Mike and his mother's cousin Felix had been working for the past several months in Guthrie, Oklahoma, about 50 miles north of Oklahoma City, and had gotten paid well for replacing worn-down railroad ties. It had been hard physical labor through an unrelenting winter. At night they stayed in a boxcar that stopped at whatever spot they finished work at the end of the day. Looking back on it now, Mike realized many hardships that he had hardly noticed at the time. They had been relatively happy there, but the lure had been the promise of better pay in Detroit. It was sure to be much better than in Guthrie where they worked 10 hours Monday through Friday and often on Saturdays.
Sunday they spent much of their time preparing food for the rest of the week. Mike chopped the wood for the old wood stove in the middle of the boxcar while Felix cooked beans and baked flour tortillas. At night the boxcars accommodated eight men each with bunk beds positioned at each end, but Mike and Felix had a car all to themselves because Mike had been made assistant foreman and timekeeper.
Although only 18, Mike was made assistant because he was the only one among them who knew English. All the rest, including Felix were from the interior of Mexico and came several months out of each year to work at whatever they could find. Mike had lived in El Paso from an early age and was away from home for the first time. Felix had stopped in El Paso last October on his way from Mexico and invited him to come along. From El Paso they had been transported in an old Santa Fe Railroad passenger train where all their meals had consisted of canned sardines and French bread.
Mike and Felix had always planned to go to Detroit. When they were getting ready to leave, the others begged them to stay. "Don't go, Salvador," one of them said to Mike. Salvador was his real name, but the Anglo foreman had decided to simply call him Mike after having trouble remembering his name. "Don't go, Salvador. If you go, there won't be anybody to interpret for us and we'll have trouble."
"That's the way it happened last time," agreed another man. "The foreman fired several men because they hadn't done like they had been told but they didn't do it on purpose. They just didn't understand."
"You've been good to us, too," a third man added.
It was now midnight and Felix had already fallen asleep. He had slept in a boxcar many times before, but Mike couldn't find any sleep on the cold, hard floor that kept bouncing like the bottom of a popcorn popper. They were planning to ride the freight train until morning when Felix said they would have to get off because it was too easy to get caught during daylight hours. Mike would have preferred to take the risk of riding during the day, but he accepted what his uncle said. Felix was knowledgeable in many ways; he had been a lieutenant colonel in Pancho Villa's army.
An icy April wind blustered through the cracks of the old boxcar. Mike found hitching on the train every bit as exciting as he had imagined. It would still be two or three days before they got to Detroit where there would be more than enough jobs, especially in the automobile plants. Mike's older brother already had an apartment reserved for him in the same building in which he lived.
By 6 a.m. Mike had decided that he was not going to be able to get more sleep than the three hours he had gotten and was peeking out the door at the Missouri countryside. He kept gazing at the early sun shining on the new leaves and wakening spring grass. He had never seen anything like it. Back home it was all desert covered with cactus and greasewood.
He felt very excited about what was ahead. He had never had a job before at home except for a short time as a grocery clerk, where he had been paid very little. He was feeling good about the opportunities in Detroit. He was already sending money to his mother. She was getting old and had worked hard as a housemaid to bring up his brother and sister and him, their father having died when they were young. Mike figured he would have plenty of money left to live on, plus he would be able to save and go to night school. His brother Alberto had already been in Detroit for a year and had just started to study electrical engineering at Cass Technical Institute and at the same time kept working as the manager of the linen room at the Statler Hotel.
"Felix," he turned to his cousin speaking in Spanish. "Do you think it will be hard to find a job in Detroit?"
"No," Felix replied. "You'll probably find something in a week. Especially you. You're not only young and strong, you know English. You'll move up fast, too. Of course, if you were a real American, you could really go places." Felix was strong looking. You could see in his face that he had worked heavy jobs in steel mills and heavy industrial plants in Detroit, Chicago, and Gary, Indiana. Before that he had worked several years in the fields harvesting vegetables. He had a wife and six kids back in Torreon, in northeastern Mexico.
"Is the pay pretty good?" Mike wanted to know everything he could expect.
"Oh, yes. You won't believe it. It's nothing like in El Paso, or even worse, Mexico. Mexico lindo pero siempre en la hambre," (Mexico--beautiful but always in hunger) he said with a wistful sigh.
In Detroit Felix couldn't find a job right away and left for Flint after hearing that many men were being hired there. Alberto, who was six years older than Mike, showed him around and introduced him to friends he had in his apartment building. He seemed genuinely glad to see Mike and acted much nicer to him than he had expected. When they were growing up, Alberto had appeared aloof and often assumed an air of superiority. When he had first left home, he had not written for a long time. It had seemed to Mike that he was glad to get away from home because he was ashamed of his background.
Mike had plenty of money left over that he had saved from working in Guthrie. There hadn't been that much to spend it on there. Nonetheless, he started looking for work the next day and five days later he was hired by the Briggs Manufacturing Company, which made automobile bodies and fenders for the Ford Motor Company. The Guzman family, which he had known as a little boy before they moved to find work in Detroit, even offered to let him live with them because they lived close to the plant, but he preferred to stay downtown where he was on Sibley Street even though it was a one-hour trip every day on the trolley car. At Briggs they put him to work operating a forming press that made part of the grill of a car.
After a month, he decided he wanted a more active job so he asked to be reassigned as a chain man. This involved making sure that various work stations were always supplied with flat metal sheets. A large electric crane moved along a track that ran near the ceiling and extended across the length of the large room they were in. The crane had two long, heavy chains that came down to the floor and were tied in loops at the ends. It was the job of the chain man to place the loops around each end of a large cart on which the metal sheets were placed. He would then direct the crane man to transport the sheets to the place where they were needed. He carried a police whistle to get the attention of the crane man when necessary because of the high noise level. You had to be alert and work fast to keep up with the pace. It was also dangerous working around the swinging crane so there was a rapid turnover in the position, but Mike stayed for almost a year. No one had ever lasted that long.
Mike got along well with Craven, the foreman, except that they had a running argument over whether Mike should sit on the cart as it was being moved back and forth. Craven didn't want Mike to get hurt, but Mike claimed that riding on the cart saved time and he wasn't afraid. One day Craven just finally put his foot down and yelled at Mike that he couldn't do it and walked away before Mike had the chance to say anymore. That made Mike mad, and it happened on a day when he was already feeling irritable. He walked off the floor, went to the personnel office, and the next day he was working at his old job on the press.
A few days later in the company cafeteria he ran into two of the men he had kept supplied with the metal sheets as chain man. They pleaded with him to come back. They said they were already on the third man since he had left and he wasn't going to make it. They were forced to wait around, which made a difference to them since they were paid by the piece.
A week later, Mike was working intently at the press when he sensed someone come up beside him on the left. He looked up and it was Craven. "Hey, Mike, things are pretty bad back there. What do you say we give you a raise if you come back? We'll give you 10 cents an hour more than before." Craven used a friendly tone although he didn't smile.
"I don't know. I don't know if I can keep up with it the way you want me to do it," Mike said in a doubting tone but with respect.
"Hey, do it your way, but just promise me that you'll be real careful. God, I don't want you getting hurt." That made Mike get up, with a smile on his face now, and go with him immediately.
He enjoyed working at Briggs--liked knowing how valuable he was. He started finding out things to do at night, too. He had more than enough money to spend. With the raise, he was now getting $40 a week which in 1929 was exceptional for a 19-year-old. He was able to send $25 a month home to his mother to help her out.
Where he most liked to go at night was the Majestic Dancing Academy on Woodward Avenue. It wasn't a dancing school like the name implied but simply a large dance hall on the second floor above a cafeteria. It had a hardwood floor and gold-laced curtains. Since they didn't serve alcoholic beverages or food, they didn't have any tables. There were chairs against the walls all around the room. That left plenty of room on the dance floor, which usually got full. The light from beautiful, elaborate chandeliers was always romantically dim. The songs the orchestra played were sweet and dreamy like "Three O'Clock in the Morning" and "Moonlight and Roses." A light next to the orchestra was flashed before each song announcing what kind of dance step it would be, usually a waltz or a fox trot. Earl Walton and his Orchestra, which was made up of black men, sounded like Earl King (The Waltz King) and his Orchestra.
Most of the people that went were Poles and Italians, but there were members of other groups. Mike had never seen such a variety of nationalities as in Detroit. Back home it was basically Anglo-Americans and Mexicans. Some Mexican boys went to the Majestic, and they dressed real nice since many of them worked as waiters and bell boys. It was the time of Prohibition so the only thing to drink at the Majestic was soda. Sometimes after it closed, Mike and some of the other people would go to the apartment of one guy who had a still. He had learned how to make "home brew" in Mexico. It was enjoyed by all and no one ever got sick on it like with other home concoctions.
There were girls there who would dance for 10 cents a dance, but Mike never had to pay anyone. He was a good dancer, apart from being tall and good-looking, so he quickly got to know several girls, and it wasn't long after that he started seeing one girl on a regular basis. Not long after that she started talking about marriage, but when she saw he wasn't ready, she told him she was serious about getting married and didn't want to waste her time. After that there was a succession of girl friends, some of whom were willing to spend the night with him in his apartment. At first he found this hard to believe. He had never known any girls back home who ever had sex with any boy before they got married, and he lived in the poorest part of town, South El Paso, where it was thought to be more likely girls had "loose morals." Some of the girls in Detroit didn't seem to think there was much of a problem with it.
He ended up going with a girl named Elaine who moved in with him. He enjoyed her company but some nights he couldn't get the sleep he wanted. They would invariably have sex after they first turned out the lights but sometimes, in the middle of the night, she would rub his shoulder and wake him. He knew that meant that she wanted to have sex again, and he would try to ignore it every time, but each time he would finally find it impossible to resist. Some mornings he went to work very tired.
It was one of the happiest times in his life. He had everything he wanted, a nice-looking girlfriend--she had blonde hair and a pretty smile--who was good to him, good friends, a good-paying job where he was appreciated. The day he had gone back to the section where he worked as chain man everyone had cheered when they saw him come into the room. Things had come almost to a standstill, but he soon got them flowing again.
He even started taking classes in music theory and piano at the Wurlitzer School of Music. He had sung in the choir in school and his teachers had told him he had a very good voice. He had decided he might want to try his hand at song writing eventually. He wanted to write sweet romantic songs like those sung by radio stars like Rudy Vallee, Gene Austin, Little Jack Little, and who knew--maybe he would even be able to record one of his own songs.
It was in April of 1930 that he was taken completely by surprise when Craven came up to him and told him regretfully that he was going to have to lay him off. At first Mike couldn't understand and even suspected it might be an underhanded way to get rid of him. He had been working harder than ever, and as far as he could see, everyone was happy with how he was doing. Craven was telling him why but he wasn't listening because he felt so frustrated and angry. Then he tuned in.
"There's been about 200 other guys laid off in the company, too, and there's probably more to come later. If we start hiring again later on, don't worry. You'll be one of the first ones we call back."
As Mike walked home that afternoon, he kicked over a trash can he passed. He thought of the good friends at Briggs that he would miss. By the next morning he was feeling cheerful again and confident that he would be called back even if it might be several months before things were straightened out. He would now quickly find a short-term job for the meantime, which shouldn't take long since he had found the Briggs job after less than a week of looking.
He looked hard for several days, mostly in businesses on Woodward Avenue, which was close to his apartment and was one of the busiest commercial streets in Detroit. He wasn't able to cover that much territory because he was on foot, but he was at it all day for several days. The people in the stores and plants that Mike talked to didn't even tell him to try later. Some of them were very brief and seemed annoyed with having to take the time to even tell him "no." He knew it wasn't his appearance that caused the rejections because he was wearing a new suit. It was customary for every gentleman, even if he was only a factory worker, to wear a suit and tie whenever he went out in public, but Mike made sure that he was especially well dressed and groomed.
Eventually a kind man in his sixties who owned a small clothing store told him it wasn't that anything was wrong with him. There were many men and women looking for work, but business was very slow everywhere, and it didn't look like the situation was going to improve anytime soon. Mike pressed on everyday in his search, but weeks turned into months and he still had not found anything.
He hesitated to ask his brother for help but he was now running out of money. He knew his brother would try to get him a job at the Hotel Statler, but he wanted to feel completely independent. When he finally felt forced to ask, Alberto said he would hire him as soon as there was an opening but didn't give him any idea how long that might be. Several weeks went by and Alberto didn't mention anything. Mike knew he hadn't forgotten and was sure the only reason Alberto hadn't called him was that Alberto felt it would be wrong to fire someone just to make room for his brother. Instead Alberto wanted to wait until someone quit or until there was a good reason to dismiss him. Some of Mike's friends thought Alberto should do whatever he had to do to get him a job, but Mike respected his brother's sense of fairness. His brother helped him out with money a little but Mike didn't want to let him know how bad things were. He had stopped sending money home long before. He knew Alberto needed all his money for school.
Mike hadn't afforded to go to the Majestic Dancing Academy for a long time. He visited friends much more now and occasionally went to the movies, which charged 10¢ for matinees and 20¢ for regular features. He missed going to the Majestic especially since he had been singing with the orchestra and enjoying it very much. He'd bought a megaphone specifically for that purpose. People were sometimes allowed to sing a song with the backing of the orchestra. Not very many tried it and of those who did, Mike was one of the rare ones who received enthusiastic applause. He was trying to learn the words to more songs to try when he returned.
Finally after almost two months of waiting, his brother told him he had a job for him. The guy who had it had gotten tuberculosis and had to quit. It was in the linen room and paid much less than the one at Briggs, but he hardly gave it a thought. He was just happy to be able to work. It took a while before he was able to get back on his feet and pay back a couple of loans he had gotten from friends. Eventually he even started sending money home again to his mother. The work in the linen room was tiring and in the summer it became unbearably hot with humid days the worst, but he tried to work harder than expected because he didn't want anyone saying he had his job only because of his brother.
He liked the people he worked with especially Curtis a Negro in his thirties who operated the washing machines. Curtis was always very polite and spoke in a refined manner. It surprised Mike when he learned Curtis was a college graduate. When Mike asked Curtis why he was working there, he could only say, "I've looked very hard but just haven't been able to get anyone to hire me. So I've had to accept what was available."
Mike returned to singing at the Majestic Dancing Academy. He reenrolled at Wurlitzer and enjoyed the classes even though he was usually very tired after a full day's work. He met Clarissa who was teaching piano and who was very impressed with his talents. She encouraged him to keep studying and didn't think much of his idea of becoming a popular songwriter.
"You would be wasting that fine voice of yours," she told him. "You need to learn much more but I seriously think you have a chance to go into opera."
"Opera? My voice isn't that good."
"Oh, you've got definite potential," she insisted. He didn't believe it but was flattered. For a long time they were only friends, but Clarissa was an attractive blonde, and it eventually became romance. Mike hesitated to become involved because she was so much older than he. He was careful to hide her true age of 26 from his friends, and even then it was bad enough that he had to tell everyone that she was 23. In those days it was not accepted for the man to be older than the woman.
In September of '31, Mike was laid off along with one other man. His brother had no choice. It was orders from the hotel manager. Mike was stunned. He had thought he would always be safe there because of his brother. He wasn't as optimistic as before about finding another job but soon started looking. Months of continual searching passed but nothing came. There were always many men and women on the streets looking for work but their luck was just as bad. Everyone looked dejected, hopeless. Mike's funds got so low there was hardly enough left for food after paying the rent. He knew his brother didn't have any money to spare. His mother wrote asking if he needed money, but he would lie and tell her that he had plenty saved. She would also tell him that he should come back to El Paso if there were no jobs in Detroit, but he felt ashamed to go back defeated. He had dreamed of returning from Detroit sporting a new Ford.
One day about lunch time, he was standing near a street corner thinking of what he was going to eat for lunch after spending the morning looking for work. He hadn't had any breakfast and only had 20¢ in his pocket. He noticed unusual activity in front of a building across the street. Groups of very well-dressed men kept coming out of the building and going into nice new cars that always went in the same direction. Mike saw a young man named Walter nearby whom he had met when they were both applying for work at the same place earlier that morning. Mike went up to him and asked him if he knew what was going on across the street.
"Yeah, they're getting free rides to this gambling hall outside of town. I've been there. It's a real nice joint," Walter said in a cordial tone. They stood and watched the continuous parade for several minutes. Then Walter exclaimed, "Hey, have you had lunch yet? They got real good food over there and it's all free. You wanna go?" Mike agreed and they walked over to get one of the free rides. The gambling hall was on the outskirts of northeast Detroit on Gratiot Avenue. The driver explained to everyone in the car the different games they would be able to play and told them about one man who had won $10,000 one night and another one who had won $16,000. The hall was large with fancy chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, plush sofas around the room where people could relax away from the tables. There were mahogany tables that looked new with roulette wheels, card games and crap games. Placed next to these gambling tables were numerous large tables with an abundance of hors d'oeuvres, large sandwiches, pastry, and tea and soft drinks.
Mike and Walter soon moved to the food tables. As they were moving around making their selections, Walter nudged him and whispered, "Look at those goons standing up there." Walter himself did not look. Mike looked up casually at the balcony, which surrounded the entire room. There were two men standing up there looking intently at everything below. They were dressed in black suits and the kind of hats commonly worn at the time with a wide brim and a shiny cloth band all around--fedoras.
The most important thing was that they were holding Thompson machine guns. Mike couldn't believe what he saw. He then caught the gaze of one of them. The man stared right into his eyes with what appeared to him a taunting meanness. Mike looked downward immediately to avoid any hint of hostility on his part as a picture of the man unloading 30 rounds into him flashed through his mind. He was feeling the heat of nervousness around his neck. He was very hungry and had planned on filling up his plate to the maximum, but he decided against it for fear of angering the hosts. He finally reached Walter at the other side of the table and asked him who the men were.
"They're just some goons . . . want to make sure everything stays peaceful," Walter answered unexcitedly.
"Boy, I just hope they don't pull any triggers by accident."
"Don't worry. Nothing's going to happen."
Mike was sure they could tell that he wasn't serious. After he and Walter finished eating, they feigned interest at the gaming tables for a short time and then caught a ride back.
When time came to pay tuition for a new session of music classes, Mike didn't have the money. He hated to stop because he was making very quick progress, but he had no choice.
Clarissa was horrified. "You can't stop. It would be tragic if you didn't go on. I know, I'll pay your tuition. You go right on and don't worry about it. You won't have to pay me back. I want to do it."
Mike knew she had plenty of money. She had told him that she had inherited a large sum several years back. He was startled by the offer. "I just couldn't let you do it. It's my problem and I can't let you pay for me."
"It's perfectly all right. I want to do it. Don't you see I love you." She had never said that before but he had suspected her feelings. He did not want to hear it because he was still very uncomfortable with their age difference. Now with her offer of financial support, he felt even worse. He couldn't imagine himself being supported by a woman. He knew she was kind and fully sincere but it simply wasn't done. He would never live down all the ridicule he would get from his friends.
She kept insisting that he accept the money, and finally to pacify her, he told her he would accept it at a later date but was going to stay out of school for the current session with the hope of finding work somewhere before long. If he hadn't found a job when the next session arrived, he would worry then about what to say.
Mike's mother wrote and told him she had a dream that he was down to five dollars and without any hope of finding a job. She wanted him to come home and would send him the money for the trip, but he wrote back saying he thought he could get a job any day now. He went back to the gambling hall that gave out the free food on two later occasions when he found himself particularly desperate although he dreaded it because of the armed guards. The last time he went it seemed to him that they kept staring at him even closer than before like if they recognized him. He decided against going there again.
One evening he didn't have enough money to buy a meal. He thought that if he had ever been justified in stealing in all his life, it was now. He entered a large cafeteria called "The 5&10" and went up to the man behind the cash register.
"I'm hungry," Mike told him in a weak voice. "What do you say if you let me eat and I'll wash dishes for you after I finish?"
"Sure," the man said in an understanding tone. He yelled at the people behind the counter, "Hey, give this man whatever he wants to eat." Mike filled his plate and took a dessert with a glass of milk. All he had eaten for two days was an egg for breakfast the day before. After he finished, he went to the kitchen and started washing dishes like he had promised. After about an hour, the man came and told him it was enough.
"You know," he told Mike. "I've had a lot of guys come here before and ask for a free meal, and I gave it to 'em because I know it's tough out there, but you're one of the few that's come and offered to work for it. I admire that. You can come in here anytime you want." That was the beginning of a good friendship for Mike and a reliable place to work for a meal.
"You know," Mr. Petrakis said one day, "my family came here from Greece when I was a boy and we barely made it for several years. Now my business here is one of the few that's doing any good, but I'll never forget how it was when I was a kid."
One day Mike received a letter from his mother informing him she was coming to Detroit in a few days and was determined to take him back home with her. She came, went sightseeing for two days, visited Alberto, and then she and Mike started on the return trip. Mike wasn't happy with the circumstances, but in a way he was relieved. He wasn't able to find Clarissa to tell her goodbye. He left a note.
Mike was able to get hired as one of several drivers in a caravan of new cars going to Mexico. He and his mother would have to stop in San Antonio and from there the dealer himself was to drive their car. It was December, 1932, and they would be home in time for Christmas. Franklin Roosevelt had just been elected President, and there seemed to be new hope in the air.
At San Antonio Mike and his mother caught a train to El Paso. It was morning and it was still going to be about 14 hours before they got home. By noon the train stopped in Ozona for lunch. Most of the passengers went into a small restaurant near the train station and Mike and his mother followed along. They sat at a table and waited for a long time. Everyone else got served. Finally a waiter came to their table and very politely asked Mike, "Pardon me, sir, but are you Mexicans?"
"Yes," Mike answered thinking that the waiter was curious.
"I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to leave. We don't serve Mexicans," the waiter informed them in a soft and apologetic tone. Mike and his mother didn't say anything, just accepted the rule and left. They had never experienced anything like it. They felt hungry and knew it would get worse as the afternoon progressed. As they stood outside it started to rain, and Mike slowly started feeling very resentful at such a rule. He felt an agitation deep inside like he had never felt before.
The hot, dry August wind was just the way Dave Phillips remembered it in El Seco. It had been at least 10 years since he had been back, but childhood memories were still vivid. As he drove west on the freeway, he could see how the housing subdivisions had spread to the foothills. The city had been one of the fastest growing in the country. He had enjoyed his childhood here, and his parents had chosen to remain even though he had pleaded with them to move where they could be closer to him. They had in turn begged him to come back to El Seco, but it had been out of the question. He had established an excellent reputation as a neurosurgeon in New York, associated with Columbia Presbyterian Hospital. He worked longer hours than he liked but otherwise it was very satisfying to be at the top of his profession. Coming back to El Seco, even as the top surgeon in the city, would simply be out of the question. No matter how much he might enjoy coming back to live closer to his parents and in a place where he had developed early roots with people still around whom he remembered as childhood friends, he knew he wouldn't be happy. There wasn't a laboratory where he could become involved in research, something he thought he might like to do someday.
He wondered how El Seco was for a single man. There was certainly an abundance of women in New York City, but supposedly that wasn't the case here. An old friend had complained about that, but more importantly he said, many women didn't seem very impressed with a professional man. He was a sharp, good-looking accountant working in an established firm.
In spite of all, he still enjoyed coming back to see old friends and he was especially excited about this afternoon. He was driving to Michelino's, an old winery hidden in the hills on the west side of the city, near the Mexican border. The organizers of their 20th year high school reunion thought it would be a good spot to meet. It was supposed to be informal so Dave was wearing a pair of white shorts and a short-sleeved maroon polo shirt. He was looking forward to seeing many of the people from his Coronado High School class of 1970. He had known some of them since grammar school. There had been about 600 graduates, and he probably knew about 400 of them even if only distantly. He had taken out his old yearbooks last night to help him refresh his memory on names and faces.
In school, he had never been one of the popular people nor one of the members of the "in" social groups that came into existence, but he had distinguished himself by making good grades and coming out often on Dean's List. He hadn't been conscious of it at the time, but he had yearned to be popular and held in special esteem. He had thought about it in more recent years and realized how much of a force a feeling of inadequacy had been toward his drive to excel. He remembered how he had daydreamed of going on to be some great success and have everyone he had known in school talk of how great he was. They would tell their friends and remind their relatives that they had known him; it would make them speak proudly of having gone to school with him; the newspapers would refer to him every so often as a great El Secoan who had made a name for himself. At first he had dreamed of being a great baseball player who would be seen on television all the time. That fantasy faded as he found that he could rise to being no more than an average player on the high school baseball team. He found that he could shine in academics and so shifted his goal to becoming a doctor or engineer. His supporting dream of success stayed with him through high school, through college, and even to some extent, after he had already become a doctor.
Dave wondered about two people he remembered in particular. One was Margaret Hawkins who had turned him down when he had asked her to go to the Junior Prom. It had been an upsetting disappointment. It was true that he hadn't known her especially well, but he had been confident that she would accept. She didn't have a boyfriend; it was said she didn't even date very much. He had walked up to her in the hall right after English class and very calmly asked her if she would be his date. She said "no" politely, but curtly. It was immediately clear that she could not be moved to reconsider her firm decision, and she gave no explanation.
She showed up with someone else and he found another date, too. Her date had not been anyone special. Dave didn't think she knew him much better--spent the whole evening trying to figure out why the other guy and not him. His date was a girl he had known for many years from close by in his neighborhood. He had brooded on Margaret's rejection not only that evening but for a long time to come. Dave wondered now whether she had any regrets about that rejection. Lately he had caught himself fantasizing a little on what might happen if she were single like he. He had heard that she was still an extremely beautiful woman and so inevitably not one who would be in any way needy of men who would be interested in her. In fact, she had been so attractive that she had moved to Hollywood soon after graduation to seek a career as an actress.
As he drove up the hill and came within sight of the winery, he could feel nervousness. He had hardly seen any of the people in the intervening 20 years. He could hear music coming from the large, old stone building. Dave said "hi" near the entrance to a guy named Jay who was standing there as if waiting for someone. He was trying to remember his last name but couldn't. He hadn't known Jay very well.
The music was coming from an old jukebox, old songs from the time like "Tracy," by the Cufflinks, and there were already a hundred people. A band was setting up, Lonnie Leroux and the Lancers, made up mainly of graduates from the previous class of 1969. The first person Dave ran into was Fred Farrell. They hadn't seen each other since graduation, and Fred was jubilant. He introduced Dave to his wife who had gone to a high school on the east side of town. Fred was overweight but he had always been stocky. He had played tackle on the junior high football team. Dave had also been on the team but never went on to play in high school. He had always been very thin. They immediately went into exchanging the usual information on what each had been doing since the last time they had seen each other. Fred said he had been in insurance for many years and was impressed with Dave's accomplishments.
As Dave later talked to Mike Gonzalez who had been in American History and other classes with him, he kept looking out of the corner of his eye at different people and noticed Mike was being distracted in the same way. "God, there's a lot of people here I can't remember," Mike said chagrined. "Who's that over there? Is that Jenny Saunders?" Dave wasn't sure who it was, either. They both agreed that it was hard to recognize many of the others.
Dave then spotted Janet Stevens. She looked surprisingly attractive and youthful, about ten years younger. It was not that Janet had been ugly, she had just never looked this good before. It was not her looks, however, that made him eager to talk to her as much as memories that came back to him across the years. He remembered how she always beat him in grades in school. She sat in front of him in both fifth and sixth grades, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't get better grades than her. In the early grades he hadn't really cared that much about grades, but he sometimes got it in his mind to beat Janet in a test and it was mainly because she seemed so arrogant. She was often bossy and most of the other kids would pick up on this and taunt her for it. Dave would try to get back at her by doing better in a test because she seemed to take so much pride in being at the top off the class. Sometimes he would get a better grade than her but that was rare. He wondered what her reaction would be when she found out what he was doing now.
As soon as he had the chance in the conversation, he found an excuse to walk to where Janet was talking with some of her former girlfriends. When he had the chance, he tapped her on the shoulder. "Hi, Janet."
"Dave, Dave Phillips," she exclaimed sounding almost ecstatic. "You look great. My God. I haven't seen you in so long. I think it was right after graduation."
"That sounds about right. You're looking great yourself, like about 10 years younger."
"Oh, come on now. Don't exaggerate. Do you remember Donna Rains and . . "
He remembered some of the other women vaguely and got reacquainted with them. After 10 minutes of mixed conversation, he had the chance to talk to Janet individually. "So are you in town or living somewhere else?" she asked him.
"I've been out of El Seco since graduation."
"You must have gone away to college?"
"Yes, I did."
"Where did you go?"
"Princeton."
"So what are you doing now?"
"I'm in New York. I'm in neurosurgery."
"Oh, isn't that something. We're both in the medical field. I've been a nurse for 15 years now. I've enjoyed it immensely most of the time, but I'm starting to get a little tired. I may take a few years and stay at home. My husband said it was fine with him. We could manage fine on just his income. What area did you say you were in?" She seemed a little distracted with the noise around.
"Neurosurgery."
"What exactly do you do?"
"I'm a doctor."
"Oh, a doctor. You're one of those. You all think you know so much, but I'll tell you I've trained many a young doctor in my day. Doctors just don't seem to appreciate how important we nurses are."
"I'm afraid you're probably right."
"Aside from all that money you guys get, I sure wouldn't want to be a doctor. Too much pressure, and you don't get the chance to really be personable with the patients. We nurses can do so much more good in that respect. Oh, Emily, Walt, it's great to see you," she turned to meet a couple that had gotten married after being high school sweethearts. A conversation got started with them and Dave sidled away before very long. He had not known the couple very well. He realized how she still felt superior even if she was below him in status.
He walked to the place where the kegs were located and after pouring himself a long-neck noticed Margaret Hawkins. He paused to get a good look at her as she stood talking to two men, who seemed entranced with her. That wasn't surprising. She looked as good as ever as she talked with her arms half-crossed, her left hand held at the side of her face, very composed. He wanted to talk to her but noticed how nervous he felt. He was determined to talk to her so he started walking across the room to where she was. How would she react to him? What were her thoughts now on what had happened back then? He hoped for a chance to talk to her privately, intimately.
"Hey, Dave, how you doing?" a friendly man engaged him in conversation. "Good to see you." The face was definitely familiar, but he couldn't get the name to come back to him. He kept trying to sneak a peek at the man's nametag but couldn't get a good look and didn't want him to notice his straining to see the name. After a couple of minutes, he remembered it was Leo Aceves. They talked for 15 minutes but it started to make Dave uneasy. He worried that Margaret might leave early. He wanted to talk much more to Leo. They had become good friends in chemistry class, but he hoped they could continue the conversation at a later time. Luckily someone else came up and Dave was soon able to excuse himself. Margaret was now surprisingly standing alone.
"Hi, Margaret. How've you been all these years? Remember me?"
"Uh," she hesitated a little. "I think so."
"I heard you had moved out to the West Coast."
"Yes, I've been there all this time. It's great. I love it."
"What are you doing now?"
"I'm afraid I have to confess, vain me. All these years I've been trying to be a star but haven't done much. I have managed to get some bit parts in some television shows recently."
"That's great. Most people don't even get that far no matter how hard they try."
"Yes, I've been thinking lately I ought to be pretty proud of myself, and on top of that, I've raised two nice kids." She stared ahead wistfully as if realizing that a woman approaching 40 couldn't go much further.
"Well, if you haven't made it big yet, it's not because of lack of good looks. It's a rough world out there in Hollywood. I think that's pretty well known by now."
"I hope so. I hope everybody doesn't think I haven't been working at it or that I have no talent because if there is anything I've found out for sure, it's that I am a good actress."
"I remember your being in Senior Play, and everybody thinking you had done real well. What was the play? The Crucible, wasn't it?"
"Yeah."
"I also remember you were just about the prettiest girl in school. All the guys always used to talk about you, including me. Do you remember me asking you to go to the Junior Prom?" David was surprised to find himself getting into the subject he had thought about for so many years. He didn't feel as nervous as he had at first.
"Uh, well, I, huh, think so." She now had a very confused look.
"I remember calling you on either a Saturday or Sunday afternoon. Of course, you seemed surprised since you didn't know me very well. I think we only knew each other because of Government class."
"Is that right?"
"I don't know why I thought you might possibly be interested in going with me to the prom. There were so many other guys you knew. What did you think when I called you? You sounded surprised."
"Well, I guess I . . ."
"I know, you probably already had a date."
"To tell you the truth, I've got a terrible memory and I . . ." At that moment an old girlfriend of Margaret's came up and touched her. They both yelled in surprise and hugged. They apparently hadn't seen each other for many years. They went on to a long conversation. Dave was not included and eventually faded away.
As he walked away, he felt disappointment. He felt the conversation had been going in the right direction. She seemed attentive and very sincere, but it was disappointing that they had not been able to go any further. He soon ran into a guy he had known since junior high and they started reminiscing.
As they were talking, Dave noticed Ricky Inman standing across the room. If there was anyone he was more curious about than even Margaret Hawkins, it was Ricky Inman. He hadn't changed that much except for a decided expansion of the breadbasket. Actually Dave could see, from the beer Ricky was holding in his hand, that it would more properly be called a "beerbasket." His face was still very recognizable.
He had first known Ricky Inman in the fifth grade and suffered perhaps the most traumatic experience in his life because of him. It had left a deep-felt impression that still remained in his consciousness. He hardly knew Ricky at the time. He was in another class and didn't live in his neighborhood. One day while in the schoolyard during lunch, Ricky came up and said some boys told him that Dave was the one who had taken the air out of his bicycle tires. Dave immediately protested that he hadn't done such a thing, but Ricky wouldn't listen and instead threw him on the ground and started slugging him hard. He was mad. He was also 20 pounds heavier than Dave. He yelled, trying to tell Ricky that he didn't even know what his bike looked like but Ricky went on to push Dave's face into the ground as he lay on top of him. The ground had been covered with gravel that now cut sharply into his face. The bell rang and Ricky finally got off.
In the classroom, Dave sat numbly. He could hear the teacher talking in what seemed a faint distance but he wasn't listening. His face was burning from the gravel cuts, and his body was aching. Worst of all was the mixture of humiliation and anger that seemed to override all his senses at the moment. It was an experience that he had never forgotten. For several weeks, his mind kept returning obsessively to the incident, replaying every painful detail. He thought about revenge and started studying how to become a better fighter, but the chance never came for a rematch. Years later in high school, Ricky was still a tough guy, running around with a hard crowd, but Dave had been able to overcome most of the bitterness. He eventually realized that it was this incident that probably started the fantasy of becoming a great success. He wondered how Ricky was doing now. Ricky had never distinguished himself in school in any way. He hadn't heard anything about him after graduation. Dave thought about he would go over to talk to Ricky. He wondered whether to bring up the time Ricky had beat him up in fifth grade.
Dave went to get another beer as he thought about the approach he would take. After talking to Jeff Solaroff briefly, he walked over to Ricky.
"Hi, Ricky. How you been? Remember me?" Ricky looked at him quizzically but was friendly. Dave noticed that his nametag said, "Richard Inman."
"Uh . . ."
"Dave Phillips."
"Oh, O.K."
"We met in fifth grade. We weren't in the same class, but I remember knowing you."
"Fifth grade? I don't know I remember anything that far back," he said with a chuckle.
"We used to play in the playground sometimes. Then in high school you used to hang around with Jimmy Perez who lived a couple of blocks from me."
"Oh, yea, good ole Jimmy. I see him every once in a while. He still hasn't changed much."
"Remember Jimmy used to give me a ride to school sometimes?"
Ricky wrinkled his brow, "I'm really sorry, but I just can't place you, and, hey, you're not the only one. There's already been a couple of other people who said they knew me but I couldn't remember them. Lucky I didn't have to admit it to them." He laughed. Dave was impressed with how gentle and sincere he seemed. "So what kind of work are you in?" he asked Dave.
"I'm a doctor."
"Sounds great. I've been doing pretty good as a truck driver. The only bad thing is I have to be on the road away from home so much, but my wife is very understanding. Do you know Terry?" he asked as he turned to her sitting down next to him. She smiled as she and Dave exchanged greetings. They had never met, but Dave was surprised that it was Terry Owens, one of the most beautiful girls in the class behind them. He had admired her in high school. He now remembered hearing that they had gotten married soon after high school. "The money's unbelievably good," he continued. "I made $60,000 last year, and I like getting out there on the road. Wouldn't trade anything in the world for it. No offense, but I wouldn't want to be a doctor. Too much hassle, and you have to be cooped up inside all the time. I've got to be out. Yeah, we've done real well." They talked a little longer then someone Richard knew came up to greet him, and Dave quietly walked away.
He felt frustrated and confused. He hadn't gotten the feeling that Richard was trying to put him down in any way. He seemed completely sincere and straightforward. He liked Richard now. It had been like getting acquainted with a complete stranger.
As Dave gathered a few finger sandwiches and salad items on his plate, a friendly woman started talking to him. She seemed very jovial. He didn't remember her at all. After they filled their plates, they stepped aside and kept talking.
"My name's Cindy, Cindy Waltermire." Dave strained to remember her but couldn't. He told her his name, and before he could say much else, she said, "If you can't remember me, don't worry. Hardly anybody else does and I don't remember you. As a matter of fact, I'm sure I never knew you. You see I moved to the Coronado area in the middle of senior year and hardly got to know anybody. I knew there wouldn't be much use in coming, but I decided to anyway. I figured there was really nothing to lose."
"Hey, I think it was a great idea. Even if you don't know that many people, you still have a lot in common with us." Dave actually felt relieved that they didn't know each other.
"I've met some great people and had a lot of fun. How long did you live in the area?"
"Oh, I've known some of the people here since third grade."
"Oh, my. Listen, don't let me hold you up. You must have a lot of people you have to talk to. You better go on and stop wasting your time with me."
"Hey, don't worry. You're fun to talk to. Besides I'm bored trying to talk to my old friends." Dave and Cindy talked for a very long time and got to know each other.
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