A Brief History Of Television As Seen Through The Eyes Of A Mad Man As A Young Boy

A Brief History Of Television

As Seen Through The Eyes Of A Mad Man As A Young Boy

1. Fight Night

Matthew Chambers stood behind the screen door watching the street. Heat rose from the asphalt even now as the day was entering the cool of the evening. Lawns were being watered up and down the street, the water running off the lawns across the dusty sidewalks over the curbs and onto the street. Flies bounced off the screening with an electronic pinging sound and lay stunned on the wooden verandah floor. Matthew opened the door slightly. He wanted to step out and crush the bugs.

“Don’t let those damn flies in!” his mother cried from the kitchen at the other end of the hall from the front door.

Matthew closed the door and retreated back into the house. He made his way back to the kitchen.

“You look like you’ve lost your best friend,” his mother said sitting at the kitchen sink peeling potatoes. “We’ll have to get your hair cut tomorrow. Just looking at you makes me feel hot.”

“I like my hair long,” the boy said.

“You look like a shaggy dog. Don’t give me a hard time about it Matthew. I’m not in the mood.”

Laughter rang out from the back yard. A moment later Matthew’s father and uncle stepped into the kitchen. His father was carrying a case of beer, Red Cap. The two men’s shirts were damp with perspiration, dark pools around their neck and armpits.

“Beer’ll just make you sweat,” Matthew’s mother sighed.

“A godly way to sweat, sis,” Matthew’s uncle said. “Where’s my little darling?”

“Watch your language, Len,” Mrs. Chambers said gesturing with her head toward Matthew. “Cathy is over at a friend’s for the night.”

Uncle Leonard winked at Matthew.

“A little cussing never hurt anyone, sis,” he said then laughed.

Uncle Leonard handed the case of beer to Matthew. It was heavy. Matthew struggled to keep from dropping it.

“Take this into the living room, Matt. I’ve got to go back and get the television.”

Matthew’s father stepped up to the stove and peeked into the oven.

“Nothing for dinner?” he said.

“It’s too hot for cooking,” his wife replied. “I’m going to slice some ham and make potato salad.”

A few minutes later uncle Leonard returned to the living room and began to set up the Admiral black and white television set. He noticed that Matthew had already opened the case and placed two bottles of beer at his father’s and uncle’s designated chair.

“Take a beer to your mother,” uncle Leonard said with a wink.

When Matthew entered the kitchen, he found his mother and father in a heated discussion, which they suspended as soon as they spotted him. Matthew knew what the discussion was about. His mother did not want his father to drink. She felt it was a bad influence on Matthew. Everything fun was a bad influence on him, Matthew had come to realize.

After dinner, Matthew’s father and uncle retired to the living room. Matthew helped his mother with the dishes. When he stepped into the living room the two men had already emptied a couple more beers. The fight was almost ready to start. The picture was very snowy. Uncle Leonard adjusted the rabbit ears, than banged the top of the cabinet. The picture cleared or what passed as clear. For each image on the screen there was a ghost. Uncle Leonard called them guardian angels.

The Gillette razor parrot introduced the show. Feel sharp, be sharp! the parrot crooned. The picture was very small. A single camera somewhere in the rafters of the Madison Square Garden was focused on an empty ring. The announcer began to discuss the two fighters. Uncle Leonard leaned back and chugged on his beer. Matthew’s father leaned forward so that he was only a couple of feet from the screen.

Mrs. Chambers wandered into the room, still nursing her first beer. For a few moments she stared at the screen. Then she looked disapprovingly at Matthew. She insisted that it was time for him to go to bed. Matthew begged to stay up but he knew the battle was already lost.

“Let the kid watch the fight,” Matthew’s father pleaded as he lifted his bottle of beer to his mouth.

“No son of mine is going to watch two Negroes knock the daylights out of each other,” she cried.

“One of them is Italian,” his uncle clarified, a cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth.

“Ah mom,” Matthew moaned.

“Don’t ah mom me,” his mother said. “You want to end up like these two wasting their lives away in front of that idiot box.”

Uncle Leonard laughed. “Ah Patricia, let the boy watch the damn thing for Christ’s sake.”

“None of that language in my house, brother,” Matthew’s mother spat out. “The boy needs his sleep.”

Nothing Matthew’s uncle or father said would or could affect Mrs. Chambers’ decision. Argument tended to fortify her resolve. Slowly Matthew struggled up the stairs. When he heard his mother return to the kitchen, Matthew turned and carefully made his way back down the stairs until he was satisfied that he could follow the fight without being detected.

“Look at the Eyetie,” uncle Leonard howled. “One blow in the belly and his dinner will be all over the mat.”

“You got any money on the fight?” Mr. Chambers asked.

“Does a dog have fleas?” uncle Leonard responded with a laugh. “Five bucks on Moore.”

The fighters were called into the middle of the ring. Mr. Chambers opened a couple more beers. Matthew licked his lips. He’d tasted beer once. His father had left some at the bottom of one of his empties and Matthew had tried it the next day. It was disgusting.

The fighters broke out of their corners and spent most of the first round stalking each other.

“Moore is just feeling him out,” uncle Leonard cried. “Look at how flat footed the Eyetie is. Moves around the room like a washer-woman.”

The screen turned snowy. Uncle Leonard cursed and kicked the side of the cabinet. The picture cleared. There was a commercial on. Matthew raced up the stairs, turned on the cold water tap in the bathroom and stuck his mouth under the faucet. Refreshed, he hastily returned to his place on the steps. For no reason, the volume increased.

“Can you turn that thing down,” Mrs. Chambers cried out from the kitchen. “The whole neighbourhood can hear you.”

Uncle Leonard reached for the volume. As he did the picture went snowy again.

“Screw the neighbours!” uncle Leonard cried and banged the cabinet with his fist. The screen cleared to show the great Archie Moore kissing the canvas.

“Jesus Murphy!” his uncle cried.

“I told you that Italian had bricks in his fist.” Matthew’s father laughed.

“The garlic must have knocked him over,” uncle Leonard cried.

Matthew’s father laughed with delight.

“Well, he ain’t up yet, Len. Never underestimate them Italians. Got a couple of those fellows down at the Plant. Hard as nails. You can’t hurt them. They don’t feel pain like normal folks. One fella had a crate of machine parts fall on his foot the other day. Never winked an eye. Finished his shift and than went to the hospital. Broke all his toes. Back at work the next day.”

Uncle Leonard shook his head. “Too stupid to feel anything.”

Moore got up off the canvas.

“Christ!” Mr. Chambers cried.

Uncle Leonard laughed. “Never count that Negro out.”

“How is the Italian supposed to win if the referee can’t count?” Mr. Chambers said.

“Oh, he can count, Gerry,” uncle Leonard howled. “You’re going to hear him count soon enough. The Eytie is in trouble now. He’s got Moore bloody mad.”

Matthew listened attentively.

“Matthew!”

A moment later Mrs. Chambers stepped around the corner and looked up the stairs. Matthew dropped his head, turned and retreated up the stairs and into his room. He sat in a chair next to his open window and watched the heavy yellow moon slip out from behind a cloud. The bright pink peaches on the tree in the backyard shone like planets. In the back lane someone was starting their car. Voices roared out from deep in the night. Downstairs uncle Leonard’s voice cried out in joy.

2. Ernie Kovacs

As Matthew Chambers stood strumming his fingers on the locked bathroom door, his sister Cathy lay in the warm languid foam of her bubble bath singing a pleasant tune.

“How long do you expect to be in there, princess?” Matthew barked sarcastically.

In her best southern accent, Cathy responded.

“I can’t quite say, Billy Bob.”

Matthew’s face was pressed against the door. He could hear his sister sloshing about in the bath. Matthew pounded the door.

“I can only wash so fast,” she added.

“But there’s so much to wash,” Matthew cried. He placed his face against the door and groaned.

“Get the friggin out of there!” he cried.

“I cannot understand why you cannot control your bladder, dear brother. What was it you were preaching to me the other day about self-discipline? The washroom was vacant a half hour ago. Why didn’t you take advantage of that window of opportunity?”

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

“I don’t know what you are driving at, brother.”

“Please,” Matthew moaned.

“Pretty please?” Cathy asked.

Matthew kicked the door. “Hurry up for Christ’s sake!”

“Oh,” Cathy responded. “Does he have to go too?”

***

Matthew stepped gingerly into the kitchen from the backyard. He hoped his parents hadn’t seen him pissing in the backyard. The television was on in the living room. Matthew entered the room and carefully took a seat on the couch. His father was watching the Ernie Kovac’s comedy show. Like his father, Ernie Kovacs combed his jet black hair back and wore a thick moustache. It was a look that had become fashionable in the years before WW2 with Hitler, Stalin, John Barrymore, David Niven, Clark Gable, and Charlie Chaplin.

“Did you piss in the yard again?” his father asked.

“I couldn’t help it,” Matthew responded defensively. “Cathy wouldn’t get out of the can.”

On the television there was a crowd of men posing like a famous 15^th century painting by a Dutch Master. In the middle of the group was Ernie Kovacs smoking a cigar.

“I hope your mother didn’t see you,” his father said to Matthew.

“She’s not home,” Matthew responded. “You’ve got to do something about Cathy.”

“Can’t help you there, son.” Mr. Chambers laughed.

A crowd of angels posed at the Gates to Paradise. One of the angels, Ernie Kovacs, pulled out a cigar and lit it up.

Matthew didn’t want to smile. He was too angry. He swore that as soon as Cathy vacated the bathroom, he was going to lay into her. Matthew looked down on the floor at the newspaper that lay there. On the front page Richard Nixon was conceding defeat in the presidential election. Nixon looked like someone who was trying to hide something. Slowly Nixon’s face seemed to reshape itself into Ernie Kovac’s. The former vice president opened his mouth into a smile and inserted a cigar. Matthew shook his head.

On the television, Eddy Adams, Kovac’s voluptuous wife, pouted before the camera in a low cut tight fitting dress. Then she placed a cigar before her lips and kissed it. Matthew’s father fished a cigar out of the package in his shirt and lit one up. Matthew looked up at the ceiling. He could still hear his sister’s fat ass rubbing on the bottom of the tub. God, he had to take another leak.

Mr. Chambers took the cigar from his mouth. Smoke drifted aimlessly about the room.

“What’s wrong with you, Matthew? Can’t you sit still? You’re always fidgeting.”

“I gotta go again and I ain’t going outside.”

“Why the heck didn’t you go before she got in there? You know what women are like.”

“I didn’t have to go then.”

“If the bathroom is open, you go,” Mr. Chambers said. “Haven’t you heard of preventive medicine?”

Matthew turned back to the set. A beautiful young girl was taking a bath, washing one of her long legs that she raised high above the tub. When is she going to get out of there? Matthew cursed inside. Mr. Chambers coughed. At the other end of the tub, Ernie Kovacs rose out of the suds. He was smoking a cigar. Kovacs stood up, he was wearing a suit, and stepped out of the tub and walked off. Mr. Chambers choked with laughter. The young lady in the tub didn’t seem to notice Kovac’s departure. Matthew began to laugh. Another gentleman, in a top hat and carrying an umbrella rose from the other end of the tub and stepped out the bath. Both Mr. Chambers and Matthew howled with laughter. Next a plumber rose from the other end of the tub. He was followed by a policeman, a clown, two midgets carrying a ladder between them. Tears of laughter ran down Mr. Chambers’ face. Matthew moaned. God, I’m going to piss my pants! Above them the bathroom door opened. Matthew ran.

3. The Flintstones

Fred and Matthew lay on the broadloom floor staring up at the set. A glass of milk and a plate of chocolate chip cookies were set in front of each of the boys. Fred’s parents had left for the evening. They’d gone to see a movie at the Westwood Theatre, a local movie house.

“Your mom sure makes good cookies,” Matthew said.

“Ya,” Fred responded with his mouth full. “Do you think Wilma sleeps naked?”

“Wilma who?”

“Fred Flinstone’s wife, stupid,” Fred replied.

Matthew looked at Fred with a puzzled expression on his face.

“You ever think that Fred and Barney have dinks?” Fred added.

Matthew moaned. Fred was always talking about sex.

“They’re cartoon characters,” Matthew sighed. “They don’t even have ten fingers.”

The two boys turned back to the television. Barney and Fred were driving to work, their feet peddling the car along.

“That’s neat, eh?” Matthew said and laughed.

“You ever seen your mom naked?” Fred asked.

Matthew turned to Fred. “You crazy or something? Why would I ever want to see my mom naked?”

Fred shrugged his shoulders. After a few minutes, Matthew turned to Fred.

“How come there aren’t any Negroes in the Flintstones?”

“I saw some Chinese once,” Fred replied. “They were running a laundry.”

The boys turned back to the television. Barney was cutting his front lawn using a small dinosaur as a lawnmower. When Barney stopped to talk to Fred, the dinosaur rolled on its side and leaning on his elbow said, It’s a living! Matthew and Fred laughed. A few moments passed. Commercials. Matthew finished his milk.

“You ever seen a naked lady?” Matthew asked.

“Lots.” Fred grabbed one of Matthew’s cookies. Fred’s plate was empty.

“Sure!” Matthew responded with a smirk.

Fred stood up and insisted that Matthew follow him. The two boys climbed the stairs to Fred’s parent’s bedroom. Fred pulled a stack of magazines from beneath the neatly made bed. He opened the magazine on top and began to leaf through it. Matthew could not believe what he was seeing. Women were stretched out on blankets, naked, looking up at the two boys and smiling.

“You gotta see this one,” Fred said grabbing another magazine. In this magazine women were having sex with a number of different men, sometimes with more than one partner.

“Not so fast,” Matthew begged.

“Look at this one,” Matthew said laughing. “This lady must be double jointed.”

“What if they got stuck?” Matthew asked.

Fred shook his head with professional disdain.

“You don’t get stuck,” he said.

“My uncle’s dogs got stuck,” Matthew replied. “He had to throw cold water over them to get them separated.”

“People aren’t dogs,” Fred explained and then pointed at another picture. “Look at the size of that guy’s pecker. He must be some kind of medical freak. There’s a neat story in one of these magazines about a girl sucking a guy’s dick in the back of a car. They were parked in some lover’s lane. The car got rear ended by another car and the girl accidentally bit the guy’s dick off. They had to rush the guy to the hospital to get it sown back on and all the way while she was driving the guy to the hospital she had to keep his dick in her mouth so it wouldn’t get lost.”

For a while the boys looked through the magazines in silence.

“What do you think the ladies are thinking about when they’re having their pictures taken?” Matthew asked.

“Their hair,” Fred replied.

Matthew howled with laughter.

“My mother is always worried about her hair when someone is taking her picture,” Fred explained.

“You think they got homes?” Matthew asked.

“They don’t look like they got homes,” Fred replied.

“They look kind of sad,” Matthew added.

“They’re not sad,” Fred responded. “They’re having orgasms.”

“Oh,” Matthew responded.

“Like when you masturbate,” Fred explained.

“I’ve never masturbated,” Matthew said.

Fred groaned.

“Honest!” Matthew insisted. “I woke up once and saw something coming out of my pecker. I thought it was broke.”

Fred howled with laughter.

“What did you do?”

Matthew was silent for a moment.

“Promise you won’t tell anyone.”

“Promise.”

“On your mother’s grave.”

Fred nodded.

“I told my mom,” Matthew said.

Fred’s mouth dropped. Laughter sprayed out. Matthew looked at Fred and then he too began to laugh. Tears began to run down the cheeks of the two boys.

Fred stopped laughing.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” Matthew asked.

“Listen!” Fred insisted.

The two boys listened. Someone was opening the front door.

4. Hockey Night in Canada

The valley was mute except for the crackling sound of the stream eating at holes in the ice. Matthew squinted his eyes. The glare of the snow was blinding. In the distance he could hear the faint sound of the bus he was supposed to have taken home. He’d spent his money earlier that day on hockey cards. He wished he had saved some of the gum. He was hungry.

The shadow of a bird skated across the crust of snow. Matthew looked up. A crow landed on a branch high in a tree top, like the hockey announcer on Hockey Night in Canada, high above the action. Or maybe like God. God had become a problem for Matthew. He could not reconcile all the bad things that happened to people with a God who was all loving. The crow displaced a flurry of snow down upon Matthew.

Matthew’s foot sank in the snow. He couldn’t move it. He pulled with all his might but the boot wouldn’t budge. Matthew put his books down on the snow, undid the entrapped boot and slipped his foot out. When he had freed his boot, he put his foot back in. His books were now covered in snow. Matthew brushed them off and moved on.

He was getting cold. The clouds of breath that earlier had fascinated Matthew as they rose like balloons from his mouth, now poured out in a stream of exhaust. His lips began to feel as if they were bleeding. Small pin needles began to jab at his cheeks. His lungs were sore. Curling his fingers up in his mitts, Matthew cursed the books that made it impossible for him to keep his hands in the warmth of his pockets.

The stream looked strong enough. It was about ten feet across. A journey around the stream to the bridge at Kipling Avenue was a long one and the day was already beginning to dim. How he wished he hadn’t bought those hockey cards; how he wished he’d taken the bus home. The ice was crystal clear, not a speck of snow on it. He had dreamed of such ice earlier that winter when he and Fred had planned to skate down the creek until it met the Humber River.

Gingerly, Matthew stepped out onto the ice. Each step was cautiously plotted and executed. It reminded Matthew of a war film he’d seen in which a company of soldiers crossed a mine-field. All of them didn’t make it. About half way across the stream, Matthew heard a crack. He looked around. Above him, the crow he’d seen earlier, cried out. Before Matthew knew it, he was up to his knees in water. The current of the stream pulled on his legs. He reached out for the shore, slipped, and fell through the ice. A mouthful of cold water choked him. Kicking and clawing, Matthew managed to grab a tree branch that hung over the stream. He pulled himself out of the creek.

Matthew lay on the snow, coughing and panting. Turning he spotted his history book sinking below the broken ice. The hockey cards he’d purchased that morning floated down stream, the Golden Jet passing Bobby Baun. Tears welled up in Matthew’s ice and froze. He tried to stand up but his boots, now filled with water, were as heavy as cement blocks. He tried to pull his feet out but could not. Don’t panic! he told himself. Finally by jamming his boot in the crux of a small tree, Matthew managed to pull one foot out and then the other, extricating each with a great sucking sound. Matthew took his socks off and squeezed the water out of them. His feet were blood red and freezing cold. He didn’t want to put the socks back on but knew that he must. He emptied his boots of water and pulled them on. He grabbed the rest of his books, stood up and began to move.

Matthew moved slowly, the weight of his wet clothes bearing down upon him. As the sun began to sink, the wind began to pick up. Remembering something his mother had told him, Matthew made a conscious effort to keep moving his toes. Tears ran down Matthew’s cheeks as he dragged his legs through the snow, pulling himself along at times by grabbing bushes and tree branches. In places the snow had drifted. Several times Matthew found himself in snow up to his waist. His pants were now frozen stiff. It was a great effort to bend his knees. Keep moving! he told himself. When he reached the edge of the valley and looked up the steep hill he had to climb, all hope left him.

Matthew sat down in the snow and cried. He could no longer feel his feet. His hands were beginning to go numb. He began to shiver. Matthew closed his eyes. A voice inside spoke to him. Maybe if I just slept for a while. Maybe I could get my strength back. The crow that Matthew had seen earlier landed on Matthew’s head and began to beat the boy around the ears. Matthew fought the crow off. He stood up. Matthew began to climb. The hill was slippery. Twice he fell and slid back down the hill. Each time the crow swept down over Matthew’s head, screeching. Matthew pushed himself higher and higher. He forgot about the top of the hill and concentrated on the next step. When he reached the top of the hill, Matthew fell to his knees and sobbed.

After a brief spell of tears, Matthew stood up and looked back down the hill. Darkness had filled the valley. The only sound he heard was the snapping of tree branches under the weight of the snow and the whisper of the breeze as it whistled passed his ears. As Matthew turned and headed home, the crow flew low over his head, screeched, and climbed into the night.

5. The Twentieth Century

Matthew leaned against the window, his nose smeared against the glass. It had been raining all morning, a cold October rain. No football or road hockey today, he said to himself.

Fred banged on the back door. Mrs. Chambers let in the dripping wet teenager, rain dripping off his baseball hat.

“You’re soaking wet. Mr. Chambers will have to drive you and Matthew to church,” Mrs. Chambers exclaimed.

“Oh no, Mrs. Chambers,” Fred responded with a clearly false charm. “I wouldn’t think of imposing on Mr. Chambers. My mother would be very upset and I think that young Matthew and I are up for the challenge. Certainly our forebears had to deal with much harsher conditions…”

“Knock off the Eddy Haskell imitation,” Mrs. Chambers said without a smile.

Fred grinned. “Yes, mam. I was practicing. Someday I hope to make it in television. Our drama teacher Mrs. Giancola says that we have to take advantage of every situation that life offers us.”

Mrs. Chambers sighed and returned to the kitchen. Matthew clamored down the stairs and grabbed his jacket and cap. On the way to church, the two boys discussed the upcoming football game that afternoon between the Toronto and their arch rivals the Hamilton Tiger Cats. Both agreed that it was a shame the game was blacked out on television. The rain continued to fall.

“Have you noticed the way people walk in the rain?” Fred asked. “They scrunch up their foreheads as if the scrunching would keep them dry.”

Matthew thought about Fred’s remark for a moment.

“My father said that there wasn’t any television when he was a kid.”

“Ya,” Fred replied. “I can’t even imagine that. Gives me the creeps when I come home and there isn’t any one home. First thing I do is turn on the television. Just for the company. In the middle ages, there wasn’t any electricity. People must have done a lot of sleeping. Imagine if you were an insomniac.”

Matthew nodded. “I guess that’s why they called it the dark ages.”

The boys stopped at the hydro field. They had to decide whether to stick to the road where only their shoes would get wet or risk getting soaked if they took a short cut through the field. They chose the short cut.

“I saw a guy painting one of those towers,” Matthew said gesturing to the giant steel towers where the hydro wires hung. “There is no way you could pay me enough to climb up those things.”

“Must be a great view though,” Fred said looking up into the sky.

After the boys passed through the field, they stopped at Duke’s Cycle and Sports. The boys pointed to particular pieces of equipment they hoped to receive that Christmas. Next the boys stopped at Richard’s Television. Mr. Richards always left one of his television sets in the front window, on. Although the programs were mute, the boys enjoyed watching them.

An evangelist, Oral Roberts, smacked a young woman on the forehead sending her back into the arms of another man.

“What do you figure was wrong with her?” Fred asked.

“Maybe she had a headache,” Matthew responded.

Fred laughed.

The program changed. A picture of the Rock of Gilbraltor appeared on the screen. Matthew had seen the program many times. It was a news program that examined the events of the twentieth century. Matthew could almost hear the narrator, Walter Cronkite, speak. The Prudential Insurance Company presents the Twentieth Century. Fred nudged Matthew. He wanted to move on. Matthew waited a moment. On the television bulldozers moved across the screen pushing piles of dead bodies into a large pit.

“What the hell is that?” Fred cried.

“Concentration camps,” Matthew responded.

“Jesus!” Fred gasped. “What did all those people die from?”

“Being Jews,” Matthew replied.

The two boys moved along. They were quiet for some time.

“You remember that story in the bible where God talks to Moses?” Matthew asked.

Fred nodded.

“What do you think God’s voice sounded like?”

Fred thought for a moment then shook his head.

“I think his voice sounded like Walter Cronkite,” Matthew replied.

Fred began to laugh as the two boys reached the front steps of the Church.

“What’s so funny?” Matthew asked.

“What,” Fred responded continuing to laugh as he spoke, “what if God sounded like Donald Duck?”

The two boys opened the church doors. They were late. Mass had already started. Gingerly they climbed up to the balcony where they hoped to go unnoticed. The balcony was empty. They slipped into a pew. The priest was in the middle of his sermon. He stopped.

“Would the two boys in the balcony,” he demanded, “please come to the front of the church. We have two empty spaces right here in front of me.”

6. The Great Show

The priest’s voice thundered through the church, crashing over the parishioners. Matthew looked at his father who was smiling. How could he smile? The priest was scaring the hell of Matthew. Matthew glanced around the church. Many of his friends were there with their fathers. None of his friends were moving, none were slouching, all were sitting on the edge of their seats waiting for the next words from the priest. It was a great show. It was the parish retreat for fathers and sons

Each evening for four nights, boys and their fathers would show up at the church and for two hours they would take an emotional roller coaster ride that would leave them exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. The priest that stood before them in the pulpit was a huge man, more warrior than healer. His voice, which was deep and loud, was used like a weapon. Matthew could imagine the priest in hand-to-hand combat with Satan. The devil would have all he could handle.

It was the last night. Mr. Chambers had promised Matthew something special when they came home that night. When they arrived home, Mr. Anderson and his twin sons were awaiting them. Matthew didn’t trust the Anderson twins. One was indiscernible from the other and they dressed alike to exacerbate the confusion. They went everywhere together and when asked a question, they would confer with each other as if every answer demanded a consensus. They spoke a strange exotic language, their mother’s tongue, from some land deep inside Asia. To Matthew, it didn’t sound like an earthly language but some alien gibberish one might expect to hear from beings not of this world.

Once inside the house, Matthew was ordered to remain at the back stairs with the twins.

“Did you go to the retreat?” Matthew asked.

“We did,” one of the twins replied.

“We found it very upsetting,” the other twin added. “Do you believe in hell?”

Matthew shrugged. “I guess.”

“What if one of us goes to heaven?” one twin asked.

“And the other goes to hell?” the other twin added.

Matthew scratched his head. “Maybe you could phone each other,” he suggested.

The twins looked at each other and conferred. Matthew’s suggestion seemed to please them.

“What are they doing?” Matthew asked referring to his father and Mr. Anderson.

The twins smiled.

“We have been told to remain silent,” one of them said.

“Or else,” the second added.

“Do you guys always talk like this?” Matthew asked.

The two boys looked at each other and responded in a chorus. “Talk like what?”

Cathy appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” she cried, a glittering smile of braces. “Isn’t it the way you always expected it to happen? I couldn’t believe mama when she told me. I could just die.”

“Cathy is very excited,” one of the Anderson boys said.

“What’s going on?” Matthew asked.

Cathy looked at Matthew for a moment before her mother’s recent command struck her. She slapped her hand over her mouth.

“I forgot,” she cried and ran off.

Matthew turned to the twins for help. They too had their hands over their mouths.

Finally Matthew was called upstairs. Both his parents were waiting in the living room. Behind them a large box was covered by a white sheet. Cathy started to screech with delight. The two Anderson boys smiled at each other. Mr. and Mrs. Chambers stepped aside. Mr. Anderson reached over and pulled the sheet off the box. Matthew gasped. A new television.

Cathy jumped up and down.

“It’s a colour set!” she kept screeching as she jumped up and down.

7. Bishop Sheen

Matthew fell angrily into the arms of the couch.

“You can’t be serious?” he cried.

Mr. Chambers glared at Matthew. The answer was self-evident. Matthew sighed. The Bishop Sheen Show, a weekly Roman Catholic program about various moral issues, came on. Matthew sank deeper into the couch as the Bishop smiled at him, then stepped over to the blackboard where he made his usual joke about an angel cleaning the board for him. The Bishop discussed the need for prayer in the world. He talked about the material poverty in the world, but not as poor as the spiritual poverty of America. On the way he made several jokes about his aging Desota automobile.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Matthew muttered.

Mr. Chambers looked over at Matthew from his chair. The hard outline of his jaw was drawn tighter than usual.

“You’re lucky I don’t clout you. You and your big ideas. Your mother wants me to give you a whipping but you’re too old to be banged about. That might have worked…”

“Spare me,” Matthew said with a sigh of contempt.

The Bishop cleared his throat. Mr. Chambers turned back to the television. The Bishop drew a picture of the stable. He made a joke about his drawing skills.

“What did I do?” Matthew asked.

Mr. Chambers turned to Matthew.

“We were called down to the school. Your mother and I. Your mother was crying.”

“What?”

“Father Bill showed us your religion exam.”

“He what?”

“Thirteen out of a hundred!” Mr. Chambers barked. “How could you write such a thing? Father Bill read it out to us. They want you expelled. I had to plead to the Father for a second chance. You have disgraced us.”

“But I didn’t do anything.”

“We promised Father Bill that it would never happen again. When I think of how we had to cut corners to scrape the money together for your tuition. Your mother and I haven’t been to a movie in five years. You complain about meat loaf. All that money was put aside so that you could go to Michael Power High School. Father Bill says that you are headed down a dangerous road.”

“It was a joke,” Matthew cried, his voice shaking.

“A joke! You write a religion exam and you tell me that it was a joke. It’s no joke for me down at the plant. Sometimes in the summer it gets over a hundred degrees in there. They hand out salt pellets to us so that we won’t pass out. I eat lunch in my car because its too hot in the lunch room.”

“Aren’t you going to listen to my side?” Matthew cried, his voice choking with emotion. “Father Bill said that the exam didn’t count for anything. He said it was only a formality. He joked about it with us, said we could write a Dear Abby letter if we wanted.”

“And you wrote a weather report!” Mr. Chambers responded.

“It was a definition of God,” Matthew replied, his words stumbling out of his mouth.

“What is God?” Bishop Sheen asked, than broke into a smile. “I am reminded of the story of two Irish priests.”

Tears ran down Matthew’s cheeks.

“It was all a joke!”

“You were trying to be a smart ass!” Mr. Chambers barked. “You think you’re so smart. I’ve seen what happens to smart asses who work at the plant. They think they know everything. They don’t listen; they take short cuts. Lose a finger, some teeth, their job. You know how many smart asses we left dead on the beaches in the war? Its no joke out there in the real world.”

“It was a joke!” Matthew pleaded.

“Priests don’t make jokes!” Mr. Chambers replied.

Matthew jumped to his feet and fled from the room.

“Come back here!” Mr. Chambers shouted shaking with rage as Matthew pounded up the stairs. He heard Matthew slam his bedroom door shut. Mr. Chamber’s face sank into his hands.

The Bishop smiled benignly.

“To God, all of us are children.”

8. The Honeymooners

It all seemed so foolish. The crowds of relatives had left. The lawn chairs and fold-up chairs lay abandoned in the circle they had been placed in, haunted by the figures who not so long ago occupied them. He couldn’t understand why his mother had made all the relatives stay outside. It had been bitterly cold. It was as if she were punishing them, reminding them through their discomfort that they were alive and her husband was not. Matthew took a seat in one of the chairs. He looked up. A pale moon rose high in the late evening sky. A flock of birds shredded the burnt almond sky.

Matthew took out a package of his father’s cigars from his pocket and lit one up. The first puff made him choke. Matthew sucked on the Marguerite. What does the end of a life signify? he asked the gathered furniture. Matthew spotted an unopened beer bottle under one of the chairs. It was one of the case of beer his father had bought for the Grey Cup Game. The one year the Argonauts get into the big game and he couldn’t let the old man see them play. Matthew opened the beer and saluted the empty backyard.

When Matthew entered the house, he heard crying. It was his sister, Cathy, up in her room with her best friend. She hadn’t stopped crying since that lonely drive to the hospital three days before. How could someone have so many tears locked up inside her? The television was on in the basement. Matthew stepped downstairs to find his mother watching The Honeymooners in his father’s favourite chair. She looked old and small. Matthew sat down beside her and sipped on his beer. He handed the beer to his mother who took a sip.

Mr. Chambers had hated Ralph Cramden, the loud mouthed overly sensitive bully that Jackie Gleason played in the comedy. But Mr. Chambers loved the character Norton, a maddeningly meticulous innocent who was Ralph’s sidekick.

“Your father loved you, Matthew,” Mrs. Chambers said without looking at her son. She handed the beer back to him. “He was so proud of everything you did.”

Matthew smiled. All he could remember was his father’s increasingly impatient voice. He seemed so disappointed in his son. Why was his mother saying this now?

“It went by so fast,” his mother said, smiling as Norton attempted to sign his name to a document while Ralph became increasingly unnerved by Norton’s mannerisms. “He would have retired next year. All the plans we made…”

Mrs. Chambers handed the beer back to her son.

“After the war, your father and I had nothing. No one had anything. It was a real treat for us to go down to Chinatown once or twice a year. We went with the Channings. They were such good friends. They lived on the flat above ours on Jarvis Street. Beatrice had a little girl only a couple of weeks older than you .We used to put you two in a carriage together and walk over to the park. I don’t suppose you’d recognize Sarah now. How could you?”

Ralph and Norton entered the Cramden flat dressed in coonskin hats from their Lodge meeting, happy as larks until Ralph found a note on the kitchen table from his wife, Alice. She’s gone, Ralph whimpered, his eyes saddened, his lips quivering.

Mrs. Chambers reached over and took the beer out of Matthew’s hand. She took a large swallow.

“Your father never lost faith in you and your sister. When I worried about you, he’d laugh and say you’d be okay. I’d say that you would never make it in the real world, your head too filled with fancy ideas. Your father said that you could stay in school the rest of your life. He just didn’t want you to be like him, didn’t want you stuck in a nine to five job, working in a sweat shop or a factory floor.”

On the television, Alice Cramden stepped into the apartment. Ralph, alone, sat collapsed in a chair. He stood up when his wife entered, looked at her sheepishly. Alice gave Ralph a brief lecture. Ralph listened meekly. Then she told him she loved him. Alice’s face opened up into a smile. Ralph stammered, took his wife in his arms. Alice, you’re the greatest! Ralph smiled and kissed his wife.

“Did you love dad?” Matthew asked.

Mrs. Chambers was silent for a few moments.

“Your father and I were never… romantic. But he treated me with respect and he provided for all of us, and he never gave me cause for worry.”

“And that was enough?” Matthew asked.

Mrs. Chambers handed the beer back to her son.

“It was more than I expected,” she said.