The Day Steam Died (5 page)

Chapter 8

“As the railroad prospered, so did Bankstowne, constantly growing and providing a good place to raise a family.”

Final embrace

Ann met Rick in the hall outside their apartment because Red was home and she didn’t want to risk a confrontation.

“We’ll have to stay here and be quiet,” Ann said. She leaned against the door alongside Rick, trying her best to avoid direct eye contact. “Daddy’s asleep on the couch.”

“Can’t we go for a drive or something?”

“If he woke up and I was out with you he would really be mad.”

Rick was quiet for a moment before digging into his pocket for something. “I brought your Christmas present. I’d hoped for a more romantic setting, but I guess this will have to do.” Rick pulled a little black box out of his pocket then held it out for Ann. She already knew it was a friendship ring; they’d talked about it earlier in their relationship.

She took the box then carefully opened it. As she thought, inside sat a plain silver band. “It’s beautiful, but you shouldn’t have gotten me anything after the way I’ve treated you.” Her stare lingered on the ring, and it filled her with shame and fear. “I’m sorry Rick, but I can’t accept it.” She closed the box and tried to give it back to him.

“What do you mean you can’t accept it?” He stepped away from the wall and faced Ann. Rick wrapped his hands around hers, locking the box tightly in her hand. “I don’t understand. After all we’ve been through together this last year . . . We’ll be free of your father when college starts in the fall.” Rick took a deep breath and called up all the courage he could muster. “Are you breaking up with me? What about all our plans, your scholarship and our future after college? What about all that?” Rick’s voice cracked. Ann could feel the sadness in his tone.

Ann tried to let him down gently while her own heart was being torn to pieces. She took her free hand and calmly pressed her index finger against his lips. “Shhhhh, you’ll wake Daddy.”

Rick sniffled and choked back tears trying to make sense of what was happening.

“Those were your plans, Rick. It never would have worked out for us. We’ve had a good year. Please don’t spoil it now.”

“Don’t spoil it now? This is crazy! I thought you loved me. Didn’t those nights in the barn mean anything to you? You said you wanted us to spend the rest of our lives together and have my babies.”

Rick paced back and forth in the hall then lunged at the wall and pounded his fist as hard as he could. He whirled around and pinned Ann’s shoulders against the door to her apartment.

“I love you, Ann,” he said, his voice hoarse, his eyes red.

“Stop it, Rick,” Ann cried out. “You’re hurting me. Can’t you see I don’t have any control over my life, that those were just dreams that could never come true?”

Rick let go of Ann and took a step back, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re not the same person I knew three months ago. Is it your daddy? Has he hurt you or threatened you?” His eyes narrowed. “What about Tank . . . has he bothered you? Answer me, Ann.” Rick’s voice turned desperate. He was losing control.

Ann knew she had to calm him down quickly. But if she told him the real reason she had to break off their relationship, he would be devastated. Her heart raced, and she fought to hold back tears. “Rick . . . we’re moving.”

Rick froze, his anger melting into confusion. Rick unraveled. His lips quivered, his voice cracked. His head was spinning to the point he was unsteady on his feet.

“Daddy got a new job,” Ann said. “He starts right after the holidays. We’re already packing. I . . . I can’t tell you where we’re moving to.” Avoiding Rick’s eyes, Ann fidgeted with the black box. “It will be a new start, and Daddy promised he would stop drinking. Please be happy for us.” She stood limp and cold in the dimly lit hall where they had embraced so many times before.

Rick could only stare, tears welling in his eyes.

“I won’t be seeing you again before we leave,” Ann said. “Please try to understand.” She barely managed to get the words out, wishing he would take her into his arms and go someplace far away from this nightmare.

“But . . .” Rick searched for words that wouldn’t come.

Ann pressed her finger to his lips again. “Remember all the good times. Go on now, write your stories and make me proud so I can brag about how I knew you back when.”

A soft embrace sealed with a light brush of her lips on his cheek, and she was gone.

Ann ran, sobbing hysterically, and collapsed onto her bed. When she tried to wipe her tears, she discovered Rick’s gift still tightly clutched in her fist. Hands shaking, she slowly opened the tiny box. Pain shot through her body with the force of lightning when she read the inscription,
I will love you forever,
engraved inside the silver friendship ring.

“It’s not fair!” she cried out. She loved him more than anything in this world and couldn’t let him know how she felt because of that bastard Tank Johnson.

Ann made a silent vow to herself. She’d get even with him, someday. With the box pressed against her chest, she lay across her bed, sobbing for her lost love and the life she so desperately wanted.

The 1947 Fleetline Chevrolet rolled to a stop in front of the Barnes’ house and sat for hours. The aroma of burned leaves still hung heavy in the night air. Thankful everyone was already in bed, Rick sat motionless in the car. He gripped the steering wheel, trying to make his head stop spinning.

How could he explain what just happened to his mother? He wanted to unload his burden, hoping for a miracle answer.

Christmas Day 1955 had scarred his soul and would remain a confused blur in his memory that wouldn’t become clear for years.

The bell echoed in Rick’s ears as he trudged down the hall on the first day back at school after the holidays. He didn’t speak or look at anyone for fear he would see Ann and lose what little composure he’d mustered that morning.

“Hey, little man, did your girlfriend dump you?” Tank chided from behind.

Rick whirled around to face Tank. “How would you know about that?”

“Oh, the Tank knows everything that goes on in this town, little man. Maybe you didn’t know her as well as you thought, or maybe you just aren’t man enough to satisfy her.”

“You bastard!” Rick drove his fist into Tank’s nose, taking him down in one quick motion. Rick pounced on top of him, punching his face before Tank could react to Rick’s unexpectedly bold response.

“Get off me, you little shit, before I hurt you!” Tank rolled them over and pinned Rick’s arms with his 220-pound body straddling his chest.

Rick couldn’t move.

“You bloodied my nose, asshole,” Tank said. “I ought to pound your face into the back of your head.” Tank drew his fist back, ready to punch Rick when Principal Stillman grabbed his arm.

“That will do, boys. I want to see both of you in my office, right now.”

The office was small with only enough room for two chairs with faded upholstery and an oscillating fan in front of the window. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined the two sidewalls. On a hook on the corner of his desk hung the infamous paddle everyone called “The Enforcer,” which put fear into the hearts of the elementary grade boys. Mr. Stillman’s heavyset, six-foot-six size instilled respect in the high school students. He was a no-nonsense, disciplinarian principal. Students avoided being sent to his office for any reason.

Rick and Tank sat in the two chairs in front of Mr. Stillman’s desk, which he sat on the edge facing the boys.

“Okay, what’s the problem here? Who wants to go first?” Principal Stillman asked, staring at the two combatants over wire-rim glasses on the end of his nose.

Tank spoke first. “I don’t know, sir. He just blindsided me with a cheap shot. I think he’s jealous. We’ve had words about his poor coverage of our games this season. And his girlfriend liked hanging around, talking to me after the games. I can’t help it if she liked my company better than his. But honestly, I never said a word to him.”

“Is that true, Mr. Barnes? Did you start the fight?”

Rick clenched his jaw tight enough to crack his teeth. His body trembled so violently he could barely speak. “Yes sir, I hit him first.”

Principal Stillman walked around behind his desk and leaned back in the creaky, high-back chair. “Would you like to explain why you started a fight with someone nearly twice your size?”

“No sir, I wouldn’t. That’s personal.”

Mr. Stillman didn’t intimidate Rick when he stood up and stared menacingly at the two boys.

“I see,” he said. “Well, maybe you can come down to my office every day after school until you feel like telling me what this was all about. In the meantime, you will receive a zero grade for your first period class. This won’t happen again. Do you understand, gentlemen? Now get back to class.” Principal Stillman handed them each an excused pass for being late.

The boys responded, “Yes, sir,” in unison and headed for the door.

“Don’t forget, Mr. Barnes, 3:15 after sixth period. I’ll be waiting on your answer. Tank, go by First Aid on your way to class and let Mrs. Honeycutt take care of your bloody nose.”

Chapter 9

“Coastline transported more freight and passengers up and down the East Coast and across the South than any other line in the country.”

Awards Day 1956

Rick kept with his normal routine the last week of school, which he’d done since Ann left. As much as he hated Tank, his soul-searching grief gave him clarity in his thoughts. He finally admitted that Tank really was a great football player and his refusal to write glowing accounts of his exploits was jealousy and poor journalism ethics, even for a small school newspaper like the
Railroader
.

As a concession to his guilt, Rick responded truthfully, listing all of Tank’s record-breaking statistics in a questionnaire sent by Parade Magazine for its High School All-American issue. Rick was surprised and honored Parade Magazine would even consider his input. He was just the editor of a small school newspaper. Down deep, Rick hoped Tank would make the Parade All-American team. He would be the first selection ever to come from the Piedmont section of North Carolina.

At the annual awards assembly, Principal Stillman stood center stage behind a podium, impatiently waiting for the last students to take their seats. Faculty presenters seated behind him chatted among themselves and shifted in their chairs, anxious to get the long program started.

“All rise and give the pledge of allegiance to our flag,” Principal Stillman instructed as he turned to face the American flag that always graced the left side of the stage. A veteran of World War II, Principal Stillman firmly placed his hand over his heart. He led the student body in the pledge the same way he led the singing of the Star Spangled Banner before every home football game, with pride and love for his country.

“Please be seated. The Senior Awards Day assembly always gives me great pleasure. It is an opportunity to recognize those students whose efforts have allowed them to achieve higher goals. I am proud to announce we have more graduates this year than ever before earning scholarships and going to college.”

Rick’s thoughts drifted away from the speech to Ann, who wouldn’t receive the scholarship she worked so hard for. Where was she and what was she doing now? Was she happy? It pained him to not know, but he knew he had to forget her and move on with his life. He hadn’t found the strength yet to write that experience off in his private journal as just another pothole on life’s highway.

His speech finished, Mr. Stillman handed Senior Academic Advisor, Mrs. Hosecloth a stack of certificates to be given out. “Mrs. Hosecloth, if you please.”

“These students are being recognized for the dedication and excellence in their pursuit of higher education,” Mrs. Hosecloth said. “We are proud of all of them. Please give them the applause they so richly deserve.

“I would like to start with the Lions Club’s Good Citizen scholarship of two-hundred dollars, which goes to Sally Jefferies.”

The assembly dragged on and on as Mrs. Hosecloth made a lengthy speech about each of the twenty-five award recipients. It was a waste of time as far as the students were concerned. They’d all gone to school together since first grade and knew more about the winners than Mrs. Hosecloth. The parents, however, sat beaming and hung onto every word about their son or daughter. Finally, she had handed out all but one certificate.

“And last, but certainly not least . . .” Mrs. Hosecloth said. You could hear the sigh of relief and rustling of the students roll across the auditorium. “It should come as no surprise. The Bankstowne Journal scholarship this year goes to Rick Barnes.” Seconds that seemed like minutes passed. “Rick Barnes,” Mrs. Hosecloth repeated emphatically.

Roger Arnold, sitting next to Rick, poked him in the ribs. “Hey, man, she’s calling your name. Better get up there.”

Shaking his head to chase away the memories of Ann, Rick popped up from his seat and bounced up the steps to accept his award. He scanned the audience, hoping by some miracle Ann had showed up for his scholarship award.

“Stand over here please.” Mrs. Hosecloth pointed to an X marked on the floor with tape. “We have a special presenter for this award today. Please welcome Mr. Carl Billings, Editor of The Bankstowne Journal, who will present the Journalism award in person.”

Mr. Billings emerged from behind the curtain on the left side of the stage with a confident stride. He was short with a shiny bald head and a protruding paunch that wouldn’t let him button his brown suite coat. When the scattered applause stopped, he shook Rick’s hand and leaned into the microphone.

“Rick, it gives me great pleasure to award this Journalism scholarship to you. I’ve followed your work this year as editor of your school paper and was favorably impressed. You’ve shown a talent for reporting objectively. The coverage of your undefeated football team showed pride in a season that was the result of a team effort boosted by the talented Tank Johnson. Your work demonstrated what good journalism is all about.”

Rick vigorously shook Mr. Billings’ hand and looked straight at Tank as he accepted his award for
objective
reporting. He hoped that egomaniac choked on those words.

The student body applauded—all except Tank Johnson. He smirked and whispered to quarterback T.R. Queen sitting next to him, “Can you believe they gave an award to that little jerk for the lousy coverage he gave me? Billings doesn’t know shit about good football reporting or he wouldn’t be working for that rag of a newspaper.”

Mr. Billings reached into his coat pocket and pulled out another piece of paper and turned to Rick. “Because of your writing skills and promise of becoming a good journalist, The Bankstowne Journal is also awarding you an internship with our newspaper to go with your scholarship to Cannon College. This is the inauguration of what we hope will become an annual event. Congratulations, Rick. I look forward to working with you this fall.”

Rick waved the internship award in the air like he was swatting flies in response to the heartfelt applause his classmates gave him.

Tank made gagging noises that got Rick’s attention. “I think I’m going to throw up,” Tank said to T.R. He could hardly contain himself putting his hand over his mouth faking like he was going to vomit.

Rick ignored the taunt and left the stage, still scanning the audience for Ann. Instead, he spotted his mother in the back of the auditorium. Her face beamed through tears as she clapped. A big grin broke across his face, and he acknowledged her with a nod to the scholarship and intern award clutched in his hand.

Coach Marshal approached the microphone and raised his arms to cut the applause short. Rick rolled his eyes and returned to his seat.

“And now for the award we’ve all been waiting for, the Best Athlete award. I don’t think there’s any mystery who we’re talking about here, so Tank, why don’t you come on up.”

Coach reached under the podium to retrieve a trophy that could pass as a double for the Heisman. Tank waved his index finger, signaling the number one sign as he bounded onto the stage.

“Congratulations, son, you earned it,” Coach Marshal said. Tank shook hands with Coach and waved the trophy over his head with his other hand. The student body broke out in thunderous applause for their record-setting, triple-threat running back. He was the pride of Bankstowne.

Coach Marshal raised his arms again to quiet the students. “Settle down. That’s not all. I received a telegram this morning from New York announcing Tank Johnson has been selected first team halfback on the Parade Magazine High School All-American team. And not ten minutes later, Coach Jim Turner called from the University of North Carolina to inform me he also wanted Tank to be an All-American on his team.”

The student response rattled the auditorium windows as Tank hugged Coach Marshal and danced around the stage waving his trophy. The rest of the school’s first undefeated football team in Bankstowne’s history came up on stage and joined in the celebration. Coach Marshal pulled a powder blue and white North Carolina jersey with Tank’s number thirty four on it from under the podium and presented it to him.

“Good luck, wear it with pride, and make us all proud,” Coach Marshal said. “Your old black and gold number thirty-four jersey will be hung in the trophy case in the main entrance to the school. It’s been a pleasure coaching you. You’re now officially a North Carolina Tar Heel.”

The team swarmed around Coach Marshal and Tank at center stage, chanting, “Two, four, six, eight, who do we appreciate? Tank, Tank, Tank!”

Rick forced himself to politely applaud the one person in the world he hated the most. It was hard to admit that Tank was a great football player, as a person, however, Rick could honestly say he was the biggest jerk he’d ever known.

Dismissed from the awards ceremony, Rick quickly made his way to the back of the auditorium for a congratulatory hug from Mary Beth. Her eyes were still red from her tears of joy.

“I’m so proud of you, and your father is too. You know he would have been here if he could have gotten off work.”

“It’s okay, Momma. I know he doesn’t think much of my being a writer. But he’ll understand one day that it’s an important profession.”

“Give him time,” Mary Beth said. “He’ll come around. Come on, let’s go home and I’ll fix your favorite supper to celebrate. How does meatloaf, mashed potatoes, English peas, and banana pudding for desert sound?”

Wil worked his way through the crowd and gave Rick a big slap on the back. “Way to go, big brother. You almost upstaged that jerk Tank. Now let’s go home. I’m starving for some of that banana pudding.”