HASKELL'S BOOZE MYSTERY

Orchard Cove 1957

The barn was a barn in name only. For years it had seen no animals, no hay, no equipment.  Only the shelf in the first horse stall served any useful  function. On this shelf Haskell kept his booze. Unknown to his wife, Cora.  Generally known to his intimate friends whom he needed.  Years ago, after a string of DUIs Haskell lost his driver’s license and depended on Cora for transportation.  Except when he needed to re-supply his booze.  Intimates met that need; intimates knew where he kept his stash.

When Haskell first noticed the lowering level of his booze bottle, he pondered who of his intimates was the culprit.  He relocated the booze to the hay loft, used now for storage of discarded furniture and ‘never to be used again junk’.  The theft continued.

After the fourth hiding place failed to prevent the loss of his liquor, he moved it to his workshop, in the tiny shed between the house and the barn.  For several weeks his stash seemed safe. The safety ended and Haskell noticed a daily dwindling of his supply.  He had never in his life felt the necessity of locking things up until now. He installed a lock on his shed  workshop. His booze was again safe. Less than a week.

Haskell began to doubt his sanity.  Was his drinking out of control?  How could he not remember? Everybody noticed the change. Haskell seemed to be aging before their eyes.

Cora urged  him to see a doctor. He struggled to hide his reaction when she said, “Haskell, this is way more than your booze drinking.”  Before he could protest she continued, “Now don’t go telling me you don’t drink. Everybody knows you keep moving your booze from one place to another.  You are so afraid someone will  drink a little of it.  Really Haskell, how selfish can you be?”  She put her hand on his arm. “Now there’s no  need to keep hiding it. You know what you need? You need a good stiff drink right now. You just sit down and relax."

Cora retrieved a key from her silverware drawer. “I’ll fetch it for you.”

Cora returned with two glasses. “Now Haskell, here you go.”

JODY AND THE BIRTHDAY CAN

1953 

Everybody knew everybody in Orchard Cove. The houses strewn along the dirt road between Appletown and Clarksville ranged from tar paper covered shacks and well- worn mobile homes to the near mansions of the Carswell clan. Most residents attended church on Wednesday night and Sunday morning. Two thirds to the Missionary Baptist; one third to the Church of God. The few who attended neither were by general opinion considered ‘jest plum no good’.

The parents of Jody Davenport fit the category. Jody’s father worked at odd jobs now and then; his mother rode once a week into Appletown with Willie, the mailman, where she cleaned the house of the town doctor. Labeling Jody, their only child, was not easy. Jody never missed Sunday services. Sometimes the Baptists; sometimes the Church of God.  Jody’s size – for he was short and thin—and his red hair and freckled face elicited genuine warmth and generosity from the members of both churches.  Regularly Jody was slipped a nickel or dime and occasionally a quarter which he obsequiously accepted.

Both churches kept their finances in order by the Sunday collection. Each had its special way of covering unanticipated costs. The Baptists used the birthday can. Every week any member, young or old, added a nickel per year of his life to the large Prince Albert Tobacco can with a coin slot carved in the lid. Care of the can rotated among the Deacons, who each Sunday carried it to church where it accepted its nickels for the week.

Jody’s church attendance fell by the wayside, at first because he had the mumps, then bronchitis and finally a newly developed habit of doing something else on Sunday.  The people of Orchard Cove paid scant attention, shaking their heads and asking, “What do you expect with shiftless parents like that?”

That is until they were forced to think about Jody. The Birthday Can was stolen, taken off the closet shelf in Carl Martin’s house sometime between the Sunday he stashed it away and went for it the next Sunday.  On evaluation of the situation the unanimous conclusion was “Only Jody could have done it.”

Demand repayment from Jody’s parents was the plan.  At the agreed time on a Saturday afternoon,the Deacons met at the church and planned to go in masse to the Davenports.  No one had asked Jody; no one had considered anyone but Jody until just before the departure time to the Davenport house.  Harry Carswell  arrived at the church with his two boys, ten and twelve,who looked none too happy.  As Harry stood by with lowered head, his boys confessed to the crime and handed over the money. Jody never knew; Jody resumed his church attendance.