Memoirs of a Worldly Guy
When we moved in 1929 our 'new' home was a standard design of the time: a front room (which we were allowed to use only sparingly), a front hallway, a kitchen, a dining room, a bathroom and two bedrooms at the rear of the house overlooking the back yard. Upstairs was a large single bedroom and two enclosed attics. The basement was unfinished except for one boarded-off room which we referred to as the 'coal room'. Correction: there was a room with shelves just to the right of the bottom of the basement stairs which was used for storage of canned goods, potatoes and onions. Mothers used to 'put down' substantial quantities of what were called 'preserves' during the depression and that's where I was sent almost nightly when dinner was being prepared; beets, plums, pears, jams and jellies, you name it, we had it.
There was an actual coal chute to which the trucks could back up and dump their loads directly into the 'coal room'. I don't remember either of my parents ever shovelling coal, but it must have been done because I have a clear recollection of the familial excitement which prevailed when the furnace was converted to natural gas. Initially, the burners were lighted by throwing a piece of burning newspaper into the furnace front but ultimately another great technological leap forward was achieved when a couple of pilot lights were installed. The 'coal room' was eventually scrubbed out and whitewashed and used as a spare bedroom.
An item of immediate fascination when we moved in was the clothes chute. It was a marvellous irony of the '30s that, in spite of the many labour-intensive requirements associated with housekeeping, some genius contrived to put a clothes chute in the bathroom to obviate the necessity of carrying soiled clothing down one floor from the bathroom to the basement. Bob, who was eleven or twelve years old at the time, was quick to demonstrate the communications possibilities and spent the next few days shouting 'secret' messages from the bathroom to the basement and vice versa.
It was obviously only a matter of time (a short time, actually) before my brother's genius presented him with an even more arcane alternative. I assume he had been reading 'A Message from Garcia' in his literature period at school, because he told us that even more secrecy could be attained if the message were sent 'in person'. In this case, of course, the choice for 'the person' involved was obvious. Lloyd, who tended toward tubbiness, was considered and rejected. Bob was too wide through the shoulders to squirm through the tiny outlet door at the bottom of the chute. What to do? what to do?
Following the customary 'call for volunteers' I was elected by acclamation to have the 'honor' of being the first to take the 'secret' route to the basement. I hadn't had a hell of a lot to say about the decision so far but at this point I adamantly refused to make the journey head first. As the ringleader and also the stronger, Bob was nominated 'insertion co-ordinator' in order to hold my wrists and lower me into the top of the chute. Since I was only about three feet long and the chute was about ten feet deep there was the real possibility that I would enter into 'free fall' sometime between when Bob released me and Lloyd caught me. I visualized myself plummeting downward to an ankle-crunching landing against the hard bottom of the chute. The last words I would hear in this life would be of Lloyd saying (apologetically, I hoped)---'OOPS!'
Luckily, as it happened, for some unknown reason a sort of picture hook had been left screwed into the inside of the chute about half way down its length. 'I'm snagged!' I yelled.
'Snagged? How the hell can you be snagged?' Bob said testily.
'How the hell should I know?' I yelled. 'All I know is, I'm snagged!'
'Damn! I'll just have to try to pull you back up."
'Whatta ya mean, try?' I shouted.
'My arms are getting a bit tired, actually,' he said. 'Lloyd, you better come back up here and give me a hand,' he yelled down the chute. Lloyd headed back upstairs toward the bathroom, attempting to pass unobtrusively through the kitchen en route, where our mother was peeling potatoes for dinner.
'What are you boys doing in there, anyway?' she asked.
'Nothing,' he said casually, '...just foolin' around.'
'Well, just don't make a mess,' she said, oblivious to the scientific experimentation underway. As soon as the swinging door to the kitchen had closed behind him, he rushed into the bathroom. 'Hurry up, I can't hold him much longer,' Bob whispered.
Lloyd rushed over and grabbed one of my hands and together they hauled me slowly back to civilization. 'It's kinda dark down there,' I said. 'So, whatta we do now?'
'Actually, I've got a plan,' Bob said.
'I can hardly wait,' I said sarcastically. I was rapidly losing enthusiasm for Bob's 'plans'.
'We'll have to get rid of that snag before we can continue,' he said. 'Somebody will have to go down there with a flashlight and either clip it off or unscrew it.' They were both eyeing me with grim expressions. I soon concluded that I was the 'somebody' he had in mind. Shortly thereafter I was suspended by the ankles, upside down, flashlight in hand, unscrewing the hook that some bubblehead had left on the inside of the chute and so unintentionally interfered with our research.
'Got it,' I said triumphantly and my loyal cohorts hauled me to the surface.
'Great!' Bob said. 'Lloyd, you head back down to the basement and we'll do this thing properly.' Once again, I don't recall being consulted. Fortunately, Lloyd made it only as far as the kitchen.
'What did you say you were doing?' my mother asked him. It was probably his guilty look as much as his answer that did him in. 'Sending messages through the laundry chute will just have to wait,' she said. 'Go back and tell your brothers I want them to wash up for dinner right away.'
'I'll just---' Lloyd started to reply.
'What you'll just do is what I say, now get going!'
'Right, my thoughts exactly,' he said, heading back the way he had come.
'Bad news, guys,' Lloyd said as he came back into the bathroom. 'Mom says we have to wash up for dinner.'
Bad news? I thought. It's great news in my opinion, I get to live another day!
'This is unfortunate;' Bob said, 'did you tell her what we were doing?'
'Of course not! Do I look crazy?'
'Good! Everybody stay mum on this for the time being. We'll wait until Mom and Dad are both out before we try it again. Understood?'
'Right!' Lloyd said conspiratorially.
'Hmmm,' I muttered. 'Maybe it'll give you time to figure out how to get me past the zig-zag.'
'What zig-zag?' Bob said with a scowl.
'You know, where the chute bends about half way down.'
'Shit!' Now you tell me!'
'I thought you knew,' I said innocently. In fact, the bend in the clothes chute (built in for no apparent reason) would be no problem for my little body, but I drew some satisfaction from giving the great genius one more thing to worry about.
Two nights later Mom and Dad went to the Palace Theatre to watch a movie (William Powell and Janet Gaynor in 'The Thin Man'?) 'It looks like the coast is clear,' Bob said as he watched the Buick disappear down the church hill.
'Better wait ten minutes to be on the safe side,' Lloyd said. 'Mom may come back to make sure she didn't leave the iron on.' Shortly thereafter we were back in the bathroom reviewing the game plan.
'Why don't you pile a few clothes at the bottom of the chute?' I said. 'That way it will soften my fall.'
'What fall?' Bob asked.
'The fall I'll have when you can't hold on to my wrists any longer,' I said sarcastically.
'Don't be such a sissy,' Bob said dismissively.
'So I'm a sissy,' I said, 'I'm going down the chute, though; you aren't!'
'Good point!' he said. 'Head for the basement station Lloyd and throw a few clothes in the bottom, just in case.'
'Okay, ready,' Lloyd shouted up from the basement a few moments later.
'Right,' Bob said, with barely constrained anticipation.
'Right, down I go,' I said, with an exaggerated lack of enthusiasm. I got my legs into the top of the chute and sat on the edge until Bob had a firm grip on my wrists.
'I'll let you down so that you'll be facing the bottom door when you get there,' Bob said solicitously.
'Very thoughtful,' I said grimly. The chute was a very tight fit, more so than I remembered, but Bob helpfully pushed down on the top of my head whenever my progress seemed to falter.
'Can you see his feet yet?'
'I can't see anything,' Lloyd yelled. 'You've got the flashlight!'
'Oh yeah,--sorry about that!'
'Wait, I think I can just see his shoes,' Lloyd said.
'I'm going to have to let go,' Bob said. 'I'm stretched right out!' That isn't going to be my problem I thought, as Bob released his grip. I visualized myself losing several inches in height as I impacted forcefully against the bottom of the chute. In fairness to Lloyd, I must say that he made a heroic effort to cushion my fall. In doing so, he managed to grab one foot but not the other, resulting in a slight sprain.
'Ow!' I said, 'I'm wounded!'
'Sorry!' he said. You're supposed to say 'OOPS! I thought inanely.
'Mission accomplished,' he said exultantly. 'Now let's get you out of there!' He started to tug on my ankles.
'Ow, that's my sore ankle you're tugging on,' I complained.
'Oh, sorry, he said. 'I'll take a grip further up. How's that?'
'Okay, I guess.' I was still squeezed tightly into the chute with my hands and arms above me. "Your money or your life!" I thought. I was obviously losing it. Meanwhile Lloyd had become aware of another minor complication. The unloading door at the bottom of the chute was obviously designed for the removal of flexible bedding and clothing but not for the removal of semi-flexible five year old boys. The opening was about six inches wide and eight inches deep, When Lloyd tried to pull my feet clear of the bottom of the chute my shins came painfully up against the the top edge of the opening.
'Can you bend your knees and slide down a bit?' he asked. I tried to bend my knees but they just moved a couple of inches before contacting the unyielding side of the clothes chute.
'Maybe if you turned around you'd be able to bend your knees a little easier,' he suggested helpfully.
'Listen, I'm jammed in here so damned tight I can hardly breathe, let alone turn around. Maybe if the great mastermind had thought of this before I wouldn't be stuck in this stupid place!' I snarled.
'I think you're right; we may have a little problem here! I'll just whip upstairs and discuss this with Bob. Don't cry!'
'Cry! Why the hell should I cry? I've never been more comfortable in my life.' I heard him dash away without saying another word. Moments later Bob called down. 'How are you doing down there?' he said.
'How am I doing? I'm doing just great, thanks! Not much of a view, but it's warm and dry; I could stay here forever, and it's beginning to look like I might just do that!'
'No need for sarcasm; Lloyd and I are working on a solution. Keep your pecker up!' Where else would I keep it, I thought. A few minutes later he hollered down again. 'Lloyd says you can't turn around down there so we've decided to haul you back up!'
'You don't need to shout, I'm not deaf, you know!'
'Sorry!' he said. Actually, this wasn't too bad. I was being treated with much more deference than at any time in the past. Maybe I should spend more time down here. Only joking!
'We've tied a couple of bath towels together; let me know when you've grabbed on to them!' I tilted my head back and saw the towel descend until I could grab on to it. They had thoughtfully tied a knot in the bottom one to afford me a better grip.
'Okay, I got it, haul away!' I felt the strain on my arms as I began the slow ascent. The excessive stress and effort to which I had been subjected finally had its inevitable effect. Flatulent pressure had increased to the point at which I could no longer withhold it. I eased out a silent one to reduce the pressure. Regrettably, it was not only silent, it was green and deadly. It drifted insidiously upward and provoked the predictable reaction.
'Migawd, what have you been eating?' Lloyd said with a strangled cry.
'Something must have crawled up in there and died!' Bob said. Meanwhile, I was shaking with silent laughter in the confines of the clothes chute. The inexpressible satisfaction of the secret farter!
As my wrists came level with the top of the chute I became aware once again that the scheme hadn't been carefully thought through.
'Stop pulling, you dumb bastards,' I cried. 'You're gonna break my wrists!'
'Hold it right there,' I heard Bob say. 'I'll go over and grab his wrists.' I felt him grab my wrists and begin to pull me up and out of the chute. As my head cleared the top of the chute I saw Lloyd sitting on the floor still holding the towel, with his back to the toilet and his feet braced against the side of the chute. I put my arms around Bob's neck and scrambled out onto the floor.
'Move,' I said brusquely to Lloyd. 'I've gotta have a pee.'
'Are you okay?' Bob said a few minutes later as I was buttoning my fly. He was sitting on the rim of the bathtub.
'Yeah, I'm okay, I guess. Why?'
'Well, I think I know what went wrong there. We ended up making a breech presentation, as it were.'
'What the hell is he talking about?' Lloyd said.
'It's like when a baby is born and his bum tries to come out first instead of his head.' Bob explained sagaciously 'That's when they have to reach into the Mom's belly and turn it around first.'
'Yuuck!' Lloyd said.
'I hope you're not thinking of sending me down there head first!' I asserted.
'No, no! Relax, nothing like that. I just figure that if you had been facing the other way you would have been able to bend your legs and Lloyd could have slipped you out as smooth as a greased pig."
'Hey, I think you're right!' Lloyd exclaimed enthusiastically. I didn't share his enthusiasm.
'Actually, I'm not sure I want to go down there again,' I said.
'You must be joking!' Bob said, with a look of astonishment. 'We're just getting started here. Just think, you'll be the only guy on the street to have gone down a laundry chute. You'll be famous!'
'Come off it,' I said. 'We're probably the only house on the street that even has a laundry chute!'
'You're probably right,' Lloyd volunteered glumly.
'What's happening here? Are you turning against me, too?' Bob said, glaring at Lloyd.
'I'm just saying,' Lloyd muttered.
'I tell you what; I'll give you my American sailor hat!' Bob said, with the desperate determination of a frustrated scientist.
'I don't need your bribes,' I said aloofly. 'I'll go one more time, but that's it!'
'Good man,' Bob said. 'I knew you wouldn't let us down. Let's get cracking. We'll use a slightly different technique this time, though. I'll lower you into the top of the chute and you can grab the end of the towels. After that Lloyd and I can both stay up here and lower you down all the way.'
'Much better,' I said, limping over to the top of the chute. We'll know all about this by the time we don't need to do it anymore, I thought. I held on to the towel as the boys lowered me slowly until my feet were on the bottom of the chute. I wonder if they're planning to leave me here for an hour or so before they come down, I thought cynically. That would really cost Bob his sailor hat, I thought grimly. But I heard them thundering down the basement steps and moments later I had been 'delivered' with care and was standing safe and sound on the basement floor.
'Fantastic! Congratulations!' Bob cried, shaking my hand enthusiastically.
'So what have we proved?' Lloyd enquired, cynically, I thought.
'We proved it could be done!' Bob said, as though we were the Wright brothers. Ironically, John F. Kennedy was to use a similar rationale for putting men on the moon several decades later, (at somewhat greater expense).
'Well, I found out one thing, standing there with my arms up in the air like that,' I said.
'What was that?' Lloyd asked.
'I found out why Mom makes us have a bath at least once a week.'
'Beeee Ohhhhh!' Lloyd intoned, holding his nose and simulating a popular Lifebuoy soap radio commercial which itself sounded like a marine fog horn.
The following night I was having a mandated bath with Lloyd. He was sitting at the far end of the bathtub with the taps at his back. I was at the other end of the tub and we were having a good time squeezing our hands together squirting water at each other. Mom came in to do her routine check on the neck and ear washing.
'What happened to your back, Ronald?' she asked.
'Whatta you mean?' I said, acting dumb, which I considered to be the safe response in those days, not to mention its facility.
'Your back looks like it's been scraped, almost as though you were dragged along the sidewalk, and look here, there's a scratch, like from a nail or something!' Lloyd was doing a good job of looking disinterested. I thought it was prudent not to get him involved. Think fast, Ronald!
'Oh, I remember now; We were playing football in the backyard and the guys tried to drag me back after I made a touchdown!'
'You should have told me right away,' she said crossly.
'Sorry about that, Mom! I'll know better next time.' I was keeping my head down.
'Well, finish up here and get to bed,' she said and abruptly left the bathroom.
'I don't like lying,' I said.
'Never mind, it was for a good cause,' Lloyd said. 'Open your mouth.'
'What?'
'I said open your mouth.'
'What for?'
'Never mind, just open it.'
So I opened my mouth and the next moment Lloyd hit it dead centre with a jet of acrid urine. Only a youth could aim and shoot with the bladder force required to do that. I clapped my mouth shut and held up my hand to avert further attacks.
'Jeez, why would you do a thing like that?' I cried. I spat out the bitter fluid and began scooping bathwater into my mouth.
"Well, as Bob says, I just wanted to prove it could be done!' he said.
'Well, you proved it, ALL RIGHT?'
'Yeah, thanks. They say the Saracens used it to brush their teeth with."
'That's a great comfort, I'm sure,' I said bitterly.
— The End —