The Oak Street Bridge, Chicago: Summer of 1968…by Robert M. Katzman
Robert M. Katzman’s Amazing Story: www.differentslants.com/?p=355
© August 2, 2014
We were on a date late one starry night
On Rush Street near Lake Michigan
She was a pretty girl, sixteen
I was eighteen and at best, passable
***
We crossed the Oak Street Bridge to the beach
Stretching across wide Lake Shore Drive
Streams of headlights streaking each way
Beneath our feet as we moved toward the sand
Midnight, balmy and a good place to neck
***
Then we saw the big crowd of rowdy boys
I could see they were my age and older,
Smoking, drinking beer, coming our way
From the opposite side of the Oak Street Bridge
It was too late to turn back
Many possible ways it could go that night
All of them were bad
Then I saw their girls
And I knew we had a chance
***
Boys can be different in the company of girls
Less likely to do their worst
Girls have that power and they use it
Streetwise by then, I at least knew that
And braced myself for the pain
No matter what, there would be pain
***
A mob of them, and they were upon us
I shoved my girl behind me
Between the railing and my back
The little I could do and I did it
Then came the many blows
***
As each smirking boy passed us
I felt their swift punch
And each time I said
“Excuse me”
“Excuse me”
While they laughed at me
“Excuse me”
“Excuse me”
“Excuse me”
***
There were maybe twenty of them
Each taking a shot at me
Their girls looking straight ahead
But also pulling the boys away from us
“Excuse me”
“Excuse me”
“Excuse me”
I gasped
As their fists punched:
My shoulder
My ribs
My back
Yet, none of them touched my girl
***
And none of them hit my face
None of them hit my gut
I didn’t understand
It didn’t make sense
“Excuse me”
“Excuse me”
“Excuse me”
I kept reciting into the dark
Then I saw him watching us
***
Older, tougher, taller
He was watching all of it
As the parade of punks passed by us
And then I understood
He was the gang leader who decided
What was to be done to me
And who told them to leave my girl alone
***
The punches were hard
The pain grinding through me
“Excuse me”
“Excuse me”
But I saw no other way out
But to stand and take it
And I stood and took it
Because more than just me was at risk
***
When the last punk left us
His hard knuckles slamming my hammered ribs
And I wheezed out my final:
“Excuse me”
While my eyes locked onto the leader’s
***
Alone now, he approached us
His face inches from mine
A cruel face
A scarred face
His thin lips curved into a
Wide and curious smile
***
He breathed beer fumes into my face
And held his steady gaze into my eyes
He was in control
We both knew it
Then he said:
“Hey, my man, good thing you say
Excuse me each time
My boys smacked you
Could have been very bad for you”
***
Then he laughed
And he left us
Catching up to all of the rest of them
While I held my girl
And thought about his words
Especially when passing beneath
The Oak Street Bridge
Remembering those words for decades
***
My battered young body
Healed within a week
But what still burns is the
Capriciousness of his mercy
That she and I
we were his toys
And I don’t “Excuse” him
For that
***
There is no shame in accepting
The hand you are dealt
With so little to choose from
I chanced upon the right one
When words alone were my only defense
And both of us lived another day
Now, so very long ago
***
In the summer of 2014
Now she is 62
I am 64
Our granddaughter’s name is Sophia
Our grandson’s name is Benjamin
Maybe some day I will tell them
About that terrifying night
on the
Oak Street Bridge
In the summer of ’68
When they are old enough to understand
**************************************
The author can be hired to read his work by your group or organization. Don’t worry, it won’t corrupt him. Too late for that. Poetry and stories sound different when read by them who write them.
Contact? robertmkatzman@gmail.com or (262) 752-3333
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