In this, Mr.Lavallee's third novel on the subject of small town, mill town New England, he brings to life the harsh reality that things will never be as they once were--the hustle and bustle of ordinary people rushing past each other on their way to work in the factories or the mills, lunch pails in hand. Unfortunately, many of those huge buildings have been torn down. Others have been converted into over 5 condos, while still others just sit there empty, waiting for a miracle, the jobs shipped overseas. Firewatches are the only employees.

FireWatch

By Paul A. Lavallee

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2011 Paul A. Lavallee
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4670-3750-1

Chapter One

The Bocce Courts

Somebody broke into the bocce court building over at the Italian American War Veterans Post. It happened sometime after last night's highly competitive bocce league play, which ended at approximately 10PM.

Although nothing appeared to be missing, there really wasn't anything in the building worth stealing. The old TV set with its rabbit ears had been donated some time ago by someone who had bought a new one, and it worked quite well for several years until recent changes in television broadcasting, from analog to digital, had outdated the old set. Oddly enough, though, it somehow still commands an eye-catching position up there on the shelf, staring back at you with its gloomy black screen.

The kitchen chairs along the outer sides of the two courts are a mismatch of the 1950's era chrome and multi-colored vinyl seats and backrests. Not so surprisingly, then, with some fifty-plus years having passed since those memorable years, and already well into the next century, that the chrome is now totally pitted with rust, the vinyl cracked and faded, apparently both victims of an unnoticed passage of time, or perhaps an unwavering "not my problem" complacency.

The card tables in the common area are leveled with cardboard coasters taken from the bar in the Post's main building across the parking lot. Maybe not much to steal, but somebody broke in nonetheless.

This was not a matter for the police to solve. In fact this was not the first time that the bocce courts had been broken into. The police would only complicate things, just as they did the last time the courts were broken into almost two years ago now—with no arrests—and they hadn't so much as interrogated any of the likely suspects, either.

And so, decidedly without police intervention, the overall consensus of the mainly retired men who frequent the courts on a daily basis is what matters here more than anything else, except for one man's silent skepticism. Almost totally hidden amid the debris of the broken door and its shattered frame, Fred Graziani notices a small button wedged tightly within the splinters. The other men, too busy offering their varied opinions in trying to figure out who could have done this dastardly deed, don't think anything of it when Fred pretends that he is merely casually running his fingers over the splinters, when in fact he is actually recovering the button, which he slips into his pocket unnoticed.

This particular button obviously comes from the sleeve of a jacket, he decides, one of those common buttons molded of brown plastic that is made to look like leather. It will be interesting for Fred in his secret search for the culprit, and the culprit is very likely to be a member of this Post. All Fred has to do is wait it out for awhile, sort of keep an eye out for someone wearing a jacket with a missing button, both here in the bocce court building as well as over at the ITAM bar. Of course, his motive for identifying the person in question is nothing more than a challenge for him—a game he will play, although he has no desire to confront anyone. He simply wants to know who did it, for curiosity sake, and that will be that. He hasn't felt quite so challenged since he retired from his 37 year career as head of the science department over at Granite Park High School, except perhaps, for some of the many opponents he's faced in his weekly Karate classes.

A few of these elderly gentlemen rarely play bocce anymore, some perhaps physically unable to play. Others seem to have no interest whatsoever in playing, for whatever reason. What the bocce court building has become over the past several years is a clubhouse, a gathering place for the retired elderly. In an ironic twist of things the town had not so long ago built a beautiful four million dollar senior center across town, but many of the senior men as well as a few of the senior women still prefer to gather here at the ITAM bocce courts.

The courts are reserved on Monday mornings into the early afternoon for a ladies league. Several of the women players are as good if not better than their male counterparts. The mixed league of both men and women on Wednesday afternoons, as well as again on Thursday evenings proves that out. There is always activity and excitement at the bocce courts, where good fellowship and heated arguments are commonplace.

Chapter Two

The Post Quarters

The Post's bar and lounge is located in the basement of the main building. However, due to the building's location in a high water table area because of the nearby river, the basement is actually half in and half out of the ground. A function hall complete with kitchen and service bar occupies the first floor. It is selectively rented out to the public for a variety of occasions.

The Post also schedules its own dinner-dances as well as other post functions. As a matter of fact, plans are currently being discussed by members of the ladies auxiliary regarding having an annual Bocce Championship pasta dinner dance sometime in the fall of the year, once the season ends. Tickets for events like this sell out very quickly, mainly because the Italian sausages and the meatballs are second to none, handmade by a nearby Italian deli.

One flight up from the hall is the office, confined to a fairly small area due to constraints dictated by the building's roofline.

Membership in the Post is open to all veterans, regardless of nationality. This is a relatively recent change in eligibility. Previously, say 10 or so years ago, a veteran had to have at least one parent of Italian descent to be eligible to join. However, new state and federal laws governing discrimination came into effect and that ended the exclusive eligibility requirement. Non-veterans may join as social members and are afforded the same privileges as regular members, except that they cannot vote on Post business or run for office. A card-key is issued to all members, whether regular or social, electronically allowing everyone to gain access to the Post's bar and lounge area, as well as to the rest rooms for the bocce crowd.

The break-in had been discussed all morning long and well into the afternoon by the old timers over in the bocce courts. It would be difficult for a stranger to tell for sure if the afternoon old timers are the same ones who gather there in the morning. There are so many gray-haired elderly retirees dropping by everyday that they seem to blend into the environment, coming and going almost unnoticed.

Most of these folks are retirees from the now defunct local sweat shops, where piece-work working conditions determined your pay. If you went over your quota for the day, management would re-time your job. If you couldn't keep up the pace, they would tolerate you for one shift, or maybe two, before threatening you with "Or else!" And they meant it, despite the fact that many of these retirees are honorably discharged war vets.

Many of these elderly came from a time when there was plenty of production work around—the 1940's, 50's, 60's and well into the 1970's and '80's. For example, the local shoe shops, three right here in Granite Park, produced some 200 pair a day, 300 during WWII, of which 150 pair were combat boots for the military. The nearby rubber shop produced rubber-coated ponchos and rubber soles and heels for the military, wading boots for fisherman, as well as...