Hoo...who's the pigeon

1959 was an end to an era. All primary lessons in life have successfully been internalized, and new less restricting boundaries have been introduced. From my point of view, this was freedom.

I could travel around the neighborhood and even a little beyond with out escort. As long as I could hear my parents when they called . If I go south, the limit was as far as the Framingham common. and north all the way to Demarines Grocery. Which was actually beyond calling distance but when Mom, Dad, granny, or any of my aunts wanted cigarettes, then going there was allowable. Besides we were known in the neighborhood almost better than anyone
"It was a needed convenience", my dad would explain. East ended at the First National grocery store. And last but not least, West went to my Grams, who is my dad's mom apartment.

Today I'm going south. The Framingham Common was a common pasture like most common pastures in New England, add a WWI artillery piece, an American flag, a rock with a brass plate stuck to it, and two rows of benches, and you have actually made it park. For most of the young kids it was Framingham's playground. With a little imagination the artillery piece set the stage for some great war games.


It was early June. School was out, the Sun was shining, and I had finished my chores early. It was late morning and I told my dad that I was going to the park.
“stay in hollering distance!” he reminded me as he always did.
“I will” I returned my rote response.

Days like this, for a nine year old boy, were magical and, I was already having fun just anticipating having fun. At the park, none of my friends had arrived yet. I did however see a little old man, wearing a somewhat worn black pinstripe suit feeding popcorn to the many pigeons that resided under the soffits of all the buildings nearby. Immedidiatly I was mesmerized by what I saw him doing. He was not only feeding the the birds, but he was being rewarded by the ugly doves presence. They were sitting on the bench all around the old man. They were sitting on the fellows lap, and on his too small fedora. They were even in his hand eating the warm, and still fragrant popcorn. The gentleman and the pigeons were completly enjoying each others presence, and like most kids my age, I wanted some of that.

Into Newbury's five and dime I went. I gave the clerk a dime which I earned by returning some Coke-a-cola bottles. You get two cents for every bottle and in 1959 a trip to the ally behind the post office could give enough change to even go to a double feature at the St. George theater.

The clerk gave me a tall thin bag stuffed full of freshly popped popcorn, and back to the park I ran.

The old man was gone. The whole park was empty accept for a few pigeons, poking at the ground for food or gravel to help digest what they have already eaten.
This seemed to add to the anticipated joy swirling in my stomach. I made for the same bench the man had been sitting. I guess this would work anywhere in the park, but I knew it should happen here.

I sat down figuring the pigeons would come a running as soon as I sat. They didn't, so I tried to bait them by throwing some popcorn on the ground in front of me. A few pigeons cautiously move to the popcorn. As nonchalantly as a nine year old could be, I threw more food in front of me. Each time I tossed the corn, I threw it closer to me and soon there were perhaps twenty or more pigeons feasting, pecking, and poking at the tasty puffs right in front of me.

I then put a small pile of the puffy manna on the bench next to me. Without hesitation several birds, cooing with their own sense of anticipation, jumped up on the bench and picked the morsels to pieces. I added more, and more came. I put it closer to me and they increased in numbers. Then I made the big leap. I put some popcorn on my lap. The birds, some good looking, and some almost sickly leaned over and snatch the offering.

Then it happened that some of the popcorn spilled onto my lap, but out of reach to the gluttons of the park,and one jumped up on my lap. I dropped a large handful on my lap and more birds took the chance. This was heaven on earth to a little guy like me.

I looked around to see if anyone was looking, but there no one was in the park but me and my animal friends. I wanted some one to see it. I needed someone to see it. Partly because I wanted to share the moment, but mostly I wanted to be lauded over. If I couldn't show my friends this miracle I was performing, I would settle for some form of corroboration on my experience. The longer I waited to be discovered, the more I needed to be lauded. Some body had to come soon. I was running out of popcorn.

Then it came to me. If I should put some popcorn in my hand and just hold it out to my new companions, I should be able to catch one. After all, “A bird in the hand...

I filled my hand and extended it above my lap. One and then two birds tried to perch on my wrist and thumb. I took a deep breath to quiet my heart, and then I closed my hand around the feet of the one on my thumb.

“Ouch!” the bird on my wrist flew into my face as the “Bird in hand” slapped my hand and then he bit me. I had expected none of this from these obliging companions, and the pain and shock caused me to release the one I had. Every pigeon within that twenty feet flew off in a frenzy leaving me with nothing. Nothing that is except for a wad of creamy black and white sliding down my leg. I expirienced going from heaven to hell in one motion. I had them all, until I wanted to own one. I didn't know it until it was too late. My pride and greed blinded me to this fact.

I didn't realize it then, but this lesson would serve me well as I work with magic. After all, much of magic is knowing where to get your popcorn, and knowing where to throw it. And don't forget, you already have everything you need.

The End

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