Out of the Wilderness Read online

one not. When the surrounding neighborhoods no longer yielded many empty soda bottles because Dave had picked them clean, Sam told him of another way to earn change.

  "A guy at school told me he cuts out the coupons from magazines and takes them to the grocery store and the owner gives him money for them."

  "You have to buy something, don't you?"

  "No."

  "Okay. You get some coupons and I'll get some and we'll go there."

  A few dollars richer after the first trip, Dave's curiosity prompted a question.

  "Mister, how can you stay in business if you give away money for coupons even if we don't buy anything?"

  The grocer grinned. "Look Kid. Grown-ups use the coupons to buy things. Don't worry about it. When you and your friend get hungry or thirsty, I'm sure you'll be back for a soda or snack. Then I'll get all this money back and then some."

  "Okay." Dave shrugged. He knew better than to question an adult's explanation even when if made no sense.

  Years later when he worked at a supermarket he discovered that all the coupons were sent on to the manufacturers of the products and the store was reimbursed. "And that guy wasn't even giving us face value. What a scam," laughed Dave.

  After the two had cut every coupon from every magazine at home, Sam decided it was time to try something more lucrative.

  "Remember how you said that most of the stuff your brother and his band smoke comes from Mexico?"

  "Yeah."

  "Well, I remember that Larry said he paid $10 a bag for it. Maybe when my family goes to Ensenada during Easter Vacation I could get a big bag of it and then we could sell it in little bags."

  Dave stifled a laugh.

  "What's so funny?"

  "First of all, a kilo would probably be at least $50 in Mexico, if you could find it. You and me put together don't have that much money."

  "How much is a kilo?"

  "About two pounds."

  "So, I'll buy me one pound for $25. I've got $11 in my bank. How much do you have?"

  "About $12. But what's wrong with you? You want to go to jail? They might search your parents' car at the border."

  "Huh?"

  "The stuff they smoke is illegal. The cops put you in jail if they catch you with it. Larry was saying just yesterday that his connection got busted."

  "Connection? Busted?"

  "The connection is the guy who sells the drugs. Busted means he was arrested."

  "You mean your brother's band could go to jail?"

  "Only if they get caught."

  "Wow."

  "Lucky for them Gil is the manager, too. He won't let them smoke any in the car or at the dances. So Larry and Bill take pills while they're driving to the dance."

  "What kind of pills?"

  "I don't know. It makes them act crazy. They won't stop talking."

  "How do you know about the pills?"

  "Because I go along to the dances. Gil got tired of doing all the work of loading and unloading the amps while Larry and Bob talk to the girls. So he hired me to help him."

  "He pays you?"

  "Yeah. $5 a dance."

  "Five dollars! You need any help?"

  "Sure. But let me talk to Gil first."

  "Okay."

  Autumn that year had passed quickly as usual for Sam. All the holidays during the first four months of the school year made school enjoyable. The afterglow of the Dodgers' humiliation of the Yankees; the songs of the Shirelles, Johnny Cash, Roy Orbison, the Beach Boys, Jan and Dean, Jimmy Dean, the Fireballs, and Ray Charles from the radio; the hope of making big money with Dave; life couldn't be better, Sam thought.

  Besides, it was Friday with just a few more hours until the weekend. Saturday evening would consist of movies courtesy of Science Fiction Theatre, Thriller, Weird Weird World and finally Chiller back to back on TV. And maybe a burger, fries and a shake if Dad took Mom out for dinner. The restaurant providing the burgers had a sign that boasted 100,000 burgers sold, a number that amazed Sam.

  A knock at the door and hushed conversation suddenly took Sister away from the classroom. With no adult supervision the classroom soon degenerated into bedlam. Mike MacNeal, as Irish as they come, began dancing a jig; girls gabbed and boys got out of their desks and congregated in groups. Suddenly, Mother Superior's voice crackled through the speakers that hung in each classroom. Not only the head nun of the convent but also the school's principal, when Mother Superior spoke, even the most rebellious students listened.

  "Boys and girls, boys and girls, President Kennedy has been shot."

  The festive spirit evaporated immediately as if on cue. Students sank back into their desks and fell silent. "We need to pray for him."

  With that, Mother Superior began the rosary. Even though no adult returned to Sam's classroom for the next 10 minutes, every student in that room prayed as if their father or brother had been shot. First the Apostles' Creed, then Our Fathers, Hail Marys and Glory Bes.

  "Children, you aren't praying hard enough!"

  The prayers continued. Finally, in mid prayer, the voice through the speaker stopped. A moment later, it returned.

  "Children, President Kennedy is dead."

  A boy in the next row burst into tears. Sam stared at him. He had never seen him crack like this, regardless of the situation. Mechanically, each child rose from their knees and slid back into each wooden desk. They all sat there, stunned into the most unnatural silence Sam had ever heard in any classroom. The only sounds were the crying, some soft, some loud. He remembered how he had awoken three years earlier and was unable to find his parents. Finally, Dad had come bounding up the stairs from the TV room in the basement of their Midwestern home.

  "Kennedy won!" Dad had exclaimed. Sam had never seen him so happy.

  After a few minutes Sister reappeared and herded the children to the church next to the school for a service unfamiliar to Sam. Ernie, a quiet boy who always seemed more concerned about others than himself, whispered to Sam.

  "Mrs. Kennedy must really be sad."

  "Yeah."

  "Especially since she just lost her baby."

  "She had a baby? When?"

  "It died before it was born."

  Sam stared blankly at Ernie then at the floor. He always felt inadequate when someone his own age informed him of something. It was okay to be informed by an adult because they seemed to know everything anyway.

  School let out early that day and Sam was home around noon. He flipped through every channel only to see the same face staring back at him.

  "This is a very sad time for our country?"

  Sam had no idea who Lyndon Baines Johnson was but he was sure that this man was only pretending to be sad. "He's happy because now he gets to be president." Sam concluded.

  Because it was Mom's birthday, Dad took the family to a local pancake place. The restaurant was packed, but everyone - the waitresses, busboys, cashiers and customers - acted like the zombies Sam had seen on Saturday night TV. Mom was patriotic, patriotic enough to endure the burdens of being a military wife. When the car's radio had played the national anthem on the way to the restaurant, Mom had summed up her grief by saying, "That's what's wrong with this country. They don't play that enough, only when something bad happens."

  4

  "I'm sorry," Dave said.

  "But I thought you said I could work with you and your brother's band."

  "I know. But ever since Kennedy got shot there hasn't been as many dances."

  "That can't last forever. People will get back to normal some day."

  "By then the band will probably be gone," Dave sighed.

  "Huh?"

  "They fight all the time."

  "About what?"

  "Mostly what kind of music to play. Larry wants to do jazz. Bob likes the old Elvis Presley and Jerry Lee Lewis songs and Roy Orbison. Gil is getting more and more into Mexican folk music. He's always finding records of it. He thinks that if they could put together folk music with jazz and rock
they'd be great and sell lots of records. But Larry and Bob just laugh at him."

  "Why?"

  Bob says he wants to rock, not play redneck or brownneck crap."

  "What's redneck and brownneck mean?"

  "He says redneck is the country music for whites and brownneck is what Gil listens to. Larry says if Gil wants to play Mexican folk bass lines he should go to Mexico and join a band."

  "Well, can you still ask Gil about me working with you carrying their instruments and amps around?"

  "Okay, okay. I will. Come back on Saturday when they practice again."

  "Okay." Sam glanced at the clock. "I got to go. Mom doesn't like me to be late for dinner. Plus, she makes us go to bed early on Sundays because Monday is a school day."

  "Okay, see you later."

  Sam had heard at school that some new band was going to be on the Ed Sullivan Show and that he should watch. He had heard some of their songs on the radio and it was unlike anything he had heard. These guys sounded happy. But, as usual, bedtime came early. Only Friday and Saturday nights allowed for a later bedtime.

  The next day it seemed that everyone at school was buzzing about the Beatles, especially the girls. Within weeks, the group would have five songs in the top five spots of the Top 40. All this meant little to Sam, as he just wanted to make some big money with Dave.

  "When Saturday arrived Sam showed up at Dave's house just as Larry and Bob also arrived.

  "Hello, Squirt!" Bob waved.

  "Hi."

  Soon the band was pounding its way through a souped-up version of "I'm Busted" with Bob singing the lead vocals. Affecting his best Elvis/Jerry Lee Lewis imitation sneer, Bob snarled the words. As the song ended, Larry tossed his drumsticks in the air.

  "You guys see the Beatles last Sunday?"

  "Yeah." Gil and Bob answered in unison.

  "What do you