Miss Are-You-Really-Sure-You-Want-That-Book
by Don Drewniak
I scurried
home from a morning session with my fifth grade
teacher, Miss Keefe, on one of the first warm
days of spring in 1954. Although it was her first
year of teaching, she was good. Unlike my fourth
grade teacher, she rarely sat at her desk and she
spent most of the day teaching and working with
kids who needed help.
Back at our
house, I pulled my Schwinn out of the cellar and
headed out on a mission — a 1.8-mile bike
ride to the Fall River Public Library (also known
as The Peoples University). Dangling from the
handlebar was a small cloth bag with two straps
that I borrowed from my mother.
Upon arrival,
I chained and locked my bike to an iron railing
leading to the downstairs kid’s section. I
dashed up a series of twisting steps and entered
the main section of the library. Catching my
breath, and somewhat nervous, I walked up to the
main desk.
At that stage
in my life, I had no idea what “officious”
meant. However, the woman who greeted me was the
personification of officiousness.
“May I
help you, young man?”
“Yes,
thank you, I’m looking for a book but I don’t
have much time because I have to get back to
school.”
“I am
here to assist you. What is the book?”
“The
Flying Saucers Are Real by Donald
Keyhoe.”
Her eyes
widened. She looked at me as if I had two
antennae sticking out of my head, green skin and
an “I am from Mars” t-shirt.
“Are you
sure you want that book?”
No, I
asked for it because I don’t want it.
“Yes, I'm
sure.”
“Well, if
you really want it, please follow me.”
Of course
I really want it, you knucklehead.
If I had known
what blithering meant back then, I would have
used it to further define knucklehead.
“Thank
you.”
Miss Are-You-Really-Sure-You-Want-That-Book led
us to a section that contained a limited number
of science fiction books.
Science
fiction? Didn’t you hear me? Flying saucers
are real!
She removed a
thin book from a shelf that was about a foot
above my head and quickly handed it to me. I
imagined that she was afraid it might give her
some terrible disease. Maybe the same one that
gave me my antennae and green skin.
It was back to
the main desk where I handed her my library card
and the book. She stamped everything in sight
except her forehead which seemed to be getting a
green tinge.
“It’s
due back in two weeks. That’s two weeks.”
She then handed me the disease-carrying book and
my card.
I bet she’s
going to wash her hands ten times as soon as I
leave.
Out I went.
After I put the book in the bag, I headed out for
my second stop, Nick's Coney Island Hot Dogs
located about halfway between the library and my
house. I slapped (gently) a quarter on the
counter, and received in return a hot dog with
mustard and ketchup, and a Coke. (Nick’s is
still in business today and is one of Fall River’s
iconic businesses.)
I put the hot
dog and Coke in the bag, biked a short distance
to South Park where I demolished both in about
two minutes.
Beats Mom’s
fried baloney sandwiches.
It also easily
topped her other specialty, Saltines in a bowl of
milk. She called it something that sounded like
pobby, which I theorized was Ukrainian for white
poop.
Resuming my
ride, I returned the bike to the cellar and made
it back to the Slade School with time to spare.
Until a few
days before my quest to secure a copy of The
Flying Saucers Are Real, my only knowledge
of UFOs came from the science fiction films I
watched at the Park Theater. Those alone were
enough to make me a believer.
I have no
remembrance of how I came to know of the
existence of The Flying Saucers Are Real.
What I do remember is that whoever or whatever it
was convinced me that the book proved that aliens
from space were indeed buzzing through our
atmosphere. What could be more exciting than that?
The number of
sightings of UFOs referenced in the 1950 book was
a minute fraction of those that have been
subsequently reported. Nevertheless, by the time
I finished reading it, I was transformed from a
totally ill-informed believer to a somewhat less
ill-informed true believer.
I was
disappointed two weeks later when I returned the
book and Miss Are-You-Really-Sure-You-Want-That-Book
was not there.
The saga
continued fifteen or sixteen months later on a
hot summer day. I played hit-the-bat with four
friends at Abbott Field which was located across
the street from our home.
For those not
familiar with the game, it requires a baseball, a
bat and baseball gloves. There are no teams, just
one person at bat and everyone else in the
outfield. The person with the bat tosses the ball
up and hits it. He or she then drops the bat on
the ground in front of them so that it is
parallel to the outfielders. The kid (or adult)
who gets the ball rolls it at the bat from the
place where the ball is picked up. If the ball
hits the bat, the person who rolled it is then up
to bat. If someone in the field catches the ball
on the fly, they are automatically up to bat.
There are variations, but this is the way I
remember playing it.
As noon
approached and the temperature soared, we called
it quits and I headed back to our house. Mom, who
didn’t work (like most women back then) wasn’t
home, so I made a baloney sandwich and did
something I had never previously done. I downed
three bottles of AJ Stephans Sarsaparilla.
AJ’s was
without question the best sarsaparilla in the
Milky Way and was Fall River’s own, having
been produced in the city starting in 1926. It
was packed with 43 grams of pure cane sugar and
“natural ingredients.” I have no doubt
that the combination of the sugar and whatever
the natural ingredients were caused me to always
want a second bottle. Three bottles was uncharted
territory.
Given that I
played hit-the-bat for a good chunk of the
morning in high temperatures under a hot sun, I
probably should have taken a break. Instead, I
grabbed a science fiction book that I had
finished reading and decided to return it to
library and get another one. Off I went on my
bike.
Surprise! As I
walked up to main desk, there was Miss Are-You-Really-Sure-You-Want-That-Book.
Despite having gone to the library multiple times
since the The Flying Saucers Are Real episode,
this was the first time I had encountered her.
She didn’t say a word as I placed the book
on the desk, but I seem to remember that she
stared at me for a few seconds.
I found the
book I wanted and returned to the main desk. She
once again gave me the Evil Eye. I gave her one
in return. As it by some unfathomable magic
bestowed by upon me by Merlin, her clothes
vanished for an instant. She nodded and smiled. I
dashed out of the library as fast as I could.
I headed
homeward after unchaining my bike. Riding through
South Park, I slammed on my brakes and came close
to barreling over the handlebars as I skidded to
a stop.
She’s
a witch and she saw through my clothes!
I have to
admit that I may have tried the Evil Eye on a
girl or two during the balance of the summer. No
clothes disappeared. Also, I never again saw Miss
Are-You-Really-Sure-You-Want-That-Book despite
dozens of visits to the library through my senior
year at Durfee High.
While I am all
but positive my encounters with her were as I
have described them, my memory of what happened
may have been colored by the high heat and the
three bottles of AJ Stephans Sarsaparilla.
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