story #5 based on the Painting NIGHTHAWKS by Eward Hooper 1942 It's in the Instutute of ART in Chicago

NIGHTHAWKS

The LITTLE DOLL ... DEE DEE

By

Archie L. Tautfest, Jr.



"You want a cup of Joe?"

"You ask me, what's new? Well I'll tell ya."

All the loners in the neighborhood spent Turkey Day and Christmas Eve here.

Mostly it was great. There was a tear or two right before Christmas. But it's a new year, things'll work out.

Ya. It's slow, must be the cold spell. It's gotta be zero out. Have a refill and I'll tell you 'bout the tears.

Well like I was 'bout to say, it was a day or two before Christmas.





I was cleanin' like always, when in comes this guy, Lou. He's got a room above the Irishman's store. You might have seen him in here before. He's the one that's just old enough to beat the draft. You know the short balding guy 'bout forty, he's a sometimes cabby. -- With the war and all, it's more sometimes than ain't.

Anyway, Lou comes in that night and he's got a little doll in tow. Now I mean little -- 'bout seven or eight. This little doll looks like Shirley Temple did 'bout eight years ago, in the flick "Little Miss Marker", you know with the blonde hair and doll face.

And you know how I'm a sucker for blonds. And 'specially little doll blonds.

Anyway, Lou and the pint size doll comes in, and they sit there on the end, away from the door. Right off the little doll is having a swell time, she's going round and round on the stool, like it's a Merry-Go-Round.

"Coffee?", I asks.

"Yah.", says Lou.




"Who's the Little Doll?", I says.

"Name's Dee Dee.", he answers.

"Where'd you get her, in a Cracker Jack Box?", I asks.

He looks at me like I just killed somebody, and says, "She's lookin' for her mother. I found her on the street this morning."

Now you know me, I ain't one to put my beak where it don't belong, but, I says, "On the street?"

And he says, "Yah, I was commin' down here for coffee, and here on the street, a couple of blocks up, she's sitting on the curb crying her eyes out."

"Tell me more.", I says.

"What more -- I been looking for the mother all day?", Lou says.

"Who's her mother?", I says. I figure I know everybody in this part of town, maybe I'd know her.

"Name's Melinda, somethin' or other.", Lou says.




"Tall string bean blonde. Use to be a looker?", I asks.

"That's what they tell me.", Lou answers.

Me and Lou's talkin', and the Little Doll pipes up likes she's eighteen not eight.

"Sir, where is the ladie’s room?"

Now let me tell you, I take a double take. I figure if she's a kewpie doll, she's gunna sound like a kewpie doll, but was I wrong, dead wrong. After I get over me being surprised 'bout how old she talks, I says to her, "Down 'round the corner by the phone."

"Thank you sir.", she says grown up like.

As she slides off her stool and walks to the john, Lou says, "Give me a steak-san with lots of onions."

"What about the doll?", I asks.




"What ever little girls eat. I'm no father.", Lou says.

"Maybe some chili?", I says.

Now, Lou looks at me. You know how my Chili is. Some wags have been known to say, they oughta use it against the Japs, the war'd be over in a couple of weeks.

With that look from Lou, I says, "Okay. Okay. No Chili for the doll."

"Just give her a half a burger and some milk.... Second thought give her a half a malt.", Lou says.

Now I'm like the rest, round this time of year, you know charitable and that kinda thing. But half of this and half of that, with rashioning and all, I can't afford to throw half of this and half of that out. And I tell Lou, all I'm saying to you.

Well, you know, Lou, he looks like he's mean and what not, but I never know him to be anything but quiet. That is until I tell him how I look at half of this and half of that. He gets this look in his blue eyes that would turn the sun to ice. He don't say anything, he just looks at me. Well I says something.

I say to Lou, "That's Okay, I'm a little hungry, I'll eat the half she don't eat."

That was the right thing for me to say because he kinda slides back on his stool and relaxes, kinda like and says, "Can I have a refill, after ya put the burger and steak on?".

"Sure.", I says.

After I pat out the burger, and throw it and the steak on the grill, I take his mug and run him a refill. The place is half full so I take care of the rest of the customers.

'Bout that time the little doll comes out of the back, all spick-and-span, just like the Dutch Lady took some of her powder and scrubbed the little doll clean.
As she walked back to her place next to Lou, she says to me, "Sir, your towel is dirty, I would suggest that it be changed."

I loose my mouth for a second or two, then I answer, "Yah. Okay." What a little doll.

By this time the steak and burger were done so I dished the steak up for Lou, and the half a burger for the Little Doll. Now comes the teary part 'bout the Little Doll, Dee Dee.

After they eat, the Little Doll goes back to being a Little Doll, she's playing with the stools and, since the place cleaned out some by this time, I don't mind, and besides, Lou's telling me 'bout what he'd found out 'bout Dee Dee's mother.

Lou says that he heard the story from one of the girls who had lived in the same building, that the Little Doll's father and the Little Doll's mother lived in.

Seems the Little Doll's mother was a hoofer at some of the local clubs, 'bout six or seven years ago. But when she got tangled up with a horn player, and has Dee Dee, she quits dancing. Well things are "happily ever after" for a while. Then it seems she gets tired.
Motherhood and such don't suit her. So she takes to going to the local taxi joints, just to have fun she says.

Now the horn blower it seems takes to fatherhood, he likes the family scene. The story is, he's seen in the park walkin' a carriage, and talkin' the goo-goo talk with the Little Doll. A picture of to behold they say.

Anyways, "Happily ever after", wasn't. The Little Doll's mother starts to stay out later and later. Then it seems she started to stay out all night.

Lou tells me, and I'm tellin' you, this action don't set too well with the horn player.

So one night the horn player packs up, and takes the Little Doll with him. Nobody knows where they went but for the next five years or so nobody sees the horn player or the Little Doll.
But the mother was a different story. It seems when the Little Doll and the horn player left, the mother tried to go back to dancing. Lou says that after the two years lay off with her getting knocked up and all, she didn't have the stuff anymore.




So she starts to hang out. Then she starts to work in a house up at the lake. Then she drifts back to town where she hooked up with a one time boot-legger. But that didn't last.
"I got to take a break. Those guys look down in the mouth, they need some more java."

Now where was I? Yah the Little Doll's mother spent most of the six years as a workin' girl if you know what I mean. Anyway it seems late last summer the Horn Player and the Little Doll, show up on the mother's doorstep. The doorstep is some sleezy hotel over on Grant.
Anyways the Horn Player tells the mother that he got drafted, and he tried everybody that he knew, and since he had no family and he didn't want to put the Little Doll in an orphan's home, so the mother had to take the Little Doll.

After some screaming and yelling, the Little Doll stays with her mother, and the Horn Player goes off to war. It seems that the flea trap the mothers staying in don't allow kids. So the Little Doll and the mother move to this neighborhood. Well the mother finds it's kinda hard to have friends up to her room with the Little Doll being there and all.

So Lou tells, that on the day before he finds the Little Doll on the street crying, that's the last day anybody seen the Little Doll's mother.

Now I got to tell you, after Lou tells me the story, I got a lump in my throat, big as one of those new bombers their sendin' over to England. I don't want you to think I'm a sissy or somethin' but I had tears running down my face.

See just tellin' the story, I get a little wet.
"Excuse me why I blow my nose."
After Lou's story, we talk about what he's going to do with the Little Doll.
"Got any thoughts?", he asks.
"Not me.", I says.


"Well I can't take her to my place, ain't no room.", he says.

"Don't know anybody?", I asks.

"Not a soul. How about you?", he asks.

"Nooo...", I kinda answers, then I think of my sister and I says to Lou, "Maybe my sister'll take the Little Doll."


"Sister? I've been havn' coffee here for years, and I didn’t know you had a sister.", he says.

"Yah, she and I don't see each other much. Fact is I ain't seen her since our old man died.", I says.

"How long's that been?", he asks.

"Four or five years, maybe.", I answers.

"What makes you think she'll help?", he asks.

"Her kids are all grown now, besides she's the only one I can think of. Want another cup?", I says. Then I added, "What about the Little Doll?"


Lou shrugged his shoulders and didn't answer.

"Dee Dee you want a dish of ice cream?", I asks her.

You know, I don't serve ice cream but I do keep some on the back shelf of the ice box for special occasions.

"Yes sir.", she answers.

As I'm dipping the ice cream, I says to Lou, "When I get done with this I'll give my sister a call."
"Where's she live?", he asks.

"Out in the country 'bout an hour drive from here.", I says.

After dropping six bits in the phone, I talk to my sister. I was surprised cause when I told her the story, she said that she and Fred, Fred's my brother-in-law, would be glad to take Dee Dee. They must have broken every law on the books, 'cause it wasn't even an hour and they pulled up in front of the diner.

After Lou and the Little Doll spill some tears, the Little Doll went with Fred and my Sister. To tell the truth, even I got a little mist in my eyes, when my sister drives away with the Little Doll.

Well that's not the end of the story. Christmas day for the first time in twelve years I got the dinner, I close and me and Lou takes my coupe and drives out to see the Little Doll.
I'll tell you, it was the best Christmas I'd had since I don't know when.


Now comes the good part. 'bout a month ago this G.I. on crutches comes wobbling in and starts asking questions 'bout if anybody knows anything about a woman and a little girl. Well after a few questions and answers, I figure he's the Horn Player.

He tells me he broke his leg jumping out of an airplane in training camp, so he doesn't think he'll get over seas. But they're going to keep him in the Army for the duration.

Yah, my sister still has the Little Doll. That is she has the Little Doll until the wars over. And no, the Little Doll's mother ain't been seen. So you see the Holidays was mostly swell, but there was a tear or two.

"You want a refill of Joe?"


07-14-87

story # 4 based on the painting NIGHTHAWKS by Edward Hopper 1942. It hangs in the Instutute of Art in Chicago.

NIGHT HAWKS

AOWL

by

Archie L. Tautfest, Jr.



"You want a cup of Joe"

You ask what's new? Well I'll tell ya. After readin' the paper today, and listenin' to Edward R. Merrow last night, I'd say the war is almost over. Romell's done for in North Africa. -- Our boys should be home in a few weeks. That reminds me, let me tell you 'bout the other night.

I was cleanin' as usual, and its 'bout eleven thirty. The door swings open and in comes these two G.I.'s, they both look like they got a snoot full. You know, their ties're undone, they're not wearin' their hats, and they're hangin' on to each other. They're hootin' and hollerin' and just makin' dumbies of themselves.

It was a good thing that the place was empty 'cause they woulda run'em out if there would'a been anybody in here.

Anyway they staggered over to the far end of the counter and sat down.

"Looks like you two need some java.", I says.


They both look at me kinda blurry eyed, and then the taller of the two says to me with a shout, "Yes sir.", and he gives me a half salute.

"Yes sir.", the other one chimed in.

"Look boys, could ya hold it to a low roar?", I asks.

"Yes sir.", they said in unison, then they proceeded with their imitations of a lion roarin'.

While they were roarin' like lions, I got them a couple of cups of java and set the cups in front of the two G.I.'s.

They stopped the noise while they sipped their coffee . After I gave them a refill the taller G.I. spoke up, "Pisssst... You want me to tell you a secret.", he says to me. As he spoke, he half stood up and leaned over the counter.


Somethin' told me I was goin' to be sorry for listenin' to these two, but sometimes I ain't too smart.

Anyways I leaned over to hear the G.I.'s secret.

"You know you seem to be a good sport, so I'll tell you a secret. Me and old Carl there,", as he spoke he looked toward his buddy and indicated with a wave of his thumb, "We're going to see his girl in Wyoming.".

"Yeah.", I says.

"Yeah, you see he got a "dear John" today and old Carl and me we're going to go and take care of the 4-F's that moved in on Carl as soon as he left for boot camp." As the tall one spoke, he leaned closer to me. Let me tell you, his breath would've taken paint offa my coupe.

Anyways, I says to him, "How you two goin'a get to Wyoming, thats almost a thousand miles.

"Yeah, really?", he asks, as he blinks his eyes trying to figure out how far a thousand miles was.

"We'll ride the train.", he says. His eyes light up with the idea of riding the train.

"You got leave orders?", I asks.

"No. Nobody'll know.", he answers.

The M.P's ride the train. They check leave orders.", I says.

"We'll hitch-hike.", he says.

"A thousand miles?".

"We'll drive.", he answers back.

"You got a car?", I asks.

"No.".

"You got any money to buy one?", I asks.

"No. We spent all our money tonight, trying to forget what Carl's dame did to him.", he says.
While me and the tall one are talking, Carl just sits on his stool shaking his head and mumblin' somethin' 'bout, "... How could she...", and "... I love her ...", and "... I'll never find anyone again ..."

The tall one and me look at old Carl, then we start talking again after I poured them more mud.

"Say, how come you two are out on a week night?".

"We snuck out.", he says.

"You AWOL?", I asks.

"Shh... not so loud.", he says as he holds a finger over his lips.

"Look guys, why don't you go back to camp and sleep it off?", I asks.

"Can't. Got to go see Carl's girl.".

"You askin' for trouble? The Army don't like guys that go Awol. Haven't you heard that durin' war time they shoot guys who go AWOL."

"Huh!", asked Carl. It sounded like he was gettin' drunker not more sober.

"We're AWOL now.", Carl added.

The tall G.I. looked at his watch, then says to me, "Is it really 0200?".


I looks up at the clock up there on the wall, and says, "Yeah... sure is.".

'bout the time, the two G.I.'s and me are decidin' that it's 0200, an Army jeep pulls up in front of the Diner, and the two M.P.'s get out and come inside for their usual 2:00 AM cup of joe.

As they sit on the two stools closest to the door, I says, "Hi Sargent. Hi Langley.".

Sargent is an old horse soldier by the name of Samuel Murphy, and Langley is a private from Kansas, who's been in the Army all day and he likes it.

When the M.P.'s sat down, Carl and his buddy tried to clean themselves up as best that they could. They could've saved their time it was a no-win.
Then I set the Sargent and Langley's java in front of them the Sargent says, "What's with them two?".

"The young kid there got a "dear John" at mail call today. The tall one is helpin' the young one try to forget.", I says to the Sargent …


"They permanent at the camp?", asks the Sargent.


Now I knows that what he's askin' is if their stationed at the camp, then they might have passes to be in town in the middle of the week. If their trainin', then they don't belong in town on a week night. And if their trainin', their AWOL. 'Cause it's lights out at 9:30 P.M. for trainees.

"I figure their new.", I answers the Sargent.

"Langley, it looks like we're goina' have some business tonight after all.", the Sargent. says, turning to Private Langley.

"Look Sargent is there any way we can let this magilla pass?", I asks.

"Sorry Phillie. It looks like these two are in trouble.", the Sargent says.

"You been around a long time. Didn't you ever get a "dear John?"., I asks the Sergeant.

"Na, not me. Didn't have time for many skirts until I met the misses.", answered the Sargent.

I remember back in "19" I was setting in a truck in France, when out of the blue, a bag of mail is dropped off at out company Headquarters. We hadn't seen mail in a couple of weeks. I remember to this day how worked up I was, when the mail clerk hands me a letter from Molly McClain. She and me was goina’ be married when I got back home. Anyway when the clerk called out, "Private Larson", I jumped to my feet and down the truck, stumbling over leg and feet, that belong to my buddies, who were already reading their mail.

I remember holding the letter real close, while I slowly picked my way back to my kip. That was my "dear John".

"Give the kids a break Sargent, "dear Johns" are a real kick when you get'em." I says to the Sargent and his side-kick Langley.

The Sargent didn't say anything after my little speech. He kinda looked at me, and then at Langley, then he placed his two ham like hands on the counter, and picked himself up to a standing position. After hitching up his 45 and billy club, he walks to where the two young G.I.'s are sittin', tryin' to blend into the stools and counter.

"You two had a party?", the Sargent asks in a booming voice.

"No Sargent We've been trying to forget.", the taller G.I. says to the Sergeant.

"What you forgetting?", asks the Sargent.

"My buddy here got a "dear John today.", the tall G.I. said, as he jerked his head towards Carl, his buddy.

"Ain't that a shame, that'll teach you to not to get tangled up with some Jane, -- dames are bad news --
'specially when there's a war -- Yeah, dames only good for makin' babys and cleanin' house. Yeah lucky you got the letter now, and not when you was in some fox-hole across the pond.", says the Sargent. to the two young AWOL G.I.'s.

The two young G.I.'s stared at the Sergeant. They didn't know what to say. That's when I spoke up, "Say Sargent., me and these two guys were talkin' before you and Langley came in. They was tellin' me that they missed the last bus that went out to camp, and they didn't have anyway to get a cab, even if they could find one. And I was tellin' them that if they waited here that I knew a couple of M.P.'s that were good eggs, and I knew they would tak'em to camp when they stopped for coffee. Ain't that right guys? Ain't that what I told ya?", I says.

The young tall G.I. said, "Sure that's what you said alright."

And Carl chimed in, "Yes.".

The boys were soberin' fast, the fear of bein' sent to the stockade did the trick.

"Langley, what do you think? Should we take these two to the brig?", said the Sargent.

Langleys eyes lit up, and the corners of his mouth curled up into a sneer. It was like a vulture waitin' for his meal. I can tell ya that I haven't seen that side of Private Langley 'till that night.

But before Langley could answer him, the Sargent went on, "Now if we do take them to the brig it will take a couple of hours to fill out forms, we won't have time to stop at the train Depot.".

When the Sargent told Langley that they couldn't stop at the train depot if they took the two G.I.'s to jail, Langleys sneer dissappeared, and it was replaced with a deep frown. He looked like a hurt puppy.

Well when I saw the hurt puppy look on Langley's face I looked at the Sargent, I musta' had a big question mark painted on my face, cause without sayin' anythin', the Sargent said, with a nod of his head towards Langley, "He's got a little blond at the depot, who sells tickets on the graveyard shift. He likes to have lunch with her."

"Sargent maybe we could take them to the camp. Their story sounds good to me... I wouldn't want them to get in any trouble.", says Langley.

"Private, that sounds like a good idea.", says the Sargent.

Turning to the young G.I.'s, the Sargent says, "You two!".

"Yes sir", they say back.

"I'm no sir. I work for a living."

"Yes Sargeant.", they says.

"You two pay your bill, and get in the jeep. You got fifteen seconds, 'cause the bus's leavin' then.

"Yes Sargeant.", they says.

The tall G.I. reached in his pocket, in search of two nickles.

"It's on the house.", I says to them.

"Thanks -- Thanks for everything.", they says to me.

"Anytime -- Come back anytime.", I says to them.

They were in the jeep in ten seconds, waitin' for the Sargent and Langley to mosey out of the Diner.

I can tell you they finished Boot Camp and they didn't go AWOL. Carl got a ten day leave after boot, and he went back to Wyoming to see his girl.

When he passed through town after his leave, he stopped and told me that he had gotten married. He showed me a picture of the new bride.

Well just between you and me, judgin' from the picture, I would've let her go. But you know how it is, young and in love and all.

"You want another cup of Joe"

08/13/87

story #3 based on the painting NIGHTHAWKS by Eward Hooper 1942. It hangs in the Instutute on Art in Chicago

NIGHTHAWKS

Black Market

by

Archie L. Tautfest, Jr.

"You want a cup of Joe"

You ask me what's new. Well I'll tell ya.
The other night I'm cleanin' as always, when in walks Kennedy. Now you know Kennedy, he's the cop that walks the beat in this neighborhood.
Well that night Kennedy ain't wearin' his cop outfit. No, he's wearin' people clothes. He sits down whesitting, and since I was cleanin', like I says, I don't recognize him right off. That is not until he says.

"You got a cup of mud in this joint?"





Nobody can mistake Kennedy's voice. So I look up from me cleaning my grill. I must'a had a surprised look on my kisser, cause he laughs, ya know that deep baritone voice, it almost rattles the window when he talks.

"Well I'll be.", I says, then I adds, "What's going on? -- You in real peoples clothes."

"Something, isn't it?", he says.

"Yeah somethin'.", I says.

"Yeah I had a date tonight.", he says.

"Date?", I asks.

"Yeah, even cops have dates.", he says.

"I guess -- I didn't know you ain't hitched.", I says.




"Mary Rose she died a couple years ago.", he says.

"Mary Rose?", I asks.

"Mary Rose was my wife -- God Bless her soul.", he says.

"Ya know you been on this beat as long as I been at this Diner. I didn't know you was married, and I'm sorry I didn't hear 'bout your wife passing on.", I says to Kennedy, with sadness in my voice.
"No reason to.", he says.

Well I kinda shrugged and handed him his cup of coffee. Now you know me, I ain't one to stick my beak in anybody's business, but I had to ask Kennedy.

"Date, huh, who's the lucky girl?"

I know that Kennedy must be forty five years old, so I know that any woman he's gunna date, ain't gunna be





a girl, but I figure it sounds better than saying, woman. Maybe it'll make him feel better too.

Kennedy answers witha , "You know Sarah the lass that works for Mr. Tortella at the market."

"Sure.", I says. Now Sarah is a plain little girl, nice, but plain. I hope I don't show it, but I was taken back when he said Sarah, 'course Sarah is only about twenty two or twenty three years old. But I don't say anything.

While Kennedy and me are talkin', in walks this guy, by the name's Carl. Now I've seen him in my joint a time or two and by the looks, a time or two, is a time or two, too many.

Now Carl, he's one of them little weasel like guys, kinda skinny, with a pencil mustache, and he always wears dark pin stripe suits with the most god-awful green tie with a hand painted hula-girl on the tie.
Anyways, Carl walks in and says, "Hi Phillie.", like me and him's old pals, which we ain't.




He is a payin' customer, so I says, "Hi, want a cup of Jave?"

And he says, "Sure, like always."

Now like I says, he's only been in here a couple of times so it ain't "like always".

I get him his coffee, and go back to cleanin'.

It ain't long before Carl says to me, "Can I have a refill?"

While I'm givin' him a refill, I want to tell him he ain't usin' good English when he says, "Can I have..." I want to tell him he should say, "May I have...", but I didn't. I just give him and Kennedy refills. Then 'course things are slow, and they are the only ones in my place, I go back to cleanin'. I pick up my cleanin' stone that I use on the grill, when Creepy Carl, as I calls him, pipes up.

"Either one of you need anything?"




Kennedy looks up from his coffee mug, and I looks over at him from my grill. Kennedy and me says together, "What?".

"You guys need anything. You know, things thats hard to get now days?", Carl says.

Kennedy looks at me, and I look at him. We sees the same look in each others eyes. Nobody can be that stupid. Here Carl is askin' strangers if they want to buy on the black-market, Kennedy knows Carl is in trouble, big trouble because Kennedy's a cop and me, I know Carl's in trouble 'cause I know Kennedy's a cop.

Kennedy and me kinda smiles at each other and Kennedy pipes up, "What do you have?".

With that question from Kennedy, Carl gets a large smile on his weasel face and he says, "You got a car, how about tires, or maybe you need gas stamps?"






Kennedy don't say anything, so Carl goes on, "You got a broad, how about some nylons? Maybe some chocolate.".

Well, Kennedy and me still didn't say nothin', so the little weasel keeps talkin', this time he talks right at Kennedy. "You look like a healthy guy, and I bet you like your meat. I can get you all of the meat you want."

"Oh?", Kennedy says, like he might be interested.

"Yeah, you name it, if I didn't have it, I can get it.", Carl the creep says.

"I might be interested in a pair of nylons for my girl.", Kennedy says.

"Now you're talkin'. I just happen to have a couple of pairs here in my pocket. Let's see, because I feel good tonight -- I can let you have'm for five dollars for the two pair. That's a good deal don't you think?", says Carl.

"Sure sounds fair to me, but maybe I could use some other things you were talking about.", Kennedy says.

"Sure. Sure.", Carl says. I can tell he's gettin' excited, like he's hit the daily double at the track or somethin'.

"I need to see the stuff first.", says Kennedy.

"Yeah, okay, when you want to see it?", asks Carl.

"Where do we have to go? Is it close?", says Kennedy.

"'Bout ten blocks, over on Blake and Tenth. I got a buddy.", Carl says.

"Good you want to go now?", Kennedy asks.
"Let me buy your coffee. I'll get my car around the corner.", says Kennedy, as he gets up to leave, and he throws four bits on the counter.
I stand there and look as Kennedy and the Weasel leave, and go around the corner.




Well about two hours later, just before I'm closing, Kennedy walks in with a large smile on his face.

Like I say, I don't put my beak where it don't belong, but I do ask Kennedy, "What happened?".

Well he tells me like this. "I took the cockroach to his building, and sure enough it's full of tires, and nylons, and boxes of chocolate, and he even has an ice box full of meat. He had stuff that most people would kill for. Well I look around for a while, then I tell the roach that I have a buddy that may need some tires for his car. I ask if he's got a phone, so I can call my buddy. He said no but there's a booth out front. Well I go out to the booth and drop my nickle in, and call the station house. Then I go back into Carl's building and wait."

"About ten minutes later there's four patrol cars full of cops outside the building. Well, is Carl surprised when I put the cuffs on him and they take him away."
As Kennedy talks, I refill his mug with the last of the mud in the urn. He goes on after he takes a sip, "Yeah,




you should have seen the look on that little weasel's face when I told him I'm a cop and he's under arrest."

"Yeah I would have like to have seen that picture. You know I wasn't sure if you were gunna bust him or you was going to buy.", I says.

"That creep got what was coming to him. I may take an apple or a cup of coffee along the street, but I know some good boys over there that are getting killed, and any time somebody like Carl is selling things that those boys could use, to keep alive, and I get a chance to step on a bug like him, I'll do it.", says Kennedy.

"There's always a few tryin' to make a buck the wrong way. Yeah, I'm glad you got Carl. Say any time your in the neighborhood with your new lady, stop in, coffee and pie's on the house.", I says.

"Thanks.", Kennedy says.

"You want a refill of Joe"

story # 2 based on the painting NIGHTHAWKS by Edward Hopper 1942. It hangs in the Instutute of Art in Chicago.

NIGHTHAWKS

Shortie and Margo-May

By

Archie L. Tautfest, Jr.

"Want a cup of Joe"

Ya ask what's new.
Well our boys are doin' okay with the Japs, but we're sure getting kicked in Italy.
Ya know I really thought we'd have the guys home by now, but ....

Say have a refill, and I'll tell ya 'bout the other night. The place was empty, and I was cleanin' as always, when in walks Old Shortie Miller. Ya know Shortie, he has that shack down by the river. Yeah, he's the one in the newspaper a couple of months ago, who put the cable across the river, so no U-boats could torpedo the city.
Well, when Shortie sits down, I says to him, "Ya want some java?"
"Yeah Philly, some java -- lots of cream." he says back to me.
"Comin' right up." I says.
When I slides his coffee and cream in front of
him, I asks, "Anything else, burger or somethin'?"
He shakes his head, then looks like he thinks for a minute, and then he says, "Maybe you could get me a ham
and cheese. Second thought, make it a grilled ham and
cheese."
"Sure. Ya want my super duper grilled ham and cheese?" I says.
"What's the super duper?" he asks.
"Well it's a grilled ham and cheese, and I put a slice of onion and a slice of tomatoe on it, before I grill it." I says.
"Sounds good to me." he says.
While I'm slicin' a couple of thin slices of ham, ya know how scarce ham is to get. Well, while I'm puttin' his sandwich together to grill, Shortie pipes up and says,
"Guess what Philly."
"What?" I asks over my shoulder
"I'll tell you, you won't see me after tonight."
"Yeah, where ya goin'?"
"I'm goin' to the sea." he says
"Sea?" I asks.
"Yes, the sea. I'm sailin' tonight on the high tide." he states.
"High tide? We're too far up the river to have high
t ide." I says.
"That may be, but I'm sailin' at high tide." he says.




Now, you and me both know that we're more than four hundred miles from any Ocean. So I look at Shortie for a minute or so, kinda sizin' him up, to se if I maybe oughta call the bughouse or somethin'.
Well, he catches me lookin' at him and he says, "I ain't Buggy. I got an idea."
"Yeah, what kinda idea." I asks.
"Come here and I'll tell ya." he says.
I walks over to where he sits, and he leans across the Counter, and in a low voice, he starts to tell me his swell idea. He no more than gets, "Here's my plan...." out of his mouth, when I smell somethin' burnin'.
I turn around to look, I sees smoke rollin' out from
under Shorties ham and cheese. I runs over to the grill a and flips the sandwich, and as I do, I says a few damns and hells and such.
"Not so bad," I says to Shortie, "just a little crisp around the edges."
"That's okay I like 'em crispy." he says.
"Go ahead and tell me your idea. I'm gunna stay here and watch your sandwich." I says to Shortie.
It's a good thing nobody was in here that night. I don't want anybody to see me burn the food.




Shortie starts his story, or he starts tellin' me his swell idea.
"You see, if I take my row boat, and fill it with dynamite, and row down river to the ocean, I can sit there 'till one of them U-boats or sneekie Jap ships starts up river. Then I can row the boat towards them, and before the dynamite blows, I jump into the water and swim to shore. They won't know what hit 'em."
Now, I can tell ya, when Shortie finishes his story, I stand there lookin' at him with my mouth wide open. I counln't believe the story I'd just heard Shortie tell me.
I don't say anythin' to Shortie. I just slide his ham and cheese on a plate, with some chips and a couple of pickles, and hand it to him.
"Well?" Shortie says, as he's about to take a bite of his half burnt sandwich.
"Well What?" I answers.
"My idea. Ain't it good?" he says. Then he takes his
f first bite of the ham and cheese.
"Shortie did ya think this thing out?" I asks.
With a mouth full of ham and cheese, Shortie says, "Sure have."





I looked at him again. I knew that although I didn't stick my beak in other peoples business, that this time I had to say somethin'. Shortie was gunna hurt somebody if I didn't.
I thought maybe I could talk him out of it. "Shortie do ya think you're boat'll go that far?" I asks.
"That far? Margo-May'll go 'round the world if I wanted.
But I don't want. Them Huns and Japs'll sink poor Margo, if she took me 'round the world." says Shortie.
Now I wasn't sure, but I figured Margo-May was his row boat, but I asks anyways, "Who's Margo-May?"
"Why she's my boat. That's who." he says. Then after a swallow of coffee, he goes on. "Yeah she's a good ol' boat. Like my other Margo-May, she was a good ol' gal, she was. -- I miss her." When he finished, he was lookin' out in space. Not at anythin', just into some dreamland of his.
Ol' Shortie's been walkin' that ten blocks, from the river to here, everyday since I own this joint. He'll have a cup of mud or two, and a piece of apple pie, or a steak sandwich. Anyways, I've known him for years, but until he told me that day, I didn't know that there had been a Mrs. Shortie.
Ya know me. I ain't one to stick my beak where it don't belong, but I asks Shortie, "What ever happened to Margo- May?"

He kinda came out of his dream land, and looks at me for a second or two. "Margo-May?" he asks.

"Yeah you were talkin' 'bout Margo-May being a good ol' gal." I answers.

"Oh Margo-May -- Yes she was. She was good to me, she was. Never a word of back talk, no she didn't."

"Did ya have any kids?" I asks.

"Kids?" -- he asks. Then for the first time since I'd known him, his mouth curled up into a smile, and like a volcano eruption, a sound comes out of his mouth, first like a quiet giggle, like some dames do, then louder and louder, when finally Shortie is poundin' on the counter, tryin' to beat back the side splittin' laugh that has over taken him.

I first thought he was sick, but I then decides that he is laughin'. I just stood there lookin' at him. I don't know what got into him. After about five minutes, his laughin' dies down enough for him to say again, "Kids?" Then he starts laughin' again, this time not so long though.

Well every time he stops laughin', he says "Kids?" then he starts all over again.

After what seems like all night, he finally calms down enough that I can ask, "Look Shortie, what's so funny about kids? Guys and dames have kids all the time."

This time he only giggles a while, before he says, "Philly you're right. Guys and dames have kids all the time, but not me and Margo-May! Margo-May, she was my dog."

"Dog?" I says.

"Yeah, dog. -- Had her for over twenty years, since she was a pup. You thought she was my wife." Then Shortie starts laughin' again.

I felt a little foolish, mistaken Margo-May, the dog, for Shorties wife, and all. –
"Well anyways Shortie," I says, "don't you think your idea 'bout sailin' down the river with a boat load of dynamite is a little dangerous?"
"Somebody's got to do it." he says.
"What if ya hit somethin' on the way, and you hurt somebody?" I asks.
"We're at war ain't we? We got boys dyin' right now don't we? If them U-boats get up river, or them slant-eyes sail up river, they'll do more damage than I will."
I stand there tryin' to figure out how I'm gunna handle ol' Shortie. "Look Shortie, why don't ya talk to the Coast Guard. Maybe instead of loadin' your boat with dynamite, maybe you could be a look out for the Coast Guard."

"Look out?" he questions.

"Yeah, maybe they'd give you a short wave radio, so if you saw anythin', you could radio them." I says, as convincin' as I could.

Shorties eyes light up, and he says, "Short wave radio? Yeah I could sit there at night and watch the entrance to the river. Short wave radio, huh?"

"Maybe." I says.

"Philly, that's a good idea. I'll go tonight”
"Go?" I asks.
"Yeah, no since wastin' time." he says.

"Why don't ya call?" I asks.





"No need to, when they see me and Margo-May, they'll know they got somethin'."

"They got somethin' alright," I thought, but I don't want to bust Shorties balloon, so I didn't say anythin'.

About that time Shortie stands up, and hands me a six-bit and says, "Well Philly, I guess I'll be seein' ya."

Yeah, -- sure -- tomorrow about the same time.

"Nopah, … after the war." he says.

I look at him kinda strangely and I says to him, "After the war?"

"Yep, I'm a goin' to unload the dynamite, then pack my bed roll, and head down river. In a couple of days I'll be workin' for the Coast Guard."

"Ya mean ya got a boat load of explosives sittin' at the dock?" I asks.




"Sure do." he says.

"Where did ya get it?" I asks.

"Oh, I've been borrowin' it, a stick at a time, over on 26th street, where they're blastin' that rock, where they're goin' to build that new government building." he says.

"What if that stuff would've gone up before now?" I asks.

"I didn't think of that." he says, shruggin' his shoulders.

"Look Shortie, it don't sound like I can talk you out of this, but do me a favor will ya.

"Sure, maybe."

"When you unload your Margo-May, just dump the stuff in the river, that way there won't be any chance of somebody gettin' hurt." I says to him.

We talk for a while longer, me tryin' to tell Shortie not to go down river, and him tellin' me that he had to do his share for the country.

Anyways, Shortie left that night, and I ain't seen him since. But I did hear tell from somebody, that they ran into Shortie down river. So I guess he and Margo-May made it. No they didn't say if he was watchin' for the Coast Guard. Knowin' Shortie, it don't mean that he's not out in the Margo-May every night, watchin' for U-boats and Jap ships.

"You want a refill of Joe?"


September 16, 1987

As the title states, This is a never ending story of despair.

FOREVER … DESPAIR

The Tumbles Weed rolled across the Main Street and the Devil Dusters caused by the Wind danced over the yards of the few whether beaten houses that constituted the City of Bear Butte, South Dakota..
In the yards or beside most of the houses in Bear Butte there were abandoned vehicles of all sizes and shapes. They were left to weather away at Mother Nature's Will.
Bear Butte was the only City, Town, Place on the Fifty Thousand-Acre, Bear Butte, Lakota Reservation.
Besides the few Clapboard sided houses was one building that housed the Gas Station, Post Office, General Store and Meeting Place for the Tribal Council.
What had been a dusty, muddy trail that served as the Main street of Bear Butte for over a Hundred Years was a now a snake like ribbon of Asphalt that had been laid during the dryer years of the Nineteen Thirties by some well meaning WPA Government worker.
On the first of ever month when the Checks arrived from the Federal Government for the remnants of the once proud Bear Butte, Lakota Sioux Indians. The Indian families could be seen driving into the Bear Butte General Store in their rusted, bald Tired Pickup Trucks.
The leader of the family would be driving; mom would be setting in the middle and if there were an older male he would be setting Shotgun by the open window of the other door of the pickup. The four or six smaller children would be setting in the back of the Pickup.
The great clouds of dust would be billowing up around the rear of the Pickup, covering the children in the bed of the Pickup in a red dusting of dirt. The clouds of Iron Laden dirt which covered the children were from the trails leading from the so-called Ranches of the Indians to the ribbon of Asphalt leading to Town.
Once in town the drivers of the pickups would collect the Government checks at the Post Office Window in the General store. He would cross the room and give the check to the Store owner. The Postmaster was always related in some way to the Store owner.
The Store owner would have the driver make his mark on the back of the check. The Store owner would then deposit the check in the cash drawer and then give the driver a ledger sheet marked PAID IN FULL.
The Government Check would always cover the total on the ledger sheet for items bought at the Store for the previous month. The store owner always had a fresh, clean, unmarked ledger sheet to start the next month's purchase.
While this was taking place the wife of the driver would have been searching the Store for food items that would be needed to last the Indian family for the next month. Included in the food items would be four or five cases of beer, three or four gallons of cheap wine and three or four pounds of tobacco.

Then the cycle would begin again.

FOREVER … DESPAIR

My Story Published in Hob Nob Magazine

story based on the painting NIGHTHAWKS by Edward Hopper, 1942. It hangs in the Instutute of Art in Chicago.

NIGHTHAWKS

Fat Tom

by

Archie L. Tautfest, Jr.

"Want a cup of Joe"

You ask me, what's new, well I'll tell ya, not much. Things have been kinda slow lately. That push in the Pacific is sure drainin' things here. They're only given gas stamps to doctors and such. Makes it hard for anybody to get around.

Yeah, I lost the afternoon guy, he went into the army a couple of days ago. No, I'm not even going to replace him, things are too slow.

Oh. Did I tell ya about the other night. It was eleven thirty P.M. or so, and like always I was cleanin', when in walks this guy, the neighborhood calls, Fat Tom. Now when they say fat, their talking battleship size.

Anyways, Fat Tom sets at the far end of the counter, 'cause thats the only place there's two stools open. As he walks to the far end of the counter, he says, " Hi." to a few of the customers, and they says, " hi." back.

Now Fat Tom, he always is known for a joke or two, but right off when he sits down, I can see by the look on his kisser, that he's not too happy.

When he gets settled on the two stools, I says to him, "Hi fats. Coffee and pie?".

"No, I think I'll just have coffee tonight.", says fats.

Well, now I know somethin' is wrong. Besides always having a joke or two, he got a loud voice, as big as he is. But not tonight. Fats' voice sounds like a dolls voice, kinda soft and the like.

I give Fats his java, and I go back to cleanin', and takin' care of my customers. About four cups later, Fats speaks up and says, "Maybe I'll have the pie now.".

"Okay. Sure thing.", I says, as I wipe my hand on my apron and cut a large slice of apple pie.

"Cheese on it?", I asks.

"No thank you.", he says.

Well the place has cleared out by now, so there's only Fats and me. So when I take him his pie, I stop and talk.

"What brings you out tonight?", I asks.

"Oh nothing. I just been walking.", he says.

"Yeah, where to?", I asks.

"No place in particular. Just walking and thinking.", he says.

"Anything good? Thinking that is?", I asks.

"They tell me I've got to loose two hundred pounds.", he says.

"Who tells you?", I says.

"The draft board.", he says.

"Draft board?", I asks.

"Yeah. About three weeks ago I get a letter from the draft board, they tell me that I'm going to be drafted, unless there is some reason that I think I can't serve my country.", Fats says, then he went on, "Now looks at me, do you think I can fight the Nazis or the Japs. Maybe if I fell on a couple of them, I could kill 'em."

"Well, did ya talk to the draft board?", I asks.

"Yeah, I wrote a letter.", he says.

"Didn't that help?", I asks.

"Nope. They sent me another letter saying that I sounded like a malinger and that I would have to arrange a meeting with them unless I wanted to go to jail."

"So?", I says.

"So, I meet with the board this afternoon.", he says.

"What'd they have to say?", I ask.

"They take a look at me, and tell me that I look healthy enough and that all I have to do is loose two hundred pounds.

"Maybe they're right. It may take a while.", I says.

"Sure, it'll take a long while and they only gave me ninety days."

"Ninety days?", I asks.

"Yeah, ninety days. They tell me if I don't, I'll spend the rest of my life in Ft. Leavenworth Prison.", he says.

Now I ain't no Doc or anything, but I do know that as big as Fat Tom is, there ain't no way he'll loose two hundred pounds in ninety days. I also knows that he ain't gunna loose two hundred pounds in two hundred days.

"Have ya talked to your doctor?", I asks.

"Yeah, he's going to write a letter but I don't think that'll do any good.", he says.
"Do you want another piece of pie?", I asks.

"Sure, I've got to do something to keep my mind off my problems?", he says.

While I'm getting another slice of pie, Fat Tom's got his basketball size head in his ham like hands, saying over and over, "What I'm going to do? What I'm going to do?"

As he's moaning, I set the piece of pie in front of him, and turn around to get him a refill on his coffee. When I turn back to set the full mug in front of him, I see the piece of pie is gone.

"Did you drop the pie on the floor?", I asks.

"No. I ate it.", he says kinda hurt like.

"Oh.", I says. I ain't seen nobody eat a piece of pie that fast before.

"You have anymore of that pie?", he asks.

"Sure.", I says, and I dish him up another piece of pie.

For the next hour or so, I listen to Fat Tom moan about spendin' his life in jail and how he's heard that the pen serves lousy chow and what is his family's gunna say when the Draft Board carts him off to jail. And on and on and on. It's a good thing I don't have other customers during that time or Fat Tom's whinin' would've run them out.

I got to tell you, in that hour or so I got a lot of cleanin' done, but I was still listenin' to Fats cry about how could anyone do this to him.

Finally I says to him, "Look Fat Tom, if you go down to the induction center and the doctors see you, they'll list you as 4-F and then you're clean with the draft board."

Well Fat Tom picks his head out of his hands and stares at me for a long moment, then a large grin comes on his fat mug.

"Great, Great idea. Why didn't I think of that. Great. Phillie I could kiss you. I don't have to go to jail.", Fat Tom says. Then he goes on 'bout how God is smilin' on him.

Well that's not the end of the story 'bout Fat Tom. You see Fat Tom is so happy 'bout what I suggested that he orders a burger. Then another, then another and....

When he gets done eating that night, I have to wait and open an hour late the next morning. You see, he eats everything I have on hand, so I have to wait the next morning, until the delivery man comes, so I've got something to serve.

No Fat Tom didn't go in the Army, and no he didn't go to jail for the rest of his life. He was classified 4-F and as far as I know he's still eating like always.

Like I said there's nothin' goin' on , things are slow.

"Want a refill of Joe"



07-14-87

COLD DARK NIGHT

COLD DARK NIGHT

By

Archie L. Tautfest Jr.

The man walked through the cold night air. His head bent down to hide his face from the sharp, knife like wind. He had his hat pulled down over his ears, first to keep his ears warm and second to keep the wind from carrying his hat into the next street.

In this part of town the streetlights cast a pale yellow glow in small pools beneath where they stood. Up town the streetlights were the bright blue-white lights of the Arc light. But in the dank river front neighborhood it was still the old yellow jaundice type streetlights.

Before the man rounded the corner he stopped. He pulled the collar of his jacket higher on his neck. He looked over his shoulder and then slowly peered around the corner of the building. No one was in sight. He took another look over his shoulder and then he stepped around the corner and resumed his hunched over walk.

A half block after turning the corner the man stopped. He didn't move. He had heard a noise that didn't belong on a night like this. He slowly turned his head so he could look back over the half block he had just walked. Nothing, he saw nothing. He carefully viewed the street in front of him. Nothing.

There was a sound, a sound that he had heard before. The distinct sound of metal sliding on metal, it was the slide of a gun being cocked. He knew that sound after spending three tours in Vietnam. … He knew that sound. Even with the wind making it's own noises, the man knew the sound of metal sliding on metal.

All he wanted to do was get home. Home, it was a home to him. To others it may have looked like a boarded up warehouse, but to him it was home. He had a bottle hidden in his secret place. Just to get home and find his friend. That's all he wanted to do.

But he knew that they had been watching him. He told them that he hadn't seen anything. But he knew that they knew that he'd seen the long black car stop beside the Dumpster.

He'd seen two men in tuxedos get out of the car and the man that had been driving had opened the trunk. Both men had reached into the trunk and pulled out a large bundle. It was heavy because it took the two men two tries to get the bundle into the Dumpster.

It was then that the driver saw the figure hiding in the corner of the building next to the Dumpster.
The man pretended to be sleeping. It didn't stop the driver from kicking him in the stomach. The other man grabbed the drive by the sleeve and pulled him towards the car.
They got into the car and drove away, but not before they both had gotten a good look at the man they had just been kicking.

Now they were hunting him. …Really, they were no longer hunting him, they had found him. This was going to be the end. Three tours in Vietnam with no scratches and now he was going to meet his end here on one of the back street of the city
.
He kept walking. The end is the end. If only he has his bottle. That would be good. Him and his bottle, one last drink.
He didn't see the man hiding in the shadows. He didn't hear the noise or see the flash that came from the barrel of the gun. He didn't feel the slug hit him in the heart. Nor did he feel himself fall on his face, hitting the concrete with a dull thud.

The man with the gun walked over to the lifeless figure lying on the sidewalk. With the toe of his shoe he rolled the limp figure over so the lifeless body was looking up at him.

As the man with the gun walked down the alley toward the street, he muttered, "Damn...wrong guy."