“We’re going to postpone our honeymoon,” Jackson said.
“We are too,” Jonathan replied. “We’ve decided to wait until we have more time and cash to splurge on a really great trip, maybe to Hawaii, the Virgin Islands, or Europe.”
“Great thinking,” Jackson said. “We may choose some other destination, but you can bet that Pyongyang won’t be on the list.”
Jackson left college after three years, because he’d run out of money. He had done well in school, but he had accumulated some debt, and Mary was pregnant. Leaving school didn’t bother Jackson. He had more education than he ever thought he’d get, and he had a wife he adored along with a great job opportunity. He expected to work two years at the mill at which point he’d be eligible for an administrative position. At that point, he’d have sufficient time to complete his education, and, as a tremendous bonus, he’d have his first child while he was still a young man.
Jonathan was also doing well in school. He was secure financially, because Dori had a good job and his father was generous. He graduated fourth in his class of 165, quite a feat, although Jackson pointed out that if he had stayed the course, Jonathan might have been fifth.
Dad would have preferred a career in medicine or law for his son, but he was happy to offer Jonathan a position in the family business. Without other offers, he adjusted to the job quickly and began saving some money, a good thing since Dori’s bouts with nausea turned out to be a typical case of morning sickness.
When Jonathan thought back to his stint in Korea and his time in the military hospital, he was grateful that his life was turning out so nicely. He had a job that was guaranteed for life. He was earning more than he probably deserved. He had a nice apartment in a decent neighborhood and a pregnant wife who loved him a ton.
Jonathan and “Jack,” as he was called by those who knew him well, saw each other even more than when they were in school. Mary and Dori got along famously, and since both were “with child,” they had much to talk about. The couples lived at opposite ends of the city, but the wives worked downtown and met a couple of times a week for lunch. Of course, most of their conversations had to do with their pregnancies.
The couples were together almost every weekend. “How are things going at the mill?” Jonathan asked on one of those occasions.
“It’s OK,” Jack said, ”mostly routine and nothing to get excited about.”
“You don’t seem very enthused,” Jonathan said.
“Fact is, I’m not,” Jack said. “I mean it’s OK, but I can’t imagine staying there too much longer.”
“Then, why don’t you come to work at the plant with me and Dad,” Jonathan said. “We need more people we can depend on, and this would be a good time for you to make a move.”
Jack’s response was quick and firm. “Sure,” he said. “What’s the deal?”
Soon after Jack went to work with Jonathan and his father, Jackson the Third was born. A young cousin, unable to pronounce “Three,” called him “Tree,” and the name stuck. Not to be outdone, Dori gave birth to Michael about a month later.
So it was that Michael and Tree began growing up together. They shared so much time that they talked alike, enjoyed the same toys and games, and called each other’s parents Aunt and Uncle.
Chapter 3
Growing Up
Despite living some distance apart, the babies were together at least once a week. Their mothers purchased buggies with space for two passengers, so they shared a “room” from their youngest days. It was doubtful that either boy actually remembered their joint excursions through the neighborhoods, but each claimed that the other took up more than his fair share of space in the buggy.
As the boys grew older, they visited even more. While their parents played cards or lounged in the back yard, they were off playing with other kids. In Tree’s neighborhood, their favorite play area was Mr. Timothy O’Brien’s lumber yard, abandoned on the weekends. The place was a kid’s delight, a couple of acres surrounded by a wire fence that made it a perfect place to play. There were mountains of wooden beams, planks, and two by fours. and the fence was easy enough to climb. So, the yard was an ideal venue for Hide and Seek, Cops and Robbers, and King of the Hill.
A junkyard dog, one fierce looking German Shepherd, turned into a pussy cat, or at least one of the guys, after they fed him chunks of hot dog, some chocolate ice cream, and beef bones stolen from the trash bins at home. O’Brien never figured out why his beloved pet rejected his Monday meal of Alpo. “Great watch dog,” he bragged, though. “Never had an intruder around here.”
Near Michael’s house on the north side, the boys played at Bicycle Hills, a well-worn path through the trees in an undeveloped part of the community. They rode their bikes to the site and raced over the three-quarter mile, hilly trail. By this age, both had heard a lot of stories about eye injuries and broken ankles, but thoughts of getting hurt never slowed them down. They suffered some minor bruises and scratches, as boys tend to do. Nonetheless, they persisted in an exuberant brand of play and made it unscathed through childhood despite their reckless abandon.
By age 12, both boys had developed special interests. Tree boxed at the local YMCA in a program designed to keep young boys off the street after school. Once he learned some of the basics, he was able to handle himself quite well, even against boys a year or two older than he was. Jack took Tree to the training facility he had attended as a youth, and the coaches provided more advanced training. He was eager to show off Tree’s ability, especially when it became clear that his son had more talent and potential than he had back when he was young.
“Hey, Jonathan, Why don’t you come on over and watch Tree spar next Saturday. I think you and Michael will be surprised at what you see.” And surprised they were. Even those with untrained eyes and no experience in the ring are quick to discern exceptional talent.
Puberty treated Michael kindly. He grew long and lean and had fine features. In opposition to the Jewish stereotype, his nose was small and straight, and he had thick black hair with bangs that hung over his forehead. He had a set of straight white teeth and an easy smile. One unusual feature was his thick eyebrows which, if left unattended, would have merged into a “unibrow” in about two weeks. So while certainly not an Adonis, Michael was good looking enough to get noticed by more than a few budding young coeds in eighth grade. He did nothing to discourage their attention.
He took to swimming with natural ease and went to the local high school a couple of times a week for instruction. The head coach was impressed with Michael’s potential and allowed him to work out with the senior high school team while he was still in junior high. This practice amounted to illegal recruitment, so Michael learned to keep his head in the water and his mouth shut.
Playing the piano was another of Michael’s interests, at least for a time. It was soon obvious, however, that interest does not always correlate with talent. He was persistent, all right, which essentially meant that he persistently played the wrong notes. When he suggested quitting, Dori said, “You’ll be happy you did this when you’re older,” the standard line for mothers whose kids are threatening to quit music lessons.
Piano teachers often feel some sense of loss when a student hangs up the old metronome. Michael’s teacher, however, after a couple of years of valiant effort and migraine headaches every Wednesday afternoon when Michael was scheduled, looked heavenward, made the sign of the cross, and wished him well. “I hear you’re an excellent swimmer.” she said. Michael, of course, was delighted at the prospect of having one additional hour a day to do anything he wanted. ‘’No more practice. Free at last,” he thought.
Tree