Tiny’s Tale
“I was uptown, the week before last.” The fat man with the small voice said. “I got some work, deliverin’ groceries. I drove an old stake truck and delivered to all the snooty restaurants. I was unloadin’ at this high-class joint on Broad and there was Doc smokin’ a cigarette in the alley.”
Lion interrupted. “What was the name of the place?”
Tiny closed his eyes to think. “It was a man’s name. I can almost see the sign in my head, but I can’t read it.”
Instead of waiting for Tiny to come up with the information I already knew, I answered for him. “It’s called Walt’s Special and it’s on Broad Street and Vine.”
Tiny agreed. “Yeah, that’s the name of the place. How’d you know, Mister?”
“I’m one of the owners. Doc has been staying with me and working in the kitchen.”
Tiny stared. His pale grey eyes grew wary, like he thought I might attack him. “Does that mean you’re one of the ones he told about?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I assume Doc told you he was staying with a queer couple who owned the restaurant. My husband, Walt, is the head chef. He’s the one who started Walt’s Special. I’m the host.”
Lion interrupted again. “Really? You don’t act like no queer I ever met.”
The comment irritated me. Once upon a time, it would have enraged me. I didn’t have the energy for rage anymore. The fuse on my temper had gotten longer as I’d gotten older. I still challenged what he said. “How are queers supposed to act?”
Lion’s face split with a bright, ready smile in response to my question. “Alright, man. To thine own self be true. That’s from Hamlet.”
“I know. My husband says that. His father taught English lit up at Albright. Walt knows a lot of Shakespear.”
Lion’s grin faltered. He craned his head toward mine like he wanted to whisper a secret. When he spoke, the tone and cadence of his voice had changed completely. All the Philly had gone from his speech. His new voice was polished and professional. “I suspect he and I would get along very well.” He offered his hand to me to shake. “Lionel Washington, future English teacher.”
I shook the proffered hand. “Congratulations. I guess you’re in school.”
He nodded. “I’m attending Temple University. I want to teach in the public schools. Someone has to show these kids that if they want to be taken seriously, they have to speak like they’re serious.”
“Why the put on, then?” I asked to refer to the way he’d spoken until just a moment ago.
He waved an impatient hand at the basketball game which had resumed in the other room. “Those guys would never let me live it down if I spoke like my father taught me.”
“Maybe you should take Hamlet’s advice. If you want to convince the younger generation to talk in a certain way, why should they listen to you when you change who you are depending on who you’re with?”
He crossed his arms over his bare chest like his mind required that posture to consider what I’d said. “I never thought of that.”
“Think on it.”
I shifted my attention back to Tiny. “Is that the only time you saw Doc?”
He shook his head. “I went back, last week, to see about some work. I lost the job drivin’ the truck. They found out about me and said I couldn’t stay. Doc said he’d talk to the boss for me. He said he needed to wait for the big boss because of…because I didn’t want to cause no trouble. I just need to earn some money. Not much, just enough to…never mind.”
It was obvious Tiny had something to hide. I wondered what it was. I didn’t think he was queer. I’d already admitted that I was, and he still saw some reason to keep his secret. I was about to ask when Lionel broke confidence and told. “Tiny is a draft dodger.”
The fat man’s high voice objected to the term. “I ain’t no dodger!” In his anger, the fat man’s voice climbed in pitch until it was as shrill as a dog whistle. “I just don’t think I should have’ta go fight! This war don’t make sense to me!”
Lion tried to sooth his upset. While he did, I gave some thought to Tiny’s circumstances. He was in a tough spot. As a ‘draft dodger,’ he was basically a fugitive. If he got caught, he could find himself in federal prison. Prison would be a very bad place for him. His high voice and soft flesh would make him very popular with the other inmates.
The trouble was, he obviously didn’t belong in a war either. He seemed like he’d make a far better cake decorator than a soldier or convict. I wondered what Doc thought about Tiny. I wondered if he was worth the trouble. I asked. “What’s your situation? Pretend I’m the big boss. Maybe I’m in a position to help. Convince me. Explain why I should give a damn.”
Tiny told his whole story. He was nineteen and basically on his own. He’d been in foster care his whole life and had ‘aged out’ of the system when he turned eighteen. He got a job and rented a room. He was doing his best to start his life. A few months ago, he received a registered letter to tell him he’d been drafted. He panicked and tore it up.
Notice to report for selective service isn’t like notice of jury duty. If one doesn’t show on the appointed date, the feds get rather indignant. They don’t come to get you. They simply ruin your life until you turn yourself in. The federal authorities add your information to a list at the Internal Revenue Service. The list makes it impossible for dodgers to earn a living.
When a business hires someone, they have to send that person’s social security number to the IRS so they can collect taxes. If the person is a draft dodger, the IRS will let the business know. Businesses who employ dodgers can get into trouble. Once they’re informed of the employee’s status, they let them go.
When Tiny’s name and number was first added to the list, he lost his job. He’d been an assistant baker at a commercial bakery. With no job, he quickly ran out of money for room rent. He left his room when he could no longer pay for it and moved into the dormitory at the Y. In order to feed himself, he got one job after another at small businesses.
Small businesses tend to be behind on their paperwork. They don’t have the same staff that a corporation does. Corporate employers have people whose only job is to maintain tax documents and file government paperwork. They identify dodgers quickly and let them go just as quickly.
Small businesses usually struggle with government paperwork, so they don’t file until they absolutely have to. They only have until the two-week mark. That’s when the business is required to register their new employee with the IRS. The habitual delay meant that Tiny, or any other draft dodger, could get a week or so of work before their history caught up with them.
That’s how Tiny had been living. His situation meant that he existed ‘hand-to-mouth’ as the cliché goes. All the while, he’d been doing his best to save up to flee to Canada. Canada wasn’t involved in the conflict, and they didn’t care about the draft. Quite a few young people who either didn’t have the grades or who couldn’t afford to enroll in college to avoid the draft, headed to Canada. Once there, they were out of reach of the United States Federal Authorities.
“How much do you need?”
“I’ve got enough for my bus ticket to Ottawa. I did some readin’ to find out how it all works. Ottawa is the capital. I want to go there because that’s where all the government is. I gotta claim asylum. I figure the capital is a good place to do that. Once I get my claim settled, I want to go to Toronto. That’s a big city, or at least as big a city as Canada has. I can get a job there.”
Lion reentered the conversation to remind Tiny that he hadn’t answered my question. “The man wants to know how much you need. If I had’ta guess, I’d bet he ain’t just talkin’ to hear hisself talk.”
Lion’s words were correct, but the way he expressed them was jarring after he’d so recently quoted Hamlet. I mocked the aspiring teacher by repeating a part of his sentence. “I can promise I ain’t talkin’ just ta hear myself talk.”
He scowled until he realized I was teasing him for his own good, then he grinned his bright, wide smile. “You got me.” He addressed himself to Tiny and expressed his thoughts like an aspiring teacher might. “Mister Edwards has asked to know what sum of money you require for your escape to the great frozen north. I would presume he is asking for a good reason, and not simply because he enjoys the sound of his own voice. As he said, pretend he is the ‘big boss.’”
I winked at Lion and returned his grin. “Now you’re talkin.’” I said to tease and praise him at the same time.
He laughed at my joke.
Tiny glanced between us. He obviously didn’t get the humor. He seemed like a decent young man, and someone who desperately needed to be saved, but a dim bulb all the same.
Instead of waiting for him to come up with a figure, I made an offer. “You seem like a good kid. You’ve also got no business in a war.”
He drew himself up to argue, but I spoke before he got the chance. “That’s not a slight. I was in a war. I’ve seen too many men who were just like you. A lot of them were killed or maimed because they were where they didn’t belong. I can help, but I’m not going to risk my business to do it. The feds take a dim view of businesses who knowingly employ draft dodgers. I’m not going to lose my license over you.
“Here’s the deal, and you can take it or leave it alone. You come to the restaurant tomorrow by two o’clock. You see me or a white-haired man named Owen. When you get there, you have all your stuff with you. There’s an empty apartment over the restaurant. It’s furnished. For two weeks, you stay there. You don’t go out. You don’t see anyone. You don’t telephone anyone. You don’t write any letters. At night, you work in the kitchen. You wash dishes or do whatever Owen tells you. After two weeks, I’ll put you on the bus myself with a hundred-and-fifty bucks in your pocket. You’ll also have your pay from both weeks, so you’ll walk away with something like two-fifty. That should be plenty to get you started up north.”
He started to ask all kinds of questions, but I talked over him. “That’s the deal. You can take it or leave it alone. If you take it, you’ll do exactly as I say, or I’ll report you to the feds myself. The reason you will stay at the apartment and not go out is because if you get picked up, you’ll talk. You won’t be able to help it. All the same things that make you unfit for war are the things that make it so if you’re questioned by the police or the federal authorities, you’ll talk. You’ll tell them all about me and my business and my offer. I’ll lose my license, and my husband will lose his dream, and all of that will be because I tried to help you. I like to help people, but I won’t risk my own neck to do it.”
I held my hand out for Tiny to shake. “Deal?”
He stared at my hand but didn’t take it. He shoved both of his hands into his pockets. “How do I know you don’t want to take advantage of me?”
The question made me angry. If he’d asked it twenty years ago, my open hand might have become a fist which I would have used to punch his fat face. Had it been ten years ago, I might have dropped my hand and walked away. At sixty-eight years old, I didn’t feel insults as sharply as I once had. I also didn’t get as mad at Tiny as I did at Malcom because Tiny has only insulted me while Malcom insulted my friend, Doc. I left my hand out while I offered the only reason I planned to give. “You’re not my type.”
Tiny hesitated some more until Lion stepped in to make the fat man do what was best for him. He punched Tiny’s shoulder, hard. When he drew his hand back, his fist turned into a pointed finger. “Shake the man’s hand!”
Tiny did as he was told, then he rubbed his shoulder. “Ow, Lion!”
Lion scolded him for his childish behavior. “I’m ashamed of you. A man comes in off the street, almost gets his head bashed in because of Malcom and his lies, offers you the world on a silver platter, and you don’t take it because you’re afraid he’s after your fat ass. The Doc has been staying with him. He didn’t try anything with Doc. If he had, Doc wouldn’t have stayed. Fuck, man! Use that empty head of yours!”
I grinned at Lion. I couldn’t help it. I liked him. I didn’t much like Tiny, but my dislike didn’t change the fact that he needed someone to save him. I supposed I’d be that person. I’d done it before. Tiny was the sixth young man I’d helped escape to Canada. Walt and Owen knew about what I jokingly referred to as my underground trolly service. My small effort didn’t qualify as a ‘railroad,’ so I had to pick something more modest.
Lion smiled his bright, attractive smile back at me. “What?”
“You’re going to make a great teacher. These kids today need someone like you, someone who will push them.”
He appreciated my compliment. “My old man pushed the living shit out of me.”
“Good for him. Good for you for wanting to pass it on.”
“Thanks, Law.”
“Alright,” I said to close one subject and open another, “Tiny, you saw Doc when you were driving a truck, and then you went back to see him again. Did he say anything about future plans? Did he say anything useful at all?”
He shrugged and shook his head. His messy, long hair dragged his shoulders and fell against the sides of his fat face. “He said he was tryin’ to figure out what to do. He said you paid him pretty good and not having to pay rent, he was puttin’ some cash away. He said he wanted to find some way to make it right.”
“Make what right?”
He shrugged and shook his head again. “I dunno. He talked about it a couple-a times. Makin’ things right. He didn’t know how to do it, but he said he was gonna try.”
I let the words roll around in my head like a silver ball in a pinball machine. The ball knocked against all sorts of ideas, but nothing lit up the ‘high score’ light. Doc felt guilty about a lot of stuff. He felt bad about the things he did in the war. He felt bad about the way he left things with his family. He even felt bad about accepting my help. He told me more than once that he didn’t know how he’d ever pay me back. I always insisted that the help he’d been, both during and immediately after Walt’s heart attack, was enough to put me in debt to him for the rest of my life. Anything I’d done for him was small potatoes when stacked up against the way he saved Walt’s life.
I wondered what specific regret Doc wanted to ‘make right.’ Tiny obviously didn’t know. I asked Lion if he had any ideas. “That mean anything to you?”
He shrugged and shook his head in an unintentional mimic of Tiny’s repeated gestures. “I didn’t know him very well. I mostly come to play ball. If I’m between classes, or when I need to clear my head, I get into a pick-up game or play one-on-one. Doc watched the games sometimes, but he didn’t play. I liked him. I respected him because he always made time to help folks. If someone got hurt, he would patch them up. He’s also older than almost everyone else, so the guys would go to him for advice. The Doctor was kind of like a guru. I never knew why he wasted his time hanging around during the day and mopping at night when he could have been doing so much more. I figured his time in Vietnam messed him up, but I never asked.”
I wasn’t going to get any real help from Lion or Tiny. They simply didn’t know what was going on inside Doc’s head. I didn’t either. My assumption about the actions of people always fitting into a pattern seemed incorrect. I felt sure that Doc would go right back to the Y when he left the apartment. He hadn’t. That left me adrift and unsure of what to do next.
I thanked Lion and Tiny for their time. I thanked Lion again for saving me from being pummeled to old man mush because of Malcom’s lies. The last thing I did before I left was to share my telephone number with Lion. “If you see Doc, or hear anything about him, or think of anything that might help me find him, call me.”
“No problem, Law. I’ll share it with the rest of the guys, too. There’s a lot of us here. It’s a big city, but someone is sure to run into the Doctor before too long.” He paused to think for a second. When he was done, he shared his thoughts. “Did you try his family?”
“Not yet. This is the first place I came. I’ve got a few more stops to make. If I strike out, I’ll look them up. Thanks again.”
I shook hands all around again and left.
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