Chapter Four - 1946 - Day One and Beyond

Poobah followed Two-Ton home. It wasn’t far, but nothing in this town seemed far away. In a small town, ‘far away’ doesn’t exist. It took only a few minutes to reach a large one-and-a-half storied house, complete with a verandah facing the street and a balcony above. The two boys entered the back door into the kitchen. Two-Ton stopped by the pantry to pick up two tins of freshly baked cookies his mother had made.

Poobah was famished and wasn’t sure how many cookies he should take. He followed Two-Ton’s example, matching him cookie for cookie, and in the end, he was no longer hungry. The cookies were divine and came in two varieties, a different kind from each tin. They were soft and would have melted in Poobah’s mouth if he wasn’t so hungry. The oatmeal raisin cookies had massive raisins inside, and the soft ginger snaps were so much better than the crunchy ones available in bags at the grocery store.

After the two-course meal of cookies, Two-Ton and Poobah made their way up the narrow stairway to the bedrooms on the second floor. Two-Ton said, “I’ve got a younger sister and brother. My brother and I sleep in the same room, but you’ll have a separate bed. My brother’s name is Delmar Roy, but everyone calls him ‘One-Ton.’ My sister’s name is Rosella. In our town, we don’t give girls nicknames.

 Two-Ton opened the door to a large bedroom. The vaulted ceiling followed the steep roofline. In the corner, One-Ton was sleeping in a double bed. Two-Ton threw his clothes in a pile and crawled into bed with his brother. He motioned Poobah to the other double bed, turned over, and fell asleep instantly.

Poobah wasn’t sure what to do and how to react. He merely followed One-Ton’s suggestion because it seemed like the only available option. When he was young, he didn’t like to go on sleepovers to friends’ houses. He refused to go to week-long camps where he would have to stay overnight. The lure of his bed was always too strong. On nights where he would overnight with friends, people would want to talk, when all he wanted to do was game.

The moonlight filtered through the curtain. Poobah slowly removed his clothes and slipped beneath the covers. There were so many questions. How was he going to get back to the lake? How was he going to get out of this time warp? He had no clothes, no toothbrush, and no idea of the future. His mother often sang the folk song of “the man who never returned.” He feared he could be that man. His mother would look for him, but never think to search for him in history. She might read a book that mentioned the name of the ‘Great Poobah,’ but how would she know this Poobah was her Jefferson? None of this made any sense. Perhaps if he fell asleep, he would find he was back in his bed at home in the morning. The bed creaked as Poobah sought a comfortable spot, but he eventually joined the ‘Ton’ brothers in a deep sleep.

Poobah awoke to whispers at the foot of his bed.

“Who’s the guy in your bed?” One-Ton asked.

“His name is Poobah,” Two-Ton replied. “We found him in an outhouse.”

“Is he a stray?” One-Ton continued the questions.

“I don’t know,” came the answer. “The guy said he had no place to stay, so I invited him to our place. We were lifting an outhouse to its upright position when this guy fell out. We called him, ‘Poobah.’ ”

“Did you catch him with his pants down?” laughed One-Ton.

Poobah stirred and stretched to get the Ton brothers to stop whispering.

“Good morning, Poobah.” Two-Ton smiled. “Some of my brother John’s old clothes are hanging in the closet. He left home when he went to teacher’s college. I think the clothes will fit. He has never collected them even though he lives next door and works with my Dad in the store. The clothes are there on the right-hand side of the rack.”

Poobah looked at the set of clothes reserved for him. “I think I’ll wear my clothes for another day,” he told Two-Ton. John’s clothes looked so out of style.

“Well, if you need them, they are there,” Two-Ton continued. “Mom is serving breakfast whenever you are ready. I’ll let her know you are here.”

When the two boys left, Poobah got dressed. He also checked his wallet to see if he had any cash. He counted thirty dollars in bills, all displaying the portrait of King George. What could he buy with thirty bucks?

Poobah wandered the top floor looking for the bathroom, but found none. He went downstairs. “Where’s the bathroom?” he asked Two-Ton.

Two-Ton pointed out the kitchen window to the outhouse in the backyard. “When you’ve finished, you can wash up in the bathroom beside the kitchen,” he said.

Poobah hurried outside. He couldn’t remember if this was one of the outhouses they had righted last night or if the hooligans missed it. He circled the privy to make sure it completely covered the hole, and there were no leftover Halloween pranksters around.

Poobah returned to the bathroom to wash his hands and apply some water to manage his bedhead. There was a pump beside the sink to pump some water from the cistern. After washing his hands and wetting his hair, he returned to the dining room for breakfast, joining the rest of the family, the Ton brothers, Rosella, and their mother. Their father had already gone to work in the General Store and Garage he owned.

Two-Ton introduced Poobah to the family and of course, had to mention the embarrassing part of him dropping out of an outhouse to a chorus of laughter.

“Where do you live?” the Ton brothers’ mother asked.

“I don’t know,” Poobah replied. He could have said, “Saskatoon,” but it would be difficult to explain where to locate a street and house which didn’t yet exist. He felt trapped with no sense of how he would see his mother again, or how he would return to the future.

Two-Ton tried to explain.” I think he banged his head when the guys tipped the toilet. He doesn’t seem to know too much.”

Two-Ton’s mother was a large woman, but she waddled up to Poobah and checked his head for bruises. “I don’t see anything,” she said. She returned to the stove and brought out the porridge and brown sugar.

Hot cereal in the morning was a new experience for Poobah. He preferred the cold sugared or honeyed cereals like Honey-Nut Cheerios, Fruit Loops, and Captain Crunch. He watched the others at the table. They all sprinkled some brown sugar on the porridge and then added milk. Poobah followed suit. The others seemed to enjoy the breakfast and ate quickly. The texture of the oatmeal porridge bothered Poobah. Eventually, he developed a system of placing a spoonful in his mouth and immediately swallowing. He smiled through the whole ordeal to appear as grateful as he could, as he had no other offers of food and lodging and had no ticket home.

“Time for school,” Rosella announced. The thought hadn’t crossed Poobah’s mind.

“Coming?” asked Two-Ton.

“I guess so,” Poobah mumbled. Despite the fact he was anti-social, Poobah liked to shower and brush his teeth before going to school. Somewhere he would have to get some toiletries.

School was as mind-numbing in 1946 as it was in the high-school he attended. Poobah daydreamed the whole day. He fantasized he had defeated Warlord and Macho Joe in the war game, thought about his career as a professional gamer and dreamed of his outhouse voyage to this prehistoric and primitive world. The school day was so long he had to recycle his daydreams several times until even they became boring.

He was happy when the school day ended. The farm students went to the stable behind the church across the street. There they each gathered their horse and rode it home, or they hitched it to a wagon or buggy, gathered their whole family, and drove to their farm. The entire street smelled of horses and their round droppings. It was worse than the musty aroma of his gaming outhouse.

As Poobah waited for Two-Ton, Fiedelbaum, and Honey, he looked around. In front of the school, to the west, was the Zoar Mennonite Church with its horse stable. The church was L-shaped, painted a saintly white, and had a bell tower nestled in the intersection of the L. To the north, was the Mennonite Brethren Church. It was also painted a redeemed white but was a rectangular box with a steep roof.

The three friends exited the school, talking incessantly of the day’s events. “Were these boys in the same classes?” Poobah wondered. He couldn’t remember anything noteworthy. Poobah had tuned out after the morning exercises of the Lord’s Prayer and the singing of ‘O’ Canada.’ His mind went blank shortly after.

“Let’s go to Feyerabend’s Confectionery for an ice cream revel,” Two-Ton suggested as they gathered in front of the school.

“It’s your theme song,” said Honey. “It is your number one suggestion.”

“Don’t discourage him,” countered Fiedelbaum. “My father needs all the ice-cream sales he can get.”

They walked north past the church and then west to the confectionery, two blocks away. The four grain elevators beside the railroad tracks abruptly broke into the horizon like four hands outstretched in thanksgiving for bountiful harvests.

The four boys settled down on the stools in the confectionery and ordered their ice cream treats. “Your father makes yummy ice cream treats,” said Poobah. Mr. Feyerabend smiled from behind the counter. He was proud of his chocolate and ice cream expertise.

“This is where it all began,” Fiedelbaum declared.

Honey and Two-Ton reverently removed their caps and nodded their heads in agreement.

“What began?” asked Poobah.

“The Moron’s Club,” Honey replied.

“We explained it to you last night,” Two-Ton reminded Poobah, indignant something so momentous and historic could be forgotten.

“Oh, so you are the super-heroes of what’s the name of this town again?” Poobah teased.

“Waldheim!” they all chorused at once.

“The super-heroes of Waldheim,” continued Poobah sarcastically, “dedicated to making things right, upright that is. We specialize in outhouses, woodpiles, and fence gates.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Honey agreed. “Mind you; this was our first and only activity. You never know, we could diversify.”

After consuming the ice cream, the boys began the last few blocks home. Poobah excused himself to stop at Two-Ton’s father’s General Store to pick up some toiletries and underwear. He was surprised he still had money left from his $30. “King George knows how to make a dollar stretch,” he said, chuckling to himself.

Poobah returned to Two-Ton’s place where Two-Ton’s mother greeted him with a serving of milk and cookies. Rosella joined him for the after-school snack.

“How was school?” she asked, trying to get a conversation going.

“Okay, I guess,” Poobah answered. “I think I got in some pleasant daydreams. The teacher didn’t ask me any questions, so it was a good day.

Rosella laughed. “You don’t seem to care much for school.”

“What are you going to do for the rest of the day?” Poobah wondered.

“Are you going to ask me out?” she giggled.

“No,” he stammered. “I was wondering what people did around here in the evening. I don’t imagine you pick up downed outhouses every day unless it is a sport, and you need to train.”

“No, it’s only a once a year type event,” Rosella replied. “There are church youth events, sports, hobbies, or you hang around with your friends. We also spend a good deal of time listening to radio shows. And I guess if you paid enough attention at school, you probably have some homework assigned.”

“Somehow, I don’t think homework was in the cards today,” Poobah responded. “What do you do for fun?”

“I skate during the winter. I’m the substitute pitcher for the high school softball team, even though I’m only in grade eight. I use the windmill style,” Rosella answered. “I also take music lessons, and I do routines with Indian clubs.”

“What are Indian clubs?” Poobah asked.

Rosella jumped up from the table. “I’ll show you.” She climbed the stairs to her bedroom and brought down three clubs. The clubs looked like bowling pins with a longer thinner neck. She proceeded to do a short, juggling routine for him. Poobah thought it looked like rhythmic gymnastics in the Olympics, where the contestants used clubs.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, not to play with those clubs in the dining room,” Rosella’s mother shouted from the kitchen.

“I’m showing Poobah what Indian clubs are,” Rosella replied. Then turning to Poobah, she said, “What is your real name, anyway? Poobah is such a terrible name.”

“Jefferson,” came the reply.

“Well, I’ll call you ‘Jefferson,’ ” Rosella offered. “The boys choose such terrible names for each other like ‘Horse,’ ‘Two-Ton,’ and ‘Honey.’ ”

“Thank you,” said Poobah, “and thanks for showing me your skills with the clubs. I think I’ll go upstairs to see what Norman is doing. It’s his name, right? I have trouble remembering his real name because everybody calls him ‘Two-Ton.’ ”

Poobah liked Rosella, but when he subtracted 1946 from his birth year, he realized it wasn’t going to work out.

Poobah walked up the stairs to the Ton Brothers’ room. He saw Two-Ton working with what looked like an assembly of spare electrical parts on top of a wooden base. It was attached to the heating radiator, a bedspring, and an earphone, which was, in turn, connected to Two-Ton’s ear. “What is this gadget?” Poobah said as he was going to pick it up for a closer inspection.

“Don’t touch it!” Two-Ton said abruptly.

“Sorry,” Poobah said, backing away.

“It’s a crystal radio set,” Two-Ton continued. “If you move it, I’ll have to tune it back to CFQC Saskatoon. Right now, I have good reception, better than most of the Morons. Saskatoon is thirty -five miles away. It’s all in my bedspring aerial. Here, do you want to listen?” Two-Ton offered him an earphone. It looked like a miniature bathroom plunger.

Poobah placed the earphone in his ear. He had to listen carefully as the volume was faint compared to the amplified noise in the earmuffs he wore when he gamed. The music was so mellow, sung by some old crooner, Poobah returned the earphone to Two-Ton after listening to only a few bars. “This is primitive stuff,” he muttered to Two-Ton. How he wished he could show Two-Ton the capabilities of his cell phone. He would show these people who thought he originated from an outhouse, how advanced his technology was. It would blow Two-Ton out of the water. But the cell phone was running out of power in some forest location.

“It’s certainly primitive compared to the radio console we have downstairs,” Two-Ton replied. “But these radios have their advantages. I can listen to what I want. It’s my small rebellion.”

Poobah could relate to ‘rebellion.’ Sitting in bed with his cell phone was all he was interested in doing.

Two-Ton got out of the bed and picked out another set of earphones, attaching it to the crystal radio set. “Here you might as well listen to the radio. The Bob Hope show is going to be on in ten minutes.” He handed the set to Poobah.

Poobah settled in his bed, placed the earphones into his ears, and listened to Bing Crosby sing “Swinging on a Star.” There wasn’t enough of a beat or enough use of drums in the song. He felt himself dozing off.

He awoke to the sound of Norman laughing, and a distant laugh track from the radio. Bob Hope was on. It wasn’t long before Poobah joined in the laughter.

The evening was spent playing Monopoly with One-Ton and Rosella. Life in 1946 seemed slow-paced, even though ironically, before the fantasy outhouse trip, Poobah had spent most of his life in bed with his cell phone. So, his life wasn’t changing too much. Except with One-Ton and Rosella at the other end of the Monopoly board, it was more social than playing with Warlord and Macho Joe.

The day ended, but not his stay in 1946. Over time, he acquainted himself with the norms of the town of Waldheim. The church influenced everything.

Waldheim's parents were strict. He found himself going to church more often then he had ever gone before. He used to go to church perhaps three times a year, Christmas, Easter, and Thanksgiving. He went at these times because the church either provided treats or potluck dinners, which were too tasty to pass up. But here, every time Poobah turned, there seemed to be a pending church service. He matched his yearly church attendance in Saskatoon during the first week in Waldheim.

In the Mennonite Church, there were two services on Sundays. The Sunday morning service was the worst. A good portion of the service was in German, including the sermon. They sang out of German hymn books with undecipherable German letters. There was the Sunday School, first thing in the morning, which was in English, and when Poobah asked why there was so much German, the Sunday School teacher replied, “It was God’s language.” Poobah felt English must be a lesser language leftover from the Old Testament story of the Tower of Babel times when all the languages created confusion among the people. He wasn’t sure where he learned the Bible story, but he was as confused as the people in Old Testament times.

The Sunday evening service seemed to be a version of a television show he would occasionally watch. This version could be called “Waldheim has Talent.” There were violin solos, small bands, singing, quartets, and skits. Often Fiedelbaum and Horse would come and bring their Seventh Day Adventist Quartet to sing, and Fiedelbaum would take a fiddle bow and run it across a regular wood saw and play hymns.

During the week, there were youth activity nights, choir practice, and prayer meetings. There were also those special nights when a missionary from Africa would come and show slides of black Africans in white shirts and pants. Then there was the obligation to attend some Seventh Day Adventist church events because Fiedelbaum and Horse came to the Mennonite church services. At least these services were in English. Poobah felt he had to attend all these services because he was a guest at Two-Ton’s house, and Two-Ton seemed to participate in everything. However, Poobah was not above muttering to himself, “there is too much Jesus, too much church” in this town.

Days passed.

“Tomorrow is Remembrance Day,” Two-Ton said. “Fiedelbaum and I are going to call my girlfriend on the telephone. She doesn’t have a telephone.”

“It sounds magical,” Poobah said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“It is,” enthused Two-Ton, not noticing the sarcasm. “Mary is one special girl. She’s gorgeous; she’s smart. They don’t come finer.”

“That’s nice.” Poobah feigned interest. Calling someone on a telephone seemed so blasé.

“I built two fourteen-foot ladders for us to use,” Two-Ton was all excited.

“Where do you have your phone, on your roof?” asked Poobah.

“No, stupid,” laughed Two-Ton. “We need them to climb the telephone pole.”

Suddenly Poobah was interested. “Can I come along?” he asked.

“No problem. I’ll show you how to court a girl,” smiled Two-Ton.