Joe

As he lay on the cold damp dirt floor, Joe could feel the gnawing in his stomache. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he would not cry. Hunger wasn't a stranger to Joe. It was a nightly visitor to this frail seven year old boy.

Joe started to think about Christmas coming in a few weeks. Would Santa remember him this year, he wondered. His mind drifted off to the Christmas seemingly so many years ago. The candlelight flickered and danced around the room of the small farm house in San Leandro. His big brother John, now almost a man, was playing his guitar and singing..."noel...noel...the angels did say". His father called to his mother to bring more "vinho". He laughed as he poured the dark red liquid into his glass. He coaxed his wife to take a sip, but she refused "mais freeka" he laughed and took a long gulp from the glass.

Joe knew the routine. His father would laugh and be happy when he drank, but sometimes he would drink too fast or too much and his mood would change. Then his mother would rush the children off to bed without saying their prayers. The lights would go off. Then the crying would start. He could hear thump, thump...then the crying and pleading from his mother, "stop...stop...I did no wrong...I love only you."

It seemed so many years ago, but in reality only two years had passed since that last Christmas night when he was hurried off to bed. He never saw his mother after that night. When he awoke the next morning his father said his mother was gone and no one was to mention her again. From that time on there was to be no hot mush in the morning to eat. The oven in the yard that had smell of fresh baked bread was cold.

In a few weeks his father called Joe in from playing in the yard. His six brothers and sisters sat at the kitchen table. His father's face looked somber. Joe had never seen that look on his fathers face before. "You children are going to stay with the Alameda's for awhile. I have to go away on business. They will be your father and mother, now. Mind them as if they were me...their word is my word. I will return soon and we will buy a new farm and you will have a new mother."

Everyday for the past two years Joe had looked down the road watching for that familiar walk of his father's. His brother John had joined the army. His sister Mildred married last year. She was thirteen, but Alameda said it was her time now.

Joe drifted off to sleep...the mercy of sleep stopped the hunger from hurting his stomach and he could dream of warm fresh baked bread, with melted butter, dripping down it's sides.

"Time to get up...you lazy bastard. Get the cows in for milking. You know your job...don't make me beat you again...you little son-of-a-bitch". Every morning for the past year Alameda woke him up the same way. Joe stood up from his bed on the floor, he folded the blanket that had been covering him and lay it on the bed. He stretched his back, as if trying to reach the ceiling. When I get big I am going to fix that Alameda he thought.

It was 4 A.M. and Joe was already herding the cows from the field to be milked. Joe picked up the bucket and sat down on the three legged stool and started to milk the first cow. He had twenty cows to milk before he could go in for breakfast. Breakfast he thought...his mother would give him warm mush with fresh milk and sugar. But this morning he would get a stale piece of bread and a cold cup of coffee.

Joe worked swiftly...he had done his milking chores often enough that he could do them with his eyes closed. After breakfast he grabbed his book and started off for school. He tied the laces of his brother John's shoes together and slung them over his shoulder as he walked. When he got closer to school he would put the shoes on and continue the walk to the school house. John's shoes were too big for Joe, as he took a step, he would walk out of the shoes....but no matter he thought...I like school and the girls can't call me names this day...I have shoes.

Joe didn't know it then, but in a few short years he would not return to school. He would stop going to school in the fourth grade. His chores at the Alameda's would be too great for him to continue school. He would work like a man in the fields. At the age of fifteen he would walk down the road and never return to the Alameda's. His brother John had come to visit him and given hin two dollars. He said he was going off to war...fight the Huns or something like that. John never returned. Joe still had the two dollars that John had given him. He had a piece of cheese wrapped up in a bit of cloth and a hunk of stale bread in his pocket. Alameda is never going to punch me again...I am a man now...I can find a job and earn money. I'm a man now.

Joe was a man...he heard about something called the Merchant Marines from another lad who said he was going to join. Join Joe thought...his brother John had joined the army. But he was too young to join the army the recruiting man told him.

Joe walked up to the window. A big man with white hair and a cigar sticking out of his mouth was standing there. His breath smelled like "vinho"...a familiar smell to Joe. "What do you want kid," asked the man. "I want to join," said Joe. "Get outta here kid", said the man," Your too little and puny". Joe looked at the man...the tears were welling up in his eyes again...he clinched his teeth and said, "Haven't you seen a midget before, Buddy." The man looked at Joe with a smirk on his lips and said, "Sorry sir, I didn't realize."

Yes, Joe joined the Merchant marines at the age of fifteen. His stomach never knew hunger again. Joe could sit at the table with the men and eat as much as he wanted. The men used to jokingly say "he had a hollow leg."

Joe is my father.
1905-1981

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