Jimmy LaCroix’s older brother, Evie, usually didn’t speak two words to Jimmy, or let him speak two words to him. (Jacques and Evian, by the way, to mother, mother Daphne, and all still up around Gaspe French-Canadian relatives but to Jimmy and Evie, strictly Jimmy and Evie, among themselves and their respective Olde Saco corner boy crowd in that odd second generation, first generation-skipping rush to become Americanized, to be like the bloody old time oppressor English and bog-grown Irish, and shed that blasted patois adieu thing, that down from cold Canada farms and mines hunger thing, that damn Gallic saint this and saint that thing and bless yourself before every meal, at night, in front of every passed church thing, and vanilla melt in with souped-up hot rods, Luckies cigarettes rolled up in a white tee-shirt sleeve, and a Coke bottle beside you at all times in order, hell, what else, in order to “pass” with the swamp yankee Down East lobster fisherman’s daughter and that Irish mill hand mick’s colleen daughter, the one with that flaming red hair, prayer book in one hand and her other hand in, well, let’s leave it at that since Irish colleens, or for that matter wistful mermaid yankee, swamp pedigreed or otherwise, girls do not figure in Jimmy’s, or Evie’s, life just now.) Evie LaCroix fully subscribed to the prerogatives of being an older teenage brother, an older American teenage brother moving hard and fast toward twenty something and different troubles.
Moreover Evie one all-American teenager (black French-genetic hair, long thin build, wiry, and a smoldering something that girls, women, found sexually stirring) rushing to twenty with both a valid license to drive , no suspensions, no drunk stuff against his record (although he had been seen on back roads, the dirt roads and gravel pit ruts that passed for roads, around Gorham Road, just off U.S. Route One, out in farm country, driving full-throttle, some cheap jack whiskey, probably some Johnny Walker color, some blond, he favored blonds, joie blondes, excuse the patois, tied close in the front seat, or his corner boys from Mama’s Pizza Parlor over on Main Street front and back, when he was barely fourteen and sans license), and an automobile, or rather the automobile, a late model flash red (make that very cherry red) ’56 Chevy. A car that said, unmistakenly said, watch out, move over, pops, in your Dodge wagon, Plymouth whatever, Ford tank, and take note of this stud-mobile.
That hard fact car was nothing but a girl magnet (hell, Evie had picked up a few real women, already twenty something and experienced, looking for kicks, night time is the right time kicks, and ready to do what was necessary in the sex department to get to that front seat on more than one frosty Friday night when her walking daddy was just away, and according to rumor, even a very married woman, a thirty something woman, a Mayfair swell woman with kids from over in swanky Ocean City who got her kicks for a while, very hush, hush and out of town up in Portland nestled up against his shoulder) added fuel to the flame of the “no talk” rule between the brothers.
See teenage guys in the Acre (the French-Canadian section over on Atlantic Avenue, so called for either god’s little acre or hell’s, take your pick, near Jimmie Jakes Diner II, the one where all the young no car teenagers hung out in the summer nights since time immemorial not the one by Ocean Avenue for the blue-haired luncheon ladies and summer touristas long gone) had too much to do to keep those fast cars up in order to keep that girl magnet headed their way to talk to inconsequential brothers. Every day after school let out (and some weekends too) when the joint began to hop until closing Evie LaCroix could be seen at the Adventure Car-Hop doing solemn duty to car-filled cars as a short order cook serving greasy burgers with all the fixings (twenty -six possible combinations)and oil-drenched fries (one combination)to the multitudes. (Evie, in the time-honored Acre tradition, like all his corner boys, had no use for further schooling once he got some dough in his jeans, dropped out at sixteen once the school hours proved inconvenient to his new lifestyle.)
Every once in a while, work while, Evie, pulling his head up from the splattering stovetop to turn over some burger with fried green peppers would eye his girl of the moment, Lorraine Champlain, the ace carhop of the place, and one fox that every guy in town, every guy maybe from young guys like Evie to old, maybe thirty- year old guys, wanted to get next to. Just in case you don’t remember or don’t have Wikipedia handy a car hop was, well, a young, good-looking woman who came (in some places via roller skates) to the side of your car, took your order, and eventually brought you your burger with whatever on it, fries and soft drink on a tray. Nice touch in car- conscious 1950s America, even in sleepy old dying mill town Olde Saco, Maine.
Lorraine, all blond hair (real, by the way, Evie said so real), small breasts like all F-C girls, long forever legs, legs made for wrapping around some guy, made forever longer by the short shorts she wore in summer along with midriff- revealing halter, and some perfume thing that made you do a double-take when she took your order (if Evie did not have his head up, otherwise pass, wisely pass, please). And while many guys ogled Lorraine (and left big tips as tribute) she was true blue to her Evian (not Evie, not to her, or anything like that by the way and no mother’s boy talk about him letting her use that forbidden name, not unless you wanted to mix knuckles with corner boy tough Evie, no, leave that noise at home, or better stand in some sullen corner if that is your line). So you can see that Evie certainly would have had no time, no time at all for bon Jimmie.
Except Jimmy, all twelve years of him, had to, just had to break his armed truce with Evie and speak two, maybe more words. Jimmy was smitten (local Olde Saco corner boy, junior division, word for love, puppy love learned, or half-learned, from a poem, some old- time Robert Browning thing picked up in Miss Genet’s class and immediately adopted in junior division corner boy society) with one Mimi Dubois, Lorraine’s cousin, and someone who might one day challenge Lorraine as the ace car hop in town. But that future prospect was not what was bothering Jimmy that day, the day he got up enough nerve to ask Evie the big question.
He had asked Mimi to go to the movie theater, the Bijou where they had sci-fi stuff and monster movies not the Majestic where they only had old time film noir fare with guys getting themselves blasted up for dames and getting nothing for their efforts, except an off-hand slug in the chest or something, with him on Saturday afternoon to watch the double feature and he needed a please, please favor because the theater was too far from her house to walk and her parents would not let her go without a ride. (They in time-honored tradition did not make the social faux pas of suggesting that they take the pair to the theater, jesus, no, they had been told in no uncertain terms to not even mention that possibility.) Also Jimmy’s parents were out for the very good reason (although not as good as the “in no uncertain terms” one) that Mr. LaCroix had been laid off from the dying textile mills where he had worked most of his life and he didn’t have an automobile at the moment.
So Jimmy spoke, spoke to Evie on the fly after school one afternoon as Evian was preparing to enter his chariot very cherry red Chevy to head to Adventure Car Hop about driving him to the theater. And here is how young Jimmie laid out his case to his older brother. One day at Doc’s (the local Acre drugstore where the junior high school kids hung out because, one, it was right across from the school, and two, Doc’s had a soda fountain and super jukebox that played all the latest teen hits)Jimmie had cornered Mimi. It was there that Jimmy approached his sweet Mimi to ask about going to the movies. And Eddie Cochran saved him. No, not Eddie in person, but his latest hit, Sittin’In The Balcony.
Jimmie kind of came at Mimi sideways, like twelve- year old goofy guys will, and asked Mimi off-handedly a hypothetical question concerning her choice for movie seating options. Down in the orchestra which meant a silly date, like old people did, watching the movies, and maybe eating popcorn or up in the balcony where in Olde Saco tradition (and maybe every other civilized place as well) the young, very young sans automobile, sans money, sans any idea of what was going on went to “make out” and not watch some silly old double feature (although they might come up for air for popcorn occasionally).
[The whole teen Saturday afternoon double feature movie arrangement, circa 1957, the etiquette if you will, bears some further detailed description. Not for the under eighteen Acre/Olde Saco/Maine/U.S.A/ World teenage crowd. Hell no, this was (is) almost instinctive stuff, not stuff that had to be mentioned, has to be instructed about from one generation to another or one older sibling to younger sibling, has to beat around, beat down by every academician, sociological or anthropological academician especially, looking to make a nice career instructing bright college kids about the mores of this heathen cult. That movement was genetic. But there might be some clueless parents who maybe never went to the movies, or who only sat in the orchestra section (to see the movies better, jesus), or went to the library on Saturdays, whatever, so here is the skinny:
The 1950s Saturday afternoon double- feature (already this is something very different for more modern ears) at the Bijou was where almost every kid had to learn the basic social skills necessary to survive in cut-throat Olde Saco teen world. First off it was strictly the Bijou that produced a double feature of monster movies (The Blob That Devoured Toledo, Godzilla Meets King Kong, stuff like that), thrillers (The Night Of The Living Dead, etc.) or weird alien stuff. Sci-fi stuff with scary things for outer space. And that is why every kid (and his or her date, if applicable) lined up early. The other movie house in town, The Majestic, was strictly, well, for maybe those library-goers taking a break one Saturday, or kids who wanted to go into the film industry, or adults who had enough sense to stay clear of the Saturday matinee at the Bijou to watch silly romances (adult hard to follow the plot stuff because it was not clear who loved who, or who didn’t, or who ran off with who, and why, stuff like that), or arty stuff. Maybe people who today need some instruction on what went on at the Bijou.
The great divide though (and another reason to get in line early) at the Bijou, in the Acre, in Olde Saco, in Maine, in the U.S. of A, maybe in the World, was where dated up kids would sit, orchestra section or balcony (singles, guys or girls, groups, guys or girls, don’t count here and took their lame dumb luck seats down below, including those clowns who were there to actually watch the movies, again jesus, why would anyone do that). So every date situation from twelve to eighteen (nobody older, not on Saturday afternoon, they were saving their energies for the night, the night time is the right time and not at some silly movie house but rather down at Olde Saco Beach, really Seal Rock at the far end), began with that critical question.
Needless to say the balcony was off-limits to anyone over eighteen, ushers, the management, anybody once the film started. Now here is where those lucky enough to make the cut had things working their way at the Bijou. Those B-films (hell, maybe C, D, or F, who remembers) were great for “making out” (wink, wink). Why? Not every girl or guy who went up in balcony was brazen, or all that knowledgeable about love, or anything, or about how to“get in the mood,” although all wanted to get in the mood. So those dopey scenes on the screen where some gigantic monster devoured a building, or weird trapezoidal beings took over average American bodies, or where some seaweed looking blot sucked the life out of some average American kid were just scary enough to make the couple, and it wasn’t always the girl, draw closer for protection. Nice, huh, and then you didn’t have to look at the screen after that (except for a little popcorn, or something like that.]
And Mimi?
Mimi answered like this, and thus caused Jimmy his boldness in asking his brother for help. “If you are asking me just to ask me a silly question while Eddie Cochran’s Sittin’ In The Balcony is playing then I’d answer orchestra but if you are really asking me to go to the movies with you then it’s the balcony. Evian laughed, laughed out loud at that and then grabbed Jimmy by the shoulder and said, “Sure kid, I was young once too.”
