There Will Be Heroes: A Doxology in the Landing Part I

7/27/2019 There Will Be Heroes: A Doxology in the Landing Part I

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There Will Be Heroes

A Doxology in The Landing

MARC A. NELSON

431 2nd Ave. P.O.Box 68, Hampton, IL, 6i256. (312) 593-1908 [email protected]


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The crazy old man walked down the block, crossed the alley on his way to the post

office every day but Sunday. When the phony bells of the Methodist Church finished pealing

out the recording they played punctually at ten oclock each morning Sunny knew to look for

him. The old man may have been crazy but he was reliable.

Sunny didnt know why thebells rang out every morning at ten or why it was a recorded

amplified tune rather than the simple, solitary ding-dong, cling-clang of the old bell that hung

silent in the United Brethren belfry. He asked his motherbut she didnt know. She said they

probablywanted to make sure lazybones were out of bed but were too lazy to get up and ring the

bell themselves. They were ringing now, singing out a musical phrase that broughtthe

accompanying the wordsto Sunnys mind: Praise God from whom all blessings flow . . .

The recorded bells would ring again at dinnertime marking the limit of Sunnys daily

adventures outdoors. When he heard them, wherever he was, he would drop what he was doing

and head for home. All creatures down below . . .

Sunday mornings the phony bells slept in. The janitor, Mr. Gnat, pulled the rope that led

through the trapdoor to the real bell, so it was an actual bell pealing which called the kids to

Sunday school and later coaxed the congregation to gather in the Spartan Methodist sanctuary for

a service featuring a Rev. Dudy sermon. The thought of the very Reverend Dudy and one of his

very dutiful sermons forced Sunny to stifle a yawn. The final musical coda of this mornings

taped selection echoed through the river village and Sunny, whispering, sang along; Praise

Father, Son and Holy Ghost . . .

* * * * * *

Three boys lay unnaturally still, hidden by low walls of snow pushed up behind the

leafless hedge that ran along the edge of the yard and the freshly shoveled sidewalk.

Can you see him yet? Davey hissed.


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Im cold. Stinky whined.

Shut up turd bucket. Davey snapped, slapping the smaller boy on the boot bottom.

Ow! Stinky yelped.

That didnt hurt. Said Dave.

Yeah, it did. Replied Stinky.

Shut up! Dave threatened. He showed Stinky he meant business by taking off his glove

and making a pinching motion with his thumb and forefinger. Shut up or youll get a crabby!

No! Stinkys already high-pitched voice raised another two octaves.

Quiet. Said Sonny. I think hes coming.

Sunny didnt really hear the old man coming but he was tired of the banterand keenly

aware of how it would end with Stinky running red face clenched, eyes flowing, screaming to the

house, pounding on the door until their mother answered.Then there would be; as she sometimes

said in a singsong voice, trouble a brewin and a toll to be paid. Sunny just wanted to lie in the

snow quietly, as still as possible, as if he lacked the ability to move at all. He wanted to be

invisible.

I thought you said he was coming. Davey hissed.

He is. Sunny waved his mitten dismissively.

Im cold. Added Stinky.

Shut up! Said Davey, his voice rising.

Shhhhhh. Sunny shushed. Listen.

They quieted and they listened. In the distance a car was spinning its wheels.

Somewhere nearby a feisty squirrel chattered and hissed at a real or imagined threat to its nest.


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They heard the winter wind caught in the barren trees limbs of the river valley and, very faintly,

they heard a whistling tune. It was his tune, the old mans melody of his own making, one he

whistled while he walked.

Is it him? asked Stinky.

Shhhhhhhh. Dave and Sunny shushed him simultaneously, a chorus of snakes. They

heard rubber boots scraping on the sidewalk and the tap of a cane. They heard someone losing

and regaining balance on a patch of ice; a shuffle, a slip and a voice mutter, Oh my! They heard

the crunch of the gritty salt strewn driveway let them know with some certitude how near the prey

was. The whistle began again.Sunny sensedthe old mans presence before he saw the puff of

white exhalation that announced his arrival and he stepped into their line of vision.

The crazy old man wore a flat black cap with attached earflaps atop white hair. Black horn-

rimmed glasses fronted his swarthy tan spotted face. He sported a long dark brown coat and black

leather gloves. His grey pant-legs peeked between the hem of the coat and where they tucked into

high-top rubber galoshes. A red scarf, wrapped so tightly it seemed to hold the head in place, was

the only brightness in the ensemble. His right hand gripped a wooden cane. All in all, Sunny

thought, the old man looked as if he owned a bank.

Now! Davey cried.

The trio of young snow-ballers leapt to their feet and fired. Three icy projectiles flew

toward the target. In the instant his snowball left his hand Sunny changed his mind and wanted it

back. The old man turned toward them his eyes widening behind his glass lenses, his maroon lips

forming a perfect little o. Stinkys effort arced higher than the others and fell far short. Dave

and Sunnys snowballs, however, were well aimed and mightily thrown, they hit home. Daves

snowball hit the old man first. It was a glancing blow along the side of his head knocking off the

small black cappie and causing their victim to spin on his heels as iftrying to dodge in a weird


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old man way. Sunny felt sick to his stomach. As Sunnys snowball hit his shoulder mid-spin

pushing the old man off the sidewalk, Sonny knew it had all been a horrible mistake.

Reaching for more ammo: three neat lines of carefully hand-packed, ice-glazed

snowballs. Davey screamed, Fire at will!

The old man was off the shoveled walk, up to his knees in snow. He still had his cane in

his hand but he wasnt whistling anymore. His mouth was open and he was sucking wind.

Another snowball flew by missing his head by an inch or less.

Dave! Dont! Sunny yelled. Too late, as the words left Sunnys mouth, Dave had let

another potential icy projectile fly.

The old man turned toward them again. He slid and his legs splayed, but by clinging to

his planted cane he stayed afoot. Hey. He said withoutmeaning. He mightve said more,

something like, you darn kids or cut it out but Daveys third snowball hit him full in the face.

Sunny saw the black-rimmed glasses fly in the spray of white ice as the old mans head snapped

back. His gloved hands went straight up as if he were signaling a game-winning football score or

elation at being filled with the spirit at a revival meeting. The cane flew and the old man fell. His

back slammed to the frozen ground, his legs splayed straight up thebottoms of his totes boots

glistening blackly. He was down.He wasnt moving. He was almost gone under the snow. Just

his boot tips and tossed cane were visible. The cane stuck in the snow impossibly perpendicular

propping up an invisible onlooker. It wavered slightly as if waiting patiently for its sprawled

master to retrieve it.

The three criminals saucer-eyed one another in the deafening silence. Holy shit, Dave

said. I killed him.

What? Stinky whispered.as he wiped his nose with the back of a snow encrusted

mitten.


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Hes dead. Davey was unable to keep the worried tone out ofhis voice. He used a

Stinky shoulder to push off and started running in the deep snow. Stinkys arms waved in the air

as he tried to keep hisbalance but he sat down hard giving out an involuntary little sound like a

hiccup.

Hiccow. He said.

Wait! Sunny reached to grab Dave, but Dave was already passed him, taking high,

clumping steps for the cleared sidewalk where he picked up speed.

Retreat! Was the last thing Sunny and Stinky heard Dave say as he disappeared around

the corner at the end of the block heading off forall points west.

Ib heeb deb? Stinky blubbered. He sat in the snow; his brilliant, crystalline blue eyes

gaped up at Sunny begging an answer.

What? Sunny said, Dont babify your talk, Stink. Get up on your feet.

Stinky coughed sending snot missiles out his nose. Tear trails were on his splotchy red

cheeks. He rolled over onto his belly and pushed up with his thick puffy nylon encased arms

getting to his feet with great effort.

Is he dead? Stinky said, when he was finally upright. He reached to hold his older

brothers hand but Sunny pushed the grasping frozen mitten away.

Dont be a baby. Sunny snarled.

Im not.

Babies need to hold Mommys hand.

Im not a baby.

Then dont act like one.


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Youre not Mommy, or Daddy. Stinky paused and they turned in unison to look at the

old mans motionless boot tips. Davey went home. He whined.

I know. You should go home too. Sunny gently pushed on the back of his brothers

head. It was a gesture he had seen and felt their Mother do when she wanted one of the boys to

move in a particular direction without more discussion.

Dont top knob me! Stinkyslapped his brothers glove away. He was repeating what he

had heard Sunny say to their mother when Sunny was peevish and contrary. Being quoted by his

little brother penetrated Sunnys daze and he began to feel as though his eyes might start to water

and betray his big brother stance. He did not want to cry in front of Stinky.

All right, Stinky. Geez. Get a grip. Will you?

You get a grip. Stinky windmilled his arms in exasperation. They turned in unison to

see if the crazy old man was alive but there was still no movement. The cap was lying where it

had fallen, the strange boot tips were barely visible above the snow line and the cane was a thin

cylindrical headstone.

Look, Stink, you go in and make sure mom doesnt look out and see this. Shes probably

down in the laundry room, go in, just say you got cold and came in. Okay? Ill handle this.

Maybe hes not dead. Stinky said hopefully. He looks dead, but maybe hes not.

Yeah, maybe hes not. Sunny agreed trying to keep the not-so-sure feeling he had in his

stomach out of his voice.

Yeah. Stinky echoed. He moved towards the side of their house that led to the back

door. The most direct rout into the mudroom and down the stairs to the basement where the

laundry and TV room were. Stinky stopped in the snow and turned to his brother. Sunny? He

said.


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Yeah?

I dont want him to be dead. Mrs. Cooper gave popcorn balls at Halloween.

I know. Sunny said looking down. He was not only scared, he felt ashamed. This time

Sunny raised his hand in a half wave, half salute to his littlebrother. Itll be okay. You just keep

mom busy. If she isnt watching TV, ask her to watch A Wonderful Life with you.

Again?

Come on Stank. You know when she starts watching that movie, shell watch the whole

thing without moving an inch.

Oh boy! Stinky agreed. Hee-haw.

Yeah. Said Sunny. Hee-haw. he watched his well wrapped, snow covered brother

wobble along the sunward side of their small two-story home. When Stinky gave him one last

look as he turned the corner to go into the house he too raised one stiff puffy arm in a wave

goodbye and perhaps a wish good luck. They each understood. Then Stink was gone. Sunny

smiled grimly to himself. Stinky wasnt a bad kid, in fact he seemed very much like Sunny

himself when he had been that age. Sunny took a deep breath and turned to the problem at hand: a

crazy old dead man sprawled on the boulevard.

* * * * * *

Sunny stood over the body. The old man didnt appear to be so crazy lying there in the

snow. He looked dead. His scarf, ormuffler as adults always called them, was up over his face.

Sunny had seen his face before, driving by in his weird low pickup truck called an El Camino. He

would drive slowly by, never looking over at the playing children who vied for his attention with

waves and dramatic pratfalls but he kept his eyes straight ahead, almost as if he were a waxwork.

That was part of what had made him the crazy old man.


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He sprawled on his back, legs and arms splayed out as if he had died in the act of making

a snow angel. Oh Jesus, Sunny thought, the guy is a snow angel. Sunny noticed a wisp of breath

steam waft from the old mans scarf and heard a scraping noise. Suddenly, the mans arm swung

towards him and Sunny heard a swooshing sound. Something hit Sunny hard behind his knees

and his feet were lifted off the ground. He saw tree limbs and got a good glimpse of his black

boots against the gray sky before his face submerged in snow. The back of his skull bounced off

the frozen ground with a thunderous crash inside his head. He mustve blacked out fora second

because the next thing he saw was a face. Sunny stared up into blinking, brown-green speckled

irises in yellow white eyes that set on either side of a saggy beak of a nose that rose above a

mouth pulled back in a tremendous toothy grin. It was an old mans face, the crazy old mans

face.

Gotcha. He said, those odd eyes sparkling with something other than crazy, more like

the eyes of eight year olds Sunny had known. The old man leaned back, opened his mouth and let

go a cloud of fog and laughter to the sky. His laugh echoed loudly through the neighborhood. The

squirrel, that had earlier chattered a warning, took flight scampering along an extended limb

before leaping to the telephone wire taking the high road for the street. The bellow of laughter

chased it to the pole at the corner and halfway down the next block where it sailed to a tree

seeking out the fortress sanctuary of its winter nest. Geronimo! The old man crowed, watching

the fleeing squirrel. I knocked this thing down in the snow and Mr. squirrels gotta go. He

leaned over the stunned Sunny. Youre on your back, Jack. So much for your lowdown snowball

attack. A look of concern crossed the upside downface You okay? Youre looking like a by-

gawd sittin by a mi-gawd. Youre one gob smacked laddie, thats for sure. Never thought an old

codger would play possum, didja? You thought I was dead, as the proverbial doornail, dintcha?

But not yet, young feller, no, not by a long stretch, mboy. The old man brandished his cane as


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fencing foil and mock dueled in the air above Sonnys prostrate body.Youre not seriously

injured are you?

Sunny shook his head no.

That a no?

Sonny nodded yes.

Then latch on and be hauled aloft. The old man extended the sword/cane to Sunny, an

offer of assistance. Grab a hold. Sunny tried but when the old man pulled, Sunnys icy mittens

slid down the black lacquered cane and he fell back in the snow. He came up spluttering, spitting

slush and the old man laughed again.

Here you go. The old man offered a hand up. Sunny gripped and the old man hauled him

quickly to his feet. The old man helped brush snow from Sunnys backside, perhaps a little too

hard, thought Sunny. Sunny contemplated running for the front door of the house but the old man

had him by the collar of his coat as if he anticipated that little maneuver. There you go. No one

will ever know a frail old man like me dumped you ass over teakettle young feller. You got a

name?

Ray, Sunny said, but everybody calls me Sunny.

Sunny because of Sun, as in ray of sun? Oris it because youre the oldest boy and they just

call you Son, or Sonny?

I dont really know, sir.

You dont know? Well, thats a hell of a thing. Boy doesnt know why his call-um-in-

to-dinner-name is this or that.Now, I dont know much, Sunray/Sonny, but I know that aint

right.

No sir.


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But, it is, what it is. Is it not?

Yes sir.

Sir? Hmmmm, youre pretty polite fora bully. You often call people you pummel with

snowballs, Sir?

Sunny didnt have an answer for that. It did seem odd. The whole thing seemed foolish.

The crazy old man, didnt seem crazy, well all that crazy. Sunny didnt like being called a

bully. He liked even less that the description seemed to fit his actions well.

Listen. The old man went on. Dont worry about it. I did the same sort of thing when I

was a boy. Its so long ago I cant hardly remember and anyone else who might is dead and gone,

or gone fishin brain-wise and cant remember anything. Its hard to rememberthings as you get

along. Life is a complicated process. I dont know when I crossed over from being the young

Turk hiding from the old fart going to get the mail to being the old fart going to get the mail

worrying about the young punks hiding. Too long ago to matter, I suppose. Young Turks are

much on this old mans mind this winter.Now, now, dont get your undies all bunched up your

hidey ho.He said, noticing Sunnys frown. Sunnys lowerlip had betrayed him by trembling

and he was afraid his eyes were tearing up. Christ, Sunray, you look like a toddler fixing to fill

his diaper with a nappy crapper.

Im sorry sir. Sunny said in a bray that was something between a laugh and a sob. The

old man patted his shoulder.

Its okay, Sunray. Its a-okay. Sunny ran a sleeve under his nose.You need to stop

that snot-spotting, Sunray, your mama is going to lay an egg and eat it too if you come home with

crusty racing stripes on your arms. You appear too old for that sort of thing.

The idea of Sunnys mother actually laying an egg made Sunny giggle. The image

presented in his mind clearly. His mom strutting around a giant straw nest with a huge white egg


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nestled in it. She seemed so proud. Sunny the same expression on her face as when she had

brought Stinky home from the hospital and presented him to Sunny like an early Christmas gift.

The thought of chicken mom made Sunny laugh and the old man joined him.

Their mutual mirth fed one and then the other. They both staggered under the exertion of

their guffaws. Sonny slipped and grabbed at the older man catching his two lapels.

Whoa, wait! The oldster gasped. The old man started running in place in a kind of

controlled fall, Sunny was running in place as well, until both fell in a laughing heap. They lay

entwined exhaling a small thunderhead of steam in gasping yelps. Well, at least you have a sense

of humor as well as small-fry cunning. The old man finally chirped.

Small fried flyer. Sonny replied and they both laughed some more.

Sunray, you have some wit as well as a military tacticians mind. Thats good. I need

your help with something. You can say no, but I need a brave boys help with a little paybackfor

some small-time strong-arm hard cases whove been givin me the dickens for months.

Yes sir.

Call me Doc, Sunray, sir makes me feel like Im a cop or something and while I

respectum I never wanted to be one. Is that okay?

Doc, sir? Sure. Doc. Sunny tried the name for the first time. It felt good.Youre a

doctor?

Well, not actually, but practically. Its kind of a nickname I picked up when I was

younger. My buddy Sam called me Doc when I came back to the Landing after college. He never

went on to school though he was smarter than a heluvalotta people who do. I dont think he ever

left the Landing for more than a week in his life. Im Doc Weismann but you can just call me

Doc.


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But dont you live with Mrs. Cooper?

Caught that didja? Yeppur, I live with a Pearl. He said. But, Im strictly a second tier

non-husband type. Pearl and I have never married. She still goes by Mrs. and her husbands last

name. Sam Cooper was quite a guy.

You knew him?

My best friend. Left me his wife to settle an old gambling debt . . . no, actually, I

shouldnt say that. It seems like I knew Sam and Pearl all my life. When Sam was gone, I missed

him. Pearl did too and pretty soon we were missing him together. It just fell out that way for Pearl

and me. We fell in love and Sam was the cement that stuck us. Doc looked down at the young

face looking intensely up at him then he looked up the street and furtheraway. I guess you

didnt need to know that.

Its okay Mr. Weismann. It doesnt matter. My mom always says: good is good; dont

budge good for no good reason. That sounds like it fits.

Good is good, dont budge good. That is damn fine Sunray. Your mother is a wise woman.

They helped each other to their feet brushing clumps of snow stuck to their clothing. You cold?

Sunny was not cold, he had been cold when he thought Doc was dead on the ground. He

had been freezing but now he felt warm as could be. What his mother called downright cozy.

You said you want my help with something? Uh, Doc.

Yes Sunray, I do. I need a bodyguard, or at least a lieutenant of some kind. You see Im

having a problem with some scalawags a bit older and a little more vicious than you and your

brother and the Churchill boy. Sunny couldnt believe Doc knew who they all were. Sunny had

been wrong about a lot things apparently. Everyday I get my regular exercise goin to pick up

the mail.


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I know, Sunny interjected, I mean we, I, see you.

I guessed as much. Doc smiled and patted him on the shoulder. Their feet found the

cleared sidewalk and they walked together. Doc kept his hand on Sunnys shoulder as he talked.

Apparently you are not the only ones. Between here and the post office three young lumps, or

thugs . . .

Scotty and Giles.

Fred Harkers boy thats right. Every day on the way to the post office they give me

hell. Last time I had to go back home and drive up. Four blocks and I had to drive! I need my

exercise. I wont be denied it. I want my mail.I wont go without it. Idont cotton on to letting

bullies have their way. They got a snow fort in a spot where I think we can scare the bejesus out

of them; itll involve some climbing and jumping on your part. Are you in?

Yes sir! I mean, yes Doc. Sunny shouted. The two newfound intergenerational

warrior/buddies approached the end of the block, their heads together while crazy old Doc

Weisman, the told Sunny Sun-Ray Neal his crazy old plan.

* * * * * *

At Quinns hardware store, as she waited for Billy Beals to put a bag of quick melt in the

back of her old blue Chevy Helen Myers told the story. She leaned in to Robin Quinn tapping her

finger on the glass-topped counter:

I watched those two come up the street all the way from the Neals corner. Youd a

known something was up too. They come up the sidewalk past the back shed on Gill Espies lot

real slow, heads together walking like two kids sharing a secret.

That horrible Haskins boy was in town. Peggys got him Wednesdays and every other

weekend, I suppose, thats how it goes with the divorced people on my shows anyways. God only

knows how that no account husband of hers got custody of that boy to begin with, she had him


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here over the holidays and he was nothing but trouble. I dont imagine the judge thought she

could manage him alone, on her own. Probably, its good for him to be up here in The Landing

though I dont think its good for The Landing for Scotty Haskins to be around. My God, that boy

spends most of his time down the west end of Rock Island. So many people there with no good

sense at all, most of them on the welfare, thats why the taxes are so high, Democrats every one.

Thats what Jerry, my husband, God rest him, used to say: good decent working folk have to pay

for the neer-do-wells welfare or the next thing you know there they are, your next door

neighbor. They all move up here.

What about Doc? Robin asked.

Oh, Doc and that boy, the Neal boy, came real slow up the block, walking and talking.

Reminded me for all the world of Doc and Sam Cooper when they were young. It could have

been a young Sam and a grown Doc a standin there a whispering. They stopped just south of the

house, down in front of Munsons, where those others couldnt see them I guess.

Others? Robin interrupted.

Oh, those boys with Scotty Haskins, those other boys, the Harker boy, Freds son with

Betty, not Angie.

Giles? Asked Robin.

Right, Giles, such a ridiculous name for a boy, sounds like a butler for the queen or

something.

Giles Harker? Bill Beals asked coming in from loading Mrs. Myers trunk. He handed

her the keys. That boys get a head like a blacksmith anvil. He broke two football helmets last

fall, one of them running into Weenie VerLindens truckon purpose; head like a goddamned

sledge. Whatd he do now?


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Mrs. Myers brought him up to speed and then continued. So, it was those three: Robbie

or Randy Roberson, one of the twins you know, Giles Harker and Scotty Haskins.

Nothing but three times trouble there. Bill added.

Anyway. Mrs. Myers continued. Those boys built a snow fort out across the sidewalk

on the other side of the road, the other side of the intersection from my house. They collect tolls

from the littler kids who want to go by on down to the agate shop and get their candy, of course

everybody goes down there to the post office

Shakinem down for their candy money. Billy said sagely.Damn thieves.

Well, you couldnt get by on the sidewalk and you know with all the children home

from school there was gonna be a parade down to get candy in the afternoon. Pointed out Mrs.

Myers.

They may be dumbbut theyre not stupid. Bill said.

So the Neal boy disappeared round the back of my house after he and Doc canoodled

out there on the sidewalk. Doc stood there for a couple of seconds talking to himself, crazy like

he is, then he goes ahead and walks over to the intersection. That Harker boy called out to him . .

.

* * * * * *

Where you goin,geezer?

Sunny was on the bike path on the river road when he heard Giles as he confronted Doc

at the corner. He had scurrying around the Meyer house to the bike path and raced to the Haskins

garage. The garage blocked the view of the intersection where Doc was. Sunny, using the pole

holding Scotty Haskins basketball hoop and a tree as a kind of rungless ladder climbed to the

Formatted: Font: Times New Rom

pt


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garage roof. He perched on the lip of the eave like a tidily bundled modern American child

gargoyle.

I am on my way to the post office, young Turks. Sunny heard Docspatrician old man

voice say.

Young Turks . . . That was Scotty Haskins nasally River Valley voice. Sunny could

hear the sneer in its tone and then a gobble sound as a turkey might make.

You aint goin through here old turd. Giles warned. You can walk the long way

around for free or you can pay.

Ahhh! Docsaid, Per the usual arrangement? I would imagine you want a dollar, or do

I underestimate your entrepreneurial spirit?

Shut up! That was the Roberson boy (Robbie or Randy, one of the twins, Sunny could

never tell one from the other.) Sunny figured Docs elegant tone had angered RR. Sunny had seen

one of the Roberson boys punch a girl for laughing at him for saying burnt instead ofburned.

The kid had a short fuse.

It had been a quick shinny up the wall and pole but the roof was going to be a more

precarious adventure. As Doc had told him there was an older layer of ice under the mountain of

new fallen snow that had closed school for the day. It had the third heavy snowfall in two weeks.

Every time it snowed the air temperature warmed up, the new snow came down moist and supple

but between storms the sky cleared and the temperature plummeted, creating what amounted to a

layer cake of ice and snow with ice as the base under a compressed layer of compacted snow,

under a layer of ice and compacted snow topped by the lush, soft crystalline blanket of new fall.

Sunny could sense the go moment was growing near but he was not ready; he had to hurry. He

had not yet ascended.


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Young Turksof Neals landing, you ask too much. I have neither the will nor purse to

satisfy your low demands. Docs voice boomed from the intersection below on the other side of

the garage. There comes a time in every man, or boys life when he must decide on the question

of where he stands on oppression and I stand against . . .

* * * * * *

Well them three idiot boys just stared at him, at Doc, as if he just spoken to them in

Martian or jabber jaw Italian, then they disappeared behind their icy wall. Oh, Jesus, anyone else

woulda knowed they was in deep doo-doo but that damn fool Doc just stood there like he was

waiting for the archangel and the rapture to pluck him up to heaven or something. All three of

those monsters come up throwing snowballs and Docjust threw his head back and laughed.

* * * * * *

Sunny heard Doc laugh but he wasnt ready. For their plan to work he needed to be at the

apex of the garage. The Haskins garage was basically a square box with the four-sided tarpaper

pyramid for a roof. Sunny was facedown and spread-eagle about three quarters up one of the

pyramid spines. He was only a few feet from his goal but Docs laugh let him know that he was

out of time. Hed been closer, hed been within an arms reach of the pinnacle but he had slipped

and wound up on his belly sliding back towards the lip of the garage roof. The depth of the snow

had quickly stopped him when he spread his legs but the precious distance he had lost seemed

insurmountable. He had a face full of snow, distance to make up and no time to do it. Sunny

whimpered in frustration. Doc had told him that Sam Cooper and he had pulled this trick on some

bullies when they were in high school but it depended on timing and it would only work once,

once someone was educated by tough experience it was hard to fool them again. Sunny wanted it

to work so bad his eyes were watering. It wasnt fair. He thought of all the bullying things these

three had done that he knew of: the girl he had seen Robbie or Randy Roberson punch, he thought

about the time hed been knocked down on the playground by Giles Harkerchipping a tooth on


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the top of the bigger boys head, he thought of how Scotty Haskins set fire to garbage cans all

around the Landing forcing out the volunteer fire department at all times of day and night. He

thought about all the times one of those three bullies had stopped him or one of his friends on

their way to the bait shop, the post office, or the agate shop and made them pay a quarter, or even

a dollar just to finish the errands of pleasure or otherwise they had been sent on. He thought of all

of the bullies hed everknown. He thought about his own shame over the snowball he threw at

Doc Weissman, when Doc went down in the snow. And suddenly, without a conscious decision,

without a seeming quivering muscle of exertion he stood at the summit of the pyramid garage

roof; it was almost as if a strong hand had lifted him by the scruff of the neck and placed him like

a weather vane at the pinnacle.

Sunny jumped up and down. At first nothing happened. He looked to the intersection

where the bullies were blocking Docs way. He was astonished to see Doc looking back at him; a

great smile upon his face and even at that distance Sunny could see a glint of unspoken joy in

Docs eye that held him to his purpose. Sunny thought he heard Docs voice, low and clear right

next his earsay, Thank you, son. Slowly, the snow on the giant triangle of the pyramid roof

above the three bullies fortress began to move. Gravity, and the vibration from Sunnys jumping,

pounding feet, overcame one of Newtons laws and a body at rest became one in motion, a big

one in motion.

* * * * * *

When I saw theNeal boy up at the top of Haskins garage roof I knew something bad

was going to happen. Mrs. Myers said. That Doc Weismann and that Neal boy had set up some

kind of bushwhack for those bad boys. They were throwing snowballs at Doc and that Neal boy

was up at the peak of the roof with his arms in the air, stomping up and down jumping. That

whole side full of snow let go and started to slide. The Neal boy fell and rode that big pile of

snow on down. Giles, Scotty and the Roberson boy werent paying any attention to what was


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going on above them, they were too busy throwing snowballs at Doc and that old fool is swinging

his cane like Casey at the bat, swatting at snowballs;jiggin and dancin around like a bug on a

hot skillet. Mrs. Myers pursed her lips and looked at Bill Beals and Robin Quinn catching her

breath.

Go on. Robin prodded. Bill just nodded his head and stared at her.

* * * * * *

When the snow on the garage shifted Doc Weissman felt a surge. Just moments before he

had made eye contact with little Sunny, and he saw, even across the distance, a kind of elation

and knowledge in those little boy eyes. The avalanche of snow came, just a bit of powder at first,

a few lumps here and there, steadily increasing. The three bullies were throwing snowballs as fast

as they could load, cock and fire. At first, the look upon those ruddy faces was one of happy

surprise, perhaps they thought it was the beginning of another school closing snowfall but soon

fear came in a wave, as did the snow; a great, slick, curtain of white crystalline ice that slalomed

off the edge of the roof. Robbie or Randy Roberson, Doc wasnt sure which (he could never tell

them apart) was the first one to go down with the squeal. Scotty Haskins reached toward the

Roberson boy trying to help him but the weight of the snow thudded on his back knocking him

flat. For a fleeting moment Giles Harker looked as if he were going to laugh but the snow was

coming so fast any hiccup of humor he might have found in Scotty's splaying out face down in

the snowwas replaced by gut felt terror as the snow overwhelmed him. The Harker boy simply

disappeared. As Giles vanished before his eyes Doc thought that lupine face displayed the

countenance of a fully overloaded diapered toddler who had made a horrible miscalculation in

diaper capacity.

* * * * * *


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Well, I thought all those boys were going to die, frozen like popsicles. What with all the

snow weve had there was a truckload up on that roof. They had built their fort along underneath

the eave and extended it out onto the sidewalk but where they were standing, they were right

underneath where that snow came down. All three of them boys got buried. It was like an

avalanche on some ski mountain in the Swiss Alps or something. And, that Neal boy, he came

right down on top the whole thing. I got on the phone right away called 911, got an ambulance.

Oh Lord, what a hoopla. Billy Beals said.

What happened to those three boys? Robin asked.

The first thing Doc did was laugh so hard I thought he was going to bust a gut but then

when he didnt see anybody moving in that big pile of snow, he started digging with his hands

and gotum out. Mrs. Myers said.

They okay? Robin asked but Bill Beals interrupted before Mrs. Meyers could answer.

It would take a hell of a lot more than that to kill any of those rat finks. I told you, that

Giles Harker has got a head like a God damned bucket shovel.

My heavens, Robins hand went to herbreastbone. Those boys are lucky to be alive.

They mightve been stunned when they were stuck in that snow but as soon as Doc

gotem out, they run off like the archangel Gabriel himself was after um, in different directions.

What about Sunny Neal? Bill asked.

Oh, I thought you knew. Helen said.

* * * * * *

Those three snot-boxes, as Pearl might have generously called them, were completely

buried in snow when Sunny Neal bumped over the lip of the roof into open space. To Doc he

appeared a fallen flying thing, a broken piece of the sky, a bit of cloud caught in a downdraft. The


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boy's body turned in the air and Doc could see his face. The child was smiling as he entered the

mound of snow head first, a little boy playing hide and seek in the sheets with his father. Later,

Doc would describe the next few moments as happening during the kind of hallowed silence that

seems invoked by acts of heroism large and small. A silence of affirmation that seems to lie over

any site where petty cruelty has been vanquished by the righteous.

In the movie Patton, Doc later told Sheriff Mann. George C. Scott has a speech over

smoldering remnants of an body strewn battlefield. He talks about other battles in ancient history

on the same field and says that he was at them, as if he was aware of multiple lifetimes, that he

had fought as a warrior in these battles over and over again. That was how I felt when I saw

Sunnys face as he fell; as if we had been here before, as if we were part of something much

larger and older than we had realized and it was happening again, and always is, and is always

going to be happening and we will be here again and we will do the same; or try to do the same

and the outcome may be different but the intent is always the same: bullies must be confronted.

We mustnt back down or show weakness.

That is a hell of a thing, Said Richard Mann, scratching his crew-cut scalp under his

polyester baseball cap with a bright star on the deep blue font panel. To say about a kids

snowball fight gone bad.

* * * * * *

After them boys run off Doc was left digging in the pile tryin to find the Neal boy.

Youd athunk he woulda come out first goin in last like he did but it wasnt the case. At first

Doc was digging slow just reaching in and feeling around but when he didnt feel him right off he

started scooping with both hands and snow was flying like the storm yesterday. Mrs. Meyers

took a breath.


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He musta gothim. Bill Beals said, Dick Mann said he found Doc carrying that poor

boy up the street towards the agate shop limp as a rag.

He finally pulled him out of the snow, after what musta been five, ten minutes, that

boys face was just blue as the sky. Doc yanked him up and hugged that broken child against his

chest God awful tight and he kinda let loose a terrible sound.

* * * * * *

Sunray, Sunny Ray. I got you, I got you. Doc finally had the little boys arm and he

dragged him out of the snow pile. Sunny wasnt breathing. His eyelids were partially open and

Doc could see the dilated pupils moving back and forth wildly like a man having a nightmare.

Oh, Jesus. Doc whispered. He clutched the body and howled. He laid Sunny flat in the snow

and began chest compressions and cleared the boys airway. He leaned in to begin mouth-to-

mouth resuscitation but when he exhaled to take the first deep breath to share, Sunnys chest

suddenly heaved and he began to breathe on his own, as if that simple exhalation upon his face

had been enough to bring him back. Doc tried to sit the boy up but the child was still unconscious

and would remain so, the body tipped over as if it were a discarded toy. Doc stood, gathered the

floppy child in his arms and walked up the block toward the only thing he could see: a blue neon

light that read OPEN. It was in the window of the Williams Agate and Polished Stone Shop

which also informed incoming patrons in script beneath, on the painted window, that they offered

local fossils as well. Doc never made it there. The Sheriff pulled up beside Doc in a red Ford

pickup and slowed to stay alongside.

You better put him in the back Doc, were gonna have to take him into town. Richard

Mann said just loud enough to be heard over the engine.

The scream of the volunteer fire department siren split the air and Doc nearly dropped the boy

into the snow again. He looked helplessly to the sheriff.


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Hes not here. He said.

* * * * * *

Hes stable, but he hasnt said a peep, still. They say hes not brain dead but whats the

difference if he never comes back. Robin Quinn said to Bill Beals and Mrs. Meyers. I guess

theres a chance Doc is going up on charges of child endangerment.

Why, hes not Docs child. Mrs. Meyers said.Though it would serve him well for

being a fool.

Never stick, Bill pointed out stroking his chin. Might be able to nail him with

something else though, maybe reckless endangerment involving a minor something like that.

Oughta nail those three numbskulls who started the whole thing, you ask me.

Well, theyll never ask you, or us. Said Mrs. Meyers indignantly. They never do.

Been nearly a month now. Said Robin staring out the window ofthe hardware store at

the cars passing on state route-74, the Great River Road Highway that fronted her store.

Marianne Neal brings the little one in with on her way to the hospital and buys him a pop or a

piece of candy. She is strong but this is wearing her down.

She sayanything? Mrs. Meyers asked, but Robin shook her head.

The little one say anything? Bill wanted to know absently as though he was thinking of

something else.

No. Robin answered. He drinks grape a Nehi every day or takes a tootsie roll.

Good pop. Said Helen Meyers.

They still make that? Bill Beals asked snapping back to attention. Havent had one in

years.


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Outside, behind the store, nestled between the river and the bluff, the valley village sat

quietly under the ever-lessening snow blanket that harkened to a late arriving spring. It was still

cold, very cold but every soul in the village knew, as they always knew, that spring was coming,

the world would warm. The river might rise, might even escape its banks here and there and do a

little damage but life would go on and the river would find its way home. The speakers securely

fastened in the Methodist church steeple clicked and hummed to life as the evening tune echoed

out. The phony bells played and several people in the village hummed along without even

thinking. Reverend Dudy muttered the lyrics by rote as he labored on his Sunday sermon. All

things bright and beautiful, all creature grate and small, all things wise and wonderful the Lord

God made them all.

* * * * * *

It was warm in the mountain of foam and that was odd because Sunny could have sworn

that his teeth had just been chattering with cold but here in the mountain of foam he was warm

and cozy. The steady rhythm of waves breaking on a beach nearby drummed in his ears and those

drumming vibrations rang through his entire body. It was very pleasant in the foam, weightless,

his body supported by the zillions of tiny bubbles of white frothy surf or something. He was,

however, not alone. There were others in the foam. He felt their presence though he could not see

them. He heard their soft whispering voices. There were two, maybe three deeper voices than his

own, they filled his ears with their inconsequential nonsense whispers, a rushing of noise in his

head with the deafening drumming of the surf on the beach, a cacophonous distraction as he

rolled and let the mountain of foam do all the work. Perhaps he would try to find them soon, the

whisperers, but for now he was happy where he was.

There Will Be Heroes: A Doxology in the Landing Part I

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Transcript of There Will Be Heroes: A Doxology in the Landing Part I