The Week Before School
Chapter 1
A/N: I was trying to hatch some additional ideas for my story about Christine learning family history, and this came out instead.
Hank Booth pulled his wagon through the brick-cobbled alley down the block behind his parents' row house toward Thompson's Garage. He was meeting his pals to turn in their empty cans at Thompson's Garage. They'd had a pretty good morning hanging out together. He just wished that Labor Day would slow down so summer could last longer.
During the summers before Pearl Harbor, he and his friends had collected glass pop bottles from the streets of their neighborhood, redeeming them at McGill's Grocer for the two-cent return deposit. Several days spent scavenging in gutters, parks, and near taverns could buy a small bag of hard wrapped candies to share among themselves. The hardest part was deciding which types to pick from the glass 'fish-bowl' containers. Pete always went for peppermints, and ended up smelling like a barber shop. Tim preferred licorice, turning his teeth black to his mother's dismay.
Because he like them all, Hank would choose a variety. Each boy would lift the round silver cover which tilted toward the store aisle, grab the metal scoop, reach in and extract a few crinkly cellophane-covered treats. His pals never took long to make their choices, and griped at him for dawdling. Because he liked them all, Hank would take a mix of candies, varying his choices each week.
Once the war began, the boys redirected their collecting efforts. Sugar was rationed to feed the troops, and salvage materials were used by industry to outfit them. Children collected empty cans and other discarded metal for ammunition, just as their mothers saved cooking grease for greasing guns and manufacture of explosives or making lye laundry soap.
Thanks to Emma Booth's inventive cooking skills, Hank didn't really notice ration coupons. They ate more vegetables and potatoes from her garden, and meat was parsed out sparingly, but her meals were always tasty and filling. However, desserts were another matter. Hank's sweet tooth had to settle for honey and molasses his grandparents sent from their farm. What sugar they had was carefully saved for birthday cakes and Christmas treats.
On this particular August morning, Hank had slipped out of the house early while his mother was upstairs changing sheets and collecting laundry to wash. He meant to make the best use possible of the one week left before school resumed. He was a good student, but no boy liked to see summer come to an end! He was meeting Tim and Pete at Hollings Park Lake for some fishing. The carp they caught didn't make good eating so they always released the fish before returning home. Around noon, the friends sat under a tree for lunch. Each boy had brought a peanut butter sandwich, an apple, and their Scout canteens filled with cold water.
It would be years in the future before parents worried about their kids' summer safety, and the boys were free to amuse themselves for hours. Riding bikes, playing catch, and 'poking about' as his father called it. Once they'd caught several carp each, the friends compared their sizes, then watched the fish swim away. Gathering their poles, they agreed to meet in the alley in half an hour.
Sliding the garage door open, Hank winced at the grating sound it made. He added an empty motor oil can to his wagon and pulled it outside before reclosing the garage. His mother called to him through the open bedroom window upstairs.
"Hank, honey, take that broken dustpan with you for salvage. The metal tray has split so far up I can't use it any more. Sweeping up dust is pointless if it just sifts back out through a crack. The useless handle should be lying on the back porch window sill in the corner where my broom is propped. When you boys are done at Thompson's, please come back home. We've got to buy you new school shoes this afternoon. Harpman's is having a sale on oxfords, and I want to get your size before they run out again. Shirley said they might receive both black and brown shoes in this shipment, she wasn't sure. So you might have a color choice this time! Who knows?"
"Okay, Ma, it shouldn't take too long," Hank answered. He looked down at his feet and wiggled his toes. If his sneakers hadn't worn thin, they'd be mighty squished.
"Apparently, I've grown a bit this summer," he mused. "My pants are too short and my shoes are too tight. Ma can let the hems down, but she can't stretch these sneaks. I hate breaking in new shoes, though. Maybe she'll let me go barefoot the rest of the week!"
Tim and Pete were waiting for him, each holding a grocery sack of cans. Balancing them on top of Hank's haul, the trio walked another block to Thompson's Garage, where the owner's head was under a Model A truck's hood. He straightened up, wiped his hands on a rumpled cloth, and grinned at them.
"You three have quite a stash there. Those cans will make some Germans or Japanese soldiers mighty nervous. Our soldiers will be glad to receive more ammunition! Our guns and bullets will win this war in the end. You'll see!"
"Yes, Mr. Thompson," they agreed.
"I wish we were old enough to join up and fight!" Tim declared.
"My brother's shipping out for basic training next Thursday. My mom's not happy, but he's gotta go," Pete sighed. "I'm gonna miss him too, and I'll have to do all the chores!"
"Well, I hope this war's over before you kids are as old as Herman, Pete, but your time will come. Once you're out of high school, joining the military is a good way to figure out what you want to do with your life. It 'grows you up' real fast," Mr. Thompson remarked. "When does school start up again? You guys will be in seventh grade, right?"
"Yup," said Hank proudly. "We're moving on to Robert E. Pattison Junior High School."
"He was a good governor," Mr. Thompson told them. "My granddaddy was a court clerk during his administration, but you fellows don't care about that. Go on into the office. Harriet just made a new batch of applesauce cookies last night, and she brought some over for me to snack on. Tell 'er I said give you guys each one. I wish more of the kids in town collected as much scrap metal and empty cans as you. Keep up the hard work when school starts, you hear?"
"Yes, sir, we will" they chorused.
Turning for home, the friends grumbled. "Darn it, why can't school wait until October?" Hank asked. "Look at all the great weather that's gonna go to waste while we're stuck inside working math problems!"
"Ain't it the truth?" Pete moaned.
"I hate math!" Tim complained.
"Last one to my house is a rotten egg!" Hank yelled, taking off. "My mom baked an apple pandowdy last night!"
A/N2: I have no idea if children were given apples for collecting scrap metal to help the war effort, but it seems they would have deserved some sort of treat. Apple pandowdy was a dessert which used honey for sweetening during wartime when sugar was in short supply for civilian use.