"Chasing the Red Car brings the reader vividly into the San Fernando Valley of the 1950s and brings alive the pervasive fear and disruption that ordinary families experienced under McCarthyism." -Julia Harumi Mass, Staff Attorney, ACLU of Northern California Transplanted from her home in the Bronx to the burgeoning San Fernando Valley of 1947, Kim LeBow is faced with trouble on every side. Her home life is rocky and emotionally unpredictable, and the McCarthy-era communist witch hunts strike all around, threatening Kim's father and even reaching into her high school. The political struggles and personal cataclysms that follow change Kim from an open and caring young girl into a political activist and educator, while leaving emotional scars that only time-and the return of the great love of her life-are able to heal. Drawing parallels between the political repression of the 1950s and the abuses of executive power after 9/11, Chasing the Red Car reminds us that all politics is personal and that the truth of George Santayana's maxim about history repeating itself can be seen all around us every day.

CHASING THE RED CAR

A NOVELBy ELLEN RUDERMAN

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2010 Ellen Ruderman
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4502-6718-2

Chapter One

1947

It was a hot day in the Bronx. I could feel the sweat dripping down the backs of my knees—and it wasn't even noon yet. As I turned on the spigot to get some water, I noticed that the tar on Bolton Street was starting to bubble. I carried a little pan of water to the concrete stoop and splashed it all over the steps so my friends and I could sit comfortably on the wet stairs.

As we settled on the stoop, I remained perched on the top step of what looked like a pyramid of friends in front of the eight-story apartment building where my family lived.

I was slender and quite tall for a nine-year-old, with a mop of long dark brown curly hair, tufts of which would fall in front of my eyes. I pulled my knees up close to my chest, pushed back a few strands of hair, and began to tell them about my family's plans to drive in Aunt Winnie's car tomorrow on a highway called Route 66. My mock bravery about the long trip my family was going to take the next morning seemed to be working. My friends were enthralled. I could sense the magic that California held for them. They smiled, their faces in rapt attention, as I spoke of the many far-off places my family would visit on our trip. I could tell some of them wished they could come along.

"You get to go to California," shouted Stuey, a short dark-haired boy with glasses and a rumpled plaid shirt, his eyes wide and his face all lit up. "No one I know in the Bronx has ever been there." I suspected that he must be conjuring up images of his favorite movie and television cowboys. And sure enough, he burst out again: "I just saw a Hopalong Cassidy movie on Saturday at the RKO Pelham! Hoppy is my favorite!"

Rita Goldman, my very best friend since we were three years old, her blond braids glistening in the hot sun, said, "Well, I like Dale Evans and Roy Rogers." Then with a serious expression on her face, Rita turned to me. "Do you think Trigger is alive?"

"Well, he better be," I said, "because when I get out there I'm going to ride him." They all laughed, imagining me on a huge white horse on some ranch in the wilderness. I pushed away the wave of sadness that was threatening to get in.

Jimmie Snyder, who had had a crush on me since first grade, moved closer to me. "Do all the horses look like the ponies at the Bronx Zoo?" His question triggered a wistful memory of the day we climbed through the hole that he and Stuey dug under the chain link fence at the nearby Bronx Zoo so we wouldn't have to pay the ten-cent entrance fee.

The thrill of connecting that place out west with cowboys in big Stetson hats and sizzling cactus bushes faded as I looked around me. I'll probably never see any of you again! We'll never play stick ball and ring-a-levio and mother-may-I again. We'll never go to Rapps Candy Store for a two cents plain and an egg salad sandwich. Or sled together out on the street in the freezing weather, or hold hands while we walk to P.S. 105 on winter mornings. The sadness that had been lingering in me each day our trip got closer made me want to beg my parents to change their minds about the move.

And anyway, why were they moving? I was perfectly happy with all my friends here. Yes, my mother complained a lot about how cramped the apartment was and how her fingers and toes nearly froze in the Bronx winters. But so what? Summers came and we were outside a lot, and the heat of the summer made up for the coldness of the winter. I also felt a pang of guilt. I suspected that we were moving permanently, but I'd told Rita that we were only going to be gone for three months. I also told the rest of my friends that we were going on a long vacation. I guess I just couldn't bear to admit that I wouldn't be coming back and I might never see any of them again. And all because Lila wants a larger and warmer place to live. Sometimes, Lila is a pain!

"Arthur," Lila would plead, "the apartments here are the size of postage stamps. We're all banging into each other. It's not civilized. How can we live this way? One bathroom for all of us?"

Arthur is my father, and Lila is my mother. My sister Jonna and I call them by their first names, because in their crowd, which they call "progressives," they said that's what people do. So, whenever Lila complained, Arthur would tell her, "Count your blessings; it's not that bad. Look at the Greenes. They're making do with one bathroom for six people. Now, how about if we go out for Chinese tonight, and give you a rest from cooking?"

Over at the next stoop, my sister Jonna, who had just turned seven, sat chatting with her friend, eight-year-old Harry Landsman. Her little hands were moving in many directions. She seemed kinda cute, I thought. But it was going to be so hard for Jonna to leave Harry, her only close friend.

Although I had been talking about "the trip" with my friends for over two months, I kept pushing it out of my mind. So when my family was gathered last week at the oak table in our kitchen finishing dinner, Arthur's announcement that we'd be off to California in less than a week came as a rude shock for Jonna and me. "That's the way they always do things," I muttered to myself. No time was ever allowed for discussion. Decisions were handed down as proclamations and they didn't seem at all interested in what we felt.

Pipe hanging from one side of his mouth, Arthur pranced around the room, actually hopping every other step. "They want me, Lila. The position I've been offered has come through. The University wants me to come out for an interview with the President ... the President of the college! Lou Allenson, my buddy at CCNY, says it's in the bag. Lou also says that Los Angeles City College has quite a good reputation for a community college. They're doing great things out there in California—new things, dynamic things—and he says if they've already set up the meeting with the President, I'm as much as on the faculty."

Rarely had I seen my mother smile the way she did that night. Her face was radiant as she listened to Arthur talk about what might be a brighter future for him as well as for all of us. I could barely remember a time in all my almost ten years when my mother and father seemed this close and so happy together. Maybe things would really change in California.

But while they were beaming at each other, Jonna was looking out the large window that took up almost one whole wall of the kitchen, now wide open to allow for a breeze that might miraculously appear. She looked so sad, and began to whine. "Who cares where you teach, Daddy? I don't want to go away from here. I like my best friend Harry. I want to stay here with him." Jonna's lips were trembling.

I came out of my idyllic reverie about change. Crestfallen, I gazed at Jonna and realized what a terrible loss this would be for her. She was so shy it was hard for her to make friends. Harry was like her treasure.

Lila's smile transformed into a tight-lipped frown. She slammed her plate down hard on the table and glared at Jonna. "You'll get used to it. You have no choice. Your father needs a good job. At least a better one than he has here at City College of New York! He's had nothing but trouble here. They've done nothing but hound him about his politics. This move will be better for all of us."

Jonna slid down in her seat. Since she was terrified of Lila's temper, I moved closer to her, protectively placing...