Beyond the South End

 

 

Photo by Brenda Peabody

Revisiting The South End

The South End includes the stories of more than one family in the South End. Here I introduce you to the Phillipson family of Atlantic Street.  There is also an encounter between Prill Gillies, an old girlfriend of the main character, Frank Crocker and Earl Phillipson Jr. This is Chapter 10.

I

t was two weeks till Christmas and barely a week since they’d put Louis Crocker in the ground. The sky was grey and snow laden as South Enders decorated their houses for the upcoming holiday. Unlike the Christmas of the big fire on Main Street, the year was a good one. Trawlers came into port with their holds full. Lobstermen had a good hauling season and were able to catch up on their boat payments. Unemployment as a whole was down. Town merchants anticipated a good holiday selling season as the good economy trickled down to their cash registers. The stores remained full of shoppers, even after the usual day after Thanksgiving bonanza. The events of September 11 in New York, Washington, and Pennsylvania rather than deter the economy of the area, had strengthened it. New Englanders, being a patriotic breed, opened their pocketbooks with a determination to show the world they were not afraid of one despot on the other side of the world.

The South End was especially festive that Christmas of 2001. The town of Shoreville was fast becoming known as the newest New England art mecca. Rather than taking the bypass past the center of town, summer tourists made a point of stopping by Shoreville to see the new Wyeth museum on Union Street. The museum was once the Methodist Church until the congregation sold it and built a new church up by the lake. The church was then converted to a beautiful museum to display the art of the famous American artist, Andrew Wyeth and his son, Jamie, an artist in his own right. The museum spurred a new interest in the rich heritage of coastal art, and galleries and coffee houses sprung up around it. It was as if an artist had erased the face of Main Street and started over again from scratch. Native Shorevilleites who returned to their old hometown no longer recognized it. A new spirit of progress and entrepreneurship invaded the consciousness of the population. Shoreville was no longer just another quaint seaside community. It had grown up.

It was a good year for the Phillipson family that year. Jo-Ann was promoted to manager of her department at Penney’s and was able to buy a newer car to replace the old Ford. The future didn’t look as bleak as it did when she was recovering from her mental problems and trying to raise a son in her in-law’s household. In the end, she could see that her son, Benji, had grown to be a man of good character – a man to be proud of. Betty and Earl Sr. were a good influence on him.

Remnants of the Phillipson family still lived in the house on Atlantic Street. Earl Sr. and his wife, Betty passed away in the early 90s. Milton’s wife, Jo-Ann came to live with them soon after the fire when the psychiatrists at the mental hospital in Augusta deemed her “cured” of her postpartum depression. Of course Milton was no longer there, having left town in a hurry that night when the city was afire and Earl threatened to kill him because of the situation with his beloved sister, Belle. He hitched a ride in a semi whose driver wanted company for the long ride to Boston and beyond. He never looked back. So Jo-Ann brought up their son, Benji, as best she could. The circumstances of Milton’s disappearance were never fully explained to her and she didn’t seem to care. The marriage was a rocky one at best and she was almost relieved that he wasn’t there to criticize her anymore. She came to believe it was Milton who drove her to the mental hospital and not the “baby blues” at all. Her son became her whole life and she rejoiced in every step he took along the way to his manhood. She gradually took over the responsibility for the household as the elder Phillipsons aged. She took care of their needs until their deaths as well as made a home for Earl Jr. and his sister, Belle.

Belle doted on Benji and treated him as any other mother would treat a child. Jo-Ann would catch her just sitting by his crib and watching him sleep, singing softly to herself. It was so sad, she thought, that Belle would never have a child of her own. She showed Belle how to change diapers and give him a bath, and Belle seemed to delight in the responsibility given her. Eventually Jo-Ann was able to leave him with her when she had to run errands. She couldn’t have asked for a better babysitter.

Although Betty adored Benji too, she gladly gave over the responsibility of raising him to his own mother. She appreciated the extra pair of female hands to help her around the house. After Grandma Phillipson died, she was able to enjoy herself more. She went out with her friends and even joined the Senior Citizens Club. After Earl Sr. died, she gradually gave the household over to Jo-Ann and assumed the role Grandma Phillipson left behind.

Earl graduated from high school by the skin of his teeth and was drafted into the army soon after. When he went to Vietnam, Earl Sr. was the only adult male left in the house when he wasn’t out to sea. It was a calmer household what with Milton gone who knew where. Betty worried about her younger brother but was glad to finally have some peace and quiet.

As the years passed and Earl Sr. was no longer able to work, money coming into the house dwindled. Jo-Ann decided to work full time at Penney’s when Benji went to school a full day. So with Earl Sr.’s Social Security, Jo-Ann’s job and the supplement Belle got for her disability, they managed to get by.

This Christmas of 2001 found Jo-Ann, Belle and Earl Jr. the only ones left in the house. Earl had returned home after his stint in Vietnam a victim of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He disappeared for days at a time when he felt a spell coming on in order not to upset Jo-Ann and Belle. Jo-Ann learned not to worry about him and he always returned, usually with some money to give to Jo-Ann. Jo-Ann still worked at Penney’s. She received a small government check for being Belle’s guardian and caregiver and Belle received her own supplement. Earl did get veteran’s payments for his mental disability, and he picked up odd jobs here and there but was never able to hold down a job for long. As the mortgage was paid off by Earl Sr. before he died, their combined income made it possible for them to maintain the household on Atlantic Street. Therefore, Jo-Ann planned to have Christmas dinner as usual for Earl, Belle, Benji, and his family. Benji married right out of high school to a local girl and Jo-Ann was a new grandmother this year. It was her grandson’s first Christmas. Benji was a good son. He looked out after Jo-Ann and Belle when his “Uncle Earl” took one of his extended “trips” away from home. He had a good job driving an oil tanker for Kalloch Oil Company back and forth between Shoreville and Portland.

On this grey December day, Prill, as promised, had just come out of DeWolfe Kinney Real Estate on Park Street. A gust of damp bone-chilling wind coming off the ocean struck her face as she headed east towards Main Street. She pulled her scarf up over the lower half of her face and hurried a little faster to get around the corner of Park and Main and the protection the buildings on the west side of Main Street provided. She wanted to stop in at the Museum Store a couple blocks north to see if she could find a Christmas present for her mother. Cynthia had admired some Jamie Wyeth prints in the window and Prill wanted to get one and frame it for her. Bending her head against the cold and pulling the collar of her coat up around her ears, she scurried along as fast as she could. A light snow began to fall and as she lifted her head to get her bearings, she bumped full force into a man walking in the opposite direction. Prill looked up and briefly glimpsed the scrubby-looking man before her. Bearded, with a pony tail sticking out of his ball cap, she took him for a bum. The man was carrying a long slim leather case with a handle on it. It looked ominous and Prill tried to hurry around him, saying a quiet “excuse me” as she passed.

“Hey, baby,” the man said, “wanna party?”

Prill ignored him and continued on her way.

“Gee, Prill,” he said a little louder, “you always did like to party. I smell or something?”

Startled that anyone in town would still remember her, she turned back and stared at the man. In spite of the fact that the gaunt creature with the sunken eyes and clothes that hung off him in wrinkled folds looked ten years older than herself, she figured he must in fact be about her age. She searched her mind for a name, a connection, a memory that would link her to this apparition in the snow who stood before her.

“Don’t remember me, huh?” he said, as Prill’s mouth stood open, searching for something to say. “Me and your boyfriend, Frank, used to run together once in a while down in the South End. Back in the day. Been a long time.” More softly he said, “The neighborhood was never the same after you and Frank left, Prill.”

Still unable to make a connection between she and Frank and this strange man, he spoke up for her. “It’s Earl, Prill. Earl Phillipson from down on Atlantic Street. You remember me and my sister, Belle?”

Prill stifled the gasp in her throat as she answered. “Oh, yes, Earl, yes, I remember you.”

She had never quite understood Frank’s connection with Earl. She was always a bit afraid of him and the anger that always seemed to be just under the surface. Her eyes flicked to the case in Earl’s hand and she stepped back a little, pulling her coat more tightly around her and keeping her hands jammed in her pockets. She didn’t offer Earl her hand to shake.

Earl shifted the case from his right hand to his left and stuck out his bare chilblained right hand. “It’s O.K., Prill, it’s not a gun,” he said chuckling. “My fighting days are over, or so they tell me. This cue stick is my weapon of choice these days.”

“Oh…oh,” she said, still not convinced. She shook his hand tentatively and briefly with her gloved hand.

“It sure was nice to see you, Prill. What are you doing in town?”

Prill didn’t really want to get into a long conversation with someone from the old neighborhood she never liked.

“Oh I came up for Louis Crocker’s funeral…you know…and I’m helping my mother with a few things while I’m here.” She didn’t ask about Earl and his family, hoping he would get the hint and continue on his way as soon as possible.

“Oh, yeah,” Earl said. “I remember hearing he died here just a few days ago. Always did like him, and his wife was always good to me and Belle. You seen Frank?”

“Ah…yes…I saw him at the funeral.”

“He lives in the city somewhere now, don’t he?”

“Yes, New York,” Prill answered, moving her feet around gingerly in the cold.

“Well you tell Frank ole Earl was asking for him if you see him again, O.K..?”

“Yes…yes…I’ll do that, Earl…goodbye.”

“Sure. Sure. Goodbye, Prill,” Earl said.

Prill had already turned away and was moving quickly down the street away from him.

Earl stood motionless and watched her. It was like watching his youth slip away from him. He suddenly felt very old. Dropping his head and shoulders in sadness, he turned slowly and continued on his way towards the South End and home. He felt in his pocket and fondled the few bills he had won at Robashaw’s Pool Room. The place wasn’t like the old times at Phil’s on the south end of Main Street, but he managed to have a few laughs with the old ‘Nam vets who hung out there.

He swung his cuestick case up to his mouth and kissed it. “At least you haven’t deserted me, Lucille,” he muttered to himself. Maybe I’ll stop in at Smitty’s on the way home, he thought. It’s about half way home and I can have a couple beers to warm up. Smitty is holding some money for me for Christmas presents for Jo-Ann and Belle. I’ll give him some of this money to hold too and drink up the rest. Maybe I can find a ride home the rest of the way. Damn it. I hate being without wheels. I’ll be glad when spring comes and I can get my bike going again.

He pulled the collar up on his thin jacket collar and crossed Park Street towards the warmth of Smitty’s bar on Myrtle Street a block away.

 

If you haven’t read The South End yet and would like a copy for yourself or as Christmas presents, please go to www.buybooksontheweb.com. You can also ask at your local book store. They can order it for you. The Reading Corner and Hello Hello Books do have copies. You can find another excerpt from the book in the archives for 2010, “Christmas with the Crockers.”