Last Days of Summer (18 page)

IF CHARLIE BANKS WERE PRESIDENT

BY
J
OSEPH
M
ARGOLIS

I know this is supposed to be about fathers, but mine hasn't called me since my birthday and that one was from his secretary Molly. So even if he did get elected president, I'd probably have to read about it in the papers just like everybody else. But you know what? It's okay. And I can tell you why.

1. When I was getting beaten up by bullies just because I was Jewish (which, as you know, is the same thing the Hitler Boys are doing in Europe), Charlie Banks was the one who came to Brooklyn and made them stop.

2. When I almost couldn't have a Bar Mitzvah because my father wouldn't come, Charlie Banks was the one who learned the Torah with me, even though he is a Protestant and would not know Hebrew from a barn wall or a hole in the ground or Adam or etc.

3. When my Mom didn't have enough money to send me to a summer camp that wasn't restricted to Christians, Charlie Banks was the one who made me a bat boy for the New York Giants and took me on the road with him.

4. Whenever I do something I shouldn't do, like fib or not study or talk like a Big-Mouth, Charlie Banks is the one who tells me to knock it off.

And in case you think I am making any of this up just because he's famous, I have witnesses. If
you want, you can ask my principal (Mr. Demarest) or my mother (Mrs. Margolis) or Hazel MacKay the singer (who is also famous). That's why I think I should be allowed to get Charlie into the White House instead of my father. After all, the Constitution says that everybody has the same rights—including me and Charlie. And that's the law.

If Charlie Banks were president, the Nazis would have been gone a long time ago. Not from getting popped in the mouth (even though Charlie could do that too), but from going to Germany himself with police and the Army and throwing Hitler and Goebbels and Goring in jail until: (1) all of the Jews got to take off their yellow stars and (2) the lights went back on in London so Edward R. Murrow could come home and get a job. Then Charlie would find an old man with a white beard like von Hindenburg to run Germany the right way while Hitler cleaned toilets and made license plates.

If Charlie Banks were president, he wouldn't have time for biscuitheads like Father Coughlin or Representative Rankin who think that just because the Declaration of Independence was written by white guys like Jefferson and Button Gwinnett, nobody else should get in on the deal too. Instead, he would go in front of Congress to make a new law and if any of them gave him a hard time about Negroes or Orientals or whoever, he would point his finger and say, “You and you and you. Get out.” Then when they were gone he would tell the rest of them, “Now let's have a bill.”

If Charlie Banks were president, kids wouldn't get beaten up any more because all they would
have to do was mail a letter to the White House and Charlie would send Cordell Hull or Frank Knox or Henry Stimson to wherever the boy lived so they could say to the bullies, “Hey. You'd better cut it out unless you want the president to come here himself.” And they would stop because they'd know that Charlie would do it.

If Charlie Banks were president, Mrs. Roosevelt would never have to go into the coal mines again because Charlie would just shut them all down until they were safe.

And if Charlie Banks were president, kids without fathers would know that they still had somebody to take them to places like Steeplechase and Luna Park, and to yell at them whenever they had it coming.

That's why I would vote for President Banks.

Dear Charlie,

It was the birthday present I told you I was still working on. I guess I forgot about it. Besides, how did
I
know I was going to win?

Anyway, at least I didn't tell them about when we put the jelly in Carl Hubbell's shoes in Cincy or you asking the Rabbi what cigar box he came off of, or me winning $32 from you in stud poker. So it could have been worse.

Joey

P.S. We can take the Morning Congressional from Penn Station and stay at the Mayflower. It's close to the Washington Monument in case we go there.

Dear Joey,

What kind of a birthday present is
that
? I get to meet Oatmeal-Mouth. Oh boy. How would you like it if I made you eat dinner with Hoover?

Before I even think about saying yes (which I am warning you don't hold your breath) there are some things we will need to get square.

First of all, I do not even want to hear one word about Eleanor in a bathing suit or being naked or her bosoms while we are in the W. House. The way she runs around all over the place, she could be standing right behind us. And the next thing you know we will both be getting shot at sunrise.

Second of all, if we get introduced to her husband and he asks me such questions as “Did you vote for me?” or “What do you think of my New Deal?” or etc., you better step on my foot. Because unless there is something else for me to pay attention to (such as pain) I will tell him.

Third of all, your allowed to read your essay and say thank you. That's all. When they give us our medals or whatever in Hell they are, shake their hand and sit down. I will handle the rest myself. And if you get cornered by such people as Mrs. R or the Vice-President or whoever else they keep there, pretend you are Charlie Banks 3d Base and only say back to them such things as I would say myself. You should try to be more like me anyway.

Last of all, the elevator guy in my building (name of Pete) says he also saw Henrich stick his big ass in Owen's face. So I'm not the only one.

Charlie

P.S. If you do not mind,
I'll
decide what train we will go on and where we will stay and etc. And the only way I'll take you to the Washington Monument is if you promise to jump off. But don't worry. I will probably be right behind you.

P.S.2. I wouldn't of had to toss Hitler's ass in jail, on account of already pulling off his arms and legs and throwing the rest of him into yesterday's garbage. But you were right on the money about everything else. Even though I only read it once.

P.S.3. Except for the FDR part, thanks.

Dear Joey,

This morning I caught him standing in front of the mirror and saying, “You and you and you. Get out.” He's a bigger fake than either one of us.

I heard somewhere that Mrs. R has always slept on satin sheets, even during the Depression. Of course I never pay attention to that kind of Republican gossip—but as long as you're going to be there anyway, see if you can find out.

Love,
Hazel

P.S. Charlie says he's going to tell the President to stick the Atlantic Charter up his ass. Make sure he doesn't.

Dear Charles,

Better you than his father. Better famine and pestilence too.

Make sure he eats everything Mrs. Roosevelt puts in front of him. From what I hear, the things that go on when that woman gets near a kitchen shouldn't happen to a dog. But he's young, he'll survive. He should only start an international incident yet.

He's been up since 4:30 this morning. Even God isn't awake that early. Don't let him get overheated on the train—it's cold, he could catch his death. And don't lose your muffler again. So you hit 43 home runs—you see how impressed I am? You can get sick too, just like the rest of us.

Not that the President should ask, but let him know that I voted for Willkie. And if he thinks I should be struck down for saying so, tell him I haven't been yet.

Aunt Carrie

Dear Aunt Carrie and Mrs. M,

We have not even gotten to Philly and he is out like a light. I think he wore himself out from telling everybody on the train that we are going to meet the President. Some of them even believed him.

Hazel did some nosing around and found out that there are 19 million kids in the U.S. of A. Only 10 of them are going to the W. House today. You can do the math yourself on account of I would not get near long division with a 10 ft. pole. But if you tell people that he is one in a million, you will be pretty close to the mark.

Once in a while I give him a hard time just because it is my job. But nobody ever thought I could run a country before. Half of the time I can't even dial a telephone.

Charlie

P.S. Thanks for the pointy coconut things. Everybody on the train says thanks too.

P.S.2. He already knows what he is not allowed to say to Mrs. R and Noodlehead. And I will make sure he eats everything that is on his plate. So don't worry.

Dear Hazel,

Whatever Charlie tells you, it isn't true. This is the way it really happened.

They started everything off with a little party for the winners, but with punch and cookies instead of Slow Gin Fizzes. And the first thing FDR did was roll up in his wheelchair to Charlie and say, “I could certainly use you in Europe, young man. I listened to that game in Pittsburgh. The way you clobbered that thing, I thought it would never come down.” But Charlie didn't call him a Muffin Head or a Biscuit Mouth or anything like it. Some tough guy. Instead, he right away
thanked him for inventing the Civilian Conservation Corps and getting us out of the Depression and beating Landon in '36 and telling Hitler to piss off. Smokes, what a marshmallow. Even when FDR said it was Mickey Owen's fault.

Then Mrs. R showed up and Charlie didn't know what to say to her. Probably because he was shaking so bad that he spilled juice all over his shoes. But he tried to talk to her anyway and wound up telling her that he liked what she did with the White House because it was a good color for the place. Since that was all he could come up with, I whispered that he should thank her for the 21st amendment but he kicked me so hard he almost broke my leg. The only reason he didn't get us into any more hot water was because that's when we went into the East Room to read our essays and get our medals and have our pictures taken by the newspaper guys. Then we ate lunch and left.

And that's the truth. So help me God.

Joey

P.S. If Charlie says anything else happened too, remember that he told me I should be more like him. So it was his idea.

P.S.2. I tried to get upstairs to find out about satin sheets in Mrs. R's bedroom, but they caught me on the second floor. Maybe it's a state secret or something. But in case you need to know, they wipe themselves with blue toilet paper.

P.S.3. And guess what? There was one more surprise we didn't know about. Mrs. Roosevelt named Charlie “Father of the Year”. How's that for a pisser?

Dear Toots,

They made me Father of the Year. How's that for a pisser? If they only knew what I was planning to do to this kid they would of given it to Hitler instead.

You want a list? Try this.

1. We were not even in the door yet before we almost got run over by FDR (who by the way is not half bad once you get to know him). At first Joey kept his mouth shut like I told him to, but then Roosevelt asked him if he ever thought about running for President himself (which is maybe the worst idea I ever heard in my life) and Joey said back, “Why not? If a muttonmouth like Washington could get elected I guess anybody could.” Then he looked over at me like saying it was my idea. It is a good thing that FDR thought he was kidding or else I would be writing this from Sing Sing. He said “This is a young man who says what is on his mind.” No shit. You want to keep him?

2. Mrs. R was next. She thanked us for coming and then waited for me to say something back. Well what in Hell was I suppose to talk to her about? Jock itch? In the meantime, Joey was
whispering all of these clues about amendments and etc. which only made me look worse, and then he got sore because I kicked him in the shin. What I was trying to do was cripple him for life. So he jumped in and asked her if she wanted to go to Lincoln's Memorial with us like she did not already have Poland and Austria to worry about.

3. Then she took us into the East Room (which is big enough for her to play ice hockey in if she ever gets bored) where they had a stage and chairs and etc. for us to go on while the kids read their essays. Joey was the last one on account of his was the best, and when he was finished they all clapped and she gave us our medals. But instead of shaking her hand or crying or etc. like the other 9 kids did, he instead winked at her and said “Thanks Toots.” I thought I was going to shit on the floor. Even worse was the 200 chowderheads with newsreel cameras and lights, on account of every one of them got it on film. But instead of sending us to the Electric Chair, all she did was wink back at him and wiggle her ass a little like she was either doing a hoochy koochy or else she just broke her hip. (With her it is hard to tell.) They ate it up. Everybody always said that Mrs. R was a good sport from such things as digging oil wells and riding tractors and maybe they are right. We're still alive, aren't we? Then she threw me a ringer by giving me Father of the Year. I guess she figured out by then that Joey's big mouth happened way before I met him.

4. After that they gave us lunch in a dining room that had 3 gold forks at every plate. Joey got stuck next to Henry Stimson which was a mistake, especially when they got into a fight about Europe. Remember that night at the club when we were talking about a safe place for people in France to go to until all of this blows over, and Joey said Switzerland on account of being neutral and I said what Switzerland needed to get was a pair of balls? Well now Henry Stimson knows it too. Then later on a band played music and Joey did a rumba with Eleanor. But I can't even talk about that.

This was the longest fuckin day of my life.

Charlie

P.S. He wants me to take him to the place where Lincoln got shot, even though he is asking for trouble since it will only give me ideas. So if you hear a loud bang tomorrow, it will probably be me.