Chapter 1: Stop Watch

I never met a mechanical watch I couldn’t stop. I suppose you could call me a magnetic personality. Stick a wrist watch on me and take it to the shop. Some of them never ran again.

Some people might call this an ability, but I don’t think so. It was more like a disaster. As I grew older the watches started stopping without me touching them. The simple act of walking past a fellow human being who was wearing a windup was often enough to stop his watch. There’s a story in there somewhere. I couldn’t think one up ... so ... I suppose the truth will have to do.

My father was a lawyer.

Most people think once a lawyer passed the Bar exam, he can get on with cheating, lying, robbing the general public and politicking. This is a deceptive, misleading, and totally false notion ... similar to law practice.

Good lawyering demands constant study. The books aren’t cheap. Daddy subscribed to a Law Journal publishing company and received a new leather bound book of procedures and precedents every month. Even though the books were concerned with current practice, sometimes the legal precedent he needed was old law, something adjudicated years before.

You’d be amazed at the legal chicanery practiced before the turn of the century.

Dad’s books were new, although he was forever trying to buy the libraries of deceased attorneys. The Courthouse Law Library had a reasonable set of older books and he spent a lot of nights on the top floor of the Courthouse reading, but about once a month, sometimes more, he had to go to the Capital to visit the State Law Library. They had law books going back to the 1780’s. He often needed to consult the books stored there, trying to find a shyster trick to win over a judge or stubborn jury.

“Vera, I’m going to Lansing, do you want to go?” Vera was my mom, he always asked.

She always said, “No.” However, she also always said, “Take David with you. He gets in my hair.”

Going to Lansing to sit in the Atrium of the Capital Building while Dad looked for the legal precedent he needed got old pretty damn quick. It wasn’t like that at first.

At first I ran wild in the building. I opened every unlocked room and tried every locked door. There was a rope with a sign that read CLOSED FOR REPAIRS across the stairs leading to the dome but the door wasn’t locked. Since it was already broke I figured I couldn’t make it any worse. It’s quite a view.

The staff suggested that I stay with my dad since I really had no official business to attend to. I grudgingly agreed ... since that particular staff member probably weighed 300 pounds and was two axe-handles wide across the shoulders and two and a half across her butt.

I was removed to the library for half of one visit and ... in that short space of time ... I had an accident.

Since I spilled the ink bottle on the page Dad needed, the clerks didn’t want me in there with the books. I didn’t see the difficulty. The book was published in 1830, just another old book of no use in modern day 1952. I was 10 and clumsy.

I got relegated to the Atrium and put under the watchful eye of the Master at Arms. That lasted about a minute. I had the display case with the War Trophies opened in seconds and the Luger nearly out of its holster before he caught me. We made a fast trip to the Law Library, him with my ear clutched tightly in his ham fist, and me running on tiptoe. Words were said ... I knew a few. Finally, my Dad asked me what I’d like to do.

“We’ve been reading this story, Way Down Cellar, in our literature book at school. It got pretty exciting and they were just about ready to reveal the secret of the roll top desk which had the secret of the cellar when the page stopped, with the recommendation that we pester our local library for the book so we can find out the ending,” I said. I pouted a second and complained, “They have the book at the State Library. Because they have only one copy, they won’t send it to our library, and they don’t issue library cards to kids. I want to read it so I can find out the secret. I even know where the book is stored: It’s in the Annex.”

Dad said, “Hmm.”

Dad said that often when it came to me.

The Chief Clerk, he who wanted my ass out of his library and away from his precious, but old, books, said, “Let me just call over to State and see what I can do.”

You could hear him lying to the person on the other end of the line, “Oh, he’s a good boy,” he said. “No, Ma’am.”

“No trouble at all.”

“His father is the prosecutor for Clinton County.”

“Yes, Ma’am. I’ll issue him a card.”

He was filling it out as he was speaking.

He hung up, handed me the card, and asked me if I knew where the Annex was.

“Yessir. Corner of East Genesse and North Washington.”

That got me a look so I said, “Four blocks north and one and a half blocks east, red brick one story building by the alley.”

The clerk looked a little amazed.

My Dad said, “Kid knows where he is except in the UP.” He gave me a look, “I’ll be a few hours. Here’s a buck, take off.”

The clerk looked a lot amazed. “He’s ten. You’re going to let him just walk out of here and find his way there?”

I heard my Dad say, “Shush! He might get kidnapped, he’s a spare. My wife and I had four. One to replace her, one to replace me, one for the general increase in the population ... and one in case of accidents.” He laughed.

The clerk laughed.

The Master at Arms laughed and said he knew some people. He could make some calls if my Dad wanted.

I heard the whole crowd laughing. Grownups! The things they think are funny!

Thus, I became the only 10 year old in the state with a library card to the Holy of Holy’s, the State Library in Lansing, Michigan. I used it religiously.

Chapter 2 »