Playing Fair and Being Kind

You know, sometimes thoughts come and linger and a tale begins to form into sentences and images. I can entertain myself with the images and the words that would convey the sense of feeling and thought accurately. That is the object as far as I can tell. If a thought morphing into an entertaining tale can be transferred from me to you with a certain degree of accuracy then “mission accomplished”. The first part happened today after reading many of the reports of Trump’s acceptance speech. I thought of how my ancestors would have reacted to “The Donald” and his vacuous string of words. One thing led to another and I’ve come up with a tale to be told. Here it is.

THE GOOD SON

Daniel remembered when, as a child, he would walk down to Freeport Street in Dorchester, down by the waterfront industries and climb the embankment by Higge’s Shipyard to sit under the railroad tracks that crossed the trestle there. A small person could pass around the barriers to slip into the dark cavern above the support structure and squat under the track bed. The tracks were active every day and every few hours a freight train or commuter would pass over this trestle on the way toward or away from the downtown area where ancient South Station sprawled along Fort Point Channel. Sitting under the tracks on top of the trestle was thrilling but also a little bit scary if you were alone. The imagination would spin out of control and with no one there to keep you in touch with reality the noise and vibrations could be overwhelming. Daniel had sat there alone and nearly panicked. He’d never gone back there without a playmate.

Many decades later he was standing in the oldest part of York Cemetery. He had come to this place as part of his new ritual every four years, every election for the office of President of the United States. Daniel had decided late in life to get closer to his ancestry so each time a presidential election rolled around he would drive up to Maine and bring the Boston Sunday Newspaper along with his folding camp chair and a thermos of coffee. With the car parked alongside the dirt road that laced the cemetery Daniel would choose a place to unpack the chair and get comfortable with the newspaper and his cup and read aloud whatever caught his eye. Sometimes he would sit by his parents; other times he might park down in the oldest part of the cemetery nearer his great, great grandparents. It all depended on the weather.

Most of his trips were later in July after the conventions were held. He would sit in his chair with the newspaper and sip the coffee. At first he felt out of place but after a few presidential election cycles Daniel was comfortable sipping coffee and reading the Sunday newspaper. This event had become, more or less, Daniel’s own “State of the Nation” address for his relatives and, by virtue of proximity, all of the other residents lying about. His mother generally like him to read the hockey scores for the Bruins. His father was interested in the op-ed pieces on the editorial pages. Soon after beginning reading Daniel could sense what was of interest to everyone.

It wasn’t just for the Goodwins that Daniel read after a while. There were the Moultons, the Sewells, the Donnells as well. Speaking of the Donnells he had been named for one of the most famous, Dan Donnell. Old Dan Donnell had single handedly repulsed an invasion of British troops who had tried to enter York Harbor. Old Dan had spied the sloop carrying perhaps a few dozen red coats into the entrance to the Harbor. He was quick and he’d run along the cliffs down to Stage Neck where the channel made a sharp right turn to the north. Old Dan laid himself down along the shore just inside of Rocks Nose where he had a commanding view of the channel. Dan’s long gun spoke with authority. One by one he picked off the marines whenever they poked their heads above the ship’s rail. After a while the British captain altered course to head out to sea and they never came back.

Once in a while Daniel would read an article and he would hear a slight rumble underneath the earth. He discovered through deduction that it was one of the residents rolling in their grave. He tied in the subject matter of whatever it was he was reading to the amount of rumbling that would accompany it. The more controversial or distasteful the subject the more the rumbling.

It was during the 2016 election year that all hell broke loose, literally. Daniel read parts of the nomination acceptance speech of the Republican nominee and as he read the rumbling started sooner than normal. The noise coming from underneath the cemetery grass surface was building to unimaginable levels. Daniel grew concerned. The disturbance of the atmosphere reminded him of the time he sat underneath the tracks above Freeport Street. He began to grow more and more uncomfortable. The rumbling increased even after he stopped reading aloud. He dropped the newspaper and his coffee cup was on the ground as well. The camp chair had half collapsed under him and Daniel was obliged to stand and hold onto the top of a gravestone to keep from falling over. The earth was moving under his feet and the noise caused by the rumbling was deafening. He panicked.

Daniel couldn’t let go of the gravestone. The earth was moving too much and he saw a split along the dirt road that frightened him. The whole area was shaking and heaving as if by an earthquake. He turned to look for his car and saw it was being swallowed into a crater that had opened like a sinkhole behind him. Daniel was really scared; he was unable to stand now. The ground had moved so much he was on his hands and knees and had released his grip on the headstone. Nothing was safe to be near. Trees were falling exposing their round disc shaped root systems to the air. The sky had darkened and Daniel looked around for a safe place to be. There was none. In a few more minutes the ground began to move less and the rumbling was decreasing in volume.

Daniel moved across the road to where his uncle and aunt were interred. His cousin Janice was there with them and he sensed she was slowing down in her rolling. He always loved Janice and she always loved him. She had died very young from a form of Multiple Sclerosis. He kept thinking of Janice and it seemed to help. The ground stopped shaking so violently and the noise level was keeping pace with the reduced agitation. One fed the other. Soon all noise and rumbling was stopped. Silence. Daniel found his cup, chair, and what was left of the newspaper. He saw his car was back up on the surface by some miracle.

Daniel stood among all the tumbled gravestones and whispered an apology. Silence. He placed all of the items into the back of the car and got into the front seat. The car started easily. Daniel fastened his seat belt and drove carefully and smoothly out of the cemetery back toward home.

G. M. Goodwin

23 July 2016