Allie/Ackley

I wrote about my brother Allie's baseball mitt. It was a very descriptive subject. It really was. My brother Allie had this left-handed fielders mitt. He was left-handed. The thing that was descriptive about it was that it had poems written all over the fingers and the pockets and everywhere. In green ink. He wrote them on it so that he'd have something to read when he was in the field and nobodywas up to bat. He's dead now. He got leukemia and died when we were up in maine, on July 18 1946. You'd have liked him. He was two years younger than I was, but he was about fifty times as intelligent. His teachers were always writting letters to my mother telling her it was a preasure having a boy like Allie in the class. And they weren't just shooting the crap. They really ment it. He was also the nicest in lots of ways. People with red hair are supposed to get mad easily but Allie never did. God he was a nice kid though. I slep in the garage that night he died, and I broke all the goddam windows just for the hell of it. My hand still hurts once in a while. I cant really make a fist, but I dont care much. I mean I'm not going to be a goddam surgeon or a violinist or anything anyway. Anyway, thats what I wrote Stradlater's composition about. I couldn't think of anything else descriptive. It was around ten-thirty, when I finished it. You could hear old Ackley snoring. That guy had just about everything. Sinus trouble, pimples, lousy teeth, halitosis, crumby fingernails. You had to feel a little sorry for the crazy sonuvabitch.