THE MEAT RAFFLE

Perhaps there have always been meat raffles--somewhere. However, not where I've been. So, it was with much trepidation that I allowed my sisters to "sign me up for Saturday night".

Sacred Heart of Jesus School's annual holiday meat raffle.

Ann went on to tell me that it was free; they served clam chowder and endless coffee; no minimum spending demanded; it would benefit our old alma mater: Sacred Heart School; and the family went, as a group.

Dad and Mom would be very disappointed if I didn't go.(Even though Mom had already bowed out of attendence, choosing to stay home and "babysit the dog while you all go and have a good time".)

The other side of it, however, which was barely hinted at, was that our family was notorious for winning far more than was neighborly--mostly because nurse-sister Ann almost subsidizes the entire affair herself, armed with enough one dollar bills to choke the proverbial manger donkey. But that was held from me until I agreed to attend.

"One year, Kevin had to bring his truck, to pick up all the meat!" Ann grins. "But don't worry; Dad takes most of the turkeys to the local food bank, or the VFW...Hey, everybody wins!"

Well...since no one could hold it against us if "everybody wins" and the proceeds  go to Sacred Heart ...I didn't see a way out.

"Can I ask Helayne? She isn't doing anything on Saturday night..." I try to make my eyes as appealing as the dog's.

"Yeah, yeah, I don't care," Ann lights a Marlboro and grimaces. "It's open to the public."

So, on Saturday night, armed with assurances that I won't have to look at tables of raw meat spread out like a morgue, and with an old friend by my side, I accompany the Clan, to the gym, where every science fair, basketball game, Christmas pageant, band concert, choir recital or theatre extravaganza of my early years, took place.

Upon entering the building, most everything was as I remembered: the hardwood floor a bit more beat up, the bleachers maybe smaller, but the super-sized- folding- tables, (identical to the ones in the Church basement, down the street), seemed to be the ones I  had left, back in the sixties--still hopelessly stained; constructed of some brown material that was supposed to resemble wood. 

The stage at the front of the gym was the same stage I had played on in the WIZARD OF OZ and A MAN FOR ALL SEASONS. (This year, they were going to reprise JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR. My cop brother, Kev, had made the original props, a few years earlier...four generations of our family had sweated at this school and it was still ringing us in!)

The odd scents of clam chowder and frozen meat mingled with steam heating. (Not the smells I associate with gyms, but, this has always been so much more than a mere phys ed. room.) 
My family march in, a bit early.
We take up one whole table, on both sides. Helayne, ever the good sport, slides in between me and my Father; her purple coat covering her, neck to toe.( I am immediately aware that I should have dressed in several additional layers.)

"Maybe snow, tomorrow," Dad says, rising for a bowl of  "chowdah".

"But not tonight," everyone reassures me, laughing as my teeth chatter. (I should be on stage, with the pork loins and Butterball turkeys.)

We all line up; recieve a styrofoam bowl with about an inch of clam chowder at the bottom. Dutifully, we eat from plastic spoons and sip the equally tepid coffee, as the guys on stage tease the crowd.

"Ladies and Gents, this is how it works--we raffle items in a group, one after the other. You buy a ticket for a dollah, for that group. We keep pulling numbahs til all the items are claimed. That's the end of that raffle. Then, you buy anothah ticket for the next group--UNLESS it's a special raffle! We do that throughout the evening....those are two dollah tickets..."

"What do you get in the special raffle?" I ask Ann.

"That's your ribs and lobstahs!" Everyone around the table answers. (My taste for lobsters, and ribs, is well known.)

"But what we really are shooting for is the bacon." My sister Bren instructs me on Minns Family Meat Raffle strategy.

(What is it about bacon?

I have never been a true fan.

To my palate, bacon is bacon; whatever you add it to simply gets a baconian flavor on top of whatever else is in the dish. Yes, I like it with pancakes and eggs; maybe on a club sandwich; but really, the national obsession with bacon has never fully flowered in my mouth. )

That doesn't stop the family. 

"You don't get it--they get bacon right from local farms--it isn't Stop and Shop cling-wrap meat, it's...wonderful!" Ann rolls her eyes in a sort of ectstacy.

Up and down the table, my sibs, sibs -in-law, and various familial friends, nod in agreement.

I take another sip of the cooling chowder.

"You know how they made the chowdah this year?" John, a family friend leans into me.

"No," I shrug, clueless.

"Well, you've probably noticed, it isn't home-made, right?" he shakes his head.

"Yeah," I glance down, suddenly suspicious.

"They got every kid at Sacred Heart to bring in a can of soup--Snow's, Campbells, Chunky, you name it...then, the ladies in the kitchen just poured all the clam chowdahs together, into one of those giant pots...that's what we got...notice-- nobody's going up for seconds..." he takes another slug of his Sam Addams Summer Ale.

(I noticed.) "Well, it's free, so," I push the white bowl with the white spoon and the remaining white liquid toward the end of the table, where the trash collectors are making their rounds.

"It's lame," John says.

"Here we go!" The MC spins the wheel. The sound of clicking numbers covers even the whispering kids in the gym. We clutch our first dollar tickets, all thoughts of chowder forgotten.

People close their eyes, praying (I'm sure.)
The wooden Blessed Mother, holding the wooden Baby Jesus, stares down over the crowd, from her perch on the wall. (The other side of the gym holds up Saint Joseph.) I point this out to Helayne, who didn't attend Catholic School.

"You know, as a kid, I used to worry about St. Joseph. I mean, at night, when they turned off the gym lights, he was always alone...at least Mary and Baby Jesus were together..." 

"You are so odd !" Ann hisses across the table.

"Number eighty-seven!" the MC shouts into the mic.

"That's me!" My sister-in-law rises, screaming.

The gym politely applauds. Our table joins in the screaming.
 An old guy, down from us, mutters, "Damn Minnses--they always win everything!"

(I turn my chair, just a bit more towards Helayne.)

My family "high-fives" each other.

Laurene returns with a fifteen pound, frozen turkey; wrapped in plastic and resembling a bowling ball.

"Great way to start the night!" Ann and Brenda slap her hands as she sits down, across from me. Even Dad tips his baseball cap.

"Damn Minnses..." I hear the old guy mutter again.

Pork loins go up for grabs. "Loose meat"--which is defrosted hamburger--in plastic "sacks"--kelbosis and Italian sweet sausage--yards of the stuff--get carted from the stage--while the turkeys are hauled away every few minutes. 

"I told you we win!" Ann hands four pounds of  thawing hamburger to Brenda. "Thanks--I'm making chili--I have guests, tomorrow!"

Dad rises in a wave of hoots and hollars, to claim his bird.
I duck down, just a bit lower.

My fear of having to stare at defrosting meat, has begun to manifest, for real. Behind us, on an empty table, my family has begun to pile its winnings: five turkeys, several bags-o-meat (hamburger); a couple pork loins; some pot roasts; maybe a mile of Italian sausages, kelbosi coiled like snakes in a bag; one side of ribs. ( NO lobsters...)
It's embarrassing. 

The old dude that muttered about us has finally stopped; he scored a sack of hamburger. Now, he's finishing a fourth bowl of  chowdah (and a beer) and is totally caught up in the raffle fever. He waves several bills in the air, trying to catch the eye of the ticket sellers as they blast past.

Suddenly, the MC says the magic words: "This is a special raffle--for the bacon!"

Every single hand along both sides of our table rises. (Even Helayne is bidding on the meat!)

"Here, here!" My sisters and father and sister-in-law flag down the ticket sellers as they rush between tables. 

There are only so many numbers on the wheel and so many tickets for each drawing.(There is also a limited supply of bacon.)

"That seller has completely ignored our table!" 

"She's only selling to her kids--over there--have you noticed?"

"I'm going to report this to the Principal--she's sitting with another nun--you can't tell, because they don't wear the habits--but they live together, still. Sister Gloria will put a stop to this!"

"Over here! We need tickets, over here!"

I haven't raised my hand. My sister Ann shoots a dollar bill across the table. "It's for the bacon!" she reminds me.

I slide her bill back. Reach into my wallet. Take a dollar out.

We get our tickets.

They begin calling numbers. 

Nobody at our table wins.

There is much sadness and grumbling accusations about favoritism and how ticket sellers shouldn't be allowed to bring their families to the raffle. 
Sigh.

But we keep betting (and breaking the odds).

Behind us, the mountain of meat grows ever higher.

"Number 1-5-1 !" The MC shouts.

Everyone groans.

Suddenly, Helayne is yelling into my left ear. Ann screams. Laurene is up and stabbing her finger on to my ticket. Bren and Dad and all the family friends join in:"YOU WON! YOU WON!"

Shocked (I never win anything-- and that's the truth.), I rise;making my way to the stage.
(Just like graduation in eighth grade or my seventh grade science fair. Feels EXACTLY the same: blood pumping, cheeks flushed, people hollaring, heart thumping, and the Baby Jesus smiling down at me from the gym wall.)

I take my fourteen pound turkey and return to the Clan.

"You really won!" Bren smiles at me for the first time all evening. 

"Aren't you glad you came?" Laurene grins. Ann laughs. Helayne thumps my back.

"You know, it's kinda nice, how your family does this stuff, together," she says.

I glance around the table.

(It's kinda true.)

"Here, you haven't won anything yet--we have seven turkeys piled up behind us--Happy Thanksgiving!" I hand my old friend the frozen bird.

"You don't have to do this," Helayne protests.

Dad, Ann,Bren,Laurene, all the family friends nod at me.

 "Yeah, I do, " I laugh.

Helayne graciously accepts the bowling ball.

The raffle continues.

At the end of the night, everyone drives their cars up to the front of the school, packing their winnings into the trunks, for the ride home.

"Damn Minnses--they're always lucky, " I hear a voice call out to us, from the dark. (Can't tell if it's angry or congratulatory. This is Gardner. It often sounds the same.)

"Well, how was your first meat raffle?" Ann asks, lighting a cigarette.

"It was fun, " Helayne good-naturedly lifts her turkey.

"It helps the school, anyway," Ann puffs.

"They need to upgrade the chowdah, " Bren slips into her car, with Dad and his buddy from the city council. 

"At least Dad's pal won something," she adds.

(Mr. Aries holds up his sausage and turkey and loose meat.)

They sort what's going to the soup kitchen and VFW and what's going to Kev and Laurene's freezer and what's coming home to 88 Maple. 

( I can't help but wonder: did our Celtic ancestors divide the spoils in a similar fashion, after their hunting parties?  Probably. Brrrrrrrrr.)

"Too bad., though. Nobody got the bacon," Ann puffs and waves, as she peels out of the parking lot.

Too bad.