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Cape Cod Summers

by Paul Vaughn

196 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #03-0010; ISBN 1-55395-647-8; US$19.50, C$22.50, EUR16.00, £11.50

Cape Cod is envisioned through the insightful eyes and humorous imagination of a young boy who grew up and out of his New England childhood as Paul Fithian and into the Californian Paul Vaughn.

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about the book      about the author      sample excerpts or Table of Contents      catalogue info

About the Book Cape Cod Summers and more as envisioned through the perceptive eyes and humorous "wild imagination" of a young boy who grew up and out of his New England childhood short pants as Paul Fithian, and into his Californian long patns as Paul Vaughn. The poignant pictures Vaughn paints with words jog the memory of many who remember their own youth "on the Cape" during the mid-20th century. Other vignettes are unique to this last of three boys whose family traces back to, at least, the dingy beside the Mayflower. A boy whose New England heritage was ingrained in his heart and soul enough that he often imagined his Puritan ancestors in their black, buckled hats looking over his shoulder whenever he was doing something not quite right...which was often. It makes no difference where on the Cape these scenes take place, but only that the Cape melds mentally and physically with this youngster as he struggles to find his own self in his own world. These Cape images create scenes of a yesteryear bringing smiles, chuckles and outright laughter to those who have also left their hearts on Cape Cod, and to those doing so at this very moment.

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About the Author As the original Paul on TV's "Cheers", as an actor in film, on stage and in hundreds of commercials, as a member of Hollywood's Writer's Guild and now as an Educational Motivator and Consultant throughout the world, he weaves a story of forty-one glimpses of the Cape's past that will not come 'round again. Paul Vaughn is the author of three Educational Double CD Sets How To Help Your Child Successfully Through School and into the Better Colleges' How To Stay in College...Enjoy It... Succeed... and Graduate Birth Order: How It Affects Students, Siblings, Parents, Soul Mates, Co-Workers and You available at: www.EducationalEarlyStart.com

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Sample Excerpts or Table of Contents

CONTENTS

Hurry Up With Summer
Buzzards Bay Bridge
Clyde
Miss Camp
Clam Chowdah and Canfield
Doris Day, My First Love
Quahogs
The Lewis Candy Ladies
"Found a Peanut, Found a..."
The Sweet Tooth Kid
Mercurochrome and Noxzema
Zeros in the Sky
Thinking on the Rocks...
Aunt Dot
Walks Around the Island
Scallops
Andy, My Best Friend
The Little Red Boat to Basset's
Those New Yorkers
Two Sightings of Lightings
The Drop-In Relatives
The Firehouse Auction
The Underwear Girl
Curt in the Middle
Blue Crabs and Me (I Mean I)
Gwen(dolyn)
I'll Bee Darned
Rowing
Oysters on the Half Shell
Squeetig
Big Brother Pete
The Blues Are Coming!
My Not Real Uncle Bob
The Cape Cod Canal
Labor Day
The Pocasset Golf Course
Victor, The Judge's Son
Beaches Elsewhere
The Falmouth Playhouse
The Ice Cream Man Cometh
Hacking the Very Last Summer

THE LEWIS CANDY LADIES

I swear, but not in front of my parents, there have been a tremendous amount of times when I would gladly sacrifice an entire finger for a good piece of "Fannie Farmer's" candy. Even at my age I recognize what is good and what is "ordinary" candy.

"Whitman's Sampler" is always high on my summer candy list, because my Uncle Hugh sends a box for my Grandma's birthday every August and she let's me "dig in."

Now the mushy creams and cherry centers you can have, but the chewies, and the nutty ones I go after. Unfortunately, the pieces are so tiny that if nobody's looking I can polish the "Sampler" box off in half an hour, especially if Grandma's gone out of the room.

"No, I have no idea who ate them." Now if I can just keep conning those who ask the questions.

Will power is not something I have a lot of yet, but I'm constantly being reminded I "should." So when the candy urge takes over what little I do have, my limited will power completely disappears. I'm not saying I'm proud of this, but at least I deal with it. I'm told I'm looking for a "sugar kick."

I've only tried cigarettes once so that's pretty good control. 'Course I got sick and threw up. That helped, but I'm not terrifically fond of tossing my cookies.

I become "devious, selfish, and at times, downright nasty" These are the words my family uses about me when it comes to taking candy that's laying around. I think I can legally blame it on my mother though,'cause I'm sure it has to do with her "jeans." When she opens a box of candy in our house neither of us feels there is any "earthly reason" there should be one piece left when we go to bed. It's just nobody calls her the words that they call me when I snitch the last piece.

She was obviously born with a loose and crazy candy "jean", and so was I, I guess.

I can actually smell candy. I know when an opened box is covered by a newspaper. So imagine how crazed I am this summer to find that we'll be living across the street from two old (I mean "elderly" ) ladies who own their very own candy factory This is Heaven right here on Earth. Fishing now takes second place to finagling as much candy as I can until the summer is over, although I would never admit that out loud.

The Lewis Candy brand is popular all up and down the East Coast,'cause I've seen it...and maybe even popular elsewhere in the country. That I'm not sure of because I've never been anywhere else, but I plan to go elsewhere big-time, some day.

These old gals definitely hide out in a good size cottage. I don't know why they never seem to come outside or why they need all that space. There's only the two of them and Mid, my Mom's friend and Grandma Lewis' daughter, who spends the weekends with them.

Mid's a "good egg," with a voice that I think fits Gravel Gertie's character in the Dick Tracy comics. Her raspiness comes from smoking cigarettes, I'm sure. She's a regular chimney.

Maybe the Candy Ladies need all that room to store the extra candy. My imagination tells me boxes and boxes are packed floor to ceiling and probably even in the attic. Maybe sometimes I can even hear the candy wrappers rattling when I walk past their house. I'm not sure about that but I've heard something awfully similar.

I have trouble figuring out people's ages when they get past, oh say, twenty something, but I figure these two ladies gotta be right up there in the eighties. I've yet to see either of them up close, but I've heard they wear funny little nets on their hair to keep "wisps" from blowing in their face. Hey, we all have hair problems. I have a cowlick that sticks straight up outta my head, no matter how much I try to wet the doggone thing down.

The Lewis front porch is screened-in. It's dark inside and I'm never quite sure if these candy ladies are watching me as I come and go from the beach. Since I pretty much live at the ocean, I make several trips back and forth in front of their house every day. Try as I do, I can't seem to run into them face to face, which makes it impossible for me to get across that I really like their kind of candy better than all others... and that I'm also a nice kid.

This morning coming back from digging weekend sea worms, I jump across the already steaming hot road, trying desperately not to burn my still tender feet. I'm thinking about my "Attack Of the Candy Bars" project. Unfortunately, my Puritan upbringing and current family keep me from simply walking up to the Lewis' front door and asking for a handful. That kind of brass I don't normally have, but I'd like to."

"You simply don't do that." My Mom looks me directly in the eye, which means she means business, no matter what, do you understand Paul?"

Well, I'm not sure I agree with what you're saying, but I say nothing. Sometimes when I say nothing, things turn out better I'm on my best behavior, because this summer I have high hopes of getting a new bike for my birthday.

"Paul, would you like to come by and play cards this afternoon?" I drop the clam rake on my foot as I hear these long awaited words coming out from behind the pitch-black screen. My toe is oozing blood from the rake's prongs, but I stifle a scream, smile and look up at the two huddled figures looking down at me from behind the porch screen.

"I ssssure would," I manage to blurt out. "What time should I come over? " Oh, good gosh my foot is throbbing.

"Two o'clock would be fine dear," comes the answer from the figure on the right, the shorter of the two shadows.

"Okay, see you then, and oh, thank you very much for asking me" Boy, this is it. My ship has come in. Life is worth living. I know they can't go all afternoon without opening some of their candy.

Somehow I'll have to manage to not look like the greedy little pig I am. I'll have to manage not to look like I could eat every piece in the box, if given half the chance. I'm not even going to have lunch. I'm saving my stomach for the Lewis Ladies' Candy Feast. Blow the trumpets, sound the horns, this is a big day.

Right now I better hoof it home and stop the bleeding. I don't want to miss my first candy date because my right toe needs to be amputated.

Mom "strongly" suggests that I comb my hair and put on a shirt, neither of which I do very often. I'm surprised she doesn't "suggest" a bath too I tell her the hairbrush won't do any good. My hair prefers to stick up even if she spits on it. She just doesn't get my cowlick, which does exactly what it wants to.

What a cow thing is doing on the top of my head confuses me. I don't tell a lot of people, but there's one heck of a lot that confuses me. Like why does my parent's bedroom door have a lock, and mine doesn't?

Why do I have to put on a shirt? I don't think anybody around here has ever seen me with a shirt and these afternoons are so sweaty hot. No matter, Mom chooses a yellow one. I slip it on but my face shows I'm not overly happy about it. I'll do it, but I don't have to like it.

I've never been right up to the Lewis Ladies front door Even with the sun shining like mad outside, it's shadowy dark inside. So dark in fact that we have to turn on a couple of lamps. These folks really stay in the shade on these "unbearable afternoons." They definitely don't have to worry about sunburns.

Aunt Martha suggests we play "Hearts," which is great with me. I'm glad she feels I'm beyond simply playing "Go Fish" or "Slap Jack" like I play with Clyde. Right away, I'm having trouble concentrating, wondering when they're going to bring out what I came for Please, oh, please, don't have them ask me to "just choose one."

I hold my cards close to my chest like Dad taught me. Should I go all out and beat these nice ladies right here on their own property or should I lay back and lose the first few hands? What would "Capt'in Midnight" do if he was me...I mean, if he were I?

Am I smiling too much? No doubt, I look like dopey Alfred E. Neuman, which reminds me not to forget to buy this month's Mad Comics.

They may control the candy, but I don't exactly want to give up my reputation as a growing "card shark." But I mustn't get too far ahead or they might call the whole thing off early and I'll have to go home candyless.

I know if my Grandma loses a lot at the beginning of our playing cards, the game's over pretty darn quick. Nobody, now that I think of it, actually loses easily in my family. I think we all have oodles of competition instead of blood in our veins.

We make it through the first two hands with me dropping the Queen of Spades on each of them once. In the third game Aunt Martha gets stuck with the Queen in her own hand which is hardly my fault. There are several "oh dear" and "Goodness me" murmurs, followed by high pitched laughter, either theirs or mine, I'm not sure which, because my voice hasn't changed gears yet.

Finally Grandma Lewis asks if I would like something to drink. Even though Gingerale isn't chocolate, it's a beginning. When she returns from the kitchen she has three huge boxes of candy bars. Not one has yet been opened. Am I drooling noticeably? I accept the Gingerale as a token of friendship Sort of like the Indians first accepting crummy beads from the white man and then asking for what they really want.

"Virgin candy" I can hear my brother say. He says strange things like that now that he's in junior high. "Virgin this and virgin that." I've only heard of the Virgin Mary who's always dressed in blue and white, but I'm not sure exactly what she's really all about. There seem to be a growing number of "exactlys" that confuse me.

You know, I bet they keep this house dark so all this candy doesn't melt from the afternoon heat. Aunt Martha slowly removes the lids from all three boxes. I try to keep my eyes in my head, but I keep swallowing a lot. My mouth is so darn dry.

"Help yourself," she sweetly says. Such a nice lady Actually I do much better when people give me a limit. "Paul, no more than twenty pieces or I'll break your arm."

I can hear myself saying, "I like Peppermint Patties the best, but I've never tried these other kinds." Geez, isn't that such dumb talk? If I've never tried the other kinds, then how do I know I like the Patties the best? Neither of them looks at me strange like, so I guess they don't notice my goofball mistake.

When not clipped to their noses, both ladies wear wire rim glasses that hang down inside the neckline of their tiny, flowered dresses. We keep on playing and I keep on praying my face doesn't look like a werewolf going in for the kill.

After devouring one of each kind, as slowly as humanly possible, I say, "That's plenty, thanks" which is an outright lie, because I'm not full, but all my Puritan ancestors are yelling in my ears, "enough is enough."

All of a sudden I notice I'm in third place. This may appear to be a friendly little game, but these old gals have no intention of letting me win just because I'm the new kid next door.

For more than two hours and a half I remember to lick my fingers so I won't leave any sticky stuff on their brand new cards. Somehow I regain my piggy confidence again and start on a second round.

I eventually climb back into first place with the help of some more chocolate. Hooray, I must be on one of those chocolate highs!I don't want to overextend my welcome so I make an excuse for leaving. I thank them and they thank me. We smile each other to death.

"I really had a lot of fun." I really, really did. That's no lie. I hope they ask me back again even if they don't bring out candy... well, anyway less candy. They are nice people.

"Let's do it again real soon," chirps Aunt Martha. She's definitely the taller of the two As I get up to leave, Grandma Lewis, who is definitely in charge of this twosome, hands me a full box of Peppermint Patties. "For your family," she winks. At least I think she winked or she has a problem with her right eye.

Walking very slowly the hundred yards back home, I manage to unwrap and eat four Patties out of the twenty four before I reach our porch, taking out the empty papers so it doesn't look like any candy is missing. Good thing we only live across the street or the whole box might be completely empty.

I hope dinner is real light and real late tonight. There's definitely a queasy feeling in my stomach. Maybe it was being out too much in the hot sun this morning. That can happen.

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The Lewis house is still standing. Its dark shingles are a little more bleached and the screen has been removed from the porch. The Lewis Ladies'grand daughter Jackie, who married "the Pratt boy" just down the street, inherited this house which I think for sure still has candy bars under the floorboards.

I don't think I've seen the name "Lewis Candy" around since I left the Cape but then I live in California, and very little from New England gets out as far as Los Angeles. If it does, we'd probably put taco sauce on it. La La Land is a world away from Cape Cod.

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Catalogue Information

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