant them a temporary privilege. Anyone requiring that privilege on a continual basis was not considered for admission.
Brother Kelly was the school principal. He made it a point of delivering each elevator pass personally. The elevators were old and elegant and Kelly wished to keep their usage to a minimum. “What seems to be the problem with you, Ronald Tuck?” Kelly glanced down at the card to be sure of the name as he spoke it.
“I hurt my knee. The doctor says that I shouldn’t climb stairs.”
“And how did you hurt your knee?”
“I’m on the football team,” said Ron.
Kelly handed Ron the signed pass. “Let’s hope your recovery is speedy, Ronald Tuck.”
The elevators had steel grates that slid closed and Ron stood towards the back trying not to be conspicuous as he rode up to his floor. Teaches got on and then got off. Some of them eyed him suspiciously. Ron fought the urge to hold up his pass each time one of them looked at him.
In the class, he found that the position into which one piece desk molded him was uncomfortable. He could bend it far enough to put his foot on the floor but after a few minutes it began to throb. He tried sliding down and extending his legs until they straightened. Then that became uncomfortable and he tried sitting up again. It was this progression of positions that filled his next few hours.
Because he had missed three days of school, he was behind with everything. As his assignments mounted, so did his sense of panic. By lunchtime, he was depressed and anxious. He got into the elevator while some students walked quickly passed him. He could hear their feet going down the stairs quickly, the way that he used to be able to go down the stairs. In the lunchroom, he tried to avoid being jostled. Dr. Polino had wrapped his knee in an ace bandage, but when he’d tried to do it, it had creases. All of the sliding down and straightening had made the creases worse and now they dug into the back of his knee. They made it sore and impossible for him to think about anything other than his knee.
When Brother Delban asked him to conjugate the verb to carry, Ron explained that he had been absent. Delban walked over to him and rapped his knuckles down on top of Ron’s head. He recited the first three variations of the verb, accenting each part of the recitation with a rap on the top of Ron’s head with his knuckle. Ron closed his eyes and waited for Delban to finish. Now there was a throb on the top of his head, and he fought the urge to rub it. He stared at the clock, wishing that by some miracle it would move more quickly, but it didn’t.
By the time he climbed the stairs to his apartment, his leg was throbbing and the knee had swollen up again and was hot. With some effort, he got his shoes off and pulled his pants down and unwrapped the badly creased ace bandage. His leg felt better after he took the bandage off, like it could breathe. Why did everything that the doctor told him to do make his knee hurt worse?
Ron tried to think of something to look forward to, but he couldn’t. The tension of this was building inside of him and he had no way to get it out. He lay on his bed and turned on the radio. The End of the World was playing. He closed his eyes as Blue Velvet played and then he was asleep.
Chapter 68
Celeste and Ron were talking on the telephone. “We should start looking for places to have the reception,” she said.
“Isn’t it too soon for that?”
“Some people book these things a year in advance,” said Celeste.
“Why?”
“They just do. There’s a lot to consider. Ron, I have something to tell you.”
“OK.”
“I’m going to have my marriage annulled.”
“How can you do that? I thought you could only do that if you hadn’t had sex.”
“In the Catholic Church you can do it if one of the people tries to avoid having children.” Andrew Canigliaro had surely qualified for that. The problem was that there was now a baby and he had accepted the responsibility to contribute to her support. But Celeste was willing to trade. She would allow him unsupervised visitation if he agreed to the annulment.
“Are we just going to have like a cookie cutter wedding?” said Ron.
“I hope not. I think that we can do better than that.”
“I do too. I think it’s why I have always hated weddings.”
“We’ll make ours special and memorable,” said Celeste.
“I think so too.” Ron thought and felt and spoke. “I don’t blame anyone for having doubts about us.” He stopped and smiled and then laughed. “That’s not really true.” He heard The Rolling Stones in his head and Mick Jagger singing those words. Ron said, “I said that and then I heard that Rolling Stones song that begins I’m a leaping screaming monkey. All my friends are junkies, but that’s not really true. Do you remember that song?”
“I remember it. Why did you think about that?”
“Just because of the words I guess. I’m not sure. Things pop in and out of my head all the time.”
“I don’t blame them for doubting, but I wish they could be more kind about it.”
“My dad’s been ok,” said Ron hopefully. “The only thing is that I’m not sure if it’s just because he doesn’t care enough about what happens.”
Celeste heard that and it caused a ripple to pass through her. She knew that her parents cared, didn’t she? She felt herself drawn to his voice when he spoke again.
“Part of me is like him. I used to think that part was cool and strong.”
“What do you mean?”
“When you can put yourself in a place where nobody can get to you.”
“I never wanted to be in that kind of place,” said Celeste. Another ripple. Was that as honest as she could be? “Maybe I did, a little, but I like people.”
“So, my mom wants to have the ceremony at her church.”
“Ron, there has to be a priest. There just does.”
“I thought about that. There’s a guy that I teach with. He’s from my old neighborhood. Maybe he would do it. He’s Italian. They could do it together, Protestant and Catholic.”
“I need to get the annulment for him to be able to do that.”
“I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” said Ron.
They listened to each other breathe for a while. It was comforting.
Chapter 69
It was a twist to the right that caused the pop to happen again. He pressed his foot down when he felt it and thought that maybe it had popped back into place. Somehow he had told himself that his knee was just out of place and could pop back at any time. He smiled as he felt the jolt. He’d seen things like that on TV where an arm or leg could just be popped back into place. Maybe that was what was happening. He wished very hard for that to be what was happening.
His first step felt spongy. But at least he felt stable. Maybe that was it. A few moments later he felt it starting to swell and reached down and felt the heat coming from it.
It went on like that for several weeks. Ron was now being given a hard time about the elevator pass and told that he would have to renew it every week and that he would have to produce a new note from the doctor each time that it had to be renewed. Life had changed dramatically. There were few days that went by without him getting slapped for one thing of the other.
He told Coach Peters that he was going to have to leave the team.
“That knee hasn’t gotten any better?”
“No Coach, it seems to be getting worse.”
“Tuck, you know you have to want it to get better.” The coach eyed him with an unsympathetic gaze. Injury was weakness and when a player couldn’t respond, Peters never lost the feeling that it was at least in part due to a lack of desire, a lack of toughness.
“I do want it to get better, Coach. Football was the best thing about my life and now it’s gone.”
“Clear out your locker then, Tuck.”
Ron felt slapped again. That was it? Just clear out your locker?
“Make sure that you’ve turned everything in. We have records of everything that we issued to you.”
That was so not how anyone who was on the team was spoken to. Ron felt the distance. The team had moved on. The coach had moved on. He was no longer a part of it. He sat in front of his locker and tried to sort everything out. When it was empty, a locker room felt like a deserted hovel. There were only a few things there that belonged to him. He didn’t want them anymore and threw them into the garbage.
The limp home was now something that he was used to. It was weird how the pain became more manageable as he became accustomed to it. He replayed the scene in his mind. He felt like the discarded soda bottle that he saw lying in an alley. Then an anger rose up in him and he thought to himself that he really didn’t need the team or football or anything.
His knee was tapped for the first time in late November. It was a Friday. He was being taken to his Aunt Dottie’s house. The rules were absolutely no stairs, no walking, he was to keep his knee elevated and stay off it completely. The doctor gave him a set of crutches. Somehow they felt comforting. They were proof of his injury. They would tell everyone that he hadn’t been faking or had wanted to not get better. There would be another few days away from school.
The trip home took him passed Jersey Catholic and Ron was shocked to see that the school was being dismissed. Marjorie was driving the Chevy that reminded her of Rocky. Ron slid down in the seat as they passed the school. He didn’t want anyone to see him.
“I wonder why school is being let out?”
Marjorie didn’t answer. The doctor’s visit had been expensive. She felt shaken by the size of the needles that the doctor had inserted into his leg. She knew that he must be in pain, although Dr. Polino said that he’d given him a cortisone shot and that in a few days that his knee should feel a lot better and that the swelling would go down for good.
When they were a safe distance from the school, Ron reached out and turned on the radio. Instead of music he heard the announcer say, “At this point there is no way to know how badly the President has been injured. There are reports that he was hit in his head. To repeat, shots were fired at President John Kennedy’s motorcade in Dallas about forty five minutes ago. There are reports of multiple injuries. The President is believed to be among those who have been injured. Texas Governor John Connelly is also believed to be among the injured. The President and Governor Connelly have been taken to Parkland Hospital. Defense Forces have been placed on alert.”
Ron turned to his mother but she didn’t seem to be reacting. “Do you think that he’ll be alright?”
“I’m sure that he will,” said Marjorie. “Those people are trained to take care of him.” Marjorie was only half listening. She was worried about the bill and what George was going to say.
Dorothy had the back room all prepared for him. The crutches were of no use in her house and so Ron left them in the kitchen and limped slowly back down the long hall to his Uncle’s room. Dorothy had pulled out the sofa bed and added extra pillows for his knee.
“I’m going to fix you a plate of cookies and get you some milk,” said his aunt.
Ron tried to smile. The feel of her apartment was comforting and no one was going to holler at him or slap him here. Dorothy turned on the TV as she left to get the cookies and milk.
Ron saw Walter Cronkite in his shirt sleeves. There were people moving around in back of him. Everyone looked tense and nervous and busy. The scene shifted to a larger room and in back of a scene of milling and crying people, Ron heard that there were unconfirmed reports that the President was dead. He sat up bolt straight in the bed. His knee didn’t seem to mind. He blotted out everything else in the room and stared hard at the TV. The camera shifted back to Cronkite who reported that President Kennedy was receiving blood transfusions in the emergency room. That must mean that he was still alive! Ron hoped with all his might that everything w aging to be ok. Then a voice from off camera said that there was a rumor that was circulating that the President was dead. Ron felt his mind go numb and waited to hear what Cronkite said. Until Walter Cronkite said it, it wasn’t true and rumors were just rumors. Then there was another report from the hospital itself that said one of the doctors was now reporting that President Kennedy was dead. Ron felt his eyes welling up with tears. Then Cronkite said that Father Hubert had been called into the operating room to administer the sacrament of last rites to the President. Then Cronkite said that there was a twenty five year old man who had been taken into custody at the scene, he interrupted himself to say that correspondent Dan Rather was now confirming reports that the President was dead. Tears were streaming down Ron’s face as his aunt walked back into the room with the cookies and milk. She placed them on the table and sat down with Ron to watch.
The TV showed pictures of the ball room where President Kennedy was scheduled to speak. People were praying. Cronkite said that Vice President Lyndon Johnson had not been seen at Parkland but that there were unconfirmed reports that he had been wounded slightly in his arm. Ron thought, why couldn’t they have killed him instead? His aunt was sitting hunched forward with her hands clasped. Marjorie had gone back to work as soon as she dropped Ron off. He was worried about her because her face had that tense look that it seemed to always have now. Then Ron realized that his Aunt Dottie was praying. He had never seen her pray before. Cronkite reported that some four hundred police officers in Dallas had been called in on their day off because there had been reports that there might be trouble in Dallas. Instantly, Ron hated Texas and everyone who was from there. Cronkite reported that it had only been in late October when United Nations Ambassador Stevenson had been assaulted in Dallas. Ron thought, why does anyone go there? Why don’t we just stay the fuck out of Texas altogether? Then Cronkite said it. It was official. The President had died thirty-eight minutes earlier. Cronkite took off his glasses took a deep breath and appeared to be crying. Ron cried too. His Aunt Dottie cried. They sat staring at the TV in disbelief, tears rolling down their faces. Cronkite gathered himself and said, Lyndon Johnson would be sworn in as the thirty-sixth President of the United States shortly.
Ron watched the TV endlessly. He couldn’t stop. A man who had been there with his son and was waving to the President and the President was waving back and then he was shot and the man saw the expression on his face and then he was shot again and he was gone down into the limousine. Ron cried again. Four years ago, before Rocky left, before George intruded, they had taken him to a rally at the Newark Mosque to see JFK. Kennedy was late. They waited endlessly. Just when Marjorie was saying that she had to go to work at seven am, he was there. He was tan, he was filled with a light that seemed to shine from him. Ron was transfixed. Understanding what he said seemed less important than being able to have been there. Now he was dead. People were talking about watching him die. There were pictures of his wife and then a photo was released inside of an airplane. Johnson looked flabby and old and grisly. Jacqueline Kennedy looked like she didn’t really know where she was or what was happening.
Dorothy had switched the channel over to NBC. Robert Abernathy was reporting on the return of the President’s body, along with the garish presence of the new man who thought that he was the president. There were a couple thousand people waiting. Many were members of Congress. Ron watched the mostly dark screen that showed the blinking lights of the plane’s arrival. Somehow those lights seemed sacred and important. Then the plane was visible and the words The United States of America could be seen lettered along the side of it. A row of small windows were visible underneath the words but nothing could be seen from them. Diplomats and Cabinet officers waited for the arrival. Ron believed with all his heart that they waited to be in the presence of that person who had been John Kennedy. Lyndon Johnson, in his mind, was merely a passenger. It was so very dark as the honor guard walked up to the plane. Ron was alone now. It was late. Everyone else had gone to bed. Then he heard a shuffling and Dorothy came in. She sat down without saying anything.
“I just can’t sleep, Aunt Dot.”
“Me either,” she said.
They moved a special piece of apparatus out to accommodate the coffin. The men struggled to remove the casket. Each jostle felt almost like a slap. The dark brown casket glistened in the dark and Ron felt that it must be that light that he had seen, the light in back of the words that had listened to and read. They reported that it was a bronze casket.
“This is so bad,”
“It almost reminds me of the war,” said Dorothy.
A Navy ambulance arrived to transport the casket. JFK had always been Navy. It was fitting. No one knew exactly where the body would be taken. One report said that it would be flown directly by helicopter to the White House. Another said that it was going to Bethesda Naval Hospital.
“How many times have you seen this now?” said Dorothy.
“I don’t know, a few. It just seems wrong to stop watching.”
And then Robert was there and he was holding her hand and helping her down. Ron watched it for the third time. It wasn’t going to be any different but it right to be here right now. She got into the ambulance with the casket. One man in a military navy hat was opening the door. People were milling around.
“She’s lucky to be alive,” said Dorothy.
“I bet she doesn’t feel lucky,” said Ron.
Dorothy felt a twinge and stared at him. At this moment he seemed much older than he was.
People moved in formation as the ambulance drove away. Then they showed Lyndon Johnson and his wife who was called Lady Bird. They looked like vultures to Ron as they walked out from the plane. People were shaking his hand. Ron felt anger. The congressman and cabinet members advanced. They were there to greet him. They hadn’t come to see if anything was left of the light that he had seen and knew was still there. Only his wife and brother still saw it. But Ron had seen it. His Aunt Dottie has seen it too. Then Johnson came to a group of microphones to speak. Ron didn’t want to hear what he had to say. Ron closed his eyes and didn’t want to listen.
When he opened them, a man with short brown hair and a bruise over his left eye requested assistance. He said that he hadn’t been charged with any crime and that he was requesting legal representation. He said that he’d been hit by a policeman. Ron lay there and watched. His knee was an afterthought.
It was reported that a rifle with a telescopic site had been found in the Texas School Book Depository. There were three spent cartridges and one shell left in the chamber.
Oswald was just wearing a t-shirt now and he said, “I’m a patsy.”
Ron didn’t know what that meant but he hated the sight of Oswald.
Chapter 70
“What is it about death that is so intriguing?” Ron Tuck looked out at his class. “That was one of the themes that Poe wrote about almost endlessly. In last night’s story, he used the word ‘House’ in several different ways. For instance. There is an actual crack in the physical structure of the house. The word house here can also be used to represent the word family. It was once considered that a family could be identified by the word house which actually referred to its bloodlines and the branches of its family. On top of that, the house in this story seems to have the attributes of a character in the story. The way that Poe explores all of this and wraps it into a story is the use of an extended metaphor.” He turned and wrote that on the board. His students took notes. “What is an extended metaphor?”
He watched while his students turned to the back of the book and looked up the meaning. Mark Simon, who was always the first to raise his hand when Ron asked questions like this, shot his hand into the air. Ron waited. Slowly two more hand raised and then a fourth hand went into the air. Ron smiled. Patience and silence were two of the things that he had learned could serve a teacher very well in the classroom. It was learning to trust the power of the room. Then it hit him. The house and the classroom shared a power.
“When you read this story again tonight,” he paused and waited for their reaction, the groan was audible. “I want you to pay particular attention to Poe’s description of the house and compare it with his description of Roderick Usher. However, in Usher you will see evidence of the House of Usher, meaning the entirety of his family line. I want you to find examples of this and to also find five vocabulary words that you think will be of use to you.” The class wrote down the assignment. Ron was pleased with them and he showed it. “From what I see in this classroom, college level work is not going to be a problem. I see smart and capable students who are ready to do their study.”
Back in the teacher’s room, Father Tom Orecchio was smoking a cigarette. Ron slid in across from him and said, “Tom, I’m getting married.”
Orecchio exhaled and said, “Congratulations.”
“I was wondering if you are allowed to do an ecumenical service?”
Because he was not affiliated with a parish, Tom didn’t get a lot of call to do weddings and baptisms. They were easy money and most always went to the parish priests. Sometimes, a family member would ask, but they would expect that it would be done for nothing, or at the family discount as they called it. “Sure, I can pretty, much do any fucking thing that I want,” said father Tom. He was fond of cursing and enjoyed the reactions that people had to hearing the word fuck come from a man in a collar.
“Well, here’s the thing. I was a convert and really I’m not the best Catholic in the world.”
Orecchio laughed. “No, really? You’ve got to be shitting me,” His receding red hair and freckles led the students to believe that he had a diabolical side to him. He had come to the priesthood late. He was almost forty years old when he was ordained. But he had been stupid and gone on a diet of grapefruit in order to lose weight for his big day. Something had gone wrong and now his kidneys had stopped working. Every third day he went for dialysis and the sessions left him worn old, cold inside, and cranky. He’d had dialysis that morning and was in no mood for bullshit.
“Celeste is Italian and it would mean a lot to her family to have a priest there.”
“Sure, why not.”
“Where’s the wedding going to be?”
Ron swallowed. He knew this part wasn’t going to go over well. “The Glen Ridge Congregational Church.”
“You’re
fucking kidding.”
“That’s where my family moved to when we left the old neighborhood.”
“You must have fit in really well there, Ronnie.”
It never ceased to surprise Ron that people from Newark always slipped into calling him Ronnie. He hated the name Ronnie and when he went to college he made sure that people knew him as Ron. “Not so well, no.”