Loving sports as we did, we all looked forward to January 1, when we could listen to the radio and hear the Sugar Bowl, the Cotton Bowl and the Rose Bowl... but the battle we will never forget was the Soup Bowl.
One February day in 1946, the four of us were getting ready to go into downtown St. Louis to see our Mom at Styx Bare & Fuller Department Store, where she was the head of the record department.
Bob had just fixed lunch and announced, as was his impatient custom in those days, that if we did not appear within one minute, the soup would be poured down the drain. This caused George to barrel into the kitchen and loudly inform Bob that the soup would most certainly not be thrown down the drain, but could remain on the stove until such time that we got to the table.
Looking back, it does seem strange that, since all four of us were by now in the kitchen, one of us did not present a third alternative to Bob's "throw it down the drain" and George's "keep it on the stove."
We could have sat down and eaten it!
However, since this ray of intellectual light did not come forth, the intensity of the argument between Bob and George grew, and at that point the fists started to fly. So it was that the soup did not go down the drain, go into our stomachs, or stay on the stove, but ended up all over the floor.
Alan and I were then treated to the sight of watching a former boxing champion in the Pacific Theater of War and one of the top wrestlers in the entire state of Missouri throwing furious punches while they slipped, skipped or danced where the hot soup came in contact with their feet.
Deciding that a better "footing" was needed, they retreated to the living room. There, Bob promptly gave George two quick jabs and a right to the head before finding himself in a painful headlock, which led to a vicious body slam that vibrated the entire house.
It was at this moment Al decided it was his duty to stop this combat and stepped between them to break it up. This caused a temporary alliance as the two combatants joined forces to send Al reeling and rebounding against the wall. Observing Al's fate caused me to decide upon the role of peaceful, conscientious observer.
So it proceeded, fist, full nelson, elbow, headlock, fist, enter Al, exit Al... all to the accompaniment of my tears.
After about 30 minutes, when no one had any energy left to continue, it stopped as quickly as it had started.
We were late to pick up Mom.
Bob and George went downstairs to shower, while Al and I cleaned up the house. About five minutes later, I cautiously made my approach with towels and found them apologizing, hugging and crying.
When we arrived at the store, Mom saw her sons with cut eyes, swollen jaws, bruised knuckles and limping gaits. It seemed that an explanation was in order. We told her how some loud mouth had insulted Bob at the gas station, which led to a fight between Bob, George, Al and four strangers, whom they had beaten to a pulp. (If you're going to lie, it might as well be a whopper.)
Mom looked at them and, stepping between them and taking their arms, she smiled.
"I guess you will... Continue
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