Lost and Found – a Novel by Ron Rink

The next Chapter of Lost and Found is posted below.

I sure do hope everyone had a great week. Mine was rather dull until we went with friends to see a community theater production of the play, “The Producers”. When I was in Vermont, I did a lot of community theater work, both as an actor and also doing work as a crew member — lighting, sound, set construction, etc. But, I need to tell you, I think the folks who put on “The Producers” here did an amazing job. This was professional quality community theater. Just fabulous. If any of you Dayton readers haven’t seen it, get your tickets. It’s worth it.

Be well — be in peace,

Ron Rink
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Not long after school was done for the summer, Miss Thomas informed me she would be having a few of her better students put on a recital. “How would you like to be one of my performers?” she asked.

My first reaction had been one of sheer panic. I knew Charlie was one of her students, but I’d never met any of her other students, nor had I ever heard any of them play. The part of me always needing to be better than anyone else, took over. In all my many lesson sessions with Miss Thomas, her criticisms were never about poor playing, but were rather about how to improve on something already good. A second, simultaneous reaction had leaped into my mind as I recalled the day at school when I played the Chopin Polonaise. The feelings of elation I had that day came back to me in a rush. I loved the feeling. I loved the applause. I loved seeing the tears of the teacher. I loved the looks of the giggling girls in the hallways and on my front porch when I practiced. The two reactions then blended into a conclusion that if Miss Thomas thought I was good enough to take part in the recital, then perhaps I was.

“I guess I would,” I answered. “What would I play?”

“I thought it would be good for you to play the Polonaise, since you have it sounding so good now, and perhaps the E flat Chopin Nocturne. You almost have the first movement of the Beethoven Sonata learned, so we might be able to have it ready as well. The recital won’t be for a couple of months.”

My concerns about the other students took over again. “How many of us will be in the recital?” I asked with trepidation in my voice.

“I think I’ll have only three of you this time,” she answered with a knowing smile on her face. “Are you worried about something?”

The last thing I would ever have wanted Miss Thomas to think was that I could ever be less than perfect. There were two areas of my life where I felt a need to prove I was worthy. The gang was one, and being worthy of Miss Thomas’ approval was another. I answered accordingly, “No. I was just wondering is all.”

“Good. Then we’ll devote our lessons, and your practice time, to those three pieces. We have time yet, so we should be able to have them ready to go.”

During the early part of that summer, I made a decision not to try to run away. I didn’t want to be living on the streets because I didn’t want to lose the practice time for the recital. I loved the three pieces we were working on, and I was feeling more confident about playing them to perfection. When I would run away, I’d either sneak into the Intermediate school and use one of their pianos in the afternoons, or practice at a friend’s house. I didn’t pack music when I ran away, so the only things I could practice were pieces I’d completely memorized.

There was one time, the summer before when I was on the streets, when Miss Thomas had asked me some hard questions. When I wasn’t living at home, I would always manage to get to someone’s house to take a bath and put on clean clothes before a piano lesson. On this particular occasion, however, I hadn’t been able to. I’d been working at the racetrack, sleeping part of the time on some hay bales, part of the time under porches or in the back seats of cars in garages, and the rest of the time on the floor in the bowling alley. I’d managed to use the bathroom at the Sugar Bowl to wash my face and hands, but I still smelled like a stable and my clothes were filthy. I didn’t want to miss the lesson so I went anyway. I knew how dirty I was because the people on the bus had given me strange looks.

When I walked into the door of Miss Thomas’ studio, she looked up quickly from her desk, smiled, and then looked at me again with an expression of shock and surprise on her face. Her smile faded and she said, “Roland, are you alright?”

The skin on my face turned hot from the blush that bloomed as my embarrassment rose. “Yes ma’am,” I answered in a tight whisper.

“Roland, your clothes are filthy and from the smell of you I would bet you haven’t had a bath in quite some time. What is going on? You need to tell me why you’ve come to your lesson like this.” Her voice was stern and forceful. It was the first time Miss Thomas had ever raised her voice to me. The urge to cry was overwhelming. The tears had begun to well up in my eyes. I could feel my throat closing as I choked back a sob. Miss Thomas was probably the only person in the world whose anger I couldn’t bear.

I swallowed back the tears as my mind searched for an answer to her question. I didn’t want her to know I’d run away from home. I knew if she was aware of it she would have to call my mother and I’d be back home again in no time. I felt as though I had to go to the bathroom as I stood there with my eyes down and my hands stuffed into the pockets of my overalls.

I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind. “I went with some friends to the racetrack this morning, and we were fooling around in the stables and I got dirty. I stayed too long and I didn’t have time to go home before my lesson.”

Miss Thomas looked at me as though she was trying to make up her mind whether or not to believe me. I could feel myself withering under her gaze. Finally she stood up, put her hands on her hips and said, “Well, I can’t let you sit on my furniture with such filthy clothes, and I certainly can’t see how either one of us could concentrate on a piano lesson with you being so dirty. You’ll have to go home now. And Roland, don’t ever come to a lesson like this again, do you understand?”

I squirmed in my devastation. To lose the respect of this woman was more than I could bear. I couldn’t manage to speak or look at her, so I just nodded my head and turned to go.

Just as I was reaching out to open the door, she spoke in her normal, quiet voice, “I will see you here next week, Roland, and if you ever need someone to talk to about anything, you can always talk with me, you know.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I whispered as I went out the door and around the corner of the studio.

I didn’t start to cry until I reached the street.
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The next Chapter of my memoir/novel, Lost and Found, is ready.

As promised, I’m a day late with this Chapter. I’ve been having some computer/cable problems which put me behind in my writing. Not an excuse, but a reason, instead.

Our weather here in southwest Ohio has taken a delightful turn today. It’s almost 11:00 AM and our temp outside is still in the upper sixties! This is a major change and it sure feels good to have windows open and fresh air pouring in.

Okay, that’s it for the weather report, let’s get to some reading. No fighting or violence in today’s Chapter. Just some wounds to take care of.

Be well — be in peace,

Ron Rink
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On the way back from the rumble, Bob Martin said, “You guys need to stay away from the Sugar Bowl for the rest of the night.”

“Why’s that?’ I asked.

“It’s the first place the cops will come looking. It’s also possible that the Livernois boys could come around looking for some revenge,” he explained.

As soon as he dropped us off, I headed around to the back of the store to get my bike. Sally came around just as I was ready to ride off. She reached out, touched my hand and said, “Take care of your head. I’ll see you — maybe tomorrow.”

I watched her get into her cousin’s car and drive off, and then started pedaling for home. I was filled with mixed feelings. I was elated with the outcome of the rumble. Even though the adrenaline lift I’d experienced when we ran to the car after the rumble had faded, I still felt a sense of power and invulnerability. However, the sense of power didn’t translate into a feeling of strength. I’d also noticed I was trembling. My hands were weak on the handlebars, my wrist where the chain got me was hurting a lot, my legs could barely push the pedals of my bike, and I shivered as though I was cold. Sometimes, after working for a full day at the racetrack lugging heavy buckets of water and bales of hay, I’d have the same sense of physical exhaustion.

On another level, I’d begun to realize a certain bond developing between Sally and me. She’d been treating me much nicer than she treated anyone else in the gang. I saw levels of caring and gentleness which had never been evident in her before. I enjoyed the way that made me feel. I felt as though I could be more vulnerable around her than I could around most of the others in the gang, except for Billy, of course.

In the car on the way back to the Sugar Bowl, I’d noticed my shirt had some blood on it. I decided there wouldn’t be a good way to wash it on my own, so instead of going up my street in front of the houses, I rode down the alley behind them instead. A few houses down from my house, I took the shirt off and stuffed it into a garbage can behind one of the garages.

I got in the house with about a half hour to spare before my parents came home. I went into the bathroom and saw the top and right side of my head was covered with dried blood. My hair was caked with blood. I filled the sink with warm water, took a washcloth and started to wash the blood away. When the water hit the top of my head, it stung as though I’d put iodine on it. The water turned bright red. I looked at the washcloth and saw it was red as well. I let the water out, rinsed the washcloth and refilled the sink. I kept washing and eventually got the blood out of my hair and off my head, but it wouldn’t wash completely out of the washcloth.

Fortunately, the cut had stopped bleeding. I couldn’t see the cut but I could tell from the bump on my head it was near the top. The bump felt like it was the size of a large marble. I found a tube of salve in the medicine chest my mother had used on small cuts and rubbed some of it where I thought the cut might be. I decided if my parents noticed it or asked me about it, I would tell them I’d fallen off my bike on the way home from the practice. Plus, if they noticed my wrist being sore the bike accident story would fit right in. It would have also explained the washcloth being a slightly different color than it was before.

The interesting thing was — they never asked.

The next Chapter of my memoir/novel, Lost and Found, is ready.

Oops! Sorry folks, I had my head screwed on backwards yesterday and it never crossed my mind it was Wednesday. And, as you can see, we’re a day late with this week’s new Chapter of the book. But, as we old-timers like to say, “Better late than never!”

It’s possible there may be a delay again next week. I don’t have the next Chapter ready-to-go yet, and I may not get it done in time to post it. I know you can write early and set the publish date ahead of time with a blog, so it will depend on whether I get it ready in time. I may not be around next Wednesday, so if it doesn’t show up, don’t fret — I’ll get it up here as soon as I can.

Be well — be in peace,

Ron Rink
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I had to work on Saturday at the bowling alley. Before I went home to eat, I stopped at the Sugar Bowl. There were more Dukes and Duchesses hanging around than usual. The mood in the store was vibrating with the excitement of the coming rumble. Everyone seemed to be smoking one cigarette after another. The chatter was mostly about how we were going to be giving the Livernois boys the worst night of their lives. Many of the conversations dealt with the imagined blow-by-blow descriptions of their successful individual battles.

I looked around to see if Sally was there, but I didn’t see her. I went to the counter, bought a chocolate coke, took it over and slid into a booth where Crazy Jimmy was sitting with Freddy Shaw.

Crazy Jimmy was kidding Freddy. “I’m gonna be roving backup, Freddy, but I can’t be spending all night saving your ass, you know.”

“Don’t worry,” Freddy responded with bravado, “I’ll probably have to stop what I’m doing just to pull some assholes off you.”

Freddy was one of the bigger guys in the gang — big, but not too bright. He consistently flunked courses in school. He wasn’t one of the better fighters in the gang either, but once he hit someone, they usually stayed down. He was as strong as an ox and just as lumbering. He was slow, but it didn’t matter because people couldn’t hurt him. I’d seen guys in the gang hit Freddy in the stomach as hard as they could, and he would just shrug it off. There were several stories about how Freddy was able to shake off more than one attacker and still not get hurt. I had often thought how lucky I was that Bob Morton hadn’t made Freddy one of the guys I had to fight.

“You ever been in a rumble, Van Buren?” Jimmy asked, squinting against the smoke that was getting into his eyes.

I shook my head. “I’ll be okay.”

Freddy piped in, “Yeah, I heard you and Billy have been practicing,”

“You gonna be using a chain or a club?” asked Jimmy.

“Club and knuckles,” I answered.

I finished my chocolate coke and went home for dinner.

At seven o’clock that night, I left the house on my bike and headed for the Sugar Bowl. My parents left the house just a minute or two before me. Even though Billy had made me more confident about fighting in a rumble, I felt a combination of nervousness and excitement.

When I arrived at the Sugar Bowl, I put my bike behind the store. Most of the gang members were hanging around outside. Their mood seemed to be similar to mine. The excitement and hyper activity of earlier that day was replaced by a grimness which bordered on a harsh fierceness. No one was talking. There wasn’t any horseplay. The cigarettes were still being consumed in great quantities. Even the Duchesses, who normally would be chattering away, were quiet.

At seven-thirty, Bob Morton pulled up alongside the Sugar Bowl in the same Buick he drove the week before. He got out of the car, came around to the passenger side and leaned back against the hood of the car with his arms folded in front of him. The gang members all drifted over to the side of the building facing him and waited quietly. Morton looked at the group and called out, “Sammy, where’s your bandanna?” Sammy pulled one out of his back pocket and tied it around his head.

“Okay, who has cars?” Morton asked.

Three of the guys raised their hands.

“Billy, Van Buren, Sally and Sally’s cousin will ride with me. I can take one more. Jimmy, you ride with me too. The rest of you split up between the other cars and let’s go. When we get to Hazel Park, follow me—I’ll show you where to park. When we pull off onto the street, turn your lights off and keep quiet. We don’t want the cops showing up before we even get started.”

When we got to Hazel Park, we all pulled into the street two blocks over from the school, turned our cars around so they were facing back the way we came in, and quietly worked our way through the vacant lots and over to the school playground. We were alone. The other gang hadn’t arrived. Morton was having a conversation with Sally and her cousin, whose name we learned was Diane. He motioned for Billy and me to come over.

“Stay here with me. As soon as Sally and Diane point out the three guys, we’ll make our move.” Even if all three of them don’t show up, I’ll still take Sally’s guy and you two take the other one.”

It wasn’t long before we started to hear some car doors being slammed out in front of the school. I whispered to Billy, “Those guys are going to have a hell of a time escaping if the cops show up.”

We watched as a group of guys with red bandannas began to drift in along the other side of the enclosed playground area. Arthur came in first and as soon as the next guy came into view, Sally nudged Morton and whispered, “It’s the second guy. That’s the one who grabbed me.” Morton looked at Billy and me with a question in his eyes and we both nodded letting him know we had heard her.

A few more guys walked in and stood next to the wall of the other wing. We could see them clearly, even in the poor light. We could also see some chains and clubs in their hands. Diane, who had stood between Billy and me leaned over and said, “My guys are standing right next to each other. They’re the last two guys over on the right.” Billy nudged Morton who nodded and looked over at us. He raised his eyebrows as if to say, “Ready?” I had so many butterflies in my stomach I thought I would throw up, but I also had this new feeling — I wanted to look good for Sally. I didn’t want her to see my fear. For some reason I didn’t understand at the time, I wanted to impress her, so I nodded along with Billy.

Morton, Billy and I stepped out away from the wall and started to walk slowly towards the middle of the area between the two building wings. The other guys pushed off from the walls on both sides and moved towards each other. Morton whispered, “Move with me and get your guys.” Then he broke into a run, made a beeline for the blonde guy and clipped him across the upper arm with his chain. Billy and I started running as well. I was to the right of Billy, so I drove my fist with the brass knuckles straight into the nose of the guy on the far right. Blood spurted out of his nose and his hands went to his face as he jumped back. I hit him across his right ear with the club and he went to his knees. I kicked him hard in the chest and he fell back and stayed there.

Just then, someone jumped onto my back and started pummeling me on the top of my head with a club. I swung around trying to get him off my back, but he hung on as if he was riding a bucking bronco. His blows were hurting and I was seeing stars as I felt myself weakening. His head was right next to mine, so I took my bat and stabbed as hard as I could into his face. I don’t know what I managed to hit, but he let go and I managed to get a quick jab at him with my brass knuckles before I saw Bobby rap him on the side of his head with his chain. He went down.

I looked around and saw Billy was swinging wildly at Arthur and another guy with his chain. Suddenly Arthur grabbed Billy’s chain and pulled hard. Billy was jerked into the range of the other guys’ chain. I didn’t see Morton. Bobby yelled in my ear, “Let’s get them from behind!” I got there first and clubbed the guy swinging his chain across the back of his head. He spun around and his chain whipped across my shoulder. I felt my right arm, the one with the knuckles go numb. I was raising my bat when we heard the sirens. The guy who had just hit me looked over toward the street, and I hit him with all my strength with the bat. He sunk to the ground. As he went down I saw Arthur fall right after Billy connected with his chain.

Suddenly Billy was grabbing me by the arm and yelling, “Get the fuck out of here. Head for the cars.”

The two gangs were scattering in opposite directions as a few cops came running around the building. Luckily for us, they came around the side opposite of where we would be escaping. As I ran, I looked around to see if any of the Dukes were on the ground, but I didn’t see any.

Billy yelled in my ear, “Keep going. Don’t slow down!” We were into the woods before the cops made it into the playground. As I looked back from the woods, I could see they were going after some guys who were still in the middle of the grounds. They had their billy clubs in their hands. I heard Billy to my left yelling, “Get to the cars!”

When we got to the car, Sally and Diane were already in the back seat. Jimmy was just opening the side door in front. I heard Morton behind me as he yelled, “Get into the car!” Morton, Billy and I all jumped in at about the same time, slammed our doors as the car roared up the side street and made a sharp turn onto the main street with wheels screeching.

The turn slammed me up against Sally in the back seat. She didn’t push me away, but rather looked into my eyes and gave me a quick, sweet smile.

Then her look changed to one of concern as she said, “You’re bleeding.”
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http://www.buddhistbelief.com
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It’s Wednesday and it’s time for the next Chapter of Lost and Found.

I sure do hope all you wonderful readers of Lost and Found have the patience to “hang in there”. I know it’s just a few minutes of your time each week, but as I continue the writing of this story of mine, I realize this is a darn big book. I’m guessing when people come to the blog for the first time and see the Table of Contents they figure, “Nope! Too long for me! I don’t have time for this,” — and they go on to something else.

I just want those of you who are staying with me on this project to know how appreciated you are. If it wasn’t for you, I think I might decide to fold up my tent and move on. However, for reasons of my own — as you will see as the book continues — this story needs to be told — and you are a strong motivation for me to keep writing.

So, thank you!!

Be well — be in peace,

Ron Rink
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The Thursday night before the rumble, I told my mother I had to go to a play rehearsal at the school on Saturday. I figured telling her then would be to my advantage because they would be leaving for choir practice, and wouldn’t take the time to question me. Even though there were never any play rehearsals at night, I had used that excuse a few other times just so I could go hang out with the gang. My parents were always so focused on their church activities they rarely paid much attention to what I was doing on those nights, or any other night, for that matter. Picking their choir night to tell them about Saturday worked, because they didn’t question me at all.

During the week before the rumble, Billy and I met at his house after work each day to practice. Billy had told me the week before how fighting in a rumble was different from fighting just one guy alone. He said, “When you’re in a rumble, you need to make sure you keep the advantage. Don’t worry about getting the guy down. You want to make sure you hurt him before he hurts you. Get him on the defensive. Make him want to run away from you.”

“Yeah, because if I get him down and start stomping him, one of his guys is going to be jumping me, right?”

“Right! You gotta keep your eyes on what’s going on around you all the time. You don’t wanna get attacked. And some of our guys might be in trouble and need help.”

Billy and I discovered I wasn’t quite big enough to handle a chain properly. The chains were cut into manageable lengths, but when I tried to swing one of them, it threw me off balance. I was getting bigger all the time, but I still wasn’t heavy enough to compensate for the weight of the chain being swung. Being able to keep balanced was important, so we abandoned using a chain. Billy found me some brass knuckles and a piece of an old baseball bat he had cut off with a saw.

He showed me how to use the knuckles. Instead of swinging in a normal roundhouse manner, it was more of a hard, thrusting jab into the person’s face. It was like a lunge. Instead of pulling back on the swing, you kept following through so you were jamming the brass knuckles into their face with your body weight behind them. “Aim for the nose,” he said, “and don’t worry about the blood when you hit him. These knuckles do a real job on a nose. He’ll be backing off in a hurry once you connect with these.”

The bat was carried in the hand without the knuckles. Billy showed me how the jab of the knuckles made the person jump back. The bat, being an extension of the arm, allowed you to still get in a good hit even though the person may have jumped back. So it was a sequence of jabbing with the knuckles, then swinging with the bat.

“Keep moving forward all the time,” Billy said. “Don’t forget, the other guy might be using a club, a chain, or knuckles too. If you keep moving into him, it’ll be harder for him to use his weapons on you.”

“What do I do if he’s using a chain?”

“Get your club working fast while you move yourself to the side of him and try to hit the arm holding the chain. Hit it with everything you have. You want to break his arm or wrist. Sometimes letting his chain get tangled with your club can make it so you can jerk your club hard and tear the chain right out of his hand.”

We also practiced using our knees into groins or kicks to the ankles to keep the other guy off balance. Billy showed me how the best way to get the quick advantage is not to wait to see what the guy is going to do, but to move in fast before he gets a chance to set up. Most everything that Billy taught me about fighting was based on the element of surprise.

During one of our practices, Billy suddenly pulled out his switchblade, popped the blade and began slicing at me. I found that I was immediately on the defensive, jumping back to avoid the blade.

“That could happen, Van. Most of the time the guys obey the rules, but if they’re getting beat, they might pull a knife,” Billy said.

“What do I do if that does happen?” I asked.

“The same thing you’d do with the chain. Get that bat swinging at his wrist or lower arm right away. Break the fucking wrist if you have to. Don’t try to aim for the knife; it’s too small a target. Go for the wrist. Swing hard. You need to get that knife on the ground. Don’t let the guy get in close to you. Keep the bat swinging as fast as you can.”

We continued with our practice each day after work. By Friday of that week, I felt good about being able to take care of myself in a rumble.
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http://www.buddhistbelief.com
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As I hunkered down to do some writing this morning, I realized something — today is Wednesday. It’s new Chapter day (mostly!).

So here it is, the next Chapter of my memoir/novel, Lost and Found.

I have managed to get quite a bit of writing done on future Chapters of the book this past week. It felt good to make some real progress. Now, I just need to keep it up and not get bogged down with other projects.

As always, thanks for your comments. It helps to know there are people reading this.

Be well — be in peace,

Ron Rink
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The following morning Bob Morton had told Billy to spread the word among the gang members about a meeting at the Sugar Bowl that afternoon to talk about the rumble. The word must have spread quickly, because by the time afternoon rolled around everyone was there, even guys who had after school jobs were there. Sally Russell and her cousin were there along with other Duchesses I had never seen before. Sally and I had nodded to each other, but neither of us broke a smile—we were back in gang-mode.

When Morton showed up about five o’clock, everyone walked across State Fair and went behind the school building, the same place where I had my two fights to get into the gang. Some gang members leaned against the walls of the school building or sprawled on the ground. Other guys were in high spirits and played around by pretending to spar with each other. There were many jabs thrown at shoulders along with pushes and shoves. I got into a pretend sparring match with Billy and a few of the guys stopped horsing around to watch us. It felt great to be such a good fighter where others would want to watch my moves. I was growing more accustomed to being someone who was respected as well as feared. I liked it.

Morton sauntered to the middle of the gang. He put his right thumb and index finger between his lips and let out a piercing whistle.

“Okay, let’s settle down and listen,” he yelled.

Everyone stopped fooling around and got quiet.

“Okay,” Morton said, “We’ve got a rumble with the Livernois gang next Saturday night over in Hazel Park. It’s gonna be chains, clubs and knuckles—no knives. But watch for knives—don’t get cut.”

“Why’s this happening?” a guy named Sammy yelled out.

“This is happening because Sally and her cousin got messed with by three of their guys. They’ll be there to point out which guys. Me, Billy and Van Buren will take the three guys. The rest of you spread out and pick someone to fight.”

“What’s the colors?” yelled Sammy again.

“They’re gonna wear red bandannas, we’re gonna wear blue. Jimmy and Bobby will jump in and help any of you who get in trouble. We’ll probably have more guys than they will, so if you see one of the Dukes in trouble, don’t wait for Jimmy or Bobby, jump in and help. Same goes if you get in trouble—yell out so somebody sees you. You girls stay back unless you see some of their girls jumping in. Make sure you keep them off our backs. Listen for the cops. Billy and Van Buren will tell you about the escape route in a minute.”

Morton stopped talking and lit a cigarette. He slowly moved his eyes over the gang. “Anybody got questions?” he asked.

Freddy Shaw piped up and asked, “How bad you want them hurt?”

“Enough so they know they’ve been in a rumble with the State Fair Dukes,” Morton answered. “Get it done as fast as you can.”

Morton nodded at Billy and me. We told the gang about the escape route. Morton listened, looked around to see if there were any more questions, then turned and headed back to the Sugar Bowl. Some of the guys started a game of handball against the wall of the building. The others slowly drifted away, some to the Sugar Bowl, and some headed for home.

As I walked back to the Sugar Bowl, Sally stepped in beside me and we walked together without saying a word.
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My other blog about Buddhism

http://www.buddhistbelief.com
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