Chapter 11 Version 1
1963
“There are good habits and there are bad habits” John’s
sixth grade teacher at Sacred Heart School explained to the class of over 50
students some of whom were actually listening. Sensing that she was not getting
the attention of the entire class, the nun turned slowly and picked up the
wooden pointer with a black rubber tip on one end and a metal screw eye on the
other end so it could be hung from a nail in the oak boarder surrounding the
black slate chalk board. Without hesitation or warning, the pointer banged down
on her massive oak desk with such force that the pointer shattered into
multiple splinters that bounded into the classroom until all of the pieces lay
lifeless on the floor and the stub was still held firmly in her vein bulging
hand. She made eye contact with each student before proceeding.
“As I was saying, there are good habits and bad habits”.
The students began to breathe again.
One habit that Joe adhered to was on Sunday after Mass, he
would “make the rounds”. This involved visiting his Zywar relatives to catch up
with events of the week. Before the family problems with Stanley’s handling of
the Zywar Brothers construction company, Joe would visit brother Mike at 112
Ferry Street. By 1963, the rounds were confined to the houses that had been
built on Parsons Street and Valley Lane. These houses included Aurelia’s,
Frances’, Mary’s and occasionally Stanley’s along with his father Albert’s
apartment.
In the summertime when the visits were held on back porches,
John could stop and listen for this father’s laugh to tell where he was in the
neighborhood. This Sunday John grabbed a library book of the Black Stallion
series he was reading and walked off to find his father.
Joe was with John’s grandfather this morning on his first
stop of his rounds. The small apartment tacked on the back of 323 East Street
farmhouse was the first construction project of the Zywar brothers. Mike, Doris
and their children lived there at first. Then a three bay garage was built with
a workshop on the second floor. There was a cast iron potbelly stove for heat
near the trap door access at the top of the stairs at the back of the garage.
On rainy days, the neighborhood kids would hang out in the garage as it
contained a basketball hoop and backboard. High arching shots were not allowed
by the low ceiling joists but the kids were not that tall anyway. Joe who built
the brick walls on the first floor of the garage explained to John one day that
the toughest thing to build was a chimney that was straight as it has a
tendency to twist as it went up in height. But Joe never elaborated on how to
prevent the twisting.
The next building built on the 20 acre orchard site was a
new brick house for Albert and Helena on Parsons street. Helena died swiftly there
after a massive heart attack in 1953. Later the house was sold to the town
accountant and Albert moved into the apartment he now occupied with Mike and
his growing family moving into the farm at 112 Ferry Street.
John was not keen to join the rounds at his grandfather’s
apartment. The apartment smelled of old people and cigarette smoke. His father
and grandfather talked in Polish which John could not understand so having the
book was a welcome diversion. As John sat down on a chair in the corner of the
kitchen, Albert took out his tobacco pouch and zig zag cigarette papers. He
carefully tapped out enough tobacco to roll a small cigarette dropping about
half of the tobacco on the floor. As Albert brought up the paper to his mouth
to lick the edge of the paper about half of the remaining tobacco fell to the
floor. The depleted cigarette being mostly paper was good enough for just a few
puffs in Albert’s nicotine stained fingers. Joe took out his red and white pack
of Winstons and offered Albert one. Albert declined the offer as he was
satisfied with his own effort.
“Was Zywar ever shortened” Joe asked his father.
“Always Zywar” Albert answered. Albert was never accused of
being a great conversationalist.
“Is Zywar Polish?” asked Joe.
“I am Krakowa” said Albert.
“Is that Polish or Austrian?” countered Joe.
“Polish and Austrian – they are the same thing” explained
Albert.
“Where in Poland or Austria were you born?” asked Joe.
“We are here now. What does the past matter?” was Albert’s
reply.
Joe and John moved next to Aurelia’s house and then to
Mary’s house working his way down Parsons street. Joe had brought along a box
of fresh garden vegetables to pass out to any takers – rich red vine ripened
beefsteak tomatoes carefully nurtured with 50% Sevin dust to decimate the
insect population. There were cucumbers, green peppers, zucchini and yellow
summer squash along with string beans and eggplant.
“I am mad at Stanley” said Mary. “He went down to the
Connecticut River and caught some catfish yesterday.” John’s ears perked up as
there must be more to this tale. “He put the catfish in my goldfish pond and
they ate up all of my goldfish!” John smiled and went on reading his book. He
now knew where there might be some good catfishing later on that afternoon in a
local goldfish pond. But for now, reading would be a good use of John’s time.
In a few years John had exhausted the reading material in
the children’s room in the basement of the Easthampton Public Library. The
children’s librarian walked up to him and said “Come with me.” John followed
her up the wide staircase to the first floor. “You need to move upstairs to get
your books now” she said. John had recently ordered some books from his eighth
grade book club that included Asimov’s Pebble
in the Sky, T H White’s Making of the
President 1960, Walter Sullivan’s We
Are Not Alone and John Hersey’s Hiroshima.
“Fiction is alphabetical by author and non-fiction uses the Dewey Decimal
System” explained the librarian before returning to the children’s room
downstairs.
John surveyed his new domain. Under the “A” authors he
pulled out Asimov’s Foundation.
Moving on to the “B” authors he added a book of Robert Benchley’s writings from
the New Yorker magazine. On his next visit John picked up where he left off
with the “C” authors with a book of poems by e e cummings. The “D” authors
contributed Advise and Consent by
Allen Drury. John felt at home in the stacks working his way down to
Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath and
Robert Penn Warren’s All The Kings Men.
For John, reading was becoming a firmly established habit - but
it was a good habit.
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