My mother and I spent Christmas and New Year’s of 1957 in Chicago. By this time, being ten years old and having experienced portions of the northern winter on several occasions, I was prepared for the worst. On our way to Chicago on the long drive from Florida, I excitedly anticipated playing in deep snow and skating on icy ponds. It turned out to be a mild winter, however, very unusual for Chicago in that by Christmas Day there had been no snow.
“The first snowfall is always around Thanksgiving,” said Pops, my grandfather. “This year, you didn’t need a coat. It’s been the longest Indian summer ever.”
I didn’t mind being able to play outside with the kids who lived on Pops’s street, but I couldn’t hide my disappointment in not seeing snow, something we certainly did not get in Key West. The neighborhood boys and girls were friendly enough, though I felt like an outsider, even though I’d known some of them from previous visits for as many as three years.
By New Year’s Eve it still had not snowed and my mother and I were due to leave on the second of January. I complained to her about this and she said, “Baby, sometimes you just can’t win.”
I was invited on New Year’s Day to the birthday party of a boy I didn’t know very well, Jimmy Kelly, a policeman’s son who lived in an apartment in a three-flat at the end of the block. Johnny and Billy Duffy, who lived next door to Pops, persuaded me to come with them. Johnny was my age, Billy one year younger; they were good pals of Kelly’s and assured me Kelly and his parents wouldn’t mind if I came along. Just to make sure, the Duffy brothers’ mother called Jimmy Kelly’s mother and she said they’d be happy to have me.
Since the invitation had come at practically the last minute and all of the toy stores were closed because of the holiday, I didn’t have a proper present to bring for Jimmy Kelly. My mother put some candy in a bag, wrapped Christmas paper around it, tied on a red ribbon and handed it to me.
“This will be okay,” she said. “Just be polite to his parents and thank them for inviting you.”
“They didn’t invite me,” I told her, “Johnny and Billy did. Mrs. Duffy called Kelly’s mother.”
“Thank them anyway. Have a good time.”
At Kelly’s house, kids of all ages were running around, screaming and yelling, playing tag, knocking over lamps and tables, driving the family’s two black cocker spaniels, Mick and Mack, crazy. The dogs were running with and being trampled by the marauding children. Officer Kelly, in uniform with his gunbelt on, sat in a chair by the front door drinking beer out of a brown bottle. He was a large man, overweight, almost bald. He didn’t seem to be at all disturbed by the chaos.
Mrs. Kelly took my gift and the Duffy brothers’ gift for Jimmy, said, “Thanks, boys, go on in,” and disappeared into the kitchen.
Johnny and Billy and I got going with the others and after a while Mrs. Kelly appeared with a birthday cake and ice cream. The cake had twelve candles on it, eleven for Jimmy’s age and one for good luck. Jimmy was a big fat kid and blew all of the candles out in one try with ease. We each ate a piece of chocolate cake with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, then Jimmy opened his gifts. He immediately swallowed most of the candy my mother had put into the bag.
Mrs. Kelly presided over the playing of several games, following each of which she presented the winner with a prize. I won most of these games, and with each successive victory I became increasingly embarrassed. Since I was essentially a stranger, not really a friend of the birthday boy’s, the other kids, including Johnny and Billy Duffy, grew somewhat hostile toward me. I felt badly about this, and after winning a third or fourth game decided that was enough—even if I could win another game, I would lose on purpose so as not to further antagonize anyone else.
The next contest, however, was to be the last, and the winner was to receive the grand prize, a brand new professional model football autographed by Bobby Layne, quarterback of the champion Detroit Lions. Officer Kelly, Mrs. Kelly told us, had been given this ball personally by Bobby Layne, whom he had met while providing security for him when the Lions came to Chicago to play the Bears.
The final event was not a game but a raffle. Each child picked a small, folded piece of paper out of Officer Kelly’s police hat. A number had been written on every piece of paper by Mrs. Kelly. Officer Kelly had already decided what the winning number would be and himself would announce it following the children’s choices.
I took a number and waited, seated on the floor with the other kids, not even bothering to see what number I had chosen. Officer Kelly stood up, holding the football in one huge hand, and looked at the kids, each of whom, except for me, waited eagerly to hear the magic number which they were desperately hoping would be the one they had plucked out of the policeman’s hat. Even Jimmy had taken a number.
“Sixteen,” said Officer Kelly.
Several of the kids groaned loudly, and they all looked at one another to see who had won the football. None of them had it. Then their heads turned in my direction. There were fifteen other children at the party and all thirty of their eyes burned into mine. Officer and Mrs. Kelly joined them. I imagined Mick and Mack, the cocker spaniels, staring at me, too, their tongues hanging out, waiting to bite me should I admit to holding the precious number sixteen.
I unfolded my piece of paper and there it was: 16. I looked up directly into the empty pale green and yellow eyes of Officer Kelly. I handed him the little piece of paper and he scrutinized it, as if inspecting it for forgery. The kids looked at him, hoping against hope that there had been a mistake, that somehow nobody, especially me, had chosen the winning number.
Officer Kelly raised his eyes from the piece of paper and stared again at me.
“Your father is a Jew, isn’t he?” Officer Kelly said.
I didn’t answer. Officer Kelly turned to his wife and asked, “Didn’t you tell me his old man is a Jew?”
“His mother’s a Catholic,” said Mrs. Kelly. “Her people are from County Kerry.”
“I don’t want the football,” I said, and stood up. “Jimmy should have it, it’s his birthday.”
Jimmy got up and grabbed the ball out of his father’s hand.
“Let’s go play!” he shouted, and ran out the door.
The kids all ran out after him.
I looked at Mrs. Kelly. “Thanks,” I said, and started to walk out of the apartment.
“You’re forgetting your prizes,” said Mrs. Kelly, “the toys you won.”
“It’s okay,” I said.
“Happy New Year!” Mrs. Kelly shouted after me.
When I got home my mother asked if it had been a good party.
“I guess,” I said.
She could tell there was something wrong but she didn’t push me. That was one good thing about my mother, she knew when to leave me alone. It was getting dark and she went to draw the drapes.
“Oh, baby,” she said, “come look out the window. It’s snowing.”