Roundhouse Stories:Roundhouse Stories:
Welcome to Soggytown.
Welcome to my world.
From the center of Soggytown it is a only a short walk down Main Street & across the new highway bridge to Southtown & the big vacant lot where the boys used to play stickball on sunny days. It'll take you 5 minutes at most. Of course, it takes a little longer if you walk down by the point, throw a few stones, try to hit that line of ripples where the two rivers meet. Then add a few more minutes if you want to walk the railroad bridge, clinging to the catwalk or stepping tie to tie high above the water. Say 15 minutes, maybe 20. Or maybe more, if the day is bright & warm & you've no particular place to go.
But no matter how long it takes you, you can't play ball in the big lot any more. They've put fences up & they're building. Digging holes in the ground. Laying foundations. One-time ballplayers gather along the fences, peering through the chinks, marveling at the miraculous doings within.
Things are moving in Southtown. Wheels are turning. The war
is over & the boys are home. Swords are being beaten back
into plows & Old Man MacFarlane, who controls the majority
of the plow trade hereabouts, is expanding. Yes, times are good
& hopes are high.
But the children can't play ball in the big lot anymore.
So what is one to do when the paths have all been walked, the
bridges crossed, the stones thrown? Who could stay inside when
the sun is warm & high? And if the usual haunts are fenced,
or faded from too frequent visits, then what is there to do but
find new ones?
But where? Where do you go? What do you do?
Think back.
Where did you go?
What did you do?
Think back.
The sun is warm & high.
Welcome home.
Polly & the Rider Girls wade their ponies through fields of tall, green grass, down below the swimming hole on Little Coontail Creek. "Bear" Burr & his cronies, while looking for possum in the River Park, find the skeleton of a cow, lost no doubt long ago from Abe Jesser's field & trapped in a mire They pick up brittle bones & brandish them, howling, as they run through the woods. Hearing them, little Jerry Havershaw becomes frightened, flees & becomes lost. He walks for a long time down a nearly dry, shadowed flood channel, until he comes upon a small pond. Beavers have dammed two such channels where they crossed, filling a long, narrow hollow. Sitting on the bank, Jerry watches the beavers as they work & play
Not far away, on the bleached river-rock of Killdeer Island, sit Red Harker & his mechanical dog, Major
"They said it couldn't be done, but we did it all right. Didn't we, boy? Just built us a hot air balloon & sailed right on over Wonderful craft, if I do say so myself. I think I'll call it "Red Harker's Magnificent Lighter-than-Air River Runner." What do ya think, Major?
A metallic bark is the only reply.
Of course, most of us still have to make our way on foot. Or bicycle, like Joe & Checker, two B-Movie Boys home to visit friends & family. They ride their battered bikes down the railroad spur toward Arton. Right down the middle. They jolt over the ties.
"Just like riding broncs in the pictures. Just like riding broncs."
They pass the yard, the water tower. They carry their bikes over the trestle at Little Coontail Creek. They ride across the open fields & then they stop.
The bridge at Arton Bend is narrow, high & long. And today, in the sky above it, vultures wheel in the bright, hot, blue sky.
"Reckon they're tryin to tell us somethin?"
"Sure. That we've ridden far enough. Last one back buys sodas!"
And they're off, bumping & jolting back the way they came.
"Whew! They missed us completely."
From the edge of the fields come a collective sigh of relief. What have we here, hidden among the new growth filling in the old field? Ask any child in Soggytown or Southtown about the cement structure on the edge of the woods & not one of them could tell you a thing. Unless you asked the Soggytown Gang & then you might get, well, evasions. Not lies, you understand. These are good boys. Outdoor Scouts. Be-Ready Boys in good standing. Evasions. You see that structure is the secret stronghold of their Gang, their clubhouse.
And on this sunny day, it is here, inside the clubhouse, that our heroes are gathered. Dick, Jim & Tommy crouch on the tree-sheltered roof of the structure, the "crow's nest" of their fortress, & watch the B-Movie Boys as they head back toward Southtown. Below, in the concrete vault of the clubhouse proper, Imp sprawls on a faded rug, pages & scraps of newspaper strewn around him, & busies himself with pens, paper & paste.
While on the roof, a boy wonders:
"What's Imp up to? He's been down there an awful long time."
"Let's go see."
A hollow, metallic ringing announces the descent of first Dick & then Jim down the iron ladder from the roof. Tommy lingers topside for a moment more, watching the vultures wheel in a great spiraling cloud over the bridge.
"Wow!" he says. Then he clambers down, too.
He finds Dick & Jim staring, puzzled, at Imp, shaking their heads at the strange document he has presented for their inspection.
"What you got there, Imp?" he asks. "Lemme see."
As the young boy passes the paper to his friend, Jim & Dick turn to face them. Jim looks sorely perplexed, & more than a bit annoyed, but Dick's face is lighted by an amused, tolerant grin.
"Get a load of this, Tommy," says Jim. "My brother's had some weird & wild ideas in his time, but this one. . ."
He shrugs, as if unable to adequately describe the folly of "this one."
"Well, let me see," replies Tommy. "Hey, Imp!
This is. . . Are you serious? This is great!"
"Right. Great," murmurs Jim. "This is dumb. This
is crazy."
What Tommy holds in his hand, what Imp has labored on so long
& hard, & what has driven Jim into such a state is an
invitation.
An invitation to a picnic.
Well, It's crude. And it is unfinished, for Imp knows that there are any details that must be worked out before an endeavor of this magnitude can hope to get off the ground. But it is a great idea, though perhaps it is a little, well, maybe Jim can put it best.
"Crazy. Dumb & crazy. Crazy & dumb. Crazy. . ."
What Imp intends is a gathering of all of the children from
all of the children's series books of which he has any knowledge.
And this is no small number, as one can see by looking at the
many shelves filled with such books that line the wall behind
the boy.
This is Imp's Adventure Library, his special collection, his pride
& joy, & the heart of that mass of arcane knowledge that
the local children speak of in whispers.
"Imp's Library."
[Imagine two children, whispering.]
"Cannibals!" one hisses. "YOU wouldn't know cannibals
from cantaloupes. How would YOU know. . ."
"I saw it in a book," is the reply, "from Imp's Library."
And that hushes the scoffer, for Imp is known to have many wonderful & awful books, books full of the things that teachers never teach, that grown-ups seem not to have the sense to believe in. His friends are often heard to say that Imp probably has the greatest collection of truly excellent books in all of the world.
Certainly, in Soggytown it is unparalleled.
But the picnic. Well, it causes a fuss right away. The boys get to talking about ways & means, pros & cons & such. In the process, some voices are raised, some feelings are bruised. Questions remain questions. Answers remain. . . Well, they remain elusive .
Imp & Tommy want to tackle specifics. Where? When? How? How many? Who? Imp has a tentative guest list. It's pages long. But Dick & Jim have other worries & Dick, at least, wants to proceed carefully, gently. Not trample on the young boys' enthusiasm.
But finally he has to say it.
"Imp, are you sure this is a good idea?"
"It'll be fun!" shouts Tommy "C'mon!"
"But, . . ." Dick can't go on.
"But, what?" asks Imp.
"Well. . ." says Jim. "Well, what if they're not
real. Those other kids, I mean. What if those kids are just, well,
kids in books?
"And did they do those things? If they are real, I mean. How do we know?"
And Dick adds, 'You know, some of those books are really old." He pulls one off the shelf. A dime novel. "Frank Reade, Jr.'s New Steam Man." From the 1890s.
"Uh, what if they're not kids anymore? What if they've got old?"
What indeed? You, of course, can see Dick's point & understand Jim's concern. But what of Imp? Here's a whole new world of questions for him. He's young. Only a child, for all his precociousness.
"What do you mean?" he asks. And asks. And keeps asking. So many questions & they all boil down to "what do you mean?"
- Are the things in books real or aren't they?
- And if they are real now, won't they be real another day?
- Won't they be real tomorrow? Next year?
- Is it age that makes a difference?
- Is something old less true than something new?
- Do ideas get old?
The other boys try to answer, but from every answer another question seems to arise
- What do you mean? What do you mean?
- If some things are always true? If some things are true only
for an instant? How can you tell?
- What is this truth thing, anyway?
It's heady stuff for young boys, confusing. Basically, not a lot of fun. The boys grow tired of it quickly, but they are no closer to an answer. An answer is precisely what Imp needs. He takes it hard.
The picnic plans are called off.
The sun has gone down over Soggytown by the time the boys make it home. The afternoon has seemed to drag on & on, but nothing has been done. No trees have been climbed, no insects caught, killed & neatly pinned. Hardly a word has been spoken as the boys pass the afternoon quietly, lazily, never straying far from the clubhouse.
Do you remember how cold disappointment is? How dark? No sun, however bright & high, can cut the gloom, & the siren song of the train whistle sounds like a dirge. And how, looking up again at the vultures rising & falling in unsteady spirals, wonder turns to dread?
Disappointment is heavy when you have to carry it all the way
home.
But then there is home. . .
"Well, boys," says a still-unfamiliar voice. "How was your day? You're running mighty. . . Hey, why the long faces? Come here. Sit down. Tell your old pop all about it."
And Father, just back from the war, talks most of it away.
And Mother smiles, for all her men are home again & happy.
She stands in the background, but they all know she's there. She
was there all along, when he had to go somewhere far away, fighting
for ideas too big for little boys.
Truth, Justice, the American Way. . .
"What do you mean?" Imp's voice echoes.
Reunited with their family in the family home, there where Taylor Street crosses the tracks, Imp & Jim sleep without worry, without dreams.
In the morning, the sun shines warm & bright.
And that would have been the end of it. The picnic, I mean. But one day, returning from a trip up Silver Creek, the boys are greeted by their mother.
"Got some mail for you boys today. Looks important."
"I wonder what it is," they chorus.
But never in their wildest dreams could they have guessed it. (Though maybe you have.)
It's an invitation.
To a picnic.
INVITED to a PICNIC a GATHERING a CELEBRATION for ALL the BOYS & GIRLS from ALL of the BOYS' BOOKS & GIRLS' BOOKS EVER * * * Saturday in The Parklands |
The boys meet . The news is passed.
"Hey Dick! Hey Tommy! We. . ."
"Yeah! I got one. . ."
"Me too!"
"But how will we get there?"
Saturday And the boys are gathered, waiting at Red Harker's for an answer. They're not alone. Red is there & Major, of course. And Polly & the Rider Girls & little Jerry Havershaw .Even Bear Burr & his gang have been invited & they stand to one side, gazing suspiciously around. The B-Movie Boys are almost late, arriving Just as Red begins to lead the way toward Central Park. And at the park they find their "way there."
"I just finished it this morning," explains Red.
"I call it Red Harker's Omnibus of the Skies."
Imagine it. Cruising through the clouds in a double-decker bus,
suspended from a gigantic dirigible-like contrivance driven by
huge wings that beat the air with a steady rhythmic motion.
Lands & seas pass by beneath, tiny & indistinct. Time
passes, though no one can say how much.
"Is it still Saturday?" someone asks.
"Yes."
"No."
"Sunday."
"No, Friday!"
"It's the Date-line or something. I'm not sure I understand
it at all."
Then, suddenly, they are there, above the Parklands. Someplace
far away. Glimpsed through the clouds, it seems impossibly green
& lush. It might be the Amazon or the darkest heart of the
African jungle. Or maybe it's the Jungles of Venus. Or those green
lands that some say lurk at the poles. Or somewhere at the center
of the Hollow Earth.
Then the clouds part further & it is an island, a large green
island. At its center is a wide green plateau & around the
plateau, like a moat, flows a river. No beginning or end can be
seen, just water flowing around & around.
Imp remembers a story. A dragon biting its tail.
The ship descends toward the plateau.
The Parklands. An Island Faraway.
They are there.
They are all there.
They cover the ground & fill the sky. They dot the beaches
& ride the waves. Boys & girls & strange & magical
craft. There are more than they can count, more than a glance
will take in.
They land & the Omnibus of the Skies comes to rest among the
other gleaming craft. Frank Reade, Jr.'s Queen Clipper of the
Clouds, Tom Swift's Sky Racer, the airplanes of Ted Scott, Red
Randall, the Girl Flyers. On the beach below rests Thomas Edison
Jr.'s Mechanical Sea Spider.
As they disembark from their craft, they are met by a tall,
handsome boy.
"Hi, all," he says. "I'm Dick. Dick Rover. You
must be the bunch from Soggytown."
"Wow! Dick Rover."
"I've read all your books," says Imp.
Dick Rover leads the boys & girls of Soggytown through the Parklands, through the throngs of children, toward the central Pavilion He is joined by Frank Reade, Jr. & the two boys act as guides.
"As you can see, there's plenty to do," says the
Rover Boy.
"And plenty to eat, too," adds the other boy.
They pass picnic grounds & playing fields. Everywhere young people are engaging in games & sport & indulging in veritable feasts of sandwiches & soda, tea & cakes, burgers & fries. They pass a baseball diamond just in time to see a boy about Tommy's age paste a fast pitch into the grove of trees beyond the home run fence. Three runners come home & the score is tied.
"That Chip Hilton sure is a slugger."
"Yeah? Well, the other side's got Baseball Joe. I bet they'll
come through."
Some stay to watch the game & some move on & soon the boys & girls of Soggytown are scattered & mingling freely. They are absorbed by the throng. They are united with the rest of their kind.
Jim plays dodge ball with a crowd of children. Polly dances round a May Pole. A Rider Girl & a Linger-Not hold hands & whirl through Ring Around the Rosie.
Dick Dently has tea with the Hilltop Boys & more exotic fare with Bomba, the Jungle Boy.
Red Harker & Tom Swift quarrel in a friendly manner over the question of perpetual motion. Major attracts a crowd.
"Whatsamatta? You never seen a mechanical dog before?"
Someone gives Imp a yo-yo & he is enchanted. And Bear Burr wins the dodge ball game, but Jim has gone, down toward the river with Rick & Ruddy & a group of Boy Scouts.
All around the Pavilion there is activity. Children boil &
bustle in knots & whorls of mirth & play. Around &
around the Pavilion, they laugh & eat & drink & play.
Around & around.
The first hint of darkness creeps into the afternoon & the
boys & girls, without conscious direction, begin to gather
in the Great Pavilion. It is huge & round & seven stories
of it reach up into the sky in a ring. Imp remembers a picture
of the Roman Coliseum.
The Pavilion is open to the air. No walls the summer breezes & in the central well giant wind chimes ring with a sort of half-remembered melody.
Each floor is littered with tables & benches & seats, all fancifully carved. Some look like wild or mythical beasts. Others are mechanical conveyances, miniature streetcars & sailing ships, unicycles a autogyros.
They scatter, the children, each to a perch that catches his or her particular fancy. They sit & then it strikes them, the newcomers anyway. The children of Soggytown. With the thought there is movement. They are raised up, dropped down, rocked gently from side to side, started forward in a giant arc.
The Grand Pavilion is an immense carousel. The chimes, played by the summer breeze, are its calliope. A voice gives welcome.
"Welcome to the Great Roundabout. Let the adventure begin!"
Up & down Right & left. Round & round. A moment of excitement, even fear, & then reassurance & relief. Late into the evening they ride, & even later, boarding the Omnibus of the Skies for the Journey home, they imagine they can feel that rhythm.
"We hope you'll come back," a voice calls as they rise, "again."
And they will. The children of Soggytown have had a marvelous day, a magical trip, & they'll go again every year. In time, they'll explore more of the Parklands & become the old-timers, welcoming new boys & girls to the feast. But that's another story, the inevitable sequel. In its time, it will be told.
Will you listen?
Will you take the journey, join the feast, again?