St. John - Even dogs go home to die: a memoir

Contents

Contents

for

Ralphie, Alice, Ann,

and my daughter, Suzi

I dont want nobody cuttin on my head, he kept sayin. He went on like that for several days. Finally we convinced him he had to have the surgery. It was his only chance. They scheduled the operation for that night. We were sittin around tellin him not to worry. Tellin him that everything would be ok. He was so scared. I felt like we were in a room with a man on death row. Finally some orderlies pushed a contraption in and lifted him onto it. I hugged him before they wheeled him out and he looked in my eyes. Pray for me... try it, he whispered. Then he disappeared out the door... down the hall... and around the corner. I was surprised by what dad had asked me to do. I knew he had never had any use for preachers, sermons, church or heaven and hell. I sat down and wondered if god would or even could help people like us.

T hats what he always used to say, but we never knew for sure how dad was gonna get in... whether hed walk through the door or crawl. If he came in around midnight, when the Rat Hole closed, hed usually be upright. But if 12 oclock came and went with no sign of dad, we knew hed headed out to the Midland Inn. Wed stay awake as long as we could... worryin. And then wed doze off.

So many times though wed wake up and hear mom yellin and screamin real late. Once I got up and went in there. The front door was open and I could see dad was on the ground near the curb. Some men had brought him home and just pushed him outta the car. They drove off laughin. Mom went out and tried to help him. He had to come up the stairs on his hands and knees. He stumbled around inside, grabbed the curtains to steady himself and jerked em right off the wall.

He threw up everywhere and then he tried to get in the closet to take a piss. Mom grabbed him and cried, Dats not dee batroom, St. John. He turned around and growled Oooh... you moved it again? I put the pillow over my head. The next morning I got up for school and just dressed and left. The place smelled so bad. Moms cheap curtains layin in puke.

W e all had to take speech therapy... just a step above special ed. They didnt know what to make of us. We were white trash hicks with a real weird accent. We werent retarded or stupid or slow in the head but we had so much trouble with the English language. Mom corrupted us so much. And the made up words we used because of her: gurkin und schmorn und bunzel und durst und schpinnie am morgen bringt kummer und sorgen. We just didnt fit in in southern Illinois with our crazy lingo. I guess people around there hadnt gotten over who ever it was theyd lost in WWII. I remember the teacher would holler, Just say this, that and them... cant you say these words at all? I would look at her and try so hard but all I could come up with was dees, dat und dem. Shed just stare at me. She never smiled. She knew I was some kind of over seas half mongrel.

D ad beat the hell outta Junior Gurley one day. Kicked his ass all around the yard. And Junior was a big man, maybe 6 feet tall. Dad was only 5 feet 8, but he was stout and broad and mean. Everybody was drinkin, my aunts and uncles and older cousins. They had a big old tub of long necks on ice. Somehow, the conversation turned to the war and how awful those Germans were. Thats when Junior looked dad right in the eye and said with disgust, And to think that you went over there and married you a no account kraut. Dad was on that stupid bastard so fast. He didnt even say a word. Just knocked him down and punched him 50 times in the face. Grampa got around behind dad and tried to restrain him. When he lifted dad, Junior rolled over and started crawlin. Dad got loose from grampa and picked Junior up and threw him out in the road. He lay there in the gravel, moanin. One of his shoes had come off. Dad picked it up and threw it at him. She aint a German, you son of a bitch, he yelled. Shes a Hungarian... and dont you fergit it.

S omehow, dad knew he was in real trouble so he wanted to pay off the house for mom. I came home and took them up to the City Savings and Loan. He was wearing a short sleeve summer shirt with a plastic pocket saver full of mostly nothin. He had on dirty pants and ink splattered shoes. Hed come directly from the factory. Mom dressed for the occasion. Put on red polyester flairs and a low-cut, yellow, knit, scoop-neck, tit bitch top. We marched into the bank and he proceeded to write that final check and get his little payment book updated and stamped. He proudly asked for the deed to our place and was informed by the rude and impatient teller that it would arrive by mail and that stupid bastard just looked at us like it was no big deal for trash like us to be home owners and somehow, god damn it to hell, no balloons went up or fire crackers banged, no banner unfurled to celebrate this great achievement (which we knew was a great achievement indeed... making that last payment) and dad just said ok and put the little book away and the pen back in the pocket saver and we turned to leave. But of course, mom unable to suffer her hurt in silence turns to the teller and says, Vel, you coult haf at least given us a pencil... or a key chain.

A fter I left, mom kept callin and sayin, Someting ees wrong vid yer vater Landa... someting ees wrong vid yer vater. What do you mean, I asked her. Vel, she said, He ees having a lot of trooble vid dee puzzles. Mom, is he doin his puzzles? No Landa no. Dats vat I mean. He spreads dem all over dee table und jist looks at dem. I called my sister.

F inally, Alice was able to make dad go... I mean what choice did he have at that point? He couldnt even hardly talk anymore... somethin was eatin up his words. He knew it and when the pain got to where it felt like someone was hittin him in the head with a sledge hammer, he got in the car. The technician at Passavant sent him on to Springfield with an X ray that didnt look good. They put him in a room on the 6th floor with a little old lady who was strapped to her bed. She just stared at the ceiling and kept cryin out, over and over again, Are you gonna whup me, honey... Are you gonna beat me... Are you gonna whup me honey... Are you gonna beat me? Dad would jerk his head in her direction. He tried to get outta bed. He was confused and upset... concerned for that old woman. He wanted to do something for her. Finally we had to go and I thought about dad alone in that hospital room with that crazy sick old lady hollerin about beatins and whuppins. I know it must of been hell for him to spend the night there... I know he must of thought about what hed done to mom. I saw the way he reached for her hand the next day when we got there. I saw how he didnt want to let it go.

S ometimes when dad would come home drunk and hungry, hed take a notion... and tap dance a little. Hed jump all around... kickin his feet... hoppin up and down on the linoleum. It was funny. We loved it when dad danced. It usually meant hed won a little something at poker. Mom always tried to get him to stop. You are goink to tear des haus down, St. John. He didnt pay her any attention. Hed glide and spin and click his hard shoes on the kitchen floor. And then hed fry potatoes. He kept his feet movin in front of the stove as he stirred those spuds. Hed have a fork in one hand and a beer in the other. We ate ours with salt and pepper and home made ketchup. And then dad would finish his plate and talk about that one-eyed potato, that couldve made us a million dollars. We had grown it ourselves, by accident... it was a mutant and unlike most potatoes that grow lots of sprouts and rot, this was a keeper. Real good for grocers on the shelf and house wives under the sink. Dad put afew aside for seed potatoes. They were on the back porch and one night they froze... there went our fortune. We never again found the one-eyed potato after that, and we dug alot of rows lookin. Dad still hoped to find one though. He wouldnt even peel a store bought tater unless hed examined it carefully. Sometimes hed be lookin at one and then hed holler. This is it... Ive got one... Ive finally got one. And when we tried to look at it, hed just laugh and hold it high above his head as he hopped around... his feet clobberin the floor.