FRONT-PORCH GOSPEL: This life story begins in 1973 (kind of) part 45
Delta Dawn, what’s that flower you have on
Could it be a faded rose from days gone by,
And did I hear you say he was a-meeting you here today
To take you to his mansion in the sky?
The sounds of Helen Ready filled the morning air, competing with the saws of the carpenters and William’s beating out of the mortar mixer with a rubber-handled brick hammer.
The best sound of the morning by far was Helen Ready’s slightly sassy voice and beautiful twang, even though hers is different from the soft, gentle voice Karen Carpenter voice that took Corrina and me home about eight hours before.
I was clearly still on cloud nine, so I wasn’t overly bothered with the other sound that was about to fill the air: the sound of Red, a slightly less pleasant that the gentle sounds of Ms. Ready and Carpenter.
Red did not seem the happiest this morning, but he never seemed happy, so it was always a hard read. Mr. McClain was at the job early that morning, waiting for us when we all drove up in the old red work truck. He and Red talked a good bit out front of the house while Doocy and I hustled loading brick on the scaffold and the bricklayers were hanging their “story poles.” It wasn’t long before Red and Mr. McClain finished their talk, and Mr. McClain pulled away in his Studebaker. Out of the side of my eye I saw him turning around as I was pushing a load of brick toward the back of the house, and then I saw Red as he strolled toward the back of the house in my and Doocy’s direction.
Doocy had already climbed up on the scaffold waiting for me to get there to hand him the brick to get that wall stocked up for the bricklayers. About the time that I got there and reached up to hand Doocy a tong full of brick, Red stormed around the corner.
“Pup,” Red exclaimed without introduction, “how in the world can a man – or a boy – take the boss’ daughter out on a date and bring her home an hour late? The boss’ daughter!”
He said “how-in-the-world, on-a-date, and an-hour-late” especially slow, drawing out each word for emphasis, stamping the latter with an elevated pitch.
I tried to muster up something to mumble in response, but Providence stepped in and Doocy – who had proven to come in handy at times at just the right moment – jumped in before I could put my foot in my mouth, and said,
“Bossman, don’t be too hard on the Pup heah. The boy’s jus’ flexin’ those young muscles there jus’ a bit, like boys thet age do,” and he pointed at my muscles that I was flexing at that moment as I handed up another tong-full of brick.
Doocy grabbed the tongs with that webbed right hand with such ease that you would’ve thought I was handing him a strip of Styrofoam. That’s how strong he was. Red didn’t say anything else – at least, not then – just shook his head, mumbled under his breath, and stormed off toward the mixer hollering for William to get that mud made.
Pee Wee was up on the scaffold by us at the corner of the house getting ready to lay brick. He had finished hanging the pole and was scraping off the dried mortar on the last course of brick on the wall with his trowel, sending a twanging, almost musical, sound through the air. He had watched the pleasant scene with Red from a front-row seat and had his two-cents’ worth ready.
“Pup,” Pee Wee said, flashing his trademark grin, “you know not just anybody can take the boss’ daughter out on a date and bring her back late and get by with it. But, somehow, you did it. I heard Mr. McClain tell Red about what happened when I was over by the truck; but he said that it was all right because little miss Corrina and you had stopped to call home and told them ya’ll might be a little late. But Red conveniently left out that part. I wouldn’t necessarily mention to Red that you know that. Just tell ‘im time got away from you, if he brings it up again.”
I listened to Pee Wee’s advice as I handed Doocy brick, and took it, too. I actually did better than that. Every time I saw Red in my path as I was pushing brick or mortar toward the back, I would try to take the long way around or stop and pretend to be fixing the tire on the wheelbarrow or something.
But the subject was not dead, not by a long shot. Any number of times when I got back around to the back of the house, Pee Wee would stir the pot and say something like, “Red, did you ever take a girl out back in your day and bring her home way past curfew time?”
And Red would grumble and say, “Naw, I didn’t do that, because us young folks back in my day had more respect for the girl and her mama and daddy than to do that. We weren’t like the young folks today are, with their bad habits and hippie music and long stringy hair.”
I don’t think Red ever forgave me for complaining about the music on the radio the first day on the job and, thus, associated me with hippies ever since.
Pee Wee laughed, and said, “Red, was that you that brought Charlene home a couple of hours late one Saturday night and had Mama and Daddy all upset.” Red, of course, had dated and ended up marrying Pee Wee’s sister Charlene back in the 60s.
“Well,” Red blurted out, “if you’d jus’ remember, it was a storm that night Pee Wee, and we got stuck out on a dirt road and like to never have gotten the truck out. That’s a whole different thang than what your lil’ baby Pup over there done.”
“Hmm,” Pee Wee responded, being braver than I ever would’ve thought of being, “what was it you and Charlene were doing out on a dirt road that late at night?”
Red turned redder than normal, but before he could explode Doocy – who was slinging mud up on the mortar boards from the ground – said, “Aw, Pee Wee, ain’t but one reason a young fella has a man’s daughter out on a dirt road. They were jus’ ta countin’ the stars, Pee Wee, and they counted so many of 'em they forgot they done parked in a mud hole.”
Pee Wee and Doocy found extra joy in that response and formed a chorus of laughter, which was something to see and hear, but Red didn’t join in on the fun.
That may have been the only time the whole summer I saw anybody get the best of Red, and when I knew Red wasn’t looking I flashed Pee Wee a smile of gratitude, and Doocy, too.
All of that jabber went on all morning, and Red threatened a dozen times to fire the whole bunch of them and get him some real bricklayers and some who weren’t so sassy as these ‘scabs’ he had working on the job. It didn’t matter, though, Red was fighting an uphill battle that morning.
We made it through the morning without getting anybody fired, and all the excitement made time slip away – as the Billy Walker song of 1961 that played on the radio mid-morning said – and before you knew it the bricklayers were climbing down off of the scaffold and grabbing their lunches out of the truck, five-gallon buckets to sit on, and then heading to what would be the living room of the McClain house. Several of the guys remembered they needed some RC’s and a couple of snacks at the store, so Red ordered me to take the red truck to the store and get what everybody needed, adding roughly, “And don’t be an hour late this time doing it, either, Pup!”
I took that like a man and was just thankful that dirt driveway, dust flying all around me, and was about halfway down the drive when I passed an old blue Ford pickup coming up toward the house. I noted that I hadn’t seen any vehicle of the kind before but didn’t think any more of it, just kind-of waved as I passed it. I could tell it was a younger fella driving, maybe eighteen but stout for his age. He gave me a half-wave back and passed on by.
What I didn’t know was, what was about to happen in that make-shift living-room – that would be a scene for the ages.
Coach Steven Bowen, a long-time Red Oak teacher and coach, now enjoys his time as a writer and preacher of the gospel. And, after a ten-year hiatus, he’s also returned to work with students at Ferris High School as well.
In addition to his evangelistic travels, he works and writes for the Church of Christ of Red Oak at Uhl Road and Ovilla. Their worship times are 10 a.m. Sundays and 7:30 pm. Wednesdays. Email coachbowen1984@gmail.com or call or text (972) 824-5197.