I could do nothing about Mr. Khrushchev since he lived in Russia and I lived in a small town in Kentucky. However, I could look for spies in my town and that I did from the time I woke up until I went to bed at night, I was in hot pursuit of Irl Bradberry. He was the most unusual man on our block. In reality he was also the kindest, gentlest, most soft spoken and probably the smartest man I knew.
I dogged this man all summer long! He couldn't turn around without stepping on me. Never once did he scold me or run me off. He continued to methodically work on his clocks and watches, while I wandered in and out of his shop, peeped in his windows, and crawled under his blocked up building to play with his cats. His personality and my imagination allowed me to have a wonderful summer. In hindsight, I am not so sure Mr. Bradberry's summer was as good as mine.
Each morning after breakfast, I would wait on the front porch for Mr. Bradberry to drive down Beeler Hill. Our day was about to begin. I would take my time walking over to his shop, allowing him time to get ready to start a new day of work. Soon I would make my first appearance of the day. As I knocked on his door, I would cross my fingers hoping as I entered his shop I would find a clue to confirm Mr. Irl's espionage.
Everything was different about Mr. Irl. He drove a Model A while the rest of Clinton drove Buick's, Ford's and Chevy's. I loved that old car. It had a personality. His workshop was unusual, filled with odd smells of oil cans and old tools The shop was old, cluttered and worn. The floors were covered in a light coat of oil. After my first barefooted visit to Mr. Irl, I always wore my shoes. His walls were lined with clocks. All of them set at different times. The shop was quiet except for the low, soft ticking of what seemed to be at least a hundred clocks. Occasionally the pendulum clocks would arrive on the hour causing a deep base gong to ring throughout his shop. If one of these clocks caught me off guard, it would scare me sending me running for the door. Mr. Irl never looked up but I think he smiled. He also reminded me to ' shut the door' on my way out.
His shop was located beside the Baptist Church. The back of his shop adjoined the driveway of the post office. I lived next door to the post office. My grandmother's kitchen window was focused squarely on Mr. Bradberry's shop. Following my 8th birthday, I was allowed to ramble around and play on my block without having to report in to Mamamae. I thought I was so grown up. Little did I know that at any time Mamamae could see me from any window in our home. Despite this fact, I enjoyed my first taste of freedom.
Since I could find no clues connecting Mr Bradberry to the non existent Russians, I had to change strategies. I became focused on his cats. In my imagination Mr. Irl used his cats to deliver information to the Russians!! In other words, I wanted to play with his kittens. When the kittens grew big enough to wander around, I painted all their toenails red so I could follow them and see where they were taking Mr. Irl's secret messages. Unfortunately, the kittens and their mothers could cross the street and I couldn't. That plan had to be abandoned. My mother also wanted her fingernail polish back leaving me with no options. I could not form a case proving Mr. Irl to be a spy. Lord knows I tried. It was a wonderful, exciting summer for me. I remember concluding Mr. Irl was not a spy. His cats were just cats, with red toenails. That was alright with me.
By the time I was 9, I began collecting wanted posters from the post office and reading Nancy Drew books. It was a very good era to be a child. It didn't take much to make me happy.
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