The kind of America you trusted..an essay; not my life, but all our lives...once

It was the kind of day where you felt the humidity was gone and there seemed to be a snap in the air, cooler, almost sweater weather but not quite. Suddenly, my thoughts were accompanied by a soundtrack of more than just the occasional car driving slowly down the street; Cathy's littlest sister Janine was walking along enjoying the cooler air, dragging a stick through the picket fences, clickety-clickety. I walked by her, patting her pretty black curls, gazing at the picket fence and realized I still felt like doing that, too.

I'd almost made it to the town square when I saw old Miss Watson in her garden picking her favorite lavender roses. "They look beautiful, Miss Watson, how are they smelling?" "Oh, just like every year, Z....remember these won me the award 3 years ago!" She looked flushed but happy standing there in the roses, her sun cap on, the cottage behind her laden with white roses just about on their way out, drooping a little. Red apples would be so heavy they'd about bring the tree by her door down in a month or so and I couldn't wait for her invitation to "take home as many as you can, Z! Your mother's pie is the best!" Miss Watson had taught me English at the High School and I always worried that I'd dangle a participle in her face and that she'd give me that look. As I walked past her cottage, I heard her say "Oh, I hope it's from my sister!" and I turned back. John Cox, our mail man had given her a letter. I thought about Miss Watson living alone and finding a letter such a comfort, she felt wanted, she was important! She'd touch the paper's embossment later and breathe in whatever of her sister she could though she lived so far away.

"Your mother has a letter that looks kind of special there, Z, you want to take it with you or just let me drop it on by?" "Please drop it by, Mr. Cox, I'm going into town; thanks so much!" I continued walking down the shady street, Elms drooping over me like a green leafed tunnel, sun shining brighter at the end of the street, on the Square ahead of me, where the trees were less dense.

I must admit it brought a smile to my face to see old Pastor Thomas sitting with his afternoon snack next to Rabbi Samuels on the church steps. Arguing Jesus again, I supposed, but they argued with such facts and figures and such fun. I wished I had the time to go by and listen as I'd done so many times before. Pretty soon they'd stop eating, stop arguing and laughing, and play some chess. Pastor Thomas claimed he never got to win because there were more Christians in town and he got called away mid-game more often than the good Rabbi. We'd all just smile because everyone knew Rabbi S was better at chess and Pastor Tom relied on those interruptions by which he could keep his reputation. (Oh, Miss Watson would have loved the structure of that sentence, I thought! I thought also of all I owed her, she'd shown me so much in literature, had made me well spoken when I concentrated and even when I didn't...I couldn't say "me and my sister" or "orientated" if I tried...she'd introduced me to Jane Eyre and Rebecca, how could I have not loved her? I felt I wanted to rush back and hug and kiss her but figured I'd gone too far by now and she'd probably gone back into her cottage by now with that rose for some water and a cup of tea).

The Square was busier than usual this afternoon. Maybe the slightly cooler weather had brought people out. I passed the newspaper office and poked my head in to see if Mr. McGee was there. Sure enough, there he was, scribbling at his desk. He looked up with a smile, happy for the break.."Hey, Z, how're you doing there, girl?" "Pretty good, Mr. M, I love this cooler weather, don't you?" "Sure do!" "Mr. McGee, what's in the news tonight?" "Oh, not too much today, tell you the truth......the president's got a new bill he wants to push in Congress, you'll read it tonight in the evening edition if I can just get that George to get the air on his bike's tire pumped now so he has time to get them out by 6!" Politics, something I loved...I had to ask "What kind of bill? What do you think about it?"

"Oh, it's a bill you'll just have to read about if your Dad'll give you the paper long enough before his dinner! What do I think about it? Z, you know better than that.....I'll never tell, my job is to tell you the news, not tell you my opinion of the news! No self-respecting journalist would think of doing anything else!" I said goodbye and thought about how many times over the years that Mr. McGee had reminded me that it was up to him to get Americans the news and up to Americans to figure it all "the heck out themselves" as he put it. We all liked that about Mr. McGee. His son was off to some Journalism school in the East and they could be heard arguing about the news when John was home for visits. I often wondered about the arguing. I also wondered if John McGee had himself a girlfriend on that East Coast.

Mr. McGee seemed to treat the news like mail....nobody ought to open it but the one receiving it, and the deliverer oughtn't be adding anything that the sender hadn't meant to add, you know? There was talk about television having more news on some day soon, other than the news at five, film at 11 stuff we were all so used to here in town. Dad and I often talked about the pros hearing the news is quite enough, Z," dad often said..."...we don't need to be getting into so much of others' opinions that the truth's starting to hide in it, you know, even maybe disappear? It's overkill what they might try to do, Z, it can't be long before they've got too much time to fill on the television and they'll be making things up to fill it!" We'd watch Father Knows Best some nights and I'd smile and feel happy that there were people like us elsewhere in the country, smart people who cared about their kids and their futures and I wondered if Jim Anderson, too, thought too much news was just that, too much news.

The sun was getting brighter as it was going down closer to the tops of the Church steeples and the First Village Bank's high roof...the trees in front were glaring with the rays of the sun sneaking through their branches and caused me to squint. I stepped down the curb to cross the street and Officer Huff called "Z, you be careful, you know some of these kids drive a little too fast and it's kind of hard to see at this time of day with that bright sun comin' down!" Officer Huff had yelled things like that to me since I was about 4 and Mom had let me run for some bread at the bakery all by myself. "Officer Huff, I'm sorry!" But, by that time, he too had heard way too loud a "Rock Around the Clock" coming from Billy Jones' big old Buick convertible's radio and was screaming "Billy, turn your music down or I'll tell your dad!" Billy managed to look perturbed through his smile of affection for Officer Huff and turned the music down, waving to me with the other hand, and then turned the corner to his old brick house with the white trim I always admired, especially when his mom's red roses were in full bloom.

I finally reached Miss Flynn's Women's Apparel, grateful that my taking my time to get here hadn't meant she'd closed her doors for the night. "Z, I have that dress your mother wanted right here..it just arrived! She's so excited about getting it I had a feeling she'd send you by tonight! I hope she likes it! You know, it's made special in Italy, took a while to get here!" The box was wrapped beautifully, carefully, with fancy Italian stamps. It was fun for Miss Flynn to sell something not made in America, I guess! Mom had been excited to know she could get a dress all the way from Europe. I thought of the new advertisements and that catchy tune we were all hearing so much lately "Look for the union label, when you are buying that coat, dress or blouse......it says we're able to make it in the U.S.A." It was nice to think of people working here on products for us, supporting their families through us....plenty of jobs here, Dad said so often, I hope it stays that way.......sometimes, those unions demand too much, he'd say, and then where will American manufacturers be? I took the box thinking of about that, wondering if there could be a time when we Americans wouldn't want something made in America and why? I picked up a few more things for Mom in the Square and I picked up the book at the library I'd been dying to read had finally come in. I guess it took Melanie so long to read it because her Mama had had to go to work at the factory and Melanie had to mind her 3 younger brothers all day now. Things hadn't been the same at Melanie's for a long time and I worried about her, she'd changed so much since her Dad had left the family. She was short with me and I'd hear her spank her brother Charlie too hard sometimes. You could hear him screaming through the windows.

I walked home glad for my house where Mom would be finishing the roast and Dad would be home soon and get his paper if George had finally filled his bike tire, that is. I could smell the meat cooking and see Sally doing her homework at the dining table .."Sal, you know it's almost dinner time.........time to clear that stuff off and set the table, young woman!" Mom came out and tickled Sally's ribs to make her laugh.

It would be another nice evening here at home. Mom was thrilled with her dress, it fit perfectly, we heard about the presidential bill on TV and we read it in the paper which George had finally delivered, and it would be time to go to bed soon and dream about this country I loved so much, this America where you still felt like clickety-clicking a white picket fence with a stick even when things weren't going too well because that sound reminded you of your childhood days and you knew you were safe and all would be fine in the end, anyway.
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