I remember Del Wiese

I mentioned Del Weise in the previous piece, and now I'll tell more about him. I don't know how many times I revised this poem, a word here or a phrase there, never getting it right. This is where it stands now, and maybe I'll go back to it again.

Del Wiese

Del Wiess? Dell Weiss? How do you spell his name?

It matters to me. If I can’t spell his name correctly—his name, the way he spelled it, the name his mother and father gave him—how can I describe to you who Del Wiess was without feeling guilty?

Del’s breath.

I remember Del’s breath.

Even now, so many years later,

when I catch a hint of that particular moist,

stale,

slightly acrid odor, I remember Del. 

Del’s legs.

I remember Del’s legs.

Del’s legs were different

than my eight-year-old legs or my brother’s six-year-old legs. Del’s legs were thin

and motionless. His pants hung over his

bent knees and his immobile legs like a tarp thrown over a pile of sticks.

Del’s hands.

I remember Del’s hands.

The skin on Del’s hands was smooth and pale and shiny, as transparent

as a seashell held up to faint light.

Del’s hands were awkward and could do none of the things

my hands could do; simple things, like lifting a straw to sip

cool lemonade on a hot summer day.

Del’s shirts.

I remember Del’s shirts.

Long-sleeved, crisply creased

and cuffed,

always like new. There was no movement to fray the cuffs,

no perspiration to stain the tightly woven

cotton.

Del’s wit.

I remember Del’s wit.

He made us laugh with his jokes and the sparkle in his eyes.

Del was playful; Del was intelligent and clever. Del was in his twenties and

his life was in a wheelchair on the front lawn of his home when

the weather was kind--a place where he would watch the world with intense curiosity, and where people

who didn’t know him would drive by and stare,

curious themselves… about Del.

Del Wiess. I remember Del Wiess.

Revised 7/2/06 and after, many times

Postlude:

A six-block stretch of Huron Avenue was my neighborhood when I was a child. I lived at the start of the street, and Del Wiese lived a block away, next to my good friend Tookie Esklund.  I know now that Del was a paraplegic, perhaps from an accident when he was young --although my brother Mark’s friend Ted insists that Del was a fighter pilot and was injured in a plane crash! Del must have been in his early 20's when Mark and I spent time with him, but we never asked his age. What I knew then was that Dell lived in a wheelchair, often sitting in the shade of his front yard on warm summer days, and that his mother was devoted to his care. Del piqued our curiosity at first because of our fascination with his wheelchair, and later he captured us completely by his humor and his storytelling. I will never know for sure how Del knew so many stories in such detail, but since a book often lay open in his lap, I imagine he was a reader.

What to do in Spring Valley, Minnesota, 1955-1960

What we did on a daily or weekly basis in Spring Valley as kids depended largely on our ages. Here are some childhood memories (accurate or not!) from the years my family lived at 608 North Huron Avenue.

What to do in Spring Valley, Minnesota, 1955-1960

Go on neighborhood adventures with Cindy Ward, Merry Lundby, and Bobbie and Tookie Esklund. Head south on Huron Avenue, hurry past Mrs. Schultz’s house, cut through the alley, and go skating at the rink. Another day, stealthily pick marigolds from Mrs. Distel’s garden and experience terror when she catches you, threatening to call the police. Avoid walking or biking past Mrs. Distel’s house for the next five years, including Halloween.

Go downtown on a “Hot enough for ya?” summer day and watch someone fry an egg on the sidewalk outside the Home Federal building. Read the next issue of the Spring Valley Tribune to see the front page story and a photograph of the egg frying on the sidewalk in front of the Home Federal building, along with a shot of the Home Federal time and temperature sign as proof of the daunting heat.

Go to Susie’s little store after church on Sunday morning to buy her gigantic homemade sweet rolls and three pounds of ground beef for a dollar (four pounds for a dollar if it’s on sale).

Visit Del Weise as he sits in his wheelchair out in his front yard. Enjoy his humor, talk about your adventures in the neighborhood, and wonder if Del ever had adventures of his own as a kid. Come back the next day, and the next.

Sit on the curb by the highway, right across from Berg’s Station, and wave at the army men driving by in their jeeps. Do this for hours and hours at a time.

Make leaf houses in the fall by creating the outline of the house and its rooms. Fight with brother Mark over who gets the biggest bedroom instead of pushing back the leaf walls (but then there would be nothing to fight about). Watch lazy smoke wisps rise from the fragrant piles of burning leaves in the gutters along the street.

Cry when you learn your pet kittens, Sweetie Pie and Blackie, were run over by patrons of the nearby 66 Motel. Figure out that all the other kittens you’ve had over the years met the same fate, but your dad was too kind to tell you.

Walk to the Texaco with a quarter and a few pennies in your pocket and a note from your mom that says you have permission to buy her a pack of Lucky Strikes. While you’re there, buy some penny Tootsie Rolls and have a conversation with Cliff.

Go with your dad to the Spring Valley Bakery and decide between a Bismark and a chocolate covered cake doughnut, knowing you’d buy both if you had enough money. Help your dad carry the white bread (sliced) and the snowflake rolls out to the car, and wonder how anyone could work in a bakery when it’s hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk.

Go to the park and fly through the air on the big swings with the long metal links, go down the tall dented slide, and make yourself sick spinning around on the twister. Grab on to the wooden merry-go-round with three of your friends and run like the wind to build up speed, then jump on. Move the chain and board the teeter-totter so you can give “bumps”, then wander over to watch the Little League game.

In the winter, slide down the hill outside Lundby’s garage. The angle of descent isn’t so steep, but it’s better than no slope at all.

Go to Stickan’s dime store and buy ten cents worth of candy, especially Brach’s chocolate stars. Watch one of the eagle-eyed dime store ladies scoop the stars out of the bin and weigh out the exact number of pieces that ten cents will buy. Or, get a pair of wax lips you hope no one else has tried on, and maybe a candy necklace or some baseball cards for good measure (and for the bubble gum inside). Go to the back of the store and visit the miniature turtles, the goldfish, and the parakeets kept in variety-store captivity. If it’s close to your mom’s birthday, buy her a 39-cent tiny cobalt blue glass bottle of Evening in Paris cologne, hoping she’ll say it’s the best present she’s ever gotten.

(Revised 9/20/07)