Chapter One
1963
This would be an out-of-the-ordinary Thanksgiving weekend, and the festivities would begin the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving. In the home at 513 Highland Avenue, you could hear the TV blaring with Walter Cronkite on The CBS Evening News at 6:30 p.m., followed by Leave It to Beaver and the popular The Beverly Hillbillies. Life was changing in this little community and the world.
Alex Flynn was home from college and preparing himself for a reunion of sorts. Standing in his bedroom as he finished dressing for the evening, he offhandedly asked the image in the mirror. So here I am taking a personal inventory of myself, he thought. I’m a freshman in college, and I really don’t know who I am. Who is Alex Flynn? He took into consideration all of his physical features as stated on his driver’s license: six foot one, one hundred and sixty pounds, with blue eyes and dark blond hair. Not bad to look at, but not considered attractive by most girls, he thought to himself. Perhaps it was his long face or the fact that he was not as funny as most of his close friends. Because of his poor eyesight, Alex was required to wear glasses; therefore he couldn’t play sports and didn’t have an athletic body. Without any scholastic achievements, teachers considered him not too smart, but he did have a curious mind and a deep interest in people, all kinds of people.
If I were born in a different family, how different would I be? Alex pondered for a moment. Even my name would be different. His mother had named him after a cat. As a small child, Alex remembered that strange-looking cat, his mom’s favorite pet. She loved that cat so much, but one day it went out and never returned. The loss of that strange cat changed his mother’s whole outlook on life. She became distant, cooler, and seemed to lose her interest in life. Alex wondered if she often thought what her life would have been like with a different husband and different children.
“What difference did it make? I’m me,” Alex said as he dressed. He was growing aware of the changes in life that lie ahead. He was in college now and starting on his life journey to who knows where. If only he could make that journey together with his dear friends, all on one team. But he knew they must each travel their own trail. Even so he hoped they could somehow stay connected. However, they had already begun the separation process and were each going their own way. It was like looking at the road map out of St. Louis, knowing they all were traveling on different highways, heading in various directions. Only God knew where they’d end up. Tonight at O’Connor’s Alex was going to ask them for a commitment to strengthen their friendship, and hopefully they could remain connected no matter what lay ahead.
The night was cold with a light drizzle. Alex had to park his car a few blocks from Grove Street High School. He joined the other people walking toward the school parking lot where a pep rally and bonfire were already in progress. Alex was surprised by the size of the jubilant crowd, celebrating the annual community ritual. It was a euphoric occasion, like a homecoming for many of the former high school friends. The purpose of the rally was to unite the community and school in sending the high school football team off to the game with thunderous support.
Alex looked around the mass of people as he searched for friendly faces without much luck. The crowd was much larger than he expected, considering the rain and cold. In the center of the parking lot, the large bonfire was ablaze. The heat could be felt at a long distance. Alex recognized some faces in the crowd and acknowledged those he knew, but he decided to remain alone in the crowd and kept his spot until the right people presented themselves. He could hear the high school band marching up Grove Street. As it drew closer, it got louder. Everyone started moving to the center of the parking lot as the triumphal band marched in, playing the school’s alma mater. The crowd cheered and applauded loudly.
The cheerleaders led the parade into the parking lot, followed by the band, fire trucks, floats, and local politicians in convertibles. The grand marshal of the parade was Bob DeAngelo, the head football coach. The procession marched from the volunteer firehouse on State Street through the small village, turned up Grove Street, and then continued for a half mile to the high school parking lot.
More than a thousand people assembled in a large circle around the raging, twenty-foot-high bonfire. They backed away as a green tractor slowly made its way, pulling an empty hay wagon, and stopped in front of the powerful fire. Principal Graham, wearing a long, dark parka, emerged from the crowd and stepped on the wagon to address the fans.
With a megaphone in hand, he yelled, “I want to thank you all for coming out tonight. This night is special. Tomorrow’s game is special. We all have just gone through a difficult time, but tonight we’re not going to dwell on what happened last week. However, I ask you now to please bow your heads for a moment and say a prayer for the family of President Kennedy and say another prayer for our country.” Everyone bowed in silence.
After a minute Principal Graham lifted his head, looked over the audience, put the megaphone to his mouth, and yelled again, “We are here tonight to support this fine football team. So now let’s talk football.” The crowd went wild with cheers and revelry. The band started playing the Notre Dame fight song. It was an enthusiastic, festive atmosphere. No one was quiet, and after a few minutes, the principal continued.
“When it comes to football, there’s no one more qualified to talk about it, and there’s no one more qualified to coach it, than our own head coach, Bob DeAngelo. Who wants to hear from our coach?”
Principal Graham had the timing and skill of a vaudeville performer. Everyone was yelling and cheering, and the band was applauding. Coach DeAngelo waited out of view behind the wagon. When the roar and applause was pitched just right, he made his way up onto the wagon. He was dressed in a dark overcoat, with a white shirt and tie exposed as if he were dressed for business. He walked across the wagon toward Principal Graham. With both hands high in the air, fists closed, the coach wore a smile of determination.
The men shook hands, turned, and faced the crowd. Principal Graham handed the megaphone to the coach, smiled, and pointed toward the cheering multitude. It was quite a sight. The large fire roared in the background, reflecting a reddish glow on both men as they stood out on the cold, dark night. After a few moments, the principal left the wagon, and the coach stood alone, basking in the adulation of his supporters.
Coach DeAngelo was small in stature, only five feet four, but he was a dynamic speaker and motivator. He understood destiny, hard work, and planning. The school board paid a lot of money to recruit him and gave him whatever he wanted. Standing alone on the wagon, he looked like Napoleon addressing his troops before the Battle of the Pyramids. Everyone quieted down. As the coach was about to speak, he discarded the megaphone.
Holding his head high and looking over the heads of those he was addressing, Coach DeAngelo extended his right arm and pointed to the sky. “I’m here tonight to tell you that these are the best young men and this is the finest team I have ever coached,” he yelled out. The cheers and yells were instantaneous and thunderous. He looked all around, taking in the spectacle. “Tomorrow we play the game of the year,” he continued. “We will be representing this school district and this community. When we go on the field of play tomorrow, we will be thinking of the tradition of this great event. We will look up at the stands, and we will see your faces, we will hear your voices, and we will know we have your support. With our effort and your support, we will win tomorrow.” The crowd went wild. “We will represent you well.” The roar again erupted, and the coach began to introduce the players.
Alex moved along with the crowd toward the blazing fire. As he walked along, he spotted Johnny Thompson. Alex could pick Johnny out of a crowd of a thousand people. They had been friends since third grade, and they lived in the same neighborhood. They camped out in their backyards as small children; they shared ghost stories and family secrets, and discussed everything from girls and frogs to God and religion. Each was aware of the other’s strengths and weaknesses. They had a special understanding with each other. In their own way, they were closer to each other than to any of their family members.
Johnny stood six feet tall with wide shoulders, a thin waist, and muscular arms. He walked with a special stride, chest puffed out and head cocked; some would say he walked around as if he owned the place. His large shoulders were the result of hard work as a child and dedicated training as a star athlete in high school football and wrestling. He wore his sandy-colored hair in an odd flattop manner, up and to the side. The hairstyle resulted in his nickname, “Wedge Head.” It was a secret name and rarely, if ever, used in his presence. Johnny had one physical problem he was sensitive about: his complexion. As a child, Johnny developed skin problems that resulted in a teenage embossment. He had deep pits in his face and large pimples that seemed constant.
Nothing he tried—including trips to the doctor, home remedies, and using a scrub brush on his face for hours—had much success. Nothing relieved the pain or the shame of his blotched complexion. Although he went through high school with a quick wit and sarcastic attitude, as though nothing troubled him, Alex knew how ashamed Johnny was of his face.
Johnny came from a strict Protestant family. They were God-fearing people who worked hard and didn’t drink alcohol in front of others. They went to church on Sundays, praying for the sinners, the sick, and the shut-ins. The Thompsons were proud of their church affiliation but had contempt for Catholics with all those kids and Jews with all that money. They expected their children to go to school, work around the house, and hold a part-time job. Johnny and his brother cut lawns in the summer, raked leaves in the fall, and shoveled snow in the winter. Johnny’s dad worked for the A&P food stores. The job didn’t pay much, but it was a job with security. Money was so tight that the Thompsons didn’t have enough income to justify operating a car. Mr. Thompson walked to work every day in rain, sleet, or snow, a mile and a half each way. He also walked home for lunch. As a family they walked to church. In poor weather, Mrs. Thompson’s sister would drive the family. Because Mr. Thompson walked so much, he kept his tall, lean physique, and his white hair gave off an air of dignity. Mrs. Thompson baked pies to help with the family income. It took long hours and hard work to make what little money she could.
Johnny strolled across the parking lot hand in hand with his girlfriend, Melody Brown. He was dressed in a stylish, yellow rain parka, and Melody was dressed in a matching green parka with the hood up due to the light mist. They were a handsome couple and obviously very much in love.
Melody was a well-proportioned girl, almost as tall as Johnny. Her brown hair was puffed up in a fashion that made her face appear smaller. Large brown eyes and an innocent warm smile were her most attractive features. She was shy and meek, like a quiet, slow-flowing mountain stream; but below the water’s surface, she was as hard as a rock.
She came from a hardworking family. Her father had a small, struggling construction company, and her mother, Mrs. Brown, worked part-time to help with the strained income. They were strict Southern Baptists. There was no drinking or swearing and no working on Sundays. For Melody and her sister, there was no dating until they were sixteen and then only on special occasions with a proper chaperone. In the presence of her parents, Melody was a perfectly behaved daughter who smiled sweetly and was considerate of others. In the presence of others, she was independent, quite open, and enjoyable to be around. Although she gave the impression of holding dear to her church values, the only values she adhered to were not working on Sundays and being absolutely devoted to Johnny.
Melody and Johnny had been secretly dating for years. Her parents had no idea that when she spent the night at a girlfriend’s house she was actually sneaking out with Johnny. Over a period of time, Mr. and Mrs. Brown eventually allowed Melody to go out officially on a date with Johnny, partly because of his close association with his church. However, they kept a keen eye on the couple’s activities with many restrictions to ensure that nothing sinful happened. Through deception and ruse they were more involved than her parents ever suspected.
Alex waved his arms high in the air to get the attention of Johnny across the parking lot. Melody spotted Alex first, waved back, and alerted Johnny. The three ran through the crowd toward each other.
“Hey, Johnny,” Alex said, shaking Johnny’s hand, then reaching out and smiling at Melody. “Never shake hands with a pretty girl; you must always kiss her.” He then embraced Melody and kissed her on the cheek.
“Nice to see you too, Alex, but remember I’m the jealous type. I’m watching to see how tightly you squeeze her,” Johnny said jokingly.
“How is college, Alex?” Melody asked as she looked directly into his eyes.
“It’s different, a lot harder than I thought,” Alex said with a concerned voice. Almost as an afterthought, he asked, “How does your father like having Johnny working for him?”
Before she could answer, Johnny blurted out, “I’m the best worker he has. If he works with me, I’ll build that business into something big.”
Melody smiled and said in a joking tone, “Right now I have two very strong men in my life, each trying to keep me from the dominance of the other.”
“But I’m winning, Alex, even though both parents are against me. Oh yeah, her mother likes me even less than her father. But that’s okay; soon I’ll have all the family’s women loving me and the father respecting me,” Johnny said confidently.
“Sounds like the two of you have your future planned out,” Alex said.
“We know what we are doing, and we’re trying to keep everyone else in the dark,” Johnny replied.
“Speaking of the dark, where is everyone? Have you heard from anybody? I was hoping to see some of the A-team tonight at O’Connor’s,” Alex said.
Johnny was quick to answer as usual. “I saw Nancy Bishop at the gas station, and she said she had some things to do but would see us at O’Connor’s tonight. I called Phil Whitman too, and he said he was going to try to make it to the rally tonight. If not he would see us at the bar later.”
“How about Danny Fredrick?” Alex asked meekly.
“I don’t think anyone has talked to him recently, at least I haven’t,” Melody said, glancing toward Johnny for comment.
“I haven’t either, Alex. I’m sure he’ll be around tonight. They say the Wednesday before Thanksgiving is the busiest night of the year at the bar. There will be drinking and a crowd, so he’ll be there,” Johnny added with a smirk.
“Has anyone heard from Jerry Weaver? I hope he can make it in this weekend,” Alex said in a serious tone.
“Nancy said he was at Fort Benning, Georgia, finishing up jump school. He is now a genuine Army paratrooper,” Johnny said.
“The hoopla here is about over. I’m getting cold and wet, so let’s get to O’Connor’s. This could be a fun night,” Alex said, shivering.
“You just want to get to the bar to have a few drinks,” Johnny said and laughed.
Alex looked over at the fire and yelled to the loving couple, “Okay, Johnny, I’ll see you and Melody in a few minutes at O’Connor’s.”
“We’ll be there in a little while; I have to run over to Doc Stones for a few minutes,” Johnny said as he squeezed Melody. She looked into his eyes and smiled.
Alex knew that Doc Stones was an old dirt road that led to nowhere but was a great isolated spot for young lovers. Alex said with a chuckle in his voice, “I understand John; I guess something just popped up.”
X X X X
O’Connor’s Bar was located next to the Summit Diner on State Street. Viewed from the street, it looked like a white farmhouse with an extended porch. It was a picturesque scene with large oak trees towering over the house, which sat back fifty yards from the street on an elevated parcel of land with a stone wall in front. There was a small parking area in the back with a side entrance. The hidden parking was convenient for those who preferred their cars to remain out of sight, away from the scrutiny of the good citizens. The rear entrance was also convenient for illegal Sunday liquor sales and the flock of underage drinkers who were afraid to use the front door.
The interior of O’Connor’s Bar was as unique as the ownership. Upon entering the place, customers were impressed by how clean and comfortable it looked. It seemed like a large recreation room at a friend’s house. The long, dark red mahogany bar had eleven wooden barstools, and the walls consisted of yellow, knotty pine planks from floor to ceiling. On the wall attached to the house, a large square window was installed so Frances O’Connor and her sister could peek through to monitor Frances’ husband, Eddy’s drinking. Illuminated beer signs furnished the only glow in the dimly lit room. Behind the bar were three shelves displaying whiskey bottles. Above the shelves was a long, wide mirror. There were a few side windows for light, and on the walls hung old black-and-white pictures and some framed billboards. One picture was of “the greatest fighter of them all, Jack Dempsey,” according to Eddy. In addition to the bar there were six small tables, each with four classic barroom chairs.
Frances kept the place immaculate. In the restrooms she placed newspapers on the floor near the toilets to catch any inadvertent spray and put out scented candles near the sinks to clear the air. Eddy was the bartender, but when he was out Frances took over. This gave her the opportunity to add water to the whiskey bottles when no one was looking. When they were together, it was a battlefield of insults. Eddy usually had the upper hand until his sister-in-law, Liz, appeared and added verbal support to Frances. Even Eddy couldn’t fight the two of them. Insults were not limited to O’Connor family members. Both Eddy and Frances had a reputation of insulting whomever they chose. That was one of the reasons the place was so easy to keep clean; many potential patrons didn’t like being insulted, so there weren’t too many customers. Eddy and Frances were fussy about the clientele but not too finicky about the fact that most of their satisfactory customers were underage drinkers. No cursing was allowed, and if anyone disagreed with the management, he was subject to ridicule and expulsion. The real lure of O’Connor’s was not the ambience or the service but the fact they would serve almost anyone with any type of ID.
The only food available was pickled eggs. And there was no jukebox or any other type of music. The only entertainment was Eddy and a large black-and-white TV set high above the bar. Eddy was in sole control of the TV. Before the development of the remote control, changing channels was done manually. Watching Eddy change a channel was an amusement in itself. Climbing up on a stepladder, he extended himself as far as possible to change to one of the three networks. As the evening progressed, Eddy’s intoxication would make the channel-changing process even more precarious and humorous.
From a barstool, you could sit and gaze out the large picture window on the right side of the bar and witness the changing of seasons. In the summer you could spot local townsfolk walking uptown to the movie theater on a warm, starlit evening. In the autumn you could witness the turning of the leaves, watching them change color and fall from the large trees. They would start floating and spinning as the wind directed them to their place for the winter to be covered with layers of snow. The cold, harsh winter nights were perhaps the ideal time to sit at the bar. Perched on a stool, you could sip a shot of whiskey while watching a winter storm, as trucks with snowplows made slow progress up State Street. The few pedestrians brave enough to be out at night walked by quickly, all bundled up. The high winds blew the snow back and forth, swirling into drifts. Many nights Alex would sit and sip a shot of Rock & Rye whiskey, enjoying the warmth of the bar and staring out at winter’s magical display.
X X X X
Eddy O’Connor’s unique personality was known throughout the area and had made him kind of a folk hero. His black hair was streaked with gray. He stood five foot six, weighed ninety-six pounds, and had a humped back. Eddy had fought in World War I; he was wounded at Cantigny, France in 1918, when he was struck with shrapnel from an artillery shell. When the shrapnel was removed, the field doctors gave a piece of it to Eddy. Upon returning to the States, he had it dipped in gold and made into a beautiful tiepin. At times he was kidded about being shot with a tiepin gun.
Out in public he always wore a three-piece suit bought in the 1920s. In the summer months, he wore a white Irish linen suit with a white panama hat. He looked as if he just stepped out of an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel, perhaps a neighbor of The Great Gatsby. While bartending he wore a white waiter’s jacket that exposed his oversized tie and gold tiepin. Eddy had a glass eye, and while sitting behind the bar, he would take it out and polish it to the horror of first-time customers. When he spoke in heated conversations, he would cock his head and stare intensely with his good eye for effect. Eddy had a keen wit and strong opinions, and he expressed them openly. He felt Roosevelt should be canonized; this Democrat was the savior of the workingman. Eddy lived through the tough times of the Depression, Prohibition, and war. Although now in his mid-seventies, he was quick on his feet, retaining the agility of his younger years as a boxer. He never looked back with regret; his wit was contagious, and he was quite lovable.
X X X X
Alex parked his car behind O’Connor’s. Walking in alone he knew this would be an exceptional night. This might be the last time the A-team, our high school clique, would all be together. A lot had happened since graduation. In just five months since receiving their high school diplomas, everyone had started on their own path of life. But tonight they would be together again to enjoy each other’s company.
As he entered the crowded barroom, Alex could see many familiar faces in the crowd; his attention was focused on a table in the center of the room. Sitting there was Danny Fredrick with his apparent date. Alex didn’t know the girl, but she had long dark hair and strange, eccentric-looking clothes. For Danny, though, this look would be desirable.
Of all the people in the close-knit group, Danny was the most independent. He seemed to walk to the beat of a different drummer. He was tall and lean; his hair was always cut short but always looked unkempt. Jeans, sandals and a buckskin jacket were one aspect of his style of dress. Soft-spoken and strongly opinionated, he was the voice of conscience for the group. He was not a member of any sports team nor did he participate in school activities. His passion was music; the guitar was his instrument of choice.
Like Samson’s long hair, music was Danny’s strength. Danny was popular and respected mostly for his musical talents although he had his share of critics. Alex was fond of him and appreciated his sense of independence and refreshing viewpoints. Alex and Nancy Bishop would often smooth over many of the misunderstandings he created with his outspoken and marginal views.
Danny had one younger sister who was his total opposite, very shy. Their father worked for the state in some nondescript job. Their mother was sort of a recluse; no one ever saw her out in public. She would answer the phone and the door when friends called though. Danny was now attending the University of Scranton, a local Jesuit college.
“Over here, Alex,” Danny yelled and waved his right hand high in the air.
Alex made his way through the crowd, shaking hands with some of his old friends and acquaintances. Some he hadn’t seen for quite a while. Finally arriving at the table, Alex extended his hand and with a large smile said, “Hello, Danny, you are looking good.” Then looking directly at the girl with the long hair, he added, “You’re looking good too.”
“Easy, Alex. This is my newest love; her name is Ida Freeman. I met her at college.”
“I thought the university didn’t allow girls on campus,” Alex said.
“Times are changing, Alex. There are girls at the U, and soon there will be guys at Marywood College,” Danny said with a musical tone in his voice. “I can see big changes coming because we need big changes in our society.”
“Yes, we’ll discuss that later, but for tonight we are supposed to have fun. We may not see each other for some time, so let’s enjoy the night and let Atlas carry the world on his shoulders for a while,” Alex said. He then took the initiative to talk to Ida.
“Welcome to O’Connor’s, Ida. I hope you enjoy the evening. I can promise you it will be interesting if nothing else,” Alex said as he took a better look at her. She was very pretty, with her black hair