I recall it being the summer of 1964. My family had lived in the house through one winter. It wasn’t much of a house. We didn’t have a furnace or a water heater. But it was home. Though difficult, we made it through the winter of 1963 – 1964 . The spring of 1964 was welcomed. I made friends with Little Jimmy. His mom was Alice. She was a different sort.
Though different, my mother became her friend. Alice and my mother were polar opposites. Alice, was a boisterous woman who drank heavily. She liked to party, and usually, there was a cigarette dangling from her mouth. On the other hand, my mother was quiet and reserved. She didn’t drink, smoke, or spend time in the bar that was next door to our house. She kept to herself. But oddly, they liked each other and became close friends.
I guess I was too young to figure out why. But for some reason, the friendship worked. They would spend hours in the late summer evenings, sitting on the porch and chatting. Alice would sit, telling her stories and bellowing with laughter. Her scratchy voice would vibrate throughout the neighborhood. She and my mother would stay on the porch until all I could see were the ashes from Alice’s lit cigarette, providing it’s amber like glow to the surrounding darkness.
I wouldn’t pay attention to what was being said. My mother would have disciplined me with a swat on my bottom, followed by her standard phrase, “That’s grown folks business.” I had no right to listen to the rantings of adults, so I just minded my own affairs, and played in the yard.
The Stranger
One day that summer, in the early evening, while the sun was still hanging in the western sky, my mom and Alice were on the front porch, holding their usual vigil. I was in the yard, playing with my toys, and my two younger sisters were sitting near the porch in the grass, playing with their dolls. My mother and Alice were deep in conversation.
I didn’t really notice the man when he walked up behind me. At least not until he was nearly standing next to me. I looked up. He was older, probably in his early sixties, and had a head full of white hair and I remember his eyes were beet red. The stranger smelled as though he had just left the bar. He paid no mind to me, and walked past, up the walk to our front porch steps. He stopped just short of the porch, cleared his throat. That immediately got Alice and my mother’s attention.
Alice looked annoyed and asked, “What do you want you old fool?”
He stared at her for a moment and then said, “I need you to fix me dinner.”
Alice scowled and then rolled her eyes. “I’m not fixing you dinner, you old drunk fool. Go home and make your own food,” she yelled.
He didn’t back down at all. He said again, this time, more sternly, “Woman, go home and fix me dinner.”
Alice wasn’t going to back down either. She leaned forward in the chair and said, “Fix your own dinner.”
The old man stood silently for moment. He put his head down, as almost shamed, and jammed his hands into his pocket. My mother, silent during the conversation, reared in her chair and locked her eyes onto the visitor. The old man raised his head, looked at my mother for a moment, then turned back to Alice. He pulled his right hand out of his pants pocket, and produced a gun. He pointed it at Alice and said, “If you don’t fix me dinner I will shoot you dead where you sit.”
Our Hero Takes Action
Alice screamed at the top of her lungs, jumped from the chair, and bolted from the porch through our front door. I could see her run through the back of the house and out the back door.
Then, the most amazing thing happened. My mother jumped from her seat and angrily walked toward the old man. Without hesitating, she grabbed the gun from him, and then pointed her finger in his face and said, “Don’t you ever come to my house again and point a gun. You could have hurt one of my children. I swear to God, if you do it again, I’ll make sure they lock you up.”
The old man lowered his head and said, almost pitifully, “Yes ma’am.” My mother handed him the gun. He took it and walked away.
Our mother watched him disappear down the street and then looked at us and said, “It’s time to go inside.” She never said a word to us about the incident. She didn’t have to because she was our mom. Our hero.
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