FOLLOW THE LEADER

‘Get the Dickens off my property, you whippersnappers!’ Daddy yells at the five young children who like to take the shortcut across our lawn to get to their hide-out in the alley. His Billy Goat Gruff voice makes the children run as fast as their little legs will carry them. They always wag their tongues at him, make ugly faces. Then the race begins. Daddy has a cherished barber strop that belonged to his grandfather and he whips it, cracks it over and over as he reaches for the last child who somehow manages to wiggle, squirm out of the monster’s hands.

Dr. Robinson, is the father of two small children and 3 grown-ups, including me. We are 7, 8 and 10. The 5 kids who are running, screaming from the monster aren’t really afraid of him. They know this is ‘a forever’ game as they tease each other. Daddy says he believes there may be a budding actress in this new group.

Mother often gets in the fray. Still wearing her large white kitchen apron, usually spotted with the dinner she is serving, she waves her black frying pan at her husband and chases him who is chasing the girls. He slows down, makes a huge threatening fist and lets them go.

His good humor, love of children, turns to burning wrath when he catches lazy drivers using his private driveway to make an illegal U turn into the busy thoroughfare. He has reported the danger to the police many times. They consider him a grump and ignore his protests.

On a fairly quiet Saturday in June Dad and Mom come home from Synagogue service, sit down in the yellow metal chairs on the front porch to discuss the Rabbi’s sermon when the world almost ends. The driver of a Coca Cola truck, filled to capacity, must have missed his turn two blocks back, sees Daddy’s private driveway and takes a wide fast turn in, misses most of the concrete and runs the truck up the brick steps to the porch. It knocks over the wrought iron railing and stops. Only because Mom & Dad saw it coming, heard the screeching and managed to get in the front door, did they survive. The police wake up, place a large sign on the edge of our property, ‘Private Driveway. No U turn. Violators will be prosecuted.’ The sign does not stop the intrusions. All it does is increase Dad’s anger and Mom’s mighty efforts to calm him, keep his blood pressure down.

Daddy gets a new, fantastic idea. He’s going to have a low brick wall built around the whole house so the driveway won’t be seen by traffic until too late. I didn’t actually witness this but the story quickly reaches the entire close knit neighborhood. Our next door neighbor came running into our house to save Mother. She took a chance because she was sure my mother was being murdered by my father. Mother is poised in the kitchen, her black skillet over her head and a bottle of unopened kosher wine in the other hand. ‘Sammy, Sammy, you are a crazy man. You belong in the nut house. I promise you, Darling, you order one brick to make a wall around this house, the second brick will beat your brains into a pulp.’ Sadie, our neighbor, tells the other neighbors how Mother chases Dad down the cellar and locks the door. In 5 minutes, he is in front of her, trying to kiss away her anger. ‘Dumkoff, the cellar door to outside wasn’t locked.’ Mother pays no attention and warns him again. ‘David, I mean it. I’m not kidding. Put up a wall and you will lose your wife, maybe your life.’ Sadie says she never butted in. All she did was watch and listen to the craziness and went home.

School is over for the summer. The race is on with new kids running across the lawn. Those who were in kindergarten are older, smarter, are now in the first grade. A policeman takes them across the street instead of their moms. They wave to Daddy, turn away and let the babies play.

Rain is due. The sunny sky darkens. The children scurry across the lawn and race to the hiding place. Daddy follows them, cracking his strop. They escape and Daddy comes home. The spring storm is fast. Little paper match books wash down the gutters into the sewers. Daddy watches from our porch as the children come out of the alley. Something is wrong. He counts five. There should be six. He counts again. One child is missing. He jumps down the steps too fast not realizing he has twisted his ankle. The little girls turn around, come to help him. All he can say over and over is, ‘Where is the little girl with red hair and a red cap? Did somebody take her?’ Sally, only 6 says, ‘Dr. R,. you mean Josie, right?’ ‘Yes, yes, Josie. Where is she?’ Her mommie came to take her to the dentist.’

My daddy sighs with relief, invites the 5 little girls onto the front porch and brings them each a Dixie Cup of ice cream with chocolate sauce on top. He asks the children if he can have the movie star lids.

They don’t answer. They eat all the ice cream, lick the chocolate off the lids and hand them to their friend