“Mis-
“ter
“Mill-
“er
“puts you
“ ‘In the Mood,’ ” Rick sang.
“ ‘In the Mood,’ ” Josh said. “That was another great one.”
“You like Harry James, Josh?”
“In the old days, yes. Oh, he really did some fine ones. ‘Trumpet Rhapsody,’ ‘He’s My Guy,’ ‘Sleepy Lagoon,’ ‘I Don’t Wanna Walk without You.’ There was a record. Remember that one?”
“Sure. Helen Forrest.”
“That’s right. I wonder what happened to her.” Josh sipped at his drink, a happy thoughtful expression on his face.
“They vanish,” Rick said thoughtfully. “Remember when Bob Eberle and Helen O’Connell were with the Jimmy Dorsey band? You hardly ever hear from them anymore.”
“They’re still around,” Josh said. “Trouble is, bands are on the way out. You listen to the Ballroom now, and all you get is vocals. The day of the instrumental is dead and gone.”
“Maybe the kids won’t like your records, Josh,” Rick said suddenly, surprising himself with the observation.
“My records?” Josh asked incredulously. “Oh, sure, why sure they will. It’s good stuff, Rick, really. An’ I always kept them fine. Hardly a scratch on any of them. Oh, they’ll like it.” He grinned. “I’m jus’ tryina figure how to tie it in with an English class, tha’s all.”
“Why bother?” Rick said. “Jus’ tell ’em you’re gonna have music that day, tha’s all.”
“Yeah, but I like to tie it in. Tha’s the way they tell you to do it.” He paused, sipped at his drink again, and said, “Tha’s what gets me, you know?”
“What?” Rick asked, feeling really dizzy now, drinking the martini automatically now, and feeling dizzier with each additional sip. “What gets you, Josh?”
“The things we learned in school. The Ed courses. What a bunch of horse manure.”
“Right,” Rick said, nodding his head.
“Damn right,” Josh agreed. He paused for a moment, studying the open rim of his glass. He scratched his head and then asked, “What was I saying?”
“Ed courses,” Rick said, silently congratulating himself upon having remembered.
“Oh yes, Ed courses.” Rick waited for more, but Josh had apparently said all he cared to say about the subject.
“A bunch of horse manure,” Rick supplied. “Tell you to give difficult kids board erasers to clean. Well, I got a question for the bigshot Ed Psych experts.”
“Wha’s that?” Josh asked lazily.
“What do you do when you got thirty-five difficult kids? There ain’t that many board erasers in the city of New York.”
“Besides, what are we raising, a generation of board-eraser cleaners?”
“Damn right,” Rick said, getting angry about nothing in particular.
“Tha’s what I like about you,” Josh said, wobbling unsteadily on his stool now. “You got a keen, analytical mind.”
“Thank you,” Rick said.
“Don’t mensh it. Not at all.”
“If it’s true,” Rick said staunchly, “I’ll mention it.”
“What’ll you mention?”
“That you got a keen, analytical mind.”
“Tha’s jus’ what I said,” Josh said, nodding his head.
“Thank you,” Rick told him.
“Don’t mensh it,” Josh said solemnly.
They sat silently, sipping at their drinks, listening to the silence of the bar now that Josh’s quarter in the juke had been exhausted. A kid of about eighteen came into the room, and they watched him walk to the cigarette machine near the door and punch out a package for himself. He glanced briefly at Josh and Rick, and then left the bar. Josh watched him, and as if sight of an adolescent had reminded him of something, he said, “I’m gonna teach them, you know. I really am, Rick.”
“Good for you,” Rick said.
“Oh yes, I’m gonna teach them. I waited too long for this, Rick, too damn long. I been wantin’ to teach since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. They don’t know how much I been wantin’ to teach, Rick. Some kids wanted to be cops or firemen. Not me. I wanted to be a teacher. Long as I can remember. Tha’s all, jus’ a teacher. So now I’m a teacher, an’ a teacher’s job is to teach, ain’t it? Of course. So I’m gonna... going to... teach. Even if they don’t want me to. A man’s got to do what a man wants to do, Rick. He’s jus’ got to.”
“An’ the best way he can,” Rick said. “He’s got to do a good job, Josh.”
Josh nodded reflectively. “Am I a bad guy, Rick?”
“You a good guy, Josh. A damn fine guy.”
“So why won’t they let me teach?”
“ ’Cause they’re bad guys,” Rick said.
“Oh no, don’t say that.”
“Yes,” Rick said, “they’re bad guys.”
“No,” Josh said with drunken dignity, “tha’s a common error, fallacy. They ain’t bad guys. They’re jus’ ignorant.”
“Same thing,” Rick said.
“No, no, Rickie, don’t say that. Please don’t say that. These kids ain’t bad guys. I mean it. Now I mean it, so pay attention an’ please don’t say that again. They are not bad guys. They jus’ don’t know any better.”
“They ain’t good guys,” Rick said, blinking his eyes, holding to the bar top. He tried to concentrate on what Josh was saying because he had a feeling this was very important to Josh, and he didn’t want to appear rude and not pay attention to something that was obviously very important to somebody else.
“They’re good guys,” Josh said. “Yes. Jus’ like me an’ you. Good guys. Unless they don’t get taught, then they’ll be bad guys, Rick. Tha’s why I got to teach them, you see? Can y’understan’ that? It ain’t fair that no one should want to teach them. Teachers got to teach, Rickie, an’ especially these kids. Please unerstan’ me, Rickie.”
“I understan’ you, Josh,” Rick said, trying very hard to understand.
“Okay then. Okay. An’ you promise you won’t call them bad guys?”
“All right,” Rick said, “they’re just ignorant.”
“That’s right, ignorant.”
“Bad guys can be ignorant, too,” Rick persisted.
“But ignorant guys don’t have to be bad. You’re reversin’ the syllog... you know.”
“Sure,” Rick said.
“ ’Zactly. Le’s finish this drink.”
They lifted their glasses and Rick said, “Here’s to all the good guys.”
“Well spoke,” Josh said. “Spoken.”
“An’ here’s to Stan the Man, a real good guy.”
“To Stan.”
“An’ the Duke.”
“The Duke, Rick.”
“An’ you an’ me, God bless our bleeding...”
“Wounds,” Josh supplied.
“Asses, I was gonna say.”
“All right, whatever you say.”
“Wounds,” Rick finished.
They drank solemnly.
“I got to go home,” Rick said suddenly. “Wife’s pregnant.”
“Congratulations,” Josh said, taking Rick’s hand.
“Thanks,” Rick answered.
“How does it feel, being a father?”
“Not yet. I’m not one yet.”
“How soon, Rickie?”
Rick began counting on his fingers, and then shrugged. “Soon.” He stood up, staggered to the coat rack, and struggled into his topper, with Josh awkwardly trying to help him.
“I got to pay,” Josh said.
“Lemmee split it,” Rick offered.
“No, no, this’s on me.”
“Okay. Me next time.”
“Nex’ time,” Josh said. He put a large bill on the bar top, and then waited for his change, scooping it up without counting it. “How do you go home, Rickie?”