Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Brenda Lee performing Break It To Me Gently. Ya, we have all been down that one-way road to perdition.
CD Review
AM Gold: 1962, various artists, Time-Life Music, 1991
Scene: Brought to mind by one of the songs on this CD, Brenda Lee’s Break It Too Me Gently.
Friday night, a late September Friday, I think, because it was just getting cold at night around old North Adamsville. And there was a cold political menace (soon to get hot, very hot) in the air as well from those pesky Cubans and their patrons, the Soviets. In any case a high school Friday night because the night we are talking of was the night of the Falling Leaves Dance that had been an institution (and still is) at North Adamsville High since Hector was a pup. Or at least as far back as my mother’s time, Delores Markin, North Adamsville Class of 1943, the war years, oops, the World War II war years so that you don't get mixed up on which war. Every red-blooded teen angst-ridden boy or girl with the dollar required for entry was going to show up, singly or in couples.
Now I should explain that this dance was no Johnny Jones, the local kid with the most rock and roll records and an arcane knowledge of said records, acting as D.J. at the regular free cheap jack weekly Friday night, well, let’s call it sock hop. (You all had your Johnnies so I don't have to detail his exploits, okay). No, this was a get out you best party dress girls, no tee shirts need apply guys, almost “formal” dance. And two things right away distinguished it for the low-rent sock hop. Yes, of course, it was still held in the crusty old North Adamsville gym but the place, courtesy of the North Adamsville Class of 1962 Senior Dance Committee (whee!), the senior class always sponsored this one, had the place looking, well, like a hotel ballroom. No faded banners and bunting this night. Flowers, tablecloth on the tables, glasses to drink your soda from rather than from the bottle, and so on. Ya, this one was different.
The really big difference though, Johnny Jones’s high opinion of his musicological skills notwithstanding, was that this night there was live music provided by Diana Nelson and her pick-up band, crazed local favorites, the Rockin’ Ramrods. No scratchy records over Jones’ jerry-rigged sound system this night but the real thing. Diana on vocals, and the Ramrods for some serious rock and roll covers. Now the reason that Diana Nelson was featured that night may surprise you, or maybe not. In the year 1962 everybody, boys and girls almost equally, were crazy for girl vocalists singing their hearts out, and singing mushy stuff about heartbreak, loneliness, sorrow, and other stuff than only teenagers in the be-bop 1962 night knew (or cared) about. Patsy Cline, Connie Francis, Brenda Lee, Carla Thomas, and especially of late, Brenda Lee, singers like that with big voices and some serious sadnesses to speak of.
So the town fathers, in their infinite wisdom, decided that such wholesome, if sorrowful, music should have its local representative and sponsored, sponsored out of town funds if you can believe this, a singing contest with a one thousand dollar scholarship prize attached for the winner. More importantly, as least to hear Diana tell it, was the chance to be the female vocalist (with those Ramrods backing her up) at the Falling Leaves Dance.
Sometime I will tell you about that competition because some things that happened there would have amused, or befuddled you. One thing that would not is the fact that Diana Nelson was, by far, the best female vocalist there with her stirring rendition of Brenda Lee'sI'm Sorry. Not a lip-sych-like imitation but in her own style. Even though I was no mushy-headed guy but a regular Salducci's Pizza Parlor corner boy, and took no notice of girlish sentiment, well, little notice anyway, I stood on my chair and applauded. Truth to tell, I had a big thing for Diana, and had been staring at her ass in classes and in the halls ever since about ninth grade so that might have added to my delight at her victory. Of course my Salducci's corner boys will try to tell you that I was one hundred percent skirt-addled and dismissed this Diana thing out of hand. Don't believe it, even though she never gave me a tumble (she was "going steady" with some college guy).
The reason I won't go into that competition thing now is because this story is really about Johnny Callahan, you know the still hallowed "tear 'em up" fullback on the 1962 championship North Adamsville Red Raiders football team. And, well, it really isn't even a story but just another one of those things that have been happening to guys since about Adam, if not before. Now that I think of it, before.
See Johnny and Chrissie McNamara had been going out for the previous couple of years since sophomore year when Chrissie, a young woman not to be messed with when she had a bee in her bonnet, set out to "capture" one Johnny Callahan. No quarter given. Well, she got her man, got him bad. Got him six ways to Sunday. I was there the night, another Friday night if I recall correctly, that Chrissie, by general agreement, general boy agreement anyway, a fox came strolling, no, zeroing in on Johnny and sat right down on his lap and practically dared him to push her off. What she didn't know (nor did we) was that Johnny was crazy for Chrissie, and had been for quite a while. Everybody laughed when Chrissie, red-faced but determined, said "Johnny, I'm going to sit here and it will take the whole football team to pull me off." Of course Johnny was holding her so tight to him that it would have taken the whole football team, maybe the junior varsity thrown in too, to get her off his lap.
But that was then. Of late the freeze had been on between them. Reason: one Lance Duncan, if you can believe that. With a fox like Chrissie, no way. Lance, despite his preppie name out of some F. Scott Fitzgerald Basil and Josephine story, was after all nothing but the local whiz kid Math guy. And just then Chrissie was on a "smart" kick. Now Johnny Callahan could carry twelve guys on his back over the goal line on a granite gray fall Saturday afternoon but, let's say, would be hard-pressed to accurately count the number of guys on his back. So Thursday night, Thursday night the day before the Falling Leaves Dance, for chrissake, Chrissie gave old Johnny the "kiss-off." Gently, nicely, with a soft landing as was Chrissie's way but still a kiss-off.
So Johnny would not be sitting at one of the those freshly laundered tableclothed tables drinking his soda from a glass instead of from the bottle waiting to be crowned king of the dance along with queen, Chrissie. I hoped, hoped to high heaven, when I heard the ugly details, that it would not affect his game that Saturday against tough arch-rival Clintondale High (it didn't). He was so pissed off he went crazy, crazy enough to count those thirteen guys he was carrying on his back when he went over the goal line for his fifth touchdown of the afternoon.
P.S. Even now, maybe especially even now these many years later, do not believe that nonsense from some unnamed corner boys about my "hitting" on Chrissie at that Saturday football game just mentioned (Math whiz Lance did not go to football games, period) now that she was "free." Utter nonsense.
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