Wendy Newman continued to kick my desk with her pink sneakers. Brat. During recess on the second day of her fidgety feet exercises, we came to an understanding. My understanding was that I didn’t like the color pink. I was still mad she refused to pass the note to Bruce. Her understanding was that she didn’t care about what I thought. It was my first attempt at understanding girls. I failed.
After lunch break, a man who looked a little younger than Dad was standing next to the teacher’s desk, with a pile of workbooks and pens. Mrs. Haverbacky informed the class we should be on our best behavior. Our visitor would be conducting a class called “Junior Achievement.” She introduced Mr. Michaels as the man who owned the new computer store in the mall and volunteered at different schools.
Mr. Michaels began by telling us that even in the fifth grade; it was never too early to start thinking about college. He told us it takes good grades to get into a good school. “Just because you apply to a college doesn’t mean you will be accepted,” he said.
As he began passing out the workbooks, Wendy made a comment.
“I already know my future. I’m going to Harvard or Princeton. I’m going to be the Governor of New Jersey, maybe the first woman president. My mom told me when I grow up I can be anything I want to be. I decided I’m going to be the boss of everyone and make pink the official color of the country.”
She must have heard me sigh. She kicked my desk.
“That’s wonderful news, young lady,” Mr. Michaels said. “Now please, put your names on the top of your workbooks and turn to page one. We are going to learn about the different types of businesses.”
After school, Bruce followed me home. We listened to the New Kids interview. Bruce lived a few houses down the street. Bruce was my best friend. He lived next door to Wendy and her family. His parents and Wendy’s were good friends. Wendy and her family would join with Bruce and his family for cookouts and one time they went camping together. Bruce had known Wendy all his life.
After the tape finished playing Bruce asked, “Do you know why Wendy kicks your desk?”
“Because she’s a spoiled brat who wanted to come today and I told her no.”
“Well, maybe, but she likes you.” Bruce said. “Wendy told me that she thinks you’re cute. She asked me, to ask you, if you like her too.”
“Oh puke,” I said. “Why would anyone like a girl? I won’t even watch girls playing sports.”
“I know,” Bruce said. “My dad is always telling me to be nice to girls because one day I won’t think about girls the way you and me do now.”
“Yeah, my dad says goofy stuff all the time too.” I told Bruce. “Tell Wendy if she stops kicking my desk, the next time I tape something good, she can come over with you.”
“Ok, I’ll tell her. But I’ll tell her that her mom has to make cookies. She’s like the best ever at making chocolate chip cookies.”
Mom yelled upstairs to let Bruce know it was dinnertime and he needed to go home. It was fun having him over. Bruce was like me. He liked reading and got good grades in school. Mom liked when he came to visit.
My grandparents were coming over for dinner. They had been over more in the past few weeks than normal. I didn’t know why. I enjoyed it when they came for dinner. Grandpa Frank usually talked about sports or construction. I knew Grandpa had worked in construction but he never talked much about his job with me. He did tell me his company began small, fixing other people’s houses when they had a fire or needed repairs. Before he retired, the company had grown so big that Grandpa had done work at the White House.
He met a President Reagan. Grandpa took President Reagan some jellybeans. Grandpa never told me much about his job or the time he met the President. Grandpa only said that President Reagan was very nice. They talked about sports for a couple of minutes before the President had to leave for an important meeting. Grandpa told me that President Reagan had a job talking about sports on the radio and was even in movies.
I worked on my homework until dinner was ready. When I went downstairs, Grandma Marie gave me her traditional big wet kiss. I wondered how old I would be before she would stop kissing me. Mom called everyone to the table. She quickly asked me about school.
“Alex, I understand the man from the computer store came and spoke to the class about starting a business and getting good grades. I hope you paid attention.”
“Yes, Mom. How did you know we had a visitor?”
Mom smiled. “Mom’s know everything. Actually, Mrs. Lewis, Greg’s mother, called me earlier about the rummage sale at school this weekend. Greg told her all about it. I’m surprised you didn’t say a word when you got home.”
“Yeah, well, Greg was being really bad again. He was talking with Ritchie and Janet so much that he was almost sent to the principal’s office. I don’t know what he learned. Come on, Mom. Bruce came over and we went right to my room. There was no time to tell you.”
The room went quiet. I ate my chicken. Dad smiled and pushed the mashed potatoes around his plate. It didn’t take too long before Mom tried again.
“Alex, Mr. Michael’s visit today was good timing. Your father and I, along with your grandparents, have started a college fund for you. College is very expensive. We wanted to discuss with you the value of an education and the idea of working hard so that maybe you can get a scholarship. We all want to encourage you to keep up your good grades. One day it will pay off. Isn’t that right, Steven?”
Dad had a mouthful of potatoes and shook his fork at me. He mumbled something that sounded like, “Do as your mother tells you. Do good in school. Yeah.”
Why was Mom ruining a perfectly good dinner? I had a good time hanging out with Bruce and now they wanted to gang up on me and get serious? I got good grades. Why couldn’t I eat my dinner and go back to my room?
Grandma picked up where Mom left off. “Have you thought about going to college yet, Alex? Where you might want to go?”
What planet where these people from? I was eleven. I knew about Notre Dame because they were on TV playing football. I knew the name of the school my brother attended. I knew about Rider, Trenton State and Princeton because they were in the area. But to think about any of them? No way.
Grandma was still looking at me. I figured she wanted an answer. “Princeton, I’m going to Princeton.” I assumed that would end the conversation. I could eat my beans and have a piece of the lemon cake Mom had baked.
Grandpa dropped his fork onto his dish. He had a mouthful but managed to say, “Not with my money, you’re not. No grandson of mine will ever attend Princeton University. Period!”
Mom jumped back into the conversation. “And why would that be, Frank? Princeton is a fine university. Alex could do far worse. I know it would be difficult without a scholarship to send him to a high priced school, but other than that, why not?”
“Because that SOB, Woodrow Wilson was the President of Princeton. He was a lousy Governor and an over the top progressive President of our fine United States. I can only imagine what twisted ideas he instilled in those students while leading Princeton. That’s why, Maureen.”
Dad went into the kitchen. I wasn’t sure why. Grandma Marie never flinched.
“You mean twisted laws like allowing women the right to vote, Frank? The 19th Amendment was passed during Wilson’s second term,” Mom said.
Dad began walking out of the kitchen until he heard Mom and walked back into the kitchen. I was hoping those two wouldn’t argue again.
“Oh please, Maureen. Susan B. Anthony started that crusade long before Wilson’s election. Besides, Wilson was against the amendment before he was for it. Typical Democrat, always changing positions based on who he can get to vote for him,” Grandpa said. “Hell, the only reason Wilson got elected the first time was because Teddy Roosevelt ran as a third party candidate with the Bull Moose Party. Roosevelt split the Republican vote.”
“Oh, stop with all your excuses. Was it Wilson’s fault your party walked all over Roosevelt? And what about the Fe
deral Reserve Act? President Wilson passed that through Congress, so people like you and I could obtain home loans. Was that another twisted idea?”
I wanted to crawl under the table. I didn’t like seeing Mom or Grandpa upset. Grandma went back to eating her dinner as if arguing was normal. Mom’s face turned red. Dad came back and sat down. He didn’t say anything. He drank his iced tea. Grandpa fired back at Mom.
“Don’t get me started on the Federal Reserve. I was watching C-Span last week and the host Brian Lamb had on a Congressman from Texas. Ron Paul, I think his name was. Anyway, he had some strong opinions about the Federal Reserve. I’m not an expert in the banking system but the man seemed credible in his critique. Right after Ron Paul was on, a businessman, Ross Perot came on yacking like he was gonna run as a third party candidate in the next election. I hope he doesn’t split the vote and allow another Democrat get in without a majority of the votes.”
I couldn’t take it any longer. I missed out on fresh pie the night Mom and Dad were arguing. I wasn’t going to miss out on lemon cake. For the first time ever, I raised my voice at the dinner table.
“I’ve finished my dinner. May I have some lemon cake? Please? I don’t want to go to Princeton. I don’t care where I go to college. I have a geography test I need to study for so I can get good grades to go to who cares where. But I want some cake, please.”
Grandpa laughed. Dad gave me an evil stare. Mom went into the kitchen and came back with the cake and some little plates. Grandma kept eating her dinner. I shoved my dinner plate to the side and kept my head down. Barely a word was spoken the remainder of time I was downstairs.
After two slices of lemon cake and a full belly, I went upstairs to finish my homework. I soaked in the bathtub. I even washed in and behind my ears so Mom wouldn’t be upset. She had been upset enough at dinner. I scooted back downstairs long enough to say goodnight to everyone before jumping into bed with my book.
Another man appeared. He was standing in the doorway to my bedroom. “Most people know me as Woodrow but my family called me Tommy. After all, it is my real name. Thomas Woodrow Wilson,” the man said. “And do me a favor, Alex. When you become of age, apply to Princeton. It’s a fine university. You can assure your grandfather he would agree with my thinking while I was President of Princeton. I was a staunch conservative while being employed at Princeton University. It wasn’t until I ran for Governor of New Jersey that my thinking changed.”
“I’ll tell Grandpa, but he sure didn’t have many nice things to say about you.”
“I don’t understand why not. I was for the working man. During my time as President of the United States, I worked closely with Congress to pass many important laws. One is called the Underwood Tariff Act. We lowered the tariffs on many goods coming into this country, which reduced the costs of many items. I am very proud of that piece of legislation.”
“I don’t know, Tommy. I trust Grandpa. There must have been something you did to upset him.”
“Possibly he is not in favor of the Underwood Tariff Act. It angered some because it also introduced a graduated income tax. We needed to make up for the shortfall in revenue in the Federal Treasury when we reduced the tariffs.”
It was late. Because of the following day’s geography test, my mind was stuffed with facts about the country of France. However, paying sales tax on my tape player was still fresh on my mind. It cost me several weeks allowance to pay Dad back for that stupid tax.
“Is a graduated income tax like a sales tax?” I asked.
“I’m not familiar with a sales tax,” Tommy said. “But a graduated income tax means the more money you make the more tax you can afford to pay to the Treasury. Some people are not fortunate. We don’t require them to pay any tax at all. After all, it’s only fair that the more money you make the more you can contribute to the welfare of our great nation. Don’t you agree, Alex?”
“Hold on here.” I said. “You’re telling me, if I spend every weekend shoveling snow or cleaning out basements, and Greg plays in the park every Saturday, you take my money from me and nothing from Greg?”
The man took a step inside my bedroom. He was wearing glasses and had lost much of his hair. He looked tired. He came so close I could see he was frowning.
“That’s not exactly how it works, but close. Your friend can’t contribute. He hasn’t earned anything. He was not as fortunate as you to have work. However, I am not speaking about youngsters earning a few coins. I am talking about adults. Real earners who can afford to contribute. There are many who want to accumulate wealth and power and not give back, Alex. Those are the type of people of whom I speak.”
It still wasn’t making much sense to me. I wanted to ask it another way. “So, if my dad goes out and works all week and then works overtime on weekends, so he can save up to take us on vacation to Atlantic City, you want him to give it to your Treasury and pay more taxes? Plus he pays sale tax on tape players?”
“Alex, you are blowing this out of proportion. Think in these terms. I said these exact words after I was elected. ‘We are to beware of all men who would turn the tasks and the necessities of the nation to their own private profit or use them for the building up of private power.’ This is what I mean.”
I sat up in bed so I could think about those words. I thought about how hard I worked shoveling snow and other tasks. Tommy Wilson needed to try harder to convince me I was fortunate to give my money to him just because his Treasury needed it.
“So you don’t think people should make money, Tommy?”
Tommy nudged his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He sat in chair by the window. He told me he had been sick. He informed me he could no longer work hard.
“Of course people should earn money. They are the fortunate. Shouldn’t they give back to our society? But there are limits to everything.”
“So, I am fortunate to work hard to make money so I can give it to you? And you will decide how much I can make before you take it all. That’s why I am fortunate?”
Tommy coughed. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief he had removed from his pants pocket. “Yes, you are fortunate. You have your health. You have a good home. You have a good family. One day you will give back to our great nation.”
I closed the book and turned off the light. I flipped on the radio. I needed to think about the idea Tommy was trying to sell to me. The idea was confusing. The harder I worked, the more fortunate I was. I should be happy to give my money to his Treasury. I wasn’t convinced.
I laid there thinking about Tommy’s idea with the radio playing. I fell asleep listening to the Beatles song, “Taxman.” George was singing how if he was able to keep five percent of his money and that if it seemed too small, then maybe he should be happy the taxman didn’t come and take it all.
Later that night, I woke up. I had a bad dream Mr. Nixon, who I met earlier, told me he was a good friend of Elvis Presley. Richard told me Elvis asked him to make sure the Beatles couldn’t come and work or stay in the country. Mr. Nixon was against John Lennon because John was against the war and would sing songs about it. Mr. Nixon never did use his power to keep the Beatles from performing or living in the United States. If he did, that really would have been a nightmare.
Mom must have heard me scream because she came rushing into my room. I was sitting up covered in sweat.
“What’s wrong?” Mom said as she nestled me in her arms.
“The guy with glasses who Grandpa doesn’t like wants to take our money so we can’t go to the beach this summer and another one wanted to kick The Beatles out of the country. I know a girl who wants to make everyone wear pink and you and Dad and Grandpa are fighting way too much. I can’t remember what the main export is from France and I never want to be a slave.”
“Sssshhhhhh. There now, sweetie. No one is going to make you wear pink. Grandpa and I weren’t fighting. We were having a discussion. Your father and I love each other very much. No one is stopping us from taking our annual trip t
o the beach. Now get some sleep.”
She gave me a kiss on the same cheek Grandma always kissed. I tried to go back to sleep. I kept one eye on the chair near the window. I didn’t want Tommy touching my piggy bank, even if there was nothing in it because of deficit spending.
~~~*~~~
Chapter Six