The Wooden Door (1)
by Wayne Lerner
The Street Corner
Thursday, June 9, 1966
4:15pm
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The brothers on the corner would hear him before they saw him.
“Here come Albert, that silly ol’ white man,” said Gerald. “His shoulders so hunched over, he looks like he’s carrying my old man’s “59 DeVille on his back.”
“Ol’ white man’s rickety cane not even got a tip,” said The Fixer. “He sound like a one-legged tap dancer.”
“That tap tap tap goin’a make me crazy,” said Gerald. “One of these days, I’m gonna do something about it. Put Albert and his cane outa their misery.”
“I know they’re talking about me,” Albert said aloud to himself as he rounded the corner.
Every time Albert came to the drug store, he and the brothers put on the same show for each other.
“Hey, Albert, wa’s happening, man? We’s worried you gonna trip over the breaks in the sidewalk. Then who we’s gonna be able to play with?” Lamar’s snide comments couldn’t hide the smile in his voice.
Albert shuffled his feet, never lifting them higher than necessary to clear the unrepaired sidewalk. He never exerted too much energy, just moved forward in a single-minded manner.
“You punks are here again?'' Albert said. “You know, I’ve got to be careful. I have to get my drugs and then cross Lotus to see Martha.”
“Good morning, Miss Martha. How ya’ doing?” Lamar called out. From across the street, Martha waved to the boys. Lamar didn’t understand it but her demure smile touched his heart.
Lamar paused, then turned to Albert. “You gots a date with your girl, Albert? Kinda early for gettin it on, isn’t it?” Lamar laughed, as did his compatriots.
Albert ignored Lamar’s intrusion. “I’m coming, Martha,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll get there before the sun goes down.”
Albert chuckled then lost his breath, coughing up phlegm from the depths of his damaged lungs.
Spitting on the sidewalk, he continued his journey at a pace he and his cane could maintain.
As Albert doddered towards the drugstore, The Fixer called out to him. “Albert, you clothes a mess an’ so’s yo’ hair. Yo’ hair look jus’ like one of dem big dust bunnies in my ma’s bedroom.”
“Every day, you punks are on this corner,” Albert exclaimed in exasperation, shaking his head in disgust. “Why aren’t you in school or at a job making some honest money?”
“Honest money? Ha! We makes more money doing what we’s good at in an hour than them honest folk make in a week. Who the fool, Albert?” Lamar replied.
Gerald and The Fixer shook their heads in agreement.
“Why do I persist in talking with you about changing your ways?” asked Albert. “This is a fruitless exercise, isn’t it.”
“We’s not going to change, Albert, jus like you’s not going to change,” said Lamar. “That keep the world moving on real smooth, no bumps, no surprises, no bruises.”
Albert paused and looked at each of them, straight in their eyes.
I know they won't hurt me or Martha. An unusual relationship we’ve developed, that’s for sure.
Albert approached the wooden door to enter the pharmacy. 75 years old but still standing.
Pockmarked, scratched, paint chipping, but there it was, a sentry protecting those inside the store.
Albert struggled to push open the pharmacy’s door. “God dammit, why don’t you oil this thing? Or shave it down?” he said to no one in particular. “Every time I’m here, this thing’s getting harder to open. And I’m not getting any younger.”
“Good morning Albert,'' said Irving, his pharmacist white coat bulging with a bag of pills sticking out of his big pocket, his glasses perched on his head.
“Good morning, yourself,” Albert replied, tapping his cane on the counter. “Where’s Saul, that scoundrel of a brother?”
“He’s sleeping in, Albert, as you might expect. He has active evenings, you know what I mean? Not like you and me.”
“Don’t compare me to you, Irving. I take walks, go to the store and then head home to watch a little TV. At 10, I go to bed,” Albert said, shaking his finger in Irving’s direction.
“Not very exciting, I know,” said Albert as he moved closer to the counter to retrieve his drugs.
“You? You leave the store and head to the Hawthorne or Sportsman’s to play the horses. Saul, he plays the ladies. What kind of life is that?”
Albert shook his head and continued with his lecture. “In the end, for both of you, only the other party wins. But you think you’re having fun.”
Irving smiled and handed Albert a paper bag. “You’re right, Albert. You’re always right.
Here's your drugs. Hey, need a few condoms too?” Irving tried not to laugh at his joke but couldn’t contain himself.
“Stop laughing, Irving. It isn't funny. When you get to my age, every time I look down, I say a prayer for the dead,” replied Albert.
Irving or Saul, it didn’t matter who was in the store. They played this same game with Albert.
And every day, Irving or Saul would roar at Albert’s joke because their day wouldn’t be complete without the repartee between them.
“By the way, Albert, I can’t place that accent. Where’s it from?” asked Irving. “After all the years we’ve known each other, I still can’t figure it out. And that scar across your face? What happened there?”
“I don’t have an accent, Irving, you do,” chuckled Albert. “That’s no scar. It’s a beauty mark.”
“But where are you from? You’ve never told me. You sure weren't born in Chicago. Did you come over before the war or after?” asked Irving.
Albert gazed at the drugs in his bag and then looked at Irving.
“I came from far away...” Albert paused as his mind drifted to another time and place. “And now I’m glad I’m here. Even with the boys on the corner, this is much better than what I left.”
Albert paused once more, then collected himself as he got ready to leave.
“Now, I have to go get Martha who is waiting for me to walk her home. Thank you for your service.”
Albert gathered up his drugs and cane and turned to leave the store when he saw Jimmy behind the soda fountain, cleaning glasses and getting ready for the day.
“Jimmy, can you make me one of those special drinks you learned to make when you went to New York? I want to get two of them to go. One for me and one for Martha.”
“Of course,” Jimmy replied. “Two egg creams. I have them ready in a jif.”
“Yes. And, Jimmy, please make three chocolate milk shakes as well. I’m going to give them to the boys out front.”
Several times a week, Albert would buy milkshakes for Lamar and his boys. He didn’t have to.
He knew they wouldn’t bother him. It was his way of thanking them for leaving him and Martha alone.
What Albert didn’t realize, but suspected, was that they didn’t just leave him alone, they watched over him and Martha. The boys knew Albert and Martha had lived through battles of their own. And they respected them for that.
With his hands full and teetering on his cane, Albert struggled to open the old wooden door.
Jimmy rushed from behind the fountain to assist.
“Jimmy, please open the doors for me. I’ll hold the milkshakes.”
Jimmy grabbed the egg creams and held the door open so Albert could walk out. The brothers on the corner saw Albert was carrying to-go cups, three of them.
“Hey, ol’ man. Who’s them goodies for? Maybe us?” asked Gerald.
“Yeah, my insides are talking to me,” said The Fixer, rubbing his stomach. ”It says it’s hun-gry.
Hun-gry for what Albert done brought us.”
Albert gave a slight smile and handed the shakes around. “Now, get out of here and get a job. Or just leave the corner. You’re scaring away Irving’s business.”
“We ain’t scaring away nobody,” said Lamar, laughing. “We’s the store’s protectors.”
Lamar called out to Jimmy through the squeal of the wooden door as it closed.
“Jim, my man, keep them damn good shakes coming. Then he turned to his gang.
C’mon guys,” said Lamar between gulps of his drink. “We’s got to take a walk and make sure those rednecks don’t fuck with Albert and Martha.
The Street Corner
Thursday, June 9, 1966
5:20PM
Albert took Martha’s hand to help her cross Madison street. Their conversation was so peppered with words from several languages no one could understand what they were saying.
Lamar and his friends watched them and shook their heads.
“They’s sure close friends,” said the Fixer. “Maybe family. What do you think, Lamar?”
“I don’ know what they’s are. Don’ mean nothing to us anyway. We watch over them ‘cause they’s old and they’s nice to us. And Albert does us favors sometimes. Anyway, we got a job to do today. Forget them. Keep your mind on bizness.”
Albert and Martha watched Lamar and his boys as they walked down the street.
“Do you think they will hurt us,” Martha asked as she did almost every day. “I don’t like people looking at us like that. It reminds me of the camps and the guards.”
“It will be fine,” replied Albert. “Lamar and I have an unusual relationship. He knows that I trust him and wish him no harm. I’m not sure he feels that way about most white people. The milk shakes don’t hurt, either. It’s not like the camps at all.”
Martha tightened her grip on his arm. “I believe you,” said Martha, her voice trembling.
“But I don't think I will ever forget those experiences.”
“Neither will I,” replied Albert, pulling her close to him. “We will never forget the past but we must live our lives for today and tomorrow. Lamar will watch over you as will I. We are family, after all.”
Martha stopped walking and looked at Albert. “I”m worried about the gang rumors I heard yesterday from the policeman who lives on my block. He said they are on alert for potential trouble.”
“What kind?” asked Albert.
“Racial,” replied Martha. “There’s no walls or barbed wire to stop troublemakers from coming here. The Negroes who live in Austin came here to escape the trouble to the East. Now the East wants to come West.”
“What’s fueling the unrest?” asked Albert.
“The story going around is that a Negro girl was raped in a bathroom by white boys at the high school down the block. Sgt. Maloney said that he heard the gangs at Marshall and Crane High Schools are gearing up for an attack here.”
“All hell will break loose if that's the case,” said Albert. “We have so many gangs here...black, white, Appalachian, Greek... It will be an all-out war. You and I have to stay in touch so we can watch out for each other.”
Martha paused to consider what Albert had just said.
“Tomorrow will be just like today. I’ll be waiting on the corner for you like always,” she replied with a slight smile. A smile which hid the fear in her head and her heart.
Albert reached down to give her a comforting hug. Her petite build was enveloped in Albert’s large arms. Arms made strong by his labors in the camps many years before.
“Oh, that’s nice,” said the Fixer. “They’s hugging. Looks like the old lady is crying on Albert’s shoulder. They’s too old to have any sex. Maybe she’s crying ‘bout that. No sex anymore.”
The Fixer laughed at his joke.
“Shut up, Fixer. Don't be a fool.” said Lamar. “Have some respect. Bet those two have been through some hard times. You heard their accents. They’s not from here.”
Lamar paused and looked down the street at the two old figures making their way home.
“Maybe one of these days, I’ll ask Albert ‘bout that. Now, let’s go and get our equipment. I ‘spect the rednecks will be walking up Lotus any time now. No more fucking around with them. We’s goin to put them to bed. Permanently.”