The Writers Voice
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The Other Casualty of
War - Chapter Two
by
Paul Bylin
Arty was my
best friend. Like me, he was from a poor family.
His dad worked in a plastic factory where he had
lost his hand in an industrial accident and his mom
was a housewife. Arty was a dark haired, average
build guy. A typical kid that only wanted to fit in
and be the coolest he could be. I guess I knew him
from the time I was twelve or thirteen years old.
He lived right across the street from me and we’d
go to school together. On the weekends, we could
always be found hanging out together.
Both his
family and mine were pretty poor, as was the rest
of the neighborhood. His dad was a devoted father
and a hard worker. His mom was friends with
everyone in the neighborhood.
On Sunday
mornings, Arty used to come over to my house, along
with friends of my brother and my sister's friends.
My stepfather would make a huge breakfast for
everyone. The house was filled with the delicious
odor of bacon, eggs, toast and home fries. These
were happy times when we usually made plans for the
day. Arty and I usually had plans to go hang out
somewhere. Everyone would eat some breakfast and be
laughing and talking about what was new with them.
They were really good times.
My friends,
Arty, Steve, Peter, and a few other guys formed a
“gang” called the "El Cobras" so we could protect
each other from the bad guys. Or, at least this is
what our intention was. During our adolescent
years, we were the toughest gang in our
neighborhood, or so we thought; but that was only
in our minds!
The “El
Cobras” never got into any real trouble. We just
wanted to be a gang like some of the others that
were around during that time. It was the thing to
do, I guess. Besides, we were all good friends and
always had fun together. We would sometimes go to
the dances at the YMCA, thinking we were so cool,
the girls would come swarming all around us.
Looking back though, perhaps it was the other way
around.
None of the
gang was too bright in school. I was the class
clown. I was always in trouble with my teachers.
One time while in 8th grade science class, the
teacher was teaching a lesson on chemicals. Arty
and I were in the back of the classroom and were
fooling around and laughing. Neither one of us were
paying any attention to what the teacher was
saying. Well, the teacher got a bit upset and
called me to the front of the class. This in itself
caused a lot of laughter.
Trying so hard
to be cool, I walked up to the front of the class
where the teacher was standing. He said he wanted
me to smell and then describe the chemical he had
in a jar. The teacher held the jar under my nose
and took the cover off. I took a big whiff. WOW! It
made my eyes water and took my breath away. The
classroom roared with laughter, including the
teacher. He allowed this laughter to go on for what
seemed a very long time. After class, my teacher,
Mr. D, as we called him, told me what was in the
jar. From what I can remember, it was some kind of
ammonia. Mr. D. was a great teacher and he helped
me to understand chemistry quite well. Some years
later, he became the Mayor of Lynn, Massachusetts.
He was an excellent teacher who had somewhat of an
impact on my life.
One of the
things that the “El Cobras” did while in junior
high was sell protection to the 7th graders. We
would take their lunch money, and we would protect
them from us! We'd then use the money, and the
money we'd squeeze from parking meters on the way
to school, to buy beer and cigarettes on the
weekends.
Chapter 3
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