Notes on Alexander

"Alexan-DOR!"

If Alexander Peterson had a nickel for every time 48 Broad patriarch Frank Roggebusch addressed him that way, he could have bought the finest electric bass guitar money could buy. In May of 1986, when 48 Broad takes place, Alexander was approaching the end of eighth grade, and accordingly the end of a life chapter, as that fall he'd be a freshman at the fortress-like high school three blocks down Jacksonville Road. At this point he'd already been playing bass for a couple years. He practiced in the music room on the first floor when no one else was using it.

On the surface, Alexander seemed a lot like his stepbrother Jonathan Roggebusch. Jonathan soaked up the heavy metal. He had a Mötley Crüe bumper sticker on his bedroom wall. He blasted it in his room, and could often be seen decked out in some black heavy metal-themed T-shirt or other. Alexander also liked the metal. If anything, he played the part more. He grew his dark hair down his back like just about every metal rocker you came across in the eighties. He also wore the shirts. And blasted it in his room, although not as often as Jonathan did. That's the beginning of where their personalities forked. Indeed, the truth is, Alexander was nothing like Jonathan. No one was like Jonathan, for the matter of that. And no one was like Alexander.

If you've read the post on John, you already know a bit about Alexander's past, as he was John's only biological sibling at 48 Broad. Alexander's two years older, born in 1972. And whereas John took on a lot of the physical and psychological traits of his father Ford (e.g. the coffee), Alexander was very much Faith's son, both in look and personality: The black hair, the stoicism, the laconic speech. Since he didn't have Faith's tortured past, however, Alexander didn't carry all that mental baggage. Quite the contrary. The first ten or so years of Alexander's life were relatively drama free. Indeed, of all the kids at 48 Broad, he was the one who got to experience a nuclear family the longest. The rest of the kids were barely in elementary school, if that, when their homes broke. The one trait Alexander didn't inherit from Faith was her high-strung nature. No, that went to John. Alexander was fairly laid back. Indeed, he was the calmest person at 48 Broad.

The Petersons were living in Boulder when Alexander felt the first tickle of musical interest. As I said in Faith's post, because Ford didn't want her competing with him in math, she went back to school to get her degree in music (this after getting a BS and MS in math). When she saw Alexander starting to listen in whenever she played the piano, usually when Ford wasn't around, she indulged his budding interest. She'd set him on her lap and place his little handsies on top of hers. They'd start simple. A few chords. "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" and the like. And then they'd tackle "Chopsticks." This would tickle Alexander to death every single time. Seriously, the little bespectacled squirt never tired of "Chopsticks." And then Faith would impress the hell out of him with her Bach and Beethoven. His hands would fall from hers and he'd just sit there open-mouthed and soak up both the sight of her hands bouncing along the keys and the sounds they produced.

Alexander didn't need much encouraging to try his hand--or rather, hands--at piano lessons. Only trouble was, he decided he didn't like it after the first lesson, but part and parcel with the stoicism he inherited from Faith came a boatload of patience. Faith knew he hated it. His poor practice habits betrayed him. And yet he kept going. Finally she forced him to admit it over breakfast one Sunday morning while Ford and John were outside throwing the football. As if to compensate for being stoic about it for a solid year, Alexander broke down and cried. Faith tried not to smile, but it was tough. Alexander was so darned cute when he cried.

Alexander didn't go straight from piano to bass. The whole bass thing took a while. At first he wasn't sure what he wanted to play. All he knew was that his mom told him just because he'd given up piano didn't mean he'd never play the same songs she did. You could play "Twinkle Twinkle Littler Star" on a guitar. Or a trumpet. Or a sax. You name it. Alexander asked, "Well, what should I play?" Faith was reluctant to point him in any specific direction, a very conscious decision based on her determination to be diametrically opposed to her dictator father. Let Alexander discover his passion on his own.

His next attempt was the organ. Yes I know it's similar to the piano. Alexander was just quirky that way. At least he was devoted, though. On Sundays he'd go with Faith to the church where she played so he could observe and study. Faith knew this would go nowhere, but she humored him. She plopped him right there in the front pew near the organ. Alexander may have only been five ("Almost six!" he'd say. "And after that, seven!"), but he knew the organ was like the piano. The sound of it was so much different, though. Just listen to it. Still, it didn't take.

Alexander tried guitar, drums, trumpet, flute, clarinet. You name it. By the time he was experimenting with the ukulele, he was ten, and his parents had decided to get a divorce. Ford was relocating to the San Fernando Valley for a new job at some aerospace firm. Faith informed her kids that they'd be moving with her to New Jersey.

Alexander never forgot the day, the very hour, Faith broke the news to him and John. Like so many other childhood memories, it happened at the mall. Faith let her boys get their arcade ya-yas out before taking them to the food court. John got his usual pepperoni pizza while Alexander opted for the usual fish sticks. Faith, who usually got a salad, instead just got a Diet Coke. And with that, Alexander knew this wasn't going to be the usual post-arcade lunch. The sadness in her eyes didn't help either. She looked at them for a long time. It was probably just a minute or so in real life, but in Alexander's memory it would always seem like an hour. Faith never used the word divorce. She said she and their father had decided not to live together anymore. They had reached a stage in their lives where it was best to live separately. This didn't happen only to them. Many moms and dads reached this stage, and it didn't mean they'd stop being John and Alexander's mom and dad, even if they did go off and marry other people. This led her to the subject of New Jersey. John cried. Alexander's inherited stoicism and mathematical mind allowed him to handle the news quite well.

Alexander remembered the drive home from the mall quite clearly as well. Faith tried to wow her boys with details of this supposedly huge new house they'd be living in. He remembered her specifically calling it a castle and that it had umpteen stairs to the second floor, and another umpteen to the third floor. It had wooden floors. A huge cavernous basement. In short order Alexander would discover a lot of this was gross hyperbole, but he never called her on it. He couldn't begrudge his mother trying to rally her kids.

The mall trip took place the first week of January 1983. When Alexander and John said their good-byes to their father two weeks later, John was pretty upbeat. He'd had a lot of time to process it all. He'd still see his father every summer and maybe at Christmas sometimes as well. And in Los Angeles! He gave his father a warm farewell-but-not-good-bye hug. When Ford turned to his other boy, Alexander simply shook his hand and said good-bye without betraying the well of emotion swirling inside. Faith knew exactly what was going on inside him.

On the first day of their road trip from Colorado to New Jersey in Faith's VW Rabbit, sometime after they'd stopped at McDonald's for lunch, Alexander broke down and cried. Faith was ready for it. And so was John. He leaned over and gave his big brother a big hug. When Alexander recovered, he started talking about musical instruments he was interested in trying.

Faith and her two boys arrived at 48 Broad on Saturday, January 30, 1983. They were the first ones there. Frank and his brood would arrive from Kensington, Maryland the following day. The kids had a ball exploring the house. When they reached the back room and John hopped on the freezer chest (inherited from the Safts) and asked what it was for, Alexander calmly explained that it was the same as a regular freezer, only you can fit more ice cream in it.

After Faith ordered pizza from Sal's, soon to be a 48 Broad staple, the boys frolicked across the first and second floors, stopping cold at the foot of the stairs leading to the third floor. John chickened out and went back to re-exploring the first two floors. Alexander, however, remained rooted to the spot and stared up into the darkness for some time. When Faith called up that the pizza had arrived, Alexander heard something above. What was it? He listened another few moments but heard nothing.

When the Roggebusches arrived the next day, Daniel, one of Frank's adopted sons and one of the oldest of this entire motley brood, cried when he saw all the work that needed to be done to fix up the house. Alexander could see in no time that Daniel was a high-strung guy, his supposed age and wisdom notwithstanding. He was like an older version of John. That night, before Super Bowl XVII started, they all had Burger King in the pool room on a bunch of foldout card tables George Taylor brought over. Alexander sat at the same table as Daniel and impressed himself with his ability to talk Daniel into not worrying so much about the sorry state of the house. A month from now it'd be fixed up. And look at how awesome it would be. Look at all the space. This brightened up Daniel in no time. Also at Alexander and Daniel's table was Frank. As he was wont to do whenever he had an audience, Frank regaled the boys with tales of his high school and college days playing piano for a jazz band in nightclubs and cruise ships.

Frank also talked about his idol, African-Canadian jazz pianist Oscar Peterson, who was part of a trio that included bass player Ray Brown. Alexander grabbed onto Ray Brown's name the way other kids grab their security blankets. Ray Brown on bass. Bass? What was bass? Where could he find out more about it and perhaps even see one? When he peppered Frank with these questions, it provided 48 Broad's new patriarch with that much more room to bloviate. He'd never in his life played bass, but of course for years he'd played in a jazz band that included a bassist, so he knew a thing or two. That was the beginning of Alexander's friendship with Frank. The latter became much more than his stepfather. He became his mentor. And not just in music. In all things.

Several times over the next several months, Alexander made Frank and/or Faith drag him to the music store to drool over the bass guitars. Soon enough the store proprietor let Alexander test out one of the display basses. It was love at first thump. Alexander found his instrument. Most days, when he got home from school, he'd run up to his room and blast music and pantomime the bass. It's all he did until Frank rang the dinner bell at seven. Then he'd do his homework and a bit more bass miming before hitting the sack. Rarely did he deviate from this pattern.

In the summer of '83, when Alexander was about to start sixth grade, Frank and Faith decided to end the kid's suffering and get him a bass guitar. Although I should say he had to pay them back bit by bit with his allowance. It took over a year's worth of allowances, but what else was he was going to do with the money? Alexander was officially in heaven.

His bass devotion made him disengaged socially and culturally. That's why he needed Frank's mentorship and guidance. He had no qualms about walking into Frank's office on the second floor and sitting down and asking Frank whatever was on his mind. Why did only men go bold (ironic since Alexander himself would go bald in his thirties)? Why didn't women like him (that was a tough one for Frank, who'd never had woman problems, at least not that kind)? Why did the black kids stick together? Why did the gym teacher pick on him? How did the outsides of the third-floor windows get cleaned? Frank did his best. Otherwise he'd have to help Alexander on an ad hoc basis. When they went to the Burlington Center Mall one time, Alexander walked into the entrance ahead of a woman who'd been walking up at the same time. Frank had to explain the whole thing about ladies first. During a game of Oh Hell!, Frank shuffled the cards and told Alexander to cut the deck. Alexander pulled out his Swiss Army knife and was literally about to cut the deck when Frank stopped him and showed him what he meant.

Sometimes Alexander's lack of grace and tact got him into serious hot water. For some reason, the water was always hottest with his brother John. While their sibling rivalry was a mere fraction of Jonathan and Stephen's, it still had its moments. In May of '86, a spring rain washed through overnight. The backyard never did drain water properly, so you had a massive puddle, a small pond really, over by the side of the garage, where home plate was during whiffleball games. The boys went out the morning after the storm to look it. They'd never seen it that big before. Alexander said something about how John would drown in it if he wasn't careful. John didn't know how to swim after all, Alexander pointed out. Even Barry knew how to swim. Everyone at 48 Broad knew how to swim. Except John. Be careful you don't fall in, John.

John exploded. He didn't have any trouble throwing the first punches, but he did have a big problem when Alexander fought back. And that's how Alexander ended up chasing him straight through the water. The other boys cheered them on. None of them gave a flying fuck who won. They just wanted to see someone fall into the giant puddle. For a second it seemed both of them would when Alexander got John in a clumsy headlock. Barry in particular felt a huge rush. In the end, though, while the Peterson boys got plenty wet, neither fell. Barry was disappointed. Later he felt guilty about that.

Notes on Stephen

Whereas most of the Roggebusches were born in Washington, D.C., our man Stephen Roggebusch, oldest child of Frank and one of the two oldest at 48 Broad (tied with adopted brother Dan), was born in Houston. How'd that happen, you might wonder? Well, about a year before he was born, in the spring of '67, Frank scored his PhD in economics from Johns Hopkins. Not fully aware of the various career paths available to him, he pursued the one gig he knew his degree would get him: An assistant professorship, which he found at Rice University. He taught there all of one year, from the fall of '67 through the spring of '68. Just before moving out there, his wife Mary broke the news that she was pregnant with their first child. Stephen was born the following March.

By the end of that one year at Rice, Frank had already had his fill of being a teacher. He'd eventually return to it thirteen years later. By the time 48 Broad takes place, he'll've been a professor at Temple University for five years. But that's later. Meantime, he had no desire to be a teacher after having been a student for ten years. He wanted to apply all that knowledge in the real world. And so back to Washington, D.C. they went, the young Roggebusch clan of three, Frank and Mary not even thirty. They settled in a neighborhood right down the street from Joanne and Marcus "Woody" Woods, the latter a reporter for one of the local network affiliates. They too had just had their first child: Daniel Woods, born in January of '68. Who could've predicted that Daniel and Stephen would end up the two oldest siblings at a three-story Victorian Queen Anne in South Jersey during the eighties? Not I. That's for sure.

It's suitable Stephen would have a hometown unique from the rest. I mean seriously. Houston. Talk about becoming the oddball of the family right out of the gate. It was perfect, though, as Stephen ultimately became the one with a world view far more unique than anyone else at 48 Broad. In this case "unique" is sort of a euphemism for weird.

Unlike his kid brother Jonathan, Stephen could actually remember when their parents were still married and their household was still nuclear. By the time Frank cheated on Mary with Joanne Woods, Jonathan wasn't even two yet. Stephen was five. While his memories of that time weren't crystal, he still had memories. He remembered Christmas at that house. He remembered his mother getting him a Flash Gordon figure. And The Thing costume his dad got him for Halloween. Frank had been Stephen's age when The Thing came out. Anyway, point being, Stephen remembered the brief time his parents were together. And as it does to everything else, hindsight sprayed the memory with gold paint. Paradoxically, what made Stephen most unique from the rest of his 48 Broad siblings was what made him most like his father: Stephen Roggebusch could nurse a grudge with the best of them. No joke, he could bathe in the same bitter juices for years on end. This, in turn, informed his unique point of view.

After his parents' divorce, his mom moved back down to North Fort Myers, Florida. She grew up there. Her parents and sisters were still in that area. Mary was reeling from Frank's divorcing her. As far as Frank was concerned, Mary was Count Dracula incarnate, and the only question he had regarding the divorce was what took him so long. For the rest of her life Mary would vilify both Frank and his new wife Joanne. Even after Frank divorced Joanne, the damage was done. Mary would lie to her sisters that Joanne had abandoned her kids. Whereas Jonathan bought a lot of that propaganda, Stephen didn't. And this cost him his relationship with her. Upon Stephen's high school graduation in the spring of 1986, he was all set to go to Temple University and major in music, with a girl on his arm he was almost certain to marry. But then, suddenly, the relationship was no more. No one was clear how it happened, but everyone knew Mary had something to do with it. Somehow, someway, from way down in the Deep South, she was able to ix-nay the relationship.

Just to hammer home the stark truth of "hell hath no fury," Mary didn't stop at ruining her son's relationship. She also pilfered the money from his college fund. Back when Frank and Mary divorced in '73, the agreement stipulated that Mary would take a percentage of the child support and alimony paid to her by Frank and deposit it in a college fund for both Stephen and Jonathan. But then during Stephen's senior year of high school, Frank discovered that in the more than ten years since the divorce, Mary had opened no such fund and had pocketed all the money for herself. To his dying day Frank would claim that he had never felt the kind of righteous indignation that he did upon that discovery. It was solved fairly quickly at least. One letter from Frank's lawyer to Mary's took care of it, but the damage was done. Mary had fucked over her two kids as a way of sticking it to their father.

Now what do you do if you're Stephen? You're the older of the two and so whatever your embittered mom tries to do to her kids, you're first in line. But at the same time, as the first-born, you're expected to set a model of behavior and comportment. It's a lot of pressure. But your mom's just fucked you over. Sure, your dad teaches at Temple, which has the free tuition perk (helluva perk!), but it's the principle of the thing. Plus, your mom made you dump the love of your life.

Just because Stephen didn't buy his mom's propaganda about Joanne Woods didn't spare Joanne from some of his bitterness. If you read the post on Jonathan, you already know that during Frank's marriage to Joanne, they were living in the D.C. suburb of Kensington while Stephen and Jonathan lived in North Fort Myers with Mary. During the summers they'd go up to Kensington. Frank worked during the week, of course, which meant Joanne had two more kids to deal with in addition to the three from her first marriage whom Frank had adopted. And then of course our main man Barry was born in August of '76. A laugh a minute on Soward Drive, boys and girls.

Now depending on who you talk to, Joanne mistreated Stephen. The latter would always claim that, even decades later. Mistreated him how? Well. Right. How indeed. He was always a bit nebulous on the specifics, but suffice it to say those Kensington summers left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth that never went away. Joanne became yet one more person Stephen considered an enemy. After moving to 48 Broad, he never missed an opportunity to insult her in some way, shape, or form. One time he and Barry were watching one of the Star Wars movies in the family room. Stephen related this one time when Joanne had taken all the boys to the theater to see the first Star Wars. I'm sorry, I mean, when she took them to see Star Wars: Episode IV - A New Hope. Barry existed but was still far too little to go to the movies, so he was at home with Madori, the Indian teenager who lived in the same cul-de-sac and often babysat him. The way Stephen told it to Barry, all the boys were rowdy and causing a ruckus in the theater, embarrassing Joanne and annoying the shit out of everyone else. Joanne lost her cool and threatened to take them all home if they couldn't keep a lid on it. When Barry asked why their father hadn't gone too, Stephen didn't say it was because he'd been at work but instead said: "Because he's not that stupid! He's not stupid enough to bring a whole bunch of little kids to a movie theater!" You might think Barry would say something back after having his mother insulted to his face, but he was too taken aback by the outburst.

In addition to his ultra-sensitivity and grudge nursing, Stephen also inherited his father's slow metabolism. His whole life Frank's weight was like a roller coaster ride. For Stephen it was exactly the same. During his prepubescent years, he was a slim guy like Jonathan. But as puberty approached, he not only grew vertically but horizontally as well. Around 1980 or so, when he was twelve, he was one fat little bugger. Fatter than his father. Frank was never all-out fat in a John Candy sense, but he always had that gut. A good twenty or thirty pounds of extra heft that his daily jogs did nothing to shed. Stephen carried around more weight than his father, percentage wise, commensurate with the ideal weight for someone of his age and height. So it didn't just show in the gut. It showed everywhere. That couldn't have helped his awkward relationship to food. Dan and Louis never missed a chance to needle him about it. Dan in particular could be positively brutal. They'd be having dinner, right? A steak, say. And Dan would be like, "Hey Steve, want my fat?" Everyone would crack up. And Stephen would never, ever forget it. From thereon out he made it his mission in life to find an opportunity to punch Dan out. He never did. Like his father, he was far too passive-aggressive to take anyone on directly. He talked a good talk, don't get me wrong. Again, like his father, he wasn't afraid to speak his mind. But when the kitchen got really hot, it was sayonara. I should say by the time 48 Broad takes place, Stephen was once again slim, while our man Bawrence Barney claimed the "most overweight at 48 Broad" mantle.

Like many others at 48 Broad, Stephen's chief consolation was music. Amazing, really, how musical that household was during the eighties. Especially considering how, a century earlier, the house had been a music school. See my post on Bunny Stringfellow for more on that. Like his father, Stephen's taste was jazz. Among his favorite artists was Chuck Mangione. Also like a lot of the 48 Broaders, Stephen played an instrument, in his case the trumpet. He was in his high school marching band and would play in Temple University's marching band during his one year there.

While his relationship to music was sound, Stephen's relationship to Barry was complicated. His relationship to everyone inevitably become complicated because he was prone to take everything so hard. But Barry's the hero of 48 Broad so I'll use him to help illustrate Stephen. As I said in the post on Jonathan, it was thanks to Barry's mom that Frank divorced Stephen and Jonathan's mother Mary. Barry represented the reason Stephen and Jonathan didn't get to experience Leave It to Beaver. Most people don't nowadays, but that doesn't seem to help when it happens to you. So like Jonathan, Stephen may have subconsciously had it in for Barry because of what the little bed wetter represented. Unlike Jonathan, Stephen actually remembered what it was like to be a family unit, so he knew what he was missing. Stephen never out and out kicked Barry's ass the way Jonathan did. So you've got to give him that. But that passive aggression I mentioned earlier more than compensated. He would, for instance, lead with a card during a family game of Oh Hell! that he knew would mess up Barry. Or he'd tell Barry one of his favorite movies was on TV when it wasn't. Stuff like that. And he loved mocking Barry's first and middle name. That never got old. He'd go "Bawrence Barney!" in a mock angry way like Frank would sometimes do, in a very angry way, when Barry did something wrong. He also liked giving Barry the middle finger behind his back. And lifting up one forearm while using the other hand to rub his bicep, a casual "fuck you." To be fair, most of the kids at 48 Broad would make a face or a gesture behind your back if they were sore at you. Boys will be boys, right? Stephen, however, made it an art form, as he did with passive aggression in general.

On the other hand, he and Barry were comrades-in-arms with the grocery shopping. Every Wednesday after school they'd take Frank's Dodge Caravan to the Super Fresh in Lumberton and stock up. They'd each get a cart and fill 'er up. With seven boys in the house, most of what they got would be junk food. They'd usually head out to the store just as Frank was going out for his jog. Just before taking off, decked out in his Redskins windbreaker and Temple U. shorts, he'd give them a wad of cash. The tab would generally be north of two hundred bucks. This is 1986 bucks, mind you.

Stephen and Barry also threw the football back and forth sometimes, especially in the fall during football season. One thing neither of them would forget was when Stephen, stewing over something one of his science teachers said to him three years earlier, threw a tight spiral way over Barry's head, across Buttonwood Street and straight through someone's living room window. Speaking of autumn, they would sometimes co-handle the leaf raking duty.

Indeed, despite everything, Stephen got along better with Barry than he did anyone else. Because of that, Stephen was the one who caught onto there being a ghost on the third floor. No, he never did find out it was the ghost of a thirteen-year-old violin prodigy. Only Barry could actually see and communicate with her because that's the way Bunny wanted it. Yet, while she could escape the eyes of everyone else, Bunny couldn't always escape their ears. One Saturday night, during an Oh Hell! game, Stephen excused himself to get the pair of glasses he left in Barry's room earlier that day when they were playing with Gorbie, the family Lhasa Apso. He heard something as he approached the doorway. It sounded like someone turning pages. It was, in fact. Bunny was perusing the score for Beethoven's Violin Concerto in D major (opus 61). It was one of the four pieces she'd been mulling over for her end-of-year recital. She died before she could make a decision. And there on the third floor, almost a hundred years later, she still couldn't decide. Stephen decided he didn't really need his glasses and hurried back downstairs.

It was with Gorbie that Stephen showed his softest side. Gorbie was probably the one sentient being in the entire household against whom Stephen never held a grudge. He'd let Gorbie sleep in his bed during the winter. One dreary morning on football Sunday, during the winter just before 48 Broad takes place, Stephen woke up to find Gorbie chewing on his electric blanket. The furry little nut had already gotten through to the wires. Every few seconds he'd chew too deeply into a wire and give himself a little jolt. And then he'd start chewing again until getting shocked again. Perhaps some dogs have better short-term memory than others. Gorbie wasn't one of them. Stephen laughed so hard he almost fell out of bed. Stephen also walked Gorbie more than anyone else. Sometimes Barry would go with him.

Let us not forget the mohawk episode. Or I should say, the reverse mohawk episode. Usually they'd take Gorbie to the vet for a flea bath and haircut. It was supposed to be a monthly thing, but structure was something that could elude 48 Broad at times, the chore chalkboard in the kitchen notwithstanding. Anyway, when it was time for another trip, Stephen said they could save money if he trimmed Gorbie's hair and gave him the bath. He didn't really care about saving his dad and stepmom money. What he didn't tell them was that he always felt terrible when Gorbie went to the vet. Gorbie was terrified of the place. So Stephen bought some flea shampoo and clippers. It was a bloody disaster. Gorbie, like most small animals, was terrified of clippers. Stephen had to grip that pooch's collar like it was the last thing on Earth. Gorbie trembled and shook and whimpered and did everything he could to get the hell out of Dodge. Stephen jerked the pooch toward him a bit too hard, about which he'd feel guilty later, and tried again. Gorbie threw a tantrum and made Stephen crop off that central part. Disgusted, Stephen finally let go of Gorbie...who now had a reverse mohawk. Jonathan never let him live that down.

Ah yes, the ongoing saga of Stephen and Jonathan. They hated each other. They always hated each other. When it started and why was rhetorical and irrelevant. If you were to ask them if there was ever a time when they could abide each other's presence, they'd draw a blank. Frank eventually developed a theory. After the divorce, he and Stephen developed a decent rapport. That may have been because, as I've outlined throughout this post, he and his first-born were personality twins. Stephen also looked a lot like Frank, I should also mention that. Now Jonathan? He looked more like Mary. And he bonded with her much more than Stephen ever did, or could. That's all Frank could come up with. It was simply a clash of personalities diametrically opposed to each other. Viewed a certain way, Stephen and Jonathan were Frank and Mary all over again, with all the resultant drama that implies.

Exhibit A: The library lot brawl wherein Stephan and Jonathan had a fight that spanned a football field. Literally. One of the pastimes for the kids at 48 Broad was heading the three or so blocks north on Buttonwood to play football on the huge field behind the Mount Holly Library. Tackle, mind you. None o' that touch shit. Stephen and Jonathan, as you would guess, were usually on opposing teams. While most of the time they could make it through a whole game without any physical altercations (arguments, on the other hand, were a given), on one particular occasion they didn't even make it to the kickoff. They always did a coin toss to see who'd get the ball first, as they do in real football. Jonathan was supposed to call it in the air, but he decided to wait until the coin landed with tails up to say tails. He swore he hadn't been looking at it when it landed and had meant to say tails all along. While the others lightly busted his chops, only Stephen, not surprisingly, became indignant. Alexander, who had no reason to be partisan to either side, said it did indeed look to him that Jonathan had simply forgotten to make the call and did say tails without looking at the coin. His objectivity pretty much ended it right there, but that didn't make Stephen feel any better. As they began the trek to opposite ends of the field, Stephen said, "Let the PUSSIES have it!" And on the word "PUSSIES" he slapped Jonathan square on his back.

As if expecting it, Jonathan spun around and threw a punch at Stephen's shoulder. Stephen returned the gesture in kind. The other five Roggebusch kids stood rooted to the side of the field by the path leading to Buttonwood, transfixed at the sight of Stephen and Jonathan throwing punches and slaps while literally making a circuit around the entire field. Barry would never forget it. He would especially remember that first slap by Stephen, and the image of them on the other side of the field, under that huge tree which, during games, was the unofficial sideline, since beyond that were more trees leading to the back of the library itself. As with most of their fights, there was no clear winner.