UNCLE ERIC

UNCLE ERIC"This story may, or not be, true depending on who you talk to." My brother Phillip. My father was the last of six kids, all boys. He grew up on the North Shore in a town called Beverely Mass. His father was Welsh English and his mother was Canadien. They made a lovely couple.
When my grandfather was not working seven days a week he would be drinking and/or argueing with my grandmother on his drinking or working all the time. My grandmother took the traditional roles back in the 1930's. She spent all day washing other people's laundry, cooking for six kids and grandpa and tending the still they had behind the coal stove in the kitchen.
They made everything in that still. Corn liquor, Moonshine,White Lightning; they were all derivatives of the same mash they put into the kettle.All the kids chipped in come chore time. Peeling potatoes or shucking corn or cutting up apples; all by the buschel. After homework, the final chore was clean the table from dinner and prep the still. Uncle Eric was the oldest of the six kids. There was never any one else in our family like Uncle Eric. My father would tell us the stories of him about how he would pull of scams since he was a kid. It was all petty stuff really but Eric could always turn an illegal buck somehow and never get caught.
That didn't always hold true for future generations of our family. Case in point: There was my cousin Bobby who used to sell dime bags of weed to his friends. He was doing ok, staying under the radar until one day some joker talked him into driving to Florida to take a couple hundred pounds back up I-95. Bobby jumped on this idea and tooled off to Florida. The whole thing went off without a hitch but cousin Bobby forgot two basic rules of drug running. The first rule is that anyone with a Mass plate crossing the Mason Dixon line is bound to draw the attention of the Georgia State Police. The second rule is that if you have any outstanding speeding tickets..You would be best to pay them off. Cousin Bobby got 10 years.
Then there was my nephew Jeff who served in the Army during the Gulf War while stationed in Korea. He used to go to the PX and buy TV's and stereos at dirt cheap prices then sell them on th street at a mark-up. He met up with this Korean girl who fell in love with him. My nephew told her all the right things she wanted to hear and started shacking up with her. Six months before his discharge he told her that he was not going to take her back with him to America as he promised. They had a huge fight and he stormed out of the apartment leaving all the PX stuff still in boxes. He went out, got drunk, staggered back to the base and passed out. When he woke up there were two MP's standing over him, one was twirling a set of handcuffs. My nephew got two years and a dis-honorable discharge. But I saved the best for last. I have another nephew; Tim (my sister's kid). He was in love with some girl who took him for a ride. She went through him and his money like a hot knife through butter. Never satisfied she talked him into robbing the very bank he worked for. This dolt walked into a branch of said bank with no disquise, still wearing his nametag and waving a handgun as he demanded money. He, actually, managed to escape with just over five thousand dollars. For the next three days they holed up in some side-of-the-road, seedy motor in where they proceeded to snort. smoke and drink their way through the five thousand dollars. When the Feds finally kicked in the door there was my nephew, back up against the wall buck ass naked. His face covered in coke like the scene from Scarface. The love of his life's face buried in his crotch. The District Attorney purposely made every arresting officer take the stand to recount the scene much to the delight of the jury and the audience in the back. Tim got five years in a Supermax prison. You see? That is what was different about Uncle Eric. He never comitted a quote, unquote "crime". He was always a ghost. He would "pull jobs". No one could ever pin anything on him. He was always several steps ahead or several layers removed from. .Uncle Eriic was the oldest of these six kids. My father was the youngest and was full of stories about his brothers and my politically incorrect grandparents. For instance, each week Eric would take his allowance and paper route money to Tommy's soda shop and pharmacy. on Dean Street and pop pennies into this arcade machine. The game was simple. Pop a penny into the top, the penny bounces down sideways over a series of pegs and falls into one of a dozen slots at the bottom. At that bottom were all the pennies people had put in before. Hit the right slot at the right time and a handfull of pennies would fall out. Eric was a natural at this game. He knew exactly wich side to drop the penny, wich slot would pay off and when. He got so good at this game that all his buddies would gather round him and place bets on the outcome. In a couple of months Eric was no longer using his own money. He would take the bets, collect the pennies and drop them in. If you lost the bet you owed Eric money, if you won the bet he skimmed a hefty 25% of the winnings. Either way, for a fourteen year old kid in the 1930's he was clearing almost ten bucks a week all in pennies. My grandparents always knew when he was coming in for dinner because they could hear his pockets jingling as he came up the back stairs. My grandmother always told him to never go swimming with his trousers on or he would drown. My grandfather always stopped in the shop during his lunch break. With a wink and a nod (plus a deposit) he could slip into the back of the kitchen for a pint of home brewed beer. Everyone in town knew about this, even the local cops could be seen in a corner with a couple of pints from time to time. If you left them alone, they left you alone. After his beer my grandfather would take a seat at the counter and check out the racing form and eat his lunch. Eric would be in the corner hustling his friends. Slowly, people would appear from the back kitchen and take up seats. The cops took a corner stall to keep an eye on the place. There was this one Irish cop (there is always one) everyone knew as Dusty.I have no idea how he got that name. Dusty Sledge was his name. Anyway, Dusty began noticing Uncle Eric and his buddies a little too much this day. My grandfather noticed it also. It wasn't like Eric was being loud or a nuisance. If fact the arcade was located at the end of a back hall separate from the patrons. Tommy could have cared less. Eric brought in soda business and besides, Tommy would buy grandad's bootleg liquor. It was neighborhood shop and everyone knew each other or was married into a family or two some how. Not Dusty Sledge. He was from out of town and was the stereotypical crooked Irish cop of that time. No one liked him. All the cops were known to take a bribe now and again. A pay off here, a forgotten ticket there. Dusty made a living off of other people's misery. In the Depression era 1930's there was plenty of that to go around..
Dusty got up from his seat and sauntered over to my grandfather. Grandad put the racing form away into the newspaper.
"Eh Cunliffe." That thick Irish lilt. "Seems yer boy's got a goin' concern ova theya."
Grandad looked over and sipped his coffee. "Just kids havin' fun."
"Thats not what I'm-a talkin'-bout you Limey bastard."
Grandad put his coffe down. "What'dya want Sledge?"
"I'm talkin' bout your little bootleg operation. You and your spawn griftin' the neighborhood. Think I doen know what your dealin' in?"
Grandad sat silent. He taught all his kids to sit silent when questioned under duress. I teach my kids the same rule. Say nothing. Offer nothing. Let them do all the leg work. Sledge leaned into him. He looked over at the newspaper and slid out the racing form.
"Little numbas game ya got goin' heya? Ya kno' bettins' illegal in this state. Could take you and yar' kid in right now. Would be a shame. Cops searchin' your home, all your bootleggin' customers brought in. No need to bring them poor families down with ya."
My grandfather sat silent and said nothing. Sledge leaned into him some more and put the racing form back into the newspaper.
" Tell ya what I'm gonna do heya Cunliffe. Your gonna pick up my tab heya from now on and cut me in on 40% of your bootleggin' and I'm gonna take my 50% of the boy's winnins' today just to teach-im a lesson."
The waitress brought out Sledges's meal and put it on the table. Sledge watched her.
"Doen want it to go cold now do I?" Sledge patted my grandfather's back and sauntered off back to his seat. Sledge was as good as his rotten word. After his meal he got up, dropped his napkin on the floor and walked over to my Uncle Eric. He told the waitress to give the cheque to my grandfather. He walked up to Uncle Eric and pulled him against the wall.
"Hey!"
" Shut up ya little bastard!" Sledge reached into Eric's pocket and pulled out a large handfull of pennies, then reached in again and pulled out more. Sledge put the bounty into his pockets. "Lucky I doen put ya' into reform school."
Sledge went back to his table and grabbed the last of his sandwich.."Be seein' ya Cunliffe." Sledge walked out of Tommy's soda shop and pharmacy..
Tommy came over to my grandfather.
"I got his meals Bob."
"Then all your pints are for free." Said my grandfather. Tommy nodded and grimaced.
Tommy spoke up. "It's not going to stop there you know." Grandad just sipped his coffee.
Tommy kept going. "Ya hear what that Mick did to the Doherty girl last week?" My grandfather came back to focus.
"Alice? Michael's girfriend?"
Tommy nodded. My grandfather put down his coffee "What the hell happened?"

Uncle Eric and his buddies walked up to the counter.
"Dad?"
Tommy leaned over the counter. " Hey, you guys get outta here and go straight home. Cut behind Grayson's Funeral Home, out my back door. Be quiet, they may have a service on now."
Eric looked at my grandfather. " Do as Tommy says." He ordered..."Mind your mother!"
The kids bolted out the from the kitchen door. Tommy pulled a bottle fom under the counter and spiked the coffee. This is something children should never hear, let alone experience.
Tommy continued.
"You know those two have been sweet since grade school?"
Grandad nodded
" And you know Mike is in basic now? They're gonna get married after he gets back from camp."
Again my grandfather nodded, this was all common knowledge. All the families in the neighborhood had invitations. In fact, my grandmother was chosen to bake the wedding cake.
Tommy swallowed his spiked coffee. "Yeah, well, they drove over to the point at Salem Willows a week before he shipped out and they..Well..Ya know.." My grandfather was not shocked. He shrugged.."And?"
Tommy continued. " So, Sledge pulls up behind them. Catches them doin...." Now my grandfather was concerned; he put down his spiked coffee.
" What the fuck did he do?" Asked my grandfather.
"Sledge pulls them both outta the car. Mike is pullin' up his pants and poor Alice is in her all-together. Sledge is ready to haul them both in! Goes on about Alice underage and Mike's career in the Navy bein' shot to hell! These two love each other..Hell Bob, we both watched those kids get Christened!"
My grandfather was beside himself. "What the fuck did Sledge do?"
"Sledge put his hands on her! Told Mike he would ruin his Navy career cause Alice was still underage! That damn Mick pulled out his gun and took that poor girl into his car!!"
My grandfather shoved his cup and saucer. Tommy was almost in tears.
My grandfather spoke. " He didnt....?"
Tommy shook his head. " No he didn't, just put his hands on her. Least thats what I hear. Hell, Bob, these are our kids. Here in the neighborhood. Who the Christ is this Sledge to think he can do as he pleases?...Those poor kids."
Tommy pulled the bottle onto the counter and they both drank straight from it. I would have also, having heard that story.
You see, even though pre-marital relations were shunned in those days. It only pertained to casual relations. Young love was something different. In fact, your grand-parents most likely knew each other since they were kids, maybe even, your own parents. Things are different today. We want to keep our kids from those relationships (and for good reason). In the 'old days', as I shall call them; this was a sacred line you never crossed. Dusty Sledge crossed that line.
What niether Tommy, nor my grandfather knew during that conversation was that my Uncle Eric did not obey his father that day. After his friends took off across Grayson's back yard he snuck back in and propped open the kitchen door and heard the entire conversation. Mike's little brother was Eric's friend and Alice had babysat for the family and would let them stay up late listenning to the radio. There were more lines crossed than even Tommy and grandad knew that afternoon at the soda shop..