Billy Don't. William OSB Baker
acts was evaluated by God, and determined to be good or bad. If bad, the degree of badness was recorded as a representative black mark on his soul. When he died God would look at his soul, and if it was more white than black he would be allowed into heaven. The other route was to the Devil and the fires of his dungeons. Why did God need money?
The remembrance of being loved moved into Billy's mind, he recalled the words. "Mums, do you love me?" "Yes, Billy, I love you, your father loves you, and God loves you too."
On the street car on their way home from the evening's evangelical meeting, Billy reminded Mrs. Blair that tomorrow was the day he was to visit his Grandmother Munroe, who was now living in West Oakland. This time he would not be riding in the Rickenbacker automobile. He would be taking the street car, and since his "Mums" was not welcome at the Blair's house, he'd be taking the street car alone.
The morning was a long time in coming. Billy was up early. He gave special attention to washing his ears and combing his wavy hair before donning clean jeans and a fresh shirt. He made his bed without having to be told, and greeted the awakening household members with a cheerful, "Good morning, I'm going to my Grandmother Munroe's house."
After breakfast Mrs. Blair handed him a paper bag which contained his change of clothes, a token for the street car, and a note to the conductor in case Billy forgot the verbal directions given him. He said his good-byes to the family members sitting at the breakfast table and walked down the sloping hill of Lyon Avenue to 38th Street, all the time reciting the instructions he was to give the car conductor.
His happiness of the day had been lessened by the morning's news which the Blair's had discussed at breakfast. Standing on the corner, he looked back across the street to where the policeman had lived. He had been a big man and a friend to Billy. Now he was dead. Shot by a burglar. Billy looked at the porch where the policeman had sat to read his paper and remembered how he would come down the steps to talk with Billy, and give his wagon a starting push back up the hill, always cautioning Billy to stay out of the street. Sometimes they would sit on the porch steps, drinking a lemonade, served by the policeman's wife, talking about Billy and his sister and brother or the policeman's younger life. Billy felt the sorrow of the morning's news and wondered about the dead policeman's soul. Was it black? Did God look at it? Is he in Heaven?
The approaching street car came to a stop. Billy climbed aboard, instructed the conductor as to his destination, and dropped the token into the box with the glass window on the conductor's side through which he could see if the correct fare had been deposited. "You'll have to transfer at 14th street," commented the conductor, handing Billy a long strip of flimsy paper with punches in it. "Sit right here and I'll tell you when to get off." The conductor pulled down a single seat to the side of his stool seat and held it down until Billy was well seated.
At each stop as people stood to leave or to pay their fare, they could not help but notice the sign above Billy's head: "RESERVED FOR INSPECTORS". The passengers smiled at Bill or mentioned his presence to the conductor. "Better be careful today. You are being inspected." Billy knew they were joking with him, but it made him feel important, and he liked it.
"This is where you transfer, young man. Come with me. I'll put you on the right car."
"Okay." Billy, slid off the high seat, and it being spring loaded, snapped up into place with a loud bang. Billy jumped, then blushed. The conductor, smiling, took him by the hand and led him to a row of street cars waiting their turn to be dispatched. They passed several cars before the conductor called into a car standing with its doors open. "Hi there, Gus. This young fellow needs to be let off on 30th street. His Grandmother is meeting him there." A short, friendly exchange took place between the two men before the one helping Billy bent down, picked him up under the arm-pits, and set him inside the doorway. "There you go. Maybe I'll see ya on your way back. Old Gus here'll take good care of ya. Bye."
Billy said good-bye, then sat in the front seat across from the conductor, looking out the front of the car and watching the street signs as they grew larger in number. "There she is, "exclaimed Billy upon seeing his "Mums" standing on the corner of 30th Street.
"Okay, Sonny. Be careful getting off. Have a good time." The doors folded open and the step dropped down into place. "Bye," said Billy.
The doors closed behind him. "Clang, clang, clang." The dull ringing of the street car's incessant bell announced its departure.
"Hi, Mums." Billy called out aloud before his feet hit the pavement, then made a dash to where she stood and threw his arms about her waist in a spontaneous display of his love.
"Hey, easy there. You almost knocked your Mums down." She bent over, lovingly holding him close to her, then kissed him on the top of his head.
"Gee, I'm sorry." He squeezed her hard.
"Oh, don't you be sorry. I can't think of anyone I'd rather be knocked down by." She kissed him on the cheek and took hold of his hand. The loneliness for her grandson was displayed by the onrushing love they shared, Together, hand in hand, they walked down the street toward the center of the first block where Grandmother Munroe was now living. This was the second time Billy had been allowed to visit since her move to Oakland. "Did you have trouble transferring? I was really quite worried?"
"No. The conductor took me to the other street car. He was nice." Billy continued. "And, ya know, he knew the policeman that got killed. Did you know he was killed?" While Mums had stood waiting on the corner, she had heard a newspaper boy shouting the Post Enquirer Extra edition headlines,
"Policeman killed by burglar. Get your paper. Hey, read all about it. Policeman killed by burglar." At the time she had thought how it seemed that newspapers would make an extra edition of anything, if it would sell papers. The newspaper boys were forever in the streets shouting, "Extra, extra, this thing or that," enticing people to spend their hard-earned money for an over exaggerated story. Perhaps, she had reasoned, the killing of a policeman deserved an extra edition. Now, with Billy announcing he knew of the incident, she felt glad to have also been aware. "Yes. I heard the newsboy shouting the headlines. It is a terrible thing. His poor wife and children must. ...." Billy interrupted.
"He didn't have any children Mums."
"Oh, did the conductor tell you that?"
"No, Mums. I knew him." Billy's mood seemed to change. He lowered his head, but continued to talk. "He used to push my wagon, and he told me he didn't have any children."
Mums wasn't quite sure what to do with the conversation. She was inquisitive and wanted to hear more of Billy's knowledge about the policeman, yet she had become aware of Billy's deepening mood and thought it best to change the subject. She was about to speak when Billy began to explain how he would ride his wagon down the sidewalk and the policeman would come down from his porch to talk to him and give him a starting push back up the hill.
Billy did not like telling the story. It hurt. He wanted to cry. He let go of his Mum's hand and ran toward the gate where Mums was living. Mums raced after him. Reaching him, she knelt and folded Billy into her arms. He cried. His body heaved in great emotional surges, the tears streaming down his face. He buried his head against Mum's breasts, clinging to her in desperation.
"There, there." She consoled him, feeling the emotional convulsions which were raking his young body. "You've lost a friend. It is not easy to lose a friend nor to understand God's taking of him. You must always remember the kindness of your friend, Billy. Always remember the love he had for you. I am sure he loved you just as God does and as I do." She held him close, stroking his head and sharing in his deep felt grief. "Come into the house. We can talk about it there."
Billy tried to choke back the tears and the welled-up feelings struggling to escape from him. He took his grandmother's hand, and together they entered the house.
"God is mean, Mums." Billy spoke in a choked-up voice barely audible through the uncontrolled sniffling and sobbing.
"Yes, darling, sometimes God is mean. But I believe we tend to make Him that way. God wants us to be good people, to live by His word and to reward us with life hereafter. I am sure your friend is in God's hands."
"You think he went to