Class of 1968
We got up early and skipped breakfast. I wanted to get to Scranton quickly and start our search for people who knew Judy. I didn’t plan to tell any of them that she was dead unless I met someone who claimed to be very close with her. The line of bullshit I rehearsed as I looked out the window while Charlie drove went something like, “excuse me, young lady or man, are you from around here? You are! You must know Judy Diamond. We met her down in the city. She was in a production of Hair that a friend of mine choreographed.”
If the discussion progressed beyond small talk, I would say something like, “do you know where her people might live? We told her we were coming up this way, and she suggested we look them up, but I misplaced the address she gave me.”
I hoped to find out how much everyone knew about Agnes and her situation. I wanted to know how far the gossip traveled. If the circumstances of Judy’s origin were a relative secret, that would have lessened the social pressure on her. If the knowledge was widespread, like I suspected it was, the social pressure would have been huge. She would have been judged everywhere she went. A young man in her position might have been able to shrug off that level of scrutiny. Most would convince themselves they didn’t give a damn. Young women don’t have the same defenses.
I saw a sign for a state police barracks along the highway. That gave me another idea. Agnes had a police record. It wasn’t much of a record, but she still had one. I considered stopping by the police station to check with them. Cops tend to know the town drunks. They deal with them often enough that they get to know their habits.
I also wondered how Agnes was living. She claimed Judy never sent more than a few dollars, and she obviously couldn’t hold a job. Where did the money come from for all the necessities of life? The woman clearly lived cheaply, but she had to have money. I wondered who she rented her shack from. The only thing that made sense was for the landlord to live in the house that fronted the property her converted garage was on. I planned to interview him or her before the day was out.
We drove into the Southside section of Scranton on Pittstown Avenue like we did the previous afternoon. I told Walt and Charlie to keep their eyes open for a high school and a diner. I wanted to use the high school as the center of our search. Whatever school Judy attended would have been the center of her social life and likely her only escape from Agnes. Anyone she knew would be associated with the school and therefore local to the neighborhood around it.
The car nose-dived as Charlie trod hard on the brakes. He flipped on the turn-signal and made an abrupt right into the parking lot of a supermarket. He pulled up behind a school bus that was idling while the grey-haired driver smoked a cigarette outside. The back of the bus said John F Kennedy High School.
The bus had been on my side of the car, but I hadn’t noticed it at all. I praised him for seeing it and thinking to stop. I almost climbed out of the car to talk to the driver but decided to let Charlie do it. He hadn’t been able to do much since our investigation started and I wanted to let him participate. I pointed through the glass. “Ask him where the school is, then ask him where the best place to eat is. The one won’t be too far from the other.”
“Got it!” He jumped out and ran up to the bus driver. Soon the driver was talking and pointing and giving directions. He held up fingers in various denominations that I assumed were blocks for us to travel. Charlie thanked him and came back to the car. “He says the school is about a mile down the road. We go straight on Pittstown to Saginaw, then make a right and go two blocks. He says we can’t miss it.”
“Great, that takes care of the school, what about a diner?”
“He said to go to O’Hara’s Diner which is on the opposite corner of Pittstown and Saginaw. He said we can’t miss that either.”
I praised him some more and let him get back to driving. Walt asked a question from the back seat. “How did you know the driver would know a diner near the school?”
“It only makes sense. He has to go to the school every morning to get his bus. He drives his route, then comes back to the same place. He does the same thing in the afternoon. He’s at the school four times a day. He’ll want a place nearby where he can have a cup of coffee and smoke a cigarette. He probably knows every waitress by name and they all know him.”
Walt wasn’t satisfied. “It makes sense when you explain it, but how do you know he drinks coffee in the diner?”
“He’s a school bus driver. What else does he have to do? He works about four hours a day with a six-hour break in between. He’s probably retired, maybe from one of the factories around here. He likely doesn’t need the money, but he works to keep from sitting around the house. I bet he gets up early and walks to the school, drives his bus, then goes to the diner for a late breakfast. He walks home and putters around all day until it’s time to make the afternoon run. Guys like him are cut from a pattern. They’ve got no worries, no stress, nothing bothers them. He’ll do the very same thing every day until he dies and he’ll do it with a smile on his face.”
Walt still wasn’t satisfied. “But how do you know?”
I shuffled around in the seat to look at him. “Before I came to live with you, I ate all my meals at counters or at the Automat. I’ve met thousands of those guys. Not all of them are bus drivers; some drive cabs, some work in offices, some run little newsstands, they do all kinds of things. They’re not all old and they come in every shape and every color of the rainbow, but they’re all exactly the same. Their lives would make people like you and me want to scream, but those guys are perfectly happy because they know every day they live will be the same as the one before it.”
He still wanted more information. “How did you know he was one of those men?”
“There’s nothing else he could be. One look at the calm way he smoked his cigarette and the neat creases in his slacks told me exactly who he was. He didn’t lean against his bus like he needed its support to brace him up against the day. He didn’t huff the tobacco down like it was the breath of life. He stood on his own and smoked peacefully. He probably stands in that parking lot everyday at this hour and does the exact same thing. He’s as happy as a pig in warm mud. His life is as perfect as he can make it.
“He’s an everyday Joe with an everyday life in an everyday world that he arranged to be the perfect fit for his everyday mind. I bet he even has an everyday name. It’ll be George or Frank or Sam. He doesn’t have a nickname, unless it’s something like Pop or Gramps. You’ll never meet a guy like that called Fast Eddie or Slick Willy. That’d be too wild.
“Sometimes, when I was feeling down about my life, I would get jealous of those guys. Sometimes, when I dealt with something really disturbing, I’d look at those guys with their clean hands and their calm minds and wish I could be like them. I would never be able to, though. I would feel like someone buried me alive.”
He looked at me like it was the first time he laid eyes on me. “I find you fascinating. I’ve never met anyone who’s mind works like yours.”
Charlie agreed. “Me neither. I’ve heard people talk about a sixth sense. He’s got seven, eight, and nine.”
I laughed at them both. “I’m just observant. My father taught me how to size up clients in the tailor shop. A man would come in with very fine clothes that were frayed around the edges. Usually that meant he’d fallen on hard times. Another would come in with cheap clothes but with expensive accessories. That meant he didn’t value his clothes, but he liked to look flashy. My father prided himself on being able to offer exactly what the client needed no matter what he said he wanted. There’s no use trying to sell finery to a man who couldn’t afford it or who didn’t value it. All that does is waste his time and yours.
“A lot of those lessons apply to detective work. I learned to look at a man and see his place in the world just from his appearance and manners. I can pick out confident old money from insecure new money with a glance. I can see those who are comfortable in their skin and those who aren’t. You could dress a poor man in a five-hundred-dollar suit, and he’ll pull at his collar and fidget with his tie. The clothes will never feel right to him because he’s not used to them. A man who is used to better, but who can no longer afford it, will hide himself in the back of the room and hope no one notices the cheapness of what he’s forced to wear.
“People will always tell you exactly who they are. You just have to pay attention to the ways they communicate.” I nodded at Walt. “You size people up when you’re hiring for the restaurant. You can separate the ones who really know the business from those that don’t. Charlie can do the same in his world on the farm. I bet when a new hand shows up to work, he knows which ones will need the most teaching and which can be left to do the job they were hired for.”
Charlie agreed with a nod. “I never thought about it that way, but it’s true. We always need extra hands at planting time and again at harvest. Most men say they know all about farming, but a lot of them don’t. I learned to pick out the one from the other because one inexperienced or careless man can ruin fields and cost the operation a lot of money.”
I nodded at him like he proved my point. “Exactly. The shop was my father’s livelihood just like the restaurant was Walt’s and the farm is yours. You learn quick who you can rely on and who you need to watch. The lessons I learned in the shop just happen to be slightly more universal because the adage that the clothes make the man is true.”
Charlie drove us into the parking lot of the diner and parked. “What do my clothes say about me?”
“Your question isn’t fair because I know you well enough to see the motivation behind a lot of what you’re wearing. You asked, so I’ll play along and answer. You’ve got a deep tan in the dead of winter; that means you work outside. Your hands are calloused; that means you make your living with them. You almost never button your jacket; which means you’re used to far colder weather than we have here.
“Your flannel shirt is pure practicality. You value function over form. The shirt is new enough that the flannel still looks stiff. It hasn’t been worn soft yet. You want to look good and make a good impression, but you want to be comfortable while you do it. Your jacket is not very practical. It’s warm, but the suede would never stand up to hard work. You bought it because it’s the current style; that means Emily picked it out. It doesn’t seem like the type of thing you’d pick on your own.
“Your jeans are a popular name brand, which could mean you value the brand’s quality, or that you bought them for fashion. The fact that they’re as tight as second skin suggests the motivation was fashion. You’re tall and fit and very good-looking. You know these things, but you’re not conceited about them. I would bet Emily picked the jeans as well. If you picked them, they’d be cut larger to make it easier to move around. Your boots are new, but they’re of a type that you could work in. You bought them for the trip, but they’ll go to work as soon as you get home.”
I finished my oration and waited for his reply. He was impressed. “You’re right, almost down to the last detail. I got this shirt for Christmas. It’s new, but it’s the same as all the ones I wear in cold weather. Em picked out the jacket and the jeans. I know I look good in them, but the jeans make it hard to move. I’d never wear them to work on the farm because I wouldn’t be able to squat down when I needed to. She tried to make me wear bell-bottoms but I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t be caught dead in those clown pants. I was due for a new pair of boots anyway, so I bought these for the trip, but they’ll be my main pair from now on.” He made a joke. “You probably even know what kind of underwear I have on, don’t you?”
I did but I refused to admit it. I knew he was wearing briefs because I’d seen the hint of them through the skin-tight fabric of his jeans. I didn’t want him to think I’d been admiring his ass, which I had, so I answered cautiously. “If you picked them, they’re probably boxers. A lot of men like boxers. If Emily picked them, they’re briefs. Briefs would also work better with the tight jeans.”
He nodded. “They’re briefs and Em picked them. I’m not sure I like them, but they’re better with the jeans.”
“I hope what I’m about to say doesn’t sound creepy, but as someone who admires men, I suggest you stick with the briefs. They’ll make a better impression in intimate moments. Boxers are like giving someone a present out of a brown paper bag. Briefs are…uh…” I didn’t know how to make my point without sounding lusty, so I left the rest of my statement vague. “Briefs are not like that.”
He got quiet and I worried I’d come across poorly. It turned out his thoughts shifted to someone else who appreciated how he looked. “Judy liked me in briefs.”
“There you go.” I popped the door open to get us moving and stop him from retreating into melancholy. “You ready for breakfast?”
“Yeah.”
Walt agreed from the back seat. We went into the diner.
* * * *
O’Hara’s was a traditional diner with a long counter on one side of the dining room and booths against the outside walls. I asked for a booth.
We were seated by a young blonde woman named Susie who obviously had eyes for Charlie. She seemed the right age to know Judy, but I didn’t ask right away. I wanted to order our food and let her get used to us a little before I tried to interrogate her.
We had a nice meal with lots of excellent coffee. Susie was an attentive waitress, but not a great one. She chewed gum with an open mouth the entire time we were there. Had she been one of my dining room employees at Walt’s Special, I would have warned her once, then sent her packing. I dismissed my negative thoughts because she didn’t work for Walt’s Special; she worked for O’Hara’s diner. Expectations were far lower and the pay likely was as well.
I asked my questions when she came to bring the check. “We were down in the city last week to see a play and met one of the players backstage. Her name was Judy Diamond. I guess she was about your age. I wonder if you know her.”
She cracked her gum with a loud snap that made me wince. “Judy, oh sure. I know who she is, but I’m class of ’69. She was a year ahead of me. Linda knows her; she’s class of ’68.”
“May we speak to Linda for just a moment? We won’t take much time.”
She cracked her gum again and chewed it from one side of her mouth to the other. “Sure, Mister. I’ll send her over.”
She left the check and went to get Linda. The two young women had a quick exchange, during which Linda pointed at Susie’s mouth and then behind the counter. Susie went where she’d been told and spat out her gum. I liked Linda already.
She was a pretty brunette, but she had a worldly hardness about her that Susie didn’t. I wondered if she’d had a difficult time in her young life. She slid into the booth next to Charlie and spoke before I had the chance to ask a question. “Judy and me went to school together, but I didn’t really know her.”
“Would you know her people? We met her last week and said we were coming up this way. She asked us to look up her people, but I misplaced the address she gave me.”
She shook her head. “She doesn’t have people, only her mama, and she wouldn’t tell you to go calling at her place. Did something happen?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because she’s the type that stuff happens to.”
I was honest because there was no reason to lie. “I’m sorry to say something did happen. She took her life the day before yesterday.”
Linda played with the order pad between her hands and tried to smooth the folded over carbons from the orders she already receipted. “That’s a shame.”
“You said she’s the type that things happen to. Why did you say that?”
“I knew her a little in school because we were in the same homerooms for years. Both our last names begin with ‘D’. Mine’s ‘Dennis.’ I didn’t live too far from her, but that doesn’t mean anything. The neighborhood is small. We all live close and everyone knows everyone else. I knew Judy’s mama to see her on the street. She was a mean drunk. It must’ve been awful for Judy.
“I knew her a little, like I said. We weren’t friends. She didn’t really have friends. We talked enough to borrow class notes or gossip a little. I was glad when she left town because she got away from her mama. I hoped she’d be ok, but I always thought one day I’d hear something bad happened.”
“Why didn’t she have friends?”
Linda kept her head down but peered up at me over her order book. “Have you been by her place yet?”
“We went last night.”
“That’s why she didn’t have friends. She couldn’t invite anyone over. She couldn’t ever be away from home to have fun. I guess she was embarrassed. I woulda been.”
I explained our mission in the hopes the girl could help us. “My young friend here knew her for just a little while. We’re trying to find out why she did what she did, for his sake. Do you know anyone who could tell us more about her?”
She fiddled with her book some more. “She liked Johnny Spencer. You could talk to him, but I think he’s back in Vietnam for another tour with the Marines. I wouldn’t bother with his folks. They didn’t think much of Judy. I don’t know, Mister. I don’t think anyone knew her that good. I wish I could help but I don’t know how.”
She was upset, and I felt bad for bringing bad news to her work. “I’m sorry, young lady. We’ll do our best to find out what happened. You’ve been helpful. Thank you for your time.”
She wrung the order book between her hands, tore a page out of it, and wrote down a telephone number. When she was done, she handed it to me. “Let me know what you find out, please. Like I said, Judy and me weren’t friends, but we were in the same homerooms all the way back to elementary school. I’d like to know what happened.”
I borrowed her pencil to write my numbers down for her. “If you think of anything else, let us know, please.”
She nodded and stood up. She started to walk away, then she stopped and came back. “I don’t know if it means anything to what you’re doing, but her mama used to beat on her.”
“Badly?”
“Bad enough to give her bruises and one time a black eye. The black eye was back in middle school. I asked about it. She said she deserved it because she ruined her mama’s life. I didn’t know what she meant and I didn’t ask. I was a little kid. I guess I was too little to get stuff like that. Someone should’ve done something for her, but I don’t know who woulda.”
I thanked her again and she went to see to her tables. I paid the check and left a generous tip for our waitress and for Linda.
* * * *
Back in the car, I spoke aloud to organize what we learned. “Agnes was a bigger horror than we thought. Once Judy left home, she never would have gone back. We’re starting to get a picture of her situation. Everywhere she looked she found an impossible situation or a closed door. Her mother’s shack was an impossible situation and the people from the neighborhood were a closed door. She never got close enough to any of them to ask for help.
“Johnny Spencer’s name came up again. We confirmed his parents didn’t care for Judy. I wonder if that mattered to Johnny. If Linda is right and he finished one tour of Vietnam, then went back for a second, he must be a fanatic. Everyone I ever talked to couldn’t wait to get out of Vietnam. I don’t know why the hell anyone would voluntarily go back. Then again, Marines aren’t like other people.”
Charlie asked what that meant. I explained. “White haired Owen who runs the restaurant was a Marine in World War Two. He fought in the Pacific. He’s an incredibly capable man. Nothing bothers him because he believes in his ability to overcome any obstacle. I’ve never seen him stressed out. He’s like the Rock of Gibraltar. I don’t know if he was like that before he joined the Marines and that’s why he picked them over the branches, or if the Marine training made him that way. I don’t think it matters. I’ve met other Marines and they’re all like him.
“If Johnny Spencer is the same way, he might’ve gone back to Vietnam because he believed in what we are doing there, or maybe he just wanted to earn some money and figured southeast Asia was as good a place as any to earn it. No matter what, we need to follow up on him. Last night, I telephoned my friend, Doc, who works at the VA to ask him to look into the young man. He promised to let me know what he finds later today. We know the letter Judy received came from the Spencer home. I wonder if Johnny’s mother sent something. The envelope was addressed in a woman’s hand. I’d bet good money on that. Either way, we can’t look into him until we go back to Philly. We can’t go back until we finish up here.”
Charlie asked. “What should we do next? Is it worth looking for more people from her high school class, or is there something else we should do?”
“I doubt we’ll learn much more than Linda just told us. She was in class with Judy for a long time and didn’t know her very well. Judy likely would have kept everyone away. She was doing the same thing in Philly. All the other chorus girls lived at the Hotel Taft, but she lived at the Ben Franklin. Seems like a continuation of the habits she developed here. I wonder if she even realized she was doing it, or if it had become such an automatic thing that she kept everyone at arm’s length out of habit.”
Charlie shook his head. “She didn’t do that to me.”
I corrected him without thinking. “Yes, she did. She invited you physically close, but she never let you near her emotionally.”
He lowered his eyes. “I didn’t realize.”
My revelation made him feel bad and I regretted saying anything. I almost apologized, but I didn’t want to belabor the topic.
I thought about our next steps. I was half tempted to find the local police station to ask about Agnes and her arrest record, but the cops had no reason to talk to me, and I had no leverage to make them. I wondered again about Agnes and her living arrangements. Someone must’ve been paying her rent and giving her a stipend to live on. I wondered who would do that and why.
I opened the gas station map to get my bearings and gave Charlie directions back to Lentz Place where Agnes lived. He got nervous. “We’re not going to see Judy’s mom again, are we?”
“I don’t need to see her, but I want to see the people who live in the house on the same property. I’ve got a hunch they’re looking after Agnes, and I want to know why.”
He backed from the parking spot and drove as I directed.
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