17. The Persimmons and the President ... THE FARM IN PINE VILLAGE

American persimmon trees grew naturally in southern Indiana. Before Robert’s memory, Joe and Ida had brought one to their yard, where it grew a nice, tall, straight trunk.

That autumn during Robert’s first-grade year, Ida chose an ideal time to make persimmon pudding. The first frost had not yet arrived, but it was not far off. The nights were becoming chilly but the days were still warm. Ida, Robert, and Charles gathered the persimmons from the ground while their mother shook the slender tree. The fruits were relatively hard, and their skins were frosty orange with a purplish or bluish tint. They were too bitter to bite into. Ida divided the persimmons into quart size strawberry boxes made of thin wood with eight staples around the upper border. Robert and Charles helped. Robert caught a thumb on the point of a staple. “Ouch!” he exclaimed, putting his thumb in his mouth. The persimmons spent a few days in their cartons on the enameled counter of the Hoosier in the hot kitchen. Then they had become fully ripe and soft. It was time to make pudding!

When the delectable fragrance of the pudding, with its cinnamon, nutmeg, and allspice, arose from the oven, the tantalizing scent permeated the house. Then, when the dark, rich pudding was spooned, still warm, into bowls and topped with whipped cream from the family’s milking cows, manna from heaven would have had tough competition!

Near the beginning of November, Ida announced to Robert that he would be keeping an appointment with Dr. Scheurich that afternoon for his last booster shot. When Ida drove Robert to the white house in Oxford that was Dr. Scheurich’s office, storm clouds were already overhead and rain was beginning to fall.

Robert knew he could not escape what was about to happen to him, so he went along compliantly. He sat on a red-upholstered chair in the waiting room on the south side of the house. When the familiar nurse stepped up to the counter, looked at a clipboard, and called his name, he went with his mother into the inner office, which reeked of cigar and rubbing alcohol. Had Norman Rockwell been invited to paint an ideal image of a small-town doctor, he would have painted Dr. Scheurich. Even though Dr. Scheurich wore a serious expression on his face and peered through his glasses sternly, he was as roly-poly as Santa Claus. The belt to his trousers was almost lost beneath the bulging white shirt that was always decorated with a stethoscope hanging around his neck. Ida chatted with the doctor while holding Robert’s coat. Quickly and efficiently, Dr. Scheurich brought out the large stainless steel device terminating in its long needle. He sat heavily down on his swivel chair while Robert loosened his belt. Before long, the shot was administered. It hurt like the very devil!

With tears in the corners of his eyes, Robert walked down the concrete steps leading to the front door of the doctor’s office and into the car. His coat was wet from the rain.

While Ida drove back to Pine Village, the sky grew darker and the rain fell faster. The landscape was forlorn. The trees had lost their leaves. They stood gray and rain-soaked. Flat land stretched far away until becoming lost in sheets of rain.

When Ida reached home, she told Robert to wait in the car while she got Charles. Robert wondered what was to happen next. Soon, Ida and Charles ran out to the car. Ida drove the short distance to Joe Dan’s Restaurant in town. By the time the three of them had taken their seats in a booth near the window, the sky was almost as dark as night. Rivulets of rain glinted down the plate-glass window.

Robert felt that the day had definitely taken a turn for the better. Even though his posterior still felt sore, he knew he could have a breaded tenderloin sandwich with mustard: one of his favorite treats. He could also have a chocolate milkshake.

For some reason, Ida ordered a sandwich for the boys’ father, even though he was not there. At about the time the sandwiches were served, Robert saw a figure running across the street from the volunteer fire station. It was Joe, who slid into the booth beside Ida.

“I’m supposed to be using the restroom, so I have to gulp this down,” Joe said. When Joe hung up his coat, Robert noticed that his father was wearing good slacks and a Sunday shirt. The slacks were wet up to the knees. “The plumbing at the station broke yesterday, and the election board decided we could take turns coming to the restaurant to use the restroom.”

Joe lifted his sandwich and took a big bite.

“This rain may keep voters at home,” Ida said. “It’s been raining cats and dogs ever since I took Robert for his booster shot. He was good about it this time. He didn’t cry. Doctor Scheurich said Robert’s shots are all up to date.”

“Did it hurt?” Joe asked Robert.

“Yes,” Robert said before trying to suck chocolate milkshake up through the big paper straw, which collapsed.

“You need another straw,” Joe said.

“You may have to use your spoon,” Ida suggested.

Gusts of rain beat against the windowpane.

Having overheard the conversation, Joe Dan, the owner of the restaurant, brought Robert another straw from a tall glass container full of straws and topped with a silver lid. The container stood on the horseshoe counter surrounded by silvery stools that could spin around.

“Who’s winning?” Ida asked Joe.

“You know we’re not allowed to discuss anything about the election,” Joe said, grabbing another big bite of his sandwich.

Ida nodded, accepting his answer.

Then Joe said, “I can tell you that the early reports on the radio say the election’s close.”

Joe had wolfed down his sandwich. He excused himself from the table, dashed to the restroom, returned to get his coat, wriggled into it, and splashed back across the street to the polling booths in the fire station.

Later the next day, Robert learned that the new President of the United States was John Fitzgerald Kennedy. After having seen only President Dwight David Eisenhower, who looked old to Robert, Robert was surprised that a person as young as Jack Kennedy obviously was could be elected President of the United States.

The sun was shining. Robert’s parents talked about how the election was the dawn of a new era. They were excited about the prospects of a bright future, which Alan Shepard’s flight in a spacecraft in May seemed to promise.

No one could foretell how dramatic events would dampen those prospects. No one could predict the assassination of the young President in 1963. The slow turning of the tide of public opinion against the Vietnam War, the escalation of the Soviet threat, the racial unrest, the assassinations of Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King, and the massive demonstrations in cities and on campuses were storm clouds on the horizon, but no one saw them yet.

Instead, life on the farm in Pine Village seemed a happy continuation of the happiness at the end of the 1950s. Everything seemed secure. Everything seemed like an innocent way of living not destined to change.