Free The Wine of Youth by John Fante Page A

field. Ithought I would practice hitting some long ones. I did. That night I hit six home runs and five triples.

My Mother’s Goofy Song
    M Y MOTHER DOESN’T BELIEVE I got arrested for stealing carbide. I try to prove it and try to prove it, but she won’t believe me. It doesn’t do any good to talk to her.
    This is how it happened. Me and Dibber got arrested on Sunday, right after church let out. We had paper sacks. We went behind the Colorado Miners’ Supply Company. We hid in the high weeds in the alley. Nobody was looking, so I threw a brick through the back window. It made an awful racket, just like when a brick goes through a window. Me and Dibber got pretty scared. Nobody came, though.
    Me and Dibber climbed through the busted window. Right there was the carbide in big black drums. The drums weighed five hundred pounds apiece, so we couldn’t get away with one of them very well. Even if we could get away with one of them, we’d have to break down the door. Even if we did break down the door, we’d have to carry the drum home, and it was too heavy. Even if we did carry the drum home, we wouldn’t know where to hide it. Even if we did know where to hide it, we’d have too much carbide. So we filled the paper sacks.
    We didn’t hear a sound. But just when we got through, Mr. Krasovich came into the back room from the front part of the store. He wasn’t much to be scared of. Oh, no—not much! He only owns the store, that’s all.
    He said: “Just a minute, boys.”
    Dibber tried to jump through the window. Mr. Krasovich grabbed him by the pants. He had me by the necktie. I always wear a necktie on Sundays, darn it. But I wasn’t trying to get away.
    He said: “Come with me, boys.”
    He took us to his front office. He called on the telephone. He didn’t call anybody very important. Oh, no—not very important! He only called the cops, that’s all. He hung up. He swung around in his chair and looked at me and Dibber. He thought he was tough.
    Dibber said: “If you’ll leave us go, Mr. Krasovich, we’ll promise never to steal from you again.”
    Mr. Krasovich said: “No, boys. I’m going to send you two to the state penitentiary.” But he couldn’t scare me and Dibber with that kind of talk. Me and Dibber are not so dumb as you think.
    He sat there like he was the big cheese himself. We didn’t want his old carbide, anyway. All we wanted was two little bitty sackfuls to blow the corks out of bottles.
    Then Mr. Wagner, the speed cop, drove up with his motorcycle. Oh! Oh! The minute I saw him I knew I was in for it. He isn’t very important. He doesn’t know anybody very important. Oh, no! He only knows my father, that’s all. Mr. Wagner and my father both belong to the Elks. After he found out what happened, Mr. Wagner said the cops would send us both to the penitentiary for fifteen years.
    He took us out to his motorcycle and made us both get into the sidecar. I was crying a little, but not much. So was Dibber, and a whole lot. You would too. Mr. Wagner stepped on the starter, and the motorcycle started.
    Mr. Krasovich hollered: “Well, good-by, boys. And lots of luck to you!” He is one of those wise guys. He thought he was funny.
    Mr. Wagner drove us through town to the courthouse. People kept looking at us. I was glad I was on the bottom. Nobody saw me. Dibber was on my lap. The whole town saw him. He must have felt very cheap and freaky.
    Mr. Wagner took us downstairs and put us in the jailhouse. We didn’t try to escape or anything. It was a very fine jailhouse. Nobody ever did escape from it. Once, though, three crooks did. Mr. Wagner then went upstairs and telephoned our fathers. He told them to come over right away.
    While me and Dibber were waiting for what was going to happen next, we took out our knives and cut our names in thewall. We copied from other names on the wall.