JOURNEY TO THE PORTRAIT’S SECRET #91: August 1, 1946

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 clips, click on the label to the right, scroll down to and click OLDER ENTRIES seven or eight times. The FIRST entry is on the bottom of the last page.

Freddie Merrill slumped forward, elbows on his knees, chin on his fists, and filthy face staring at Tommy Hastings. “What are we gonna do now?”

Tommy sat the exact same way but, the black framed picture of his young mom with two old guys shaking hands in his lap. “I didn’t think this far ahead. I just wanted to get it outta the house.” Freddie nodded and sighed as Tommy finished, “What are we gonna do now?”

“I think I could smoke a cigarette…”

“I think I heard you say ‘cigarette’ down there,” said a voice from above. Suddenly two hands plunged through the leaves. The hands were huge, red, and powerful. Each one latched onto the ear of a boy and slowed lifted.

Tommy managed to grab the picture before he stood up all the way.

Freddie spun as much as he could, looking for the Socialists. He cried, “There they are!”

Tommy saw them as well, though they’d stopped at the edge of Loring Park, across the street. There were ten of them, another two limped up to the group as they watched. Lars squeezed and both boys yelped. Freddie said, “Stop! Stop! I’m not gonna smoke!  I was just saying…”

“I don’t ever want to catch you two boys thinking about smoking! Boys who are very much younger than twenty-one know very well that smoking is against the law. Not only that, you will soon start to cough. Then much later, when you are older, you will cough your lungs out…” His grip relaxed then released them both.

For a moment, all three stood up, Tommy and Freddie looking up at the towering Swede, his blond hair like a gold helmet under his police cap. He looked down at them. He shook his head and said, suddenly, “I don’t want to see a couple of my boys dying like my old man.” He coughed into a fist, adding, “Now get on your way.”

The boys looked at each other, then Tommy said, “Can you keep something a secret for us?”

Lars scowled down at them. “Nothing illegal?”

“Nothing like that!” Freddie said.

Tommy shook his head solemnly, looked over at the Socialists where they’d lined up on the curb, staring at the boys. Tommy handed the framed picture to Lars and said, “Would you put this in the police department?”

He looked at it, looked at Tommy, then looked at the men lining the street. He grunted and said, “No problem, son.” He patted the boys on the head and tucked the picture under his arm, walking across the park, toward the Socialists and his parked squad car. He nodded to the men, tipping his hat and touched the brim, then got in and drove away.

The watched the car go, turned as if their heads were attached to glare at Tommy and Freddie. A yellow and red city bus roared between them. Tommy grabbed Freddie and they sprinted across the park to the bridge. Tommy turned to look over his shoulder and stopped.

“They’re gone!” he said.

Freddie sighed and said, “Finally.”

“Let’s go see the dads,” said Tommy, setting off for their houses on 15^th; on their way home.

Image: http://www.tcdailyplanet.net/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/Dky14th4th1945.jpg

JOURNEY TO THE PORTRAIT’S SECRET #90: August 1, 1946

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 clips, click on the label to the right, scroll down to and click OLDER ENTRIES seven or eight times. The FIRST entry is on the bottom of the last page.

Tommy ran to the back door, up the stairs, then stopped, slowly opened the door, then slipped in. While he was gone, Freddie stared at the door, jumping every time a truck or car drove past the end of the sidewalk. He waited so long, he knew he had to go to the bathroom – just like he did when they used to play hide-and-seek as kids. He crossed his legs. He held his breath. He counted to five hundred…

Suddenly the back door opened and Tommy came out.

Followed by his sister, who was holding him by the ear. She looked down at Freddie, scowled, and said, “I should have figured you had something to do with this! Every time the kid gets into trouble, you’re somehow mixed up in it!”

Freddie’s face screwed up and for a moment Tommy, June, and even Freddie thought he was going to cry. But he took such a deep breath, that he practically had a chest! Then he started the story, from the hike to Lake Harriet, the ride to Medicine Lake, to the hitchhiking back from Canada. He’d left out the parts about the Anoka Witch, the Mobsters, the Farmer, the Socialists, and most of the stuff about Ed – including the fact that Ed was a she. Tommy relaxed…

Freddie took another deep breath and went back to beginning, this time talking about all the people, until he finally wound down into an August silence, cicadas burring in the trees in Loring Park.

June let go of Tommy’s ear and said, “I’m going to call the police.” She went inside.

Tommy said, “We don’t have time for the police to get here! The picture’s in the kitchen, come on!”

Freddie scrambled up the steps and into the apartment. “What about the Socialists?”

“The traffic jam’s gonna keep ‘em for a while. Let’s go!” He went to the fancy dining room’s china cabinet.

Mom kept her wedding picture; a brown-tinted photograph of grandpa Hastings when he was little boy standing with great-grandpa Hastings, a US Deputy Marshal for the Dakota Territory; and in back, in a plain, black framed picture. Two big men in dark suits shaking hands and smiling at each other. She was real young and real pretty, hanging on the arm of one of them, smiling at the photographer.

But now Tommy was pretty sure one man was a Duluth Socialists; the other a US Communist.

Dad talked about the War all the time, and now that Hitler and Hirohito were out of the way, the Russkies were grabbing up as much of Europe as they could. He said the Commies were the real enemy of America now.

The Socialists of Duluth wanted the picture that showed their main guy shaking hands with a Commie.

Tommy just wanted to get it out of the house. He reached in and grabbed it. He heard the front door open again and June talking. Then he heard the deep voice of Earl. For a second, he thought he could give the picture to him. Who better to take care of the dangerous picture and beat up the Socialists than a Navy Seebee?

Freddie’s eyes were practically bugging out of his head and his mouth was gaping like a goldfish. Tommy closed the cabinet door silently, jerked his head sideways, and scurried out the door.

The minute their feet hit the sidewalk, there was a shout from the street. “There they are!”

The boys turned and ran the way they’d just come, only this time pursued by a mob of Finnish men.

Who were from Duluth and had almost no idea of the alleys, streets, stores, houses, and parks of Minneapolis. It didn’t take Tommy and Freddie long to lose them. They stopped at the edge of Loring Park, panting.

Freddie managed, “What we gonna do now?”

“We gotta get rid of the picture,” Tommy gasped back. He crossed the street, Freddie following, then slipped under the bushes they usually smoked in. Both boys dropped to the dusty ground with a thud. “Where can we hide it?”

“Throw it in the pond!” Freddie said, turning to the “No Swimming!” hole and started to stand up.

Tommy grabbed him and pulled him back down. “They’d jump in and find it for sure!”

Freddie slumped forward, elbows on his knees, chin on his fists, and filthy face staring at Tommy. “What are we gonna do then?”

Tommy sat the exact same way but with the picture in his lap. “I didn’t think this far ahead. I just wanted to get it outta the house.” Freddie nodded and sighed as Tommy finished, “What are we gonna do now?”

Image: http://www.lakesnwoods.com/images/1940s.84.jpg

JOURNEY TO THE PORTRAIT’S SECRET #89: August 1, 1946

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 clips, click on the label to the right, scroll down to and click OLDER ENTRIES seven or eight times. The FIRST entry is on the bottom of the last page.

An hour later, after screaming through Anoka, they arrived in downtown Minneapolis after rumbling down West River Road, past the power plant, and along old, deserted streets, through the warehouse district, and finally along Hennepin Avenue. Their first stop was at Fifteenth, where she got stuck behind a taxi and laid on the horn while the boys scrambled out of the barely open door, down to the street, and disappeared into the clogged up traffic.

Tommy said, “Now you gotta follow close behind.”

“I’m like your shadow,” the other boy said as they cut across Hennepin and disappeared down Fifteenth, taking alleys, short cuts, scrambling up and down ladders, and startled three old women who’d just pulled on their hats to do some shopping downtown.

“Hooligans!”

“Ruffians!”

“Scoundrels!”

The boys ran, laughing, then ducked down another alley. Tommy skidded to a halt, grabbing Freddie’s shirt. “Hey!” Freddie said, then slapped a hand over his mouth as they leaned around the corner and peered down the street.

Hennepin was now backed up, men in the street shaking their fists and cursing! Tommy looked both ways then dragged Freddie after him. Shortly, they were in the alley behind then apartments. “Nobody can see us. We gotta be totally sneaky.” Freddie nodded as they ran to the back of Tommy’s house. “I gotta check stuff out.”

Freddie grabbed his shoulder and whispered, “Watch out for them! They’ll kill you if they catch you.”

“They’re not here.”

“You don’t know that. They’re Socialists! You don’t know anything about them.”

“I know they scare me to death,” Tommy said.

Freddie’s eyes bulged, “They do?”

“‘course. But it’s my ma I’m scared about. I gotta make sure she’s safe.”

Freddie nodded, awkwardly patted Tommy on the shoulder and shoved him forward.

Tommy took a deep breath, then ran silently down the sidewalk between his house and the next. He stopped at the street, pressing his back against the wall, sooty from the stacks of the factories on the Mississippi. He stuck his head around the corner just as a flatbed truck carrying men in the back of it drove by in a cloud of blue smoke.

Tommy’s heart seemed to stop – then he realized it was just highway workers coming back into the city after getting out of a traffic jam. His knees went weak and he slid down the wall a little. He looked the other way up the street but didn’t see any sign of the Socialists. He ran back to Freddie and said, “Let’s go in. I’ll grab the picture and we’ll take it and hide it in the park.”

“That’s your plan?” Freddie said, “Hide it in the park?”

Tommy straightened up, “What’s wrong with it?”

“I thought you were gonna like, give it to the Tribune or the Star-Journal and then tell the Socialists that it’ll stay there…”

“But then what’s to stop ‘em from killing me and Mom and Dad and sis?”

Freddie started to say something out loud. Tommy shushed him as a truck rumbled slowly past the street end of the sidewalk. The boys cringed, backing around the corner. “I think it was them! Stay here!”

“What…”

Tommy ran to the back door, up the stairs, then stopped, slowly opened the door, then slipped in. While he was gone, Freddie stared at the door, jumping every time a truck or car drove past the end of the sidewalk. He waited so long, he knew he had to go to the bathroom – just like he did when they used to play hide-and-seek as kids. He crossed his legs. He held his breath. He counted to five hundred…

Suddenly the back door opened and Tommy came out.

Followed by his sister, who was holding him by the ear!

Image: http://www.lakesnwoods.com/images/1940s.84.jpg

JOURNEY TO THE PORTRAIT’S SECRET #88: August 1, 1946

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 clips, click on the label to the right, scroll down to and click OLDER ENTRIES seven or eight times. The FIRST entry is on the bottom of the last page.  ?zZ

Edwina Olds, most lately Lieutenant, WACS (ret.) snorted, nodded, and said, “When I told people I was going to be a truck driver, they either laughed and told me it was no job for a woman or said I’d be dead in a week of hitting the road. But I survived the war and I’m gettin’ paid for something I love doing.”

“What?” asked Freddie Merrill, sliding further down the seat until his knees hit the dashboard and his head was bent at nearly ninety degrees.

“Driving boys around while Socialists, mobsters, witches, and crazy farmers chase after them.” She looked at Freddie Merrill and added, “Especially the Socialists part.”

“You like driving us?”

She turned back to her driving in time to see a road sign that proclaiming that Minneapolis was 100 miles ahead. She said, “Seventy miles boys, and we’re home. One hour.”

Freddie sighed and said, “A lot can happen in seventy miles.” He shook his head slowly, making strange noises because of his posture on the seat, “A lot.”

Tommy Hastings glared at Freddie, adding, “A lot can happen to somebody’s mom, too, if they let the Socialists get back to their house in the Cities.”

Freddie scowled, slid back up and turned to look out the window. They rode in silence for another half hour until Ed said, “You want me to drop you boys off at opposite ends of the street?”

“Why?” both boys said at the same time.

“Because every other trip I been on with you boys, you’d talk my ears off. You have one little disagreement and you’re ready to call off your friendship?”

“I didn’t say nothin’,” said Tommy, crossing his arms over his chest.

Ed said, “But Freddie wants your mother to get killed by gangsters, and witches, and Socialists.”

“I do not!” “He does not!” both boys exclaimed at the same time.

Ed grinned. Tommy and Freddie looked at each other. Freddie said, “I’m scared.”

 Tommy said, “Me, too.”

“Not you,” Freddie said, shaking his head. “You ain’t afraid of nothin’. I’m scared of everything.”

Ed said abruptly, “I was scared to death every day I was in the South Pacific.”

“No you weren’t, “ Freddie said, shaking his head. “You don’t have to be nice to me.”

“I ain’t bein’ nice to you, kid. I’m telling you the truth. I was scared every day I was in the Pacific.”

The truck roared on. The sign on the road read, “Minneapolis 50 Miles” Ed said, “We’d better have a plan, boys, before we get down there.” Both boys nodded as the truck roared on. Neither one spoke. She said, “So, what’s the plan?”

Image: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/b5/Pennsylvania_Turnpike_70_mph_1942.jpg

JOURNEY TO THE PORTRAIT’S SECRET #87: August 1, 1946

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 clips, click on the label to the right, scroll down to and click OLDER ENTRIES seven or eight times. The FIRST entry is on the bottom of the last page.

When Edwina Olds, most lately Lieutenant, WACS (ret.) roared past Socialists from Duluth and mobsters from Anoka without slowing, Tommy Hastings and Freddie Merrill caught sight of a fist shaking and shouted obscenities before the truck disappeared into the aurora before dawn. Twenty minutes later, they saw a string of men walking along the side of the road.

It was obvious that the group of men heard the truck.

Three of them turned, waving their hands in the air and slowly stepping out further and further into the road. Ed muttered, “They come much farther out, I’ll have to stop or run ‘em over…”

Freddie said, “You can’t kill ‘em! Not just because they want a stupid picture!”

Tommy turned to stare at his best friend and exclaimed, “They’ll kill us for Mom’s picture – the think it’s gonna wreck their socialism or something. But they’ll kill us.” He looked at the men edging out into the road. “It looks like they’re crazy enough to kill themselves, too.”

Ed, watching the group, nodded. She didn’t slow down, though she wasn’t going really fast. The men had stopped moving, standing and taking up almost the entire side of the road. She said, “If we stop, they’ll beat us to a bloody pulp, at least.”

Tommy said, “Can you miss them if they don’t move?”

She glanced over at them, smiled grimly, and said, “Most likely. Long as none of them jump right in front of me.”

Freddie leaned back, slid his butt toward the front of the truck and stared at the ceiling. “Fine. Fine. I don’t wanna die either way, but long as you can miss ‘em, do it.”

Tommy slid down as well. Ed gunned the engine. The truck sped up. Tommy sat up just in time to see the socialists scramble back to the side of the road. A car racing down the road toward them laid on its horn as they between the men and the car. Ed burst out laughing, upshifted, and accelerated. Tommy lay back, sliding down until he was on the floor, back to the truck door, sitting on Freddie’s feet. Looking up at Ed, he said, “You’re the craziest lady I ever met.”

“Lucky, too,” Freddie grumbled.

Ed shook her head, “I won’t argue either point, boys. But the luck and craziness didn’t start here. Imagine what people said when I joined the WACS.” She paused as the truck settled into a steady growl. “Imagine what people said when I told them I was gon be a truck driver. But I survived the war and I’m gettin’ paid for something I love doing.”

“Driving boys around while Socialists, mobsters, witches, and crazy farmers are chasing them?”  Freddie said glumly.

Ed snorted, nodded, and said, “Yep, even driving boys around while Socialists, mobsters, witches, and crazy farmers chase after them.” She looked at Freddie and added, “Especially the Socialists part.” She turned back to her driving in time to see a road sign that proclaiming that Minneapolis was 100 miles ahead. She said, “Seventy miles boys, and we’re home. One hour.”

Freddie sighed and said, “A lot can happen in seventy miles. A lot.”

Image: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/b5/Pennsylvania_Turnpike_70_mph_1942.jpg

JOURNEY TO THE PORTRAIT’S SECRET #86: August 1, 1946

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 clips, click on the label to the right, scroll down to and click OLDER ENTRIES seven or eight times. The FIRST entry is on the bottom of the last page.

“I just want to get home in time to save my mom from the Socialists,” said Tommy Hastings faintly. The truck fell into silence again.

Ed said, “Do we want to stop for breakfast in Page?”

“I wanna get back and save my mom,” said Tommy.

“She’s not gonna be murdered in the morning,” said Freddie Merrill from the shadows of the truck. The sun had just started to color the horizon, and he slumped lower than the bottom of the window.

“How do you know that?” Tommy said.

“No one gets murdered in the morning. Especially normal people.”

“My mom’s not normal! She met some guys and someone took a picture and now the Socialists don’t want anyone to know about it!”

“Her boyfriend shook hands with a communist! What’s the big deal?”

Tommy cocked his fist to slug Freddie. Ed grabbed it and squeezed. Tommy sat back down as she said, “I ever tell you what happened to the last hitchhikers who tried to start a fight in my rig?” Tommy slumped lower, silent. “Did I, young man?” Ed added with a military snap to her voice neither boy had ever heard before.

Tommy sat up and said, “No, ma’am, you never did.”

“Both of them ended up with a case of serious road rash.”

“What’s ‘road rash’,” Freddie said.

Tommy replied, “When you land on the tar with bare knees and hands…”

“And face,” Ed added. She paused as they passed a sign that read ‘Page Town Diner’. “We’ll keep on if it makes you feel better. But I guarantee you’ll both be hungry by the time we get to Anoka.”

“That’s where the witch was,” said Freddie.

"That’s where my cousin lives,” said Tommy. “At least we passed the mobsters already.”

“Mobsters?”

“Didn’t we tell you what happened to us when we got picked up by the mobsters?” said Tommy.

Freddie added, “That was after the witch but before the Socialists.”

Ed laughed, shaking her head. “You boys have had quite an adventure, I’d say.”

Tommy’s gloomy voice added, “It’s not over yet.” He pointed. Alongside the road, a truck sat, its hood open, a cloud of steam boiling around the front of it. Two men stood alongside it, alternately kicking it and pushing each other. When Ed roared past them without slowing, the boys caught sight of a bit of fist shaking before they disappeared into the aurora before dawn. Twenty minutes later, they saw a string of men walking along the side of the road. They heard the truck.

Three of them turned, waving their hands in the air and slowly stepping out further and further into the road. Ed muttered, “They come much farther out, I’ll have to stop or run ‘em over…”

Image: http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4020/4590961346_9204d91345_m.jpg

JOURNEY TO THE PORTRAIT’S SECRET #85: August 1, 1946

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 clips, click on the label to the right, scroll down to and click OLDER ENTRIES seven or eight times. The FIRST entry is on the bottom of the last page.

Edwina Olds, most lately Lieutenant, WACS (ret.),  held out a hand to Tommy Hastings. They shook. She turned to Freddie Merrill and they shook.

She turned to Mr. Fairlaine, and instead of a handshake she snapped a salute. Startled, the old farmer returned it. He was breathing hard as she held her salute rigid until he dropped his hand. She dropped her. He whispered, “How did you know?”

She smiled, “I’d know an old soldier anywhere.”

His eyes widened as he said, “I was twenty-one when I got home.”

Nodding, she climbed up on the logging truck’s running board and lifted her chin to the boys. “Let’s go. We’ve got Socialists to catch before they commit a crime.”

Mr. Fairlaine said, “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Thank you, as well, Sir.” The truck rumbled, rattling as Ed gunned the engine. She slammed the door up just as a sliver of sunrise broke the horizon. She said, “Looks like it’s August the first, boys. Let’s get going.” They rolled out of the farmyard. Freddy stuck his arm out the window and waved wildly. Charlie waved back. Even Mr. Fairlaine lifted his hand in farewell.

Ed glanced at her watch. “Not quite six am yet. Three hours to the Cities. It won’t even be lunchtime.”

“But will we get there in time,” said Tommy, “to stop all those guys from hurting Mom?”

“What?” Freddie and Ed exclaimed in unison.

“The picture – the portrait thing – in the kitchen...”

Ed upshifted and the truck gathered speed. They passed through the tiny town of Glenn like it wasn’t even there. Pretty soon the road widened out, not quite two lanes either way, but not one single lane either. “Maybe it was J Edgar Hoover,” she said. Tommy looked at her, eyes bugging. But she laughed. “I’m kidding, kid!

Tommy said suddenly, “Arnie and Freddie said before though, that maybe Ma was with a man who was a socialist, and somebody took a picture of him shaking hands with a man who was a communist, right?” He looked at Freddie.

Ed leaned forward as well. “That’s still the best idea I heard about this whole thing.”

“But it don’t help my ma! If they get there first...”

“They won’t get there first,” said Ed.

“How do you know that?”

The truck roared along the road and she nodded to a smaller truck parked off to the side, its hood propped open. “Because I think that’s their truck broke down on the road!” All three of them started laughing as they roared south. Tommy stopped first. Then Ed. Finally Freddie stopped laughing. Ed said, “I just thought of something.”

“If their truck’s broke down, where were they?” said Tommy.

The cab was silent as the miles rolled by. It wasn’t long before they slowed to pass through Isle. Freddie said, “You don’t really need to slow down here.” He looked out the window at the southern shore of Mille Lacs Lake. “We were about here when the Witch of Anoka,” he glanced at Ed, “You remember her – she tried to hex you.” Ed laughed, nodding.

“Why not slow down then?”

"We seen here and some other witches here, plus there was people from the Mob here. A whole bunch of ‘em chased us out of one of the cabins!”

Ed shook her head, “Witches, mobsters, dairy farmers, me, Socialist Finns – everybody except me – chasing you from here to kingdom come! What a story this’ll be for your kids!”

“It ain’t a story!” Tommy exclaimed. “It’s all true!”

Ed shook her head, still grinning in the morning sunlight streaming through the truck window. “I know that and you know that, but when you try and tell someone about it they’ll think you’re crazy!”

“I don’t care about that! I just want to get home in time to save my mom from the Socialists!” The truck fell into silence again. Ed asked if they wanted to stop for breakfast in a little town called Page. She added, “I don’t think they’re going to be on the main road, Tommy. They don’t want to look like a mob – and they sure won’t get a ride if they all walk together! Even I wouldn’t pick them up.”

“They gotta be up to something!” he said. “Maybe they’re gonna steal a truck! Maybe they did last night and they’re already at my house, torturing Mom and Dad!”

“Tommy, calm down!” Ed said.

He sat back, scowling then finally said, “If I eat something, I’ll probably throw it up.” There was a long pause. “I just don’t want anything to happen to my mom.”

“I don’t, either,” she said.

“Why? You don’t even know her.”

Ed shrugged then let more miles pass before she said, “All I know that if she has such a great kid as you, she must be worth rescuing.”

The truck kept rolling in the bright light of day as a dark cloud descended inside the cab.

Image: http://cdn.c.photoshelter.com/img-get/I0000K6qGtnkwAJw/s/750/750/Delano-Terzani-Final-Art-page-08a.jpg

JOURNEY TO THE PORTRAIT’S SECRET #84: July 31, 1946

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 clips, click on the label to the right, scroll down to and click OLDER ENTRIES seven or eight times. The FIRST entry is on the bottom of the last page.

The tractor trailer having slid to a stop, Edwina Olds, most lately Lieutenant, WACS (ret.) nodded then looked out the window. The cow she’d stopped in time to avoid smashing it death, stood in the middle of the road and behind it loomed a sign that read, FAIRELANE CREAMERY.

Tommy Hastings and Freddie Merrill, sharing the passenger seat next to her exclaimed, “This is it!”

Just then an old man and a young man, both with shotguns, stepped into the road and the headlights. The older man shouted, “Come on out with your hands up!”

Freddie grabbed the door handle and jerked it up. Ed exclaimed, “Stop right there, boy!” He froze.

“What?” the boys said in unison.

Ed shook her head, saying, “I’m highest ranking here and so I’m your commanding officer. You both stay here while I speak with the gentlemen with the loaded weapons. We ain’t in the Philippines anymore and we ain’t at war. So…” she opened the door slowly and with hands raised, stepped out of the cab and down to the ground without closing the door. The boys heard her say, “Excuse the rough stop, Sir. I have two boys with me, on Tommy Hastings and another Freddie Merrill who said I might check with you to buy some fuel for my rig. They seem to be pursued by Socialists from Duluth and as I’m a friend of theirs, I’m working to take them back to the safety of their home in Minneapolis.”

At the mention of their names, Charlie Fairlaine lowered his rifle, stepped behind his father and ran up to the passenger door. He yanked the door open, looked at the boys, and shouted back to his father, “It’s them, Dad!”

The elder Fairlaine lowered his shotgun, shooed his cow back to her corral then said, “Pardon me, ma’am. You be…”

Ed lifted her chin and said, “Lieutenant Edwina Olds, Women’s Army Corps, recently retired.” She nodded at the sign, “I take it you’re the Fairlaine advertised?”

Charlie jerked his head to one side and Tommy and Freddie climbed down while Ed and Mr. Fairlaine negotiated a fill on gas. Charlie gave them both unexpected slugs in the shoulder and grinned at them. “Good to see you two. Stayin’ out of trouble?

Tommy started to say, “Yea…”

Freddie said, “Hardly! The Socialists are chasing us ‘cuz Tommy’s mom has some kind of crazy picture or something and they want it so bad…” Tommy slugged Freddie, hard, because Mr. Fairlaine and Ed were looking over at them. Freddie rubbed his shoulder, looking down at the ground and pouting.

Ed called over to them, “Come on, boys! Mr. Fairlaine’s going to give us a fill – but you have a job to do, too.”

Freddie looked at Tommy, who let his eyes grow wide. “What…”

“Come over here, boys!” Ed snapped and they hurried. Charlie walked after them, grinning.

“Now listen careful, boys. Mr. Fairlaine here has a trade he’d like to make with us – ‘cause I don’t have any cash on me for gas. Only the company checks. So I had to make a deal in order for us to fill up and get you back home before our Socialist enemies catch you and me and turn us into roadkill.”

She nodded to Mr. Fairlaine, who said, “I’ll fill this honored veteran’s gas tank on one condition – and it’s up to you two.”

Tommy said, “What could we do, Sir?”

“My thoughts exactly! But Charles here seems to think you might be able to help him out. Next summer, the wife and I are going to California to see her sister. While we’re gone, we were thinking that the three of you might just barely be able to maintain the farm. No pay – but I’ll give this here veteran all the gas she can pack and won’t charge her nothin’. Charlie will get your help and me and the wife might actually take a vacation for once in our lives.”

“What do you say?” Ed asked.

Tommy looked at Freddie who shrugged and said, “Get me away from home.”

Tommy nodded and said, “Me, too.” He looked at Charlie, “Might be fun, too.” Ed held out  a hand, first to Tommy, then to Freddie and they shook. Then she held out a hand to Mr. Fairlaine, and he shook. Next to them, the truck rumbled.

Ed looked up just as a sliver of sun broke the horizon. She said, “Looks like it’s August the first, boys. Let’s get gas and get you home.”

Image: http://www.farmcollector.com/~/media/Images/FCM/Editorial/Articles/Magazine%20Articles/2011/12-01/Barrels%20of%20Gasoline%20Kerosene%20Jugs%20and%20HandCranked%20Pumps/trew-fuel-01.jpg