Fires in the Wilderness (8 page)

After lights out, I laid in my cot thinking. Though I was dog tired and arm weary, I couldn't sleep. The rain was coming in waves. A leak at the top of the center pole kept up a rhythmic drip of raindrops on the floor. Thoughts kept running through my mind.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I thought about Mike and our last run-in. Mike O'Shea was bigger, older, and stronger than me. The way I figured it, he'd been a bully most of his life. I had been warned about people like him. My father told me that the only way to stop bullies was to stand up to them. I wasn't afraid to fight Mike if it came to that.

My father was a great boxer in his time. Once he even fought Stanley Ketchell, the Polish boxer from Grand Rapids who won the world middleweight championship in 1908. Father gave up his dream to be a professional boxer after that fight. He got married and settled down, taking a job in a furniture factory until he was laid off in 1931.

From the time we were little, our father taught both Squint and me how to box. He built a boxing ring with cotton rope in the backyard and showed us how to defend ourselves. We learned how to punch and duck, to use our legs as well as our arms to deliver a punch. Squint never really took to the sport. Maybe it was because his eyesight was so bad. On the other hand, I got pretty good at it. Though I was never really interested in brawling in the alleys with other boys, I enjoyed boxing. In local tournaments I went undefeated for two straight years.

Though the prospect of fighting with Mike didn't bother me much, I was worried about the outcome—one way or the other. If I lost, Big Mike would rub my nose in the fact he had beaten me. If I won, Big Mike would continue to bait me into a re-match or use his position in the CCC to beat me down.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I was worried that if I fought with Mike, I might get kicked out of the Civilian Conservation Corps. Part of the Oath of Enrollment talked about obeying rules and following the orders of superiors. Clearly Big Mike was a superior, and the captain and lieutenant established the rule that they didn't want any fighting.

The CCC was more than a job. It was life, life for my whole family. My sister had written several times since I arrived at Camp Polack Lake. Squint and our father were still looking for work, but it didn't look like things would change for some time. Sophia was a maid for a doctor and his wife. Though she worked many hours a week, the job only paid $4 a month—not nearly enough. The doctor wanted to pay her more, but could not. Most people were so poor they would pay him with a chicken or some potatoes for mending a broken leg or delivering a baby.

Back at home, the mayor and the governor worked hard to provide shelter and food for the starving people of Grand Rapids. My family got handouts from time to time, but they didn't like being on the dole. It was clear that they were living off the $25 that the CCC sent to them each month. I had no choice. I was trapped. I couldn't risk my job by fighting with Mike. Regardless of what happened, I had to put up with his taunts and cruelty. What's worse, he knew that he had me trapped. I even suspect he enjoyed it.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Pick and Yasku were snoring loudly. Why was I the one who was awake? I wondered why I carried these burdens, and no one else seemed to have a care in the world. I was the youngest among my friends. Why was I the one to go to Captain Mason? The more I thought, the more unsettled I grew. I had to get some sleep. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

The cold, hard rain that had gone on since Stosh had left made a bad job worse. I thought about the pit and dreaded working there and working for O'Shea. The rain was filling the pit with icy cold water making each shovelful of gravel that much heavier. Cold rainwater ran down our arms and backs as we worked. In the pit, our feet got so numb that we couldn't feel them when we walked. We often stumbled when throwing gravel into the trucks. It was getting dangerous. Someone was going to get hurt—and hurt bad.

I finally fell asleep late that rainy night. Before sunup I woke with a start, feeling as though eyes were staring at me from out of the dark.

Stosh had come back.

A
t first I thought I was dreaming. After I shook myself awake, I realized that it really was Stosh, but he looked different. He looked more like a drowned rat than my old friend. His clothes were tattered and soaked, and he shivered from cold. His face and hands were blue and swollen.

Stosh could barely speak. “J-J-J-Jarek,” he whispered hoarsely. “He-he-he-help m-m-me.” His body shook with each word.

“Get those wet things off,” I said as I threw off my covers and rolled out of my cot. “You need to put some warm things on.” I wrapped blankets around him and rubbed the cold out of his back. The others began stirring. “Get Stosh's other clothes,” I said to Yasku. Then I turned to Pick. “Run to the mess tent and get some hot coffee . . . fast.” The other guys in the tent wanted to help, too. Everyone was glad that Stosh was back.

Thankfully, it was Saturday and there was no work detail. We wouldn't have to report for duty until Monday morning. As we dried Stosh off and warmed him, I thought about what we should do to help him keep his job. Taking him directly to Captain Mason would be like stirring a hornet's nest. We'd have to report his return to Mike. From there we could only hope that Captain Mason would take him back in the CCC. I had done all I could. Stosh's fate was now in the hands of others.

As he warmed and regained his strength, Stosh told us that he had been trying to go home. Fortunately or unfortunately, he never made it to Manistique before turning back. He was hungry, tired, and had cuts all over his face and arms. When Pick came back with coffee, he brought along sweet rolls. They were still warm.

Stosh wolfed down the rolls and took a sip of coffee. “This cup of mud sure tastes good, I'll tell you,” Stosh said as he lifted his coffee cup before sharing his story. His color slowly returned and the shivering had stopped.

“Sorry if I caused you guys to worry, but I just wanted to go home for a while. When I left in the night, I thought I'd head for Manistique to try to catch a boat that would take me home, but I kept getting lost. I never got anywhere near a town.”

Stosh looked at us from the warm covering of his blanket. He slurped more coffee before continuing. “First off, I found a stream that I thought would take me southeast toward Lake Michigan. Instead, it took me deep into a swamp where I spent the first night,” Stosh said as he shook his head. “The rain and the cold and the bugs almost drove me crazy. I stumbled into a stream once and came out covered in leeches.”

The next day, he said, he found a road. “I thought maybe I could hitch a ride to town, but no cars, trucks or horses came along,” he continued. “I was so hungry, cold, and sore that I almost gave up then and there.” Stosh took a long pull off his cup. “Yesterday morning, a truck came along. I got a ride and a piece of bread. Once I got some food in my belly, I started thinking a little more clearly.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“This is hard work, and we're all a long way from home,” Stosh replied. “But being in the CCC is a lot better than being on your own. Maybe I would have made it home in a week or so. Maybe I would've gotten lost and died of starvation. Who knows? I might've gotten eaten by a bear or a moose out there.”

Stosh looked around at all of the guys in the tent. “Those nights in the cold rain made me realize that my life wasn't the only thing I was risking by running off. My family is counting on me for their survival. If I die, they may be dead, too. Taking off like that was foolish. Now I only hope that it isn't too late to beg for forgiveness and get my job back.” Stosh hung his head low.

“Did ya see the crazy lumberjack ghost?” Yasku asked. “I been hoping that you wouldn't run into that guy.”

“Nah,” Stosh said. “Being out in this wilderness alone was scary enough for me, though.”

Pick put his hand on Stosh's shoulder. “Jarek went to Captain Mason just after you left. It took a lot for him to do that. In fact, everybody in camp knows that it got him in big trouble with Mike.” The other guys nodded in agreement. “The three of us have been doing the work of four since you've been gone. We're with you, Stosh. Now it's up to you to earn your job back.”

Ben, one of the other guys in the tent, spoke up. “We're all with you, Stosh.” The others agreed. “Let's all go see Captain Mason.” The guys turned and headed for the tent door.

“Not so fast,” I said. “If we go to the captain on this, we'll all suffer.” I hesitated before continuing. “There's only one way to do this. Stosh and I have to go to Mike.”

Stosh stood up and steeled himself for what was ahead.

B
y mid-morning, Stosh was feeling better. His head, hands, and arms were covered in welts and cuts. After more food and coffee, he started joking around like the Stosh we all knew. It was time to visit Mike. We found him in the first place we looked, the mess tent.

Mike looked up from a comic book he was reading and did a double take. An evil smile crept across his face. “Well, well, well,” he began. “Did little Stoshy run home to mommy? Let me hear you cry, you baby.”

“That's enough, Mike.” I said. “I'm following the chain of command by reporting in to you. Stosh made a mistake. Now he's back.”

“So he is,” Mike said, looking at his fingernails. “So he is. And as far as you finally following the proper chain of command, you've proven me wrong about something.”

“What's that?” I asked with a skeptical glare.

“I thought you were too stupid to learn anything,” Mike sneered. “I might have been wrong about that, but don't go telling anybody. It sure sounds like you've learned a lesson about following the proper chain of command.” Mike stretched his arms wide and arched his back. Then he cracked his knuckles loudly before continuing. “Like I said before, I'll recommend to Captain Mason that your little buddy here be discharged and sent home immediately.”

I held myself back from throttling Mike. “Wait a minute,” I started. “Captain Mason told me that he would at least consider giving Stosh his job back if he came back in a couple of days. He's back, and he's ready to start work.”

“Right,” Mike said. “The good captain said that if Stosh came back in a couple of days, he'd consider keeping him on in the Cs. By my count, today is four days after your wet-nosed buddy here went AWOL. That's more than a couple of days. My recommendation to Captain Mason will be as I have told you.” Mike looked me in the eyes. “If you push this any further or go behind my back again, I'll see to it that you face disciplinary action. So get out of my sight before I come down on the two of you like a ton of bricks.” Mike turned away, dismissing the conversation.

Stosh was crestfallen. We walked back to our tent in silence. Before going inside he turned to me. “Jarek, I appreciate all you've done for me. I do. But you need to take care of yourself and your family. Just let me take things from here by myself.”

“I can't do that, Stosh,” I said. “We need to stick together. We can't let a guy like Mike win in this situation. There's got to be something more we can do. I need time to clear my head and think.” An idea occurred to me. “One of the supply trucks will be taking a tour of work projects, then heading to town for a few hours. What say we go for a ride?”

The rain cleared off later that morning, and the sky opened for the first time in days. Right after lunch, we headed out for a tour and a day of rest and relaxation. A cloud of blue smoke belched out of the old truck as the driver fired up the engine. About a dozen guys climbed into the back and took seats on the rigid planks.

The driver revved the engine and ground the transmission into first gear. The tired old vehicle slowly came to life and limped forward. As it was picking up speed, one of the boys from camp started running toward us. The guys cheered, encouraging him to run faster. He was gaining just as the driver shifted to second and began pulling away. Though he started falling behind, the runner kept coming. Miraculously, the truck backfired and slowed a bit. It was just enough for the runner to close the gap.

I grabbed the side rail and stepped on the back bumper, reaching out as far as I could. When the runner and I clasped hands, I pulled with all my might. The others took hold of me and helped. We dragged him aboard safely. It was Ben, one of the guys from our tent.

Once he took his place on the plank seat, Ben wiped his brow. “Thanks for the hand. I wasn't sure I was going to make it,” he said, gasping for air. “I wanted to tell you the good news.”

“Good news? I could use a little good news about now. What is it?” I asked.

“I told my assistant leader about the trouble you're having with Mike.” Ben said between deep breaths. “He told me he'd talk to Captain Mason about Stosh. You know, coming back and wanting his job and all.”

That day we toured the miles of road that were being built with the gravel we dug. We also saw fire trails through the woods, a couple of fire watch towers that stood guard over tall ridges, and the telephone lines that connected the towers to the camp. We all shared a sense of pride. We also made a stop at another CCC camp that was to the east of Polack Lake.

After picking up a few more riders, we took off for Manistique and saw a picture show. It cost us each a whole two bits, but it was worth it. The movie was
Duck Soup,
and it featured the Marx brothers. We laughed our cares away for a time.

It was a great day. Still, worry hung over me. Mike wouldn't be happy about another assistant leader talking to Captain Mason about Stosh. He would see it as going behind his back once again.

We were headed for a showdown.