Return of the Great Brain John Fitzgerald

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CHAPTER ONE

The Adenville Academy-

DURING THE FIRST WEEK of August in the year 1898 a trial was held in Adenville, Utah. The defendant was my brother, Tom Fitzgerald, alias The Great Brain. He was only twelve years old, but he was charged with being a confidence man, a swindler, a crook, and a blackmailer. The judge was Harold Vickers, who was sixteen. And I guess I must have been the youngest district attorney to ever try a case, because I was only ten years old.

I hated to put my brother on trial, but it was something the kids in Adenville should have done a long time before we did. Tom, with his great brain and his money-loving heart had been swindling us kids since he was eight years old. We had put up with it until that summer. He had swindled Danny Forester out of his new baseball glove, Par-ley Benson out of his new King air rifle, and a dozen other kids including myself. But when Tom almost got my two best friends killed to make thirty cents, I decided the only way to make him give up his crooked ways was to put him on trial in our barn.

If I do say so myself I presented a brilliant case, calling one witness after another to testify The Great Brain had swindled them. I wanted to take the witness stand myself because Tom had swindled and blackmailed me more than any kid in town. But Judge Harold Vickers said I couldn’t be both a witness and the district attorney.

Tom was found guilty on all counts. Harold handed down the sentence: No kid in Adenville would play with The Great Brain or have anything to do with him for one year. After Tom promised to reform, Harold suspended the sentence. But he warned Tom that if my brother did any backsliding he would revoke the suspended sentence.

There was great rejoicing all over town when the re-sults of the trial became known. Papa, who was editor and publisher of the Adenville Weekly Advocate, was so happy he looked ten years younger. I guess that was because Tom’s past shenanigans had made him look ten years older. Now he wouldn’t have to worry about angry fathers coming into his office to complain that Tom had cheated their sons out of something.

Mamma was happy as a bee in its first spring flower-Mothers of the boys my brother had swindled would no longer be calling her on the telephone to tell her she had a junior-grade confidence man for a son. My uncle, Mark Trainor, who was the town marshal and a deputy sheriff, was

relieved because he would no longer have to explain why he couldn’t put Tom in jail. Tom, with his great brain, had been so smart there never was enough evidence to arrest him.

The way people acted it was a wonder Mayor Calvin Whitlock didn’t declare a holiday to celebrate The Great Brain’s reformation. But for my money everybody was living in a temporary fool’s paradise. I didn’t believe The Great Brain could give up his crooked ways any more than a hen-with a rooster around could stop laying eggs. But after a whole week went by without Tom pulling one crooked stunt I began to think maybe he really was going to reform. And strangely enough I began to regret it. I had never realized how dull things would be if Tom reformed. His crooked deals and swindles made life exciting even when I was the victim.

I was thinking about this one morning as I sat on the log railing of our corral fence with Tom and our six-year-old adopted brother, Frankie. Frankie’s parents and brother had been killed in a landslide when he was four. When Uncle Mark couldn’t locate any other relatives, Mamma and Papa had adopted him. It was easy to see that Frankie wasn’t our real brother because he had the blackest, straightest hair of any kid in town. I was a dead ringer for Papa with dark eyes and dark curly hair. My oldest brother, Sweyn, who was named after our maternal Danish grandfather, had blond hair like Mamma. Tom didn’t look like Mamma and Papa unless you sort of put them together. He was the only one in the family with freckles.

So there I was sitting on the corral fence that morning wondering if I’d made a mistake putting Tom on trial and making him reform.

“Going swimming this afternoon?” I asked.

“Sure, J.D.,” Tom answered. “What made you ask such a silly question?”

My brothers and I often called each other by our initials because that was the way Papa usually addressed us-We all had the same middle name of Dennis just like Papa because it was a tradition in our family-

“I just wanted to see if they’ve started to grow yet,” I said.

“What are you talking about?” Tom asked.

“Yeah, what?” Frankie said.

“You’ve been such a good little angel since you reformed,” I said, “all you need are some wings.”

“You were the one who got the kids to put me on trial and make me promise to reform,” Tom said. “Are you sorry I have reformed?”

“You’ve become so goody-goody it makes me sick,”4 said. “There is no fun and excitement any more.”

“So,” Tom said, “you want fun and excitement. In other words, J.D., you are trying to make a backslider out of me.”

Frankie looked up at Tom- “What’s a backslider?” he asked-

“A backslider,” Tom said, “is a person who promises to reform and then doesn’t keep his promise. But do you know what is ten times worse than a backslider? I’ll tell you. It is a person who tries to get somebody who has promised to re-form to backslide. And I’m afraid when I tell Papa and Mamma about it that J.D. is going to find himself in hot water.”

“I’m not trying to make a backslider out of you,” I protested.

“Oh, yes, you are,” Tom said. “And Frankie is my witness.”

Frankie patted Tom on the knee. “Tom is good now,” he said, “and you are trying to make him bad again.”

“How right you are, Frankie,” Tom said as he jumped down from the corral fence. “I think we should let Mamma and Papa know about this right away.”

I jumped down from the fence. I knew it would cost me at least a month’s allowance if they told.

“How much do you want not to tell?” I asked.

“That proves it,” Tom said. “If I ask you for anything to make me keep silent that would be blackmail. You want to make a blackmailer out of me just so you can make a backslider out of me.”

“No, I don’t,” I protested. “I’m sorry I opened my big mouth.”

“Just being sorry isn’t enough,” Tom said. “You must be punished for trying to make a backslider out of me,”

I knew he had me. “Name the punishment,” I said.

“No,” Tom said. “You must punish yourself.”

“How can I punish myself?” I asked.

Tom looked up at Frankie who was still sitting on the fence- “Know something, Frankie?” he said. “Mamma wants the vegetable garden weeded tomorrow. One way J.D. could punish himself would be to volunteer to weed the garden all by himself.”

It was a stiff price to pay for not having sense enough to keep my big mouth shut. It would take me all day to weed the garden without Tom’s help. Mamma wouldn’t let Frankie help with the weeding because he didn’t know the difference between a weed and a vegetable,

“I’ll punish myself,” I said. “I’ll weed the garden.”

“All right,” Tom said. “And to show you my heart is in the right place, I’ll do your share of the chores tomorrow.”

He boosted Frankie down from the fence. “Let’s go to Smith’s lot and play until lunch time,” he said.

Mr. Smith let the kids use a vacant lot he owned on Main Street in return for keeping it cleared of weeds. Main Street was a very wide street like’in most Utah towns. It was covered with a foot of gravel so it wouldn’t get muddy when it rained. There were electric light and telephone poles down the middle of the street, and the sides were lined with trees planted by early Mormon pioneers-The places of business all had wooden sidewalks and hitching posts in front of them. The railroad tracks separated the east side of town from the west side.. Most of the places of business and practically all the homes were on the west side, including the Advocate office and our home. East of the railroad tracks there were two saloons, the Sheepmen’s Hotel, the Palace Cafe; a rooming house, a livery stable, and the campgrounds.

Adenville was an agricultural community surrounded by farms and cattle and sheep ranches. It never got very cold in the wintertime, and we seldom had snow because the town was located in southwestern Utah. We had a population of about two thousand Mormons, four hundred Protestants, and only about a hundred of us Catholics. The Mormons had a tabernacle and a Bishop because Adenville was what the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints called a ward. There was no Protestant or Catholic church. We all went to the Community Church where Reverend Holcomb preached strictly from the Bible so he wouldn’t show favoritism toward any religion.

As Tom, Frankie, and I walked down Main Street to-

ward Smith’s vacant lot I couldn’t help feeling relieved that Adenville had only a one-room schoolhouse, where Mr. Standish taught the first through the sixth grades. Any parents wanting their kids to get a higher education had to send them to Provo or Salt Lake City. In just two weeks Tom would be leaving for his second year at the Catholic Academy for Boys in Salt Lake City. He would be in the eighth grade this year although he was only twelve. Tom with his great brain had been so smart that Mr. Standish had let him skip the fifth grade. My brother Sweyn had already graduated from the Academy, where only the seventh and eighth grades were taught. Papa was sending Sweyn to live with relatives in Boylestown, Pennsylvania, where he would go to high school.

If I could just keep my big mouth shut for two weeks I wouldn’t have to worry about Tom making me the victim of his great brain and money-loving heart. I knew he hadn’t really reformed when he blackmailed me into weeding the garden. I also knew it would break Mamma’s and Papa’s hearts if they found out Tom was backsliding. And I had a feeling that Tom wasn’t worried about the suspended sentence, He would be going away for nine months and probably figured the kids would forget all about the trial by the following summer.

When we arrived at the lot there were about twenty kids playing catch, batting fly balls, playing leapfrog, broad jumping, and playing other games. We joined in until it was time to go home for lunch.

That evening after the supper dishes were washed and put away the whole family was sitting in the parlor. Aunt Bertha was sitting on the couch darning socks. She wasn’t

really our aunt. She had come to live with us after her husband died because she didn’t have any place to go. She was in her sixties, with hands and feet as big as a man’s. Mamma was sitting in her maple rocking chair knitting. Frankie, Tom, and I were sitting on the floor in front of the stone fireplace playing dominoes. Sweyn was reading a book-Mamma looked up from her knitting with a sort of sad expression on her face.

“I was just thinking, dear,” she said to Papa, “with two .of our boys going away to school soon we haven’t many more evenings to spend together as a family.”

“That reminds me,” Papa said. “Everything is arranged for Sweyn to go back east. But next week I must remember to send Father Rodriguez a check for two hundred and twenty-five dollars to enroll Tom for the school year at the Catholic Academy.”

“I wish we had an academy right here in Adenville,” Mamma said.

“Few if any towns this size in Utah have more than a common school with six grades,” Papa said. “There just aren’t enough parents who want their children to get more than a sixth grade education, especially in an agricultural community like Adenville. Many farmers believe you don’t need more than a sixth grade education to run a farm. Take Adenvillenot more than a dozen boys and girls are sent to academies or high schools each year.”

“I think a lot of parents would like their children to get a higher education, but they just can’t afford it,” Mamma said.

“Two hundred to two hundred and fifty dollars for a school year is a lot of money,” Papa said. “That is what the

Mormon, Protestant, and Catholic boarding school academies charge.”

“It just isn’t fair for a boy like Sammy Leeds,” Mamma said. “He has been working now for over a year on the” soda fountain at the drugstore. Mr. Nicholson told me the boy wants to become a pharmacist more than anything in this world. But he hasn’t got a chance because Mr. and Mrs. Leeds can’t afford to send him to an academy.”

Papa appeared puzzled. “It takes more than an eighth grade education to become a pharmacist,” he said.

“I know,” Mamma said. “But Mr. Nicholson said that if Sammy had an eighth grade education he could get the boy a job working part time in a drugstore in Provo. By working there part time during the school year and full time here in Adenville during summer vacation, Sammy would be able to put himself through high school. Then Mr. Nicholson would help him prepare for the junior pharmacist state board examination. Instead Sammy Leeds will never be anything better than a soda fountain clerk.”

“I see what you mean,” Papa said. “By the time the boy saved enough money working for Mr. Nicholson to go to an academy, he would be so old that he would be ashamed to go. It would take him several years.”

“The Leeds boy isn’t the only one in this town to suffer,” Mamma said. “I was talking to Mrs. Smith at the Ladies Sewing Circle meeting last week. I mentioned Sweyn D. and Tom D. would be leaving for school soon. She said that she and her husband had tried every way they could to send their son Seth to an academy but just couldn’t

make it.”

“So that is why he tried to sell that vacant lot where the

kids play,” Papa said. “He put an ad in the Advocate but told me the best offer he received was a hundred and twenty-five dollars.”

“It meant so much to them,” Mamma said, “because Mr. Wilson told them he would hire Seth as a clerk in his hay, grain, and feed store if he got an eighth grade education. Instead the boy will no doubt end up working at some menial job like his rather. It just isn’t fair.”

“I wonder,” Papa said, “how many boys and girls there are in town like Sammy Leeds and Seth Smith who are being deprived of making something of themselves because we don’t have an academy here in Adenville.” Then he leaned forward in his chair and spoke to Tom. “T.D.,” he said, “how many boys do you know like Sammy and Seth who would like to get a higher education but whose parents can’t afford it?”

Tom looked up from the domino game which he was winning easily. “A few,” he said. “For one, Parley Benson. He wants to become a veterinary. He’s always hanging around old Doc Stone and bringing the vet any animals he finds who need help. Doc Stone said that if Parley went through the eighth grade he’d take him on as an apprentice and make a veterinary out of him. But Parley told me his folks can’t afford to send him away to school. I guess he’ll end up a bounty hunter like his father, and that is going to be tough on him because he loves all animals.”

Papa leaned back in his rocking chair. “You and your mother have given me an idea,” he said. “The way things are, parents who can afford it send their children away to Mormon, Protestant, and Catholic boarding school academies. But if we had a nondenominational academy right here in Adenville they would enroll their children in it. And

there must be quite a few people like the parents of Seth Smith, Sammy Leeds, and Parley Benson who can’t afford to send their children away to school but who could afford a tuition of thirty or forty dollars at an academy here in town. Add these students to the do/en or so who would otherwise be sent away to school and the tuition money would pay for a teacher.”

Mamma shook her head. “That still leaves an academy to be built,” she said.

Did that stop Papa? Heck no. He had an answer for everything.

“I’m sure, Tena,” he said, “there are enough public-spirited citizens who would donate the money, material, and labor to build an academy if they knew for certain we could enroll about thirty students. I’ll see Mayor Whitlock first thing in the morning and then talk to Bishop A^ien and the Reverend Holcomb. This will have tor be a united effort of

Mormons, Protestants, and Catholics.”

The next morning during breakfast Mamma reminded Tom and me that she wanted the vegetable garden weeded.

“I’m going to weed the garden myself,” I said, “and Tom is going to do my share of the chores.”

Papa stared at me as if I had a cabbage for a head and then looked with suspicion at Tom.

“Just how did you connive your brother into weeding the garden in exchange for doing his share of the chores?” he demanded. “If I catch you backsliding you are going to regret it.”

“Who is backsliding?” Tom asked looking as innocent as a little baby. “J.D. told me yesterday that he wanted to weed the garden to punish himself. Out of the goodness of

my heart I told him that I would do his share of the chores.”

“Punish himself for what?” Papa asked.

I was afraid Tom would tell and get me into more trouble than himself. “I did something that I shouldn’t have done,” I said. “I’m so ashamed that I want to punish myself for doing it.”

Mamma looked at Papa. “Maybe he broke a neighbor’s window playing ball or something,” she said.

“No, I didn’t,” I said.

“Then what did you do?” Mamma asked.

“I can’t tell you because it’s personal,” I said.

Papa saved me. “Let’s respect the boy’s privacy,” he said, “as long as we know he wasn’t forced into weeding the garden byT.D.”

Boy, oh, boy, that brother of mine was something. He looked Papa right in the eye.

“You don’t have to say it, Papa,” Tom said. “I know you are sorry you accused me of backsliding, and I accept your apology.”

I began weeding the garden after breakfast while Tom and Frankie did the chores. When they finished, Tom saddled up Sweyn’s mustang, Dusty, and went for a ride. Eddie Huddle came over to play with Frankie-They started pitch-ing horseshoes-I could hear them yelling and laughing and having fun as I pulled weeds. Oh, to be a little kid again, I thought, too little to know the difference between a weed and a vegetable.

Howard Kay and Jimmie Peterson came into the back yard as I stood up to relieve my aching back. Howard had a disappointed look on his pumpkin face. Jimmie hitched up his pants, which were too big for him. He didn’t have any younger brothers to wear his hand-me-downs, so his mother

always bought him clothing that; was one size too big.

“You told us to come over and play basketball this morning,” Jimmie said.

For Christmas I’d been given the first basketball and backboard anybody in Adenville had ever seen. Papa had nailed the backboard to our coal and wood shed on the alley side-

“I forgot I had to weed the garden,” I said.

“Shucks,” Howard said.

Then I got a brilliant idea. “Help me weed the garden,” I said, “and then we’ll play.”

Jimmie hitched up his pants again. “If we help you weed your garden will you help us weed our gardens?” he asked.

It wasn’t such a brilliant idea after all. Jimmie’s mother ran a boardinghouse and had a vegetable garden three times as big as ours.

“Forget it,” I said. “The basketball is in the coal and wood shed.”

By this time more kids were coming down the alley. In a few minutes I could hear the happy shouts of kids playing basketball and of Frankie and Eddie playing horseshoes. But there were no happy shouts tor me. I was just a slave doomed to pull weeds while other kids had fun. And that afternoon while other kids were swimming in the nice cool river, I was still pulling weeds in the hot sun, my shirt wringing wet with sweat. Instead of happy shouts there were only groans com-ing from my lips because of my aching back.

The next day was Sunday. Bishop Aden announced dur-ing church services that there would be a town meeting in the Town Hall on Monday evening at eight o’clock. Rever-

end Holcomb made the same announcement at the Community Church. That afternoon Papa and Sweyn went to the Advocate oflue and printed handbills urging all adult citizens to attend the meeting. Monday morning Tom and I tacked tlie handbills to trees and light posts and put them in store windows on the east and west sides of town. For my money if anyone didn’t know about the town meeting he had to be deaf, dumb, and blind.

Only adults were admitted to the meeting, but Papa told us about it during breakfast on Tuesday morning. The parents of thirty-three boys and girls had promised to enroll them at the Academy and pay a tuition fee of from thirty to forty dollars.

Papa told the audience the tuition money was just to pay a teacher’s salary, and he called for donations to build and furnish the Academy. He began the donations by pledging five hundred dollars. Then Bishop Aden pledged the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints would donate the land upon which to build the Academy and alsw pledged one thousand dollars. Mayor Whitlock, who was also president of the Adenville Bank, pledged five hundred dollars. Mr. Monaire, a big sheep rancher, pledged five hundred-I guess Mr. Pearson, who was a big cattle rancher, didn’t want a sheepman outdoing a cattleman and he pledged five hundred. Mr. Daniels, the owner of the Fairplay Saloon, and Mr. Harper of the Whitehorse Saloon each gave five hundred dollars. And there were quite a few people who pledged from ten to one hundred dollars, and just about every able-bodied man in town volunteered to work for nothing to help build the school. Mayor Whitlock then made a motion that one Mormon, one Catholic, and one Protestant be elected as a board of directors to run the Academy. Bishop Aden, Papa,

and Mayor Whitlock were elected. Mayor Whitlock became the chairman of the board of directors, Bishop Aden the treasurer, and Papa the secretary. Papa said Bishop Aden was leaving for Salt Lake City the next day to order the furniture, books, and school supplies, and also to arrange to hire a teacher,

“And.” Papa said as he finished, “Mr. Jamison is working on blueprints for the building, and construction will start tomorrow.” Then he looked across the table at Tom- “So, T.D., you won’t be going to the Catholic Academy in Salt Lake City after all.”

Tom had a funny expression on his face. I couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or happy about it-

“Can they have the Academy ready by the time school starts?” he asked.

“Definitely,” Papa said. “School won’t start this year until Monday, September the fifth.”

Mamma was smiling. “It is going to be wonderful hav-ing Tom D. home,” she said to Papa.

Papa nodded. “After all the trouble he got into at the Jesuit Academy in Salt Lake City last year,” he said, “it is going to be a relief having him where we can keep an eye on him.”

All I can say is that for my money Papa had better keep a sharp eye on The Great Brain.

I’d seen many bees, as they were called in those days-We had barn-raising bees and house-raising bees where neighbors and friends pitched in to help a newly married couple build a house or barn. And we had corn-husking bees where friends and neighbors helped harvest corn, and any

fellow who found a red ear of corn got to kiss the girl of his choice. We had a church-raising bee when the Community Church was built. But I’d never seen one like the Academy-raising bee.

It began on Wednesday morning. All the kids in town were on hand to watch after doing their morning chores. Mr. Jamison, the town’s best carpenter and contractor, was boss-ing the job. Men were digging the trench for the foundation when we arrived. Women were spreading two picnic tables with baked beans, baked ham, fried chicken, bread and butter sandwiches, pies, cakes, and other good things to eat-Some Mormon women arrived with lemonade, cider, and cold milk in crocks. Mr. Daniels, the proprietor of the Fairplay Saloon, delivered a keg of beer, and so did Mr. Harper of the Whitehorse Saloon.

By noon the trench for the foundation of the building had been dug and some of the wooden forms for the concrete completed. The men working stopped to eat .and drink, but only their wives and children could remain and eat after the men did. We had to go home for lunch. Just before we left, wagonloads of gravel and cement began to arrive.

Papa told us during lunch that he would be working on the Academy during the afternoon. “Mr. Jamison has decided to use two crews,” he said, “one in the morning and a different one in the afternoon because so many men volunteered to help.”

The Advocate office wasn’t the only place of business that had a sign reading, CLOSED AT NOONWORKING ON THE ACADEMY, that afternoon. I saw the same sign on several places of business.

Mr. Jamison was ready to start pouring concrete for the

foundation when we arrived. Papa and Danny’s father, Mr. Forester, were given long sticks that Mr. Jamison called puddlers.

Frankie pointed at Papa. “Why is Papa pushing the stick up and down in the concrete?” he asked.

“To get the air out of the concrete so there won’t be any air bubbles,” Tom said, “and to help settle the concrete.”

There was food for the afternoon crew too, and two more kegs of beer arrived from the saloons. That was one afternoon when not one kid in town went swimming. We watched until the last wheelbarrow of concrete had been poured for the foundation.

Papa told us during supper that it would take all night and all the next day and night for the concrete to cure.

Frankie looked at him. “Is the concrete sick?” he asked-

“No,” Papa said, laughing. “To cure concrete means to wait for it to dry and harden.”

The next morning Mr. Jamison was using only men with saws. They cut two-by-fours into studs, joists, and rafters until noon. There was nothing more that could be done on the Academy until the next morning when the forms on the concrete foundation could be removed. We watched the men begin building the frame for the Academy the next morning but went swimming that afternoon.

Fellows like Parley, Sammy, and Seth were very happy for the opportunity to get a seventh and eighth gr-.de education. But it sure as heck made a few kids unhappy. Take a fellow like Danny Forester.

“I’m going to be a barber like my father,” he told us at the swimming hole that afternoon. “My folks think I ought to get an education now that there’s an academy right here in Adenville. But who needs more than a sixth grade

education to learn how to give shaves and haircuts?”

Even Tom with his great brain couldn’t answer that one.

I know it sounds silly, but I felt both happy and sad about the Academy. I was sad knowing Tom would blackmail and swindle me every chance he got instead of being at the Academy in Salt Lake City. I was unhappy knowing he had not really reformed and that sooner or later he would be caught swindling somebody who would tell. That would not only break Papa’s and Mamma’s hearts but also revoke his suspended sentence, and none of the fellows would have anything to do with him. I was happy knowing fellows like Parley, Seth, and Sammy would have a chance to make something of themselves. And I guess I was happy knowing Tom would remain at home, because with all his faults I loved him.

I asked Tom how he felt about the Academy as we walked home from the swimming hole with-Frankie.

“I’m going to miss the good friends I made at the Jesuit Academy,” he said. “But when I think of how strict the Jesuit priests were, I thank my lucky stars I’m not going back.”

“Well,” I said, “you had better keep your nose clean around here or Papa will send you back.”

Tom seemed unconcerned. “With my great brain,” he said, “I’ll always be one step ahead of Papa and everybody else around here.”

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