Chapter 9 - California

Nineteen-Ninety-Six

Jason had been riding his bike up the hill to the Park Place building because he loved the ride down at the end of the day after taking care of O.W. for twelve hours. It seemed as though the brisk wind while speeding down the hill on his bike, cleaned the “old man smell,” off of him. At five minutes to seven in the morning he got off the elevator with his twenty one speed mountain bike and wheeled it down the hall to O.W.’s apartment. Once inside parking the bike on the balcony just off the living room he then bid good day to the overnight nursing assistant. Three months of caring for O.W. from dawn to dusk and very little had changed in O.W.’s mental condition, at least not that Jason could notice during the passing of hours and of days and weeks. In this stage of Alzheimer’s it’s easy to make observations of six months, one year or more, but not eight or twelve weeks. O.W. was more talkative in recent days, and he was a bit of a motor-mouth to begin with, so that meant stories, or rather broken pieces of stories that could be pieced together like a jigsaw puzzle in which several pieces could fit in more than one place at a time. For Jason’s entertainment, combined with his empathetic curiosity to know more of O.W.’s past, he attempted to piece the fragments together during the long days.

This morning Jason and O.W. went walking around the Park Place building and grounds. Despite Jason’s best instructions, over and over, O.W. was still not using his cane correctly and so Jason was guiding him and securing him from falls by a constant hand or a full arm under his elbow. They stood in the elevator facing the door expecting to see the lobby floor, but when the doors opened, the basement floor appeared and a sign across from them on the wall, read “Laundry, Recreation Room, Health Spa.”

“O.W. look it’s the basement, lets have a look around shall we? Jason offered as he looked left and right out the door.

“Well that’d be fine I suppose.” O.W. said with a grin, happy to be out and about.”

Jason has to remind himself that his new charge, this new friend, is responding from rote, from a place on the peripheral of his mind. Using the question and response phrases that are hard wired into the language areas of O.W.’s aged and diseased brain. Because O.W. has been a highly social man in his nearly ninety years, he still knows what to say and when based upon an engrained knowledge of etiquette, and recognizing social situations and he uses nuance in speaking tone, responding fairly well to the inflections of others he is with at the moment. This is a manner of fakery on his part, it’s how he functioned in the very earliest years of the disease, it is how he concealed the fading efficiency of his mind from his friends and family for years. A moment like standing in the elevator doors, facing a new floor with a new sign and an offer of getting out, from the person next to him, is not a moment in the now, not a moment of choosing. For O.W. there is no memory of getting there, no knowledge of the function of what they are doing. But the offer to explore the hallway from Jason is an easy offer to respond to because the situation is as common as getting off of a hundred elevators a hundred times in his long life.

“I can’t believe we’ve never been down here before O.W. Nobody tells me anything.”

“Yep. Heh heh, it sure is something!” O.W. remarked looking at the hallway that was new to him.

Jason’s curiosity peaked and the duo turned right and headed toward the Health Spa area. They made a right turn into a large room that contained a universal weights gym in the center of the room. Inside the room and immediately to the right, sitting at a small desk, was a young brown haired woman in Spandex leotards and sneakers writing something on a note pad, her leg crossed and bobbing her foot up and down as if to exhaust nervous energy.

“Well hello there! Welcome. Can I help you with something?” She said.

She was pretty, her skin was tan, she chewed gum and her smile was contagious. Jason was immediately taken aback by the sight of a young woman wearing skin tight clothing in this concrete fort of the aging, naps, and dietary fiber, Ensure and body powder. O.W. went into dashing bachelor mode, something Jason had not seen before. O.W. brightened his complexion as if his skin were reacting in some animalistic automatic pigment response. He rapidly smiled, he straightened his spine and looked her over without shyness, top to bottom, he summed her up like a piece of meat in a matter of milliseconds. Jason refrained from staring, though he wanted to, but he was just as excited to see a vibrant woman with a nice body.

“Hi. This is O.W. and I’m Jason, we were just wondering what all was down here. I didn’t know there was an exercise room.” Jason smiled down at her from the doorway.

“Well please come on in and look around. I’m Susan but you can call me Suzy. I run the Health Spa here. I am the Fitness Instructor for the Park Place!”

Suzy got up quickly, springing to her feet she went to O.W. and gently grabbed his hands, she leaned over slightly to look him in his glasses covered eyes.

“I’m glad to see you. If there is anything I can help you with let me know. What is your name?” Suzy inquired to O.W. in a raised voice as if he were hard of hearing.

Immediately O.W. launched into charming mode, as if pretending to be a young boy meeting a pretty young girl. At this moment another engrained behavior became apparent, O.W. was a ladies man, a flirtatious Casanova.

“Well, heh. I’m O.W. and what is your, err position around here?”

“Well I help the residents stay fit and healthy and I use this room and all of this equipment and a water spa to work with them. Do you want to do some exercises?”

Suzy was slightly bent over to look O.W. in the eyes and smiling with a woman’s eyes and lips that could not be resisted by a sucker like O.W.. Within a minute Jason and Suzy and were assisting O.W. on the leg press bench. O.W. was in the moment, pushing his knees as if he were thirty while smiling up at Suzy in amazement. Jason was beside him but might as well have been invisible to O.W.. Suzy’s full and bra-less breasts commanded a lot of attention from both Jason and O.W. as the pair rested behind a tight nylon dark blue leotard top, her nipples clearly outlined. Jason was unsure if he was being rude, and his brain was compulsively directing his eyes to look at the breasts every two seconds, O.W. did not seem to care if she saw him staring or not, an advantage for the old and senile man of charm, and now apparent still existent libido. Suzy was highly amused and seemed to be taken with O.W. right away. Her attraction was like that of an eight year old girl to a new Teddy bear, O.W. was cuddly and cute, child-like in demeanor, boyish in his interest. Jason learned her working schedule and together he and O.W. would walk down to the sub-floor to “work-out,” four days a week, exercising their bodies and stimulating their minds with eroticism of close comfort with a beautiful and young woman sporting a fantastic body.

A few days later O.W. sat at the breakfast table in front of his bran flakes and sliced strawberries with Jason at his side reading the paper and sipping at a coffee. A spring rain was pounding the balcony and washing away chalk foot steps Jason had drawn on the cement a week earlier to help O.W. learn to use his cane. It had not worked, O.W. had enjoyed the activity, but learning something new was impossible at his stage of the disease. O.W. crunched some cereal and dribbled some milk, staring straight ahead, Jason wiped his chin of the milk that was dripping on the table.

“Where is that, that girl?” O.W. inquired keeping his gaze on the wall in front of him.

“You mean Suzy, O.W.? She’s downstairs, we’re going to see her in a little while after breakfast and after you finish getting dressed.”

“Heh, she’s got quite a body on her with that tight, ehh tight thing she is always, always wearing with those boobs, wow, what a set of tomatoes!”

Jason was jolted upright in his chair at this new use of casual barroom language coming from his patient. He smiled back at him and returned the exchange of carnal lexicon as if O.W. was his long time buddy.

“I’m an ass man myself O.W., and hers won’t quit! If there were no where to sit, I have an everlasting seat for her.” Jason looked to O.W. for approval.

“Oh she’s a mighty fine one she is. You, you, you’re her age. You should see about getting together with her. I’ll bet that would be fine for the both of you, he he!”

O.W. was having a blast conversing as if in a men’s social club with a good friend and taking a few minutes to discuss the intimates of their personal lives. It was a moment that left as abruptly as it came.

“Are we golfing today?” O.W. looked directly at Jason in dead seriousness.

“No O.W. it’s raining out, see out side on the porch?” Jason pointed to the balcony.

“Oh, oh well I guess the back nine will have to wait, heh heh.”

He kept a stare at the large droplets impacting the balcony outside the sliding glass doors and he smiled with a disappointed grimace at the sight of the rain. Then he was elsewhere in time, again and the memories came out, again in pieces with names in a place, somewhere. The seriousness of his changing face showed Jason that he was visibly intent on telling another story, or a broken facsimile of a story for Jason to ponder at a later time, to wonder what it was like to have been O.W..

“We thought Sydney was in trouble for good in, in Los Angeles, heh. We didn’t think we could go on to Monterey! He was just a boy like me. Not much older than I was. About a year I think. But boy oh boy, they had him and they thought he did it! Heh heh, that lady was sure mad! It was at the hotel, it was a nice hotel and we were just having fun, just playing like boys do, scrawny boys from Kansas.” He smiled and his eyes squinted and he kept looking at the rain.

Nineteen-Twenty-One

O.W. and Sydney were playing tag near the pool and several times they ran past fifty two year old Mrs. Walden who lay on her chaise lounge chair with a cocktail and a fat book on the table next to her. She closed her eyes under the shaded canopy of her straw sun hat with silk flowers crowned around it’s brim and she felt the heat of the sun caress her plump body and her well pampered ivory white skin. She listened to the sounds of splashing of children and of two young lovers teasing each other in the blue water some twenty feet away. Draped over her book was a necklace of diamonds which she had sworn she would never let out of her sight, not in the hotel safe, not with her drunkard husband, but as close to her own body as she could keep it. Frequently she would lift one eye to spy it on the table, not sure if she should be wearing it or not, not sure if a necklace shaped tan line would be a small price to pay to have it more safely on her person. O.W. was quicker and thinner than Sydney and could run between objects, twisting while jumping and gaining ground on his older brother in a fast paced game of tag. But for a moment while jumping between lounge chairs at the pool deck, O.W. got clumsy and knocked over a chair, the chair fell on Mrs. Walden’s side table, her drink launched with ice cubes onto her lap and she bolted upright and grabbed her hat with one hand.

“Ahhhhh!” She shouted out getting the attention of everyone at the pool.

O.W. and Sydney froze in their tracks and waited to see what she would do. She looked at O.W. who was on his rear end with his hands holding himself upright from the cement decking beneath him and looking directly at Mrs. Walden, petrified with fear. Sydney stopped short of the pool decking, and seeing what had happened his face quickly turned from fun to fear. Sydney turned and ran, looking once behind him to see if O.W. was following, and within seconds he disappeared from across the garden lawn and into the hotel’s side entrance. O.W. stood up to face Mrs. Walden, brushing the fine grains of cement from his hands against his pant-legs, he quickly apologized to the distraught woman.

“Mam I am terribly sorry to have disturbed you, my brother and I . .”

“My necklace! Oh my necklace! Where did it go!” Again she screamed for all to hear. A set of lungs like these O.W. had never heard before.

“That boy took my diamond necklace!”

She stood up dripping rum and Coca-Cola down her legs and frantically began looking under the nearby outdoor furniture for her necklace. O.W. was shocked, his mouth gapping open, he looked towards the doors where Sydney disappeared, wishing that his older brother had not left his side. The concierge ran out of the front entrance and rounded the corner to the pool area, his fast footed heels clapped the cement with a fervor and O.W. stood aside to make way for his arrival.

“Mrs. Walden, mam what has happened? Are you well?” He said panting and putting on his best look of concern for a customer.

“One of those boys took my diamond necklace! It was right here and now it’s gone, gone! It’s very valuable and I’ll hold this hotel responsible if it’s not found. I’ll have my husband see to it! It must be found sir!” She angrily commanded to the concierge.

The concierge took little O.W. by the arm and swiftly they marched into the lobby. The sunshine of the afternoon quickly disappeared as a large and dark cloud covered the city with the abruptness of a train stopping at a terminal and covering the grass between the tracks. Within moments three bellhops and two maids were frantically searching the pool and garden area looking for the necklace, moving furniture, bending over to look under shrubs and tables, sifting through sand ashtrays, crawling on the grass. Hotel patrons that had been enjoying the pool-side quickly gathered their belongings and fled the area to avoid the coming rain storm. Then came the down-pour and the employees did not flinch from the rain, continuing with their orders to find the necklace. Minutes later, in the distant background, a sound grew louder and closer of a mechanical siren, as the police approached the hotel. The police car pulled to a stop in front of the hotel in a model T convertible, the officer on the passenger side, his arm outstretched outside of the window, cranking the siren handle until the car came to a complete stop.

It never rained in LA, or so John was told the day before at the front desk by a friendly fellow who was checking out of the hotel when he and Thelma and the boys were checking in. But as John and Thelma lay on the bed in their room and looked out towards down-town, the rain seemed very real on this warm afternoon as it fell straight down as if a very high waterfall above them had broken into a million streams. The boys had been playing together around the hotel and grounds and John felt comfortable that they were fine on their own. The serenity and intimacy of the moment was broken by a siren, a whirring screeching that John and Thelma had never heard before. As the noise grew closer they realized it was coming to the front of the hotel and John rose off the bed and walked out to the balcony to see what was the commotion. The vehicle was stopped at the front entrance and people were gathering around curiously. As John was leaning over the balcony railing he was interrupted by a firm knocking at his room door and the voice of the concierge announced himself.

“Mr. Irwin, I’m sorry to bother you Mr. Irwin, but there is a matter which concerns you.”

“Thelma go into the bathroom.” John said softly, but Thelma had already begun making her way to concealment.

John pulled the bed spread tight and fluffed the pillows where he and Thelma had been laying and proceeded to the door, concerned and alerted. The concierge stood alone, worried and afraid, more afraid for himself and his job security than for the Irwin’s situation.

“Mr. Irwin I’m afraid there has been a situation involving your sons down by the pool. If you’ll come with me, we are gathered in the office behind the front desk, please sir.”

“Where are my sons? Are they down there?”

“Yes sir, I’m sure there is a misunderstanding, I’m sure we can clear this up, please follow me.”

The back office behind the front desk and adjacent to the lobby smelled of coffee and cigarettes. Sydney sat on a wooden desk chair sitting on his hands with tears in his swollen eyes, his hair still stranded and wet from sweat and from running from the scene. O.W. sat on the opposite side of the room, equally scared, but not crying, moving his eyes around the room quickly, observing the scene of interrogation of him and his brother. Three men stood in the room, two uniformed Los Angeles policemen wearing visor fronted black hats, Billy clubs dangling from their sides, one was taking notes, the other was holding his hands behind him and talking down towards Sydney. The other man in the room was a portly well dressed mustache wearing gentlemen who was staring at Sydney with great concern. The concierge lead John into the room and introduced him.

“Mr. Irwin this is officers Smith and Mull Rooney of the Sheriff’s department, and this Mr. George C. Walden, visiting from San Francisco with his wife.”

“Officers, Mr. Walden. I’m the boys father, John Irwin. What has happened here?” John turned to the concierge in a demanding tone for his explanation.

“Mr. Irwin there was a bit of a scene by the pool about twenty minutes ago, just prior to the rainstorm, in which the boys had an abrupt accident near the table of Mr. Walden’s wife, Mrs. Eleanor Walden. No one was harmed and as you can see your son’s are well enough, but . .”

“But my wife’s diamond necklace is now missing and this one ran from the scene!” Mr. Walden exclaimed with anger, pointing downward at Sydney.

Seeing that O.W. was more calm and reserved, John went to Sydney and squatted to his eye level in front of him, taking his shoulders to console him. John was incredulous that Sydney or O.W. would steal anything. He recalls a year ago when Sydney did steal something, three pieces of hard candy from the soda fountain shop in Salina. Sydney had held onto the candy for three days before bringing them to John, crying, guilty and confessing his crime. Sydney wanted to return the candy to the store. John and him walked into the shop the next day and made amends with the owner. Sydney was praised for his honesty and his punishment was clearly self imposed by his own guilt ridden emotion. “This is the boy being accused of jewelry theft?” John’s thought was loud enough in his mind to hear through his own ears.

“What happened son? Start from the start.”

“Dad, me and O.W. were playing tag around the pool and the garden. O.W. accidentally knocked over her table. That’s all I know. I was scared of getting in trouble and I ran away. I’m sorry dad. I apologized to Mr. Walden. We didn’t mean any harm. Honest it was just an accident. I didn’t see any necklace.”

A more honest explanation John had rarely heard. He looked back at O.W. who was calm but worrisome in his chair on the other side of the room.

“O.W. did you see it just like that?”

“Yes dad, just like that. I said sorry to Mrs. Walden but the hotel man took me in here right away, I didn’t see any necklace anywhere and I looked as soon as she said it was gone.”

O.W.’s boyish voice was crackled and pleading for an end to this scene. He would look over to Sydney repeatedly, worried for the future of his big brother. Officer Mull Rooney announced he would seek out witnesses and he left the room.

“Mr. Irwin I would like to search the boy’s persons in your presence if that would not be objectionable to you.” Officer Smith said to John.

John nodded in agreement. Officer Smith then gathered the two boys to the center of the room and stood them side by side, he searched all pockets, turning them inside out, he searched their arms, and legs and made them take off their boots and turn them upside down.

“No diamonds here!”

Officer Smith said almost sarcastically directing his statement to Mr. Walden who returned a skeptical and unsatisfied expression.

“Mr. Irwin we need to search your room.” Smith stated.

“That would be fine, except that I have three rooms, the boy’s room, the boy’s nanny’s room and my own. Here are the keys to all three. I believe my nanny is in her room, number two twelve, her name is Thelma Lincoln. “

Six hours later John and Thelma and O.W. were together in John’s room as darkness fell on Los Angeles. The grief in the room was heavy, O.W. lay on the floor with his face sideways against the rug, his arms flayed out as if having given up. Thelma sat on the floor beside him, her back supported by the bed, she held her hand on O.W.’s head and stroked him occasionally, it was helping. John stared out at the city, now a cruel city, whose officials would arrest an eleven year old boy, with no proof of guilt, to please a wealthy aristocratic couple. John sat leaning his arms over the back of a chair turned backwards to peer out over the low skyline of the uncompassionate city. Festering inside him was an anger so strong it could not come at once, but grew from images close in memory of his cherished offspring treated like a murderer. In a quiet rage contained only by the walls of a hotel room and parental fear of showing O.W. a poor example of control, John sat waiting and thinking.

That afternoon John and O.W. had witnessed the sight of Sydney being chained around his waist and handcuffed and marched into the backseat of the police car. At the Los Angeles County Jail he was placed in a large cell with a dozen or so other boys all around his own age. Sydney had cried until the cell doors closed behind him, then he got tough, at least he pretended to be tough, holding back his weltering and his tears, firming his little jawbone in front of the other boys. John was astounded at it all. Amazed this boy he has half raised to a young man would be thought a criminal. John was probably in emotional shock, unable to defend his boy, unable to prove his innocence, incredulous at the surrealism of this event. He was allowed to spend about a half an hour with him, holding both his hands through the bars, before the guards made him leave.

John had left the jailhouse and immediately hired a lawyer from an office across the street. Winston J. Holmes assured him that without the necklace they could not hold Sydney for more than three days without seeing a judge, and that without the necklace still, the judge would have to let him go. But with caveat he added that George C. Walden worked for Mr. William Randolph Hearst of San Francisco and that meant that if he insists on holding the boy in jail, that would be a challenge. Hearst was hands down the richest man in California and owned most of the newspapers on the west coast and was credited by some for having started the Spanish American War with rumor, innuendo and misinformation. This news turned the blade that was invisibly penetrating John’s heart, creating an even more despairing situation, out of what had become a nightmare.

John thought it best that O.W. not see the inside of the jail and so should not go with him to visit Sydney during his terrifying time. The dozen or so poorly clothed and thin boys, some dirty, some nearly toothless and all angry, was an image to be kept isolated. Two proceeding visits to the jail to comfort Sydney appeared to be of little comfort to him and seemed to have caused more emotional pain, in seeing his father leave the cell block, at the end of the restricted visiting time, than it was worth. Despite Sydney having been dressed in his play clothes when arrested at the hotel, his clothes were far better than any of the other boys in the boy’s cell, his clothes were clean and un-torn, he even had a vest on, which was eyed enviously, by almost every boy in the cell. Within an hour of his arrival he was dubbed “fancy pants,” in a cruel jest, and the chanting of the new name came and went all that first horrible evening. Sydney fought back against the compulsion to cry, to wail in sorrow, a fight with his mind stronger than any control he had ever had to command unto himself. Dinner on the first night was creamed corn with a piece of ham the size of a dollar coin floating in it, served in a dented and dirty tin bowl. Sydney had made the mistake of setting it down for a few moments while he sat against the bars on a dirt floor, that was enough time for his dinner to be taken by a boy who sat on the other side of his cell. Breakfast was one egg fried in grease, one slice of bread, plain, and a tin cup of milk slightly sour. Sydney’s milk was knocked out of his hands, his egg thrown to the floor, and his bread eaten by another bully in the cell.

It was near the middle of Sydney’s third full day incarcerated and John, Thelma and O.W. sat at a round table in the corner of the hotel’s ground floor restaurant dining room, composed and sad, silent, clanking and scraping their utensils. John was facing the lobby which was about seventy feet away, and he noticed a slim man in a plaid and vested suit approach the front desk from the direction of the elevator. The man queried something to the manager. The manager lifted his arm and pointed directly at John and their table. John set his fancy Maxwell House printed coffee cup down and waited for the stranger to approach. The man approached with a cautious and slow pace, as if to avoid disturbing the casual atmosphere of the dining room. He came to face John and he stood with his arms folded low, and humbly in front of him. He was a dark haired middle aged man with a handsome and sharply defined face and a neatly trimmed thin mustache.

“Please excuse my intrusion Mr. Irwin sir, Madam, son.” He looked kindly at John, then at Thelma and O.W..

John immediately hoped it was news of Sydney, good news of his son’s situation. John stood to greet him.

“That is quite alright sir. How may I help you?”

“My name is Sinclair and I am also a guest at the hotel. Well the thing is sir, I was at the pool the other day when the ruckus involving your sons occurred. I did not witness anything worthy of report involving your son’s proximity to the woman of whom the jewelry was alleged to be stolen from. I would like to state I thought it unusual that the constables did not question everyone at the pool that afternoon, perhaps it was because of the impending rain storm, I do not know, but they did not question me. At any consequence sir, I was writing on my tablet on the far side of the pool and did not divert my attention in time enough to have noticed any foul play.”

Now attention and curiosity at the table was peaked, heart rates elevated, all eyes were upon Mr. Sinclair, hands frozen around forks and knives. What was he getting at? Mr. Sinclair paused in his brief storytelling and he smiled every so slightly and looked again in turn at all three in his captive audience. He unfolded his arms and relaxed his stiff posture. He reached his left hand into his vest pocket and held it there, concealed for a few moments while he continued:

“So Mr. Irwin my sadness for all of you upon hearing of the arrest of the young boy was immense, so much so it has distracted me from my writing for the past two and more days. So Mr. Irwin imagine my delight when swimming in the deep end of the pool, one hour ago, I noticed an unusual bright twinkling from near the drain at the center of the pool.”

Mr. Sinclair’s smile then opened up wide and he pulled from his pocket the missing necklace. Mr. Sinclair held the necklace up at shoulder height for all in the dining room to see. The relief and joy at the table needed no words and could be felt throughout the dining room, mumbling of surprise and delight could soon be heard from the other tables as most of the guest were aware of the situation. John’s jaw dropped, as did Thelma’s and O.W.’s, utensils fell. In a few moments time Mr. Sinclair had rescued the entire family from a pit of sadness so dark it had seemed unsurpassable. Tears of joy blurred the sight of Mr. Sinclair who now looked like an angel in a plaid suit. He reached forward and handed the necklace over the John.

“Oh my Lord, Mr. Sinclair, your fortune is indeed an answer to our despair. We are immensely in your debt sir!”

John was unthinkingly blurting out grateful words for Mr. Sinclair as his mind raced to drain anxiety away from his close consciousness.

“Gee Willickers!” O.W. shouted out with pure glee.

“Sydney is coming home!” Thelma shouted upwards and out.

Immediately the dining room erupted in clapping and calls of “bravo” as every head turned towards the Irwin table.

“Oh he is coming home alright!” Thelma shouted to O.W. over the clapping.

Every one in the dining room then rose from their tables to applaud Mr. Sinclair directly. In a humorous movement, he turned to the lunchtime audience and bowed to them. Laughter broke out as the applause continued followed by calls of “congratulations,” and “bravo,” towards John and the family.

John stood and took the necklace he carefully wrapped it in a linen napkin and gently placed it in his coat pocket.

“We must not make Sydney wait one minute longer than needed in that wretched jail house!” John looked to Thelma and O.W. with urgency.

“Everyone get into the car, we’re going to get him. Mr. Sinclair I implore you please to have dinner with all of us this evening so that I can repay you with modest means.”

“I would love to join you Mr. Irwin but this night I have a previous appointment, out of town, having to do with my work, and unfortunately I will be gone for several days visiting oil fields.” Mr. Sinclair offered apologetically.

“Well sir I hope that we can at least keep in touch. May I ask what is that work that you do that keeps you so busy?” John asked with a joyous smile frozen from the good news.

“Mr. Irwin I will leave my writing address with the front desk for you to keep me informed on the progress of your family and I will look forward to conversation and information from all of you. I don’t mind telling you my work at all, it is a little ambiguous, it is not like other men work. Currently I am immersed in the study of the oil industry and the effect on labor in this area of the country.”

It was apparent that Mr. Sinclair did not want to divulge much about his work and that fact did not even provoke curiosity for John, he was too excited about getting Sydney. “Probably government business. Writing reports.” he quickly thought to himself. John stepped closer to Mr. Sinclair and embraced his shoulders with both arms outstretched, then the men shook hands vigorously, as the family gathered their coats and left the dining room.

“That was perhaps the most dashing and kind man I have ever seen Mr. Irwin.”

Thelma remarked as her and John and O.W. waited for the valet to bring the car around.

John walked well faster than Thelma up the steps and into the station house and O.W. ran behind jumping every other step. John approached the sergeant at the front desk and waited several moments for him to lift his head up for John’s attention.

“Sir I urgently need to speak to Officer Smith and or Officer Mull Rooney regarding evidence which should absolve my son from his alleged crime.”

“Yes sir, I believe Mull Rooney is in back, just a moment.” The sergeant replied unenthusiastically.

Two or three long minutes later after John and Thelma and O.W. paced and shuffled in the front lobby, the side door to the offices opened and Officer Mull Rooney entered.

“I hope you’ve got good news Mr. Irwin.” Mull Rooney was expectantly smiling.

John said nothing and pulled out the napkin and unwrapped it in his open hand and showed the shining necklace to Mull Rooney. John smiled with a grimace that stated his justification without sound and he watched Mull Rooney’s face for the change of disposition. Mull Rooney was pleased and relieved that he could free the sweetest boy in the jail cell. He had known in his conscience Sydney was no thief, especially not a jewelry thief. Mull Rooney took the necklace in hand and held it up to his eyes to gaze at the glimmer on the edges of it’s diamonds.

“Mr. Irwin, by the stars, this is a grand day indeed! Where on this wide Earth did you find it?”

“A gentlemen guest at the hotel found it in the deep end of the pool and gave it to us fifteen minutes ago in the dining room. His name is Mr. Sinclair.” John answered.

“I’ll have your boy out of that cell faster than you can hold your breath! You hold your breath now son, your brother is getting out!” He looked happily at O.W..

Sydney jumped with the prose of an athlete into John’s arms and nearly knocked him over. Thelma embraced him and squeezed while he was still hanging on to John’s shoulders. O.W. grabbed his leg and pulled and patted him hard on the back in congratulations.

That evening it was time to forget and treat Sydney and everyone to the best night possible. First stop was the toy store, where die-cast metal airplanes were purchased for both boys, Sydney got two cars and a plane, metal army men in a box of two dozen. Next door was a store devoted entirely to candy, a sight the boys had never seen before, inside a smell that they would never forget, of chocolate and sugar and cream, all mixed together to form a heavenly gas that flowed like a sweet wind into the nostrils and minds of the boys. The glass cases were lit with bright lights and filled with categorized candies in bins that held hundreds and hundreds of pieces each. The chocolate displays could almost be tasted by just standing near the glass. Sydney and O.W. drooled. Thelma refrained from letting her inner child out, but her delight could not be contained as her cheeks rose and her eyes twinkled under the bright lights of the candy shop. John spared no expense and purchased over ten dollars worth of chocolates and candies. Outside the four sat on the curb with their feet planted on the cobble stone and three bags of delights on the street between their legs. Sydney had a three foot string of red licorice wrapped around his neck while he worked happily on a giant swirled lollipop. O.W. was involved with chocolates and they were involved with is face, his chin, and his fingers and his shirt. Thelma discovered the filled chocolates of cherry and walnut and almonds and on the street curb she sat, having given in to impulse and had become ten years old again, in a dream world, talking only in “ummmm,” and “ohhh,” sounds. A scruffy little dog had joined them and devotedly helped O.W. with his half-pound milk chocolate bar. There they sat, four decadent gluttonous stomachs disguised as people in a row, for an hour until they were filled, and leaning backwards over the sidewalk on their hands. The sugar rushed into their minds and intoxicating laughter broke out at the slightest little thing, the dog’s eyes and face following Sydney’s fingers back and forth, Thelma with chocolate on her face and Sydney told of how none of the boys in the jail would poop in the toilet and “ . . so they just didn’t poop,” and he surmised that was probably why they were so mean.

Sydney and O.W. were flat on their backs with the rear of their heads pressed against the hard Los Angeles side walk behind them, bellies swollen with candy, army men and airplanes in their hands and at their sides. Thelma lay back also with John’s coat under her head. John folded his hands for comfort behind his head and together the four watched speedy California clouds appear over the rooftops of buildings and then grow small on the horizon and disappear down Willshire boulevard. Sydney now had the rare privilege of being an eleven year old boy who actually understood the concept of freedom. Deeper than just an intellectual understanding, he felt it in whole throughout his mind and body, he smiled with new found freedom muscles of his face, he squinted his eyes towards the sky to distort the shapes of the clouds and then closed his eyes and experienced the freedom intensely. The stray dog that had enjoyed their afternoon delights with them, snuck-up behind Sydney and began cleaning the chocolate from his face, he giggled and pretended to wave the dog away, but he loved it, and within a few minutes he fell asleep on the concrete, surrounded by love, and toys, and chocolates, in the sun, with his family, free.

Sydney had to be carried, draped over John’s shoulders, two blocks back to the car. Once in his bed at the hotel, beside his brother, he slept for fourteen hours without awakening. In the morning as soon as he awoke, while in his pajamas, he went across the hall to his father’s room, still half asleep. John’s hotel room door was open and Thelma and O.W. were inside with John making final preparations for breakfast and one final day of entertainment. Sydney lazily walked up to his father and wrapped his arms around his waist, he looked up and in earnest asked him:

“Pa, was I in jail with a bunch of other boys?”

John kneeled to Sydney’s eye level and stroked his sleep matted hair and smiling in empathy with his son he replied solemnly.

“You were son, it was all true, you were not dreaming. But if you like, just between all of us here, it was a dream. We can say that it was a nightmare that you are welcome to forget. Thelma and O.W. and I will never mention it, if you do not want us to. No one ever has to talk about it again, unless you want to.”

“That’s ok pa. I don’t mind talking about it. It happened. Stuff happens right?”

“That is right boy. Stuff happens. It is that stuff makes us who we are, it forms our character, and our personality. Each and every one of us has a history and no two are alike. Now you have something remarkable in your own history. How you choose to treat it is up to you. You are a wise young man. You were treated unjustly. But that happens now and again to the best of us. Nothing goes right all the time for every one in a city like this with so many people. You see, it is, life is, not always fair. With that in mind, try not to be angry about it.”

“I know what you mean pa. You mean that I should forgive the police and that lady for accusing me of stealing, right?”

“Well, if you do decide to forgive them, you’ll be less angry at them, and maybe less angry at the whole jail situation. Perhaps you’ll forget it easier too. Does that sense sit right with you?”

“Yeah it does pa. Thank you pa.”

For reasons unknown to the rest of the family, Sydney brought to the breakfast table that morning his left-over one and a half pounds of chocolate drops from the day before. As John was paying the bill, Sydney announced a request as he placed the chocolates on the table.

“Pa, I want to give these out to the other boys in the jail.” He said with no plea in his request.

John and Thelma looked at each other and in a brief moment it was understood that they would be going to the police station again.

When officer Smith saw the Irwin's sitting on the bench beside the sergeant’s desk his puzzled look expressed the curiosity of a detective first class.

“Well, well, it’s the high society jewelry thief and his den of cohorts!” He said with a teasing tone.

“We have a special request officer Smith.” John said as he stood to meet the policeman.

“Mr. Irwin I am beyond curious. What could that request be now?”

John looked downward to Sydney sitting on the bench between Thelma and O.W., holding his brown paper bag smeared with chocolate stains from fingers and melting.

“Tell the officer what you would like Sydney.” John smiled at his son.

“I want to give out the rest of my chocolate drops to the boys in the boy’s cell officer. Would that be alright? I don’t want to go in, or anything, I just want to hand them out through the bars so they all get an equal share.” Sydney had a clear image of his goal completed.

Officer Smith’s face became a smile so large it should have been against regulations. A tear formed in his eyes at the impression of young Sydney before him, and of the rarely ever seen unconditional charity and forgiveness. He turned to John and nodded a slight approval with his new smile stuck in place. He leaned over and held himself in position with his hands on his knees, to look at Sydney at his own eye level.

“I’ll tell you what, young Mr. Irwin, I would accompany you back to the holding cells, but there are six other officers back there in the precinct office who will smell those chocolates as you pass through. That could be trouble. So, I suggest to avoid their greedy hands, I think you should give a chocolate drop to each of them, before we go back to see the boys. Does that sound like a deal to you?”

“That’s a deal officer Smith!” Sydney smiled.

In the precinct office Sydney walked through proud with officer Smith guiding him by his shoulders. Each officer was surprised and delighted and ate their chocolates right away, as if to please their gift giver.

Sydney became nervous as he was lead through the heavy steel door that separated the offices from the jail area. Entering the jail section the feelings of despair he had known as hopelessly permanent, just thirty-hours past, began to return. As he and officer Smith came within view of the boy’s cell, the mocking began, as the boys recognized him immediately.

“Fancy Pants! Fancy Pants! Fancy Pants is back!” Echoed some five or six of the meanest boys.

Officer Smith changed his affect to a mean cop. He pulled out his nightstick and furiously ran it across the bars, back and forth, creating a loud noise that signaled to the boys he was serious. It startled Sydney who clutched his chocolates bag tighter.

“You’ll all settle down if you want to eat tonight! His name is Sydney and you might just call him that, and remember his name, cause he’s about to do the nicest thing for you, that anyone has in a long time! Listen up. Everyone come to the bars and hold out your hands upright.”

Immediately the boys began to shuffle toward the bars, out of their established positions. They lined the ten foot long front of the cell and held open their, dirty, scuffed, and cut hands. Sydney waited for a signal from officer Smith to come forward to the bars. He did not say a word; he could not think of anything to say, anything that he thought they would understand, or not mock. Sydney grabbed for approximately ten drops for each boy with one hand. He placed the drops in each dirty pair of hands and looked into their eyes just afterward. He did not know what reaction to expect, but for every boy, joy overcame them. Salivary delight set-in as eyes watered and lips moistened. They each thanked him by his name and looked him in the eyes as they pulled their hands back from temporary freedom and began to unwrap their drops and taste the rarity. The crinkling of paper wrappers began to fill the air and the smell of milk chocolate overcame the otherwise putrid smell of their own bodies and the waste and excrement in the cell. The boys lined the two benches and six beds and the scene resembled an assembly line of reverse confectionary production.

With all the chocolates handed out, Sydney rolled up the empty bag, and he waved his hand at the boys and smiled as he said goodbye.

“You all take care now! Bye!”

“Three cheers for Sydney! Hip hip hooray, hip hip hooray, hip hip hooray!”

Sydney was proud of himself. But now he had to think about why. What just happened? To deeply explore his act of generosity, and of charity, of selflessness, is too complex for an eleven year old who has never really been challenged to philosophize on such matters. He knew it felt good. He knew the boys were happy. He hoped that the mean boys in that cell might learn something by way of shame for treating a benefactor of chocolates like a lesser person then they. He knew these things as he left the police station that morning, but he could not communicate these concepts to himself. He wanted to articulate all the ramifications. One aspect of this action did bother Sydney almost right away:

“Did I do this for myself? To make myself feel like some kind of do-gooder? Was I purposefully trying to make those mean boys feel bad about the way they treated me, stealing my food, calling be Fancy Pants? What do I care if they learn some kind of lesson? I’ll never see them again. Maybe it was all for me? Am I selfish even though I gave away all the rest of my chocolates?”

The family took a taxi cab to the new Santa Monica Pleasure Pier. As the Pacific Ocean came into view, near the end of Santa Monica Boulevard, and in awe of the size of the expansive horizon ahead of them, the spines and necks of every one stretched upwards as if to see more of the water, more of the blue and green of the ocean that lay steady like a huge jewel no-one could take away. The boys hung their heads out of the windows of the taxi as they approached the Pier area at the end of the road. In the air, a salty aroma melded with the green vegetate of kelp beds on a temperately cool wind that was sucked in from the ocean west and beyond towards the hot and dry land behind them, in the east, in their past.

The boys rode the Blue Streak Racer Roller Coaster nine times, eight times more than Thelma or John could stand to. Inside the massive Hippodrome building adorning the entrance to the pier, Wurlitzer organs played and children ran to and fro. Caramel popcorn and beef franks fed the joy and fumigated the air. Wondrously beautiful and magical Carousels were three in a row to ride on. After the rides the family united and took a walk to the end of the pier, an almost scary venture over water with only mere wood to prevent them from falling in. Sydney and O.W. climbed the railings and leaned out and over the Pacific Ocean. Sydney spotted a sea lion, dark and large, turning in the waters just below them. In the later afternoon the tired group rested on the beach beside the pier, in earshot of the organ music and the thrill screams from the roller coaster. The family played in the waves and learned the best game, holding hands and trying to withstand waves together, jumping up and sometimes getting knocked down and tumbled under the water.

At five in the evening, the sandy and sticky with sea salt family loaded into a taxi, exhausted from fun in the sun. As the taxi pulled away eastward from the ocean, Sydney and O.W. kneeled on the rear seat and stared out the rear window at the Pleasure Pier of Santa Monica, in sadness that it was over. They watched as if burning the sight of this magical place into memory, they did not blink as the red-orange terracotta roof of the Hippodrome grew small, as the planks on the sloping main drop of the Blue Streak Racer became a bump in the distance.