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Taking
Rocky Marciano Down I unfolded the ten
dollar bill with Rocky Marciano’s signature on it. I was rummaging through my
dad’s desk drawer for film for my camera. It was my birthday and because Dad
got laid off, he didn’t have money to take us out to eat or to have a party.
When he asked what I wanted, I said I wanted to go fishing. So Dad agreed to
take us fishing at the lake, and I wanted to take pictures. When I saw the
long jewelry box that looked like a wooden log, I remembered Dad kept the ten
dollar bill that Rocky signed inside it. I remembered Dad
telling me and my brother, Ray, about the time he met Rocky Marciano. He and
his friend Tommy had gone to a boxing match, and Rocky was sitting right in
front of them. My dad took out a ten dollar bill, the only paper he had, and
asked Rocky for an autograph. He said that Rocky was nice. “He was quiet,” Dad
said. “Like you,” I said. My dad had looked out
in front of him. “Yeah,” he said. “Like me.” On Saturdays, Dad got
up early and mowed the lawn. He came in, poured himself a glass of iced tea,
and popped his Rocky documentary into the VCR. Whenever my dad had spare
time, he watched that video. I never watched the
video through to the end. I only saw parts of it. I saw Rocky knocked down by
Jersey Joe Walcott in the fight that made him heavyweight champion. My father wanted to
be a boxer when he was young. He wanted to be like Rocky. In a way, he was.
He was strong and could stay on his feet just like the Brockton Blockbuster. Rocky
had been knocked down only twice in a fight and my father, never. They both
had muscular arms and legs, hard as steel. When I was little, I’d ask Dad to
make a muscle. He’d lift up the sleeve of his shirt and squeeze his upper arm
muscles. I’d feel them, and they would be as hard as a rock. Then he’d turn
his fist around so I could feel his forearm; it was even harder. I imagined
my father’s arms could pound a man’s face so that it looked like a squashed
watermelon. Two Christmases ago,
I bought Dad a boxing calendar. On May, it had a picture of Rocky. When June
came, I ripped off the picture of Rocky and hung it on a nail in the wall
above my desk. One night when I was doing my homework, Dad came in to say
good night. He looked at the picture and laughed. “You have Rocky
Marciano on your wall?” he asked. “Yeah, I like him,” I
said. Dad had nodded and
left. Putting the ten
dollar bill back in the drawer, I took the film and loaded my camera. I walked outside and
found my dad putting the rod in the trunk. Ray was holding a jar of worms. He
unscrewed the lid, reached in, and picked one up. “Want a snack, Tee?”
he asked, holding the worm in front of my face. “No, that’s gross,
you jerk,” I said, climbing into the back seat. “Why not? Worms are
delicious.” He held a worm up to the side of his mouth, sliding it down and
pretending to eat it. “Great trick. Like I
don’t know it’s on the side of your mouth, idiot,” I said. “Will yous two stop
it?” my dad said, getting in the car. “Why? Tee wants to
eat a worm,” Ray said. “Put the lid back on
it,” my dad said, and Ray screwed it back on. Dad never had to say
anything twice. Ray and I knew that if Dad said something, he meant it.
Whenever we fought, Dad raised his voice as if he were really mad. Then, he’d
put his hand up as if he were going to slap us, but he never did. He did that
only to scare us and make us shut up. Dad used to get home
from work about seven o’clock because he had to commute from the city. Mom
would keep his dinner warm. Ray and I would sit with him at the table. If Dad
ate spaghetti with broccoli sauce or open-faced roast beef sandwiches, we’d
take bread and dip it in the gravy. Ray called it “dinking,” and Dad would
laugh. Sometimes, we’d even eat part of his dinner. He never said anything,
and he always let us do it. Ray and I would always fight about something —
who got to sit next to Daddy, who got a certain toy, whose turn it was to
play Atari, etc. Dad would pretend-yell, and we would immediately obey. So we stopped
fighting in the car until we got to the lake and Ray wanted the blue fishing
rod. “You had it first
last time,” he said. “It’s mine,” I said.
It was mine. I got it for Christmas. I couldn’t help it if his broke; it
wasn’t my problem. He turned to my dad.
“She had it first last time. It’s my turn.” My dad nodded at me.
“Give him the rod, Tee. You had it first last time.” It was true. I did,
but it was my birthday and my rod. “But it’s my
birthday,” I said. “Yeah, but you’re
older. Let him have it,” Dad said. “Fine,” I said,
handing it to Ray and rolling my eyes. “He gets everything.” “That’s not true,”
Dad said. I turned to him. “Yes
it is. He got a party on his birthday.” My dad’s jaw
tightened. “Yeah, well, I was working around his birthday. C’mon, Tee, don’t
be that way. We’re gonna have fun. You want the net? See if you can catch a
turtle?” I really didn’t want
to because I wanted my rod, so I half-smirked and shrugged my shoulder. Dad handed me the net
and a bucket. “Let’s go to the dock,” he said. “Maybe it’ll rain. It’s easier
to catch turtles in the rain.” “But it’s sunny,” I
said, walking with Dad to the dock. Ray raced ahead of us. “You never know.
Maybe we’ll get a sunshower,” Dad said, smiling. He twirled my ponytail and
put an arm around my shoulder. “Besides, he’ll be done in a few minutes, and
then you can use the rod.” When we reached the
dock, Ray unscrewed the jar and took out a fat, slick worm. Holding the
fishing rod with his left hand, he pierced the worm’s body onto the hook with
his right. He cast his line and stood at the edge of the dock. Dad squatted next to
Ray. He turned to look at me. “You gonna sit here?” “Nah,” I said. “I
wanna look for turtles.” I didn’t really, but
I wanted to go away from them. Dad nodded. As I walked away, I
heard Ray say, “When are they gonna bite?” * * * I looked over the
side of the dock at the shallow water. My dad answered,
“Give them a minute. They will. You have to be really quiet, so they don’t know
you’re here.” A few bugs skimmed
the surface, leaving a trail of water that disappeared in seconds behind
them. Peering into the water, I saw sand and seaweed-looking grass. A silver
fish swam up, so I put the net in and tried to scoop him up. He was too fast
for me. * * * I left the dock to go
look for turtles. Walking around, I watched for any little heads popping up
through the water. I saw none. I walked slowly, step by step, as quietly as I
could so I did not scare the turtles away. As the land around
the lake rose, I stepped up higher. Bubbles touched the surface of the water,
so I knew there were plenty of fish in the lake. Turning a steep
corner, I noticed a black plastic bag sitting stationary in the water. I
didn’t think anything of it until I walked closer to find something yellowish
hidden in a crease. As I got nearer, I saw the round and tiny black head,
speckled yellow. Carefully, I steadied
myself at the very edge of the lake. I thought of Rocky Marciano, controlling
every muscle, being ever so still. Turning the net around, I used the handle
to pull the bag toward me. As soon as the handle touched the bag, the
turtle’s head moved. Before he started to move, I turned the net around and
plopped it on top of him. There was no escape. He was caught between the net
and the bag — caught between the ropes — so I pulled to bring the bag closer.
Then I scooped the turtle up into the net. I was so excited that
I had caught the turtle, so I ran back to show Dad and Ray. When I could see
them, I yelled, “Hey!” Dad turned around to
look at me. I yelled, “I caught a
turtle!” As I ran, I looked
from the turtle to my dad’s face. I didn’t want the turtle to fall out of the
net, and I wanted to get Dad’s attention. As I reached the dock, I saw Dad
smiling. Ray turned around, too. “Be quiet — the
fish,” he said. On the dock, I
tripped on a sticking-up board and used my hands to cushion the fall,
dropping the net. I heard it fall on the wood and topple over into the lake. “The turtle!” I
yelled. My dad ran over to
me, at the moment, grabbing me just as my knee touched the ground. “You all right?” he
asked. “Look at your knee.” Steadying myself in
my dad’s arms, I looked down at my knee, scraped, cut, and bleeding. “Ahhh,” I said. I
started to cry. “Ow, ow, ow,” I said. Dad said, “Sh, sh,
it’s OK. It’s just a little cut. Let me see it.” Grabbing his
handkerchief from his back pocket, he gently pressed my knee. As he held it in
place, he said, “OK. See, it’s not that bad. Daddy fixed it.” He smiled, lifting
the handkerchief to check under it. “There,” he said, wiping the dirt off my
knee. “You OK now?” I nodded and stopped
crying. “Yeah, but the turtle’s gone.” “That’s all right.
You’ll catch another one,” Dad said. “Dad, it’s tugging. I
got something,” Ray called out. “Well, reel it in,”
Dad said, turning to him. Turning back to me, he said, “Let’s see what your
brother got.” Dad walked over to
Ray as he reeled in the line. On the end was a flapping, silver fish. “Get a picture, Tee,”
Ray said, holding the fish up. Walking over, I
picked up the camera. I took a picture of Ray and the fish. Then I said,
“Give Dad the rod.” Dad took it and
posed. I snapped the picture. I watched as my dad
bent down near the bucket to pull the fish off the hook. I saw the
indentation of muscle in his upper thigh. I thought of the strength in those
legs — how quickly each muscle reacted together as one — to save me from
falling. My dad had moved like a boxer, steadfast and sharp, just like Rocky
Marciano. * * * When we got home, it
was dark out. My mother was sitting on the loveseat watching TV. Dad put the
rod back in the shed and then came into the house, going to the bedroom or
bathroom. “How was the birthday
fishing trip?” my mother asked. “Fun,” I said. “I
caught a turtle, but when I went to show Daddy and Jerk . . .,” I
looked over at my brother who stuck his tongue out at me, “I fell and dropped
it.” “Oh, you didn’t hurt
yourself, did you?” Mom asked. “Only a little, but
Dad fixed it,” I said. Dad came in the living
room holding a little wrapped box and a card. The box had shiny white ribbon
on it that Mom must have curled with a scissor. “You didn’t think
we’d forget, did ya?” Dad asked, nodding his head. My mother put her
chin down and smiled. I got up to give Dad
a hug, but the doorbell rang. Mom looked surprised, got up, and ran into her
bedroom. “I’m not dressed,” she said as she left, pulling her robe closed. Dad shook his head.
“Who the hell is that?” He put my present on the coffee table and said, “All
right. Let me get it.” I watched as Dad
opened the door. It was Tommy, Dad’s friend. Tommy hadn’t gotten laid off. He
was carrying a box; it looked like a white pastry box. I watched Dad talking
to Tommy. Dad started shaking his head. Tommy tried to hand him the box, but
Dad wouldn’t take it. Dad looked over at me. When he saw me looking, he
opened the screen and grabbed the front door knob, pulling the door shut. As
I sat on the sofa, I could hear Dad yelling. When Dad came back in
the house, he held the box. We followed him into the kitchen. He yelled to
my mother, “You can come out now. He’s gone.” “What is it?” I
asked. Dad said, “Why don’t
you look?” He got a knife and
cut the tape on the sides of the box. Lifting the lid, I saw white cream. It
was a birthday cake that said, “Happy Birthday Theresa.” It had pink flowers
and almond slivers on the sides. It was the kind of cake I usually got for
my birthday. “Tommy picked up the
cake for us,” Dad said. “But I thought we
didn’t have any money,” I said. “Hey, do you think
we’d forget your birthday?” My mother came into
the kitchen. She saw the box and said, “Where did you get that?” My dad looked at her.
“From Tommy. He picked it up for us.” My mother raised her
eyebrows. “Oh.” Dad looked at Mom.
“Why don’t you get some candles? We’ll sing happy birthday.” My mother got some
candles out of the kitchen drawer where she kept matches and toothpicks and
string for the meat in the gravy. She took the cake out of the box and stuck
the candles in it. Dad got a match and lit them. After they sang to me, Mom
took a knife and cut four pieces. We sat at the table, eating the cake. Dad
smiled at me. “Is it good?” I nodded. He reached over to
rub my cheek. “You’re a doll,” he said. Looking at my
brother, he said, “Go get the present off the table.” Ray came back and
gave it to me. I opened it. It was a small white jewelry box with soft
padding. It had a little tassel. I got up and gave Dad a kiss. “I love it,
Daddy,” I said. * * * That night, I couldn’t
sleep, wondering why Dad had yelled at Tommy. I heard the TV, so I crept
silently out of my room. The lights in the living room weren’t on, but when I
walked in, I could see the light from the TV. Dad was watching his Rocky
Marciano video. When he heard me come in the room, he looked up. “Hey, honey, what’s a
matter?” I shook my head. “I
can’t sleep.” He patted the seat
next to him, so I slid onto the sofa beside my dad. I watched the part of the
video where Jersey Joe Walcott knocked Rocky down with a left hook. Rocky
landed on his knee. For a second, his strength wilted. His eyes looked out,
dazed. He was dazed for a second. Then he stood up. I guess he needed a
second to focus, to remember what was important and why he was there. He
ended the fight with a short right cross on Walcott’s jaw, knocking him out.
This punch is known as one of the most famous in history. This punch won
Rocky the title of Heavyweight Champion of the World. END |