text:
A Christmas Orphan
It is a momentous occasion when any child hears that it may not be the person it thinks it is, that it may even be an orphan, which, except for never being born, is the closest thing there is to being no person at all. Perhaps Jeff Greenaway, eleven years old, heard it wrong. This is quite possible since it was a thing overheard rather than told to him directly.
He overheard it in the course of an argument between his parents. Being civilized city people from good backgrounds, his parents hardly ever quarreled. But it was Christmas time, and Jeff's father had come home from the Friday night office party rather late — ten o'clock — and tipsy — he was not drunk — and bearing a reddish-pink smudge on his shirt collar — just a holiday peck from Gloria Oldfield, the boss's secretary, who was "almost sixty years old, for Godsake†— and altogether Jeff's mother was not amused.
Who knows what had gotten into her that day? There was a morning session with Dr. Krajak, the dentist, but just a cleaning and some investigative poking with the ghastly instruments, no drilling or, God forbid, root canal. There were the crowds at Bloomingdales in the afternoon, a mob of women very much like herself, moiling through clouds of perfume samples — but to suggest it is a hardship to spend money at holiday time in New York City would strain anyone's credulity. Perhaps it was her time of the month — but there are things in this world of mystery that not even an omniscient narrator can tell. At any rate, after Jeff's father came home late that evening, they had a fight.
As it happened, Jeff was in his room enjoying an episode of The Twilight Zone on television. The show was about an elderly commuter who leaves the modern city on the 6:10 train and instead of going home to the suburbs ends up in the turn-of-the-century small town of his youth — the catch, of course, being that he has died of a heart attack on the train and gone to heaven. Jeff never got to that part, however. He began to hear raised voices emanating from his parents' bedroom about the time that the old geezer in the TV show first stepped off the train into the quaint town of Drakesburg with its horses and buggies, its bandshell in the park, its gartered shop-keepers, and its kids happily rolling their hoops across the town square. Jeff's mother shouted, very audibly, "I never should have married you!â€
This at once seized Jeff's attention. He reached for the TV's volume knob while his father replied -- something too low to be understood -- but then his mother shouted back, "Well, I wouldn't have either, except for the baby!â€
An icy chill seized Jeff's spinal fluxes as he intuitively grasped that the baby in question must have been himself, since he had no brothers or sisters. Again, Jeff's father made some reply, but his baritone voice was not as shrill as Jeff's mother's, and didn't carry well through the wall. To whatever he had said, Jeff's mother loudly retorted, "I suppose he wasn't your child!†That there might be any question about it was a notion that rocked the foundations of Jeff's selfhood. He was so shaken, in fact, that he did not recognize the sarcasm in his mother's voice when next she said, "That's right, I found him on the doorstep one fine morning, a little orphan in a willow basket!â€
Jeff shrank away from the wall, papered with posters from his favorite horror movies, as though the various vampires, blood beasts, werewolves, and slavering anthropophagi had come alive. A burst of sobs -- his mother's -- was all that followed from beyond the wall. For a time, Jeff stared at the TV screen -- upon which a brawny, bald-headed genie performed miraculous household chores, leaving everything spotless -- while the words "an orphan†reverberated through his skull. All these years, he reflected, he had been an orphan without ever knowing it! Found in a basket on the doorstep, no less! Now they were sick of each other, and of him! With another, more penetrating chill through his livers and lights, Jeff realized that he must leave this place he had mistakenly thought of as home for as long as he could remember, and that he must do so at once, before morning when his parents would, no doubt, return him to the authorities like a pet that has peed on the rug too many times and must finally be taken away.
Jeff quickly changed out of his pajamas, scrambled around his room grabbing a pair of socks and underpants, and his baseball mitt (which had taken years to break-in properly), and jammed all the stuff into his school briefcase. Then he broke apart his coin bank, a plastic box molded to look like the US Treasury that he had acquired on a family (ha!) trip to the nation's capital. It contained over $31, mostly in quarters, and he stuffed a handful of the heavy coins in each of his pants pockets to more evenly distribute the weight. Finally, he put on his winter coat, green loden with horn toggle buttons, took a last wistful look at the place that had been his room, and with tears blurring his vision tip-toed out of the apartment, the coins in his pockets jingling like sleigh bells.
He took the back stairs to avoid Leopold the night doorman and
debouched from the apartment building via the service alley. Once
outside on 79th Street, he realized that he had no destination whatever
in mind. And then the episode of The Twilight Zone he had been
watching came back to him, the name Drakesburg in particular. He was a
child sophisticated enough to know that TV shows happen in made-up
places, but he thought that perhaps the fictional Drakesburg might be based
on a real place of such a name, and he reasoned that it might be found
by taking the train from Grand Central Station, as the old man in the
TV story had done.
A small, old-timey town like Drakesburg might be just the right place for an orphan to go and start life over again. In the city, no doubt, he would be tossed into some prison-like asylum for the misbegotten and unwanted, a hell-hole like the blacking factory in Oliver Twist. In a small town like Drakesburg, people were bound to be more friendly. In such a place, he might even be able to latch onto some incomplete family, like the one on the Lassie TV show -- with a mom, a grandpa, a kid, and a dog, but no father -- and be happily welcomed into its midst, as long as he dutifully carried out his assigned chores. He didn't know how to milk a cow, but he was sure he could learn -- farm boys did, and weren't many of them congenital morons?
Consumed with these new ambitions, Jeff hailed a cab on the corner of Madison and told the driver to take him to Grand Central Station, and not to try any funny stuff because he had made the trip a million times. The driver headed directly down Park Avenue, which, with its innumerable lighted Christmas trees block after block seemed all the more cheerless by sheer force of repetition.
"Ever hear of a town named Drakesburg?†Jeff asked the driver as they passed the Soviet mission to the UN on sixty-eight street, where Khrushchev had held forth from the balcony a few years earlier.
"Where?†the driver replied. "The Island? Jersey?â€
"No, it's more New Englandy.â€
"Oh, the one where they had the big Civil War battle?â€
"I don't know.â€
"Yeah, the Battle a' Drakesburg. It's famous. That's where they stemmed the tide.â€
"Do you know where that took place, by any chance?â€
"Drakesburg. Where else?â€
"I mean what state?â€
The driver hesitated as he pulled into the port cochere off Vanderbilt Avenue. "You could try Massachusetts,†he said. "It's real historic.â€
"Thanks,†Jeff said. He tipped the driver a quarter, as he had seen his parents do a thousand times (the memory made him shudder with emotion) and waded through a ridge of slush at the curb to the station entrance. Grand Central was busy even at this late hour with holiday travelers coming and going for the weekend. Tomorrow, Saturday would be Christmas Eve, making Sunday, of course, the Big Day itself. Inside the cavernous and seedy main waiting room, a five-piece Salvation Army band played carols at the foot of the grand stairway. In threadbare uniforms, they performed an especially lugubrious version of "We Three Kings†as Jeff hurried past to the brass-roofed information kiosk at the great room's center.
"I'm trying to get to a town called Drakesburg,†he told a weary-looking man wearing a green eyeshade within the kiosk.
"What line,†the man replied to his 1,138th inquiry of the evening shift.
"I'm not sure. New England somewhere. Maybe Massachusetts.â€
"Got a Drakesville on the New Haven. It's in Vermont, though, just over the Massachusetts border.â€
"That must be it!†Jeff cried, electrified that his new life was taking shape so rapidly. Vermont, where there are more cows than people! He could practically hear them mooing to be milked! "When's the next train there?â€
"The 11:20 Holiday Special to Montreal stops there.â€
"That's in ten minutes.â€
"Quick! Gimme a ticket!â€
"I don't sell tickets. This is the information booth.â€
Jeff raced across the room to the wall of ticket windows and barked his request.
"Round trip?†the agent inquired.
"One way,†Jeff said, and a lump formed in his throat. "Hurry!â€
"Sleeper or coachâ€
"What's the difference?â€
"The sleeper you get a berth.â€
"A birth . . . ?†Jeff reflected, preoccupied as he was with the mystery of his origins.
"A bed, like. To sleep on.â€
"Oh. Does it cost more?â€
"You bet. Extra fifteen bucks.â€
"I'll just take the regular seat, please.â€
"Okay, that'll be seventeen-fifty.â€
Jeff scooped two handfuls of quarters out of his pants pockets and pushed them under the grille.
"Whaja, rob a piggy bank, kid?â€
The public address system announced final boarding for Holiday Special to Montreal.
"Please hurry!â€
"Hey, look, I gotta count this coin, you know,†the agent said and then stopped what he was doing to stare for a moment at Jeff. "Say, what's a kid like you takin' a train for at this hour on a school night, anyway?â€
"None of your goddam business,†Jeff said.
The agent recoiled behind his zoo-like cage, but then, displaying a look of consternation, he resumed counting the quarters and at last presented Jeff with a handsome yellow ticket. "Some way to speak to your elders, sonny,†he remarked. "Track Nineteen.â€
Jeff raced across the slippery marble floor to the gate and hurried down the stairs. The platform level was poorly lit, dirty, and smelled like something dredged out of the nether reaches of a refrigerator. Yet, he was thrilled at the sight of the idling train with its sleek silver cars and the crush of northbound travelers waiting to board, burdened with shopping bags full of wrapped presents, who lent the otherwise grim underworld an oddly festive air.
"Sleeping cars up ahead!†a conductor bawled.
Jeff boarded a coach at the first open door and found a seat beside a window. The car filled up rapidly and soon Jeff heard a voice say, "Is this seat taken?â€
An athletic young man with a pug face chucked his suitcase in the rack overhead and slipped down into the aisle seat beside Jeff. "You all alone?â€
"Yup,†Jeff said, and to him the answer was full of deep and tragic resonances. He wanted to tell the young man that he was, indeed, all alone, all alone in the world, that he was an orphan, but he didn't want to seem pathetic, like the ragged, legless beggar lady who occupied a miserable square of sidewalk on a filthy blanket outside Bloomingdales this time of year.
"Salty Parker,†the young man offered his hand.
Jeff stared at it thinking that if he was an orphan then his name, Jeff Greenaway, was no longer valid, that he ought not to use it anymore, ever again. He racked his brain for another.
"Chico Fernandez,†he finally said, shaking hands. Chico Fernandez, of course, was the shortstop for the Detroit Tigers. It had just popped into his head. And now he was stuck with it.
"Chico Fernandez?†Salty said. "You any relation to the guy who plays shortstop for Detroit?â€
"No.†Jeff shook his head vigorously.
"I bet people ask you that all the time, huh?â€
Jeff nodded.
"See, I go to school right outside of the Motor City,†Salty said, adjusting his seat back and relaxing expansively. "University of Michigan, Ann Arbor. Just finished my last exam this morning. Been riding the G.D. train all the G.D. day since lunchtime.â€
Salty leaned in close. "Goddam,†he whispered.
"Oh, well, Jeez, you must be good and goddam tired then,†Jeff said.
"I'm goddam bushed,†Salty whispered. "I'da took a plane but my nerves can't take it. If the Lord meant for man to fly, he woulda given him propellers, right?â€
Jeff cracked up at the remark until he remembered what a tragic destiny had led him to this particular seat next to Salty Parker on the 11:20 Holiday Special.
"Where you bound for, Chico?â€
"Huh? Oh, Drakesville,†Jeff said.
"Never heard of it.â€
"It's a beautiful New Englandy little town way up north of here. They don't even have cars there yet.â€
Jeff realized at once that this was a preposterous statement, that he had confused TV with reality, but it was too late to retract it.
"How could they not have cars?†Salty said. "Cars are everywhere.â€
"Not in Drakesville. They don't allow 'em.â€
"How could they not allow 'em? This is America for criminy's sake!â€
"They just don't, that's all. They don't want 'em cluttering up the town. They took a vote and that's how it came out.â€
"I never heard of anything like it.â€
"You ever been to Drakesville?â€
"Believe me, it's much nicer without any cars.â€
"Well, how do people get around?â€
"They walk.â€
"What if they have a big package? What if somebody's grandmother goes to the store and buys a refrigerator? I suppose she carries it home on her back.â€
"Of course not. For deliveries they have horses and wagons.â€
"You're kidding me.â€
"No, they do.â€
"Sounds like Disneyland--â€
"All aboard!†the conductor shouted. Moments later the train lurched forward. A pang of emotion, mostly fear, cut through Jeff as he realized the train was leaving the station, leaving New York City and everything that he knew. He fought an impulse to leap out of the slow-moving car and catch a taxi back home. But he was assailed by the fresh memory of his mother's mocking voice saying, ". . . a little orphan in a willow basket. . .†He realized that no matter how odd and forlorn his present circumstances, he no longer had any home to go back to, and that the pathway of his future led, like the Holiday Special, to the mysterious north.
The train emerged from the dark underbelly of Park Avenue at 96th
Street and picked up speed among the tenement gulches of Harlem. At
this hour on a cold and slushy winter night the streets were deserted.
The train traversed the dreary Bronx in a matter of minutes and after
that the world beyond the window became a dark blank. Only now did Jeff
begin to consider all that he had left behind -- besides two parents,
who weren't even his to begin with, and a roomful of personal stuff.
There were his classmates at Public School No. Six, including his best
friend Bobby Skolnick. What would their teacher, Mrs. Snipes, say to
them? perhaps nothing. Perhaps his parents -- his ex-parents --
would be too embarrassed to report his disappearance to the school
authorities. But surely Bobby would call him at the apartment -- all
next week was Christmas vacation and they were supposed to go sledding
on Pilgrim Hill in Central Park if there was snow, or go to the museum
and visit the shrunken heads if there wasn't any snow. What would his
mother -- that is, the Greenaway woman -- tell Bobby? He'd have to call
Bobby pretty soon after he got into in Drakesville and explain the
whole incredible situation. Maybe the Skolnicks could even adopt him.
There was an empty bunk in Bobby's room, recently vacated by Bobby's
older brother, Steve, who was sent away to boarding school. Jeff
wouldn't mind sleeping on the living room couch when Steve came home
for vacations--
"Tickets please!†the conductor cried, pricking the bubble of Jeff's reverie.
"Hey, pal,†Salty Parker addressed the conductor as he handed over his ticket to Holyoke, Massachusetts, "will you wake me up in time to get off in case I nod out?â€
"Me too,†Jeff said. "By the way, what time does this train arrive at Drakesville?â€
"Oh, 'bout six-fifteen a.m.â€
"Jeez, I probably will conk out by then,†Jeff said, sliding deep into his seat.
"Don't worry, son,†the conductor said. "I'll wake you up in time. Your mama and pop gonna meet you there?â€
"I don't have any parents,†Jeff declared and Salty glanced at him with sudden curiosity. "I'm an orphan who was found on somebody's doorstep in a willow basket and they don't want me anymore.â€
The conductor, too, looked shocked for a moment, but then his cocoa-brown face melted into a warm smile and he said to Salty, "Ain't kids a riot? You two boys hit the hay if you want. I'll see to it that you wake up in time.†And going heh-heh-heh in his bass voice, shaking his head at the foibles of children, the conductor lurched into the next car.
"Hey, are you really an orphan?†Salty asked, not so quick to laugh it off as the conductor had been.
"You live in an orphanage and all?â€
"Not yet,†Jeff said "but I may have to apply to one soon.â€
"Well, where do you live?â€
"New York, mostly.â€
"Who with?â€
"These people,†Jeff said, choking up a little.
"Like, foster parents?â€
"No, they pretended to be real for a long time, but it turned out they were phonies.â€
"Gee, that's a rough break, Chico. Did you report 'em?â€
"Naw. What's the point? I'd still be an orphan. And they'd still be phonies. I don't think it's against the law to be a phony, anyway.â€
"Sure it is. It's imposturing upon the morals of a minor.â€
"There just wasn't time--â€
"You want me to report 'em for you?â€
"No! I'll do it. I should be the one. Really.â€
"Okay. But make sure you do. They could imposture themselves on some other kid. Once they get a taste of it, you know, it goes on and on. They've gotta be stopped.â€
"Don't worry. I'll take care of it.â€
"You better, I'm telling you,†Salty said, pounding his varsity jacket into a kind of pillow. "Well, What are you gonna do now?â€
"I'm moving up to this town, Drakesville.â€
"You got any distant relations there?â€
"No. But they have these families you can move in with if you promise to milk the cows and take out the garbage. Usually there's no father because he got killed in the war, so they're glad to have an extra kid around.â€
"Gee, it sounds like TV,†Salty said.
Jeff was sound asleep when the conductor roused Salty Parker for the
Holyoke stop. An hour later, the same conductor gently shook Jeff's
shoulder as the train slowed in its approach to the Drakesville
station. For a moment, panic seized him at waking up in such strange
surroundings. He had no time to lose, however, for the train was
grinding to a halt, and, while he had grave doubts about Drakesville
living up to his expectations, he had no idea what lay up the tracks
beyond it except, ultimately, Canada, a foreign country, and being an
orphan was bad enough, he reasoned, but being both an orphan and a
foreigner would be more than he could manage. So, he extracted himself
from the cozy seat and, clutching the briefcase to his loden coat,
prepared to get off the train.
It was still dark out, as dark as midnight, though the luminous hands of his Timex wristwatch said quarter to six, practically morning. He was the only passenger who got off and the train did not linger another ten seconds after Jeff cleared the steps. Snow swirled in little tornadoes in the bleak electric light of the platform as the train relentlessly picked up speed and vanished into the pre-dawn murk. Jeff had never felt cold like this. It made his nostrils feel stiff. Still clutching his briefcase, he revolved three hundred and sixty degrees to take in his new home town. The station itself was closed at this hour, its small waiting room dark inside, and not a living soul in evidence. Down a nearby street of ramshackle bungalows, a line of beetle-like older cars stood parked under caps of fresh snow. So, there were cars after all, Jeff thought. He was disappointed but not so surprised. This was real life, not a TV show. Down another street in the opposite direction, a few streetlights burned fuzzily illuminating buildings somewhat larger than the crummy bungalows.
The street led past a grain depot and the dark hulk of a box mill to a bridge across a boisterous stream. Weird ice shapes like crystal knife blades had formed among the jumble of boulders that lined the stream bed. Jeff leaned forward against the iron pipe railing and gazed down into the black torrent below. It occurred to him that wherever the stream came from -- say, the mountains outside of town -- there would no doubt be waterfalls and pools and woods to explore in the summertime. There might be a lake up there that the stream flowed out of. If milking cows for an incomplete family didn't work out, he thought, he could take off in the springtime and become a mountain hermit for while. It also occurred to him that the bridge would be a good place to come and commit suicide if, God forbid, you were in the mood.
Across the bridge, stood a huge wood-frame building at least as big as Public School No. Six. Some windows were lighted inside and he could hear the hum and clank of machinery. A gold-lettered sign over the entrance proclaimed it to be THE DRAKESVILLE DOWEL WORKS. Not knowing what a dowel was, he wondered if, perhaps, they had misspelled the word towel. The prospect of being the smartest person in the whole town rather thrilled him. He imagined himself going from one factory to another, also to shops and people's houses, correcting everybody's mis-spellings. He could probably even make some money at it, he thought, since people were constantly writing things down.
He moved on. Up a little hill lined by darkened factory workers' houses, he encountered the town square. His heart soared, briefly. On close inspection, the brick buildings surrounding the square looked run-down and dreary. The retail establishments were not the old-timey soda fountains and penny-candy emporiums and cheerful general merchandise shops that he had imagined. On one side there was a drab auto parts store next to a pizzeria with slovenly signs in crude hand lettering in the window, including more bad spelling -- "Todays [sic] Special: Ital Potroast + mash or bake pot + salad/butt bread.†He was mystified over the meaning of butt bread. It sounded unappetizing, to say the least. The Pizzeria's neighbor to the other side was a medical supply store with a window full of hernia trusses, bedpans, humidifiers, and artificial limbs. The proprietor had strung swags of winking Christmas lights among the prostheses, lending them more a creepy carnival air than a holiday feeling. The adjacent block featured two sleazy taverns, a beauty shop, and a realty office. One particular building on that side had been completely encased in turquoise aluminum paneling. Even the windows were paneled over. The heraldic insignia of a fraternal order was fastened to the center of the blank greenish-blue facade like an enormous vulgar tie tack.
As gray dawn light gathered over the rooftops, Jeff saw that the town square itself looked as bleak and empty as Siberia. Its elm trees had succumbed to the Dutch blight a decade earlier and were not replaced. The bandshell was conspicuously absent. The only object that occupied its snowy expanse was the statue of a Civil War soldier, cocked to one side on its pedestal by a century of frost heaves, and looking rather like a drunk about to keel over.
As he had at the station, Jeff rotated three hundred and sixty degrees taking in all the grim details of his new chosen hometown. His toes and fingers ached from the cold. He remembered again that he was an orphan with no place to go, and standing at the edge of the desolate square he began to weep. Just then the lights flickered on in a shopfront on the third side of the square, and then a neon sign that said "EAT,†spelled correctly, he was relieved to note.
Not simply because he was the first customer of the day, Jeff
attracted the combined stares of the grillman and both waitresses when
he entered Lewis's Luncheonette. The truth was, none of them had ever
seen an eleven-year-old boy in a loden coat carrying a leather
briefcase, and all three adults regarded him as an ominous sight, some
kind of midget on a sinister mission, perhaps a process-server or a
hired killer.
"Are you open?†Jeff inquired.
Reassured by the timbre of his voice that Jeff was only a child, the grillman said, "Ayuh,†and resumed prepping his station.
Jeff shuffled up to the counter and took a seat on one of the revolving stools. On the rear counter, a cake stand displayed a heap of blueberry muffins. Jeff fished around in his pocket to check his remaining funds. He made neat little stacks of coins on the counter and arrived at the figure $11.40.
"How much is hot cocoa and one of those muffins?†he asked.
"Cocoa's a dime and these here are fifteen cents,†the plumper of the two waitresses said.
Jeff was thrilled. With $11.40, he calculated, he could live on muffins and hot chocolate for a week, if necessary. He ordered some at once. The hot cocoa made him feel as though he were back in the land of the living, and he daintily picked apart the muffin, savoring every crumb. No meal in his recollection, however splendid, not even the chicken-a-la-king at Lindy's, had ever tasted so delicious. As he devoured the last morsels, one of the workers from the dowel factory came in for breakfast before the morning shift. He was a stout, middle-aged man in a red-checked hunting shirt and plastic hat with three artificial fur flaps. Jeff tried to imagine how the front flap, the one over the eyes, was supposed to work.
"Merry Christmas, gals,†the man said, dusting some snowflakes off his hat.
"'Taint Christmas yet,†the grillman said sourly over his shoulder.
"Well, it's Christmas Eve, ain't it?†the stout man said.
"'Taint eve til evenin'.â€
"Aw, hell's bells, Christmas Eve Day, then, goddammit--â€
"Luther!†the plump waitress said, nodding at Jeff, trying to indicate that a child was present.
"Gonna be a white one, anyways,†the other waitress chimed in from over at the coffee station.
"Always is,†the grillman muttered.
This talk of Christmas and Christmas Eve depressed Jeff, for though he tried not to think about it, his mind turned to memories of Christmases past in the city that had been his home, and to the man and woman who had masqueraded as his parents all these years. Even though they were a couple of phonies, he couldn't help but think that, all-in-all, they had treated him decently and bought him a lot of presents over the years. Though claiming to be Jewish, they had always ignored the Hebrew holiday, Hanukkah, in favor of Christmas -- obviously, he now realized, they hadn't been real Jews at all, only pretending. But then again, if they were not Jewish, then what was he? Had there been a note left in his willow basket informing the Greenaway couple what religious affiliation their orphan was?
"Lemme have two fried eggs and a short stack,†Luthor told the waitress.
"Sausage, I guess.â€
The grillman flung three fat links on his griddle. They began to sputter aromatically. Jeff began to apprehend that he was still hungry, and for something more substantial than another muffin. Next the grillman broke a couple of eggs in a pool of bubbling butter, and finally poured two pancakes out beside the eggs.
"How much are sausages and flapcakes?†Jeff inquired.
"Eighty-five cents.â€
"Could you make me some?â€
"Sure. You got eighty-five cents, little fella?â€
"Oh, yeah. I'm loaded. Say, could you give me directions to the town orphanage, by any chance?â€
"Orphanage? Don't know as we got one.â€
"Where do the orphans go, then?
"Beats me. Don't know as we got any of them, neither. Why? Are you an orphan?â€
"As a matter of fact, yes. I became one rather recently.â€
"Poor thing. What happened to your folks?â€
"Nothing? You mean they didn't die in a car wreck or nothing?â€
"No. They were impostors.â€
"Impostors? I never heard of any such thing.â€
"It's an unusual case,†Jeff said.
"But why would anybody do that?â€
"To get married,†Jeff said.
"Wait a minute,†the waitress said. "They pretended to be your parents so they could get married?â€
"Usually it's the other way around.â€
Jeff realized he could never explain it. Just then, the grillman barked to pick up his order of flapcakes and sausages. As he addressed his plate, the establishment began to fill up with other men on their way to work, and the waitresses scurried around taking orders.
He left a twenty-five cent tip, since he was planning to be around Drakesville for a while, and take more meals in the luncheonette.
Outside, full daylight had erased the gloom of dawn. Only a few random flakes floated down in the breezeless air. Cars were now in motion around the square and lights in some of the shopfronts flickered on. Altogether the town's initially stark, forbidding look was being eased by signs of life.
Briefcase in hand, Jeff set forth to explore his new home. On the side of town farthest from the train station and the dowel factory lay streets with some very large, old houses. Many had porches and some had delightful towers, turrets, bays, oriels, and cupolas. Jeff wondered about the families who lived inside, and how he might go about applying for adoption. With no orphanage in town, he reasoned, he would have to make all the arrangements himself, and he was puzzled about the procedure, having no prior experience. For instance, should he just go up, ring a doorbell, and ask to be shown around? He preferred to have room of his own. Having no siblings all his life, he wondered about the relative advantages of choosing a family with children younger or older than himself, and whether they should be boys or girls. He didn't think it would be a good idea to move in with a childless couple who lacked parenting experience. They might get sick of him the way the Greenaways did.
Jeff was encouraged by his stroll around the neighborhood, though he didn't ring any doorbells just yet. He even passed a group of other children dragging sleds behind them, and they seemed to be very normal American types, like the kids on TV. Back in the city, a snowfall was a special occasion. Here in Drakesville evidently, you could go sledding every day. Shortly, he passed the town grammar school, a quaint old sandstone building with mansard roofs, and a clock tower, and a yard with a real baseball backstop and wooden dugouts. The yard at Public School No. Six had been a paved over asphalt wasteland enclosed by cyclone fence that made it look like the setting of Riot in Cellblock D.
Circling back toward the town square, on a street magically called Elm, he encountered the Strand Theater, an art deco relic with an odd triangular marquee. The sight of it struck Jeff with a special urgency because the movie showing that week was West Side Story. He didn't know what the movie was about, exactly, but he had a strong hunch that it took place in his ex-hometown, New York. A throng of children, plus a few teenagers, and even parents, waited in line under the marquee to buy tickets for the noon matinee. Jeff was cold and rather hungry again after his long walk around town. But he didn't see the point of returning to the luncheonette for a regular lunch when he could fill up on popcorn and candy, see a movie, and stay warm for several hours, all for little more than the price of a hot meal. Besides, he felt a certain proprietary compulsion to monitor this mob of yokels while they watched a movie about a place he undoubtedly knew better than any of them. So he lined up with his new fellow townspeople and bought a ticket. It was fifty cents. Inside, he purchased a medium buttered popcorn, a roll of Necco wafers, a Charleston Chew bar, and a large orange soda, all for another $1.50, leaving him with $7.80 for the rest of his childhood in Drakesville. But he made up his mind that when the movie was over, he would return to the neighborhood of nice old houses and present himself for adoption. How could they turn down an orphan on Christmas Eve, he thought?
The movie opened with a swooping panoramic helicopter shot of Manhattan Island. The shot prompted Jeff to recall his favorite haunts around the enchanted isle: the armor gallery in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the shrunken head room at Museum of Natural History, the gorilla house at the Central Park Zoo, the Horn and Hardart Automat on Fifty-seventh Street, the first floor game showroom of Abercrombie & Fitch -- the memories left him feeling so homesick that he nearly lost his appetite. But then the action started with the Puerto Rican and white gangs having a "rumble,†as gang fights were called then, and the characters stopping what they were doing to sing a song every eleven minutes. And even though he grew monumentally bored with the romance between "Tony†and "Maria,†Jeff was able to forget about his plight for a while. When the movie ended, he decided to stick around and see the beginning over again, largely because he dreaded the task that awaited him outside. But the movie, with its romantic goo and inane caterwauling, was so unwatchable he got up and left before the Jets finished boasting in song about all their many accomplishments and distinctions.
When he left the theater, it was snowing again. Two inches of fresh
powder carpeted the sidewalks, and he wished that he had thought to
bring his galoshes. Nevertheless, he set forth once again for the
neighborhood of nice old homes, briefcase still in hand. It was that
hour of a winter afternoon, still long before supper time, when the
days are shortest and twilight gathers softly in the eaves, and the air
takes on a purplish hue. Many of the Drakesville's houses wore
Christmas decorations tending toward the sedate and conservative. There
were no blinking electric reindeer scaling rooftops, no life-sized
plastic Santas on the lawns, just dark swags of fir, and beribboned
wreaths, and a few sets of twinkling lights on the porches. A block
past the fabulous school building, he paused before a large white
colonial house -- built when America really was a colony -- and decided
to make his first inquiry there.
The woman who answered the doorbell was as big and broad-hipped as a Holstein cow, and she wore cats-eye eyeglasses that were too small for her head. Her smile was as outsized as the rest of her, however, and she greeted Jeff warmly.
"Why, hello young man.â€
"I, uh, uh, uh. . . .â€
"Won't you come in?â€
He was happy to step in from the cold. The house was nicely furnished with old things, and a twinkling balsam pine tree surrounded by a heap of presents seemed to occupy an inordinate amount of space in the adjacent living room. Jeff surmised that the family was well-off and might be able to take him in. He wasn't thrilled by the idea of having such an unglamorous new mother -- no doubt his new friends would make cracks about her -- but she seemed kindly, and he could always explain that they weren't actually related.
"You must be the twins new friend from school.â€
"I, uh -- huh. . . ?â€
"I'll call them. Oh, Tammy, Chrissie!†she hollered melodically to the house's dim interior, from which a luscious smell of baking cookies wafted. Almost at once two girls Jeff's age came thundering down a hall. They were identical twins, each a small replica of their mother. They wore matching jumpers to intensify the eerie effect of duplication. Both had on eyeglasses too small for their heads. One of them -- Tammy? Chrissie? -- had chocolate smeared around her cheeks and double chin. They eyed Jeff with suspicion.
"He's no friend of ours,†they both said absolutely in unison.
"I, uh, must have the wrong house,†Jeff mumbled, retreating toward the door.
"Well, I never. . . .†he heard the mother say as he stumbled back out into the snowy twilight. Though this family had proven unsuitable, Jeff was not discouraged. To the contrary, he was quite pleased with himself for having gone through with it, and realized that success on the first try was unrealistic, anyway. So, spirits, bolstered, he ventured deeper into the neighborhood.
Around the corner on Walnut Street stood a fine red brick dwelling with handsome green shutters. he had no doubt that the family in residence was financially secure, and he was thrilled to discover a brass plate above the doorbell with the name "Drake†engraved on it in fancy script. Possibly this was the family that the town was named after. He rang the bell, brimming with confidence.
A college-aged man answered the doorbell. He was rail-thin and attired in a rather peculiar costume: pajamas with a green plaid bathrobe, with a crew neck sweater over the robe. A cigarette with an extraordinarily long ash at its tip dangled from the corner of his mouth. He had not shaved for several days. His red-rimmed eyes blinked continually, and an acrid smell emanated from him.
"Yes,†he said.
"Hello, I'm an orphan,†Jeff declared, having decided to come right to the point, "and I was wondering if you or your family has ever thought of adopting one.â€
The man removed the cigarette from his mouth in order, it seemed, to gape more dramatically at Jeff.
"You're kidding me?†he said, and then emitted a short, semi-giggle that signified something besides simple amusement.
"No, it's the truth,†Jeff assured him. "Is your mom or dad home by any chance.
"Mom's been dead a year now,†young Drake said, issuing another abbreviated giggle before practically jamming the cigarette back into his face. When he exhaled, an unnatural quantity of smoke boiled out of his nostrils. Just then, heavy footsteps resounded beyond the entrance foyer. An older man, sixty or so, but large and hale, and wearing a necktie with a cardigan sweater, soon appeared.
"Who said you could leave your room, Walter?†he asked angrily.
"Look, Pop,†Walter said. "A little Christmas elf dropped by to visit.â€
"Go on, get back upstairs.â€
Walter didn't resist, but before departing, he smiled concupiscently at Jeff and, expelling another sinister cloud of smoke, said, "Goodbye little elf.â€
The father watched Walter disappear completely upstairs before turning back to Jeff and saying, "What do you want?â€
"Nothing,†Jeff said.
"Then go away and don't come back,†the father said and closed the heavy front door an inch from Jeff's nose.
Jeff was more bewildered than discouraged by the encounter. He had wanted to explain that he was an orphan, not an elf, but something told him that the head of this household wouldn't care one way or the other. In any case, he made a mental note to cross this particular family off his list.
The next house he tried there was nobody home, though a lighted tree glowed within. The house after that was a gloom-cloaked colossus in the ponderous Queen Anne revival style. He could not locate any doorbell. There was only a heavy brass knocker cast into a visage that looked vaguely like something Lon Chaney once had played in a movie. The resounding thunk it produced summoned to the door a bony, blue-haired lady who appeared annoyed at having been disturbed. When Jeff explained that he was an orphan, et cetera, she looked him up and down, as though he were some figure of odium and contempt, a tramp, say, and in a voice full of broken reeds told him, "I've more than half a mind to call the constable, sonny-boy.â€
"No, don't--†Jeff tried to plead with her, though he had already eliminated her as a candidate.
"Orphan, indeed! Why I never. . . .†she muttered, closing her oaken door so that the leaded panes in the sidelights rattled.
Jeff hurried back down to the sidewalk afraid that the police would soon arrest him for every unsolved crime perpetrated in Drakesville since the days of Franklin D. Roosevelt. By now, night had stolen over the town. Jeff's hands were so cold that he had to constantly switch carrying his briefcase from the right to the left and back while he tried unsuccessfully to warm them in his coat pocket. How, he wondered, could anyone fail to understand his situation? Where was the America that he had heard about at Public School No. Six? The people who had beat the Nazis and freed the slaves? As he pondered these elusive mysteries of modern culture, he wended his way through the now-darkened streets, unable to summon the will to ring another doorbell. His path eventually led back toward the town square. The luncheonette's erratic neon sign flickered fuzzily up ahead through the falling snow.
"Can I get a hamburger?†Jeff asked, shivering on a stool at the counter.
"We're closed,†the grillman said, scraping down his griddle.
"It's him again,†Jeff heard the chubby waitress whisper to the thinner one as they sat at a table sorting the day's checks. A lush orchestral arrangement of Christmas carols gushed out of a radio above the coffee station. All satin and silver filigree styling, the songs reminded him again of Christmas in New York, of all the happy crowds on Madison Avenue laden with shopping bags, and the wonderful store window displays with tin soldiers that moved, and of the skaters crowding the rink at Rockefeller center under the gilded statue of Prometheus, and of the immense tree at the Museum of Art, with half the population of ancient Judea represented in clay figures at its base, and suddenly he couldn't stand the rush of memories anymore and burst out bawling on his revolving stool.
Nothing would avail to stop him, not the waitresses' attempts to calm him down, nor the grillman's pleas that it nearly five o'clock on Christmas Eve "for Gawdsake†and they had to close the place. Jeff was so carried away by with his grief that he didn't notice the skinny waitress go to the pay phone and call the authorities.
Chief of Police -- of a force of four -- Calvin Burdock drove up in a matter of minutes. The tall, somewhat stooped Burdock, with a kindly concave face, wearing a gray wool hunting coat over his khaki uniform, took a seat on the stool beside Jeff's, put his big hand on the boy's shoulder and, in a voice full of the calm of northern forests on a snowy night, asked Jeff his name more than several times until, at least, the boy stopped bawling and blew his nose with a napkin provided by the chubby waitress.
"What's your name, son?†Burdock asked for the seventeenth time with no evident loss of patience.
"Chico Fernandez,†Jeff said.
"I hear you're an orphan, Chico,†Burdock said.
Jeff nodded his head.
"Where's your home?â€
"Orphans don't have homes,†Jeff said. "If they had homes, they wouldn't be orphans.â€
"Of course,†Burdock agreed. "But you must come from somewhere.â€
"I was found on a doorstep in a willow basket,†Jeff said, and started to weep again, though not as violently as before.
"Chief,†the grillman said, "I've got to drive up to Bellow's Falls tonight, and with this storm and all --â€
Chief Burdock said he understood. Normally in such a case where no law had been broken, the police might bring an apparent runaway child like Jeff to the hospital in Brattleboro for safekeeping and observation while the parents were located. But since it was Christmas Eve, with a snowstorm imminent, and since the chief had commitments of his own, he decided the best thing to do was to bring the boy home with him.
"Come with me, Chico,†he said.
"Please don't put me in jail.â€
"You're not going to jail.â€
"Where are you gonna take me, then?â€
"Well. . . home,†Burdock said, and the word had an effect on Jeff like the electric current that lighted all the Christmas trees on Park Avenue.
Chief Burdock allowed Jeff to sit in the front seat of the police
cruiser as they swung around the square and headed down Walnut Street.
"There's a weird guy in that house who walks around in his pajamas all day,†Jeff remarked as they passed the Drake family establishment.
The chief merely coughed in reply, having, as he did, a good deal of privileged information about the Drake family's calamities.
Eventually, Walnut Street turned into a twisting country road. The snowflakes rushed at them in the car's headlight beams like anti-aircraft flak. The countryside lay hidden in the darkness.
"Where you from, Chico?†Chief Burdock asked.
"I told you. I was left on a doorstep in a willow basket.â€
"Well, yes. But where was the doorstep?â€
Jeff hesitated a moment, and then said, "Iowa,†because he had been assigned to do a report on it in school, and he knew about its products (corn, pork), and the state flower (wild rose), in case he were pressed for details. But all Chief Burdock said was, "that's a fair piece from here.â€
Fuzzy lights in the distance soon resolved themselves into the forms of a white farmhouse and a red barn in a little hollow that could have come straight off a greeting card. Jeff's heart leaped as Chief Burdock turned in the driveway.
"Is this where you live.â€
"Is your family complete?â€
"Beg your pardon. . . ?â€
"Any members missing? Your wife or kids?â€
"Not that I know of,†Chief Burdock said as they pulled up to the side porch and a woman appeared behind a storm door. She looked young and attractive in a wholesome way. In fact, Jeff was staring at her so energetically that he failed to notice that Chief Burdock had cut the engine and thrown the door open. "Come on, Chico,†the Chief said and Jeff followed him inside.
It was an old-fashioned kitchen with a great wooden table upon which were deployed the implements of pie-making and several specimens of pie. A fireplace blazed against the far wall. Delicious cooking aromas penetrated every receptive quarter of Jeff's skull as he took it all in. Something succulent was roasting away in the oven -- a haunch of deer or moose, he wondered? Jeff was in such a transport that he failed to see another boy his age quietly enter the room. The boy bore a striking resemblance to Chief Burdock, his face also somewhat dish-shaped, but he was an inch or two taller than Jeff.
"Chico. . . ?â€
"I'd like you to meet Mrs. Burdock -- Mary -- and my son, Chester,†the Chief said.
"Chester?†Jeff repeated, thrilled. "Like Marshall Dillon's sidekick on TV?â€
The other boy nodded his head sheepishly as though he'd heard this many times before, but he stuck his hand out to shake. "Everyone calls me Chet,†he said.
"Say Chet,†the Chief said. "Why don't you take Chico here out to the barn and show him Sarge?â€
"Sure, Pop.â€
"Who's this Sarge?†Jeff inquired, thinking it might be someone in whose ill-tempered custody he would now be placed.
"Sarge is my horse,†Chet said,
"You've got a horse? God. . . !â€
"Sure. Come on. I'll show him to you.â€
"What'd you say your name was?†Chet asked as they entered the barn.
"Chico Fernandez,†Jeff replied, gazing at the huge, dim interior in wonder. He had never been in a real barn before. The loft was filled with bales of hay, which filled the place with an odd but lovely summery aroma. Old tools and harness hung from the massive posts and beams.
"Say, are you any relation to the fella who plays third base for the Dee-troit Tigers?†Chet asked.
"Not that I know of.â€
"I saw that show, The West Side Story, up to the Strand, and you don't look Spanish.â€
"I'm not. It's a nickname, actually.â€
"I never heard of any nickname that had a last name.â€
"No? We had a guy in our bunk at camp once that everyone called Mighty Mouse.â€
"Anyways, what's your reg'lar name?â€
"I'm not sure. I'm an orphan.â€
"Oh. . . .†Chet let it drop and entered a box stall. "This here's Sarge,†he said proudly, bringing a big sorrel horse forward, whose nostrils discharged great huffing clouds of steam. Chet stroked the animal's cheek and fed him a carrot. "Go ahead, you can touch him.â€
Jeff hesitated, then reached up and petted Sarge's nose.
"It's all velvety!†he cried.
"We have a lot of fun, Sarge and me. Only he's real stubborn. You always have to let him know who's boss.â€
"Can you ride him whenever you want?â€
"Sure. 'Cept during school.â€
"God. . . . How old are you?â€
"Jeez, me too. When's your birthday?â€
"June thirteenth.â€
"You're kidding?â€
"Mine's June twelfth! Isn't that an amazing coincidence?â€
"I guess it is.â€
"Could we ride Sarge tomorrow maybe?â€
"Sure. I guess. After the Christmas stuff.â€
"What Christmas stuff,†Jeff asked, imagining for a moment some weird rite of hymn-singing and prayer.
"The presents and all like that.â€
"Oh,†Jeff said, lowering his gaze across the hay-strewn floor.
Observing Jeff's sudden plunge into melancholy, Chet ventured to broach the delicate subject. "Chico, where are you from?†he asked.
"Oh, I've been all over: Iowa, New York, Transylvania. When you're an orphan, you have to move around a lot.â€
"What happened to you?â€
"I got booted out. My so-called parents turned out to be a couple of phonies.â€
"Yeah, it was a big disappointment. Boy, was I ever surprised.â€
"I'll bet.â€
"Hey, Chet, would you be upset if I asked your parents to adopt me?â€
Chet flinched. The idea was so startling.
"Naw,†he eventually said. "Go ahead and ask 'em.â€
"Hey, that's really great. Only, don't say I mentioned it, okay? I don't want to seem pushy about it.â€
"All right.â€
"It's just that, you know, when you're a kid, you need a place to take a bath and all.â€
"Not that I'm dirty.â€
They returned to the warm house to find a sumptuous
feast laid across the great table. Chief Burdock carved a baked ham
studded with cloves and pineapple rings.
"Mmm-mmm,†Chet said, rubbing his hands.
"What kind of meat is that?†Jeff inquired.
"Why, it's a ham, Chico,†Mary Burdock said. "What else do suppose it might be?â€
"Moose. . . ?â€
"Guess what, Pop,†Chet said. "Chico's birthday is the day right before mine, June twelve.â€
"How do you like that?†Mary Burdock said.
"And he's from all over: New York, Pennsylvania--â€
"How much does it cost to get a horse?†Jeff interrupted so as to quash the subject of his origins.
"Depends on the animal,†Chief Burdock said.
"One like Sarge.â€
"Oh, well, Chet raised him up from a colt for a Four-H project.â€
"Could I do that? Raise up a horse of my own from a baby?â€
"I don't see why not,†Mary Burdock said.
The Chief cut a glance at his wife. "Okay, everyone. Have a seat. Pass up your plate, son.â€
Supper itself took a more sober turn. Jeff was afraid that he had insinuated himself a little too brashly about the horse, as though he were scheming to stick around for a long while. But the truth was that the Burdock family had entered a kind of feeding transport, concentrating fiercely on the contents of their plates. This was rather different table behavior than Jeff was accustomed to back in New York, where the Greenaway woman and her husband had blabbed their way through entire meals, sometimes both talking at the same time. Unbeknownst to Jeff was the additional fact that while he had been out in the barn with Chet, Chief Burdock had put in a call to the state police in Brattleboro, who happened to have an all points bulletin out of New York City on an eleven-year-old boy who fit Jeff's description but exactly. And the state police, in turn, had notified the anguished parents about Chief Burdock's discovery in faraway Drakesville.
After a luscious desert of apple crumb pie, there was a rush among the family to get into town for the Christmas Eve service, what with the roads so sloppy, and drifts beginning to accumulate where the woods gave out to open fields. But, at eight o'clock sharp, Jeff found himself in a wooden pew near the front of the two hundred year old congregational church surrounded by an excited, buzzing crowd of red-cheeked Vermonters. He had never been to an actual church service -- though he had peeked inside the entrance of St. Patrick's Cathedral once or twice, with its exotic odor of incense and spookish medieval interior. He'd never been in a synagogue, either, since the Greenaways were non-practicing, and none of his friends had yet attained the age of the bar mitzvah. But the cheerful, heady scene in the Drakesville congregational church, with its fir swags along the balcony, and the austere lines of its architecture, and an organ playing familiar carols, appealed to him very much. The people seemed like the kind of folk usually seen only in Jimmy Stewart movies.
The service proper was festive, short on prayer, and long on caroling. A twenty-member choir led the congregation in all the favorites, to most of which Jeff knew the tunes, if not the lyrics. The Minister, a bookish man who oddly resembled Mr. Peevis, the principal of Public School No. Six, gave a seven-minute sermon about peace on earth and loving thy neighbor, and then, as the organ launched into a muscular version of "Joy to the World,†the congregation was dismissed. Chief Burdock was buttonholed by dozens of townspeople as he made his way up the aisle, and Jeff glowed with the prospect of joining one of the most beloved families in all of Drakesville.
Outside, it had stopped snowing, and the trip home -- that is, to the Burdock farm -- was a Currier and Ives lithograph of Christmas in New England come-to-life, the moon emerging over a distant mountaintop, the snow sparkling as though it were composed of silver glitter, the tree boughs hung with white sleeves over the road, and, over it all, a wonderful rural stillness that seemed to hold back time so that Christmas and childhood might last forever.
Mrs. Burdock set up a cot for Jeff in Chet's room. It was discovered that Jeff's briefcase contained only one pair of clean socks and underpants (and a Jimmy Peirsall model fielder's glove) so he borrowed a pair of pajamas from Chet. The Chief came in for a minute to wish them good night and to warn them against opening presents before he and Mrs. Burdock got up. Then the light switch was thrown and the door closed. But moonlight flooded the window, and as new friends who take a liking to each other will, the boys stayed awake for hours -- Jeff bragging of his adventures in New York City and Transylvania, and Chet telling yet more astounding tales of the eight-point buck he had shot with his father that fall, and of lunker trout that lurked in certain pools of Black Brook, and of the first time he rode Sarge clear over to Newfane to impress his twelve-year-old cousin, Jenny, who was the most beautiful girl in all of Windham County (if you cared about that sort of thing), until all their tales become a dream of flying horses and Jeff fell sound asleep
The warning about opening presents too early proved unnecessary
because the boys didn't wake up until Mary Burdock put the bacon on to
fry. Then, after a big waffle breakfast, everybody went into the parlor
-- as it was called -- to open presents. Mary Burdock went first,
wrestling with an enormous box that contained one those new electric
toaster-ovens that was making the tedium of cookery a thing of the past
for modern women. Then Chet opened his first present: a fly-tying kit.
Next, Mary Burdock handed a box to Jeff saying, "Merry Christmas,
Chico, dear.†He was amazed. Being a realist, he assumed that there
hadn't been any time to get presents for him, or even discover what
kinds of things he liked, so he had not expected anything. In any case,
he thanked the Burdocks lavishly and then ripped the wrapping paper off
the box, which turned out to be a jigsaw puzzle of a duck-hunting
scene. The truth was, Jeff loathed puzzles, especially of the jigsaw
variety. But he was so grateful to receive anything, and took it as a
such a promising sign of his prospects, that he gushed over it at
length, admiring the artistry of the duck-hunting scene ("they're
pintails!†Chet informed him), and exclaiming on the degree of
difficulty it called for ("It'll probably take a million years to
finish!†he exclaimed), that the effort nearly exhausted him.
The Chief got a green-checked wool hunting shirt from Chet. Mrs. Burdock got a blender (more household tedium vanquished), and Chet got a camping knife with a fork and spoon that cleverly folded onto its sides, and a leather pouch to wear on his belt. Jeff was given a floppy package that proved to be a pair of pajamas. If you included the pair he had borrowed from Chet, he figured he now had enough pajamas to last through high school. One thing he wouldn't have to worry about any more was pajamas, he remarked. Thank God for that, and everybody agreed. Finally, with a pretty good imitation of fanfare -- Mary Burdock singing tum-tah-tah-tum -- the Chief brought forth a long, skinny package hidden behind the rear of the tree, and handed it to Chet.
"Aw, Pop,†Chet said. With eyes glistening, he tore into the red metallic wrapping. Shortly, a Remington bolt-action varmint rifle emerged. "Gosh, it's a beaut!â€
"Jeez,†Jeff exclaimed in admiration (and envy), "a BB gun!â€
"It's not a BB gun. It's a twenty-two.â€
"A real rifle?†Jeff gasped.
"That's right, Chico,†the Chief said.
To Jeff, this was a Christmas present beyond anybody's wildest imaginings – surely beyond anything plausible in the world he came from. In New York City, a parent would no more give his eleven-year-old child a rifle than he would give it a Diner's Club card. To live in a place where a boy could have a rifle of his very own, and a real horse to go with it, was so outlandishly fantastic that Jeff wondered for a moment why he hadn't run away sooner.
"Can we take it out and try her, Pop?†Chet asked.
"I don't see why not. Go get dressed, boys.â€
"They hurried upstairs, where Chet lent Jeff a flannel shirt and a pair of dungarees as Vermonters called blue jeans. When they got out back behind the house, Chief Burdock had just finished tying a big tomato juice can from a string to the limb of an apple tree. He produced a box of bullets from deep in his pants pocket and handed them to Chet.
"Lock and load, son.â€
Chet slipped a cartridge in the chamber and closed the bolt.
"Fire at will, son.â€
The can spun wildly on it's string while the report of the gunshot echoed off the a distant hillside a full second later. A thrilling smell of cordite hung in the still cold air.
"She shoots great, Pop!â€
"We'll have to sight her in on a bench rest, of course.â€
"Chet took several more shots, hitting the can every time, and then casually handed the rifle to Jeff. "You try a few, Chico.â€
"God. . . !â€
The rifle was so heavy. Much more than even a baseball bat.
"Your safety's that little red button there on the trigger-guard, son,†Chief Burdock said, handing over some bullets. "Lock and load, Chico.â€
Jeff eased a bullet into the breach just as he'd watched Chet do. The mechanical precision of the bolt thrilled him. The tomato juice can looked like a flyspeck in his sights fifty feet away. He closed his eyes just before he pulled the trigger and missed the can.
Just then, Mary Burdock came out the back door in her shirtsleeves and called to her husband. "Cal, would you come here for a minute?â€
"Ayuh,†he replied. "You boys be careful, now.â€
While the chief was inside, Chet offered Jeff a little shooting instruction: how to hold the weapon, how to squeeze the trigger instead of jerking it, and to keep his eyes open while he fired. By the time Chief Burdock reemerged from the house, Jeff had hit the can several times in succession.
"Uh, Chico, would you come inside for a minute, please.â€
"Sure,†Jeff said, handing the rifle back to Chet. He figured now that Christmas was officially over he'd have to start doing some chores to earn his keep. Still, to live in a place like this with an adopted brother like Chet, with a horse and a real rifle, was worth doing a few chores. He hadn't noticed any cows in the barn, so he supposed that they wanted him to take a pail of water out for Sarge. Imagine his shock to step into the parlor and find the Greenaways sitting together on the sofa.
"Jeff!†his mother cried and flew across the room, engulfing him in her arms. His father followed in a more measured male manner.
"Get away from me!†Jeff screamed and wriggled away.
"Jeff, please!†his mother sobbed.
"Impostors! Fakes! Phonies!†he shouted at them. "They're not my parents.â€
His mother took a couple of steps toward him, but Jeff kept backing away.
"Please, pussycat,†his mother continued to sob. "What is it? What's the matter? Why did you run away?â€
"You know why. 'Cause I'm an orphan. You only got married 'cause someone stuck me on your doorstep in a willow basket. I hate you.â€
"Son. . . .†his father advanced a step.
"Keep away!†Jeff said. "Help! Help! Chet, help!â€
Chief Burdock, unsure what to do, seized Jeff by the shoulders. "Calm down, son,†he said.
"Leggo of me!†Jeff howled.
Suddenly Chet rushed into the room, the rifle in his hands.
"Plug 'em, Chet! Quick! Save me!â€
"I can't shoot people, Chico.â€
"Put the rifle away, son,†Chief Burdock said.
By this time, sensing it was hopeless, Jeff collapsed in a heap at Chief Burdock's feet, blubbering. It was arranged that the Greenaways could go upstairs with Jeff to the Burdocks' bedroom, to try to reason with him. And though it took almost two hours, they eventually succeeded in persuading him that he was not an orphan, that he was their son, that they had legal documents to prove it, that what he had overheard on Friday night was all a terrible misunderstanding, and that they were very very sorry.
All in all, Jeff was relieved to have his familiar world reconstructed and returned to him, and as the now reconciled Greenaway family prepared to depart in the rented car that waited outside, he was even able to recall a few cherished details about the city that was his home – the shrunken head gallery at the Museum of Natural History, Yankee Stadium, the faces of his friends back at Public School Number Six, the first floor showroom of Abercrombie and Fitch, and so on. But it was with a palpable sense of reluctance and regret that he departed the Burdock farm that Christmas afternoon.
For some months after that, he exchanged letters with Chet
– who continued to call him Chico – and there was some fairly serious talk among the Greenaways and the Burdocks about letting Jeff come up to visit in June, when the boys could ride Sarge and shoot varmints and catch lunker trout in Black Brook. But the truth was that Jeff knew if he returned to Drakesville he might never want to come back to the city again. So he made various excuses until summer commenced and the Greenaways went off to their rented cottage on Nantucket, where the whalefishes blow.
The End


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Orange County
Department of Education
Department of
A charter school petition that has been denied by the governing board of a local school district may be submitted to the Orange County Board of Education (OCBE) for consideration.
The Orange County Department of Education's Charter Schools Unit is responsible for facilitating the charter school petition submission process by:
Organizing a multi-disciplinary team to review the petition
Making a recommendation to OCBE to approve or deny the petition
Answering questions petitioners may have regarding the process
The links below offer information on the appeal process.
Notice of Intent to Submit Charter School Petition
Charter School Petition Appeal Process Following District Denial
Charter School Petition Appeal Process Flow Chart
Charter School Appeal Petition Review Legal Standards

subset: commoncrawl


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Uh oh. The Beer Garden has pissed off the Timbers Army! Let me reiterate my point: I don't care if it's my money that goes into renovating PGE Park and building a new stadium in the Lents neighborhood or not. I just don't think it's a good idea, and that's nothing against the sport of soccer per se, even though I'm certainly among the majority of Americans in my total ambivalance to the sport. Yeah, the world loves it. The world also loves cricket, and team handball. Should I feel guilty for being excited about the start of the NFL season?
Thousands of Portlanders care about soccer. That's true. However I don't believe that 20,000 people will turn out every time the MLS team plays, and that's what they'd need. Even the Blazers don't always manage a sellout, and they're an NBA franchise. The Beavers have drawn poorly, with the Timbers doing even worse in home attendance. Portland State can barely get 8,000 fans at football games, even though the school has 25,000 students.
Maybe it's the venue, and if so, then maybe this plan makes sense. But maybe it's the product. And if that's the case, you could play your games at Qwest Field and it wouldn't make a bit of difference. Improve the product. Then think about getting fans through the doors. Nobody wants to watch minor league sports, which is exactly what MLS is.
Update: Reader Allison Andrews burns me with some sweet attendance info. Check it out.
"Beavers average attendance: 5,607 this year, which is 9th out of 16 teams in the Pacific Coast League. They averaged 5,478 last year.
Timbers average attendance: 8,249 this year, which is a 21% increase over last year (6,828), which was a 22% increase over the year before. They are 2nd in the league out of 11 teams this year."
Thanks, Allison! Great info, something I obviously didn't take the time to collect. Perhaps this proves my point even better, however. The Timbers are indeed drawing well compared to the other teams in their league, but they are not drawing well enough to support an MLS team, at least in my opinion. The US Open Cup was recently played in front of less than 8,300 people. The sport is not healthy. That's my main argument for not acquiring an MLS team. Heck, a team might draw well in Portland. Really well. But I don't have much faith in the health of the league overall. EuroCup sure was fun, though.


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When I was growing up, one of my favourite places to hang out was Ed's Diner on the Kings Road in Chelsea. My friends and I would go in for a milkshake and some wet fries every weekend; we loved the vintage American vibe and you got a lot of milkshake and fries for your Saturday job money, plus their famous jukeboxes played all our favourite 50s and 60s tunes!
But then the parade of shops that 'our' Ed's Diner was a part of was demolished and the restaurant was no more and, although other Ed's opened in different areas of London, I never actually visited any of them; I just didn't think they'd be the same. Then I grew up and eventually left London altogether and, if I'm honest, I didn't hear anything of my old favourite haunt until last week, when the girls and I were invited to sample the menu at the Ed's Diner in Norwich! As we were in town visiting the RocknRoller Baby family, we took them up on their offer and, after a long day at the beach, six of us piled in for a much wanted feast on our way home.
Although this particular restaurant is in a modern shopping centre, that retro vibe was still very much present and I had all sorts of flashbacks walking in there for the first time in over a decade!
With the same vintage decor, and jukeboxes in every booth (which were still only 20p a song!) I remembered exactly why I had loved the place so much in my youth, and straight away the girls seemed to love it too.
We sat down in our booth and were handed our menus. The kids also got a brilliant kids pack, which I have to comment on as it was, without doubt, the best and most up-to-date kids pack we've ever been given at a restaurant. Everyone was given a little Ed's bag which contained the usual puzzles and crayons, but also a Photo Booth frame and props to take silly photos. Everyone loved them and they helped to successfully keep the children entertained long after our meals had come out too.
We kick started our Ed's experience with Nutella milkshakes (for the kids) and bottles of Sam Adams for me and Ruth, plus some Mac n Cheese bites and mozzarella sticks for the littlies to nibble on while we looked over the menus.
Ed's is a little more expensive than your average UK burger joint, but the quality of the food is exceptional - and the staff in the Norwich restaurant were brilliant too. In my usual forgetful style, I omitted to mention my dairy intolerance before we went but Annie, our server, was very knowledgeable about all the ingredients and was able to help me pick a suitable meal. I went for the chilli dog but in a gluten free bun (they come in a brioche bun as standard which contains milk). I also had chips and onion rings as part of the Ed's Plate meal deal and, again, substituted the coleslaw (which contained dairy) to the jalapeño jelly, which was SO GOOD!
Daisy and Evie ordered the junior cheeseburger and puppy dog (mini hot dog) and both went down a treat. Everybody was very excited by the smiley faces in the tomato sauce!
I wasn't quick enough in getting any photos of the girls' desserts.... Daisy ordered an adults portion of the waffle s'more with Nutella and ice cream (like she hadn't had enough Nutella already ;)) and Evie (surprisingly!) went for the healthier option of a fruit ice lolly. Ruth's kids had pancakes which were absolutely huge! Desserts aren't part of the kids meal deal at Ed's but for £5.95 you do get a main, side and a drink and pudding is only an addition £1.95.
Unfortunately there weren't any dairy free options on the adults dessert menu, although I was offered a fruit lolly from the kids menu - but I was so full after that chilli dog that I was more than happy with an espresso!
I loved dining at Ed's again and was so glad to be able to take the girls to a restaurant that played such a memorable part of my own childhood. We ended up being there for two and a half hours and probably would have stayed longer if we weren't conscious of it being the littlies bedtime (and hometime for the all lovely staff!)
We left laden with balloons and with bellies full of delicious American food - and with plans of what to order next time we visit (which will definitely be soon!) We need to work our way through the menu!
Thanks so much to Ed's Diner for inviting us down, and special thanks to Annie, our server, for her dairy free knowledge and for being so good with the children!
We were given a complimentary meal in exchange for this honest review. All words are honest and images are my own.


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August 2019 LibraryReads
The Right Swipe
Alisha Rai
"An intelligent, multicultural contemporary romance. Rhi, CEO of the Crush dating app, and Samson, NFL star, embark on a joint project that turns into more than just talk. Issues of #MeToo in the tech industry and the NFL's concussion problem are woven in. For readers of the Forbidden Heart series, Elle Wright, and Alyssa Cole."
Jessica Werner, The Seattle Public Library, Seattle, WA
NoveList Read-alike:
by Alexa Martin
Ellie and the Harpmaker
Hazel Prior
"When Ellie walks into the Harp Barn, her life is bound to change. Dan the harpmaker is a sensitive soul who gives Ellie a harp. Ellie's husband Clive thinks the gift is inappropriate and doesn't support her desire to play, so she takes lessons behind his back. An engaging and tender book for fans of Fredrik Backman and Graeme Simsion."
Kathleen Harriott, Punta Gorda Public Library, Punta Gorda, FL
NoveList Read-alike:
The Music Shop
by Rachel Joyce
Téa Obreht
"Obreht lays a mythical voice over an already dreamlike landscape of drought in Arizona. A mother and half-grown sons generate a powerful dynamic not often explored, and the youngest, who knows about scary beasts, brings magic and intuition. A journey into a barren world, inside and out. For fans of Larry Watson and Alice Hoffman."
Katherine Phenix, Rangeview Library District, Adams County, CO
NoveList Read-alike:
The Moor's Account
by Laila Lalami
The Last Widow
Karen Slaughter
"A fast-paced thriller in the Will Trent series has Will and Sara trying to prevent a deadly epidemic. The book tells the story of what is happening to three different people during the same short time periods, as they are unaware of the actions of the others. For readers who enjoy Tana French and John Sanford."
Susanne Guide, Union County Public Library, Liberty, IN
NoveList Read-alike: The Helen Grace series by M.J. Arlidge
Life and Other Inconveniences
Kristan Higgins
"Explores the complex relationships between caregivers and their children, as four generations of one family reflect on their past, and the failing health of the family matriarch looms large. For readers who like fully developed characters with real-world problems, and fans of Jennifer Weiner and Susan Elizabeth Phillips."
Amanda Kowalcze, Green Hills Public Library District, Palos Hills, IL
NoveList Read-alike:
The Precious One
by Marisa de los Santos
Sapphire Flames: A Hidden Legacy Novel
Ilona Andrews
"The fifth Hidden Legacy paranormal adventure requires middle sister Catalina, now head of House Baylor, to use all her skills and poise to make the right decisions for herself and her family. For fans of Nalini Singh's Psy/Changeling series and Patricia Briggs'
Moon Called
Lynne Welch, Herrick Memorial Library, Wellington, OH
NoveList Read-alike: The Lily Bound series by Yasmine Galenorn
The Swallows
Lisa Lutz
"A dark, satirical book that centers around a school and the revenge that we seek in times of humiliation. It's a twisty read that will have you following an investigation filled with secrets, lies, and threats. For readers who liked
by Curtis Sittenfeld and
Small Admissions
by Amy Poeppel."
Kathryn Neal, Skiatook Library, Skiatook, OK
NoveList Read-alike:
The Red Word
by Sarah Henstra
Things You Save in a Fire
Katherine Center
"A traumatic event as a young woman has left firefighter Cassie with a hard shell which breaks apart as she learns about forgiveness, love, and friendship. With gripping firefighting scenes and a love story, this is perfect for fans of Jo Jo Moyes or Marisa de los Santos.
Alissa Williams, Morton Public Library, Morton, IL
NoveList Read-alike:
Evvie Drake Starts Over
by Linda Holmes
The Warehouse
Rob Hart
"Paxton and Zinnia are new employees at Cloud where they work, live, and have their productivity and location tracked through their smartwatches. Gibson is the dying industrialist who created the Cloud company and is touring the country visiting his facilities. This near-future dystopian sci-fi thriller made me leery of ever shopping online again. For fans of
The Circle
by Dave Eggers and
Notes from the Internet Apocalypse
by Wayne Gladstone."
Dan Brooks, Wake County Public Library, Raleigh, NC
NoveList Read-alike:
by George Orwell
The Whisper Man
Alex North
"Tom and his son Jake move to Featherbank to rebuild their life after the death of Tom's wife; unknown to them, the town has a dark history and another little boy has gone missing and Jake begins to hear whispers in his new house. For fans of Joe Hill and Paul Tremblay."
Jennifer Winberry, Hunterdon County Library, Flemington, NJ
NoveList Read-alike:
The Craftsman
by Sharon Bolton
Find more great reading recommendations in NoveList
Contra Costa County Library
777 Arnold Drive, Suite 210 | Martinez, California 94553 | 800-984-4636


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All Cabinet ministerial portfolios will be filled before November 14 and the relevant gazette notification will be issued, Co-Cabinet Spokesman and Ports and Shipping Minister Mahinda Samarasinghe said.
Seating arrangements in Parliament will be done according to this gazette notification. Everything will be done according to the Constitution, Parliament traditions and existing laws of the country, Samarasinghe told the weekly Cabinet press briefing held at the Government Information Department Auditorium in Colombo yesterday.
He said that the Chief Organiser will be named soon. Parliament will be convened and the President's proclamation will be read. May be the policy statement will also be made. Then Parliament will be adjourned.
Samarasinghe said if a no confidence motion was handed over to the Parliament Secretary General with the required signatures, it will be put into the Order Book. Then it will be taken up during the Party Leaders' meeting. Then a date will be fixed. Then it will be included in the order paper. Then it will be debated. Then it will be subjected to a vote. A date will be given as early as possible. This is very clearly mentioned in the Standing Orders.There is no confusion whatsoever. Minister Samarasinghe said the Speaker should act according to the Constitution, Parliament traditions and the law of the country without being biased. Offering a Cabinet portfolio is not bribing someone. It is appointing a suitable person to a suitable position. Anybody can talk about this with anyone. Former Minister S.B. Dissanayake did not mention 'money' during his telephone conversation with UNP MP Range Bandara. He did not mention about cash, he said.
Co-Cabinet Spokesman and Mass Media and Digital Infrastructure State Minister Keheliya Rambukwella thanked British Parliamentarian Lord Naseby for being not biased and taking a balanced stand.


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Making Disciples
What should be our main focus as a church? Sometimes churches focus just on survival – paying the bills and making sure that the facilities are in order. Other churches focus on comfort — am I comfortable when I come to worship? Is everything to my liking (songs/sermon) ? Were the people friendly enough to me today? Still there are other churches that worry about relevancy — are we cool enough to attract persons A, B and C? Hopefully we are not focused on any of those things. Jesus told us that we are to be about two things, both as a church and as individual members of the body of Christ: the Great Commandment and the Great Commission. We are to be primarily focused upon two things as a church: loving God with all we are and out of that love being obedient to make disciples and help them to grow. Anything else must be secondary to Christ's command.
How do we make disciples? We make disciples the same way you taught your children to play ball or learn to cook or mow the lawn. You
demonstrate before them what the desired result is. You spend time with them helping them with the task until they have mastered it. And, you probably enjoy the time together. That is discipleship. Disciple making means to get involved in people's lives, to love them enough to spend time getting to know them and sharing Christ with them through our life. It means being able to share the hope that we have in Christ and to live our life before them, showing them what it means to live out that hope. It means to share with them how you are growing and how they can grow as well. Discipleship is not an option if we want to be faithful to Christ. Remember, Christ said, "If you love me, keep my commandments." We have a mission field right at our door (and inside our church). Pray with me that we keep the focus of Aldersgate United Methodist Church on what is on God's heart.
In Christ,
Bro. Barry


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Beta SX Hybrid Recorder
Betacam SX Hybrid Recorder with Betacam SP playback compatibility.Includes 90 minutes internal HDD storage, with additional external RAID storage optional.Supports both linear and nonlinear editing, controlling both tape and disk from the VTR front panel.Optional DNE-50 GUI editor offers time line editing.
Simple, User-Friendly Operation
High Quality of MPEG2 4:2:2P@ML
Playback Capability of Analog Betacam and Betacam SP Tapes
Long Recording Time
Comprehensive Indication Display
High speed Picture Search
Jog Speed Control
Remote Control Interface
Versatile System Interface
Versatile Editing Features
Cost Efficiency
Equipped for ISR
The DNW-A50 provides simple, VTR-like operation from the control panel. The control panel operates basic editing functions on both hard drive and tape transport, with a familiar Jog/Shuttle dial to give editors a hands-on feel.
For Betacam SX recording, a single S-cassette records up to 60 minutes of audio/video signals, while an L-cassette records for up to 184 minutes.
The Betacam SX format records 8-bit, 4:2:2 sampled component digital signals using an advanced compression algorithm, which results in a reduced bit rate of 18Mbps for the video signal, achieving greater efficiency both in transmitting the signal from the field to the station and in storage onto disk, while at the same time maintaining broadcast-quality pictures and supporting 4-channel, 16-ªbit/48kHz digital audio.
The DNW-A50 includes both tape transport and 90 minutes of hard drive storage for video and audio. Control of disk is intuitive and similar to tape operations.
The Betacam SX format used in the DNW-A50 yields significant economies in both tape and maintenance costs, with longer tape recording times, and reduced cost of replacement drums.
In addition to the LED indicators, various information on the operation status of the Hybrid Recorder can be displayed digitally on the front control panel. Time code, CTL, user-bit data, duration, and time remaining of both tape and disk area, error messages, and set-up menus are displayed.
Through its Sony 9-pin remote interface, the DNW-A50 can be remotely controlled from the DNE-50 or DNE-700 Editing Systems and the DLE-110 Live Editing System, providing GUI-based non-linear editing. Current BVE series editing controllers can also control the tape transport of the DNW-A50 as a player.
Includes: SDI interface, analog composite/component input and output, analog 4ch audio input/output, AES/EBU input/output, time code input/output, SCSI I/F, remote control, and RS-232C remote control.
Excellent editing functionality is achieved through full or simple edit modes, voice-over recording, Good Shot Marker indexing, insert edit, and overlay edit, among other features.
Analog Betacam and Betacam SP recordings made on oxide or metal particle tape can be played back on the DNW-A50.
Recording format: Betacam SX
Tape speed, Betacam SX: 59.6mm/s
Tape speed, Betacam playback: 118.6mm/s
Tape: Digital record/playback time: Max 184 min with BCT-184SXL cassette
Tape: Fast forward/rewind time: Approx 3 min with BCT-184SXL cassette
Smooth JOG speed range: -1 to +1 times normal playback speed
SEARCH speed range (shuttle mode): +/- 50 times normal playback speed
Disk record/playback time: 90 min
Disk smooth JOG speed range: -1 to +1 times normal playback speed
Disk search speed range: +/- 100 times normal playback speed
Minimum duration of Edit EVENT: 0.5s
Maximum record/feed speed: 1 times normal playback speed
|Main category
|Broadcast, Film and Audio
|Cameras & Lenses
|Client type
|Machinery dealer
|On Kitmondo since
|Number of listings
|Last activity
|July 31, 2015


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Max Capps New Ronin Trucks Video Part: Killer Condor
With smoked wheels and his speed leathers, Max Capps teamed up with Send It Skate Media to capture the local Ronin runs. Max runs a very little board, but it doesnt stop him from taking the smoothest lines, even without changing the setup between hills. He runs 45/20 130/120 standard rake on a 24.5 wheelbase.
Film – James Webster, Send It Skate Media
Song – Big Boi – Kill Jill


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The Stone Spotlight Series competition engages in-house two-person teams that vie for the chance to have their recipe brewed and distributed nationwide. This year's winning team of Miguel Ceja Andrade and Brandon Berube rolled in like mercenaries and were crowned champions for their East-meets-West Coast IPA creation. The beer begins infiltrating restaurants, bars and retailers this week.
Both Miguel and Brandon love a good hoppy IPA with classic West Coast style bitterness but had been scoping out the juicy fruit characteristics of the trendy New England style IPA. So the inspiration for their winning brew came from a desire to combine the two for a high ABV, juicy beer that's insanely delicious. Miguel Ceja Andrade / Brandon Berube / Stone Merc Machine is one of the most intense hop experiences Stone Brewing has ever created (and that's saying a lot).
Stone's crowning Spotlight Series beer pours golden with some haze and a tropical, fruity aroma layered with a hint of dankness and an underlying biscuit malt aroma. Dankness complements apricot and tropical fruit flavors. It's mildly bitter with a touch of alcohol, a testament to the 9% ABV.
"We have some amazing, passionate, and talented brewers here at Stone Brewing," said Jeremy Moynier, Stone's senior innovation brewing manager. "The Stone Spotlight Series is the perfect place to showcase these talents and Brandon and Miguel hit it out of the park with this beer that combines different aspects of IPA. We are a hop-driven brewery and it was genius for them to use the combo of Cascade, Amarillo, and Simcoe in the way that they did. It was awesome to brew this beer on the big system and we are totally proud of these guys. I can't wait to kick back, relax and enjoy the explosive flavor of this beer!"
Miguel Ceja Andrade / Brandon Berube / Stone Merc Machine will be available for a limited time in select states in 22oz bottles and draft.
- Name: Miguel Ceja Andrade / Brandon Berube / Stone Merc Machine
- Web: stonebrewing.com/mercmachine and stonebrewing.com/beer/spotlight
- Stats: 9% ABV, 48 IBUs
- Availability: National, limited release in 22-ounce bottles and draft
- Featured Hops: Cascade, Citra, Simcoe and Amarillo
- National Distribution: AZ, AK, CA, CT, IA, IL, IN, MA, MI, MN, MO, NV, NY OH, PA, RI, TX, UT, WA, and WI
- International Distribution: Australia, Costa Rica, Germany, Hong Kong, Japan, Korea, Mexico, Singapore and Thailand
- Find Beer: find.stonebrewing.com
- Appearance: Golden with some haze and a stable white head with fine bubbles.
- Aroma: Fresh fruit, peach, tropical, floral, with a hint of dankness and an underlying biscuit malt aroma.
- Taste: A touch of wheat flavor unfolds into apricot, red berry, tropical fruit, and dankness.
- Palate: A light malt backbone supports a full palate of fruit with a lingering clean finish. There's moderate bitterness and a touch of alcohol.
- Overall: This year's Stone Spotlight Series Competition was undoubtedly worthy of a national release! Two of our brewers, Miguel Ceja Andrade and Brandon Berube, came up with this recipe out of their passion for awesome IPAs. A blend of West Coast and East Coast style, this beer has a lot of fruit character and is juicy with moderate bitterness and dankness.
An amazingly complex beer with myriad of fruit flavors both from fruit and hops, with hints of wheat as a backbone and a slight hint of pepper on the finish. It's an adventurous beer that will pair well with adventurous flavors!
- Starters: Seitan Satay Skewers with Peanut Sauce, Oysters on the Half Shell, Humus with Crackers, Amaebi (sweet shrimp sushi), Marinated Jumbo Shrimp wrapped in Crispy Egg Noodles, Olas y Cesped Tacos**
- Soups and Salads: Butter Lettuce and Radicchio Salad with Raspberry Vinaigrette, Toasted Barley and Spinach Salad*, Winter Fruit Salad, Butternut Squash Soup, Scotch Broth
- Main Courses: Corned Beef and Cabbage with Spicy Mustard, Chicken Pot Pie, Stone Shrimp & Grits*, Zaru Soba, Misr Wat (Ethiopian red lentils) with Injera, Salmon Chraimeh*, Pulled Pork Sandwich
- Desserts: Crème Brulee, Strawberry or Raspberry Tart, Vanilla Custard, Trifle, Cannoli
*Pairings available at Stone Brewing World Bistro & Gardens – Escondido. View full menu here.
*Pairings available at select Stone Brewing World Bistro & Gardens – Liberty Station. View full menu here.
For more information on Stone Brewing, please visit stonebrewing.com or the company's social media sites: Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest and Twitter.
You must be logged in to post a comment.


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Over the past month, 14 United Voice Queensland school cleaners and teacher aides have taken time out from their roles to work full-time with the union.
They've done a fantastic job visiting schools across the state, talking with their colleagues and fellow members about the main priorities for upcoming collective bargaining.
As a result of these conversations, about 800 new members from the education sector have joined the United Voice family!
We know that standing united in the fight for improved wages and conditions is vital.
With even more strength behind them, teacher aides and school cleaners are in a powerful position when bargaining begins.
Want to be part of winning a job you can count on in your work?
Do you like this post?


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It's been a while since I've written, and while I know that no apology is necessary, I almost feel as though it's compulsory to give an excuse for my absence. I don't yet have the words for it, but I will do my best to try. Later.
In the interim, I stumbled across a short musing I had written early last semester. It's wordy and written in a voice that I no doubt integrated from a book I was reading at the time, but it's true nonetheless. That was a time that I quite enjoyed writing down what was going on with me. It is probably an exercise that had kept me sane back then. I know this because the throwback was enough to make me return here, as I've been trying to make myself do for the past few months. Perhaps that's an indication that God has something to do with this – plus, it's Thursday, the official day of the week for pensive throwbacks. Continue reading


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Insulation Services
Insulation is a critical component of any building's design. Your insulation choices will affect overall energy performance, monthly energy usage, monthly cost to heat & cool, and comfort of the occupants.
At Carrig and Dancer we:
- Approved vendor with utility companies and public utility districts for rebates and incentives
- Furnish and install all types of insulation products
- Offer expert technical support for both product and application
- Provide samples of products: fiberglass, cellulose, mineral wool, and injection foam


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And I don't mean gorging on vegetables. To veg is 'to engage in relaxing or passive activities' and that was on the day's itinerary.
This morning, I woke up to the gentle sounds of the rain falling on my window (I feel a song coming) and was instantly lulled back to sleep. I was on to a very good start. My entire morning was basically spent watching TV with a bag of Royce Chocolate Potato Chips in hand. These chips are a bit of heaven on earth. With the silky, creamy chocolate marrying oh so perfectly with the salty potato chip, who needs any other snack? I savor every bite of these wonderful munchies and don't mind spending an hour on the treadmill just for them. These chips are the perfect accompaniment to a day of vegging and should be guiltlessly enjoyed.
But those who know me well enough can attest to the fact that I cannot remain idle for long periods of time. So after consuming half of my bag of chocolate potato chips, I decided to head on to the kitchen to whip up something sweet. I wanted to make something I could easily bring along to a scheduled Chinatown photowalk with friends so cupcakes were out of the question. I remembered a recipe from David Lebovitz and decided that his cheesecake brownies would be perfect.
After I pulled these babies out of the oven, I hopped on the treadmill for a 5k run (and also to calibrate my brand new Nike Sensor) so that I could do this…
So make yourselves a batch of these brownies (or run to Rockwell and grab a bag of Royce Chocolate Potato chips) and enjoy the strange rainy weather. Happy vegging everyone!


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Bang.com Launches New BANG! Original Series Screw the Cops
Media Contact: Denise Kraft, NaughtyPR, firstname.lastname@example.com, 206-852-1656
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE — August 2, 2018 – Cyberspace — Adult powerhouse BANG.com (www.bang.com) is pleased to announce the release of their newest and eighth BANG! Original Series, Screw the Cops.
BANG! Original Series Screw the Cops (http://screwthecops.com/screwthecops/?) features some very sexy women trying to get themselves out of tricky situations with the cops by offering up special sexual services. BANG! Screw the Cops launches with a smoking hot scene from superstar Lana Rhoades who manages to avoid getting a traffic ticket by giving the cop a memorable afternoon delight on the hood of his patrol car.
"One of the most popular fantasies, role-play scenarios, and common search terms are related to having sex with cops, so it only made sense to add Screw the Cops as the next BANG! Original Series and give the people what they want" said Clement, Co-founder, and CEO of Bang.com. "This BANG! Original Series is a little more playful and has been really fun to take from conceptualization to productions. We are having a great time with Screw the Cops, and we know fans are going to love this series."
Bang! Original Series include Bang! Gonzo, Bang! Casting, Bang! Real Teens, Bang! Japan, Bang! Confessions, Bang! Glamkore, BANG! Real MILFs, and now BANG! Screw the Cops. Fans can watch scenes on BANG! Screw the Cops featuring Zoey Reyes, Rose Darling, Lucky Starr, Skylar Madison and many more in a variety of role play fantasies including threesomes, outdoor sex, cuckolding, and even a Lesbian food fight orgy.
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Barack Obama officially left the White House on January 20, 2017.
For the 8 years he was president, he not only served as Commander in Chief but also commander in books! Literature, he said, played a significant role during his presidency. He has continually proven that he is an avid reader through;
- Reading to kids at the White House
- Giving book recommendations to his daughters
- Showing up at local bookstores on Black Friday.
The following are the books he recommended for his teen daughter Malia at 18.
- The Woman Warrior – Maxine Hong Kingston
- The Golden Notebook – Doris Lessing
- The Naked and the Dead – Norman Mailer
- One Hundred Years of Solitude – Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Obama as a Bookie supports small businesses. On one of his trips to the bookstore with his daughters, he left with several shopping bags packed with the following fiction titles;
- Redwall – Brian Jacques. This is a fantasy series
- Brown Girl Dreaming – Jacqueline Woodson
- Junie B. Jones series – Brian Jacques
- Heart of darkness – Joseph Conrad. The only classic that made the list!
- All the Light We Cannot See – Anthony Doerr
- Nora Webster – Colm Toibin
- The Laughing Monsters – Denis Johnson.
- Cartwheeling in Thunderstorms – Katherine Rundell
- The Narrow Road to the Deep North – Richard Flanagan
- Nuts to You – Lynn Rae Perkins
The Nonfiction Titles.
- Age of Ambition: Chasing Fortune, Truth, and Faith in the New China – Evan Osnos
- Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End – Dr. Atul Gawande
Obama's Childhood Favorite Books
Reading for most bookies starts when they are kids. It is a habit that one has to cultivate. Just like Obama, you should cultivate your reading culture. It's never too late to get smarter! Back in the day, Obama enjoyed read the following;
- Hardy Boys series. Didn't we all read and love these?
- Treasure Island – Robert Louis Stevenson
- Where the Wild Things Are – Maurice Sendak
- Other adventure stories by authors such as Dr. Seuss.
While he was in high school, he enjoyed reading;
- Of Mice and Men – John Steinbeck
- The Great Gatsby – F. Scott Fitzgerald
Obama's Summer Reading List
If you always struggle to decide what to read next, Obama has got your back! Every year he releases a list of his favourite reads. In 2016, he released this list that we still feel is relevant to date!
- Barbarian Days: A Surfing Life – William Finnegan
- H is for Hawk – Helen Macdonald
- The Girl on the Train – Paula Hawkins
- Seveneves – Neal Stephenson.
And in case you are wondering, here is what made the cut in 2015;
- All The Light We Cannot See – Anthony Doerr
- The Sixth Extinction – Elizabeth Kolbert
- The Lowland – Jhumpa Lahiri
- Between the World and Me – Te-Nehisi Coates
- Washington: A Life – Ron Chernow
- All that Is – James Salter.
Of course, he has his most influential books;
- All the Kings Men – Robert Pen Warren
- Theory of Moral Sentiments – Adam Smith
- Wealth of Nations – Adam Smith
- Working – Studs Terkel
- Gandhi's Autobiography
- Cancer Ward – Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
- The Quiet American – Graham Greene
- Moby Dick – Herman Melville
- Self-Reliance – Ralph Waldo Emerson
- Song of Solomon – Toni Morrison
- Parting the Waters – Taylor Branch
- Gilead – Marylinne Robinson
- Best and the Brightest – David Halberstam
- The Federalist – Alexander Hamilton
- Souls of Black Folk – W.E.B Du Bois
- The Power and The Glory – Graham Greene
For those who appreciate Poetry and well-written novels, he's got you covered. Here are important life lessons about novels from him that will motivate you to visit the bookstore;
- 'Novels introduces you to the power of words as a way to figure out who you are and what you think, and what you believe, and what's important, and to sort through and interpret this swirl of events that is happening around you every minute.'
- The thing that brings people together to have the courage to take action on behalf of their lives is not just that they care about the same issues, it's that they have shared stories.
- If you learn how to listen to people's stories and can learn what's sacred in other people's stories, then you'll be able to forge a relationship that lasts.
The list that brought about these sentiments? Here you go.
- Cutting for tone – Abraham Verghese
- To the End of the Land – David Grossman
- Purity – Jonathan Franzen
- A bend in the River – V.S Naipau
- Fates and Furies – Lauren Groff
- Lush Life – Richard Price
- Netherland – Joseph O'neil
- Collected poems – Derek Walcott
- Gone Girl – Gillian Flynn
- Harry Potter series – J.K Rowling.
What did other Presidents read?
Leaders always read books that other leaders read. Here is a list that Obama borrowed from former presidents;
- The Rise of Theodore Roosevelt – Edmund Morris
- John Adams – David McCullough
- Lincoln: The Biography of a Writer – Fred Kaplan
- Defining Moment: FDR'S Hundred Days and the Triumph of Hope – Jonathan Alte.
- FDR – Jean Edward Smith
- The Collected Works of Abraham Lincoln
- Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln – Doris Kearns Goodwin
If you fancy economic and environmental related topics, these 4 recommendations will make you as knowledgeable as Obama!
- Hot, Flat and Crowded: Why We Need a Green Revolution and How It Can Renew America – Thomas L Friedman
- Ghost Wars: The Secret History of the CIA, Afghanistan, Bin Laden, from the Soviet Invasion to September 10, 2001 – Steve Coll
- Unequal Democracy: The Political Economy of the New Gilded Age – Larry Bartels.
- The Power Broker: Robert Moses and the Fall of New York – Robert a. Caro
You might not want to be Obama. Or the next president of the United States. But you definitely need some life hacks. Reading as many books as you can give you the advantage of having a solution to most of your life's challenges.
Grab a book and see you on the smart side of town!