Chapter Three - The Morons’ Club

A group calling itself a Morons’ Club intrigued Poobah. He was used to stamp clubs, chess clubs, and sports’ clubs, but had never heard of a morons’ club.

“What’s a morons’ club?” Poobah asked. “Why would anyone start a Morons’ Club?”

“It’s a long story,” Fiedelbaum said. “If you want to come along, I’ll tell you.”

Poobah didn’t have anything else to do. He had lost his cell phone and battery pack, so returning to the outhouse didn’t seem like an option, and he was too tired to be creative in a cramped, smelly space.

Fiedelbaum was going to begin his story, when Poobah asked, “Where are we going?”

“It’s our ‘goodwill tour,’ ” Fiedelbaum explained. “We are going yard to yard, returning outhouses to their upright positions, fixing woodpiles and fences.”

“Why?” Poobah wondered.

“Because,” Fiedelbaum said, “it’s a perfectly reasonable thing to do and still utterly moronic. It’s our first club activity. Now back to the story.

“It happened earlier this year. It was the last period of the afternoon, and the teacher was trying to teach a new mathematical concept. It was a gorgeous September day, and there were a hundred things more interesting than math.”

“You said ‘September?’” Poobah asked, confused. It was only the second day of their holiday to Iroquois Lake, and it was July. Something must have happened during the outhouse ride.

“Yeah, last month, September,” Fiedelbaum answered. “Stop asking so many questions; I’m losing my place in the story. Now, where was I? Oh yes, our teacher was teaching us math, sine, and cosine, I believe.

“Our teacher teaches all the subjects in grades nine and ten. He lost a leg as a child in a farm accident, so he walks with a limp, swinging his wooden leg ahead before the other leg catches up. Our teacher was impatient. I think his prosthesis was bothering him. Anyways, nobody was paying attention, and of course, nobody understood the concept. After trying several times to explain it, the teacher raised his hands in frustration, and said, ‘It isn’t difficult. You’re acting like a bunch of morons!’ Well, everyone burst out laughing. Luckily, it was time for dismissal.

“Everyone enjoyed the joke. The hallways filled with greetings: ‘How are you today, my dear Moron?’ ‘Hey Moron, are you coming to my house on Sunday to play Monopoly?’ ‘Did you follow what the teacher was saying in math class, Moron.’ ‘It was ‘Moron this,’ and ‘Moron that.’ Everyone was ‘Moron,’ so nobody knew who should answer when they heard the word ‘Moron.’ “

“The school emptied. The country students collected their horses from the stable behind the church and went home. Everyone was laughing at their new title, ‘Morons.’ Honey, Two-Ton, and I …”

Poobah interrupted, “Horses? Everybody ride horses to school?”

Fiedelbaum answered, “Of course, the country students are several miles from school. Those of us who live in town walk.”

A sudden fear came over Poobah, “What town is this? What year is it? I must have banged my head in the outhouse.”

Fiedelbaum looked at Poobah strangely. “This is Waldheim. It’s 1946. Are you okay?”

Poobah stammered, “I…I don’t know. I…think so.” But his mind was a whirlwind trying to process his predicament. Waldheim. Waldheim, the place sounded familiar. Yes, there was an access sign on the way to Iroquois Lake, which said ‘Waldheim.’ He wasn’t too far from Iroquois Lake. But 1946 made no sense at all. From Waldheim, one could make it back to Iroquois Lake, but 1946? His face showed his despair. His only hope was to stay with his new friends and hope for the best.

“As I was saying,” Fiedelbaum continued, “Two-Ton, Honey and I were walking home from school to my father’s confectionery on Central Ave. Two-Ton wanted a revel, as usual. I don’t like to brag, but no one In Saskatchewan can match my father’s skills in making ice cream treats. He acquired his skills in New Jersey. Anyways I get the idea we should start a Morons’ Club. Honey and Two-Ton agreed. Some guys were interested in joining, and we started our club.”

As they reached the next yard, the pranksters had scattered firewood everywhere. What had once been a neatly stacked woodpile now had few pieces of wood left piled one on top of the other. The boys began to scour the yard, picking up the pieces of firewood and returning them to the pile.

Two-ton and Honey joined the conversation. Two-Ton said, “We found four others who wanted to join, and we held our meetings in Fiedelbaum’s backyard.”

“You should see Fiedelbaum’s backyard,” Honey added. “The guy likes to preach. In the middle of grass as high as your head, there are wooden benches, and in the front, there is an apple box pulpit. I can’t remember how many revival meetings he subjected us to when we were young. He got us to experience enough guilt to make us wait until he finished, but not enough to go home seeking forgiveness for some stupid thing we might have done.”

“So he met you halfway,” Poobah said.

Honey laughed. “Yeah, halfway between boredom of listening and the terror of hell.”

Two-Ton continued, “Anyways, at the meeting,  we all agreed Fiedelbaum wouldn’t be allowed to preach. We decided we would do things which were moronic, not stupid, funny but not idiotic. We wanted others to see us as smart morons, not dimwitted idiots. If we could get our parents to laugh or smile, we could probably get away with many things.”

“If you want to join, it will cost you thirteen cents,” Honey chimed in. “It’s a perfectly moronic number.”

“How can you collect thirteen cents when they don’t make pennies anymore?” Poobah asked.

Honey looked at Poobah, as though he was stupid.

Fiedelbaum placed an armful of wood on the woodpile before returning to the conversation. “Every Hallowe’en in Waldheim, a group of boys thinks it is funny to play tricks on its citizens. They do three or four kinds of pranks each year: tip outhouses, scatter woodpiles, remove fence gates and move old farm machinery from nearby farms and machinery dealerships on to Central Avenue in front of all the businesses. They annoy people and run.”

“So, this is how I ended up in a downed outhouse,” Poobah mused.

Honey nodded, “Wrong time, wrong place.”

With the last piece of wood returned to the pile, the group moved on to the next house.

“What did they do to the Principal, Mr. Thiessen’s yard?” Hard-Times wondered. It didn’t take them long to find out. A tipped toilet rested in the corner of Mr. Thiessen’s yard.

“He’s a good teacher and a good person,” Red Dawg offered. “We all like him.”

“He cares for his students,” said Horse. “They say he comes to the school each morning, stands beside each desk, and prays for the student who sits there.”

Poobah wasn’t sure he wanted somebody to pray for him every morning. Pray for what? Maybe a new cell phone.

The screen door slammed, and a man appeared. “What are you boys doing? It looks like I’ll have to get up earlier each morning to pray at your desks.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Fiedelbaum stammered.

“Well, Henry, I’m disappointed in you and your friends,” the principal chided. “Out on Hallowe’en night and causing nothing but mischief. Good thing you fellows aren’t in my class yet, otherwise I’d lose my faith in the power of prayer. Seeing you’re in my class next year, I’ve got some time.”

“As I was trying to say,” Fiedelbaum tried to explain, “it’s not what it appears to be. We’re not tipping your outhouse; we’re setting it upright. Guys, show Mr. Thiessen what we’re doing.”

Everyone pitched in, grabbed a portion of the roof, and heaved, guiding the outhouse until it plopped down over the hole. Poobah followed everyone’s lead and put a muscle into the group effort.

“See?” Fiedelbaum said as the outhouse settled into position.

“How do I know you aren’t undoing what you’re doing to cover up what you’re doing?” responded Mr. Thiessen.

“No, no, no,” Fiedelbaum continued. “We’re following a bunch of guys and undoing what THEY are doing. In Mrs. Penner’s yard, we restacked her firewood. In the previous yard, we saved Poobah from a terrible fate.

“Poobah?” asked Mr. Thiessen.

“Oh, I guess he’s new to town,” Fiedelbaum explained.

Poobah waved, hoping the gesture would absolve him from having to talk to the man. How would he explain the predicament in which he found himself to someone who wouldn’t believe a word he’d say?

“Well, if this is what you’re doing, I’ll join you. I’ve got some extra time,” the teacher said. He called his wife and explained he would be out for a bit. Mr. Thiessen helped fix a gate, straighten out a few woodpiles, and right a couple of privies before returning home.

“Keep up the good work,” he said as he left the boys. “I’m sorry I misjudged you. Thanks for letting me join your group.”

The boys chorused their goodbyes and continued to the next yard.

“It was good of him to join us,” Poobah said. “There aren’t too many teachers who would take the time.”

“Yeah, he’s a good teacher,” Fiedelbaum agreed.

As the boys went from yard to yard to undo the damage, their conversations turned to the retelling of local outhouse legends. “You never know how many people fall into the pit, but you hear rumors,” Wrench began. “Can you imagine falling into such smelly sludge?”

“With all the slime, it would be hard to get out of the hole,” added Bottle. “It’s close to six feet deep, depending on the level of the ooze. I don’t think you could get out without help.”

“I can see it now,” Two-Ton broke in. “All of his friends standing over him, laughing until their sides ached, and no one is offering him a hand to help him up. I wouldn’t want to be the guy.”

“Or the guy who gave him a hand!” said Hard Times.

“The funniest story I heard was the one I heard of the Nickel guy,” Horse said, already beginning to laugh. “You know the one who was a rear gunner in the air force during the war. He persuaded his friends to push his family outhouse back three feet, leaving the front of the hole exposed. It was supposed to be a trick on his father. They then went off to do other dastardly Hallowe’en deeds. When Nickel came home, he had to use the bathroom but forgot they had moved the outhouse back, and he was the one who fell in making a noisy plop.” Everyone howled. The retelling of the Hallowe’en legend never failed to bring the house down.

Poobah thought indoor plumbing could never produce as rich a heritage as the old outdoor toilet. Hallowe’en here wasn’t the same as back home either. He saw groups of kids in mundane costumes, mostly farmers, teachers, doctors, and nurses. There were no superheroes, no astronauts, no television or cartoon characters who went from door to door.

“What do the children collect at the homes?” Poobah asked.

Honey replied, “They will get popcorn balls, penny candy, and apples for the most part. And when you’re too old to get treats, you play tricks.” The Club crossed Central Avenue, and Honey pointed out the maze of farm machinery already scattered across the street.

“Where do they get all this stuff?” Poobah asked.

“They pick these items up from the farm machinery dealers or nearby farms,” Honey answered. “These boys will bring them up to the main business street with horses or push them into position themselves.”

Poobah was amazed by all the different kinds of machinery. He didn’t recognize any of them and had no clue as to what their use would be. He felt like he was on a field trip to the Western Development Museum in Saskatoon. Except there was no signage to indicate what these pieces were.

“These older boys do these tricks to annoy people,” Honey continued. “The businessmen are annoyed the customers have to wind their way between the machinery to get to their shops. The machinery dealers and the farmers are angry because they need to retrieve their machinery. To make things worse is the businesses will often have to clean up eggs which the pranksters threw  against the buildings.”

The Morons’ Club began to wind things down. Fiedelbaum had promised his father he would be home by 11:00 pm. As the boys prepared to disperse, Fiedelbaum said to Poobah, “It’s another Waldheim Hallowe’en in the books for this year. We completed our first Morons’ Club activity. If those other guys ever found out we were undoing their fun, we would have had some running to do.” Fiedelbaum left for home. The other boys turned to go as well.

Poobah stood and waved goodbye. He wasn’t sure what to do. It was many kilometres to Iroquois Lake. He didn’t remember how to get there. He couldn’t text his mother to come and get him. It was 1946! Was his mother even born yet? He hunched down in the middle of the dirt road to think things over.

Two-Ton started on his way home, but out of the corner of his eye saw Poobah on his haunches all alone. “Aren’t you going home? Where do you live?”

“I’ve nowhere to go. I don’t live around here,” came Poobah’s reply.

“Well, you can stay at our place for the night,” said Two-Ton. “We’ve got extra beds in my room. My older brothers got married and left home. There is only my younger brother in there, now. Mom and Dad won’t mind.”