622
PARTISAN REVIEW
squelch
him.
I was by one Sunday when he picked a fight with that
huge Five-Properties and thrust
him
on the chest with his hands,
failing to move him; Five-Properties picked him up and threw
him
down on the floor. When Dingbat came back punching, Five–
Properties grinned but was frightened and shied back against the
cue-rack. Somebody in the crowd began to shout that Five-Properties
was yellow and it was thought the right thing to hold Dingbat back,
by the arms, struggling with a blinded drawn face of rage. A pal
of his said what a shame that a veteran of Ch1heau-Thierry should
be shoved around by a greenhorn. Five-Properties took it to heart
and thereafter stayed away from the poolroom.
Dingbat had had charge of the poolroom at one time, but he
was unreliable and the Commissioner had replaced him .with a man–
ager. Now he was around ,as the owner's son, racked up balls, once in
a while changed color like a coal when a green table felt was ripped;
and in the capacity of key-man and bravo, referee, bet-holder,
sports expert and gang-war historian, on the watch for a small deal,
a fighter to manage or a game of rotation at ten cents a ball. Be–
tween times he was
his
father's chauffeur. The Commissioner couldn't
drive the big red Blackhawk-Stutz he owned- the Einhorns never
could see anything in a small car-and Dingbat took him to the
beach when it was too hot to walk. After all, the old man was
pushing seventy-five and couldn't be allowed to risk a stroke. I'd ride
with
him
in the back seat while Dingbat sat with mauled, crazy
neck and a short grip on the wheel, ukelele and bathing suit on the
cushion beside him; he was particularly sex-goaded when he drove,
shouting, whistling and honking after quiff, to the entertainment of
his father. Sometimes we had the company of Clem or Jimmy, or of
Sylvester the movie bankrupt who was now flunking out of his
engineer's course at Armour Tech and talking about moving away to
New York altogether. On the beach, Dingbat, athletically braced
up with belt and wristbands, a bandana to keep the sand out of his
hair when he stood on his head, streaked down with suntan oil,
was with a crowd of girls and other beach athletes, dancing and
striking into his ukelele with
.
Ani-ka, hula wicki-wicki
Sweet brown maiden said to me,
And she taught me hula-hula
On the beach a't Waikiki.
