Chapter 3

News Item: The Department of Education released its latest numbers on math and reading test scores for eighth and eleventh graders. The numbers show a significant increase of 3.7% in math proficiency and 5.5% in reading ability. Government scientists attribute these increases to daily prayer in school and the new federal mandate on reading Bible in school.

The early morning was awkward but Brendan made it his business to be helpful. Sheila had to get the boys ready for school and still catch the bus for her shift at the hospital. It took Brendan a few minutes to realize that he was camped out right in the middle of their morning routine; he was lying prone, wrapped in a blanket in the center of activity. He was laying on the backpack stuffing, shoe-tying, last minute checklist installation.

Brendan got off the couch and slipped into his clothes. After instituting a couple of last minute tickle checks on the nephews, he offered to walk the boys to their bus stop. Leaving Sheila free to take an earlier bus without hassle, Brendan hoped he was earning brownie points with her. Paul grunted in the midst of the chaos as he pulled a shirt over his head and pounded out the door to open the garage at 7:00 without breakfast or coffee.

Brendan tried to be helpful, hoping again that Sheila would cut him some slack. The last thing he had ever expected was to be labeled "His brother, the bum." He feared he was earning that title at that very moment.

Breakfast: that was a new routine for Brendan as well. In the silent house he sat at the faded laminate table twirling a piece of discount store brand toasted bread between his fingers as he sipped a tepid cup of bitter coffee.

He thought back to a lecture in his class on the American History. At the beginning of the twentieth century, the common man in the United States had a slice of toast and a cup of coffee for breakfast. When the Depression arrived, the egg and pork producers were getting slammed as people slackened their purchases of these commodities. Along came a brilliant adman who happened to be the nephew of Sigmund Freud and who had listened well to his uncle's lessons. He changed the breakfast habits of a nation through a brilliant campaign of introducing "The All American Breakfast" of bacon and eggs.

The ad had worked for a hundred years until this current downturn. Nowadays, folks were happy for a piece of toast to make it through the morning. Brendan stopped playing with his breakfast and ate it. He swept up the crumbs from the table and ate those as well. He wanted a newspaper, but he would have to wait until he got to the bus station where he could pluck a used copy from the benches.

TV was all snow all the time. U.S. broadcasters no longer transmitted analog signals for the local stations. The Federal initiative was supposed to bring about a new era in TV entertainment and broadcasting in HD. Instead, the good intention morphed into a draconian law that forbade cheap TV signals and left working people without access. Cable TV was a de facto monopoly, charging what they thought the market could bear. Paul and Sheila had decided they would have to do without which meant that unless Brendan wanted to play video games that had been old when he was a teenager, there was nothing on TV.

His mood was glum and he was at a loss of what to do with himself as he considered the hours ahead of him. He had waited for two years for this moment and he had no clue what to do with himself. A knock at the door startled him.

Warily he opened the door.

"Dad!"

"You dressed and ready to go? I've got half a tank of gas and no where special to be for most of the day."

"Why didn't you tell me last night that you wanted to drive me? I was feeling like forgotten leftovers in the back of the fridge." Brendan scrambled for his socks and shoes as fast as he could.

His father looked him in the eye with an entirely sober face. "Let's just say that your mother wasn't at her best last night and leave it at that. I'm willing to drive you if we don't mention the subject of your mother again today. Do we have a deal?"

Everything with Brendan's dad was a deal. He bought his car because it was a deal. He drank at Charlie's Corner because "they had an understanding"; they had a deal. Growing up, every son had a deal going with dad. "I'll throw a ball with you later if you don't tell your mother about going to A.J.'s Go-Go Lounge" was the usual deal. "Change the oil in the car and you can have car Saturday night before your brother asks." When he offered that deal, life was sweet. Those were good days back then.

"No problem, Dad. I'm ready to roll." Brendan wondered if A.J.'s Go-Go Lounge was still around. He didn't feel comfortable asking about A.J.'s even though he knew that everyone else knew. Maybe he hesitated because he had decided that A.J.'s was lame since he had spent part of his 21st birthday there. The one dancer he could remember had bleached blonde hair with a face like a horse, teeth included. He shook the image out of his head and slid into the car seat.

To avoid the toll on the Jersey Turnpike, they had to take the long, slow Route 1 Bridge and whip around the backside of Newark Airport. Brendan didn't really mind. He was enjoying the moments of nostalgia as they passed landmarks he had committed to memory. He gazed upon the New Jersey he remembered: the small homes with crappy yards in neighborhoods that were separated by highways and industrial zones. The oil tanks rose and fell as ships came and left. Growling trucks maneuvered in the back of warehouses with their incessant "beep, beep" when they shifted into reverse. Somebody clanged the doors on a boxcar or slapped their hooks underneath a heavy container for hoisting. The air smelled of oil and grease and grit, which his father had preached was a sign of prosperity.

Before Brendan realized it, his father had pulled into a parking space at the Longshoreman's Union Hall in Elizabeth, behind the Budweiser distillery. As he opened the door he could smell the yeast. The chain link fence looked rusted at the back of the lot where long strands of weeds poked out of the buckled cracks in the asphalt. The hall was the same red brick building with the long flat roof that Brendan remembered. The brick looked a little more weathered, a bit grey with chinks in the mortar between. In fact, the entire area had that feel of age and neglect, as if an earlier pride had slunk off and run away years ago.

"Uh, Dad, why are we here?"

"Trying to get you a job, Danny. Don't give me that look because there is a method to my madness. You smile and act polite, and let me do the talking."

They walked through the door into the tepid room of still air with the little overhead light. Brendan's father walked past the empty information desk and through the door to the social lounge. Brendan followed with his head down and his hands tucked in his pockets.

"Louie!"

"Vince! Youse lookin' good. Danny Boy! Glad to see you outa de hoosegow."

A huge hairy paw flashed in front of Brendan's vision and he automatically reached out and shook the hand. He was startled when he squeezed harder than Louie. Louie had always been the monster that had a kid on his knees begging for release from his paw. Louie was nice about it; the game was his way of playing with everyone else's kids. Another childhood memory was shaken.

"Geez Louise, Danny Boy. You pumped some iron while youse was up da river."

"Yeah, I did, Mr. Kaczinski."

"Yeah, yeah," Brendan's father stepped between them. "You can arm wrestle later. Listen, Louie, Brendan is looking for a job through his union. Who do we know at the NEA that he can call?"

"Dad?" Brendan said. "I can call the union rep at my old school."

Louie said, "Danny Boy, you respect your father and don't give him no lip. Youse can't go to that bozo because he was a part of the screwing you took. He didn't fight for you; he didn't stand up for you; he didn't do shit for you. You don't need that kinda asshole and he ain't gonna know anybody anyhow."