At five o’clock, Harry poured a stiff drink and settled back in his recliner to watch the news. He picked up the remote, his fingers fumbling for the volume button, pressing it repeatedly until the television raged violently.
The old man gripped the changer firmly out of fear he might misplace it. Nothing disrupted his day more than that little black clicker escaping his grasp or needing new batteries.
“The world has gone crazy,” he said aloud. There on the screen was a distraught bystander recounting the attempted assassination of Ronald Reagan to a shell-shocked nation. She told of a smiling president waving and greeting the crowd one minute, and then total chaos as shots rang out.
Harry thought he’d seen the worst life could offer, having survived the Great Depression, World War II, and retirement in suburban New Jersey, but even in those dark times he knew the American spirit would rise again. There had always been a logical cause and effect to suffering…however now it seemed we were being held hostage by random violence and little remorse.
He took a sip of his whiskey and contemplated death, the one thing Harry could not fathom. Many a pastor had implored him to embrace the gift of everlasting life, but to Harry eternity sounded too long. More like a coma than a joyous destination. It wore him out just thinking about it.
“Someone’s at the door,” his wife yelled into the TV room. She was short and round with thinning white hair.
“Why don’t you open it?” He barked.
“Could you please turn that thing down while I’m talking to you,” she said.
He punched the mute button and instantly the grief stricken woman on camera seemed more subdued.
“I said, there is someone at the front door. Two young men.”
Harry slowly got to his feet, grabbed his cane, and shuffled toward the entry. He glanced at them through the fish-eye lens peephole, their noses distorted and teeth fanged.
“Can I help you,” Harry shouted through the closed door.
“We’re selling magazines.” A voice returned.
“We’ve got all the magazines we need…thanks anyway.” Harry said, and began the journey back to his chair.
He settled into his recliner and turned the channel to the People’s Court. A short time later he heard his wife once again.
“Harry, they’re still out there.” The old woman said.
“Well, what do you want me to do?”
“I don’t like the way they’re staring at me through the kitchen window.” She whispered.
Grumbling, he raised himself up, grabbed his cane, and once more hobbled to the front door.
“You run along. I said we don’t need any magazines.” Harry yelled at the door.
“You got any odd jobs you need done around your place?” The two offered.
“Nope. We’re doing just fine. Why don’t you try somewhere else?” He said.
The boys looked at each other…then back at the porthole.
“What if we give you one hour of work free and then you pay $10 for the next hour. That’s $5 a piece.”
“One hour for free?” Harry repeated.
“Yes sir, we’re hard workers. You won’t be disappointed.”
Harry opened the door slowly and studied the boys. They were sinewy young men with broad boney shoulders. There was no mistaking the two for brothers.
“Doesn’t anybody feed you?” he asked…”Alright then, you come back on Saturday at 10 sharp…don’t be late…and I’ll put you to work.”
On Saturday morning the boys showed up precisely at 10. Harry had a list of things for them to do. They weeded the flower beds and planted new bulbs, cleaned the gutters, and repaired the fence. At noon, the couple invited the boys in for lunch and the four sat at the kitchen table eating bologna sandwiches and chips.
As the afternoon came to an end, Harry pulled out his wallet. “Let’s see, the first hour was free…so eleven to four…$50 dollars…$25 a piece.” He passed the bills over to the siblings. Both boys stared at the money and immediately jammed it into their pockets.
Just then the old woman brought out a bag of freshly baked ginger snaps. “You’re going to need a little nourishment for the trip home.” The elderly pair watched as the two young men argued over who should hold the bag.
“Don’t fight, boys. There’s plenty to go around…Listen… how would you like to come back tomorrow? I’ve got a couple more projects to finish.”
“What time?” They asked.
“Same as today…ten,” Harry said. They agreed and exchanged phone numbers in case something came up.
That evening Harry and his wife discussed the boys.
“It’s easy to judge, but you were clearly mistaken about those two.” Harry scolded.
The next day he woke early, ate his breakfast and watched the clock until it finally turned ten. Anxiously he awaited their arrival. It had been a while since he’d felt so useful and good-hearted.
At eleven he started to worry. At noon he was ranting to himself around the house. How dare those boys be so inconsiderate? How could they expect to hold down a job if they can’t show up on time?
After lunch, He sat down in front of the television and debated pouring himself a short whiskey to get his blood pressure under control. Harry had just picked up the remote when he remembered having the boy’s telephone number in his wallet. Putting on his glasses, he dialed the number.
A woman answered. Harry couldn’t be sure, but thought she sounded upset.
“Who is this?” She asked.
“My name is Harry Mills.”
“What do you want?”
“Are your boys at home?” He asked.
“No, they’re not,” she said.
“Maybe they’re on their way to my house.”
“None of your business where they are,” she said.
“Well now, that’s where you’re wrong. I hired your kids to work for me. They were supposed to show up at 10. I know kids are lazy, but do you know what time it is?”
Her shrill tone surprised Harry. “Don’t you ever offer my boys work again…do you hear me?”
“Wait one damn minute. I’m the one who should be angry. Those boys didn’t have the decency to call and tell me they weren’t coming. Don’t you think there’s something wrong with that?” Harry asked.
“What do you want from me?” she said, her voice suddenly weak and distant.
“I want you to teach them to honor their commitments. They had a job. You can’t make it in this world unless you follow through. That’s the ticket to being successful. You got to prepare those boys for the future. Employers aren’t going to give them a second chance.” Harry could feel the veins in his neck bulge.
There was a long pause…finally she spoke.
“I don’t need your advice on how to raise my sons. They are good boys. I know all about you hiring them. But you see, we don’t live like you. Have you heard of the “projects,” Mr. Mills? Well that’s where we live. When you gave my boys work, word got out they had a job, and do you know what happened to them? They were jumped on the way home and beaten to an inch of their life. Their money stolen. So don’t tell me about commitments and employers offering second chances unless you want me to come over there and show you MY follow-thru.”
Harry heard the phone on the other end slam, and was left dazed with a dial tone. He slowly got up, grabbed his cane and poured himself a stiff whiskey. Dropping back into his chair with the remote, he turned on Lawrence Welk, and as the champagne bubbles floated across the stage, and the accordion bellows swelled, he cranked up the volume until he could no longer hear the thoughts in his head.
