FRONT-PORCH GOSPEL: This life story begins in 1973 (kind of) part 97

Red was already in rare form that morning as I and the sweet Nova pulled up into the McClain drive. I was fortunate to have pressed the foot to the metal enough to catch up with the old red work truck just before it turned onto the main highway leading to the McClain house.

We all hit the ground running, Doocy and I getting the mud made while the rest of the crew hurried to the scaffold to complete the last two feet of the towering chimney. I could hear Willum banging off the dried old mortar from the mortar boards.

Even though the top of the chimney already would tower over the rooftop, we could reach the top by virtue of long walk-boards stretching from the highest part of the scaffold over to the top of the highest peak of the roof. Charlie and Pee Wee, even as tall as he is, had to tip toe at the top as they worked their way all around the chimney and capped it off.

Doocy was in an extra-special sour mood because Saturday mornings “was t’Breeze’s ‘n not his’n” and he didn’t appreciate having to take his morning and give it to Red even “for all t’tea in China.” But his disdain was mainly toward Red, but only when Red was in the back of the house. Whenever Red came around on the south side unexpectedly, near where we worked, he would hear Doocy mumbling and grumbling. He didn’t stop much, but he stopped once that morning and glared a red hole right through Doocy. Doocy immediately would do his vintage Doocy-chuckle, grin where all of his missing teeth were displayed like diamonds in a showroom window, and he’d say,

“Be right thar, bossman, yes sir, t’Pup ‘n t’Breeze has thet mor’ta on her ways rights ‘bout now, doesn’t we, Pups?” and he’d chatter on but give me a little nod to hurry up when he turned away so Red couldn’t see him.

We topped the chimney out about 11 a.m. We all gathered and stood back at a distance and marveled at how high that chimney stretched into the air. Pee Wee said it was the prettiest chimney he had ever built. It had the same herringbone design in the center of it as the McClain’s had on their walkway in town that led up to their front porch. Brick ribbons decorated the structure in designated places from the head to the foot. It looked to me like ribbons all the way up and around the world’s tallest Christmas tree. It was a sight.

We stood back and watched Willum and Hook tear down the scaffold – I say ‘we,’ including Doocy. He and I had finished washing out the mixer and covering up the bags of mortar and had put all the tools on the truck; so, our part of the work was complete. When Red looked at Doocy with a “What are you doin’ here?” look, Doocy ignored it and pulled a distraction by putting his left hand on my shoulder and pointing up at the chimney with his right and saying, “Pups, ain’t thet sump’m to b’hold, ain’t it sump’m’.”

After the scaffold came down, Red said the rest could wait for Monday, and we made our way toward the truck just about the time the ’51 Studebaker drove up in the driveway. Pee Wee hurried over to them when they came and lowered the truck's tailgate. Mrs. McClain jumped out without waving because she had something in her hand.

Corrina got out of the back seat in her sparkling way, and I noticed she had a white cloth in her hand. By the time the rest of us made it to the red truck, I could see that her mama had brought a cake out on the job; and Corrina – all but ignoring me to that point – had spread the cloth across the tailgate and she and her Mama and her little sister Alane were putting candles in the cake. They lit those candles faster than I’d ever seen candles lit before, and by the time Doocy and I made it to the tailgate, Corrina started in singing “Happy Birthday.”

Of all the hundred songs we listened to and sang that summer, that was one of the best songs and best moments. I had heard Doocy sing before, but it always seemed to be in a high-pitched tone. I was shocked that he sang that morning with a rich baritone voice. Mixing that smooth baritone with Corrina and Miss Mac’s high sopranos, it was like angels had come down again and were singing atop that Alabama hill.

It sure did seem like angels were tagging along with me all that morning. When the McClain-and- Doocy choir, and the boys, got to my name, Doocy elevated his voice like a forklift raising brick up on a scaffold, and he sang “Pup-sie” with such enthusiasm that he drowned out all the other voices. He looked over at me and showed me his missing teeth as if he were the proudest thing in the world of them, then he turned back to the choir and they came together and harmonized again to bring the song of the year to a glorious end. I felt from the minute I clutched that tape of the Statler Brothers that Mr. McClain gave me that they could put the end on a song better than anybody I’d ever heard, but even they might have to take a bow to Corrina, Mrs. McClain, young Alane, Doocy, and the boys.

The moments of the summer of ’73 were legend, but that one hit the spot with the best of them, except maybe those quiet moments with Corrina when the world stopped and we got off and trailed off into a world of our own. Then there were our regal moments with Mama.

Hugs and slaps on the shoulder followed the spirited singing of the song; Corrina walked to me for the first time and gave me the biggest hug me and kissed me on the face; Miss Mac did, too, surprising me, and Alane gave me a bashful hug, then all three ladies passed out the homemade Southern red velvet cake liberally. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more at home than I did at that moment, except when I was home with Mama on 901 Juniper Street.

Even Red looked happy. I’m not sure I had ever seen him happy. He joked about how he never thought the Pup would make it to see seventeen, and that stirred up the hornet’s nest and everybody joined in with full agreement, except for the ladies, of course.

“What do you call a ‘Pup’ who isn’t a pup anymore, Doocy?” Pee Wee hollered out, still chewing on a bite of red velvet cake?

“No sir, t’Pups may turn sev’n’teen, awright, but thet don’t make ‘im less of a pups, naw sir, still a pups wet as a river ‘round his’n ears.”

Everybody laughed at that, even the ladies, and I turned as red as the cake we were eating and thanked everybody one by one and told them how good they had surprised me. Corrina stood by me, not taking ahold of my hand or anything. She just stood close beside me because that was where she wanted to be at that moment and that was what felt right.

Everybody ate and, for a minute, it got as quiet as you’ll ever hear on a brick job. Mrs. McClain looked over at the boys scraping their plates and said, “You fellas come get yourself another piece of this cake Corrina made for your Pup.”

She didn’t have to ask twice for Pee Wee and Doocy to oblige her. She was putting a big piece on each of their plates when Mr. McClain looked down the driveway and said, “Reckon who’s coming up the drive?”

We all looked as Pee Wee’s wife Dixie drove up in their small blue Chevy, bringing as much red dust in the air as a small car and a wet road could.

Coach Steven Ray Bowen served as a teacher and basketball coach at Red Oak High from 1998-2012 and recently spent two years teaching and coaching at Ferris. He and his wife Marilyn (the “amazin’ blonde”) served many years with the Church of Christ of Red Oak at Uhl/Ovilla Roads, but now spend time evangelizing in several states in addition to Coach’s work as a writer and author, including the writing of the ongoing novel/memoir here in the Press. Call or text (972) 824-5197, or email coachbowen1984@gmail.com, or see frontporchgospel.com