The Arsenal Files 6/The Arsenal Files 6 (Arsenal Computer).ISO/epub/df9601r.zip/DFI

Text File | 1996-01-01 | 12KB | 233 lines

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THE DYSFUNCTIONAL YEARS
  by Jerry W. Davis
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  "Eat them beans, wear them jeans, I'm a little welfare boy,"
Chuckie Johnson boastfully proclaimed; sticking his middle-finger
toward the heavens. We scampered down the alley of homelessness,
while the smell of poverty and despair assailed our senses. We cut
our way through the grey curtain of pollution from the steel mills
of the southern suburbs of Chicago and neighboring Indiana.

  Two friends we were, both the age of ten, living in poverty in
the land of the dollar bill. The best of friends in the worst of
times. We were children, to our parents we were expected to provide
as adults. Chuckie and I had much in common: welfare and poverty.

  Chuckie was a stocky, freckled-faced, red-headed hick from
Kentucky. His teeth bigger than last year's Kentucky Derby winner.
He sure could do major damage to corn on the cob.

  It was a day liken to the others; the smell of mildew and
urine creeped up our noses, like sewer rats we rummaged trash bins
for a piece of the American pie; apple pie I hoped. We were glad to
be outside, for a thunderstorm threatened to ravage our city,
dampening our hopes for Saturday, our day off from school. Saturday
not a day of viewing cartoons, but a day of escape from the heated
torture chamber of apartment dwelling. A day of no fighting with
rodents over food, or fending off overgrown roaches wanting your
socks.

  Slowing our pace a bit we searched the alley for coins; looking
odd as we stooped, like two hunch-backs, as our stomachs produced
sounds heard for city blocks. We knew the alley behind the barf
burger joint would contain loose change. The greasy spoons produced
or induced indigestion, as the patrons, many attempting to eat their
way to sobriety, would exit via the alley to upchuck their meals.
After eating food not fit for human consumption, stomachs and bowels
are emptied in the alley, as well as pockets of loose change.
Chuckie and I shared views and French fries bought with the found
coins.

  As the day would narrow, as well as our throats from thirst,
we would venture to Chuckie's apartment; his family owned a
television. I still remember the first impression of Chuckie's
parents; an atypical displaced family from Kentucky who lived off
the taxpayers and were said to be kin to Jed Clampette. I believe
the family shared the same brain to conserve on thinking. Chuckie's
mom was the first I met, Thelma Johnson; she appeared to be a taste
tester for a pizza chain. She was a woman of much stature, huge in
diameter; seldom moved unless necessary, it was seldom necessary.
You could tell what she had for lunch by examining her attire;
chili dogs I guessed, for chili and mustard stains occupied the
black stretch pants three sizes too small. Chuckie thought the size
of his mother was comical; he joked his mom once cut a whole in a
sheet and wore it as a blouse.

  As I entered the shabby, rundown abode called an apartment with
Chuckie, Thelma lay basking on what used to be a couch, picked from
the alley, having only three legs. A wooden block held up one end
of the couch as Thelma held down the other. Thelma's hair was dyed
yellow, the smell of bleach lingered. Although in her late thirties
she looked older, her hair thinning and falling out. No longer a
picture of beauty, she appeared to have given up on life; she took
little care of herself; sneaking up on a mirror to see who was once
the fairest. Looking back, years of hard mountain living and city
poverty took toll. Carrying much ugly baggage around, you look for
a place to lay it down.

  Chuckie introduces me to his mother; she nods unable to speak
for she is indulging in what appears to be a fifty-pound bag of
potato chips. And as the crumbs tumble to the lint infested black
couch, a roach jumps from Thelma's shoulder to retrieve the
morsels. Thelma Wipes grease from her fingers on her stained
blouse; missing a button due to extremely large udders. My mouth
waters with anticipation, figuring she'd offer a handfull of the
nasty chips; she never offers.

  Thelma motions for Chuckie to fetch another six-pack of Tab
cola; a revolutionary new soda with only two calories per bottle
and without the taste. She opens the first bottle inhaling sixteen
ounces nonstop. Suddenly it sounds as though the thunderstorm had
returned as Thelma expels air from the top end and gas from the
bottom; the roar shook the dwelling. She held the bottle in the air
marveling she could eat all she wanted and lose weight drinking
this miracle brew; believing diet Tab her cure all.

  The roar was a bit too much, awakening Chuckie's dad; he jumps
out of bed having slept the day; wondering if God had returned
rapturing the church.

  Delbert was a man in his forties; of small stature; long
sideburns and hair a shoe-dyed jet black; slicked back with some
form of lard; he resembled Elvis, an ugly Elvis. Delbert walked
with a cane, Chuckie informed me he only used the cane when he
reports to the welfare office; claims he has a bad back.

  I would spend Saturday afternoons with Chuckie and his family,
as all would gather round the used black and white television; the
picture would roll as Delbert would move the coat hanger covered
with foil to get better reception. The Johnsons' were into
professional wrestling; on one occasion I remember Thelma becoming
upset as the bad wrestlers were whipping up on the good wrestlers.
She began yelling profanities, clenching her fists, and shaking
them at the television. Suddenly she jumps from the couch, the
atomic bomb thud rattles the environment as she makes way to the
television, driving a metal popcorn bowl through the picture
screen. All took cover as the explosion shattered glass and debris
throughout the living room.

  Another adventure worth mentioning was the time Chuckie invited
me to go to church with his family. There was an empty storefront
below Chuckie's apartment which was used as a church; the church
folks were called "Holy Rollers." Chuckie thought the reason for
the visit was to get a free food basket, maybe money. We watched
from the upstairs window as the church members brought several
black boxes resembling cages into the storefront church.

  We began making way downstairs to the church as Thelma throws a
book at Chuckie's little snot-nosed sister; standing in the hallway
picking her nose and wiping on the sleeve of her hand-me-down yellow
smoked stain dress; two sizes too small. Telling her to get the lead
out of her unleaded behind.

  Clomping behind was Delbert with his cane; I hoped he was sober
and would not fall onto us. At the bottom of the stairs all wait as
Delbert was the first to enter the church. We are greeted at the
door by the pastor; as with most sinners we take our place in the
back row of the church.

  The service opens as the lanky, aged, holly-roller pastor
announces to the church there are visitors tonight and souls need
be saved. Several musicians began playing guitars, a drum, and a
tambourine. As the songs continue the volume becomes louder, the
crowd reacts, waving their arms and speaking in foreign languages.
Soon several are in the isle, dancing in a jerking motion; much
like voodoo. As their bodies twitched, the anorexic preacher began
hollering things about Jesus. The Chuck Berry style gospel music
increases to the level of creating deafness.

  The preaching continues and several older ladies make their way
to the front and are slapped upside their heads by the pastor.
Suddenly they wither to the floor; blankets are placed over them so
as to cover their nakedness. Who'd want a beaver-shot of these gals,
most over sixty? I thought the preacher was crazy and the rest were
fools. Chuckie and I giggled as the pastor scampers to the pulpit
proclaiming the Lord was there. Looking around the church, I didn't
see a person fitting the description.

  The pastor stomps his feet, telling the members there were
sinners in their midst. He looks toward the back of the church
straight at Delbert and Thelma, wondering if they were prepared
to meet Jesus?  Delbert became squirmish, knowing the way to heaven
was in the building; he wanted the hell outta there. The service
went too long for Delbert; he didn't want religion, he wanted a
handout.

  All had moved to another isle, except Delbert who stood his
ground. Hoping the service would end and he would go his merry way
with a picnic basket. The end came sooner than thought as the pastor
informs Delbert no food would be given until they prayed with him.
He asked the other members to go to the rear of the church to help
Delbert make a decision about Christ.

  The members surrounded Delbert in the rear seat as he attempted
his escape; left to fend for himself. Delbert eventually gives in,
allowing the members to drag him to the front of the church before
the alter. Delbert's cane slides across the floor as he wipes specks
of blood from his elbow; a rug-burn from the carpet in front of the
pulpit.

  The pastor then says; "The Lord saved whores and he will save
you brother Delbert. Accept the power of the Holy Ghost; take up
a serpent; fear nothing poison."

  Delbert closed his eyes waiting for the circus to end. The
pastor asks the members to lay their hands on Delbert and pray for
his back to be healed. He instructed others to fetch the boxes from
beneath the rear of the alter as the musicians began playing faster
and louder. The crowd became even more agitated and frenzied.

  Delbert was unaware of events as many laid hands upon him and
the music was pre-Hendrix. The pastor opened the black boxes or
cages dumping the contents on the floor behind Delbert. The pastor
began handing them out to his flock. As Delbert wheeled around, he
almost fainted as he saw an assorted collection of copperheads and
other rattlesnakes. Either it was the fear of the Lord or survival
of the unfittest, Delbert began stomping the floor with his narrow
pointed boots, which he used to kill cockroaches in corners,
smashing the heads of the snakes. He reached for his cane and began
chopping the snakes as he would use a hoe on a garden, nonstop
until all were slain.

  As Delbert was about to turn on the preacher and his flock with
the cane, the police had arrived and arrested Delbert for disturbing
the peace and attempted assault.

  Growing up during the early sixties in the Chicagoland area
and having friends like Chuckie made for an interesting childhood.
Growing up -- life changes, unfortunately, history is made and all
good and bad things must come to an end. Delbert was killed by a
jealous husband and Thelma moved the family back to Kentucky. Thirty
years later I moved back to West Virginia. I had not seen nor heard
from Chuckie during the years. I was working as a reporter for a
one-horse town newspaper along the border across the river from
Kentucky. I was assigned to cover the Senatorial election of
Eastern Kentucky, the coal fields; an area of importance to all
concerned.

  As I made my way to the campaign headquarters I noticed the
sign outside, the candidate's name was Chuckie Johnson. I didn't
think nothing of the name until I met the candidate.

  "Eat them beans, wear them jeans, I'm gonna be a little Senator
boy," proclaimed Chuckie Johnson, as he high-fived me.

                               (DREAM)

Copyright 1996 Jerry W. Davis, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
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Jerry's a novice writer of fiction and humor looking for continuing
publication. He writes about life experiences with a sociological
slant, he has a BA in Sociology. He finds much humor in rural life
and enjoys writing about his WV roots and about deviant groups.
Surprisingly, you can even email Jerry: [e-mail]
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