Locomotive to the Past, George Schultz [snow like ashes series txt] 📗

Then, he walked across Grand River—and purchased two pairs of slacks, at Sears. He was able to fit right, into those “duds”—“directly off the rack”. No alterations needed.

He pushed on to United Shirt Distributors. Negotiated eight shirts. Seven heavy-flannel work shirts—and one “extravagant” dress-white job. Plus a couple of, wider-than-he-could-have-expected, neckties. (“A little on the garish side,” as Susan would later advise him.)

He bought two pairs of work shoes—and a pair of wing-tipped dress numbers—at the Father & Son shoe store. Underwear came from the F.W. Woolworth store. The other “five-and-dime”, in the area. Then a, more-than-necessary, highly-serviceable, “even attractive” (quoth Susan) winter jacket—from the Federal Department Store branch, at the popular shopping area.

On a couple of occasions, his arms had gotten to where they were pretty full. The situation reminded him, of having to lug all those heavy groceries—from Kroger’s, to Sheila’s scruffy apartment—every Saturday. (In truth, the parallel responsibility, of being required to—constantly—carry countless heavy loads of bricks, had never entered his mind. Not in that idiom. In absolute truth!))

He’d wound up grabbing a substantial (and not-costly) bite at the luncheonette/soda fountain counter—located at the S.S. Kresge store. Hotdogs were a dime apiece—amazing! He ordered two. Eventually, he’d downed a third one, of those delicacies. And had seriously considered a fourth. Of course, he’d had to come of, with a nickel—twice—for the Vernor’s. The irresistible, “nectar of the gods” beverage—that rounded-out, the hearty, “balanced”, meal. Well, of course, there was that “bothersome” penny tax.

Our Hero was ready to “call it a day”—when he’d met Susan and Eric, as they exited from the theater. They’d seen Andy Hardy’s Double Life, which had starred Mickey Rooney, and a beautiful, brand new, female. star—Esther Williams. The “B” flick—the movie that had accompanied the “Andy Hardy” picture, had been eminently forgettable. But, both of the Atkinsons were completely enamored with Miss Williams.

It must have been her first starring role, thought Jason—because neither Susan, nor Eric, had ever heard of the swimsuit-clad star before. She’d always been one of Grandpa’s favorites. (Especially in her bathing suit.)

Our Boy could understand. He had spent numerous hours—with the old man—watching a VHS rendition, of Thrill Of A Romance. The flick had starred the gorgeous Esther, as well as Van Johnson—and the Tommy Dorsey big band. One of Grandpa’s favorite songs had come from that momentous movie: it was called I Should Care. The ballad had been written, by Axel Stordahl, and Paul Weston—who, Grandpa had always maintained (always) “were, without a doubt, the two most-brilliant arranger/conductors… to ever walk the face of the earth. These guys… both of ’em… were absolute geniuses!”

The Atkinsons, typically, decided to return home—so that Jason would be able to don his new clothes. Then, it was off, once again—to the traditional Saturday night dinner, at Ted’s Bar-B-Q. Again, Eric insisted on picking up the tab, at the restaurant.

Sunday morning! February first! A brand new month! Cheers! Our Boy was able to wear his brand new suit—along with his, equally-new, “dazzling”, white shirt, and his prized wing-tips—to church. (He’d forgotten to lay in any new socks! As usual, Susan—to the rescue.)

Again, the young man was completely taken—with the Latin liturgy. In fact, he was strikingly moved by it—even more than, on his initial visit, the previous Sunday. Virtually, every-other-minute, found him gazing, at his two benefactors—and offering up a silent thanks! A more sincere—a more grateful—thought, had never graced his spirit! Ever!

Then, once the three had partaken of yet another sumptuous breakfast, Jason once again became aware of the fact, that he’d be expected to leave. Something that still made him a little bit uncomfortable! And he didn’t quite know why! Not exactly, anyway. Or so he’d always tried to tell himself. The situation was, really, something that the roomer had, continually, been loath—to try and, to honestly, assess.

In point of fact, however, a goodly portion of him—was actually looking forward, to returning, to that new-found confectionary. The one on Schoolcraft and Prest Street.

He wondered why that should be. Man! There were so many unanswered questions—even pertaining to what, so far, had been a minor occurrence, in his life. He couldn’t possibly have a crush, on June—the beautiful young, red-headed, lady behind the soda fountain! Could he? Nah! Certainly nothing even close to the man-sized case, that he’d fostered—and had positively nurtured, for so many years—on his gorgeous, well-constructed, “Aunt Debbie”. Probably not even approaching the totally-bewitched emotion—that he’d “forever” be feeling—toward Susan Atkinson. (He was also reluctant to try and analyze that. To even come close—to analyzing it!)

Hurriedly, he’d walked back—up to Schoolcraft. This time he took Greenfield. (He’d had no longing—to try and climb those two stupid fences, again. The inconvenient “obstacles”—located, on each side of the damnable railroad tracks. Especially not in his new slacks and shirt.) He was not about to admit it—not even to himself—but, he was hoping to dazzle June, with his new “threads”. At least, a little bit. Hopefully, a little more—than just “a little bit”. Hopefully, a lot more! (Hopefully!)

June was even busier—on this Sunday. But, she did mention (after serving him his “traditional” bottle of Vernor’s—and taking the dime, to cover his ,also-“traditional”, nickel sack, of potato chips) that she’d asked around. Had inquired—extensively—about the Piepczyk family. That had been so nice of her, Jason had reflected. After all, she didn’t really know him. Or (thankfully) who he was.

The beautiful “soda jerk” believed that she might have a lead, for Our Boy! And she thought—that “the lady ought to be in, this afternoon”. Apparently—well, hopefully—this expected-visitor “just might” know something! A possible tidbit of data—relating to his grandfather’s, early-forties, family. June’s announcement certainly sounded most encouraging.

The young man bought a comic book—Captain Marvel Comics—for a dime. Grandpa Piepczyk had—on many occasions—remarked about Captain Marvel, aka “Big Red Cheese”.

In his “other” life, the superhero was “Billy Batson—Boy Broadcaster” (on station WHIZ—named after the title, of the comic book, in which the strip had originally appeared). WHIZ