Song of Fools

By Donald J. Richardson

I was inspired to write Song of Fools by an article I read about Oscar Hartzell. As I read about him, I wondered about the motivations of those Iowans, Missourians, Nebraskans, and Kansans who gladly sent him money. I determined that the type of faith that caused them to send him money is also the kind of faith that is found in bedrock religion. It transcends analysis and must simply be accepted, just as those poor Depression-era Americans believed in Oscar Hartzell and the Drake fortune. But what folly to listen to and heed the songs of fools. The other songs are those which Harold sings and directs the other boys to sing. These, too, in a way are songs of fools as we are all caught in this intricate web of life, seeking meaning as we somehow muddle through. May we ultimately discover the true music of life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 27, 2006
• ISBN: 9781425909123

Donald J. Richardson

Although he has long been eligible to retire, Donald J. Richardson continues to (try to) teach English Composition at Phoenix College in Arizona. He defines his life through his teaching, his singing, his volunteering, and his grandchildren.

Book preview

Song of Fools

It is better to hear the rebuke of the wise, than for a man to hear the song of fools. Ecclesiastes 7:5.

By

Donald J. Richardson

V00_1425909108_TEXT.pdf

This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

© 2006 Donald J. Richardson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 12/12/2006

ISBN: 978-1-4259-0912-3 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4259-0910-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4259-0911-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4259-0912-3 (eBook)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Afterward

For

Sheila Corley,

David Ison,

Verdel Krug,

Lisa Miller,

Ray Newton, and

Beverly Stutterheim:

Teachers all.

Chapter One

I was responsible for Jamie. Mama had told me this years ago when he was just a baby. I was five years older, so I didn’t remember much about him as a baby, but I learned how to change his diaper and how to feed him. It was exciting to watch him grow from a helpless infant who couldn’t turn over into someone who wanted to get into everything. I had to watch him all the time. Mrs. Minetti, our neighbor, watched him when I was in school, but Mama had told me that Jamie was my responsibility, and I had accepted that.

Our mother was the most beautiful woman I ever saw. As she dressed up to go to work in the evening, I watched her and admired her. She was tall and slim with beautiful blonde hair which I loved to help her brush. She put on lipstick and powder and then perfume. That perfume was the most seductive perfume I have ever smelled. Once, years later, after Mama was gone, I walked into a drugstore and smelled her perfume. The smell stopped me right there and left me standing like a hog that has been dazed by a maul; for a moment the aroma washed over me like a gush of nostalgic water from the past, and I was transported back, back in time to when I was just a boy, watching his lovely mother readying herself to go out. Before she went out, she hugged and kissed me. After she had gone, I could still smell her essence as the whole room was filled with it, and I tried to grasp it to me as if it were her actual being.

I didn’t know where she went in the evening or what she did. By that time I was seven or eight, and Jamie was two or three, so I knew how to take care of him when Mama was gone. This was important during the day, too, as Mama usually didn’t get up before noon. She worked late, she said, and she had to have her sleep. So I got Jamie dressed and left him with Mrs. Minetti.

Mrs. Minetti was almost completely opposite from Mama. She was short and heavyset, maybe because she liked to eat. She always had food ready to share with anyone who came to her house. Fortunately, that included Jamie and me. Her husband drove a truck to deliver freight, and he looked much like his wife: short and stocky.

I saw early on that Mrs. Minetti didn’t like Mama. This I didn’t understand as Mrs. Minetti was a good person who cared for people and looked after them. She was one of the people in our neighborhood who made certain the older boys weren’t misbehaving. She watched out her kitchen window to make sure nobody was doing anything on our street that they shouldn’t. Kids who didn’t go to school knew better than to appear on our street as Mrs. Minetti might grab them and walk them to the school herself.

Mrs. Minetti could be stern and disapproving if she didn’t like what you were doing, but I saw that she was quite loving also, especially with the little kids. She looked after Jamie as if he were one of her own children, and she even watched out for me, in a way. Some evenings Jamie and I sat with her in her kitchen while she cooked or washed dishes. I did my homework sitting at her table, and she respected that as she never interrupted me or even distracted me. But she was very attentive to Jamie, offering him special treats as if to make up to him for the world not being such a nice place.

Most evenings after Mama had gone to work, I read to Jamie or we listened to the radio before we went to bed. Since we slept in the same bed, we just naturally grew together.

Some evenings we spent with Mrs. Minetti. When it was time for bed, she walked us to our house and put us to bed. At the time this felt odd to me as Mrs. Minetti wasn’t our mother but since Mama wasn’t available I accepted it. She kissed Jamie when she tucked him in, but I didn’t want her to kiss me.

Once in a while I’d wake up in the night to hear voices. Occasionally I wandered out to find Mama with a man who had come home with her. She would hug and kiss me before telling me to go back to bed. She said she was just talking with her friend. But I thought that they didn’t just talk as whoever it was sometimes didn’t leave right away.

Saturday and Sunday mornings were hard for Jamie and me. We wanted to play, naturally, but we couldn’t do that in the house since Mama needed her sleep. So we had to go outside. This was especially hard during winter as we didn’t have warm clothes to wear. We tried to play, but we were cold. We stood shivering on the dirt street until Mrs. Minetti called us to come in.

Your mama still sleeping?

Yes. She works late.

Work. She mumbled something in Italian. Well, you can’t stand out here in this cold. Come in and get something hot to drink.

I never knew what work Mama did, but somehow she managed to pay the rent and the bills so we didn’t have to move. Our father had left before Jamie was born, so I didn’t remember much about him except that he often picked me up and played with me. I missed that and, in a way I couldn’t have defined, I missed the experience of a complete family. Other boys I knew at school had mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters. But I knew Mama was doing the very best for us that she could. We couldn’t afford new coats, and we had to save our shoes for winter, but neither Jamie nor I minded that as we liked going bare-footed.

One night Mama didn’t come home from work. I didn’t know what to do about this or whether I should do anything at all. So I got Jamie ready for school and fixed our breakfast of oatmeal and we went to school. I tried not to let it bother me, but I was worried when we got home and Mama wasn’t there yet. Finally, I told Mrs. Minetti. She sat in silence for a bit before she said, I’ll find out what happened. You boys go out and play while I go ask some questions.

When Mrs. Minetti came back, she told us that Mama had had to leave on a trip without us. Why didn’t she take us with her? I asked.

She couldn’t. But she said to tell you that she loves you both, and that you have to be good boys. And that you have to look after Jamie. Here, have an apple.

It didn’t make sense to me. Mama shouldn’t have left. We needed and loved her. And she loved us, too; I knew that. Nothing was said about her coming back. I didn’t realize that immediately, but when I did, I began to wonder whether we would ever see her again.

Jamie and I slept at our house that night, but the next day Mrs. Minetti told us we were moving in with her. You need someone to take care of you, she said.

I don’t need anybody to take care of me, I answered.

She looked hard at me. Well, Jamie does. Come on, get your things together. I’ve fixed up my Ronald’s bedroom; you can both sleep there. So we moved in with the Minettis.

At first it was strange living with the Minettis. I missed watching Mama get ready to go out in the evening and I missed her perfume. But soon I got used to the smell of garlic and food simmering on the stove and regular meals.

One day a truck rolled into Mr. Minetti, crushing him against a loading dock. He was taken to the hospital where he seemed to be doing okay, but one day he simply didn’t wake up.

Mrs. Minetti took it all in silence. She still looked out for Jamie and me, but now she wasn’t so friendly; now it seemed that she was just doing an unpleasant job that she didn’t enjoy. Here, she would say, handing us a cookie. Eat this. You can’t go hungry. Starting back into her house, she turned and called, And don’t be late coming in for supper.

Mrs. Minetti was a wonderful cook. I have never tasted spaghetti that was any better than hers. But even as I watched, it seemed that she was becoming less and less; she was just wasting away. Then I noticed that she herself didn’t seem to enjoy eating any longer, and I could see that her dresses hung on her while before she had seemed to be almost bursting out of them like joy unrestrained. Also she was quiet much of