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A not-always-sentimental vacation to the ’50s, ’60s, ‘and
’70s. Bring your swimsuit.
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Downeyoshun
by Art Young
Genre: Recent Historical Family Fiction
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Sally Osterhoff is a
genius. When she grows up, she wants to be a mathematician, a teacher, and a
carpenter; and she plans to swim in the 1968 and 1972 Olympics.
Her mother has other ideas, and will emotionally and
physically abuse Sally to fit them. After all, she only wants what is best for
her child. But between her father trying his best, the family next door who
practically adopts her, and her Aunt & Uncle down in Ocean City where she
spends her summers, Sally just might have the support and love she needs to
make all of her dreams come true.
Set against the backdrop of the Civil Rights struggles, the
Vietnam War, and the early Feminist movement, the story explores the power of
found family, and how unconditional love can come from the least expected
places. Downeyoshun is a not-always-sentimental vacation to the ’50s, ’60s, and
’70s. Bring your swimsuit.
Praise about
the book:
“Arthur Young will introduce you to a special world, East
Baltimore, and its vacation spot, Ocean City, with his
warm Downeyoshun. Not that life is perfect – not all mothers are
kind, and the VietNam war casts a shadow. But you’ll feel as if you’ve met new
friends as you follow his characters through the challenges of growing up. In
his skillful telling, the fabric of a family and a neighborhood comes to life.
You may even find yourself becoming a Baltimore Hon!”
–Pamela Zerba, Contributor Atheists
in America, Writer, Creative York Contest Winner
“Be prepared to fall in love with one of the most
endearing literary characters of the century thus far. Ultimately, this is a
book about family, the one you’re stuck with and the one you make. By the end,
Sally will feel like part of yours. You will thoroughly enjoy your trip
Downeyoshun.”
-Robert Akridge, Writer
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Chapter 2 “Marie”
For the first day of school, Mother laid out the clothes I would wear: a yellow and white dress, black Mary Janes, white anklet socks with tiny flowers, and added what looked like a small briefcase in a gray and white plaid. “What’s that for?” I whispered.
“That”, Mother said, ” is for carrying your schoolbooks and your lunch. It has your name inside here.” She raised the flap. “Do not lose it or let it get it dirty.”
“Yes, Mother”, I whispered.
“Look at me”, she commanded. “You will speak to no one except your teacher. And all that she needs to know is your name. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“You will especially not speak to that child next door if she is there. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Mother.”
I really hoped Marie would be there.
After breakfast, Mother pulled me along down several blocks until we got to school. She stopped at the office to get directions to the classroom and marched me past a row of other kids and their mothers and through the door. Marie and her mother were at the front of the line. A smiling woman at a large desk said “We’re not quite ready -”
Mother ignored her. “I am Mrs. Osterhoff. This is Sally Osterhoff. You will see to it that she stays clean and neat and away from the other children, especially that child just outside the door.”
The teacher looked confused and annoyed. “Don’t they get along?”
Mother stared at the teacher. “I do not want them to ‘get along’ at all. Keep them apart. I will return at 3 o’clock.”
“Just a moment, Mrs. …?” The teacher did not look happy.
“Mrs. Osterhoff.”
“Mrs. Osterhoff. All the children in this class will learn together and play together – NO EXCEPTIONS.” She caught Mother in mid-word. “They will also learn common politeness, if they haven’t learned it at home.” Mother’s jaw was clenched. “One last thing, Mrs. Osterhoff: Kindergarten is half-day. You will be here at 11:45 to pick up your daughter.”
I recognized the look Mother was giving the teacher, but the teacher ignored it as if it wasn’t there, and walked past Mother, opened the door, and smiled. “And good morning to you, Mrs. Osterhoff.”
An alarm bell rang and made me jump. The other kids and their mothers came in, and Mother fought against the tide and left. The teacher walked over to Marie and her mother. “Hello, I’m Mrs. Harris, and you are?”
“Carmella Giametti. And this is Marie.” Marie smiled over to me and wiggled her fingers in a wave. I smiled back.
“Well, now, it looks like these two would like to sit together, don’t you think?” asked Mrs. Harris.
Miss Carmella laughed. “Yeah, that’s fine with me.” She patted Marie on the shoulder. “Go say hi to her.”
Marie rushed over, grabbed my hand, and shook it. “Hi Sal!”
“Hi Marie.”
“I got an uncle named Sal”, she told me.
“It’s really Sally. Mother didn’t let me finish.”
Mrs. Harris clapped her hands together and we all looked at her. “Now, everyone choose a desk to sit at, and then it will be time for all the Mommies to go home until lunchtime.” One boy started to cry and grabbed his mother. She turned pink and rolled her eyes.
After the mothers had left, I looked around me. I had never been with other kids before except Billy. Some were neatly dressed; others were a little rumpled. Two of them were very busy picking their noses. We were all quiet, and waiting to see what would happen next.
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Art Young is a Baltimore-born U.S. Navy / Vietnam / Agent
Orange veteran and cancer survivor. He was once a carny in a traveling gadget
show, and has worked as a fire-extinguishing-system installer and serviceman, a
brewery’s route delivery salesman, flexographic press operator, licensed
boiler-plant engineer, and a storyteller. He much prefers the last.
Website * Facebook * Instagram * Instagram * Amazon * Goodreads
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