Sleepyside, NY December 1959
Chief Petty Officer Harold Belden took a swig of his beer, his fourth of the night, his eyes roaming the smoke filled bar. There sure was a lack of pretty girls in tonight, which disappointed him. He was home on leave, and would have liked a little female companionship. Harold stubbed out his cigarette as it had reached the end. This wasn’t the nicest bar in town but it wasn’t the worst either.
The bar’s owner had made a few attempts to liven the place up for the holiday. Red and green tinsel was hung from the shelves that displayed liquor bottles, and there were a few Santa and Christmas tree pictures hung up, but Harold doubted anyone noticed. No one came here for the decorations.
Next to him at the bar, sat his younger brother, Petty Officer Second Class Peter Belden, nursing his first beer. Peter kept glancing at his watch, thoroughly annoying Harold. Harold knew his younger brother was hoping a certain someone of the female persuasion would show up soon. Harold thought Peter needed to broaden his horizons, and move on from hometown girls who had made it clear they weren’t waiting around on him.
One of the many things Harold loved about the Navy was the women. Women saw that uniform and practically threw themselves at him. He had joined up at 18, as had each brother, and advanced quickly. The rigorous and disciplined lifestyle suited him, and he enjoyed climbing the ranks and gaining status and respect. He could retire at 38, young enough to still start a family, if he wanted by then.
“You know she’s not coming,” Harold smirked at Peter. “A class act like that won’t be hanging out in this dive.”
Peter shot his brother a dark look and checked his watch again.
“You should have taken her to the drive-in,” Harold continued.
“It’s freezing outside,” Peter reminded him. “The drive-in isn’t even open right now.”
“Body heat keep ya warm,” Harold chuckled. “Or maybe a dark corner of the Cameo, get you a little movie theater action in the dark?”
Peter just rolled his eyes and glanced at the door. Harold was such a dog sometimes. He had yet to understand that women were more than just their anatomical parts.
Harold glanced around, his eyes landing on their third brother, Seaman Andrew Belden. Andy was at the jukebox, looking for something fun to play. More than likely, Harold thought with irritation, Andrew would just pluck some girl from the booth she was at and start dancing with her. Andrew had no real taste or discrimination when it came to women. He was just too friendly that way. Andrew was the dreamer, and it rankled Harold. Andrew had only enlisted for the GI benefits and to avoid the draft that would have put him in the Army. He would finish his duty time and move onto something else, like all of his hobbies over the years.
Harold eyed a petite brunette at a nearby table. He had smiled at her earlier, which made her blush. When he had approached for a dance, she giggled and stammered she was with someone. He was going to ask if he could buy her a drink when the Marines showed up, swaggering their way in. One looked vaguely familiar and Harold was fairly certain the guy had been ahead of him in school. Why else would four Marines be hanging around little Sleepyside? They had to be locals, home on leave like the Beldens.
The brunette was clearly with the Jarhead, who was in uniform. Harold snorted in disgust. Even without the uniform he could have pegged the table as Marines. That stupid ‘high and tight’ haircut always did it. The Jarheads carried themselves with an unparalleled cockiness as well and liked to brag about being ‘real men’. Harold and his brothers were out of uniform. None of the Belden boys needed to brag about their Naval career to pick up chicks. Girls usually flocked to their dark good looks. Harold certainly had no problem getting women, and he doubted his brothers did, either.
Peter glanced over at his older brother and frowned. “Hey, don’t even think about it,” he warned.
“Think about what?” Harold replied calmly, lighting another cigarette.
“Starting trouble with those Jarheads,” Peter replied.
Unfortunately, at that moment, the music stopped and switched, and Peter’s voice carried to the table. One of the Marine’s heads turned and glared at Peter.
Harold chuckled. “Looks like you’re the one starting it tonight, bro.”
Peter groaned. He did not need to be bloodied up from another bar fight if she happened to drop by.
The Marine turned his back to him, though, evidently deciding not to respond. Peter breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t like fighting, and yet somehow, they always ended up in a fistfight when the three brothers were together. He only had a year left in the Navy, and then he was planning on getting out and coming home. His affinity for numbers wasn’t really doing him any good in his current position, and he knew he could get hired at the Sleepyside Bank. The President had assured him again this morning that he had a job any time he wanted it.
Peter had enlisted for the GI benefits, as did most of the young men his age. He was proud to serve his country but he didn’t want to be a career officer. The life suited Harold’s disposition but not Peter. He wanted to settle down and start a family in the next few years. He was certain that he would end up the caretaker of Crabapple Farm, their childhood home where his parents still resided, just a few miles away off of Glen Road. Harold yearned for life in a bigger city, and Andrew would wander wherever he had the chance. That left preserving the family home and heritage to Peter.
‘A Big Hunk of Love’ by Elvis Presley came on, and the Marine who was with the brunette got up. They walked over to the small dance floor. A few other couples joined them on the floor.
Andrew was surveying the room, looking for any single women to dance with. He wandered over to his older brothers, beer in hand.
“What’re you waiting for, Hal?” Andrew grinned mischievously. “You can take the Jarhead.”
Harold lit another cigarette. “Just biding my time.”
“Sure,” Andrew sniggered. “He’s not so tough. Besides, you know his brains are in his biceps.”
Harold glanced at his brother with irritation. “I’m finishing my cig.”
Andrew chuckled, and needled his brother a little more. “I gotta drain the main vein. Don’t let the big bad Jarhead scare you off!”
Harold reached to smack his brother but Andrew ducked, sauntering towards the bathroom.
Peter glanced at his watch again, then the door. When he had run into Helen Johnson earlier this afternoon, he had let her know he’d be here tonight.
“Really, Pete, The Floating Pearl?” she wrinkled her nose just slightly.
“I know, it’s kind of a dive, but Harold likes the place.”
Helen giggled. “You boys have fun and stay out of trouble. No black eyes like last time, okay?”
“You should have seen the other guy,” Peter smiled at her.
“Well, if you’re not too beat up, I suppose you wander by Wimpy’s around lunchtime tomorrow.”
“You can bet on it,” Peter grinned at her, noting how her blue scarf really brought out her eyes. “But seriously, feel free to come down to the Pearl tonight.”
Helen just laughed and waved good-bye as she continued on her way.
They had gone out a few times the summer before he enlisted, and he had had a crush on the pretty blonde through the latter part of high school. Harold had taken out her older sister Alicia once, but declared she was a cold fish and not worth his time.
But Helen was warm and funny and had a smile that could light up the room. She was smart too, earning top grades through school. Harold had asked her out once but she politely declined. It was well know that Harold had fooled around plenty with Lucy Spencer, the oldest daughter of the family that owned Manor House, just down the road from where the boys had grown up. But Lucy was off at college and looking for her MRS., which Harold had no interest in giving out. Harold was a love ‘em and leave ’em type for sure. Peter pitied the woman who truly fell for Harold. He couldn’t imagine his brother happily married, or a good father.
Helen had been at the top of her class, brains in addition to blonde beauty. The Johnson family had been around a long time as well, but he hadn’t noticed her till about halfway through high school, when she blossomed overnight and was suddenly a lot more appealing. He knew right now she was working at Crimper’s, and he was toying with the idea of stopping in to see her. Christmas was just a couple of days away but he was sure he could make up the need for a last minute gift for his mother.
Peter glanced up as Harold set his cigarette in the ashtray and strolled over to the dance floor. Peter groaned. This couldn’t be good. The only women on the dance floor were all dancing with men – two of whom were from the table of Marines. And Peter knew exactly which one Harold was going to approach. He wouldn’t be Harold if he didn’t pick the biggest one to challenge.
Peter sipped his beer, watching his brother. Beer was not Peter’s drink of choice but if he didn’t drink at least one, Harold would razz him all night and mock him. It was easier to just drink the stuff than put up with Harold’s bullying. If this night didn’t end in a bar fight, Harold would insist on a few shots of whiskey as well.
Harold swaggered up to the brunette and the Marine. “Mind if I cut in?”
The Marine glared at him. “Hit the pavement, loser.”
Harold’s eyes went cold. “I serve too, pal, so there’s no need for insults. I just want a dance with the pretty lady.”
“Well, you ain’t getting one. What are you, you look like a dumb Dog Face to me.”
“Chief Petty Officer,” Harold growled, all signs of humor gone from his face.
“Squid,” the Marine sneered.
“You gotta problem with that, Jarhead? Without us, you dumb Leathernecks wouldn’t get anywhere, let alone exist. You are a sub-department of us, you know,” Harold smirked.
“You better walk away now, Swabby, before I swab this dance floor with your ugly face!”
“All I wanted was a dance with the lady,” Harold said calmly, but his fury was rising. “I don’t need to talk with your dumb ass.”
The Marine shoved his date behind him. “You ain’t gettin’ her.”
“What, you own her? She can talk for herself. C’mon, sweetheart, how about a dance? I bet I outrank this peacock here. I don’t need to wear my uniform to impress.” Harold boasted.
The Marine shoved him, and Harold stumbled back into a table. People were rapidly clearing out of the way.
“You’re gonna regret that, Devil Dog!” Harold swung, but the Marine blocked his punch and hit back, dead center of Harold’s face. He felt the bone in his nose move, and warm blood trickle out.
“Aw, Hell,” Peter finished his beer and stood up. The other Marines were watching but hadn’t moved in yet.
“All right, guys, come on—” Peter stepped in between them. “My brother didn’t mean to be an ass, it’s just his talent. There’s no need to fight.”
“You look like another Squid. Slither your way on out of here,” the Marine snarled, his meaty hand forming another fist.
“Don’t you talk to my brother like that!” Harold stepped up and slammed his fist into the Marine’s stomach.
Peter was grabbed from behind and spun around to find himself facing another Marine, this one shorter and squat.
“You wanna start something?” he growled, his fist coming towards Peter’s face. Peter ducked and swung back.
Peter lost track of Harold in the melee, dodging fists and swinging his own. A table crashed nearby, and there were more bodies suddenly moving around, shouting and swinging as Elvis’s ‘Hound Dog’ played in the background.
In the men’s room, Andrew relaxed as he relieved himself into the urinal. Too many beers had caught up to him. He could match Harold drink for drink but Harold got too fierce about being competitive. Andrew preferred to have a good time and enjoy life. He had yet to find anyone to dance with but the night was young. Surely a couple of the pretty locals would show up. He knew Peter was hoping for the Johnson girl, but Andrew wasn’t looking for love, just a little dancing fun for the night. Settling down didn’t hold much appeal for Andrew. Truth be told, women didn’t hold much appeal for Andrew, either, but he wasn’t going to admit that in a million years. High school wasn’t that long ago, and he had lots to do before he decided to settle down somewhere. And he didn’t plan for it to be Sleepyside, either.
Zipping his pants, he walked to the sink to wash his hands. Choosing the Navy over being drafted into the Army was heavily at Harold’s insistence, but Andrew knew he wouldn’t make a career out of it. He expected Harold would. Harold had definitely gotten meaner since his last promotion. The rigorous and hard life suited Harold. And Harold had never been the ‘nice’ brother to start with. That was Andrew himself. Poor Peter stuck in the middle, always trying to mediate and broker peace between them, or between Harold and just about anyone.
After drying his hands off, he tossed the paper towel in the trash and opened the door.
A glass pitcher flew near him and hit the wall, shattering. The bar fight was in full rage and Andrew’s heart sunk. He’d bet money he knew who started it. Normally, he’d be stuck in the melee with his brothers, the Beldens versus whoever Harold had pissed off.
Andrew sighed, backed up and shut the door. Not tonight, he decided. There was a loud thump against the wall outside. No, he decided. Not tonight.
***
Beat officer Wendell Molinson answered the phone when it rang. Thursday night, there wasn’t much going on around Sleepyside.
“Molinson,” he answered, before taking a drag of his cigarette.
“Hey, this is Randy at the Floating Pearl,” a voice shouted over music and noise. “I got a full on fight going on down here and I need some help breaking it up!”
“All right, what’d ya got?” Molinson stood.
“At least four uniformed Marines, some standbys who need an excuse to work off some anger and the Belden brothers.”
Molinson groaned. He had known the Beldens were home on leave for a few days but he had hoped they wouldn’t start anything. Harold Belden had been a thorn in his side for years. Ever since the senior prom.
“All three?”
“Yeah, all three are here. Harold started it again. Hey, they’re not in uniforms but the Marines are.”
“All right, I’ll be down there shortly.”
“Thanks!” Randy hung up.
Molinson wished there was a nearby Naval base. He’d love to have Harold Belden’s ass hauled in by the MPs for such behavior. But Sleepyside was far out and Molinson knew it was his personal grudge against Harold that made him feel that way. He’d just hold them overnight and let them stew.
He didn’t mind Pete and Andy. They were decent fellows. But Harold…Harold had been his best friend until senior year of high school, when Harold ditched his prom date to get with Wendell’s. Wendell had thought his relationship with Sherry was rock solid, and was even thinking of asking her to marry him. Harold had never let on he was interested in her, and Harold always made his interest known in something, especially a woman. But some spiked punch at the prom and off she went with Harold. Wendell found them in an empty classroom, making out and half-naked. He had never forgiven Harold. Or Sherry, despite her tears and protests Harold had tricked her. Harold, that horse’s ass, had just stood there smirking. Later, he would tell Wendell it had been to show Wendell how trashy Sherry really was. Wendell never spoke to him again, until the night of the first bar fight, when Wendell had arrested him on a drunk and disorderly. Harold hadn’t been in uniform then, either.
After warning Smith that they had a bunch of Marines that were going to need a pickup, Wendell pulled on his jacket. He could walk to the bar, but if he was planning to arrest a bunch of people…he took the keys to the van.
“Smith, let’s roll. Time to bring in some drunk boys.”
***
It took Morrison firing his gun before the fight stopped. Everyone froze at the sound. Someone was on an Elvis kick tonight and ‘Jailhouse Rock’ was blaring.
“Police! No one move!” Wendell bellowed.
Sure enough, in the middle of the room, blood all over his face, pinning a Marine to the ground, was Harold Belden. Peter Belden had just hit the floor, with his eye swollen. At least three other men had blood on their faces as well.
“Marines, over here, now!” Wendell yelled.
Swearing, the Marines moved to where he told them.
“Beldens, get your asses over there, now! Everyone else, in the middle of the room!”
As the men shuffled around, Wendell frowned. Where was Andrew?
*
Andrew heard only the jukebox and poked his head out of the bathroom door. Shit, he thought. Wendell Morrison and another officer were here. Well, at least he, Andrew wasn’t involved this time. Their mother was going to be mad enough. Andrew could almost always talk his way out of trouble with their mother, which did not endear him to Harold.
Andrew slipped out of the bathroom and moved to where he and his brothers had been enjoying their beers at the counter.
“Single file, all of you,” Wendell snapped. “Marines first, to the van! Anyone who starts anything gets shot!”
An idle threat of course, but they all responded appropriately. After the Marines were three locals, and Wendell sighed. He knew all three; they never passed up a chance to get into a fight.
“You Beldens, you’re walking,” he growled. “Andrew, get your ass over here!”
“Me?” Andrew looked up from his now warm beer. “But I didn’t do anything! I wasn’t involved!”
“You’re here,” Molinson retorted. “Fall in line. There’s not enough room in the van so you jokers are walking. And keep your mouths shut or I’ll cuff you to each other!”
That was an effective deterrent, he knew. He had done it last time and they almost killed each other with their squabbling.
Andrew grabbed their jackets. Officer Smith would drive the van, Wendell walked behind the three brothers, who weren’t dressed for the snowy streets and slipped their way to the jail.
“Man, this is a hazard,” Harold griped.
“Too damn bad. Keep moving and shut up!”
Smith was unloading the other men by the time the Beldens reached the jail, shivering and cold, their shoes soaked.
The Marines were put in one cell, the other three men in another and the Beldens in the third. Andrew noted that they were purposely kept separate from the Marines. The cells however, were not built for large groups, and there wasn’t much room to move about.
“Come on, Molinson, we were just having a bit of fun,” one of the men in the middle cell said. “Marines versus Navy, we had to get in on that!”
“Shut up, Butch,” Wendell growled. He pointed to the Marines, vaguely recognizing two. “Keep your mouths shut.”
The Marines kept stony expressions.
“Jerry, Butch, Bubba, you three can sober up here. As for you Beldens, I oughta slap all three of you with some charges. I have no doubt you baited them.”
“Please, don’t,” Harold said sincerely. “Things just got out of hand.”
>i>“Things just got out of hand,” Harold smirked, zipping up his pants as Sherry clutched at her dress top.
“They always do with you, Belden!”
“Look, Wendell, I was in the bathroom. I had nothing to do with this! Look, no blood, no bruises,” Andrew held out his hands.
“Nice, leave us to take the rap,” Harold growled, his eyes dark and menacing.
“You’re a Belden, you’re in it together,” Wendell snapped. “I think instead of charges, I’m just going to call your mother.”
“No!” the brothers protested immediately.
Wendell turned on his heel and left the room, ignoring the Marine jeers of “Aw, poor little Squids are afraid of Mommy!”
***
But Wendell had a surprise for the Beldens. At midnight, he released the Marines, Jerry, Butch and Bubba with a warning.
“Hey, when do we get out?” Harold demanded. “Wendell, this is serious horseshit to leave us here. We’re grown men, and we’re Sailors!”
Wendell crossed his arms. “You can go home in the morning.”
“Morning?” Peter demanded. “What? Why, you let those three go, and the Jarheads!”
“They just enjoy a good fight. You all started the mess, didn’t you, Harold?” Wendell demanded.
“All I wanted was to dance with a girl.” Harold growled.
“I told you not to start trouble with them!” Peter said furiously to Harold. “But as usual, you didn’t listen!”
“Did I ask you to interfere and stick your peacemaker nose into things?” Harold demanded.
While his brothers argued, Andrew stretched out on the cot.
“At least you weren’t hiding in the bathroom like a big chicken!” Harold shouted at Peter.
“Leave him out of this; he was smart enough to not get involved! I wish I was!” Peter said furiously.
“You always take his side!”
“And I always take your side when you get us into these situations! That’s what we do!”
“BOYS!” Wendell shouted.
They stopped and looked at him, Peter’s eyes wary, Harold’s furious.
“Still trying to get back at me for that little tramp senior year, Wendell?” Harold snorted. “Is that what this is about? I did you a favor, you found a good woman to marry, didn’t you?”
Don’t take the bait, Wen, don’t take the bait, he thought. “Your mother sent a message.”
The hostility melted from Harold’s face and Andrew sat up.
“Which was? When is Dad coming for us?” Peter asked.
“She said to tell you good night, and she hopes you have adequate footwear for the walk home in the morning. Don’t be late for lunch; your grandmother will be there.”
Their jaws dropped open.
“She didn’t!” Andrew exclaimed.
Wendell nodded. “She did. Looks like she’s tired of your antics. I’ll release you all in the morning.”
He turned and left the cell area.
“Well, how do you like that,” Harold sputtered. “That jerk keeps us here-our own mother!”
“Wendell has a point,” Peter said.
“Shut up, Pete.”
“He’s right,” Andrew said, laying back down. “Mom’s got to be sick of this. And think about it, Wendell did us a favor.”
“How?” Harold demanded.
“He could have called our MPs. Be grateful we’re nowhere near a base. I think Mom would have really flipped her lid at that point,” Andrew replied.
“Andy’s right,” Peter ran his hand through his dark hair. “This isn’t Wendell’s fault. It’s ours. And now Mom’s upset enough to leave us here for the night.”
“We gotta make it up to her,” Andrew said.
Harold glowered from near the cell door. The strains of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” drifted softly from the bullpen. Clearly, Wendell was into Christmas music and planning to enjoy the rest of his shift. The smell of fresh coffee wafted back to them, making thier mouths water.
"Think he'd share some coffee?" Andrew asked hopefully. "Maybe a doughnut?"
Peter snorted. "Don't bet on it."
“At least it’s not Christmas Eve,” Harold grumbled. “That would really suck.”
“Mom would kill us,” Andrew chuckled.
“What about Grandma? She might withhold our matching scarf and glove sets,” Harold said sarcastically with a grimace.
“I kinda dig those,” Andrew said. “Besides, you know she loves her yarn. She’s always petting those balls of it. She says it’s like petting a soft cat without the mess of fur.”
“Oncle Günter doesn’t arrive till tomorrow night, so let’s not tell him about this. He’ll be really disappointed in us,” Peter commented.
“Yeah, I love Oncle Günter. He always steals seconds off the dessert buffet for me, even now,” Andrew laughed. “Actually, I bet he’d be sorry he missed the fun!”
“Man, I hope Grandma brings her streusel küchen and meringues,” Peter smacked his lips.
“She is the Cookie Queen,” Harold admitted. “It wouldn’t be the same without her.”
“I wish I had some of her küchen right now. I’m starving,” Peter grumbled.
“And coffee, Grandpa-style,” Andrew said dreamily. ‘Grandpa-style’ meant a splash of bourbon and a dash of cream.
“What time is it?” Andrew asked.
Peter looked at his watch. “Twelve eighteen.”
The brothers all sighed. It was going to be a long, uncomfortable night dreaming of their grandmother’s streusel küchen and goodies.
