(Author Note: This is the third story in a series. The characters and situations were introduced in the episode:
Camp Torowa Falls 1964 - 01: A Fair To Remember
Read that episode first!) Then read episode 2 before reading this one.
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"That was a great lunch, Mrs. Lane!" said Jerry.

"Thank you, Jerry," said Corey's Mom. "That's very kind of you to notice."

"Thanks Mom," said Corey. "I really liked it, too." Might as well get used to this drivel. It was a small price to pay for spending the summer with Jerry.

"You're quite welcome, dear," said Mom.

"Why don't you boys get your camping gear put away?" said Dad, handing Corey a set of keys. "Then Jerry can test drive my bike before you head off to show him around town."

"Yes, sir!" said the boys in unison. They giggled as they headed for the back door. Then Jerry stopped and looked back at Dad.

"Thanks again for letting me use your bike, Mr. Lane," said Jerry.

"It's my pleasure, Jerry," said Dad. "To tell you the truth I hardly use it anyway."

"Thanks," said Jerry, as they headed out the door.

The two boys walked towards the garage in silence. Jerry had made it clear that he wasn't ready to talk to Corey about what had happened at the end of the meeting that morning. Corey decided to let it lie. It was gonna be a long summer, and Jerry would talk it about when he was ready.

Corey didn't really get the stuff his Dad had told him about Jerry being an orphan and his family not having much money. Corey's family didn't have piles of money either and lived in a small duplex house with fake antique furniture, and they were happy enough. Corey started to wonder how poor Jerry's family could be if they could afford to send two boys to Camp Torowa Falls in the summer.

At least it was another beautiful summer day. Corey was wearing his "Blue Hawaii" t-shirt and khaki shorts. His parents bought him five new pairs of khaki shorts for camp each summer, so that's what he mostly had to wear, except for church clothes or jeans. The t-shirt or knit shirt changed daily depending on his mood or the situation, but khaki shorts formed the bottom half of his usual summer uniform. Corey rarely wore his old Camp Torowa Falls t-shirts around town. He tried to save those for situations where he might get dirty or wet, like fishing - or swimming in the creek or river.

Jerry was wearing blue jeans that were cutoff just above the knee. They looked a bit tight on Jerry, as did the threadbare lime green t-shirt he was wearing. Come to think of it, all of Jerry's clothes that Corey had seen so far looked too small for him or just plain worn out. Did Jerry forget to pack any of his decent clothes for the trip? Given Jerry's touchy mood, Corey was afraid to ask.

Corey unlocked the garage door, and they opened the twin side-swinging doors to reveal the double garage space. On the left side was his Dad's 1963 1/2 Ford Falcon Squire station wagon, parked facing inwards. On the right side was his father's workshop, along with storage for outdoor equipment, like the lawn mower, lawn and garden tools, and the family bicycles.

The station wagon easily fit into half the garage space, although it was impossible to open the rear tailgate without opening the garage doors. That's why they came in that way, so they could open the tailgate to retrieve Jerry's pup tent. They removed the shelter halves of the tent and placed them in the spot cleared for the purpose near Dad's workbench. Corey checked to make sure all their stuff was out of the car and then locked it again.

"Okay," said Corey, "let's get you checked out on Dad's bike. Then we can ditch the adults for a while."

"Sounds good to me," said Jerry. Corey was glad to see a real smile on his friend's face for the first time since before the meeting. They approached the three bikes parked near the side door of the garage. "Which one is your Dad's bike?"

"Well, let's see," said Corey. "Lucky for you it's not the pink one."

"Whew!" said Jerry. "That is lucky. The color would suit him, though."

"Oh, ho!" said Corey. "I'd love to hear you say that to him!"

"Hmmm," said Jerry, wincing in mock pain, "maybe not."

"No," said Corey decisively. "The pink one is Becky's, of course."

"Of course," said Jerry.

"And this incredibly sporty and stylish model here," said Corey, fondly caressing the side of a bright red bike, "is my 1961 Huffy F-85 3-speed."

"Nice," said Jerry, whistling appreciatively.

"Hands off her, she's mine!" said Corey possessively.

"No problem!" said Jerry, putting up his hand in a mollifying gesture. "Far be it from me to get between you and your bride-to-be."

It took a couple of seconds for this to register with Corey, who put his hands on his hips and said, "Very cute, you pervert."

"Hey, I'm not the one drooling over a stupid bike," said Jerry.

"Ah, well," said Corey. "Put on your lobster bib, my friend, and prepare to drool. For under this tarp is something special - just for you."

"Let me guess," said Jerry, as Corey prepared to dramatically unveil the third bike from under a black plastic tarp. "It's some 1930s piece of crap that your Dad drove back when he was thirteen."

"Not even in the same solar system," said Corey as he whisked the light plastic tarp off the bike, to reveal a gleaming example of American bicycle craftsmanship in red, black and chrome.

Jerry's mouth opened, but no sound came out. He was clearly stunned by what he saw. He obviously knew what he was seeing, but couldn't believe it. At least he wasn't actually drooling. Finally Jerry gasped out, "Is that really a...a...Black Phantom?"

"Yessirree!" said Corey. "Like it?"

Jerry apparently couldn't find any words, but finally managed to nod his head to confirm that he did, indeed, like it.

A few minutes later, as he prepared to solo on his new ride, Jerry was still saying, "A Schwinn Black Phantom, I can't believe it."

"Like I said," said Corey, "It's not a new one. Dad bought it back in the spring from somebody at church who didn't need it anymore - and probably didn't realize what they had. I think he got it for peanuts."

"It looks brand new," said Jerry.

"I know," said Corey. "It's barely been used. But Dad says it's supposed to be a 1956 model."

"Who cares?" said Jerry. "It's gorgeous!"

Corey couldn't argue the point. He happily watched as Jerry rode the Black Phantom up and down the alley, getting used to the steering and brakes. He rolled his own bike out and parked it next to the garage, which he then closed and locked.

There was no way Corey would ever tell his friend that his Dad had purchased that bike just two weeks ago - when it was technically still spring - specifically so that Jerry would have something to ride while he visited. Sure, Dad probably had paid pennies on the dollar, and would eventually be able to sell it for more than he paid. His father was a shrewd businessman, after all. But as he watched the look of ecstasy on his best friend's face, Corey decided that he had the best father in the whole wide world.

Fifteen minutes later the two friends were on their way up 9th Street, standing on the pedals as they worked their way up the steep hill. Corey was in low gear, but Jerry just had to gut it out. Corey knew the old, mint condition Black Phantom looked cool, but there was a lot to be said for the geared bikes that had started to come out in the last few years. In hilly terrain like Northampton, he'd take his Huffy 3-speed any day of the week. In fact his next bike would have at least five speeds.

The boys had returned the keys to Corey's Dad. Then, on the advice of his Mom, they had retrieved bathing suits, towels, and their pool passes from their room. These items were safely stowed on the back racks of their bikes. After Jerry had been shown their boundaries, they could spend a few hours at the municipal pool.

In fact the whole afternoon was theirs, their first unsupervised time together outside of Camp Torowa Falls. They simply had to be back home by 6 o'clock sharp for dinner. This was gonna be a great summer!

They reached the crest of the steep hill at Lincoln Avenue, where the grade became more shallow. They were able to complete the rest of the climb while seated. After two blocks Corey said, "The next stop sign is at Howertown Road, our eastern boundary. We have to stay on this side of the road unless we have special permission. Let's turn right here and head down to 2nd Street."

"Okey-doke," said Jerry.

As they drove down Howertown Road past very large homes, Jerry said, "I can't believe the size of these mansions. I mean, for such a small town."

"Yep," said Corey, "there are some loaded people around here." He slowed to a stop and pointed across the street. "That's old Mrs. Bauer's house over there."

Jerry whistled, "That's the biggest one of all!"

"Yep," said Corey, "and she has two acres of land."

"Yikes," said Jerry. "I'd hate to have to mow that." Corey burst into laughter. "What?" asked Jerry.

"Then I have some bad news for you," said Corey. "We do have to mow Mrs. Bauer's lawn on Tuesday, front and back."

"You're shittin' me," said Jerry.

"I shit you not," said Corey. "Or at least, I have to mow her lawn. I just thought you'd be interested in splitting the fee with me."

"How much?"

"A buck each," said Corey. "Plus with both of us mowing we'll be done in half the time."

"A buck each to mow one acre each?" said Jerry.

"Actually," said Corey, "it's more like a half acre each for a buck. The house is big, plus a lot of the back lot is fancy gardens, not grass."

"Do we have to trim the gardens, or anything?" said Jerry.

"We have to carefully edge the grass around the gardens, which really adds to the time it takes," said Corey. "But we don't have to mess with the gardens themselves. In fact we're not supposed to even touch the gardens."

"Sounds simple enough," said Jerry. "Sure, I'm game."

"Good," said Corey. They started off riding again.

"Hey wait a minute," said Jerry. "Who's gonna mow that old bag's lawn after we head off to camp next month?"

Corey chuckled. He said, "I wondered when you'd think of that. We'll be taking turns doing the job with one of my friends, Doug Kleckner. We take his turn when his family goes on vacation, and he takes our turns when we go off to camp."

"Sounds pretty complicated for just one lawn," said Jerry. Corey laughed at that.

Corey showed Jerry their southern boundary at 2nd Street. "Why is the boundary 2nd Street, instead of 1st Street?" said Jerry as they coasted down the 2nd Street hill back towards the river.

Corey chuckled, and said, "You know, it never occurred to me to ask. The only thing that's down there is the end of Northampton and the beginning of North Catty."

"North Catty?"

"North Catasauqua, the next town south along the river," said Corey.

"More indian names," said Jerry.

"Yep," said Corey. "Well, the Lenni Lenape Indians used to live around here before William Penn and his pals crashed the party. We'll turn right here at Main Street and head back uptown."

"We don't go all the way down to the river?" said Jerry.

"Not here," said Corey. "We'd have to leave the bikes behind, which isn't the best idea. If we head back up north we can ride on Canal Street, which follows right along the canal and river."

As they drove up the sidewalk along the 300 block of Main Street, they passed Hampton Lanes, the local bowling alley. Jerry mentioned that he bowled in a junior league back home. He seemed proud of his 148.4 average. Corey admitted the fact that he had never bowled in a league and that his average was "somewhere around 125". On a really good day... he was forced to admit to himself.

"What do you and your friends do for fun in this town?" asked Jerry.

"Well, we don't bowl that often," said Corey, chuckling. "We swim, throw around a frisbee, play basketball or baseball..." He drew Jerry's attention to the 4th Street Playground, which could be seen past Allen Union Cemetary.

"Geez," said Jerry. "A playground right next to the cemetary. How charming!"

"Cradle to grave," said Corey, grinning, "this town'll handle all your needs."

"Shall we go play on the spooky playground?" said Jerry, as they got to 4th Street.

"Nah," said Corey, continuing north up the sidewalk. "I always walk when I come down here. Unattended bikes have a bad habit of disappearing from this area."

"'Nuff said," said Jerry.

The two friends rode in silence for a few blocks. They approached the railroad tracks through the intersection of 10th and Main Streets. "These are the tracks of the Northampton and Bath Railroad," said Corey, as they turned left on 10th Street to head down to the river. "The old N&B serves the cement mills in the area."

"How many cement mills are there?" said Jerry, as they drove north along the canal and river.

"There's the Dragon Plant, up along the river north of 21st Street," said Corey.

"Which is probably one of the reasons we're not allowed to go beyond 21st Street without an adult holding our hand," said Jerry.

"No doubt," said Corey, grinning. "Then there's the Universal Atlas #5 Plant nearly a mile east of here on 21st Street, which turns into the Northampton-Bath Pike at the edge of town."

"Which really explains why we can't go east of the 'borough line'," said Jerry.

"Um, that right, Kemosabe," said Corey, doing his best deadpan Tonto. The two friends laughed as they rode.

Around 14th Street they passed some little kids playing along, but not swimming in, the canal. "How is the canal for swimming? said Jerry. "Since apparently we are allowed to do that."

"Well," said Corey. "There are a few problems with that. Firstly, the canal is tricky to swim in. It's not as deep as it looks in many places. People throw crap in there - bottles, cans and so forth - you can cut your feet on if you're not real careful. Plus, in addition to silt buildup, the bottom is layered with coal dust in a lot of places. Stir that up when you're swimming, and you come out looking positively African. That kind of thing is a little hard to conceal from nosy adults."

"Two questions," said Jerry. "Why is there coal dust in the canal, and why do you care what the nosy adults think of your dirty clothes? I sure hope your Mom isn't gonna clobber us for getting our clothes dirty!"

"Good questions," said Corey. "First, the coal dust is there because most of the barges that went through the canal were carrying anthracite coal from the mines up north. Second, the trouble with being covered with wet coal dust is not so much it being on your clothes, the trouble is that it comes off on anything you touch."

"Oooo," said Jerry.

"Precisely," said Corey. "You've seen how clean my Mom keeps our house. What do you think she'd do to us if we tracked coal dust all over the place?"

"Ouch!" said Jerry, wincing and shifting uncomfortably on the seat of his bike. "That doesn't even bear thinking about."

"You said it!" said Corey. "Even if we get caught looking like that outside the house, the absolute best we could hope for is to be stripped jaybird naked in the back yard and washed down with a garden hose. Probably with Becky and her giggling friends watching the whole thing."

"Okay, you convinced me!" said Jerry. They rode on in silence for about a minute. "Hey, wait a minute! Did that naked as a jaybird thing actually happen to you?"

"Yesss," hissed Corey, blushing furiously. "Two years ago. I nearly died of embarrassment."

"Was it your Mom or your Dad?"

"My Mom," said Corey, turning bright crimson.

"Did she spank you, too?"

"Not formally, no," said Corey. "But she did swat my butt a few times to get me to cooperate. She wanted me to lift my legs one at a time so she could 'spray underneath' - quit laughing!"

"Sorry!" snorted Jerry, unable to control his mirth at that mental image.

"Becky and Patty teased me about that for a year!" whined Corey.

"Look," said Jerry, "I really am sorry that happened to you."

"Yeah, I know," said Corey, calming down a bit, "let's change the subject."

"You got it," said Jerry. "What about the river?" As they rode north of 17th Street on Canal Street, which actually ran parallel to the dual train tracks, and not the canal itself, they were finally riding close enough to the canal so that they had an excellent view of the entire width of the river just beyond. "It really doesn't look so dangerous."

"Oh, I agree," said Corey. "We could easily handle it. But you heard my Mom and Mrs. Hofstetter. I'm afraid the rest of the mothers in town are also completely psycho on the subject. If we do it and Mom finds out she will beat the living daylights out of both of us. And then probably have Dad beat anything that's left out of us."

"Yeah," said Jerry. "Maybe we should forget about that idea."

The stopped at 21st Street, where there was a gated railroad crossing and a steel truss highway bridge across the Lehigh. "So that's Coplay over there, huh?" said Jerry.

"Nope," said Corey. "That's Cementon over there."

"I won't need too many guesses as to why it's called that," said Jerry, looking at the tall, belching smoke stacks of yet another cement plant across the river.

"Yep," said Corey. "You are right in the heart of the Cement Belt of Pennsylvania. They say that more than half of the cement used to build the Panama Canal was made right here in these plants."

"Wow," said Jerry. "That's a pretty big deal."

"Yep," said Corey, feeling pride in his small home town, and its influence on world affairs.

"You're so full of baloney, Jerry!" said Jeff Moyer, a short, but spunky 12-year-old who raised himself to his full height, trying to get in the bigger boy's face.

"Well, I'd tell you what you're full of, Jeff," said Jerry, glaring down at the smaller boy. "But there are ladies present, so I can't!" This brought snickers from 15-year-old Staci Neff, working behind the counter, and the gaggle of girls seated at another table.

Corey sighed in frustration. He knew that Jerry wasn't really all that upset, but it was sometimes hard to tell what Jeff was gonna do next. This was not the way he had hoped to introduce Jerry to his friends.

Corey had shown Jerry around the main commercial area in Northampton - which bore the incredibly original name of "Main Street". There were three department stores, a five-and-dime store, and a movie theater all located in a three block stretch.

Their assigned reconnaissance task accomplished, the two friends felt they could use some extra energy to get them through an afternoon of swimming. So they had decided to grab ice cream sodas at the M&N Luncheonette before heading over to the municipal pool. It being a hot early summer afternoon, there were other liked-minded kids already in the M&N, a deep and narrow 50s-style lunch joint with lots of chrome, when they arrived.

Normally this wouldn't have been a problem, since Jerry was a friendly guy who could get along with just about anybody. Unfortunately Corey's friends had been discussing baseball when they arrived. Now Jerry and Corey were both fond of baseball - they each played on their school teams, not to mention at camp.

The problem was that Jerry.... as much as Corey adored him..... Jerry was..... Corey hated to even think about it... Jerry was... a Yankees fan! Eeww! It was just so disgusting. This meant that Jerry's opinions on Major League Baseball were about as welcome around there as a turd in a punchbowl, because Northampton was definitely Phillies country.

Corey was well aware of this one serious weakness in Jerry's character, but he was willing to overlook it. The two friends had long ago agreed to never discuss pro baseball in each others presence. Corey had immediately tried to change the subject but had failed miserably.

"Art Mahaffey will definitely win the Cy Young Award this year!" said Jeff decisively.

"Keep dreamin'!" said Jerry. "Whitey Ford won it three years ago and he'll win it again this year. He's already 10 and 1 and the season isn't even half over!"

"I think Jim Bunning has a good shot, actually," said Corey. He was amazed when this gambit worked and the Phillies fans began to argue among themselves about their favorite players.

Corey downed the rest of his soda and decided to maneuver Jerry out of the restaurant. He had just noticed Mrs. Neff, Staci's mother, the matriarch of the M&N enter from the back room, and she was giving the group of loudly bickering boys the hairy eyeball. His friends had not yet noticed her presence.

The topic of discussion had turned to Ritchie Allen, the Phillies' hot young star infielder. Clint Beers and Dale Yeager were arguing that Allen would win Rookie of the Year, while Jeff Moyer and Dave Detweiler thought that he should be sent back to minors to "learn some manners", or at least moved back to first base. While Corey liked Allen, he did feel the man was making a lot of errors since moving to third base.

At least Jerry was wisely staying out of the conversation. Whatever Jerry's opinion on Ritchie Allen, it would irritate at least two of these guys. Corey nudged Jerry, and wordlessly they agreed to leave. As the two friends stood up the topic changed to the Phillies outfield, which Jeff proudly proclaimed the best in baseball.

Corey saw the reaction on Jerry's face to that statement and moved to hustle his friend out of there, but it was too late.

"The Phillies outfield?" said Jerry derisively. "They're a bunch of old women. Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris are better than any three Phillies outfielders!"

Jeff was right back in Jerry's face again, almost screaming, "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!" yelled Jerry.

Uh, oh! Corey noticed an angry-looking Mrs. Neff coming around the counter and heading towards the building confrontation. The others were focused on the argument and hadn't seen her.

"Do you know what your mighty Roger Maris can do with his 61 homers in a single season?" said Jeff, almost snarling.

"What?" said Jerry, sarcastically. Corey was desperately trying to figure a way to get Jerry out of there before they got banished for fighting.

"He can stick those homers straight up his fuckin' ass!" screamed Jeff.

Corey gasped, and so did Staci and the girls at the other table. Time seemed to slow down as the stout but powerful Mrs. Neff, who had come up behind Jeff during this exchange, grabbed the boy by his right ear. "Jeffrey Moyer!" snarled Mrs. Neff. "What did you say?"

"Oww!" yelled Jeff as his ear was grabbed. His mouth opened in shock when he realized that Mrs. Neff had heard his profane outburst.

"What did you say?" repeated Mrs. Neff, shaking the boy by his ear for emphasis and causing Jeff to yelp in pain.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Neff!" said Jeff. He already looked close to tears.

"Sorry?" said Mrs. Neff. "You'll be sorry all right, when your mother hears what you just said."

A look of horror overtook Jeff's face and tears started to flow. "No, Mrs. Neff! Please don't tell her! Please!"

"Of course I'm going to tell her," said Mrs. Neff, who seemed pleased by the lad's distress. "What is your phone number?"

"My what?" said Jeff, clearly stalling.

"Your phone number, you foul little creature!" said Mrs. Neff. She twisted his ear and shook the lad by the appendage again, causing him to yelp and writhe in pain. "Surely even a boy as dense as you knows his family's phone number?"

"Yes, Mrs. Neff!" said Jeff. "It's 4857. Please don't tell my Mom - I'll do anything!"

Mrs. Neff ignored the boy's pleas. She turned to her daughter. "Staci, be a dear and call Mrs. Moyer at 4857. Tell her that Jeffrey behaved disgracefully in here, and that I'm bringing him home right away so that she can deal with the matter."

"Sure Mom," said Staci, brightly. "4857?"

"That's right, dear," said Mrs. Neff. She turned to the rest of the boys. "You boys are all banned for a week for fighting. The next time it happens I will personally call all your parents."

The other three boys grumbled as Mrs. Neff led the miserable Jeff out the front door, towards his waiting doom. The five banished boys followed them outside to the Main Street sidewalk. Meanwhile Staci had dialed the phone behind the counter, and Corey could hear her informing Mrs. Moyer that her son was coming home in disgrace.

Clint Beers and Dale Yeager were especially upset by the week-long ban, since they were in the M&N almost every day in the summer. Clint Beers was a painfully thin 12-year-old with a nervous disposition, but a viscious wit. Dale Yeager was 13-years-old and a gifted athlete, but he seemed to get injured quite a lot. Dave Detweiler was one of the senior members of Corey's circle of friends, at 14-years-old. While not precisely fat, Dave was definitely on the stocky side of being thick-bodied. Corey had noticed that Dave seemed to move better than most fit boys his age, despite his apparent bulk. He might make a good linebacker some day.

Corey didn't mind the ban from the M&N so much as the unfairness of it. They hadn't really been fighting, just arguing. But he hadn't really thought Mrs. Neff was in any mood for a reasonable disussion on the subject.

The boys watched Mrs. Neff leading Jeff by the ear down Main Street. They were already a half-block away. "How far away does Jeff live?" said Jerry.

"He lives on 18th Street, right?" said Corey.

"17th Street," said Dale. "Which is nearly three blocks south."

"And then a couple blocks east," said Dave.

"Jeff's ear is gonna be awfully sore by the time they get to his place," said Jerry.

"And his butt's gonna be sore immediately after they get there!" said Clint. They all shared a laugh at that one.

Dave eyed the rolled up towels and swimsuits on the back of Corey's and Jerry's bikes. "You fellas going swimming now? he asked.

"Yep," said Corey. "You guys?"

"Yeah," said Clint, "except for Dale." Dale lifted his left arm, displaying the plaster cast on his forearm.

"When does that come off?" said Corey.

"Two weeks," said Dale. He tried to scratch underneath the edge of the cast. "Damn thing's driving me nuts with itching."

"Yeah," said Clint. "I had a broken leg a couple years ago. Drove me nuts, too. So I guess we'll see you later..."

"Yeah," said Dale, "See you guys..." He turned and walked north up towards 21st Street.

The other four boys started heading south, with Corey and Jerry riding slowly and Dave and Clint walking next to them. Mrs. Neff and the unhappy Jeff Moyer were about a block away.

"You know," said Clint Beers, "Jeff's house is kind of on the way to the pool. Do you think we should...see how he makes out?"

This idea was met with enthusiasm by the other three boys and they sped up, with the two bike-less boys trotting as they strove to catch up to their doomed friend and his furious escort.

By the time they turned left on 17th Street, the boys were only a half block behind Mrs. Neff and the still-pleading Jeff. They slowed to match the pace of the angry restaurateur and her prisoner. Jeff periodically rubbed the seat of his blue bermuda shorts as he was marched up the street held firmly by the ear, obviously anticipating the pain soon to be imparted to his bottom.

Corey suddenly remembered that he had witnessed a similar event just a few hours before. Only this time he was near the end of the parade, rather than leading it. He only hoped he would never participate in one of these things in the "guest of honor" role, with one of his ears clamped in the strong hand of an angry adult, being propelled unwillingly to an appointment with pain. Corey glanced over at Jerry, who winked at him, and shrugged absently. His friend clearly was aware of the coincidence as well.

The parade continued up 17th Street past Washington Avenue. All four trailing boys were now walking, with Jerry and Corey pushing their bikes. The houses in this part of town were mostly smaller than those in Corey's neighborhood, which he thought were small enough.

As they passed Monroe Avenue, they could see that Mrs. Neff was guiding Jeff up a private walk towards a house about half-way up the next block. The Moyer house was unusual for Northampton, a brick single-story rancher. There was no porch, but there appeared to be an entire welcoming committee consisting of two adults and two children waiting for them on the wide concrete stoop.

Mrs. Neff exchanged greetings with Jeff's parents. It looked like Jeff had an older sister of 14 or 15 and a younger brother who looked about ten. Corey had known Jeff for a couple of years - mostly from playing sandlot ball - but had never seen his family before.

By the time Corey and his friends had stopped on the sidewalk in front of the Moyer house, Mrs. Neff had relinquished custody of Jeff to his mother, who was holding him firmly by his other ear. Mrs. Moyer was angrily trying to get Jeff to repeat what he had said in the M&N, but of course Jeff was resisting with all the determination his small body possessed.

A few sharp swats from what looked like some kind of long-handled brush with a heavy, clear plastic back finally convinced Jeff to repeat his fatal words, although mumbled softly. It took several more swats of the brush on the seat of Jeff's shorts to get him to repeat the offending sentence loud enough so that anyone could hear it. Mrs. Moyer looked to be quite proficient at using her strange brush as an instrument of coersion, and little Jeff Moyer's recklessly profane condemnation of Roger Maris' record-breaking feat of 1961 was soon disturbing the peace of the warm summer air once more.

The effect of these words was both immediate and dramatic. Before the word "ass" had finished being uttered by the shamefaced boy, his blue bermuda shorts were being yanked down to his ankles, quickly followed by his white briefs. In less than two seconds Mrs. Moyer had seated herself on the edge of the stoop and had her eldest son over her knee. The strange clear-handled plastic brush went back to work, rising and falling, rising and falling.

Jeff appeared to be beyond any hope of trying to be brave at that point, and started bawling immediately. His big sister stood on the stoop looking down at the rapidly reddening bottom of her brother and smirked nastily. Jeff's little brother looked on in open-mouthed, horrified fascination. As Mr. Moyer watched the spanking, his face a mask of cold anger, he unbuckled his belt and unthreaded it from his trousers. It looked very much like Jeff was in for a really painful afternoon.

Sure enough, when Mrs. Moyer's arm eventually got tired, she put down the brush. Instead of releasing the sobbing, writhing boy, she got a better grip around his body and manuvered him so that he was still bent over at the waist, his tomato-red bottom pointed directly out towards the street. Mr. Moyer then stepped down off the stoop, and Mrs. Neff backed away to give him room to work. The short, but tough-looking man lined up his belt, and began methodically strapping his quivering son's already damaged posterior.

Jeff's screams and howls at this renewed assault were deafening. Corey looked around and saw people peering out the windows of neighboring houses or just standing in their yards taking in the scene. The whole neighborhood was enjoying the benefit of hearing and/or seeing Jeff's punishment. Corey thought the thrashing was lasting a long time, and Jeff was making it quite clear that he had had enough. Eventually his father concluded that the boy had suffered sufficiently and the whipping ended.

Mrs. Moyer cuddled her bawling son and carefully led him up on the stoop, across it and into their house. The boy waddled, partially from the pain, and partially because his shorts and underpants were still gathered around his ankles. Mr. Moyer apologized to Mrs. Neff for his son's behavior, and then, with his other children, disappeared back into their house.

As she departed, Mrs. Neff passed Corey and his friends. "Just watch your step in the M&N, you little hooligans," said Mrs. Neff. "Or I'll make sure you all get the same treatment that foul-mouthed little brat just got."

None of the four boys said anything in response, and Mrs. Neff headed back down 17th Street towards Main Street. Corey looked around and everybody had disappeared from the neighboring windows and yards now that the show was over.

"Did you see what Jeff did?" said Clint, smirking.

"Yeah!" said Dave, "he pissed himself while his Dad was whippin' him with the belt!"

Corey hadn't noticed anything like that. Corey glanced over at Jerry, who caught his eye and shrugged. So Jerry hadn't seen Jeff pee, either. But when they looked up at the stoop in front of the Moyer house, there certainly was a wet stain on the concrete steps where Jeff had been bending as he was thrashed. The stain, which actually did look more like a puddle - at least the part of it on the walkway at the base of the wide concrete steps - had definitely had not been there when the group arrived.

Poor Jeff really must have lost control and hosed down the steps at some point during his thrashing. In fact the puddle was still expanding slowly down the walkway, obeying the law of gravity as it told the tale of Jeffrey Moyer's final loss of dignity, the story of one 12-year-old boy's ultimate public shame and humiliation.

As they headed up 17th Street in the direction of the pool, Dave and Clint were walking in the lead, arguing about Jeff's loss of control. Clint thought that the boy had pissed out of pure fear, while Dave thought he had probably just peed because the pain made him lose control of his bladder. The only thing the two friends could agree on was that they'd never let Jeff forget about this day. They were already discussing nicknames like "Puddles."

Corey and Jerry looked at each other and shook their heads as they followed along behind. The two friends were unlikely to ever make fun of another boy for wetting himself in front of others while being punished - no matter what the reason - not after what they had gone through together on a particular Friday the previous July.