On a gray December afternoon in Brooklyn, a
young boy, Harold Becker, raced out of school with a big grin on his face. His
chubby body and winter padding slowed him down somewhat, but he labored to
reach home as quickly as possible. He
ran past the large brownstone apartments where women sat on the stoops of the
buildings and gossiped while keeping an eye on their children. He heard the shrieks of small children
playing on the sidewalk.
He approached a gathering
of tough Irish boys laughing and smoking ahead of him. In 1928, Brooklyn served as home to many immigrant families. For the most part, people only associated with folks from their homeland while they viewed others through distorted lenses. Occasionally, street fights broke out between ethnic gangs of youths as they vied for dominance of the street.
Harold twitched nervously. The boys looked mean and tough. He didn't know how to defend himself if he needed to. He clenched his shoulders as he prepared to pass the ruffians. They were all older than he. One of them grimaced, flexed his arm and shook his fist at Harold.
“Go Jew boy! Hurry home to mommela,” he taunted.
Harold moved to one side as the boys tried to block his passage and narrowly missed tripping because one of the thugs stuck out his foot. When
his book bag slipped to the ground Harold retrieved it without looking up. He turned his face away from the bullies to
hide his tears. The raucous
laughter of the O’Malley brothers and their friends taunted him as he ran away. The
small gang continued yelling insults at the boy until he disappeared around the
corner.
When Harold turned the
corner he breathed a sigh of relief and calmed himself by remembering why he
needed to hurry home. He quickened his
pace once more and ran past the green grocer, the butcher shop and the bakery. Normally, he would stop at the bakery to buy
a sweet treat, but not now even though the fragrance of freshly baked
pound cake momentarily weakened his resolve. He had to remind himself that today he had
important business at home. At last, he
reached the tiny shop, “Becker’s Grocery and Deli”. The sign on the window of the small shop
needed repainting, but that cost too much money. Panting heavily, he
burst through the door and startled the customer, a good friend of his mother.
“Ma, Ma!
Today’s the day! Is it here
yet?
“Heshie, please apologize to Mrs. Goodman and
then go upstairs. We’ll talk later.” The boy’s mother, Sadie, stood behind the deli
counter. Her dark eyes shifted from the
customer to her son as she gave him a sharp look of disapproval and then continued
her conversation.
“I’m telling you, Ida,
I saw Sarah Jacobson’s daughter holding hands with that goyishe boy. No good can come of it! Oy, poor Ida has her hands full with Miriam!”
“Sounds like Miriam has
her hands full too!” The two women
chortled at the little joke
Hanging his head down,
the boy slowly climbed the stairs to the family apartment above the shop. He entered the bedroom he shared with his
sister, Evelyn. Posters of trains both freight
and passenger lined the wall on his side of the tiny room. His sister hadn’t come home yet. “Good, he thought, I have some time to
myself.” He pulled out a book about
trains from under his bed and plopped on the bed to read and dream.
Harold had always loved
watching the commuter trains as they passed overhead through the middle of his
street. His heart quickened each time
the cars rushed above his head clacking on the tracks while the locomotive’s
whistle screamed “Make way, make way”.
Last November the boy
had seen an electric train circling its track in a toy shop window. He watched in fascination as the miniature locomotive
pulled its cargo round and round a small village with houses, trees, shops and
a train depot. A horn sounded each time the Engine passed the station. His mother tugged at his sleeve and urged him
to move on. She had many errands to
complete that day. The boy resisted
until she used that intimidating tone of voice all mothers use when they mean
business. “Heshie, now!”
“Ma, could I have a
train set like that one for my birthday?”
“Heshie, you’ll ask
your father tonight. Now, hurry up.”
Later, that evening at
home, Harold’s eyes glowed as he described the model train to his father. “You
should have seen it Papa. It ran on
electricity and had a horn and everything.
The houses looked so real. They even had lights on. I would set it up on a board and store it
under the bed. Maybe later we could add
more tracks. Oh, please Papa, please, do
you think I could get one for my birthday?”
Morris eyes closed for
a moment. He opened them and frowned as
he considered the eagerness in his son’s face.
Finally, he answered. “Heshie, I
can do better than that. I know a man
who makes model electric trains. We’ll
get him to make you a set better than the one in the store. Your birthday comes in a few months. Surely, he can have a train ready by then. Dancing around the small living room, Harold
transformed into a whistling steam engine.
Unfortunately, Harold’s
birthday came and went without any trains.
The man hadn’t quite finished yet, but according to Papa, the train set
grew more elaborate as time passed. “The
man wants you to have the best gift ever.
Have a little more patience. When
he finishes, you will have the finest toy railroad in all of Brooklyn.”
Finally,
the day arrived when Harold’s papa said he would pick up the completed train. When Harold left school he wondered if the train would be waiting for
him. He remembered his previous dissappointment, so nervousness dampened some of the excitement as he raced home. Sounds of the city, the swish of cars, beeping horns, shouts of street vendors whizzed by him until he reached his destination. He noticed the door to the shop squeaked as he opened it.
Ma stood behind the
deli counter cutting meat. Papa was
putting some groceries in a bag. He
nodded at his son while finishing his work
“Well?” The boy looked expectantly from one parent to the other. His mother wrung her hands and his father
clenched his teeth. The boy bellowed, “Where
is my train?”
“Oy, Heshela, lower
your voice. Papa went to see the man
just this morning.”
“And?”
“It seems he hasn’t
finished your train set yet, but it’s because at he’s adding some new
pieces. The village will have a town
hall, and the track will pass through a tunnel under a mountain. I hear
he’s also making an engine that blows real smoke. I’m telling you, Heshie, this train set will
be a beaut! Soon you’ll be the envy of
all your friends!”
The boy didn’t hear
that last bit. In his mind the engine
with real smoke was already hauling freight through the mountain tunnel as
Engineer Harold worked the controls.
While the boy stood
daydreaming, Ma looked at her son and smiled sadly before removing her
apron. Lost in her own thoughts, she
went upstairs to fix supper without hearing the question her husband asked.
The whole family, Papa,
Ma, Harold, and his older sister Evelyn ate dinner together every evening after
the shop closed. That was the happiest
time of day. Evelyn helped her mother,
and the two would gossip together while Harold stole bits of the fixings. Papa came up after closing the grocery. Then the family would sit together and share
thoughts while eating heartedly. Money
was scarce in those days, but Mama could transform a few potatoes and some
scraps of meat into a feast.
That evening at the
dinner table while stuffing his face, Harold asked his father once again, “When
will you talk to the man again, Papa?”
“Heshie, don’t talk
with your mouth full, “scolded Mama. His
sister, Evelyn, sniggered. Harold glared
at her.
Morris’s body tensed as
he pondered a few moments over his son’s question. He knitted his brow. After a moment he smiled and answered, “Soon,
Heshie, soon”. Then turning to his
wife, Morris said, “Sadie the brisket is very tender.”
Young Harold wanted to
ask more questions about the man and his train set, but now the family conversation
focused on the meal, Evelyn’s school project and other family issues. The rest of them could think about other
things, but nothing mattered to Harold more than his amazing train set. It would be so much better than the one in
the toy shop. He talked to all his
friends about it constantly. He promised
they could play with it when it arrived, but warned them that they would have
to be very careful.
After dinner, Harold
went downstairs with his father to help stock the shelves in the grocery for
the next day. He loved the sound the
knife made as it sliced through the unopened cardboard boxes. He stood on the ladder and looked down. From there, his father seemed so small.
“Here, Heshie, take
these. His father handed him cans of
pumpkin, beets and peas. Harold took the
cans and carefully placed them on the proper shelves stacking them one atop the
other. “Papa,” he said, “when do you
think the man…?”
“Heshie, enough already
about the man and the train! It’ll be
finished when it’s finished. You just
have to wait!
The boy nodded as tears
filled his eyes. He knew he shouldn’t sound
impatient or ungrateful. These things
couldn’t be rushed Papa had explained.
All the details being added needed precision and care to be done
authentically. But didn’t Papa
understand how he longed to play with that train? He even had an engineer’s hat ready to wear
when the set finally arrived. Bernie
Goldstein’s father worked as an accountant for the railroad. He got the hat for Harold. It sat on Harold’s nightstand waiting just as
Harold waited.
Harold thought, “I am
tired of waiting for my train. Why isn’t
it finished already?” Suddenly, he
dropped a can of beets and watched it hit the ground with a loud crash.
“Oy, be careful. You almost hit me!” scolded Morris as he
picked up the can. It’s dented too. Now I’ll have to sell it for discount. We can’t afford to lose the money.” Morris saw the remorseful look on his son’s
face and immediately regretted snapping at the boy.
“My son’s such a good
boy,” he thought. Then he said aloud,
answering the unasked question. Heshie, the
man promised to have it ready by April fifth.
In six months you will get your miniature railroad. I promise”
“Six more months!” The boy scowled. “Why does it have to take so long? Well at least there’s a date to look forward
to. Do you promise it will be ready
then?” Papa nodded. The boy’s face brightened. He finished stocking the shelves with canned
vegetables. While descending the ladder
the father and son looked at each other.
“Thank you, Papa.” The man
mumbled, “Hmm”, while he checked the shop door and switched off the light.
Then the two climbed
the dimly lit stairs that led to the apartment.
Mama and Evelyn had just finished cleaning up the kitchen. Evelyn turned on the radio as she and Mama
sat in the living room to listen to their favorite radio program, Fibber Magee
and Molly. The family leaned in
listening to the small radio and laughed together before retiring to bed.
As he fell asleep that
night, Harold imagined how envious his friends would be when they saw his train. He would only let them play with it if they
followed his rules. Harold’s smile
relaxed only slightly as he drifted off to sleep.
During the next six
months Harold plagued his father with questions about the train set. Papa assured him that the train would be
delivered on schedule as he gave updates on the additions to the project. As
April fifth approached, the train set consumed the boy’s thoughts more than
ever and left room for little else. His
friends grew weary of train talk and threatened to stop playing with him if he
didn’t talk about something else. Once
Harold’s teacher called home to say he often seemed distracted in school. When Mama questioned him about it Harold lied
and said his teacher didn’t like Jewish boys.
Ma looked at him suspiciously.
“I’m going to talk to some the other mothers to see if she treats their
sons poorly.” Harold begged her not
to. “Then you’d better pay more
attention young man!”
On the morning of April
fifth, Harold pounded on his parents’ bedroom door. Outside, only a hint of gray suggested that
dawn approached anytime soon.
“Ma, Papa, today’s the
day! What time will he bring it? Can I stay home today and wait?”
Harold heard groans
from within his parents’ room.
“Heshela,” began the groggy voice of his mother, “you’ll go to
school. When you get home, it’ll be
here.”
The muted voices of
Harold’s parents droned on for a while.
“Are they arguing?” he wondered.
He couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t worry much about it. Ma and Papa often quarreled just like Harold
and his sister, Evelyn.
Quietly, Harold got
dressed and lost himself in dreams of trains as he waited for Mama to get up
and fix breakfast.
After school, Harold
didn’t run home. He deliberately
measured out each step along the way. He
wanted to savor the moments of anticipation until he first saw his new model
railroad.
He passed Mrs. Goodman
on the street. She called to him. “Harold, come here a minute. I have the face powder your mother asked me
to buy. Come with me to my
apartment. You’ll take it to her. I have some cookies for you too.
Harold couldn’t refuse
his mother’s friend. He knew he would
never hear the end of it if he did, so he went with Mrs. Goodman to her apartment.
The rooms looked just as small as his family’s
home with similarly shabby furniture. Harold
took the box of powder but refused the cookies saying that he had eaten a big lunch and
wasn’t hungry.
Finally on his way again,
Harold spotted the O’Malley gang in the distance. He took a longer route to avoid a confrontation.
When at last he arrived
at the shop, both his parents quickly disappeared into the back room. He heard a hushed conversation from the stock room.
Perhaps they were setting up the train.
“Ma, Papa” he called as
his heart raced. Is it back there?”
“No!” They called out in unison.
Then, losing the
control he used getting home, Harold raced up the stairs two steps at a
time. He searched each room but found
nothing. “Where is it?” he shouted down
the stairway.
Ma and Papa called him
to come back to the shop. Ma beckoned
the boy to come close. Her face looked
somber. She pinched her mouth and twisted
her apron strings before speaking. “Heshie, the man died this morning. There’ll be no train.
The boy stared silently
at his parents. He felt as though he had aged several years, and before Ma even finished
speaking, beheld the two adults with different eyes. He saw how they lowered their faces to hide
the betrayal, and in that moment, they seemed to shrink in stature. He noticed that wrinkles lined Ma’s face. He saw that Papa’s back hunched as he stood
and regarded with distaste Papa’s large bulbous nose. How dingy the shop suddenly looked to the boy.
Harold’s body tightened,
and he ran out to the street. Sadie
rushed forward to stop him, but Morris held her back. Evelyn, who had just come in, started to ask
but decided to keep quiet.
Harold came back later
that evening. He nodded to his parents
and went into his bedroom. The boy
walked to his nightstand, removed the engineer’s hat and placed it on his head
for the first and last time. Then he
carefully tucked it into his bottom drawer with the beloved stuffed bear he no
longer played with.
The next day, Harold
ate breakfast and went to school. He
greeted his schoolmates. They played
handball together against a backdrop on the playground. There was no more talk of trains.
