Chapter Six - Winter, Monopoly. and War

For Poobah, time became irrelevant. He couldn’t remember what year it was. Whatever the year printed on the calendar was, it was many years before he was born. The events began to blur together, and nothing seemed to be in chronological order. His memories of seasons seemed jumbled. The only thing which reminded him of the passage of time was his sudden appearance with the others in the next grade, and the uneasy feeling Mr. Thiessen was praying for him once a day. Somehow his desk always seemed to have a holiness aura around it whenever he sat in it. Life in Moron Land went on. Poobah went along for the ride. It was the best he could do.

Not everything in the Moron’s Club was planned or required a meeting. Much of it was impulsive. Whenever there are too many guys with too many ideas to be tested, things happened.

A blizzard blew in one day unexpectedly. Blowing snow enveloped the school, making the view through the classroom window grey, empty and gloomy.

          Blondie was a new student. His blond curly hair bounced on his head, so the nickname Blondie was a natural. He was boarding in Waldheim to take his grades eleven and twelve. Blondie was not the typical Morons’ Club member. He was athletic, playing softball and hockey. He had come from the Carlton area, where there was no high school. He liked the spirit of the Moron’s Club, so he left his thirteen cents on the table and joined.

          As the students prepared to leave for home in the blizzard, Blondie remarked, “This storm isn’t too serious. Carlton has many storms that are much worse than this.”

          “Where’s Carlton,” Poobah asked.

          “Carlton’s weather is the same as here,” said Hard-Times. “Carlton is only fifteen miles north.”

          “It must be in the Farrrrr North,” Poobah said.

          “This storm is nothing,” Blondie repeated.

          “Well, prove it,” Two-Ton demanded. “I dare you to go out like it was a summer’s day, no parka, no boots, no gloves, and if you are not frozen stiff by the time you get to Feyerabend’s confectionery, we’ll buy you a revel.”

“Why should I do it?” asked Blondie.

“Well, it would show you are willing to do stupid things,” challenged Fiedelbaum, “things stupid enough to be Moronic. Besides, my Dad, who makes the best ice cream in Saskatchewan, could use the business on a day like this.”

“Well, Fiedlebaum and Two-Ton, you’re on,” smirked Blondie. “Bring my boots, school books, and parka to Feyerabend’s. I’ll be waiting for you suckers over there.” Blondie opened the front door. The wind wrenched it from his hands and threw it back. The boys laughed as Blondie staggered into the wind, his shoes slipping in the snow.

The journey into the cold totaled three blocks, the first one was north, and the final two were west, against the wind. Blondie was glad he had worn his thermal underwear, but it was soon clear the penetrating wind was boss. He tried running to shorten the time, but the leather soles on his shoes made it impossible as he slipped, falling into a drift twice. Blondie turned up his collar to protect his neck, holding it there with his hand as he trudged through the snow.

          The boys quickly put on their boots and parkas and followed Blondie. They wanted to see the new Moron complete the challenge.

          Traveling the one block north was manageable. Blondie kept his bare right hand on his collar and his left hand on his ear to keep it from freezing. Turning into the west wind was different. He needed a third hand as he had two ears that were beginning to tingle, and the open collar exposed his neck. Even his legs were feeling numb. The cold and wind penetrated his shirt and pants. Blondie soon began to realize he was a Moron of moronic proportions. He tried walking backward, but this only complicated his walk as he couldn’t see where he was going. A fall into the snowdrift made everything wet, and the cold worse.

          Finally, after what seemed like forever, he reached the confectionery. He turned the cold doorknob, his wet hands sticking ever so slightly. Opening the door, he huddled on the stool farthest from the door.

          From his chair beside the ice cream machine, Mr. Feyerabend said, “You look cold, Blondie, you should be wearing a parka. It’s much too cold out there.”

          Blondie nodded.

          It didn’t take long for the rest of the crew to enter the door. The cold air soon filled the small confectionery and chilled the shaking Blondie. “Shut the door,” he shouted.

          “This was epically moronic,” Honey said. “You deserve an ice-cold revel, so your innards’ temperature will match your skin.”

          Blondie put on his boots and parka, pulling up his hood and tying it tight to help stop his ears from tingling.

          The boys placed their pennies on the counter to pay for Blondie’s revel, before ordering their own. Blondie sat on the stool, shivering long after the others excused themselves to go home, nibbling on his revel, taking his time to warm up.

*****

The boys enjoyed each other’s company. If they went to watch a hockey game, the hockey game was secondary. A hockey game was a chance to get together.

One winter Saturday, the Waldheim hockey team went to play in a tournament in the neighboring town of Hague. Blondie was playing, so it was the excuse for the Morons’ Club to gain permission from their parents to attend.

          The conveyance for the hockey team was the back of the Schultz Brothers’ truck. Fans filled the extra space sitting on the straw placed on the truck box floor. A tarp covered the truck box to keep out the wind. The trip was uncomfortable. The corduroy roads, unforgiving frozen tires, rigid truck springs, and prairie cold conspired to ensure the passengers felt every bump. They all sat stoically amid the noisy flapping of the canvas tarp and the roar of the engine.

          Upon arriving in Hague after the half-hour drive, the passengers crawled out of the truck box, cold and stiff. The games were at an outdoor rink, so there was no place to warm up. The fans and players of the teams not playing at the time were left to their own devices to find warmth wherever they could. It meant the local businesses were crowded, but not necessarily busy, as the fans and players generally had no money to spend. Instead, they spent time wandering the aisles, absorbing whatever heat they could.

          “This is ridiculous,” Poobah complained. “Where I come from, we go from one heated box to another heated box to drive to another heated box. Here when we leave the first heated box, we are condemned to the bone-chilling elements.”

          “Cold air is good for the preservation of the species,” Fiedelbaum said, “especially if you like your preserves rock hard.”

           Space in the stores to warm up was at a premium. Horse noticed the train connecting Prince Albert and Saskatoon had pulled into the railroad station, complete with a passenger car. “What do you think, Horse?” Fiedelbaum mused. “Do you think we could warm up inside the train? I can’t remember the last time I saw the interior of the passenger car.”

          It was moron thinking. Nobody thought this through.

          The boys dashed to the railway station and stepped into the passenger car. The steam heat surrounded them as they made themselves comfortable on the cushioned seats.

          “Ah,” sighed Two-Ton as he eased himself onto the bench. “This is the life.”

          Poobah stood by the steam register, trying to absorb every calorie of heat emanating from the heater.

          “The truck ride was something to forget,” complained Bottle as he stretched out on his seat. “To think we have another trip to get home. My knees and back are already sore.”

          “Are we going to watch any games?” asked Red Dawg. “It’s cold out there. Even my thermal underwear is cold and grumbling of working overtime. Watching a hockey game is stupid in this country. Your feet freeze while standing on the bank of snow shoveled from the rink. The wind whips around you, stiffening you like a starched suit. It isn’t my idea of fun. It’s more fun to sit by the radio and listen to a Toronto Maple Leafs’ hockey game broadcast by Foster Hewitt.”   

“It’s stupid, but is it moronic?” Fiedelbaum always asked philosophical questions.

          “Half the time, it is the girls who brave the cold to watch the hockey game,” observed Wrench. “I think some of the players have girlfriends.”

          “I believe girls have a higher cold threshold than boys,” Poobah remarked. “They’re tougher than guys.”

          Discussion ensued and quickly stopped complaints about the cold.

“Two-Ton, if you played hockey, do you think Mary would come to see you play in the cold?” teased Honey. “Would it depend on if you were good at it, or if the weather was warm?” The boys laughed.

“Well, we know he isn’t good at it,” Fiedelbaum said. “Last season, Two-Ton accidentally body checked an opposition player, and he apologized to him all the way to the bench. Mary’s reason certainly wouldn’t be because he was a joy to watch.”

“You should talk Fiedelbaum,” Two-Ton retorted. “Your career lasted only a few practices.”

“But they put me in the nets, and I got hit in the head,” Fiedelbaum countered.

“We have been searching for some explanations for your weirdness,” Red Dawg said. “But you were only placed in goal because you can’t skate.”

          “Well, getting back to Mary…” Two-Ton was interrupted by the sudden lurch of the train as it resumed its southerly trek.

“Oh, oh,” muttered Hard-Times.

“We better jump off while we can,” Red Dawg urged as he moved to the entrance they had entered.

The train was picking up speed quickly. “Don’t,” cautioned Poobah. “Somebody’s going to get hurt.”

“Well, we’re off to Osler,” moaned Fiedelbaum. “It’s another fine town in the middle of nowhere.”

The conductor suddenly made his appearance from the front of the passenger car. “Tickets, please.” His formal blue uniform and stiff cap brought a seriousness to the Morons’ situation.

“I’m sorry, sir, we don’t have tickets,” stammered Fiedelbaum as he watched the farm scenes pass by the window out of the corner of his eye.

“Then why are you on board?” the conductor demanded, looking sternly over his black-rimmed glasses. “Well, I guess I can take cash.”

“We came here to warm up.” Horse offered this flimsy excuse as though it was logical. “We needed to come in from the cold. We don’t have money.”        

“If you’re so cold, you should have gone home and put a piece of wood on the fire,” retorted the unsympathetic conductor.

“We came here for the hockey tournament.” Honey pleaded for understanding. “We’re from Waldheim, and there is no place to warm up.”     “Can we get off?” sputtered Two-Ton.

“Well, we can let you off in Osler,” offered the conductor.

“How far is it from Hague?” Two-Ton asked.

“It’s close to thirteen miles,” the conductor answered.

“It’s a long way!” moaned Fiedelbaum. “The wind is out of the north today. We would be facing it.”

“This is a train, not a car. We can’t make a U-turn for you,” snapped the annoyed conductor.

“Tell them we belong to a special club,” Poobah chimed in with a smirk. “It might make us eligible for special discounts or privileges.

“We belong to the Moron’s Club in Waldheim,” Two-Ton reported as he felt the miles slip by. “This didn’t occur to us. We made an honest mistake.”        “It explains everything,” said the conductor as he suddenly pulled the emergency cord. The train braked hard. The steel wheels screeched as they slid along the rails; the rail cars shook as each one ran into the one braking ahead of it. The boys lurched into the seats in front of them. Those standing stumbled to the front of the passenger car to maintain their balance.

“This is the best I can do,” the conductor sighed. “Tell your friends you lived up to your name today, Morons.” The train stopped. “Leave,” he ordered. The Morons sheepishly stepped off the train. As the train left, the boys looked north to the distant elevators of Hague.

“Wasn’t the steam heat wonderful?” Poobah said. “It might have been worth the trip to Osler, to let the heat penetrate. Where was this train heading anyway?”

“Saskatoon,” Honey said.

Poobah thought of his home in the city. But his home wouldn’t have yet been built. He believed his Mom said the year of construction of his house was 1980. Going home would have meant sitting in an empty field. He was better off hiking back to Hague then continuing the journey to Saskatoon.

“By the time we get back,” Two-Ton declared, “we’ll be as cold as we were before.”

With the wind in their faces, the eight morons stumbled their way between the rails to Hague. Sometimes being a Moron wasn’t always fun and games. Sometimes it was plain stupid. To the annoyance of everyone, Feedlebaum and Horse began to sing in harmony, “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad” and “Chattanooga Choo Choo.”

By the time the Morons reached Hague, they were cold and grumpy. They wedged themselves into the back corner of a grocery store to warm up, far away from the drafty doorway. By the time they ventured to the rink, the hockey gods had eliminated Blondie and the Waldheim team from the tournament, and the truck was loading hockey players, equipment, and fans into the back of the vehicle.

“And next, it’s the deep freeze,” Poobah said. “This has got to be the formula for cannibalism in Canada. First, they freeze you solid. Then they hack off a piece, throw it in the oven, and presto, supper is served. Boys, we’re on the cannibal express.”

“If I survive this,” Fiedelbaum said, “I’ve got dibs on Two-Ton. There are some good slices of meat on him.”

“Fiedelbaum, you’re a rack of bones,” Two-Ton replied. “The only thing you’re good for is soup. My Mom makes great noodles. We’ll throw you into the broth and have Fiedelbaum soup. Yum.”

“Stone soup heated on the engine of this old truck sounds more delicious,” Poobah said.

The banter continued until they unloaded at Schultz’s Garage, after which each one trudged to the warmth of their homes.

*****

Time passed slowly in winter. It was a special day when farm friends brought their horses to town, inevitably hitched to a toboggan or sleigh. Poobah didn’t like this activity much as the Morons made him sit in the front, to be their human shield from the packed snow picked up by the horse’s hooves and the first one to smell the manure as the toboggan ran over its freshness.

Sometimes the boys would organize a skiing trip. It meant walking a couple of miles to a prairie mountain if a horse and a sleigh were unavailable. Prairie mountains are upside down hills created by a creek as it meandered to the river. It usually was accompanied by a set of shrubs beside the run, which one could hold onto as one climbed back up to the mountain top with your skis on your back. Some would bring their toboggans. The runs were always short compared to the long climb back to the top. Poobah’s time with the cellphone had not equipped him for this type of exertion. He was tired and cold by the time he had reached the slopes. He was thoroughly exhausted when he arrived home, but Poobah enjoyed the company of the Morons, all of whom he now deemed friends.

The first time he had been invited to play Monopoly at Fiedelbaum’s house, Poobah thought the whole experience would be lame. Board games were so inferior to video games, but he hadn’t had access to his ‘superior’ games for a long while. Since it was with friends, it could be fun. Fiedelbaum always made things entertaining.

The world of electronics and radio was a primary preoccupation for Fiedelbaum. Shelves of spare radio parts cluttered his bedroom. His mother could never clean the room to her satisfaction, as she was under strict orders: “Don’t touch my stuff.” Fiedelbaum constantly experimented to see which combination of parts and antennae could provide the best reception on his crystal radio set. It’s easier to listen privately lying in your bed than having to deal with noisy sisters while trying to hear Bob Hope on the console radio set in the living room. Reception improved with aerials made of stovepipe wire or bed springs.

The radio broadcasts entertained and informed with programming to which you sat and listened. Poobah observed, people sat near the radio like his parents watched TV. The entertainment was never background music or noise. For the young, there were after school radio adventures like those of the Lone Ranger and his sidekick Tonto. There were variety shows by Bing Crosby and comedy by Bob Hope and the ventriloquist, Edgar Bergen. No one could ever claim they saw Mr. Bergen’s lips move on the radio.

In 1938, Orson Welles had frightened his radio audience by interrupting music and regular programming with a description of a Martian invasion. Fiedelbaum had heard a rebroadcast of the show near Hallowe’en. He was one of the few people in the community to own a reel to reel tape recorder. Fiedelbaum had been experimenting by recording music from the radio and then editing in some spoken words of his own. Fiedelbaum had an idea.

Poobah, together with Honey, were invited the day before to prepare for Sunday’s special Monopoly game. Fiedelbaum had concocted a plan to frighten some non-Moron club friends. First, they recorded an hour of radio music. Then Fiedelbaum gave Honey a prepared text to read and a clean handkerchief to muffle his voice. Another theme was provided for Poobah to read. Together they mixed the spoken word between songs. After the recording, they invited two non-Moron Club members, Wilfred and Ken, to play Monopoly on Sunday afternoon at the Feyerabend home.

Sunday arrived. Fiedelbaum had waited for this all morning. His Mennonite friends had church to attend. He was free because his Seventh Day Adventist church worshipped on Saturdays. He tested his recordings and was pleased the results were convincing. He set up the tape recorder.

The boys came around 2 pm after the noon meal, prepared to spend the rest of the afternoon at the Feyerabend's. Monopoly was not a short game.

After an hour of play, as the boys were beginning to add houses and hotels to their properties, Fiedelbaum said, “Let’s listen to some radio music.” He went to the other side of the room and pressed the play button on the tape recorder. The pre-recorded songs of the forties filled the room. Fiedelbaum had memorized the words to all the songs and sang along loudly.

Fiedelbaum could hardly sit still through Glen Miller’s “Chattanooga Choo-Choo” as he rolled the dice and moved to the music. Together with Bing Crosby, he crooned, “I’ll Be Seeing You.” Halfway through The Song Spinners’ song, “Comin in on a Wing and a Prayer,” a serious muffled voice stopped the music. “We interrupt this program for an important news bulletin. Russian paratroopers have landed in the Yukon capital of Whitehorse and have taken over the city’s government buildings and radio station. There was no resistance as the only forces in the area were a handful of Royal Canadian Mounted Police who surrendered their revolvers to the invaders. Reports say Whitehorse is in the hands of the Russians. We now return to local programming.” Tommy Dorsey’s song, “I’ll Never Smile Again,” played next.

“Man, World War II has barely ended,” moaned Ken. “Now, we have to fight another.”

“Seventy Waldheim men went to do battle, and six didn’t return,” continued Wilfred. “War is a fearful thing.”

“It’s your turn to throw the dice,” Honey reminded Ken, trying hard not to grin. The guests had swallowed the fake news hook, line, and sinker.

Fiedelbaum controlled his laughter by singing in harmony to Johnny Mercer’s Tune, “On the Atcheson, Topeka and the Santa Fe.”

Wilfred broke in, “Shut up, Fiedelbaum. It’s serious business. What will happen when the Russians come to Waldheim? Our soldiers have left to find jobs in the city. The Mennonite Conscientious Objectors are going to head back to cut lumber in Waskesiu. I don’t know where the Seventh Day Adventist Conscientious Objectors go. Where do they go, Fiedelbaum? You can’t count on the Doukhobors across the river. They burned their rifles in Russia before they came here because they didn’t believe in war.”

Perry Como’s song, “Till the End of Time,” was interrupted by another muffled announcement. “We regret to inform you two large Russian boats have docked in Skagway, Alaska. Informants say ten thousand troops have disembarked and are heading to Whitehorse on the White Pass and Yukon Railway. Cargo planes have landed on the Alaskan Highway and unloaded their tanks, trucks, artillery, munitions, and equipment. Convoys are making their way towards Edmonton, where troops from CFB Edmonton are organizing a response to the invasion. More news as it becomes available. We return to regular programming.” The radio played “Surrender,” by Perry Como.

“Roll the dice, Wilfred. It’s your turn,” Fiedelbaum urged.

Wilfred was beside himself and couldn’t concentrate on the game. “They’re going to destroy us all. I’m too young.” Wilfred rolled the dice and ended with a five. His token landed on Broadway Ave. on which Fiedelbaum had two hotels. It cleaned Wilfred out of cash. “I’ve got to go,” said Wilfred. “Mom and Dad probably don’t know the invasion is coming. They nap Sunday afternoons. I don’t know where we are going to hide.”

“I had better go too,” Ken said. “This Russian invasion has got me upset, and I can’t concentrate on the game.”

The two left to the tune, “I’ll be Seeing You,” by Bing Crosby. As the entrance door slammed shut, the three Morons burst into laughter. Their sides ached. They went upstairs to clean up the game. Another cascade of laughter erupted when Glen Miller’s song, “That Old Black Magic,” was halted by the now-familiar muffled voice. “We interrupt this program for the following news bulletin. The Canadian Forces from CFB Edmonton are in retreat as the Russians…” Loud laughter swallowed the sounds of the tape recording.

Monday morning, an angry visitor entered the Feyerabend Confectionery and the Fast’s General Store to complain of the behavior of their two sons, Henry and Eldred. Mr. Lohrenz, Wilfred’s father, was the local elevator agent. “You don’t joke of war,” he said. The fathers of the two offending boys agreed and offered, “We will deal with the boys at home.”

The boys began their bedroom confinement Monday night.