fellow townspeople, I could begin to populate those bleacher seats on that summer day-row by row, I could remember a few of the baseball fans who had been there. Mrs. Kenmore, the butcher's wife, and their son Donny, a rheumatic-fever baby who was not allowed to play baseball; they attended every game. They were in attendance at A Christmas Carol to watch Mr. Kenmore slaughter the part of the Ghost of Christmas Present; but I could see them in their short-sleeved summer garb, with their identically sunburned noses-they always sat down low in the bleachers, because Donny was not agile and Mrs. Kenmore feared he would fall through the slats. And there was Mr. Early's daughter, Maureen-reputed to have wet her pants when Owen Meany tried out for the part of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. She was here tonight, and had been present every night, to watch her father's vain attempts to make Marley's Ghost resemble King Lear. She simultaneously worshiped and despised her father, who was a terrible snob and regaled Maureen with both undeserved praise and a staggering list of his expectations for her; at the very least, she would one day have her doctorate-and if she were to indulge her fantasy, and become a movie star, she would make her reputation on the silver screen only after numerous triumphs in 'legitimate' theater. Maureen Early was a dreamer who squirmed in her seat-whether she was watching her father overact or watching Owen Meany approach home plate. I rememt>ered that she had been sitting in the top row, squirming beside Caroline O'Day, whose father ran the Chevy dealership. Caroline O'Day was one of those rare parochial-school girls who managed to wear her St. Michael's uniform-her pleated flannel skirt and matching burgundy knee socks-as if she were a cocktail waitress in a lounge of questionable repute. With boys, Caroline O'Day was as aggressive as a Corvette, and Maureen Early enjoyed her company because Mr. Early thought the O'Days were vulgar. It had not set well with Mr. Early that Caroline's father, Larry O'Day, had secured the part of Bob Crachit; but Mr. O'Day was younger and handsomer than Mr. Early, and Dan Needham knew that a Chevy salesman's derring-do was far preferable to Mr. Early's attempting to turn Bob Crachit into King Lear. How I remembered them on that summer day-Maureen Early and Caroline O'Day-how they had laughed and squirmed in their seats together when Owen Meany came to bat. What a power I had discovered! I felt certain I could refill those bleacher seats-one day, I was sure, I could 'see' everyone who'd been there; I could find that special someone my mother had waved to, at the end. Mr. Arthur Dowling had been there; I could see him shade his eyes with one hand, his other hand shading his wife's eyes-he was that sort of servant to her. Arthur Dowling was watching A Christmas Carol because his wife, the most officious member of the Town Library Board, was steering her humorless self through the chore of being the Ghost of Christmas Past. Amanda Dowling was a pioneer in challenging sexual stereotypes; she wore men's domes-fancy dress, for her, meant a coat and tie-and when she smoked, she blew smoke in men's faces, this being at the heart of her opinions regarding how men behaved toward women. Both her husband and Amanda were in favor of creating mayhem with sexual stereotypes, or reversing sexual roles as arduously and as self-consciously as possible-hence, he often wore an apron while shopping; hence, her hair was shorter than his, except on her legs and in her armpits, where she grew it long. There were certain positive words in their vocabulary-'European,'
among them; women who didn't shave their armpits or their legs were more 'European' than American women, to their undoubted advantage. They were childless-Dan Needham suggested that their sexual roles might be so 'reversed' as to make childbearing difficult-and their attendance at Little League games was marked by a constant disapproval of the sport: that little girls were not allowed to play in the Little League was an example of sexual stereotyping that exercised the Dowlings' humorless-ness and fury. Should they have a daughter, they warned, she would play in the Little League. They were a couple with a theme-sadly, it was their only theme, and a small theme, and they overplayed it, but a young couple with such a burning mission was quite interesting to the generally slow, accepting types who were more typical in Gravesend. Mr. Chickering, our fat coach and manager, lived in dread of the day the Dowlings might produce a daughter. Mr. Chickering was of the old school-he believed that only boys should play baseball, and that girls should watch them play, or else play softball. Like many small-town world-changers, the Dowlings were independently wealthy; he, in fact, did nothing-except he was a ceaseless interior decorator of his own well-appointed house and a manicure artist when the subject was his lawn. In his early thirties, Arthur Dowling had developed the habit of puttering to a level of frenzy quite beyond the capacities of the retired, who are conventionally supposed to be the putterers. Amanda Dowling didn't work, either, but she was tireless in her pursuit of the board-member life. She was a trustee of everything, and the Town Library was not the only board she served; it was simply the board she was most often associated with, because it was a board she served with special vengeance. Among the methods she preferred for changing the world, banning books was high on her list. Sexual stereotypes did not fall, she liked to say, from the clear blue sky; books were the major influences upon children-and books that had boys being boys, and girls being girls, were among the worst offenders! Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, for example; they were an education in condescension to women-all by themselves, they created sexual stereotypes! Withering Heights, for example: how that book taught a woman to submit to a man made Amanda Dowling 'see red,' as she would say. As for the Dowlings' participation in The Gravesend Players: they took turns. Their campaign was relentless, but minor; she tried out for parts conventionally bestowed upon men; he went after the lesser women's roles-preferably nonspeaking. She was more ambitious than he was, befitting a woman determined to reverse sexual stereotypes; she thought that speaking parts for males were perfect for her. Dan Needham gave them what he could; to deny them outright would risk the charge they relished to make, and made often-that so-and-so was 'discriminatory.' A patterned absurdity marked each Dowling's role onstage; Amanda was terrible as a man-but she would have been just as terrible as a woman, Dan was quick to point out-and Arthur was simply terrible. The townspeople enjoyed them in the manner that only people from small towns-who know how everyone's apron is tied, and by whom-can enjoy tedious eccentrics. The Dowlings were tedious, their eccentricity was flawed and made small by the utter predictability of their highly selective passions; yet they were a fixture of The Gravesend Players that provided constant, if familiar, entertainment. Dan Needham knew better than to tamper with them. How I astonished myself that Christmas Eve! With diligence, with months-even years-backstage in the Gravesend Town Hall, I knew I could find the face my
