This series is a little bit biographical and a little bit
imaginary about my dad and a road trip he took in the summer of 1946, when he
turned fifteen. He and a friend hitchhiked from Loring Park to Duluth, into
Canada and back again. He was gone from home for a month. I was astonished and
fascinated by the tale. So, I added some speculation about things I've always
wondered about and this series is the result. To read earlier SHORT LONG
JOURNEY NORTH, click on the label to the right. The FIRST entry is on the
bottom.
They ran.
They ran in the summer moonlight until they couldn’t run any
more.
They ran until the smooth shoreline grew so rocky, they
couldn’t move forward any more without climbing a cliff or swimming in Lake Superior.
Tommy Hastings leaned forward and put his hand into the water and jerked it
back, whispering, “It’s freezing cold!”
Freddie Merrill was bent over double, gasping for air. Tommy
came back up to shore and put his hand on Freddie’s shoulder. The other boy
lashed out with his fist, catching Tommy in the thigh.
Hopping away, Tommy exclaimed, “You gave me a charley horse,
stupid!”
Freddie straightened up. The half Moon rising over Lake
Superior was bright enough to light Freddie’s face as he said, “I’m going
home.” He turned north: giant boulders scattered everywhere along the lake
blocked his way.
He turned west: a cliff rose twenty feet into the air.
He turned south: the Glensheen Mansion was there with its
socialists and wealthy people.
He turned east: Lake Superior lapped on the last of the
smooth pebble beach where they stood.
Freddie said, “I’d go home if there was any way for me to go
home.” He stepped toward Tommy and shouted, “I’d go home if there was any way
for me to get there!”
“Shut up! They’ll hear you and come and get us! Didn’t you
hear somebody shout that they should kill us?”
Freddie opened his mouth. Shut it. Sat down on the beach and
put his head in his hands. If tommy didn’t know him better, he’d have said that
Freddie started crying. But his best friend would never cry. He waited a few
minutes, picking up rocks and throwing then into the Lake. Then he went and sat
down next to Freddie and said, “I got us into this, I’ll get us out.”
Freddie nodded, his head still in his hands.
“We just have to get back up to the road and hitchhike to
Canada.”
Freddie’s head came up and he looked at Tommy. “What?”
“We have to go to Canada. They don’t have socialists there.”
“They have socialists everywhere,” Freddie said.
“How do you know?”
Without looking up, Freddie said, “If they have socialists
in Duluth, they’re gonna have them everywhere.”
They heard shouting down the beach toward Duluth. Freddie
jumped to his feet. “What are we gonna do?”
“I thought you were going back home?” Tommy said.
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere without you. What if I went home by
myself? I’d have to tell everyone the Communists got you. Dad would wail on me
‘til I screamed.” He punched Tommy in the shoulder this time. It was more than
a friendly punch though. There was power behind it. Power that said if Tommy
didn’t get them out of this, there’d be more where that came from. Tommy was
pretty sure he could take Freddie on a regular day, but right now his best
friend was scared. There were more shouts from farther down the beach. In the
distance, the Duluth Harbor lighthouse swung its bright light across the water.
Tommy said, “We gotta hide. Together.”
Freddie looked around, “Like, where?”
Tommy stepped toward the towering boulders of the North
Shore. “In there.”
Freddie opened his mouth, shut it and nodded. Tommy started
for the dark, shadowed shapes just as a loud voice shouted, “I think I see
footprints.” Another voice said something in a foreign language. The first
voice said, “I know it’s not sand, stupid! But you can still see footprints!” A
smaller light came across the pebbly beach, swept across the indentations and
then flashed up on the boulders.
There was nothing to see.
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