He usually spent his summer mornings, and afternoons, and evenings on the neighborhood basketball courts. On Tuesday mornings these past weeks, though, he sat, comic book in hand, and waited for the familiar rumble of the big truck's engine.

The comic book helped pass the time until the big moment. It would also come in handy if one of his friends came by and asked why he wasn't at the courts.

His name was Joe-Pete. But his Papa called him "Joe-Beans," his Mama called him "Cheri," and his grandparents called him "P-ti-Chou," (a term of endearment meaning "little Cabbage"). The family had moved from Quebec to Clarkston, Maine when Joe-Pete was three years old.

Now Papa worked as a loom fixer on the 3 to 11 shift at Clarkston Textiles and tended bar at the Knotty Pine Grill on weekends. So Joe-Pete visited him in the bar but didn't see much of his Papa otherwise. His Mama took care of his four younger brothers and sisters, so Joe-Pete could come and go as he pleased -- as long as he did his schoolwork, his chores around the house, and didn't get into any trouble.

The family lived downtown, near City Park and St. Peter's Church, in a neighbor- hood framed by the busiest streets in town. So Joe-Pete and his friends had curbside seats for all the big events -- the Dairy Parade, with the Dairy Queen waving and the cows mooing and sometimes decorating the street in her honor; the St. John the Baptist Day parade, with the

This monstrous green machine, often heard before it was sighted, had a truck-wide mouth full of swirling, rotating blades that chewed up the huge pile of snow as it rumbled along. Then it funneled the chunks along a conveyor belt which ran upward past the enclosed cab where the driver sat, about 12 feet above street level. Then the Baba-Green spewed the snow into the dump trucks that followed along. Within hours, the streets were clear and ready for more snow. "Barber-Greene," clearly painted on the cab, was the actual name of the manufacturer. But the corruption to "Baba-Green" added to the monster's mystique and magic.

Joe-Pete and his best friend Ray often talked about what a great job it would be to operate the "Baba-Green." He imagined himself up there in the cab working various levers and pedals to make the monster go.

Joe-Pete sat on the front porch on those mornings, reading comic books, until he heard the truck rolling up the street. The garbagemen were even more fun to watch since a guy named Richard had started working that route. Joe-Pete had never spoken to Richard and only knew his name because he'd overheard the other men say it.

Most of the garbagemen simply picked up the trash cans, emptied them into the truck, and replaced them on the curb. Joe-Pete had always found that entertaining in itself. But Richard added pizzazz to the collection of garbage. He might dance a quick step before he dumped the contents of the can, or twirl the can so it rotated once before he set it back on the curb.

So, the next time the truck passed his house and turned the corner, Joe-Pete ran around the house, through his back yard, over the fence, under Madame Cloutier's clothesline, across to the tenement where his friend Ray lived, and watched from behind the building's front door. When the truck rolled around the corner, the guys jumped off it for the first pickup. Richard double-twirled one of the empty cans, set it down on the curb with a flourish, and leaped gracefully onto the truck as it began to roll away.

The next time the truck came by his house, Joe-Pete waved as soon as Richard looked in his direction.

"Hokay, Joe-Pete. I'm Richard, this is Paulie, and the ugly-lookin' guy drivin' the truck, that's Butch!" Joe-Pete would never tell his friends this, but he felt at that moment the same kind of thrill he'd felt at the Harlem Globetrotters game the year before. On that day, the great Meadowlark Lemon, the Clown Prince of Basketball, had picked him among hundreds of kids, shaken his hand and asked Joe-Pete to throw the ball inbounds to start an amazing and hilarious routine that ended with Meadowlark drop-kicking the ball into the basket from half-court. As the crowd erupted, Joe-Pete felt he'd been part of the Globetrotter magic.

For the next few weeks, as Joe-Pete watched, Richard seemed to invent new moves. Single and double pirouettes before he dumped the trash into the truck, switching the empty cans from hand to hand under his legs, even behind the back, on the return to the curb. Sometimes he'd even throw the empty can into the air, where it flipped once, twice, even three times, and catch it with one hand before he set it down. Joe-Pete wanted to tell Ray and his other friends at the playground about this, but he was sure he'd be laughed at.

One day, Joe-Pete noticed that the garbage truck was stopped near City Park, about a block and a half from his house. He walked up the street to see what was going on, and saw Richard, Paulie, and Butch sitting on the park benches eating their lunch.

"Hey boys, we got a ballplayer over here. Maybe the little guy and me challenge you two gorillas some time!?"

Paulie and Butch laughed, mumbled something about tying Richard's hands behind his back, lit cigarettes, and strolled over toward the truck.

"What I mean is . . . Well, you're probably what -- 10 or 11 years old? So you call this 'fun.' I'm 38 years old. You know what I call it?"

"'Makin' the best of it.' Now, I want you to ask your Papa the difference between 'makin' the best of it' and 'doin' a lot better.' "

"Hey, cheer up, my Chum. You're right. I do have fun. But I don't want to see you 15--20 years from now ridin' this truck. And your Papa and Mama don't want to either."

The truck's horn sounded. "Gotta go back to work, Joe-Pete, but you come see us at lunch again and bring your basketball. Me and you, we'll each tie one hand behind our backs and beat the pants off Paulie and Butch."

Richard playfully tapped Joe-Pete on the shoulder, popped up from the bench, held out his hands as he shouted "Fast break!", caught Joe-Pete's imaginary pass, ran as if approaching the basket for a layup, and leaped onto the back of the truck as it started rolling away. "See you soon, my Chum!"

Joe-Pete grew up to become a high-school French teacher and basketball coach, not a garbageman. But he did, in his own way, follow in Richard's footsteps. He constantly tried to invent new moves, "made the best of it" in some situations, and "did a lot better" in many others. And Joe-Pete's wife, Marie-Louise was always grateful to the legendary Richard. She never had to ask Joe-Pete twice -- to do a certain household chore.

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