Weekend Warriors

Excerpt from Bro. Dick … a remembrance

  

I went to a play recently. It was the Sacramento Theater Company’s production of Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men. There was no curtain to raise for the opening scene.  Instead, the houselights dimmed to black, the stage lights came up, and George and Lenny entered stage left.

That’s sort of what it was like for Mom and me when we knew my brother Dick was coming home for the weekend. On Thursday after school, I would go into what wife Barbara calls my Suzy Homemaker routine: vacuuming, dusting, scrubbing the bathroom and mopping floors. Mom would make a long list and head off to the commissary on the shipyard to shop for the weekend. She’d stock the house with fruits and veggies, snacks and drinks, and all the fixings for a special Sunday dinner. By the time Friday evening rolled around, the house was in tip-top shape and the cupboards and fridge filled to overflowing.

My brother would arrive from Sacramento around 7:00 p.m. Mom and I would be sitting in the living room, trying to act nonchalant, but glancing out the window every minute or so to see if he was safely home. Dick would come up the walk and into the house, and then it was like the stage lights coming up: our weekend could begin.

Through the daylight-saving months, he’d drop his bag in his room, grab a cold Hamm’s from the fridge, and we’d go outside to inspect the yard. Landscaping became our ongoing project after our father died. Dad had kept about three quarters of the backyard for his vegetable garden and there was no way Dick and I were going to maintain that tradition. So, we planted grass, which came up thick and green, a tribute to the thousands of yards of steer manure Dad had worked into the soil over the years. We built brick planters around the foundation at the back of the house and filled them with exotic plants from the Vallejo Nursery over on Springs Road. We kept some flowerbeds for annuals and rotated them according to the season. As I said, it was our project.

The purpose of the Friday night inspection was to see how things were going and to map out the work that needed to be done. Saturday was generally devoted to yard work: mowing, trimming, pruning and planting. One favorite thing to do was to cruise over to the nursery and browse through the rows of trees and shrubs and flowers. We tried lots of things that didn’t work out, but it never dimmed our enthusiasm. I have to say we kept the place looking pretty spiffy. And we had pet names for our favorite plants. A fruitless mulberry tree became a mulless fruitberry. We couldn’t remember the name of one of the plants, but the tag on it said, “prune heavily,” so we just called it the prune heavily. You get the picture.

I would go out with my friends on Saturday night, to a movie or bowling or a dance at the High School. Dick occasionally had a date with a girl in town named Laurie. She was very pretty and the family got its hopes up that this would be the girl, but I don’t think it ever went beyond casual dating.

We’d wind up back at the house around midnight and then the fun would begin.  We’d hustle over to a place called Red’s on Solano Avenue to pick up a pizza and then gather around the table in our dining room. My friends Dillon Mini, Bruce Bigelow, and Jim Decious would join us. Mom always had something fresh-baked for us to chase down the pizza. Then we’d clear the table, break out the Tripoli board and launch into a spirited game. Tripoli is a board game that I guess can be described as part poker and part gin rummy. Anyway, the game would rage on until 2:00 or 3:00 a.m.

I’d take a break from the game at times and go into my bedroom, which was right off the dining room. I’d turn on the radio real low and pick up an all-night jazz station out of the Bay Area. But I always left the door open. It gave me a good feeling to see and hear my mom, my brother, and my friends talking and laughing and having a good time, with Dizzy Gillespie or Gerry Mulligan & Chet Baker providing the soundtrack.

A typical Sunday involved going over to the high school courts to play hours and hours of tennis. Usually this was just Dick and Bruce and me, but sometime the other guys would join us. My brother was a good tennis player, gliding around the court with that long stride of his. In fact, we were all pretty evenly matched which made for good competition.

After tennis, we would head home to shower and clean up in time for Sunday dinner. Mom’s specialty was a sirloin tip roast with mashed potatoes, pan gravy, lots of fresh veggies, and chocolate devil’s food cake for dessert. After that we’d collapse in the front room and wait for the Ed Sullivan Show to start.

That was a typical weekend with the Spooners.

            When Ed Sullivan said goodnight, it was time for Dick to pack his car and head back to Sacramento, and time for me head for my desk and make a half-hearted attempt to do the homework I’d been putting off all weekend. As he left the house and went down the walk to his car, it was like the stage lights dimming in the theater. For Mom and me, it wouldn’t be as bright again until the next time he came home.

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