Sweet and Sour Pie: A Wisconsin Boyhood Read online

  “Yes, yes,” I said, hastily. “Lots of ’em.”

  Puppa glanced to the left. “How about now?” he asked.

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  The Christmas When a Lot Happened

  “They’re still coming,” I said.

  Puppa’s left foot began to tap on the floorboard. “Now?”

  “No!”

  “The damn store will be closed before I can get out of here,”

  Puppa said. He looked to the left again, stamped on the clutch, and shifted into reverse. “Oh, the hell with it,” he said, and backed out.

  To my knowledge I’ve never been closer to death than I was at

  that moment, when Puppa’s DeSoto blocked both lanes of U.S. 2.

  The street was suddenly full of cars skidding silently on the wet snow. They went by in all directions. One car avoided us by driving up Grandpa’s driveway. Another jumped the snowbank and wound

  up across the street on Mrs. Snell’s sidewalk. A third spun and slid backward past my side of the car; the driver’s face was plastered against the window, his mouth open, and his eyes round and frantic.

  In a few more seconds it was all over. Puppa’s luck had held and no one had hit anyone. “Damn you people!” Puppa shouted, from

  the safety of the DeSoto. “If you had given me a turn, you wouldn’t have to slam on the brakes like that. Everybody knows you can’t stop short on fresh snow!”

  Puppa shifted into low and threaded his way through the jumble

  of cars. “I just hope the store’s still open,” he said.

  We got there five minutes before it closed. Puppa asked the

  druggist for Blue Boar tobacco, which came in a glass jar. Then he reached down and ruffled my hair. “Find something you like,” he

  said. There was a small display of toys and novelties: rubber baseballs, yo-yos, peashooters, and such. But all I could see was a chrome-plated cap pistol, a cap pistol to end all cap pistols, an exact copy of a snub-nosed Colt Detective Special .38 revolver. Best of all, it fired disc caps, which were three times as loud and twice as smoky as the caps that came in a roll.

  Puppa saw me staring at the pistol. He picked it up and put it on 49

  The Christmas When a Lot Happened

  the counter, along with an entire carton of disc caps. “You’ll need some cartridges,” he said. While I was admiring the cap pistol, he bought something else that he hid from me, slipping it into a paper sack with the Blue Boar.

  On the way back to Grandpa’s, Puppa turned on the radio. Fred

  Waring and the Pennsylvanians were singing a carol: “The world in solemn stillness lay, to hear the angels sing.”

  “Speaking of solemn stillness,” Puppa said, “don’t shoot that gun in the house—you’ll scare your Grandma out of a year’s growth.

  Chickee’s a good girl but she’s a great one for worrying.”

  The Advent of the Zoks

  In the late afternoon of Christmas Eve, I was indulging in one of my favorite holiday customs, lying on my back with my head under the tree, looking up at the lights and ornaments, and savoring the scent of balsam.

  On the Zenith console radio, Gene Autry was singing “Rudolph,

  the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” and in the background I could hear the

  grownups talking—Mom and Grandma chatting in the kitchen, and

  Dad, Grandpa, and Puppa arguing war and politics in the dining

  room.

  “Oh, sure, you’re down on Eisenhower now, Albert,” Grandpa

  said to Puppa, “but you thought he was pretty hot stuff on D-Day.

  It’s about time we had somebody in the White House who’ll settle their hash in Korea, and if we can’t have MacArthur, Ike will do.

  Anything’s better than Roosevelt or some damned necktie salesman like Truman.”

  Grandma was an ardent New Dealer and she had been listening

  from the kitchen. She strode into the dining room, her arms folded across her chest. “All right, Henry,” she said, “you and Ike go and 50

  The Christmas When a Lot Happened

  fight a war someplace. And when your Social Security checks start coming in, you just hand them over to me!”

  This was getting interesting. I crawled out from under the tree

  and sat up so I could watch as well as listen.

  “It’s just too damn bad Ike had to saddle himself with Nixon,”

  Puppa said. “I’ve had that sniveling little whelp pegged from the beginning. He’s a crook, sure as hell. I tell you, it takes a pretty small man to hide behind a cocker spaniel!”

  Dad laughed and Puppa banged his fist on the table. Puppa had

  been polishing this crack about Nixon’s “Checkers” speech for weeks and was overjoyed to find an opening for it.

  “Anyway,” Puppa said, “getting back to the war—I never could

  figure out why they dropped that second A-bomb. One was enough.

  They should have saved the second one for the Russians.”

  “Russians, hell!” Grandpa said. “They should have dropped it on

  the Vatican!”

  “Henry!” Grandma shouted from the kitchen. “Enough, for

  God’s sake. It’s Christmas Eve.”

  Then the doorbell rang. I went to the door and saw a big blond

  man standing on the front porch. He was about six foot six, with shoulders as broad as an axe handle, wearing a war surplus Navy pea coat. Behind him in the winter twilight was an old Chevrolet coupe pulled up tight against the curb. There was no room for parking on East Erie Avenue, and already cars were lining up behind the Chevy, honking and waiting for chances to get around.

  “Let him in, Davy,” Grandpa said. I did, and the man entered,

  stooping to clear the door frame. He stuck out a huge hand like the bucket of a dragline. Grandpa shook it and winced.

  “Tanks,” the man said in a gravelly bass voice. “Ludwik Zok from Gary, Indiana. My wife and I are going to Pennsylvania. I got flat on car and spare is flat too. You got phone I can call somebody to fix?”

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  The Christmas When a Lot Happened

  “Sure,” Grandpa replied, “but I don’t think any of the filling stations will be open on Christmas Eve. Tell you what, I’ve got a pump and a patch kit and a tire iron. Let’s get your car up the driveway and see if we can fix those flats ourselves. Myra, we’ve got company!”

  There was a rush to put on overshoes and jackets. Slipping the

  clutch and driving slowly to take it easy on the flopping flat tire, Ludwik pulled the Chevy up the driveway and into the garage. I

  opened the passenger door to let Mrs. Zok out of the car and discovered a beautiful dark-haired woman with high Slavic cheekbones and penetrating blue eyes. She was tall and slender but, as kids my age used to say, she stuck out in front. Grandpa took one look and ran for help, pulling me along with him. In the kitchen, he was on the edge of panic.

  “Myra, Charlotte!” he wheezed. “Get out there and help that

  woman. She looks like she’s going to have a baby any minute!” Mom and Grandma looked at each other and headed for the garage without coats or boots. They soon reappeared, one on either side of Mrs.

  Zok. Supporting her by the arms, they guided her to a chair at the kitchen table and poured her a cup of coffee. Grandma ran cold

  water on a washcloth and held it to Mrs. Zok’s forehead.

  “I’m OK, I’m OK,” she said, and laughed. “I got a week yet. My

  name is Elzbieta. Call me Lizzy.”

  She turned to me. “Go tell Ludwik to get pierogis from car,

  please. Nice Polish cabbage rolls. We have for supper, all right?” Out in the garage, the men had repaired one of the inner tubes and were blowing it up with the tire pump. Ludwik handed me a cardboard

  box full of doughy rolls shaped like little footballs and wrapped in waxed paper.

  About a half hour later, both tubes were patched and the tires re-mount
ed. Dad, Grandpa, Puppa, and Ludwik came in from the ga-

  rage just as the rolls were coming out of the oven. Ludwik smiled and rubbed his hands together. “Good. Pierogis. Hot. You like,” he said.

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  The Christmas When a Lot Happened

  Grandma set eight places at the kitchen table. Lizzy distributed the rolls—there were two apiece, as I remember—while Mom

  poured cups of coffee and glasses of milk.

  We hesitated for a moment. None of us knew what to do with

  the pierogis. Finally Grandpa picked up a fork and Puppa instinctively reached for the Worcestershire sauce. “No,” said Lizzy, “no fork, no sauce. Just bite.” I picked up the larger of my pierogis and chewed off the end, releasing a cloud of steam.

  Never in my life had I eaten anything as overwhelmingly sea-

  soned as that pierogi. The first mouthful was like a slap in the face.

  A blast of red cabbage, sliced beef, yellow onion, horseradish, brown mustard, and Tabasco sauce hit the back of my throat and went

  up my nose. I coughed and chewed the cabbage. By the time I had

  swallowed, beads of sweat were breaking out on my forehead and my eyes were watering. Then came a powerful aftertaste, a fiery, beefy aroma that opened my sinuses and made the initial shock worth-while. I had to have more of that, so I took a bigger bite, chewed, coughed, swallowed, and wiped the tears from my eyes with my

  shirtsleeve. Then I got the aftertaste again and smiled.

  Everyone had been watching me. Ludwik laughed and slapped

  me on the back. “You like? Good? Eat more! Put hair on your chest!”

  We felt obliged to clean our plates, so we struggled through our pierogis, gulping milk to keep our palates from blistering. When the last of the rolls had disappeared there was a collective sigh of relief and red cabbage.

  “Lizzy, where is pie?” Ludwik asked. “I’ll get it,” Grandma said, rising from the table and fanning her face with her hand. She took a pie from the icebox—it had been in the cardboard box with the

  pierogis—and cut it into eight pieces, counting them with a fingertip to check her geometry. After the wrath of the pierogis, the pie was cool, sweet, and innocent. “Raisins, custard, and plum wodka,”

  Lizzy said. “You want recipe?”

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  The Christmas When a Lot Happened

  After the dishes were washed and the women had exchanged

  recipes and addresses, the Zoks asked for their coats. “Why don’t you stay the night?” Grandma asked. “We’ve got a spare bedroom

  and a big turkey for dinner. We’d love to have you.”

  “And we like to stay,” Ludwik said. “But we got five hundred

  miles to go. My brother got me good job at steel mill, got to start in three days.” At the door there was an exchange of hugs and handshakes. Puppa blew his nose loudly and covered his face with his handkerchief. The Zoks went out the kitchen door and turned to

  say good-bye. Lizzy gave Mom a final hug.

  “I say to Ludwik, we have no Christmas this year,” Lizzy said.

  “But this was Christmas for us. This was Christmas.”

  Ludwik backed down the driveway and waited for a break in the

  traffic. Then he tooted the horn and headed east. We all stood on the porch and watched until the old Chevy disappeared down East

  Erie. It was quiet around the house after that.

  “Stille Nacht”

  But before long it was time to get dressed up and go to the Maryland Avenue Methodist Church for the Christmas Eve pageant. We

  all got into Grandpa’s Packard and headed downtown through

  heavy snow that was blowing in off Lake Erie. It took a while to find a parking place big enough for the Packard, and by the time we got into the church all the pews in the sanctuary were full. We

  climbed the stairs to the rear balcony and found that we had it to ourselves.

  “Good,” Puppa said. “Up here, we can talk.”

  “Dad, be quiet,” Grandma said. “It’s starting.”

  The lights in the sanctuary dimmed, and the Reverend Jim

  Folz walked down the aisle and ascended the steps to the pulpit.

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  The Christmas When a Lot Happened

  He was an unassuming country boy from Washington Court

  House, Ohio, and his nickname, never used to his face, was Just

  Folks.

  He welcomed us all. “And now,” he said, “it is my pleasure to

  introduce the Maryland Avenue Sunday School Singers!” There was

  a murmur of anticipation from the congregation. From our position above the rear of the church, we could hear the Sunday School

  teachers trying to sort the kids into rows. But the Singers had been cooped up in the church basement for an hour of rehearsal, and they had scores to settle first. There were angry whispers from kids who were being poked or pinched.

  “Ow!”

  “Cut it out!”

  “Damn you, Floyd!”

  It was all clearly audible. Dad laughed out loud and Puppa

  snickered. Up in the pulpit, Just Folks tried to look serious but couldn’t fight off a smile. Finally relative silence fell and we heard the toot of a pitch pipe.

  “Up on the housetop, reindeer pause . . . ,” the children sang, and started reluctantly down the aisle. It took all three verses of the carol to get them lined up in the chancel, just in front of the nativity scene and the Christmas tree. One of the teachers blew the pitch pipe

  again and the Singers launched into “Away in a Manger.”

  During the first verse, the congregation relaxed and smiled in-

  dulgently as the piping voices filled the church. But their faces froze as another Christmas tradition began to unfold.

  A little girl in the front row, terrified by all the people looking at her, grabbed the hem of her dress and began to twist it around and around. As we watched she wound it higher and higher, revealing

  her chubby legs and white underpants. Soon her stomach and navel were uncovered.

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  The Christmas When a Lot Happened

  “I love thee, Lord Jesus, look down from the sky . . . ,” sang the children.

  “I hope he isn’t looking down at her, ” Grandpa said.

  “I could swear it’s the same girl that pulled up her dress last year,”

  Dad said.

  “She’d better outgrow that by the time she’s sixteen or so,” Puppa whispered. “It could get embarrassing.”

  I glanced at Grandma. I expected to see her looking daggers at

  Puppa, but instead she had covered her eyes with one hand and was giggling like a schoolgirl. Mom’s face was red, and she was giggling even louder than Grandma. I was astounded and a little scared. With Mom and Grandma out of action, discipline was sure to collapse.

  What sort of chaos would follow, I wondered, if Puppa got off

  another good one and there was no one to quiet us down?

  We fought to regain straight faces as the children finished their last carol and retreated from the chancel. Just Folks gave them a few minutes to find their parents and squeeze into the pews.

  “And now,” he said, “let’s sing ‘Angels from the Realms of

  Glory.’” The organ played a four-bar introduction and the congregation sang while two high-school girls marched down the aisle and took up positions behind the manger. They wore wings made of

  cardboard and tinfoil and halos of tinsel and coat-hanger wire.

  Mary and Joseph were next, followed by three boys wearing

  gaudy bathrobes and carrying cigar boxes daubed with gold paint.

  Then Mary removed a large, blond doll from her robes and placed it in the manger. “Ma-ma,” it said. Grandma started giggling again.

  “Gerald Jones will present the reading for this evening, from

  the Gospel According to Luke,” Just Folks said. A gangling
boy in a blue pin-striped suit walked solemnly to the lectern, opened the big bible, and began to recite.

  “And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of

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  Nazareth, into Judea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, to be taxed with Mary his exposed wife, being great with

  child . . .”

  Now all of us were giggling and snorting. “I knew she was ex-

  pecting,” Puppa whispered, “but I didn’t think she was exposed.”

  We weren’t the only ones who thought it was funny. Below us in the sanctuary, a titter of laughter was passing up one pew and down the next. Finally, out of respect for Saint Luke, we shut up as Gerald finished the reading.

  “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will

  toward men.”

  The pageant was almost over. Just Folks went to the altar, removed a single candle, and walked slowly down the aisle. “Silent night,” he sang in a sweet tenor, “holy night.”

  Everyone stood and joined in. Puppa put his hand on my shoulder

  and began to sing softly in German:

  Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,

  Alles Schläft, einsam wacht . . .

  I looked up at Puppa. There were tears in the corners of his eyes.

  “Stille Nacht” had been Great-grandma’s favorite carol.

  Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh,

  Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh.

  It was Just Folks’s custom to stand on the porch and shake hands with every member of the congregation as they went out the door.

  We were the last to leave, and his face lit up when he saw us.

  “Myra, Henry!” he said. “Good to see you. And Dave and Char-

  lotte, and little Dave, and Albert! The whole family is here.”

  “Thank you, Reverend Folz,” Grandma said. “It was a very

  inspiring service.”

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  “More amusing than inspiring, I think,” Just Folks said. “I

  must inform young Gerald of the difference between ‘espoused’ and

  ‘exposed.’ I can’t blame people for laughing. Or giggling.”

  He gave Grandma a smile. “It all goes under the category of

  making a joyful noise, I guess.”

  Grandpa was a sharp-edged, self-made man who usually went to