Collections - 22. Chapter 22 - More Life On Mulberry Street

Our dog, a mostly-Border Collie, is now five-years-old. For the last year, her main toy has been an oversized stuffed jack, and her main trick has been teaching me to say, over and over, “Get the jack! Get the jack! Get the jack!”

Recently, the jack finally wore out and was replaced with a stuffed plush mallard. Now, of course, I’ve been trained to say, “Get the duck! Get the duck! Get the duck!”

Still, last week, the dog came in from the backyard with a real dead bird in her mouth. Proving a direct link between toys and violence.

–

I just spoke, for the first time, with the second wife of my grandfather’s youngest brother, a woman in her eighties who I didn’t know was still alive. If my grandfather hadn’t died, he’d be 115, and his brother 101.

Among the things I asked this woman – my great-aunt by second marriage – was whether she knew where the Eisbrouch family had come from. I already knew about the other three-quarters of my grandparents, but not the ones who’d given me this somewhat tricky last name.

Almost no one can pronounce it properly, and it’s impossible to use on the phone. Because when I say “Eisbrouch” – pronounced ice-brook – the reservation clerks or whoever write down I. Then I say E, and soon we have I - E - I. And they haven’t even started to mangle “brouch.” That gets Ks and Us and Gs.

In any case, when I asked my great-aunt where my family had come from, she simply said, “Germany.”

“Are you sure?” I insisted. “I always thought that. But I have a number of German friends who say Eisbrouch isn’t a German name.”

“It certainly is,” said my great-aunt. “But, of course, your family changed it from ‘Eisenbruke.’”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because it was too hard to spell.”

–

I design scenery for a small college theater department, and I have to buy a lot of things in thrift stores. I don’t really like shopping in these places, because I always feel guilty – feel like I’m taking things away from people who really need them.

Still, I’ve just been doing a play that’s set in a beat-up trailer and demands those kinds of props. So a month ago, I bought five or six hundred dollars of furniture and smaller stuff – appliances and knickknacks – intending to donate them all back when the show was over.

Except today, when I tried to be a nice guy and return all these things plus others, the store refused to accept my donation. Insisting they don’t sell, “That kind of crap.”

–

Today, one of my SAT students, a junior at a very good, local private school, learned that a duck is a bird. And that ducks can fly. And that gooses – which the rest of us call geese – can also fly.

She thought ducks were rented for the local town pond because they looked pretty and so people could feed them.

–

An excerpt from a student essay answering the question, “How do you measure a person’s worth?”

Today in our history, the U.S. has George W Bush as president. Many people consider him to be a worthless, bad president, mostly because he has horrid grammar, makes a few mistakes, and comes off as an idiot. In reality though, he is a father, a husband, a human being. He should be judged on that, not on his low level of intelligence and his semi-unsuccessful presidency.

--

Now let me see if I’ve got this right: Foley claims that as a teenager, he was abused by a clergyman, though not necessarily a priest, though Foley is Catholic. But that’s not why he’s gay or interested in teenaged boys. And he doesn’t really want to have sex with teenaged boys – he just wants to talk with them about sex. But he only does this when he’s drunk, but he never drinks at work, though he has sent instant messages to teenaged boys about sex during a vote on the House floor.

And Mr. Bush is disgusted.

–

I have three new SAT students, two guys and a girl. Not stupid, in fact, all have scores in the low 500s per test and want to raise them to 600.

The SAT book has an introductory quote from Aristotle Onassis, and I asked them separately if they know who he is. All say, “Yes,” but think he’s an old Greek philosopher. And the guys aren’t certain he’s Greek.

I correct, “No, at one time he was probably the richest man in the world. That’s why he merits the quote.”

To further connect to Onassis, I ask if they know who John Kennedy was. I’m expecting an easy answer.

I get an uneasy one. They all know he was a president, but they don’t know much more.

I ask what they most remember about him, expecting, “He got shot.”

I get nothing.

“Nothing?” I ask.

Nothing.

I explain that he got shot.

I explain that at one point maybe every guy in the United States, if not the world, wanted to be John Kennedy. That he was that cool.

I ask if they know who Jackie Kennedy was.

The girl says, “His sister?” The guys just stare.

I explain that at one point maybe every woman in the United States, if not the world, wanted to be Jackie Kennedy, and every man, possibly anywhere, wanted to marry her. These are high school students, so I can’t say, “Sleep with her.”

Of course, they don’t know what happened to Mrs. Kennedy after the President got shot. Though they do understand the concepts of trophy wives and pre-nuptial agreements. This is LA.

By the way, none of them wear watches. They all tell time by their phones.

–

My former high school, Valley Stream South, recently adopted a new motto: Scholarship Ongoing Unity Tradition Heritage

Obviously, it’s a kind of acrostic. But one of the older graduates failed to notice this and pointed out, not without merit, that “ongoing” isn’t the same part of speech as the other four words. The suggested replacement: “continuity.” And while the words were being rethought, it was suggested that the proper sequence should be: Scholarship Continuity Tradition Unity Heritage.

So it turns out I went to Sctuh High. No wonder I didn’t get into Harvard.

–

Wednesday, shortly before a tech rehearsal, I came into the shop and found part of my crew picnicking on my desk, right on top of the computer.

“Please don’t do that,” I reminded them. “You don’t want to get food in a keyboard.”

Thursday, right at call time, I came into the shop to find the same part of my crew just starting a picnic – on the table saw. One girl was perched, like Betty Grable, next to the blade, ankles dangling, loosely holding a Dr. Pepper martini.

“Out,” I insisted. “There is such a thing as shop safety, and I seem to vaguely remember teaching you something about it.” Fortunately, it’s always warm in Pasadena, so they could eat on the shop steps.

Friday, when part of the same crew was trying to give one of the guys a wedgie using a the motorized chain hoist, I asked, “Is there a list of 4,000 Things You Can Do To Irritate Rich?”

“Yes,” grinned Betty Grable. “And we’re only up to 55.”