No Ordinary Joes Read Online Free Page B

pinched her face. He resented his father for marrying her; he resented her for not being his mother. Most days he avoided her as much as possible. His mind was made up. As soon as he’d served his penance in the corner he would take off.
    The family was spending another summer in the stone cabin near Crater Lake. Now fourteen, Bob was supposed to move down to the Rogue River valley to go to Medford High next year, and he was dreading it because the plan was for Cora to go with him while his dad would stay at Crater Lake. When Bob questioned the move, his father ignored him.
    Bob could go off into the woods for hours at a time without his father knowing or caring where he was. And that was what he was going to do now—disappear into the woods.
    He picked up his hand-cranked Victrola and loaded it into a large canvas bag with straps, then hoisted it on his back. He had used the bag the previous summer for carrying large bottles of water up and down steeptrails to players from the Chicago Cardinals pro football team. The Cardinals had come to Oregon for preseason training, and as part of their regimen, they cleared mountain trails, hauling large buckets of rocks. By carrying water to the men, Bob had earned enough to buy the Victrola. Listening to music was his favorite way to pass the time alone in his room.
    Setting off down a trail, his Victrola strapped to his back and a fishing pole in his hand, he felt relief. He loved Crater Lake’s dramatic cliffs and deep blue waters. Some days he hiked to the rim and sat on the edge for hours, watching the sunlight shimmer off the transparent water and the eagles riding the thermal breezes. He also loved to fish, hiking into Lightning Springs or Annie Creek, tributaries of the mighty Rogue River. He often caught twenty rainbows or Dolly Vardens a day using mealie worms for bait and selling his catch to the tourists for a nickel a fish. He didn’t get an allowance, so whatever money he had was the result of his own initiative. Frequently, he hung out near the new tourist center and lodge, and he learned to get the black bears to come and eat right out of his hand while the tourists, the men dressed in white suits and the women in full-length dresses, stood beside their Hudsons and took pictures of their very own Huckleberry Finn. Sometimes they paid him a nickel. He kept his savings in a tin can, using some of the money to buy a new pair of shoes every year.
    On this day, his destination was a small cave hidden off the trail. He came there often, his secret place of solitude. Slowly, he unpacked his Victrola and set it on the ground. Then he pulled out a record by his favorite recording artist, torch singer Ruth Etting, and placed it on the turntable. He cranked up the phonograph and, sitting alone in a cave deep in the woods, sang along to the record.
    He returned home just before dusk without anybody noticing he’d been gone.
    Bob headed out the back door of Beck’s Bakery toward the truck, ready to make the afternoon deliveries around Medford with his buddy Fred Beck, the son of the owner. It was early spring 1937, Bob’s junior year at Medford High. He was now living in town with Cora, their relationship unimproved.His grades were barely passing and he didn’t play sports or take part in school activities. He received no encouragement or help at home with his schoolwork from Cora. His dad, a fifth-grade dropout, was unconvinced of the value of an education, and anyway, he was still working up at Crater Lake.
    Bob had started hanging around the bakery after school hoping to score day-old doughnuts and pastries. Cora rarely fixed him breakfast or lunch, and many days he hadn’t eaten anything by the time he left school. When Fred asked if he’d like to drive along with him on his routes, Bob accepted. It wasn’t a paying position, but snacks were guaranteed. He and Fred didn’t socialize away from the truck, but it was something to do, a way to avoid going home.
    As Fred