CHAPTER VII

The Brothers: Howard, Jason, Rodney

Highandtown wasn’t a town by State of Ohio statutory definitions.  It was a small, closely knit community where everyone knew everyone else.  It was composed of a few dozen families, all at or near the poverty line, who were dairy farmers or laborers in the local coal mines or refractory companies.  Families normally had four children but a few deviated from that number, more or less.  The closest thing to a city hall was the gas station.  The gas station suppled gas, a limited choice of groceries and a place to gather.  Highlandtown had a volunteer fire department and a Grange Hall.  It also had a park that was large enough to contain a baseball diamond, basketball court, Jungle Gym set for little children, a large open air shelter with bar-B-Q pits and room for plenty of lawn chairs.  The park could be reserved for private parties.  This year, Scot’s family managed to get the much-prized Fourth-of-July date reserved for the McCormack family reunion.  
There was a lot of pressure on everyone in the family to attend these reunions.  Scot dreaded going to them, but usually had a good and memorable time when he did attend.  He was one of the few in the family who managed to leave the area.  Those who did were the center of attention when they returned.  They had intriguing tales, much embellished Scot concluded, of the outside world.  Scot invited Susan to attend with him.  It was a dangerous gamble because nearly anything could be said or done at these events.  Scot knew nothing defines a person more than the behaviors of his family.
“Coloreds taken over your neighborhood yet Matt?” asked the disheveled old man with a menacing, mocking undertone.  He glanced at the equally unkempt elderly man seated next to him looking for affirmation of his implication. He got the expected sneer of agreement.  Both men wore flannel shirts and poorly-fitting blue jeans.  Both had cowboy boots that were scruffy from wear and lacked the fancy colors and buckles often seen in impeccable attire in Western movies.  Their heads were bare and balding in no particular pattern.  The few surviving strands of hair had not been disciplined by a comb for eons, it appeared.  Large cowboy hats rested on the seats beside them.
The sun was full and hot, typical for a July day in Ohio.  No one seemed to care. People bustled about preparing food and games for the event. Usually at least 100 family members attended.  Most of them were accompanied by one or more friends.
Scot brought Susan for the first time.  He anticipated tongue wagging, especially from the elder ladies.  This was the place where major family announcements were made, such as marriage intentions, assuring everyone knew about the event and would feel obligated to provide a gift.  Scot remembered his high school graduation and the gifts, usually money, from all the relatives.  A five-dollar bill was the standard gift.  It seemed like a lot of money to a high school graduate.  Scot never had had so much money in his life.  High school graduation was considered the height of education in his family.
Scot was sure most attendees already concluded that the two would announce intended nuptials.  The reunion was the place to put relatives on notice to clear their calendars for some major family event in the upcoming year.  Career changes were mentioned.  It was an opportunity to brag about family accomplishments.  Recent graduates from high school could give family members one last chance to give them a graduation gift.  By far the longest segment was the announcements of expected births.  Scot had problems keeping track of his aunts, uncles and their children and spouses.  Further generations of family expansions were impossible to remember.
Scot and Susan just happened to be passing next to Uncle Howard when he made his provocative, racist comment.  At the time, Scot didn’t know who the man was, let alone his close relationship.  The words, in company with his appearance and, most of all, the negative opinion Susan was sure to have, embarrassed Scot.  He knew immediately that he would need to apologize to her.
Scot continued on to the table where his mother was busy making the last minute mixtures of foods that would turn them into a delicious appetizer, main course or dessert.
After the customary greetings and exchanges, Scot asked who the obnoxious old guys were who were sitting near the entrance gate to the park.  Obviously they weren’t family members.  Probably a couple hobos hoping for a free meal, he concluded.
“Those are your uncles Jason and Howard.  Don’t you recognize them?” she asked.
“I haven’t seen them for years.”  Scot exclaimed.  “How would I know who they are?  What are they doing here?  I thought they lived in Wyoming or Idaho or Montana.”
“Your aunt Mary keeps in touch with them.  She invites them every year.  They were able to come this year.”
“What do they do out there?” Scot asked.  “I heard they were ranch hands or cowboys.  Is there any truth to that?”  Scot still had the image of cowboys as glamorous, spotlessly clean, adventurous and noble, as portrayed in movies and books.
“Who knows what they do,” responded his mother dismissively.  “They worked on ranches for a couple summers, at least.  I doubt that could be their main source of income. They’re old enough to get Social Security now. I doubt they would accept it. They railed against it as creeping Communism when FDR proposed it.
“Go over and talk to them.  See if they know who you are,” she prodded.  “They’d be proud of you serving in the military.”
“They seem to hate Negroes.  Are they racists?”  Scot asked.
“They were when they lived here,” she responded.  “They were notorious for starting fights with minorities in bars.  Usually they lost any fights that broke out.  However, that didn’t discourage them from trying the next time an opportunity presented itself.  All of your Dad’s brothers were racists.  Their father was in the KKK.  That’s the way things were back then.  Your Dad thinks they left town to go where there are only white people, or they had offended the wrong people and they were in danger of bodily harm if they stayed here.
  Susan heard all of the exchange.  Her facial expressions had evolved from amusement to alarm.  “Do you want to go over and talk to Uncles Howard and Jason?” Scot asked her in his usual teasing tone.  She had some reservations but immediately responded in the affirmative.
“Which one is Jason?” Scot asked his mother.  He had spent a lot of time around Jason.  Howard was the oldest brother and had gone west when he was young.  Jason followed him several years later.
The two uncles watched Scot and Susan approaching them.  Both were stocky.  Jason had most of the common family features.  He had the distinctive Scottish family eyes that were larger than normal and bulged as if everyone had had goiters.  Howard lacked those eye features, but had many others that could be identified upon closer observation.  Both men were intimidating even in friendly surroundings.  Scot wondered what they were like in hostile environments like taverns.
“Hi uncle Howard.  Hi uncle Jason.”  Scot waited for them to respond.  He could tell they were trying to identify him.
“Whose kid are you?”  Jason asked.  Scot had enough of the distinct family features for them to be sure he was related to them.  As racists, they had developed a keen sense for identifying gestures and language that would expose minorities attempting to pass as white or Americans.  They were certain all non-whites were trying to do that.
“I’m Mel’s boy.” Scot responded.  They looked bewildered.  Their family consisted of eight boys and four girls.  There were three dozen nieces and nephews.  It was difficult for local family members to remember all their names. Plus most had nicknames.  The Scottish tradition of naming children after relatives of the previous generation frequently led to confusion.  Nicknames attempted to reduce that confusion.  Infrequent visitors such as Howard and Jason would find it impossible to remember everyone or even identify most if they had not watched them grow from children to adults.
“I’m Scot, Mel’s oldest son,” Scot offered to clear up any confusion.
The lights went on in their heads as they recalled the anecdotes of their relatives’ children.  Unfortunately, they recalled only the most embarrassing incidents first.  “You’re the one who threw the dogs down the Out House holes,” Jason said with a snicker, recalling that disgusting incident.
“My brother helped,” Scot replied defensively hoping to ameliorate his guilt by half.
Scot quickly deduced that barbaric acts like that earned him respect from his uncles.  They considered themselves to be rebels.  They admired the same traits in others, especially those who shared their blood and genes.
“So Scot, what do you do for a living?  Work in the steel mills?” Howard questioned.  “Or the potteries?” he added almost as an afterthought and with some contempt.
“I’m in the Air Force,” Scott said pausing for the praise he knew his uncles would lavish on him.  All of their siblings, except the last three, had been pulled out of school after the eighth grade and put to work on the farm or in one of the local coal or clay mines.  Their parents considered School to be a government imposition on freedom.  They had instilled contempt for schooling in their children.  As soon as they could do it legally, which was 8th Grade, they withdrew the children and got them jobs when they could.  Their father didn’t care how bad the job was.  He only cared about more money coming into the household.  Child labor was fine with him.  Idle hands are the devil’s tools, he rationalized...and moralized.  Scot concluded that his grandfather might have been the devil.  He never heard a single story about his paternal grandfather that was positive.
The uncles glanced at each other.  Then Jason asked: “Do you fly planes?”
“I’m going to be a Russian Linguist,” said Scot.  After a pause when he noticed that his uncles were duly unimpressed, he added: “I’ll be in Turkey keeping an eye on the Russians to keep you safe from Communism and preserve freedom in America.”
In perfect unison, the sneers faded from the faces of both uncles.  “Does that mean you know everything about the Commies?” Howard asked with a slightly detectible edge of derision.  “They’ll convert you to their evil ways if you aren’t constantly on guard,” Howard warned.  He had been a big supporter of Joe McCarthy and believed the notorious McCarthy hearings should never have ended.
Scott suspected he might have ventured into a sore area with his uncles.  Both had served in World War II in Europe. Jason had a photograph of himself in an army uniform prominently displayed in his living room for everyone to see.  Scot waited apprehensively as the two brothers mulled over the situation.  Sometimes it seemed they knew exactly what the other was thinking and no discussion was necessary.
“They wouldn’t be the menace to the world they are today if Rusavelt. hadn’t taken our country into World War II on the same side as that mass murderer Stalin,” Howard stated in a subdued voice as if he were in possession of privileged information.  “We fought along side the Commies.  We fought on the wrong side.  We killed Germans when we should have been killing Communist Ruskies.  Roosevelt gave them all kinds of military equipment and helped make them a superpower.  Now we’re still trying to clean up his mess and fight the monster our tax dollars helped produce.  Did they teach you any of that in your schooling?  We should have known when The New Deal was implemented that Rusavelt was a Commie too, and did everything in his power to bring that barbaric system here.”
The brothers were sensitive about their short education years.  They never tired of implying that they got more education in eight years of schooling than today’s youngsters got in 12 or 16 years.
Scot considered whether or not he should take the risky route of confrontation.  Of course he did.  He decided to repeat what Fred had told him, without the attribution. “Hitler declared war on the U.S.!  Rusavelt had no choice in the matter.  The mutual defense treaty among Germany, Japan and Italy stated that war against one was considered to be a war against all.  Japan attacked the U.S. at Pearl Harbor.  The U.S. declared war on Japan.  Germany declared war on the U.S.  It’s that simple.
“Roosevelt saved Capitalism.  The New Deal brought stability to a careening, out of control, collapsing system.  Except for the very rich, Americans were ready to try something new.  The uncertainties and insecurities of a boom and bust economy that rose then crashed every 15 years harmed most people.  Their lives’ savings could be wiped out in an instant with a bank failure, or an employer leaving town.  Banks robbed everyone.  Bank robbers were heroes.  People were fed up with the system that was no more than a return to Feudalism or the Plantation.  Employees were of little or no value to soulless corporations that valued profits and property far more than people.”
Scot delivered his speech with passion.  He didn’t know if any of it was true.  He merely repeated things he had heard from Fred.  All of his life he had been led to believe that Stalin was at least as bad as Hitler.  He was testing his debating skills.
Scot didn’t believe half of what he was saying.
The two uncles looked at each other waiting for the other to come up with a response.  Finally Jason countered:  “Yep.  They got ‘im.  He’s been thoroughly brainwashed.  That’s pure propaganda those Un-American Socialists are feeding you.  It’s just like all those other lies Rusavelt made up about detention camps and genocide.  If you believe their claims, why are there more death camp survivors than there were Jews in Europe before the war started?”
“Your side won the war,” Scot declared.  “You hate Communists, and your government hates Communists.  Communists were the first group Hitler attacked.  You hate trade-unions, your government hates trade-unions.  Trade unions were the second group Hitler and the Nazis attacked.  Hitler was racist.  The U.S. has been racist since its inception.  It conducted a genocide of 10 to 17 million Native Americans.  It was the last Western nation to abolish slavery.  The U.S. implemented an eugenics program for 30 years that sterilized tens of thousands of American men who were deemed to be inferior.”
Scot wanted to ask if they had been on the sterilization lists, but felt outnumbered.  If Mark had been there, he would have done it.  The two boys teased and played tricks on their uncles at every opportunity.  They put nails under their car tires, hid their jackets and hats, tied their shoestrings together if they dozed off for a couple minutes, and any other stupid, annoying trick that they could imagine.
“Since World War II ended, the U.S. has tried to give the impression that it is not racist like the Nazis,” Scot continued.   “It integrated the military in 1947.  It gave the vote to Asians in 1948.  It passed the Equal Rights Act in 1965.  Those changes were nothing but window dressing?   They were attempts to conceal the real character of the U.S.  The U.S. remains racist, and sexist.  Only white males have held the top four political positions in government.  Many of them were not qualified for the position.  Their only qualifications were white and male.
“So the Nazis won.  Only the Teutonic wing of Nazism lost.  The world would be the same today, no matter who won the Second World War.  Stalin merely played the deciding role in determining which Nazi wing would win.  You and most Americans were in a win-win situation.”
The standoff was about to overheat when a female voice announced loudly that the food was ready.  The uncles rarely got good meals, so they leaped up like sprightly youths and headed for the main picnic table as fast as bowed, arthritic legs would permit.  They did not have a stock response to Scot’s allegations.  They wanted time to think over and discuss what he had said.
“Let’s sit with someone else,”  Susan urged.  “Those guys make me nervous.”
“Oh, they’re harmless.” said Scot, trying to hide the nervousness that he had felt several times during the discussion.  He had no idea whether or not his assertion was true.  He hoped Susan got the impression that he was becoming more tolerant.
“Do they have families?” Susan asked in a tone that implied sympathy for the the wife and children.
“Don’t know,” Scot asserted.  “I don’t know of any.  I don’t know much about them.  I remember when I was nine that Jason lived here.  Howard attended at least one family reunion.  The first I recall seeing him, I was eight years old, in 1948.  It was at a family reunion.  He wore a large cowboy hat, a red bandana tied around his neck, dungarees and a long-sleeved flannel shirt.  It was July and was hot.  He never took off that shirt or rolled up the sleeves.  I was amazed that he could do that, but dismissed it as the toughness common among cowboys riding on a dusty range.  I was In complete awe of cowboys at that age and worshiped my uncles when they wore the cowboy outfits.
“Most of all, I remember him saying that Harry Truman would never be elected president of the United States.  I wasn’t sure who Harry Truman was, but Uncle Howard was so sure of himself that I didn’t question what he was saying.  It was Gospel in my mind.  ‘He integrated the U.S. military,’ Howard asserted.  ‘That was his death act.  The races should never be mixed in homes, restaurants, schools and especially the military.  We will never win another war with a racially mixed military, mark my words.‘   I waited for someone to say something.  Jason nodded his head, but didn’t say anything. He seemed to be in awe of his older brother.  Everyone else apparently agreed emitting indiscernible grunts or nodding their heads.
“A few months later, Harry Truman was elected president of the United States.  My trust in the infallibility of adults suffered a death blow.
“Then Uncle Howard made the segue from never winning a war to the Second World War.  I had seen numerous photos of him in his Army brown uniform also.  I wasn’t aware of rank then, so I never noticed if there were chevrons on their arms or gold or silver bars on their collars.  The younger brothers had not served even though they were at service age.   My mother gave evasive answers to my questions about the younger brothers including my father not serving.  They had children and were farmers, she explained.  Someone had to stay home and grow food.   I always wondered if my brother and I were tools for military service avoidance.  Was Adolph Hitler responsible for me being in this world?
“Uncle Howard began talking about what a great leader Hitler was.  From what little I heard on the radio and from my parents and other adults, I thought Hitler was our enemy.  Uncle Howard spoke as if he were a great friend of the U.S, and subversives in the U.S. had betrayed this nation and vilified Hitler.  It was a little complex for an eight-year old mind, but the memory of his passion lingers clearly.
“Uncle Howard claimed that Hitler’s ideas could have saved America.   Instead, ‘Rusavelt’ followed Joseph Stalin’s example and ruined America.  My mother’s brothers had served in the Army in Europe.  Based on their stories, they were fighting Hitler and the Nazis.  I often wondered if Uncle Howard was fighting Uncle Cliff in the war.  I never saw the two together, so maybe they would try to kill each other if they met in person.  My brother and I fought each other all the time, according to my mother, so fighting people you know must be common.  Whatever the case, that guy ‘Rusavelt' was responsible for stirring things up.  He even tricked the brilliant Hitler into getting into a war that brought disaster to his own nation.”
“Time for games,” someone shouted.  “Everyone find a partner.”  The games usually were the same.  One of the pair got a list of ten items.  He or she could give a one sentence clue.  For instance:  “What is America’s favorite bird?”  “Eagle” was the expected answer.  The first to finish got bonus points ranging from three to the first finisher, two for second place and one for third place.  Conceivably a pair could get the only perfect score and still lose, so determining the winner could become complicated.
“Let’s skip the next game,” Scot said to Susan.  “Let’s go sit down under that oak tree.”
“Hi uncle Rodney,” Scot said to the gentleman sitting by himself at the picnic table under the tree.  “How are you?”
Uncle Rodney shifted his position to talk more comfortably.  At his age, that was no easy task.  “I’m working as much as I can and fixing up the house.”
“Aren’t you retired?” asked Scot.
“No!” came the blunt reply with a tone suggesting that was a really stupid question.  “The depression will resume any day, and I plan to be ready for it.”
“The Depression is over,” Scot informed him.  “They changed the laws so there never will be another one.”
“Don’t you believe that for a second,” Rodney retorted.  “President Hoover told us prosperity was just around the corner right before the worst of the Depression hit.  I believed him, and I wasn’t ready for it.  I lost my job.  My wife left me and took my daughter with her.  I’m not losing everything again.”
“Is your home paid for?” Scot asked.
“I live in company housing,” Rodney said.  “That way I can walk to work, and don’t need to buy gas for my car.  The company store is within walking distance.  Those will be the only two expenses I’ll have when the Depression resumes.”
“What if you lose your job?”  Scot asked  “Do you have enough money to pay for rent and food for a couple years if you lose your job?” he asked with subtle mockery.  “Is your bank within walking distance?  I don’t recall any in that area.”
“Oh, I never put my money in a bank.  The last time I did that, they closed down and never reopened.  I was told I was just out of luck.  I won’t make that mistake again.”
"Where do you keep you money?  Do you have a safe place?”  Scot asked.
“Oh, I have it in a safe place,” Rodney replied, “a whole lot safer than a bank.”
“I’m going to refill my coffee cup,” Rodney said, rising and grasping the handle of a tin cup.  He distrusted anyone who asked about his money.  He once trusted everyone.  He felt he had been betrayed.  Now he trusted no one, especially his relatives.
“Let me get it for you,” Susan offered.
“No thank you, sweetie,” he said.  “I need to walk and stretch a little bit.”
“He seems to be very lonely,” Susan said when Rodney was beyond hearing distance.
“They say the Depression broke him fiscally and physically, and he refuses to do anything modern.  He’s locked into 1928 when he was 30.  He doesn’t pick up his pay checks, because he thinks they will be safer in the company office.  They call him in periodically and tell him he has to get his money so they can balance their books. He probably has a lot of money somewhere.  Rumor is that he has a secret lady that keeps it for him.
“His house is company owned and is little more than a shack.  The company built row after row of identical houses.  I accompanied my father once when he went to visit Uncle Rodney about something.   I don’t know how they know which house is which, especially after dark.  He still uses kerosine lamps to light his house.  He doesn’t trust electricity.  Kerosine lamps are far more dangerous, and if he accidentally bumped one, that wooden shack would go up in flames in a second.”
Someone sat down near Scot.  He looked and was surprised to see Uncle Howard.
“I want to hear more about the Out House story,” Howard said as he sat down, balancing a paper plate piled high with food.  “Is it true, or was someone pulling my leg?”
“It’s true,” Scot responded acting a little bit shameful.  “We were very young and did not know any better.”
“We should have had the type of toilets the Europeans have,”  Howard said in a pleasant, possibly conciliatory, voice Scot hadn’t heard before.  “They are porcelain and rectangular, about a yard long and about a foot deep, and are buried into the ground even with the surface.  There is a hole in the back.  It the front are two large corrugated ovals about a foot long where you plant your feet.  Then you squat down to relieve yourself.  It requires a balancing act so if you have had a few drinks, you could end up in the hole with your feces.  That’s a mess to clean up.”
Uncle Howard’s expression suggested he experienced that clean up process.
Uncle Jason had joined them by now.  He nodded in agreement.  “Bathrooms, even with modern flush toilets, are identified by those two ovals.  They often call them the 100s because of the two zeroes.  The British turn the numbers into letters and call them ‘loos’.  The Turks call them ‘the hundred number’.”
“Even the flush toilets are strange in Europe,” Howard added.  They are a large oval shape so that your feces fall onto a ledge.  The flush washes the feces to the back where they go down a hole.  Europeans told me that allows them to check the feces for worms, which were very common.  If they find worms, they need to start treatments to get rid of them.”
Scot remembered that Susan was there and glanced at her.  She was visibly disgusted with the turn the conversation had taken.  She wasn’t eating.  Was she finished or was she too repulsed to eat, Scot wondered.  Scot was curious about the revelations, and didn’t think of the repellent side.  He enjoyed hearing about cultural differences.  That was the positive side of his military service.  He would get to travel to foreign lands to see for himself how other people did things differently.  Other customs couldn’t possibly be better than American customs, he knew, but it should be interesting to find out how other nations addressed problems.
“I must get back home to check on Gramma,” Susan said.
Scot knew she had to be back early.  That was a condition for her accompanying him.  This seemed to be a good time to depart.  Who knows what other disgusting stories his uncles might tell.