Mommy came from behind my back as I was looking out the window. "Don't look," she said. "Don't pay any attention." Then she led me away from the window.
It was the living room window that looked out at the garage on the side of the house. There were two cars there. One was our pretty, blue Buick. The other, a Cadillac, belonged to the Hellmans next door. It was 6 a.m. and I was looking at a four-year-old child walk past the cars to a tiny home in the back. I was the same age. Mr. Hellman's tiny home was a dream house that seemed just right for me. I wanted to go there and play house with Mr. Hellman and Jessica, the little blonde girl who went there every morning. But mommy didn't even want me to look at Mr. Hellman's house.
Every day there were three children who visited Mr. Hellman. Jessica always stayed for two hours. She had blonde curls and lovely grey eyes and a smile that was rare but precious. I don't know why she always went there, but I presumed it was perhaps because her mother, Mrs. Fowler, who lived further down the road, needed someone to watch her daughter so early in the morning. I would wait until 8 am, then go to the window again. Always, Mr. Hellman stood at the door, letting Jessica out while holding his index finger to his mouth. Jessica did the same. Once, I managed to overhear what he told her, "Remember, it's a secret. Don't tell anybody. Promise." And Jessica would put her own little index finger on her mouth and make a solemn promise.
The second girl, Oasis Robinson, came at lunchtime. She was African American. Her mother, Birdy, worked as a maid to Mrs. Garcetti who lived across the street. Oasis, 5, wasn't allowed in Mrs. Garcetti's home, but Mr. Hellman very kindly offered to watch over Oasis while Birdy worked from 1 to 5 p.m. When Oasis entered Mr. Hellman's home, I would hear the clink and clack of dishes and cutlery. I imagined that Mr. Hellman and Oasis always had lunch together, and then spent the afternoon indoors in silence.
I wanted so much to knock on Mr. Hellman's door, look at his house inside, and play with Oasis, but my mother wouldn't let me do that either. Mommy taught me how to cook and made sure I did my cleaning chores. I loved the chug-a-lug of our laundry machine, and the sight of the clothes swirling round and round mesmerized me. Afterward, we went grocery shopping together. And every day, mom let me watch cartoons on TV.
After school hours, the most beautiful girl I saw, Valerie Ann Jones, would visit Mr. Hellman. Valerie was 6 years old and she had been visiting Mr. Hellman for two years, according to the neighborhood talk. At first, her mom would bring Valerie over. One day, we heard, Valerie's mother came early to pick up her daughter. She barely stayed a minute. She yelled and screamed and said, "You'll never see Valerie again." Despite her warning, Valerie continued to visit Mr. Hellman alone without her mother's knowledge, or so the neighbors said.
****
"It's a strange arrangement" I once heard mom say. She was talking on the phone to Mrs. Garcetti. "His wife Sybil lives in the front house with their daughter Dorothy and their son Maynard, and he lives alone in the back house. The children never visit their father and Margaret acts as though he doesn't exist." Mommy was curious because we had lived in the neighborhood for only one year, and she was aware of the children that came to see Mr. Hellman. They were always other people's children, never his own.
Later that evening, over dinner with Daddy, she told him of the comings and goings in Mr. Hellman's home in the back. She sternly warned me to always keep away from him, because we didn't know him and he never bothered to befriend us despite our being neighbors for one year.
***
Mom and Mrs. Garcetti became fast friends. She also came to know Mrs. Hellman because her son, Maynard, went to the same school as my brother, Todd. They were both 10 years old. Maynard was a loner. He didn't talk much and wasn't friendly with anybody in school. He ate lunch alone and during recess, he stayed in the library. He walked home with his 8-year-old sister, Dorothy. They were close, and they were both very retiring.
Mrs. Hellman was the exact opposite. She was very active in parent-teacher activities. She was voted president of the PTA and held the position continually for the last five years. She organized bake sales and field trips and school carnivals. She was familiar with every teacher in the school, and she made every parent feel like they were important to her.
One day Mom decided to invite Mrs. Hellman and Mrs. Garcetti to our home. Mom baked a cake, some cupcakes, and lots of different finger sandwiches. She kept a bottle of wine in a bucket of ice. There was also hot tea and a pitcher of cold water.
Mrs. Hellman greeted mother and Mrs. Garcetti with a firm handshake for each of them. Her voice was delightfully musical. Dad came out to greet the guests. He told Mrs. Hellman, "I've yet to get to know your husband," to which she replied, "Oh, don't you even bother." She flipped her hanky as she spoke and added, "He's like the children. A homebody."
"Well," Mom said, "I think it's wonderful that he gets along well with children." Mom was shocked at the pure hostility that suddenly covered Mrs. Hellman's face. But the hostility immediately changed into a wide smile, though her eyes were taught and hard. Mrs. Hellman said, very musically, "Yes, that's like him. He doesn't go to church with us, but he believes that children are God's flowers on earth.
"Children," Mrs. Garcetti asked, "Who are these children?"
"All children", Mrs. Hellman said. "On the few times he goes out, he goes to the playground to watch children play." Her musical voice suddenly seemed quite strained, so Mommy immediately changed the topic to something that Mrs. Hellman felt safer with -- the pending PTA bake sale to raise funds for charity.
It was the living room window that looked out at the garage on the side of the house. There were two cars there. One was our pretty, blue Buick. The other, a Cadillac, belonged to the Hellmans next door. It was 6 a.m. and I was looking at a four-year-old child walk past the cars to a tiny home in the back. I was the same age. Mr. Hellman's tiny home was a dream house that seemed just right for me. I wanted to go there and play house with Mr. Hellman and Jessica, the little blonde girl who went there every morning. But mommy didn't even want me to look at Mr. Hellman's house.
Every day there were three children who visited Mr. Hellman. Jessica always stayed for two hours. She had blonde curls and lovely grey eyes and a smile that was rare but precious. I don't know why she always went there, but I presumed it was perhaps because her mother, Mrs. Fowler, who lived further down the road, needed someone to watch her daughter so early in the morning. I would wait until 8 am, then go to the window again. Always, Mr. Hellman stood at the door, letting Jessica out while holding his index finger to his mouth. Jessica did the same. Once, I managed to overhear what he told her, "Remember, it's a secret. Don't tell anybody. Promise." And Jessica would put her own little index finger on her mouth and make a solemn promise.
The second girl, Oasis Robinson, came at lunchtime. She was African American. Her mother, Birdy, worked as a maid to Mrs. Garcetti who lived across the street. Oasis, 5, wasn't allowed in Mrs. Garcetti's home, but Mr. Hellman very kindly offered to watch over Oasis while Birdy worked from 1 to 5 p.m. When Oasis entered Mr. Hellman's home, I would hear the clink and clack of dishes and cutlery. I imagined that Mr. Hellman and Oasis always had lunch together, and then spent the afternoon indoors in silence.
I wanted so much to knock on Mr. Hellman's door, look at his house inside, and play with Oasis, but my mother wouldn't let me do that either. Mommy taught me how to cook and made sure I did my cleaning chores. I loved the chug-a-lug of our laundry machine, and the sight of the clothes swirling round and round mesmerized me. Afterward, we went grocery shopping together. And every day, mom let me watch cartoons on TV.
After school hours, the most beautiful girl I saw, Valerie Ann Jones, would visit Mr. Hellman. Valerie was 6 years old and she had been visiting Mr. Hellman for two years, according to the neighborhood talk. At first, her mom would bring Valerie over. One day, we heard, Valerie's mother came early to pick up her daughter. She barely stayed a minute. She yelled and screamed and said, "You'll never see Valerie again." Despite her warning, Valerie continued to visit Mr. Hellman alone without her mother's knowledge, or so the neighbors said.
****
"It's a strange arrangement" I once heard mom say. She was talking on the phone to Mrs. Garcetti. "His wife Sybil lives in the front house with their daughter Dorothy and their son Maynard, and he lives alone in the back house. The children never visit their father and Margaret acts as though he doesn't exist." Mommy was curious because we had lived in the neighborhood for only one year, and she was aware of the children that came to see Mr. Hellman. They were always other people's children, never his own.
Later that evening, over dinner with Daddy, she told him of the comings and goings in Mr. Hellman's home in the back. She sternly warned me to always keep away from him, because we didn't know him and he never bothered to befriend us despite our being neighbors for one year.
***
Mom and Mrs. Garcetti became fast friends. She also came to know Mrs. Hellman because her son, Maynard, went to the same school as my brother, Todd. They were both 10 years old. Maynard was a loner. He didn't talk much and wasn't friendly with anybody in school. He ate lunch alone and during recess, he stayed in the library. He walked home with his 8-year-old sister, Dorothy. They were close, and they were both very retiring.
Mrs. Hellman was the exact opposite. She was very active in parent-teacher activities. She was voted president of the PTA and held the position continually for the last five years. She organized bake sales and field trips and school carnivals. She was familiar with every teacher in the school, and she made every parent feel like they were important to her.
One day Mom decided to invite Mrs. Hellman and Mrs. Garcetti to our home. Mom baked a cake, some cupcakes, and lots of different finger sandwiches. She kept a bottle of wine in a bucket of ice. There was also hot tea and a pitcher of cold water.
Mrs. Hellman greeted mother and Mrs. Garcetti with a firm handshake for each of them. Her voice was delightfully musical. Dad came out to greet the guests. He told Mrs. Hellman, "I've yet to get to know your husband," to which she replied, "Oh, don't you even bother." She flipped her hanky as she spoke and added, "He's like the children. A homebody."
"Well," Mom said, "I think it's wonderful that he gets along well with children." Mom was shocked at the pure hostility that suddenly covered Mrs. Hellman's face. But the hostility immediately changed into a wide smile, though her eyes were taught and hard. Mrs. Hellman said, very musically, "Yes, that's like him. He doesn't go to church with us, but he believes that children are God's flowers on earth.
"Children," Mrs. Garcetti asked, "Who are these children?"
"All children", Mrs. Hellman said. "On the few times he goes out, he goes to the playground to watch children play." Her musical voice suddenly seemed quite strained, so Mommy immediately changed the topic to something that Mrs. Hellman felt safer with -- the pending PTA bake sale to raise funds for charity.
Hi! Neat site. I've got a neat supplement to your thing on the Lincolns that I read recently, on owlcation. And also your writing on Churchill, but I'll save that for later. First:
ReplyDeleteYou write very well. Sort of like Jane Austen, from what I remember. I knew a guy named Hellman, too! Martin Hellman. He and a student of his authored something called the "Diffie Hellman key exchange".. it uses a shared secret to accomplish something called "public key cryptography". Basically, you give out a special code that allows others to write cyphered text that only you can decrypt. Hellman is a peace advocate - he worked tirelessly to promote a world without nuclear weapons. He is now a Professor at Stanford - one of the world's top 5 universities, depending on your measuring stick. He won a Turing Award in 2015 - thats like the Nobel Prize for computing. I highly recommend his article titled "Let’s Reconsider Russia: moving beyond fear, anger, and hate" - written in 2017, it is still amazingly prescient. Its on stanfordmag [dot] org.
On to Lincoln. There are a few .. queer things about him that you might want to consider. He was a Speed freak. I mean his best friend was Speed. Jesus Speed. (Or rather Joshua Speed - Joshua is a translation of the name Jesus). This is from the WIkipedia article on Speed:
Lincoln sublet Joshua's apartment above Speed's store becoming his roommate, sharing a bed with him for four years ... it was unusual ... Lincoln broke the engagement [with Mary] on the planned day of the wedding, January 1, 1841. Speed departed as planned, leaving Lincoln mired in depression and guilt. Seven months later, in July 1841, Lincoln, still depressed, decided to visit Speed in Kentucky. Speed welcomed Lincoln to his paternal house where the latter spent a month regaining his mental health. ... This has led to speculation regarding Lincoln's sexuality.
Eg, he may have been gay for Jesus. I mean Joshua. (Our Lord and Savior's actual name was Yeshua Bar Joseph, in the language he himself used. Bar means "son of" - he wasn't important enough to have a last name while he was alive, but after he died he was given the title Christus, - in Malayalam: ക്രിസ്തു , which means "One who has been anointed with a lubricating oil". I find the word Jesus to be disrespectful.. like we were too lazy to learn how to pronounce his real name. I'm aware that this isn't the traditional view of most Christians. I consider myself a Thomas Jeffersonian Christian- but am also partial to Einstein, who I will quote at the end..
If you think this is too much, I apologize. I've also written about 9 pages on Churchill... I've been manic for almost a week now.
Einstein on religion: "Hence it is precisely among the heretics of every
age that we find men who were filled with this highest kind of religious feeling and were in many cases regarded by their contemporaries
as atheists, sometimes also as saints. Looked at in this light, men like Democritus, Francis of Assisi, and Spinoza are closely akin to one
another."