Mr. Ashby Calls

When I opened the front door, our telephone was ringing. It was only Monday, so I knew it wasn’t going to be Dad. Mom was in the kitchen this time of day, so I figured she would answer it. She did, and then called out, “Mable, don’t head upstairs just yet; you have a phone call.”

I did not get many telephone calls. I was difficult for me to hear on the telephone. Men’s voices, since they were lower pitched, were easiest for me to hear, so that’s why I could hear Dad so well last Sunday. I headed over to the kitchen, having no idea who might be calling me.

“Hello?” That seemed like a safe opening since I didn’t know who was on the other end.

It was a man’s voice. “Miss Mable Hall?”

“Yes?”

“Miss Hall, my name is Ted Ashby. I write for the sports department of the Des Moines Tribune. I spoke with you on Saturday, remember?”

Mother was staring at me strangely and wanted to know who it was.

“Yes, Mr. Ashby, I know who you are. I read the sports page every day.” Now, Mother’s mouth fell open. I had forgotten to tell her that he talked to me after the meet on Saturday.

“I’m not surprised,” he continued, “and I am tracking you down like I said I would, so you can sit down for an interview with me. Are you going to attend the University of Iowa next fall?”

Golly, he was trying to “track me down” for an interview!

I told him, “Yes, sir. I am trying to get a scholarship there.”

“Well,” Mr. Ashby continued, “You really put on a show for us over there. Those two state records were amazing.”

“So, is that what you want to interview me about?” I asked.

“That’s part of it,” he replied. “The other part is that I have been told you are actually the sports editor of your North High student newspaper. Is that true?”

“Yes, sir. It’s true. I ab-so-lute-ly love sports!”

Saying that made Mother give me an unhappy glare. I mouthed “Sorry!” to her.

“When would you be available for an interview?”

“Any time, after school, of course,” I said excitedly. This was the cat’s pajamas!

“Would it be okay if I came over to your house tomorrow after school? Will your mother be home?”

“Yes, sir. Well, let me ask Mother really quick.”

“Mother,” I whispered, “Mr. Ashby wants to come and interview me tomorrow after school. Is that okay?”

She nodded. She had such a big smile on her face. I wanted to call Dad the minute I hung up, but I knew we would wait until Sunday to have Dad call us. It was too much money to spend.

“My mother says that would be nice, Mr. Ashby. I should be home by three- thirty.”

“Then I will see you tomorrow. Thank you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ashby.”

I hung up the receiver and leaped toward the door to go tell Burnie.

“Where do you think you are going?” asked Mother.

“I need to go tell Burnie! Mother, Ted Ashby is an important writer for the Des Moines Tribune and he is coming to interview me tomorrow. I have to tell Burnie right now!”

“Would you please come right back right away? Will fifteen minutes be enough to talk with Burnie for now? I really want you to spend some time with Grandma, and I want your homework done before dinner.”

“When am I going to have time to really talk to Burnie about it and about what happened at school today?” I asked.

“Well, if you have your homework done before dinner, you can go over there after dinner. Grandma and I will do the dishes. What happened at school today that is so important?”

I guess she had forgotten that I was going to talk to Coach Johnson about the boys’ swim team today, so I gave her a brief summary of it.

“I went to talk to Coach Johnson today and asked him if I could try out for the boys’ team. He said he would check with the principal and with the head of some student athletic group in the state. I went back at lunch and he said it was not against any rules, but that he wanted to talk to some more people about it.”

“What other people?” Mother demanded.

“Other coaches in the city, other coaches at school, and he wants to ask the boys on the swim team what they think. I think asking everybody in the whole world is just him stalling me and not wanting to tell me ‘No’. I’m a little bit mad about it,” I confessed.

“So, when is he going to tell you his decision?” Mother sounded a little bit mad, too.

“I told him I would come back and talk to him next Monday. He said that would be good. I just have the feeling that he’s only putting off giving me a final answer. What he said today was a ‘no’, but he said he still wanted to talk to those other people. I can wait. If he makes his final answer ‘no’, then I will just go out for basketball. I will only be a week late. May I go over a tell Burnie? I’ll be right back,” I promised.

Mom sighed, “You go ahead, Mable. See what Burnie has to say and then get back here and do your homework. Grandma is busy with your graduation quilt right now, anyway.”

Out the front door I sailed, making sure it didn’t slam. I waved at Grandma sitting in the parlor as I raced past, but I don’t think she even looked up from the quilt pieces she had in her lap. Grandma didn’t use a sewing machine to make her quilts; she made every single stitch in them by hand.

I saw Burnie walk around the corner of his house and go into the backyard when I jumped off our porch. I hollered, “Hey, Burnie, wait up!”

I don’t think he heard me or saw me, because he didn’t answer or reappear around the corner. I walked back there to see what he was doing. When I got around the back corner, I saw him beating rugs on the clothesline. There wasn’t much dirt flying around, probably because his mother was such a neat housekeeper.

Both his mother and my mother were second generation Germans, and those women really knew how to keep a house clean. My mother told me that young girls back in Germany actually had to take classes in school about how to clean a house and how to take care of children. Grandma taught Mother how to clean, and Mother always tried to teach me. I had managed to avoid much of the housecleaning because of all the after-school sports and other activities I participated in.

“Hey, Burnie! Can I talk to you while you do that? I talked with Coach Johnson again at lunch today.”

He stopped beating the rugs right away. He spun around and asked, “Really? What did he decide? Are you going to try out?”

“He said I have to wait. He tried to say no, but then when he talked to the principal and some state high school sports guy, they said it wasn’t against any rule. So now, he wants to talk to other coaches and ask the boys on the team what they think. What I think is that he doesn’t want me to, but he’s just stalling and putting off telling me “no” for a final answer.”

Burnie knew I was unhappy. “I’m sorry, kiddo. It’s a shame. All you want to do is keep swimming and competing. It would really help you out. I wonder if he would let you practice with them, but not compete in meets? That way, you could keep swimming and getting better times.”

“That wouldn’t be such a bad idea, Burnie, if I wasn’t able to actually beat all the boys, but I can. It sounds like being satisfied with getting second place, and that never satisfies me. If I can’t actually be on the team and compete for them in meets, I’ll just go out for basketball. I’m the tallest girl in school, so the basketball coach will be happy to see me, even if I’m a week late.”

“What do you mean, a week late?”

“Girls basketball practice started after school today. Coach Johnson said to come and talk to him again next Monday. So, if he tells me no then, I will go to basketball practice that afternoon.”

“I see,” said Burnie. “I’d better get these rugs finished now.”

“Okay, I have to go do my homework anyway. Can we shoot baskets after dinner?”

“Sure! There’s always time for that. Sorry he’s making it tough, Mable. I think he’s full of baloney!”

“Thanks,” I said as I started to walk back over to my yard, “See you later.”

I picked up my books off the hallway table where I had left them when the telephone call from Ted Ashby came. I always did my homework at one end of the dining room table. When I sat at the far end, Mother could keep an eye on me from the kitchen, and Dad could keep an eye on me from the parlor, where he usually read the afternoon Tribune every night. Mother was in the kitchen, but Dad was not in the parlor. Grandma was there quilting, but not in Dad’s chair. It was empty, and she was sitting on the davenport by the big front window. The light was probably better there for quilting, and when the sun went down, there was a big floor lamp next to the davenport she could turn on.

It had been a crazy day at school, but it was nice to be home and feeling mostly happy as I settled in to do my homework. Tomorrow would be a better day, and then I would get to meet Mr. Ashby