The View From The Top Of The World
n a cold, stark, Winter morning, Joey Drum walked out of the Frankfort
Correctional Facilities, in Northeast Philadelphia. He watched as they closed
the main gate behind him, the large iron door slamming shut with a loud
bang. He lit a cigarette, and looked around at the world he hadn�t seen in seven
years. Now, at nineteen years of age, he was starting his life over, or was he
just starting his life? Everything he knew he learned in jail. Everything that
mattered was back inside. He studied the cold, snow covered brick buildings
that dotted the blue-collar neighborhood that surrounded the jail. He walked
towards the bus stop on the corner. But, before he got more then a few feet, a
white Cadillac turned the corner and pulled up next to him. Inside, a stocky
man in his early 50�s with thick, white hair stared at Joey for a minute through
the frost covered, half opened window and then said, � Sorry I�m late, we had
some trouble on a job.� Joey threw his one bag into the backseat of the car,
climbed into the front, and looked over at the man who picked him up. As the
car moved towards center Philadelphia, the thought ran through Joey�s mind
that the same man driving him now, was the same person who went with him
that first day seven years ago, when he started doing his time.
�What�s going on at the job, Dad, somebody get thrown off a roof or something?�
His father, Bill Drum, looked over at his one son. He could see he was now a grown man. He stood over six foot, and his body had become hardened by the weight lifting he had done in the joint. His hair was as red as his had once been. His eyes held a hardness that caused the older man to wonder if he was doing the right thing having him come live with him and his new wife, until the boy got settled.
Joey anticipated his new life with mixed emotions. He was very glad to be out of the joint and free. But freedom to someone who has been locked up most of their life, was as scary as going to jail for the first time. The two men sat quiet as the car maneuvered its way through the traffic. Over the seven years Joey spent in jail, his father had come to visit him when he could. The first few years Bill Drum was with the Merchant Marines, and not around. Sometimes, Joey would get a postcard from some exotic port where his father had docked, but most time he didn�t hear from him for months on end. Then, his father left the Merchant Marines and was hired as a union delegate for the roofer�s union in Philadelphia. Then once a month like clockwork, the old-man would arrive at the jail, cigarettes and magazines in hand. And for an hour they would talk about how Joey was doing in the joint, and how when he got out he had a job waiting for him with the roofers. They never spoke about the night the house burnt down. Neither cared to go there.
When they arrived at the rowhouse where Bill Drum lived, Joey stared up at the three story house as he climbed out of the car. He was excited as a little boy for a moment thinking of how he would have his own room. A room where there wouldn�t be a hundred other criminals talking and screaming in their sleep. Rosy, a pretty women in her forties, met them at the door. She eyed Joey over once, smiled with all the sincerity she could get through her fear, and then tried to help him with his bag. Joey tightened the grip on the small bag, and Rosy moved away from him towards the kitchen to make some breakfast. She had been married to Bill now for three years, and wasn�t keen on letting a convict come into their house. They moved towards the kitchen, the two men taking seats at the kitchen table. Joey looked around the room and saw nothing that reminded him of his past, of his short childhood. But then again, this was not the house he had spent his early years in. That house was gone, as was his mother. This house belonged to his father, and his new wife. Rosy set a cup of coffee in front of Joey. He could smell the fresh soap on her from her morning shower. He so badly wanted to know a woman, any woman. He knew nothing of sex except what he learned in jail. And that, lay deep in his mind like so many other things. She looked at him for a second, and then poured Bill and herself a cup. The three of them faced each other, sitting, sipping their coffee, three people thrown together like a puzzle where pieces were missing. Outside, new snow slapped against the kitchen window. Joey looked at the wall clock and saw it was only 10:00 o�clock in the morning. He could see his friends back in the joint moving through the place at that slow pace that everyone moved to. It was a speed that said there was no reason to rush, cause there was no place to get to. He drank his coffee and stares at his father. He was no longer a young man. The years of sailing ship and the drink took a toll on him. He no longer drank, but the sorrow in his life was still in his eyes, something that was permanent.
There was an uneasiness, that moved through the kitchen. They finished their breakfast with few words, and then Bill Drum showed his son the room he would be staying in. Rosy moved towards the sink cleaning the morning dishes, wondering to herself if this boy, who was now a man, had been cured of his problem while in jail. She hoped he would find his own place fast. He would be working with his father, that was good she thought. She was a Christian, she did believe in second chances. Upstairs, above her head, she could hear the two men talking. She wondered if they had ever spoken about that night, when Joey was a boy?
Later that day, Rosy and Bill went out to a dinner that the Roofer�s Union was holding at a local VFW Post. They asked Joey to come, but he was tired and said he would rather stay in his room and get ready for his first day of work tomorrow. At first, Bill did not want him to stay in the house alone, and was about to say something, but realized that the boy needed to be trusted. That he had done his time, and now he needed to be treated like everyone else.
Joey heard the car leave. He lay on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. He thought about going to work in the morning. He would be working with his father on a large roofing job that had to be finished by Spring, even though it was the dead of Winter. Everyone was being paid double time. He was starting at twenty bucks an hour as the kettle man. His job was keeping the kettle hot that was on the ground, and to load the buckets with hot tar, that would go to the roof. Not only was he lucky to get this job, but he would stay warm while the other men worked atop the roof. He knew his father was a powerful man in the union, he had paid his dues during the �union wars� a few years back: Jobs built by non-union labor burned to the ground mysteriously, and more then a few men were thrown off job sites and roofs if they didn�t toe the union line. His father was respected and feared. Joey lit a cigarette and watched the match burn in his hands. He was hypnotized by the startling colors that burned brightest as the flame died. As the flame faded to black he saw the face of his mother. He had not thought about her for a very long time. He tried to hold that image in his mind as the match burnt his fingers. They were related these two things, the image and the feeling.
By seven the next morning, father and son had arrived at the job site, a three story building that covered an entire city block. A crew of twenty-five men stood around a fire burning from a trashcan. They drank their coffees and tried not to think of the cold day�s work ahead. Joey and Bill walked towards the crew of men all leaning towards the warmth of the fire. Bill slapped a few men on the back and then introduced his son to everyone. Joey could see that he was accepted immediately. There would be no testing of him, or complaining about him getting the kettle job. He was Bill Drum�s kid who just got out of the joint. Bill put his arm around Joey�s shoulder and told him he would pick him up in the afternoon when the day�s work was finished. He then turned and climbed back into his white caddy and sped off towards another work site. Joey stood in this group of strangers. Many who probably had done time themselves. He was ready for his new life. He started to understand his freedom.
By ten that morning, Joey had learned how to lite the kettle, add the tar, and then bucket the hot, molten material, pulling the ropes that sent the tar to the roof. There was a magical, rhythmical feel to the job he was doing. He would stand close to the open kettle, feeling the heat of the flame warm his face to the point of tears. He could hear the men on the roof talking and singing along to a rock & roll song on the radio. One part of the morning, he completely forgot where he was, or where he had been yesterday. It was as if the only thing he needed to know was the manual labor he was responsible for. Office workers would stare out windows at him from time to time, and seem to see something in him that they wanted. �Freedom was sweet�� he said to himself, sending the hot tar to the roof. The twenty-five degree temperature of the day didn�t register. Before he knew it the day was over. His father pulled the caddy up to the site, and motioned for him to come to the car. He walked over and saw his father counting a roll of bills. He looked up from what he was doing and stared at his son.
�You better go in the shed and get yourself cleaned up. Get that tar off of you. Here, I brought you some new clothes.�
Joey took the new shirt and pants and went inside the shed. He stripped down to his underpants and washed his face and hands. He felt the tar slip from his hands and face. He closed his eyes, scrubbing his face hard, when a thought ran through his head. It was an image of flames consuming something, maybe him. The fire seemed to be screaming, almost as if a voice was calling for help inside of the fire. He kept his eyes closed and rubbed his face harder. He could feel the tar scratching his face. He looker harder and harder into the flames�what was there?
After work, Joey and his father drove to a small restaurant in center city. Joey could not get over what it felt like to be free. To see all of the moving people around him, going where ever they wanted. They stopped in a small, Italian place that was owned by an ex-roofer, who had made some money and invested it wisely. Joey ordered a steak, while his father had fish. They ate silently for a while, just enjoying the food.
�So how was your first day of work, Son?�
�Joey put his fork down, and looked at his father. He couldn�t remember his father calling him �Son� like that before. Even as a child, his father was either drunk, or busy shipping out, and son was never on his father�s lips.
�It was good. It really was. I didn�t even notice the cold, and the guys are okay.�
His father smiled at him, and took a bite of his food.
�Tomorrow I�m going to start you on a cleaner job. You�ll drive around with me and help me make sure the workers have shown up, and are doing the job. You�ll like it, most days nothing happens.�
Joey was wise enough to know that he was going along with his father as muscle. Not that anybody would mess or bother with his father�but it was just one more reason why not to. Joey was sure there would be money to be picked up, and explaining the union law to non-workers they might come across. Joey was almost going to miss the warm fire of the kettle. He could still feel the burn on his face from where he rubbed the tar off. What was that image he saw when he closed his eyes? He ordered another beer and stared at his father. Freedom was sweet Joey thought to himself, but he wondered what his friends were doing in the joint right about now?
The next morning, and for weeks after that, Joey and his dad drove from site to site to pay the men on paydays, make sure the jobs were running properly, and slowly, get to know one another. Joey had found a small apartment near his dad�s house, and was going to move in soon. One Friday afternoon, they decided to stop at the large site where Joey had started as the kettle man. The job was almost finished, and the men were happy and proud of their work. The weather was unusually mild for late January. The temperature was up in the mid 60�s, and people were walking around the city taking advantage of the warm trend. They pulled the car up to the site, and could see a large group of men standing around, some holding pipes and clubs. Joey and his dad climbed out of the car approaching the strangers. Bill Drum touched the inside of his coat pocket as if he were checking for something.
�What�s the problem here�, Bill said, walking into the middle of the group. He could see some of his men, and then strangers eyeing up each other. A tall, mean looking Mexican walked towards Bill.
�We are a group of local men who are out of work. We think your union should hire us. You are making money in our neighborhood, but giving nothing back.�
Bill looked at the man for a few moments. He knew of this group. They went around sites trying to strong-arm their way into jobs. Most of them just wanted to be paid to do nothing.
�You want a job with our union, show up at the union hall six in the morning. Sometimes we need extra men. That�s how you get into our union.�
The man stared back at Bill Drum.
�That�s not good enough,� the Mexican said, moving a step closer to Bill.
Joey Drum felt heat move through him. Behind his eyes a small room surrounded him. And, in his hands fire moved from his fingers in all directions. There was very little movement from Joey�s shoulder, just a straight jab, the power coming from his legs. The punch hit the Mexican on his left temple. For a moment the tall man seemed to be staring out towards the sky, looking for something, then he fell at the feet of Bill Drum. Joey moved next to his father and stared at the other six men who came with the Mexican. They slowly moved around the man on the ground, then carried him away towards a car. Bill Drum put his hand on his son�s shoulder and squeezed it. Words were not necessary.
That evening, Bill, his wife Rosy, and Joey sat at the dinner table. Nothing was said about the incident that day. Bill tried to keep his business at work separate from his marriage. Joey picked at his food and felt out of sorts. He kept thinking back on hitting that man earlier that day. It wasn�t like he had never fought before. He learned to take care of himself in jail. He was the baddest guy on his cellblock, even though he was younger then a lot of the guys. Two fights he had in the joint gave him a name in the place, and no-one ever bothered him after that. But today, his emotions were all over the place. He felt Rosy staring at him.
�Joey, what�s the matter, you don�t like the dinner, go ahead eat something will you?�
Joey looked at this woman and felt anger move through him.
�Don�t fuck�n tell me what to do, you�re not my mother.�
The silence at the table moved around the room like a cold wind that came into the room.
�Joey, don�t talk that way to my wife, you�re not in the joint anymore, apologize to her.�
Joey studied his father. He saw a man who really had never been there for him�but was now trying to make it up to him.
�She not my mother, she can�t tell me what to do. My mother is dead, Dad. You know that because you were leaving us, going out to sea, the day it happened.�
Rosy picked up a few plates from the table and started to clear them.
� Remember, Dad? Remember what happened that day? I don�t, do you know that? I can never remember what happened that day.�
Bill stared back at his son. We wasn�t scared of many men, but he had to admit, he was feeling fear looking at his son.
�It was an accident what happened that day. The courts were wrong. You didn�t mean to do anything wrong.�
Joey stood up from the table and walked over to Rosy who was washing one plate over and over. Joey moved close to her. He could almost feel the fear coming out of her.
�Did he tell you that I set the house on fire when I was a kid?�
Rosy stared back at him. She wanted to hold him and tell him things were alright�but she couldn�t move towards him.
�Did he tell you that I was trying to get back at him because he would hit me when he was drunk, and then go out to sea and forget I even existed?�
Bill moved towards his son. He knew that one day this would happen and the two of them would need to come to terms about what happened that night.
�Joey, it�s over. Now�s the time to move on and do something with your life. I�m sorry if I hurt you as a child.�
Bill heard the words come out of his mouth. It was as if someone else was saying them. But, he was saying them. It just took too long to become man enough to say it.
�Sorry, you�re sorry? Tell Mom that.�
Joey moved past his father, shoving him against a wall. He ran out the front door of the house and kept running towards something. He ran through the city streets, and felt like he could run off the face of the earth. It wasn�t until he turned a corner that he saw the first roofing job he had worked on. The site where he learned to light the kettle. The site where he had hit the man today. He stopped running and walked around the building. The job was finished, but the kettle and a few tools were still there, stored next to the shed. He placed an ax on his shoulder and then climbed the fire escape to the new roof. He stared out over the city, and felt tears rolling down his face. He stopped in the center of the roof and started ripping a hole into the new structure. He set the ax on the ground, pulled the jacket off that he was wearing and stuffed the jacket into the hole. He then sank to his knees and pulled his lighter from his pant�s pocket. He lit the lighter and studied the flame. It glowed in the night air like the fire he felt inside him. Like the fire he sees in his dreams, like the fire in his mother�s tears. He lit the jacket and saw smoke starting to move from the hole. He did not hear his father�s footsteps behind him. It was only when he heard his father say, � That won�t bring her back,� that he turned.
�Nothing will bring her back, Dad! Nothing!�
Bill Drum moved towards his son and the small fire that was getting larger by the second.
�If we don�t put that out now, we won�t be able to put it out.�
Joey moved towards his father.
�Why didn�t you care? Why didn�t you stay with us? If you had stayed with us that day, instead of running away, things would have been fine.�
Bill moved closer to his son, seeing the fire on the roof spreading.
�Because I was a coward, Son. Don�t you do the same now. Let�s put that fire out and move on from that day.�
Joey turned and started stepping on the fire. His father joined him. To someone from afar, it might have looked like two men dancing in flames. Some ancient ritual that only they understood.
After the fire was out they moved to the edge of the roof and sat. They stared out over the city not saying anything for a few moments. Both knew what that fire could have meant.
�Do you think she forgives me, Dad?� Joey asked, feeling the Spring-like air move around him.
�I know she does, because she loved you.�
�Dad, when you left that day to get your ship, where did you go?�
�To the top of Greenland, we were running supplies to some government outpost.�
�How far north was it, Dad?�
�It was the top of the world almost, Son.� On clear nights you could see the curve of the earth in every direction.�
�Like tonight, Dad? Is this the view from the top of the world?�
Bill Drum reached his hand over and gently touched his son�s hand.
�It is tonight, Son. It is tonight.�
