Out In The 1960s Be-Bop Jukebox Night

Out In The 1960s Be-Bop Jukebox Night-An Encore

By Zack James

 

Everybody knows, or should know by now, that I was one of those guys, one of those working-class neighborhood guys, my particular working-class neighborhood being the Acre section of old North Adamsville where the poorest of the poor eked out their existence was what they called then a JD, juvenile delinquent. We called ourselves, as did other who were in the same condition the more literarily romantic “corner boys.” Corner boys who mainly worked their way up the age-defined grapevine to hang in front of Salducci’s Pizza Parlor by high school time. In my time the king hell king of the corner boy night was one Francis Xavier Riley, Frankie, my best friend from junior high school days until a few years ago when they finally laid him to rest.    

No question Frankie was our leader, and no question either that whatever legend was built up about him, true or false, had my fingerprint all over it. See I was Frankie’s “flak,” his PR man if you like and at some point I had him set up like the “second coming,” set up so heroically that I almost believed half the stuff I wrote about myself, and maybe he did too.  

No question Frankie, a really good-looking guy in the Irish good-looks way and a fast-talker also in the Irish budding politician way had all the girls our age around the neighborhood, some older girls too, all wrapped around his finger. Frankie, of course, although we had some tight moments, giving the devil his due, guided me fairly well through the intricacies of, well, ah, girls, girlish ways, and girlish charms. He took me under his wing after my family had moved to that side of town from Adamsville and we moved in across the street from his house. No question that I would have been left to dry out, alone, utterly alone, in that great teenage angst night if not for my brother, Frankie. He was always hipping me to different techniques he had worked out in his fertile brain, some which worked, worked for him and some that busted out, busted out for me. I’ll give you one example that worked for him all the time and sometimes for me, and you can judge for yourself.

What got me thinking about this old trick was just the other day I was, after being appalled that a diner I was having a little lunch at had a jukebox where you got exactly one selection for a quarter, telling someone about how in the great 1960s teen corner boy night a lot of our time, our waiting around for something, anything to happen time, was spent around places like pizza parlors, drugstore soda fountains, and corner mom and pop variety stores throwing coins into the old jukebox to play the latest “hot” song for the umpteenth time. This was the scene that Frankie ruled over wherever he set up his throne. I was also telling that person about a little “trick” that I used to use when I was, as I usually was, chronically low on funds to feed the machine.

See, part of that waiting around for something, anything to happen, a big part, was hoping, sometimes hoping against hope, that some interesting looking frail (girl in the old neighborhood terminology, boy old neighborhood terminology that is, first used by Frankie, and then picked up by everyone else) would come walking through that door. And, especially on those no dough days, would put some coins in that old jukebox machine. I swear, I swear on anything, that girls, girls, if you can believe this, always seemed to have dough, at least coin dough, in those days to play their favorite songs.

 

So here is the trick part, and see it involves a little understanding of human psychology too, girl human psychology at that. Okay, say, for a quarter if you can believe this you got five selections on the juke box like you did at Salducci’s who used the cheap juke as an enticement to get kids in after school for pizza and soda. Well, the girl, almost any girl that you could name, would have a first pick set, some boy romance thing, and the second one too, maybe a special old flame tryst that still hadn’t burned out. But, see after that, and this is true I swear, they would get fidgety about the selections. And, boy, that is where you made your move. You’d chime up with some song that was on your “hot” list like Save the Last Dance for Me, or some other moody thing and, presto, she hit the buttons for you.

 

Here’s where the psychology came in, the girl human psychology. That sentimental choice by you rather than, let’s say Breathless by Jerry Lee Lewis which had been your real “hot” choice told her you were a sensitive guy and worthy of a few minutes of her time. So you got your song, you got to talk to some interesting frail and maybe, maybe in that great blue-pink great American teen night you got a telephone number even if she had a boyfriend, a forever boyfriend. Nice, right?

 

But here is the part, the solemn serious part that makes this a Frankie story although he is not present in this scene, at least not physically present. Who do you think got me “hip” to this trick? Yes, none other than Francis Xavier Riley, Frankie, king of the teen night, king of the North Adamsville teen night. And, this is why he was king. He was so smooth, after a while, at directing the selections that girls would not even get a chance to pick those first two current flame and old flame selections but he would practically be dropping their quarters in the machine for them. Hail Frankie.