Credits

These pieces are first drafts that will be added to my novel in progress, "Families," which is set in Olney in 1968. The main characters are Steven Winthorp, age 10, and his mother, Kate Muir. Other important characters are Steven's friends, Tony Marino, Nancy Edwards, Ted Schwartz, and Jack Doyle. His closest friends are Jimmy, Doug, and Jeanie Harper. Steven spends a great deal of time at the Harper's and Mr. and Mrs. Harper, Frank and Alice, are his second set of parents. Agnes McGill, is Kate and Steven's landlord and she lives in the apartment upstairs. Helen Loetz, a graduate student at Penn, is Agnes' niece and lives with her.

Monday, February 17, 2014

Juke Box (from "Families")

        They stopped at a diner called the Silver Rocket on the way home. The walls were covered with pictures from NASA, and model spaceships filled a rack that ran the length of one wall. The strip of linoleum that ran down the center aisle was a pattern of moon and stars. They slid into the booth and Steven passed out the plastic covered menus. Before ordering, Steven instantly began flipping the shiny silver levers attached to the cards with the song titles inside the little juke box on the end of the table. Whenever they came here, Steven made sure they had nickels to play songs. Today he’d forgotten, but between the three of them they came up with seven nickels. Steven suggested that they take turns picking songs. It was agreed that Steven would go first.
      Before Steven picked his first song, he calculated that whoever went first would get three choices, the others only two. He kept this fact to himself. After all, he hadn’t asked to go first. He had almost decided on his first song, when the waitress arrived and he ordered what he always ordered, an open faced roast beef sandwich with gravy on the mashed potatoes, and mixed vegetables. He returned to his musical consideration while his mother and Helen ordered their meals.
      He dropped in the first nickel, turned the handle, and said, “C7, ‘Born to be Wild.”
      “There’s a surprise,” said Kate, as the opening chords crunched the air. “Remember, Steven, the rules are you can’t play any song more than once.” She turned to Helen and said, “Once he played this song four times in row. When it began for the fourth time, the manager unplugged it and dropped a nickel on Steven’s plate.  A few people cheered.”
     They laughed, even Steven laughed, and Kate was pleased to see that he had calmed down. It was Helen’s turn next. She spun through the songlist and asked Steven to select A4, “Jumping Jack Flash.” “I saw the Stones in London a few years ago. They were great.”
      Kate took her turn and selected E7, “What a Wonderful World.”  When it came on, Steven shook his head, and said to Helen, “She always tries to embarrass me.”
      Helen rose to Kate’s defense. “That’s Louis Armstrong, one of the greatest musicians alive.” She could see that he wasn’t impressed. “She could have picked E9.”
      Steven flipped the cards and found E9. “Yuck,” said Steven. “‘Yummy, Yummy, Yummy.’ That song is so stupid. My friend, Doug loves that song and it is so stupid.”
      “Your turn, Steven,” said Kate. “Let’s keep going before he attacks my songs again.”
      Steven again took his time. “‘Revolution’?” No. “‘I Heard It Thought the Grapevine’?” Maybe next time. “C5 ‘Mony, Mony’.”
       Helen was drinking water and almost choked. “‘Mony, Mony’?” said Helen through her laughter. “‘Jump down, turn around, Mony, Mony’. I don’t think Einstein wrote that one, Steven.”
        Steven looked confused. “It’s Tommy James,” said Steven. “The guy who sings ‘Crimson and Clover.’”
       “What I meant was that ‘Mony, Mony’ is a pretty silly song,” explained Helen. 
        Steven looked surprised.  “No it isn’t,” he said.
       “Tell you what,” said Helen. “When you get home, I want you to write down the lyrics, the words, to ‘Yummy, Yummy, Yummy’ and ‘Mony, Mony’ then look at them real closely and find a reason why they aren’t both stupid.”
       Steven looked puzzled, uncertain how to take Helen. “Steven, I’m playing with you,” Helen said. “If you’re going to dish it out, you have to learn to take it.”
       Before he could speak, she said, “A4, ‘Sunshine of Your Love.’ Cream. Three guys and whole lot of sound. That’ll blow away any tinny, little Mony echoes.”
      Kate was ready with her selection. “B10 ‘Honey.’ I cried the first time I heard it.”
      “I still do, until I can change the station,” said Helen.
       Steven smiled, his hand hand hovering over the buttons. “Last chance to pick a good song, Mom. Want another chance?”
       “No, it’s fine,” said Kate.
        Steven groaned as he pressed B10. He looked at the last nickel on the table and a surprising idea fired through his brain. He considered it and decided that he might as well. “Go ahead, Helen,” he said. “Take the last pick.”
        Kate shot her eyebrows in surprise. “We have a gentleman here,” said Helen. “I tell you what. I’ll pick a song, but if either of you don’t like it, just say so, and I’ll pick something else.”
        Their food arrived and Kate and Steven began to eat while Bobby Goldsboro  suffered and Helen made the final selection. “C3 ‘Sitting on the Dock of the Bay.’ A little soul for our supper.” Neither Kate nor Steven was familiar with the song, but Helen assured them that they would like it. They’d finished their meal before the song played, but Helen insisted they order dessert so that they’d hear it. They were finishing their ice cream as Otis Redding was whistling his lost and lonely way to the end of the song. “Wow,” said Kate softly. Steven asked if he could break his only dime so they could play it again.

       After the second time through ‘Dock of the Bay,’ they rode the trolley home down 5th Street. Steven convinced Helen and Kate to get off one stop early, so they could stop at Getlin’s records. Helen had insisted on buying the single for Kate and Steven. On the way home, they whistled the coda, Helen coaching them when they drifted. “Otis died in a plane crash last December,” said Helen. “He was only twenty-four or twenty-five. So sad.” The whistling stopped.

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