Sugar House (9780991192519) (14 page)

"And I would turn around and tell
your
mother how I heard you skipped confession yesterday to sneak off
behind the church and kiss Tall Paul!"

Pauline's eyes grew wide as saucers as she
stared at her sister, then at Joe, and then turned to look at Marya
again.

"Joe! What a loathsome lie," Marya replied,
but quieter now and less forceful. Marya's face became a darker
shade of scarlet. Joe could see he had the upper hand and decided
to back off for the present. He knew Marya would try to stay far
away from him all weekend now (that being the exact reason he'd
revealed his information). He'd planned on telling her after
morning Mass, but she'd pressed it out of him.

"Listen, Marya. Just stay out of my way this
weekend, and your secret is safe with me, okay?" he said.

"What secret, Joe? I don't know what you are
talking about," she replied. She grabbed Pauline's hand, pulling
her quickly down the sidewalk ahead of Joe. "Come on, Pauline. We
don't want to walk with Joe. We don't associate with liars!"

Joe laughed to himself as his cousins trotted
off ahead. Boy, he'd have to thank Franz for sharing that golden
piece of information with him. Yesterday, Franz, like Tall Paul and
Marya, had snuck away during confession. His purpose, however, was
to find a place to smoke a cigarette he had pilfered off his big
brother. Standing in the shadows behind the priest's rectory, he'd
heard two voices whispering near the church. Believing he was about
to get caught by one of the sisters, he quickly stubbed out his
cigarette and headed for one of the church's side entrances to
avoid being noticed. As he guardedly turned the corner of the
rectory, he saw instead Tall Paul and Marya smooching behind the
church.

Franz and Tall Paul had been friends since
first grade, but Franz always played the sidekick. Paul was better
looking, more courageous, more adventurous, and of course, taller
than Franz. Paul was good to Franz, but he never seemed to notice
that his large personality overshadowed the smaller boy. Franz
wrestled with his conscience on whether to divulge his secret, but
his need to be in the spotlight won over his loyalty to Paul. Franz
approached Joe immediately after Thursday's Mass and divulged his
knowledge of the kissing couple. Franz had been impressed with
Joe's quick thinking on Halloween and thought he would make a good
ally. He also felt he owed Joe for getting him out of a beating
with the Jewish boys.

Joe and Franz laughed and poked fun at the
couple. Franz said, "I guess Tall Paul will be your relation when
they get married." Joe said girls were disgusting, especially
Marya, and he was sure Tall Paul could never really like his cousin
because she was snooty and bossy. Franz made Joe promise not to
tell Tall Paul, but he hadn't said anything about not telling
Marya. Recalling how red Marya's face got, Joe laughed again and
ran toward the procession's starting location.

The Felician Sisters were organizing the
classes in order of grade when Joe arrived. Father Gatowski and the
altar boys would lead the school down the streets, and each nun
would then lead her class in the procession. A child from each
class was placed in front of their class and held a banner bearing
an image of the Blessed Mother, Christ, or St. Josaphat. Sister
Mary Monica directed Joe's class to line up in rows of two. All the
children were wearing their Sunday best; some were dressed in
traditional costumes representing the region of Poland their family
had immigrated from.

The November sun shone weakly down on the
brick street. Although the air was chilly, Joe felt flushed.

Father Gatowski took his place at front of
the procession, and everyone began to march down the street. At the
nuns' direction, the children began to sing "Boże, coś Polsk?" (God
Save Poland) as they headed toward St. Josaphat's three towering
steeples. People came out of stores and homes when they heard the
children singing. Women waved small Polish and American flags from
their porches and sidewalks. Several men came out of a barbershop
on the corner and joined in singing the Polish national anthem.
Soon others joined in, and the street was filled with the harmony
of men's, women's, and children's voices proudly singing of their
homeland. All three church communities—Jozefatowo, Wojciechowo, and
Sercowo—came together for a moment, and the song rose in volume as
the children made their way to the new school.

***

As the procession reached the cathedral, the singing
died down and the parishioners entered the church. Joe's class made
their way to the front and took their seats. The organ struck the
chords of the opening hymn, and the congregation rose from their
seats. Joe and his classmates genuflected, knelt, rose, and
genuflected again throughout the two hours while Bishop Foley, with
the assistance of eight other clergymen, celebrated the Mass. At
one point, Joe felt a tickle rising up in his throat that
threatened to produce a loud coughing spell. Luckily, he had
remembered to put a few peppermint Chiclets in his pocket; the
sensation was quelled.

Finally it was the moment for Joe's class to
sing before the bishop. They stood in their pews as the priests
prepared for the final hymn. Sister Mary Monica stood in front of
the first pew and held both hands high as if she were conducting an
orchestra. Looking at the nun's face, Joe realized that his teacher
was nervous. Her black veil had slipped slightly, and he could see
a strand of blonde hair peeking out from underneath. Funny, he
hadn't thought of Sister Mary Monica as having hair. And he had
never
thought about what color it would be.

Straightening herself, Sister Mary Monica
began waving her arms, signaling the children to begin the
hymn.

"Veni, Creator Spiritus, Mentes tuorum
visita, Imple superna gratia, Quae tu creasi pectora."

The class sang together, emphasizing the
lyrics as Sister Mary Monica had taught them. Joe looked up at the
altar as they began the second verse. Judging by Bishop Foley's
reaction, Joe was sure the song wasn't resonating the feeling of
reverence that Sister had hoped for. Bishop Foley had started his
way down the altar steps when the organist played the first stanza.
As the altar boys and priests of the church continued down the main
aisle, the bishop stopped suddenly and looked over at Sister Mary
Monica's second grade class. Astonished by the priests' departure
from tradition, Joe stopped singing.

Perhaps the bishop was surprised by children
singing at such a solemn occasion as a Pontifical High Mass. Or
perhaps the children's Polish accents, combined with their new
American accents, made the Latin lyrics incomprehensible to the
Irish bishop. Or most likely, the bishop was shocked to see Sister
Mary Monica's' small frame vigorously swaying back and forth, habit
rocking side to side as she directed her charges through the
ancient hymn. Joe's teacher was enthusiastically waving her arms
about her, encouraging the children to sing loudly and in unison
and never looked in the direction of the bishop. Gratefully, Bishop
Foley gathered his senses and with a look of discernment continued
down the aisle and exited the church.

Joe smiled to himself as his class left the
building. Everything seemed to be going his way, and tonight he'd
attend his first dance! Tomorrow would bring the long awaited
baseball games.

Joe's class walked to the basement of the
school, where the luncheon was being set up. He found a seat next
to Sam. The parishioners bowed their heads to say a prayer over the
food. The aroma from the banquet was mouthwatering. Tureens of
mushroom soup and borscht, together with platters of boiled pike,
fried carp, cheese and potato pierogi, cucumber salad and sour
cream, sauerkraut, and homemade bread covered the tables. The women
of the Ladies' Catholic Benevolent Association, a society club to
which Joe's mother belonged, piled food on the children's plates.
There were eleven such societies belonging to St. Josaphat's, and
all had worked tirelessly to prepare for the feast day.

Sam dug into the mountain of food on his
plate as soon as it was set in front of him. Joe took a bite of a
warm cheese pierogi and then gulped down his milk. Whichever lady
had made this dumpling was not as good of a cook as his mother. Joe
ate a few more bites and then pushed his plate away.

"You're not going to eat any more?" asked
Sam.

"Nah. I'm not very hungry," he replied. "You
can have it if you want."

"Thanks. Here, trade plates with me so the
nuns don't notice and start nagging I'm committing the sin of
gluttony." Sam said.

After the luncheon the boys were free for the
afternoon. Their female classmates and the women had to stay to
wash the dishes and clean the basement hall, but the boys had an
entire Friday afternoon to themselves. Walking up the couple blocks
to Woodward Avenue, Sam and Joe discussed their options.

"You have any money?" Sam asked Joe.

"A couple pennies, How about you?"

"Yeah, my mother gave me fifty cents this
morning for helping her cook breakfast for the boarders," said
Sam.

"Fifty Cents! Whatcha gonna do with all that
money?" Joe questioned.

"Spend it! Come on. We've got a whole
afternoon with no one breathing down our necks… no mothers, no
priests, and
especially no nagging nuns
! Let's go!" Joe
bounded after Sam, not believing their luck. Fifty cents for just
two boys to spend? He wasn't sure they'd be able to find enough
things to spend it on.

The crowds grew as Sam and Joe neared the large
avenue. Joe hadn't been on Woodward without his parents before, and
he stayed close to Sam. They walked a couple blocks east, trying to
decide where to spend their treasure. Sam wanted to take a ferry
ride to Belle Isle and see the zoo, but Joe said he thought was too
cold for the animals and they would all be sleeping. Truthfully,
Joe was feeling the chill of the air. He didn't think a boat ride
would help his constitution.

"Okay, you want to go to Grinnel Brothers
Music House?" asked Sam.

"Sure, what's there?" Joe inquired.

"They have tons of sheet music, pianos
and…"

Joe interrupted, "Neither one of us can play
an instrument, and fifty cents isn't going to buy us a piano."

"Let me finish, Joe. They have really good
piano players in there that play the latest songs while people walk
around and shop. And I heard they got a gramophone player last week
and they play records a few times an hour. Have you heard a record
yet, Joe?"

"No, but I heard about 'em." In fact, Joe had
heard very little about records, but he didn't want to sound like a
country bumpkin. "Well, let's go have a look Sam."

The boys waited for a signal to cross the
street from a policeman stationed in a crow's nest. This was the
city's busiest intersection; the nation's first traffic tower had
been built here to provide additional visibility for police
officers. The traffic cop stood six feet above the heavy traffic on
a small enclosed pedestal. The Traffic Division had erected several
semaphores two years before, but automobile traffic seemed to
double on a daily basis thanks to Henry Ford's assembly line,
causing the police department to continually think of new ways to
deal with congestion.

The policeman signaled for the boys to cross
the street. They stepped onto the cement avenue and immediately had
to dodge a bicyclist that was swerving through a bottleneck of
horses, carriages, and motorcycles. Joe almost tripped on an iron
streetcar rail, but Sam grabbed his arm and pulled him onto the
safety of the sidewalk.

Joe could hear notes drifting onto the
walkway before they reached the protection of the music store. Sam
pulled open the heavy wooden door and Joe slipped inside. The
raucous noise from the street immediately diminished as the oak
door shut behind them. A middle-aged man with light olive skin was
playing a piano near the entrance. Two darker men were leaning on
the upright, listening and tapping their hands and feet with the
rhythm. The melody was rapid and boisterous. Joe had never heard
anything quite like it.

"What kind of music is that, Sam?" he
asked.

"Ragtime! Isn't it great?"

"Sure is" said Joe, his eyes and ears taking
it all in.

The trio at the piano were swaying side to
side and one was pounding out the beat on the top of the upright.
The boys listened in awe to the lively broken rhythm. The young men
finished the song with a flourish. Joe and Sam clapped their hands
in appreciation. The pianist looked over at the two young boys and
smiled.

"Thanks boys. Happy to have an audience. Been
quiet as a convent in here today," he said. "Can I help you boys
find something?"

"What was the name of that song you just
played, sir?" Joe asked, encouraged by the piano player's friendly
expression.

"That old song? That's 'Maple Leaf Rag,' by
good old Scott Joplin. He was one of the best ragtime composers
ever born. First Negro that ever had a piece of music published, I
think. Wrote 'The Entertainer' a few years after that… 1902, I
believe." The piano player started plunking down a few notes of the
aforementioned and stopped after a small riff, then looked up at
the boys again with a broad grin.

"What do you mean,
was
the best
composer?" asked Joe.

"Ragtime's on its way out the door, boys. You
just hearing it now? Ha! Sorry to say, but that syncopation been
put up on the shelf. People want to hear lyrics, words, love songs.
Marches are the thing now, boys!" The man began to play a slow
melody.

The two men near the piano harmonized a
practice note and sang:

In the good old summer time,