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Michael J. Rumpf

Aluminum 91

I

Dewey and Joe the Cannon were just about through for the day,

working their way up Germantown Avenue towards home, ignoring the

beeping horns as they cleared the two-lane street of any aluminum cans

they happened to find, and it was no great surprise that Joe was getting

a little distracted.

He had found a worn tennis ball a couple of blocks down, and

had bounced it off every flat surface he could find until he had been

joined by a playful black and brown mutt. Two streets later, the dog and

the ball were gone. These were just the preliminaries though to his

favorite distraction: the grills on the 2500 block.

They had just appeared one summers day: three large barbecue

sets arranged along the sidewalk in front of an old boarded-up

storefront. Columns of white smoke chugged into the air overhead from

three blackened chimneys, while three large men, wrapped in white

aprons, worked their magic below. They were experts all: the one on the

end bravely popping the hatch to his barbecue and immediately

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disappearing behind a wall of smoke; to his right, wielding a large bent

paint brush, the guy in the middle was skillfully splashing a dark red

sauce out of a plastic, baby blue pitcher across his rib-jammed, hissing

grill; the tall fellow next to him confidently loaded a pair of pink and

white racks of meat on his through a curtain of shimmering heat. Joe

would have stood there all day if Dewey had let him.

Dewey straightened up with a grimace and deposited four

squashed cans into his cart. He saw that he had lost Joe again. He slid

the toothpick in his mouth forward, holding it with two fingers, and

shook his head.

This weekend. Dewey inhaled the rich smoky fumes. This

weekend Joe, he said louder, were going to buy us some of them ribs.

A slab a piece. Yeah. He removed the toothpick. Ive been tasting

them all month.

This had gotten Joes attention.

A whole slab...?

Uh huh. Dewey shook the cans down in the trash bag with his

free hand and adjusted the neck. He coughed, but, to his relief, he didnt

do it again. Lets go.

They wheeled their dented metal carts past the snaking line of

people crowding the uneven sidewalk: couples, trios and quartets of all

ages talking about the days events or catching up with people they

hadnt seen in weeks, their children playing in and around the line. Up

front, a gray-haired woman and a stocky bearded man were collecting

money and handing out stained brown paper bags from inside an old

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garden shed.

Joe stared back like a child who doesnt want to leave a

playground. Everyone looked like they were having so much fun.

Dewey didnt look back. He could still smell the ribs, but he knew

they would have to wait. Just three more days, he figured. They had to

stick to their plan. Their big plan. He had been drilling that into Joes

head all month.

It would be their reward for all their hard work. It would be a way

of celebrating. Thats why Dewey didnt want to cash in all the cans and

metal they had collected so far. He wanted to bring it all in at once. It

would be a bigger payday that way.

And thenthen Dewey and Joe the Cannon would never pick up

another mans trash again.

II

Joe couldnt believe their luck. They were on the home stretch,

had just started up the block where they lived, when they noticed a long

trail of cans in the street. He laughed out loud as he picked up an armful

from the trolley tracks. They must have spilled out of the back of a

trash truck or something. He tossed them into a bag. Can you believe

it Dewey? Its like a sign or something. Joe bent over for more.

Well Dewey scratched his beard as he studied the line of

blue and red and green cans. I will admit it seems providential.

The toothpick fell from Deweys lips as he realized the trail ended

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in front of their house. He started down the block; then broke into a trot.

Had someone told the city he and Joe were squatting in the

boarded-up house or had the owner come by and cleaned up the place?

Had there been a fire?

Joe turned. Hey, youre not going to make me pick up all these

cans by myself, are you? Joe dropped his smile, along with the cans in

his arms, and dashed on to the sidewalk. Dewey?

Dewey stopped on the pavement. The house looked about the

same as it had when he and Joe had left that morning: twisted porch,

weathered, cracked boards covering the windows and door, overgrown

yard. No official notices stuck up anywhere, just cans scattered across

the yard and the sidewalk.

Theyre. Dewey fought to catch his breath. Ours.

Joe charged the house.

Dewey would have followed but he had pushed himself too far. A

volcano had erupted in his chest and he couldnt stop coughing. His

entire body shook, and, straining to breathe, he grabbed hold of the

twisted fence.

Five minutes later, Joe emerged from behind a board. He was

carrying a baseball bat.

Dewey looked up.

All of it. Joe smashed the bat against the fence. Every last

can! Then he walked out of the yard. Tears welled up in his eyes, and

he swung on the closest pole. Damn it! The metal street light bonged.

The people down at the trolley stop couldnt take their eyes off

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Joe. They didnt know what the trouble was, what he was yelling about,

but he appeared crazy. Crazy and armed. Some anticipated trouble, and,

not wanting to get involved, started walking towards the next trolley

stop.

III

Dewey was very careful as he approached the door. It was quiet

on the second floor, but he couldnt tell if there were people in the front

room or not. He didnt want to startle anyone if there was.

He slowly pushed open the door, peering in from the dark

hallway, and was relieved to find the people there were out. Four,

maybe five peopleit wasnt easy to tell in the closed, dark roomlay

across the exposed floorboards. There werent any lights, and the

smell

The smell was about the usual.

Eric had had people over.

Dewey moved inside.

Whos that?

Eric?

Eric cleared his throat. He was sitting against the wall, staring

into space.

Eric, Dewey said in a normal voice. He knew he wasnt going to

wake anyone up.

Eric didnt move.

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Eric. Dewey stepped over someones outstretched arm and

poked Eric on the shoulder. You here when they came?

Erics head slowly tilted.

Eric, was you here when they came?

Dead, half closed eyes. Umyeah. His head went back and he

scratched his nose. Cookingtense. He pointed at the floor. We went

down. Me and the guy in the hat. He rested the back of his head

against the wall. Beetle thought it might be cops. But it was Jose. Guy

with the red truck?

Yeah.

He told us he would set fire to the house if we made any

trouble. We didnt want any trouble. Didnt want any cops. He

scratched his ear. All he took was just some cans, right?

Dewey turned. Yeah, he answered with a tired sigh. Just some

cans.

IV

You cant trust anyone.

Sure you can. Dewey decided he wasnt going to let Joe feel

sorry for himself. He slowly lowered himself on to an old green sofa. He

slipped a small bottle out of his jacket pocket. You cant do everything

yourself. He twisted the lid off and took a sip.

We should have cashed them in. I told you we should have

cashed them in.

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Dewey studied what was left in the bottle. I told you before why

we couldnt. That wasnt the plan.

Joe thumped the bat on the floor. You and your plan.

It was a good plan. He put the cap back on the bottle and

returned the whiskey to his coat.

Im gonna kill Jose. The bat clunked on the floor. Him and that

kid.

Dewey pushed himself up from the sofa. He didnt like it when

Joe talked like this. For what? Stealin some cans? Isnt that how we got

them?

No. Joe shifted on a plastic orange crate. We didnt steal a

thing.

Thats not what that woman over on Cambria said.

She didnt know what she was talking about.

And neither do you. You aint gonna kill nobody. Not over some

damn cans and pipe.

Joe brought the baseball bat down on the floor again. Why dont

you ever get mad? You spoke to Jose about helping us out, and the first

thing he did was drive over here and grab our cans. And the rest.

Dewey looked down. Oh, Im mad. Madder than you know. But

at myself. I should have told him about the cans after we were ready to

cash em in. Not before. That was aa miscalculation on my part.

He took it all.

Dewey could hear the pain in Joe s voice.

Not everything. We still got 6 bags and our carts. He missed

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some stuff too.

Were supposed to be gone soon. What are we going to do?

Dewey didnt know. Ive got some ideas, but in the mean time,

well need to get back to collecting. We can still do that.

V

It had taken them over two months to stockpile as many cans as

they had. Dewey and Joe had started with one trash bag, one

Wednesday morning, about 5 AM. Dewey remembered because he had

seen the time on a clock that hung over a local bank.

They had taken the black, plastic bag from a trash container

bolted to the wall of the bank, and scoured every street, avenue and

field for every last can and piece of metal they could get their hands on.

They had collected bent lead pipes; took turns getting sick

melting plastic cables down to get at the copper wire beneath; cheered

when they found copper pipes; ran off with a flattened street light; and

one day had even found a manhole cover on the sidewalk.

For some reason, Joe was nervous about taking the manhole

cover, but like Dewey always said, If they wanted to keep it, then they

shouldnt have left it out on the street where somebody could take it.

They cashed in some of what they had collectedespecially

glad to be rid of the cumbersome street light--for food. Then they had

replaced the childrens wagon they were using with a shopping cart the

next week. No small victory in a neighborhood where shopping carts

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were locked up every night. Two weeks later, they had had to get

another cart.

Dewey in particular noticed a change when they added the carts.

They made the job a little easier. He didnt tell Joe, but some days the

carts were a blessing with his tired back and legs; the last couple of

weeks, he had been using them more and more to prop himself up.

VI

Starting out the next day, each of them taking turns at cursing

Jose, every muscle in Deweys body ached. He talked to keep his mind

off the pain. they dont chain shopping carts up at night in the

suburbs. He was sitting on a small plastic stool. He had a trash bag in

his right hand. Ever been to the northeast?

Yeah. Joe had heard Dewey talk about shopping carts in the

suburbs before, but he let him go. He wasnt listening anyway. He had

taken a couple of long pulls from Deweys bottle for breakfast, much to

Deweys displeasure, and was off in his own little world. He threw a

bunch of cans at Deweys feet.

Dewey frowned and then picked up the cans. You drive by those

markets at 12 at night and you see the carts, shiny and new, sitting all

over the parking lots, right by the sidewalk. He shook one of the cans.

Anyone can take them, but nobody does. And if some little old lady

takes a shopping cart home, its okay because the market people know

shes gonna bring it back the next day. They dont have their guards

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run after her like she stole the crown jewels. He emptied the can on to

the ground. Because out there, nobody has to boost a damn shopping

cart.

Joe tossed a couple more cans Deweys way.

Things havent changed as much out there as they have here.

He shooed away a bee. Not yet anyway. Cant believe what this place

has turned into.

Joe frowned. You know I was thinking.

I figured. He had overheard Joe talking to himself a little

earlier.

Maybe we could get some money from George.

Your cousin? Dewey shoved two more squashed cans into the

trash bag.

My brothers Godfather.

Dewey thought for a second. Well thats up to you. Hes no kin

of mine. You know I dont like asking people for anything. I would have

never asked Jose for help if our load hadnt been too big for our carts.

Joes eyes narrowed. Jose.

Now lets not get started on all that again. You had me up half

the night talking about it as it is. Like you said, you could ask that guy

George for money.

Joe nodded. Yeah, cause, you know, day after day, I get a little

more worried.

I told you there isnt any cause for that. They wont start looking

for you for weeks or months. Maybe not even ever.

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Not ever?

Dewey looked at the passing cars. Well, not right away

anyway.

Why not? The police around here know me, what I did. Two of

them arrested me. And if Im still here in August, Im sunk.

Dewey pushed himself to his feet with all his might. I told you I

aint gonna let that happen.

You?! He grimaced. What are you going to do? Youre not a

lawyer. You arent anyone. Joes bottom lip quivered as he became

more excited. And what am I to them? Just another bum. Nobodys

going to miss me.

Deweys face froze. We are notbums.

Joe wasnt listening. Tiny Mikey said I should just go in for the

two years and do the time. Itll be good for me. Make a new man out of

me. Give me a fresh start. But Im not goingeasy for him to say what I

should dohe likes prison. Locked up in that He suddenly glared at

Dewey. And now weve got junkies living on the 2nd floor. Theyre

probably going to burn the house down one of these days. Let them in

because you thought itd be good to have someone there with all our

cans downstairs. They werent much help when Jose showed up though,

were they?! Joe glared at Dewey. We were supposed to be gone by

now. Gone.

Fists pounded at his thighs. But were still here. Joe kicked a

can across the sidewalk. Whats it to you anyway? He moved closer.

Wrong or right, it makes no difference to you. You and your damned

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talk. Im going to jail. Jail. After Im gone youll probably move on and

never say another word about me. Tears shined in his eyes. Except

how stupid I was and how there wasnt anything you could do to change

that.

Dewey set his feet apart on the pavement, readied his right arm

and took a deep breath. Joe was scared, angry and a little drunk, and

Dewey knew, under the right circumstances, he might take a swing at

him. It wouldnt have been the first time.

Joe moved in. You think its all my fault cause I threw in with

Sam. I admitted it was a dumb thing to do, but you just wont let me

forget it.

Now you just back off right now, Dewey yelled with all the

anger he could muster. Dumb damn kid. Lettin that whiskey go to your

head like that. I told you it would. Whining to me like Im your girlfriend

or something. He coughed. You think you know so much about me and

what Im thinking? Well tell me, what am I gonna do after you go up?

Surprised, Joe stared back.

You do twice as much work as me. Youre fast. And get more

done while Im coughing in the morning than I do in an entire day.

Here. Dewey reached deep into his jacket and pulled a square of

money out. Take the damn money. Ditchme.

Joe stared at the rectangle of green and white paper.

Thats all the money we got in the world. We worked for that.

Together. But I know you can move faster without a wheezing old man

with a shopping cart. You could be on a bus and out of here in no time.

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Sweat streamed down Joes cheek along his jaw. He blinked as if

he were just waking up.

You dont believe what I say so we might as well split up

anyway. I told you I was going to keep my promise. I wont let them take

you away. Dewey straightened his jacket, having yanked it sideways

when he pulled out the money, and put a couple more steps between

him and Joe. Stupid people I deal with. Acting like Imwell I dont

know who. Your father? Someone who you thought was a friend? Your

coach?

A passing woman frowned at Dewey.

And shame on you too. Pretty woman like you making a face

like that. Dewey picked up the can Joe had kicked. Mmm mmm. Dark

and lovely. He watched Joe out of the corner of his eye. He was out of

breath.

Joe lowered himself into a crouch. Im sorry Dewey.

Dewey relaxed. And you were going to hit me too.

Joe blushed. I was not

Fool kid wants to hurt a tired old man. I hope youre happy.

Joe removed his baseball cap. You dont know what its like

having this over my head.

Dewey waved him away. Everybodys got somethin hangin

over em. You just cant let it stop you in your tracks.

VII

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Their next stop was Gurney Street--the block running between

Mascher and Front--an infamous one-stop shopping place in North Philly

where you could get almost anything you wanted, legal or otherwise.

There was bedroom furniture, designer lamps, radial tires (Like new),

bunk beds, wall length mirrors, antique credenzas, hub caps.

On the one side of the street, salesmen worked out of a pair of

garages connected to the corner homes there, and on the other, they

worked out of a row of truck containers that had been dropped along an

apron of land above a railroad embankment. They told everyone who

stopped that they were sure they had what they were looking for just

out of reach in the back. All they needed was a little time to locate it.

Can you give me half an hour?

Dewey and Joe couldnt buy anything therethe prices were too

rich for their bloodbut at the end of every week, the shop keepers

would find themselves with more inventory then space and had to

dispose of it behind the containers. It was no easy task. Some hated

parting with the stuff because, like all good sales people, they were

convinced they could get the right price if they could only find the right

customer.

Dewey and Joe had only been there two weeks earlier, and were

reluctant to return because they didnt think there would be anything

there they could sell. However, they didnt have much of a choice.

They were standing over one pile of junk, while a woman named

Mary Elizabeth (And a deaf man who everyone had always assumed was

her son) picked through another. Traffic was cluttered and loud on

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Gurney, but back here it was quiet.

Joe held up an old toaster.

Dewey shook his head.

Joe dropped it. I was thinking, Ill have to get past Johnson to

talk to George.

Johnson. Dewey chewed on the name like it was gristle he had

found in a 20-dollar steak. If I was five years younger Id show him a

thing or two.

A handful of bees danced angrily in the air above, and Joe backed

away from the pile. Im younger than Johnson and I wouldnt even try.

Give a man a badge and a club and he forgets where hes from.

Big Bad Security Guard. Dewey leaned back and shaded his eyes with

his hand. Whew. That sunll rip the skin right off you. Lets get in the

shade.

Joe shrugged. Theres nothing here anyway.

They moved under the overgrown branches of a gnarled tree.

I knew Johnsons aunt when I lived over on 4th Street.

Joe was tired. You told me.

Mmm-hmm. Pretty lady too. Knew how to dresseven on her

income. Made a man proud to be seen with a beauty like that. And

dance Deweys teeth appeared. .ha, she sure could dance.

And you knew Johnson when he was a kid

Yeah. Dewey ducked between the trees and undid his fly. Of

course then, he said over his shoulder, he was just a little kid with a

big mouth and no friends. He sighed. The kids used to beat him up

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almost every day after school. I even stopped em once, but whats one

day when you suffer the rest of the week?

Jesus suffered.

Dewey zipped up. Now thats just plain blasphemous to mention

Johnson in the same breath as Jesus. He reappeared. Besides,

hardships a little easier when you know what its for. Jesus knew whyhe

was suffering. Most people dont. Dewey sat down. And Johnson didnt

know why those kids were beating him up any more then he knew why

his daddy did every Friday night. Funny thing is, I think he remembers

me stopping the kids that day, but he holds it against me.

Sounds like him. Meanest man I ever met. Joe removed his cap

and closed his eyes. Whew. Its hot.

They still managed to end the day with 9 bags of cans in total,

and Dewey, with Joes approval, decided they should make a night of it.

Cashing in the bagsand a box of copper elbows Jose had missedthey

went out and, with some of the money they had saved, bought three

bottles of wine (All grape), potato chips, candy bars, lunch meat and

some rolls. They finished two of the bottles that night, sang a little and

the next day, Sunday, they rested.

VIII

Dewey and Joe slowed down as they approached the intersection

at American Street and Lehigh Avenue. Johnson worried them so much

that they had walked down the opposite side of Lehigh Avenue to make

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sure he didnt see them coming. They hoped.

Cars, trucks and buses roared back and forth as their drivers

hurried through the yellow light, and Dewey and Joe stared at the red,

white and blue building across from them.

Hes not outside.

That doesnt mean he isnt there, Dewey replied shrewdly. He

rubbed his chin. Still, theres a good chance youll catch your friends

eye before Johnson even knows youre there.

Joe stared at the market from behind a traffic light. If hes

there.

Expect Johnson to be there. That way at least youll be

prepared.

Okay. Joe looked up at the green light. Im going.

Well so am I. Dewey held tight to the shopping cart. They had

been collecting cans on the way over. Wait up.

Joe was practically running and Dewey, excited, started

coughing, trying to keep up. They reached the corner.

Okay. Okay. Dewey coughed. Then he looked up. After a

couple of minutes, he still hadnt managed to spy Johnson anywhere in

the markets windows. Ill head up the street, so if you have to leave or

finish your talk with your cousin early

Hesnot my cousin.

Dewey frowned. Whoever he is, if you finish early, Ill be right up

the street.

Okay. Joe started towards the parking lot.

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And dont do anything to that bank. Itll make everybody look.

I wont.

Leave it alone, right?

Right.

Dewey watched Joe go, feeling anxious.

It was a feeling he had had a thousand times raising three sons.

This, and where he happened to be standing, reminded him of a time

thirty years earlier. He was walking with his son Franklin, at this very

intersection, and on the opposite corner, there used to be a small tower

where a railroad worker was stationed. He was there to change the

traffic lights when a freight train passed through or the tracks needed

switching. Dewey was friendly with the guy who had the morning shift,

Vic was his name, and Franklin wanted to go inside the booth. Dewey

remembered that day like it had just happened. It was a Saturday, and

Vic had invited them both into the cramped space. He had even

sounded the horn for them.

This was back when the trains ran through North Philly more

frequently, long before the warehouses up and down American Street

had started to fall to suspicious fires; before Deweys trouble at work,

before his arrest, before Khe Sahn; before Diana had left him for Gerard

Wilson.

He wondered, like he sometimes did, where his boys had finally

wound up. He hoped they had had better luck than him. Hoped they

didnt hold too much against him. Then he looked around, and continued

down the block, talking to himself, speaking to Franklin, Art and Gene

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(His other boys), even to Diana, not really paying much attention to

where he was going.

IX

The first thing Joe did was punch the side of the blue and white

Can Bank. It was about the size of an RV, and had turned up in the

markets parking lot one morning a couple months earlier. It was part of

some companys recycling campaign and encouraged people to trade in

their empty aluminum cans for money. It would dispense coins to people

for the cans they dumped in a door in front. Just the going rate, but Joe

didnt like the competition. There were still plenty of cans littering the

streets, but he worried that one day, they might disappear. Then what

would people on the streets do?

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a half-eaten bar of

chocolate. He carefully unraveled the layer of paper wrapped around the

foil beneath; took a bite. The chocolate coated his teeth, and, for a

second, he was in heaven.

A black Trans Am roared into the parking lot, passing right

behind him, and Joe, impressed, watched it speed away. It looked like a

fast car. Faster than anything he had ever driven.

Joe had had a car back in high school: an old red Chevy. He and a

friend of his, Tommy Gonzalez, from shop class, had suped it up. It was

his dream car. Then one Saturday, a little drunk, he had driven through

a red light into a gray station wagon. The accident immediately flashed

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through his memory: he could feel himself sliding in his seat, the car

folding around him, the windshield exploding. Then someone yelling at

him through the mangled door.

There hadnt been anyone else in the station wagon and the

driver hadnt really been hurt all that bad, except for a bloody nose. Joe,

however, had had to stay in the hospital a month. The doctors had had

to sink pins into one of his arms and a wrist, and they had had to stitch

up the left side of his face.

He closed his eyes. He still could feel every pain from the crash

to the hospital. And the nightmares Joe kept dreaming he was still

trapped in his shattered car, folded up in the front street against the

hard, plastic wheel.

His father picked him up when Joe had finally been released from

the hospital. They had driven home in silence. It wasnt until dinner that

night that Joe was informed how much he had placed the family in debt.

Their savings were now gone, and his father and mother had had to

borrow money from relatives. His father didnt know what they were

going to do, taking money from relatives, and told Joe that he would

have saved them all a lot of trouble if he had just had the good sense to

die.

Next day, Joe gathered up his belongings and, still unsteady on a

pair of wooden crutches, staggered out, never to return.

Joe was staring at a dented Caprice Classic as the memory of

that day receded, and he wiped his eyes. The car rolled past, guiding his

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thoughts elsewhere. The Caprice needed shocks and a muffler. A

rectangular Pontiac sedan went clunking after it. He knew it needed a

transmission from the burnt smell that trailed in the air after it. He loved

cars.

He shook his head, and finished his candy bar. It tasted so good,

so sweet. It made his teeth tingle. He threw the wrapper to the ground

and ran a finger along his gums. He didnt want to talk to George with

chocolate and nuts in his teeth.

X

It was a little crazy at the front of the market. Five cars were

parked in front, and beyond the poles, men and women were quickly

lifting