Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of the Dubs performing the classic Could This Be Magic? to set the mood for this piece.
Now 1957 was a good year for rock, for "boss" cars, and for car hops if you could keep them, the car hops that is, at least that was what some of the older guys told me later. Of course all such details about “hot” car hops as were related should have been taken with the grain of salt, although they were not always by me anyway. To heard some of the talk, and here I am thinking of my old time high school corner boy king, Frankie Riley, these hard-pressed and abused young women could hardly keep their hands off these guys rather than worry about getting the orders right, did you have a Coke with that burger or Pepsi?, that kind of stuff which was probably more like it. But the pressure, the male peer pressure to come up with spicy (and improbable) tales at before school Monday boys’ “lav” bull sessions dictated such fables. Rightly so, as well, if you wanted to be “cool,” including some tall tales told by this writer.
In 1957 though my drive-in restaurant experiences were limited to, when we had a car, a working car in our family which was an iffy proposition at best, sitting in the back seat of some beat up sedan, maybe a Hudson or Studebaker strictly from hunger, waiting during the daytime (the night belonged to the teens and no self-respecting or smart parent would bring tender children to such a devils’ den place at night) for some cold plastic hamburger with fries. Coke or Pepsi (although I graduated to Robb’s Root Beer, a local elixir, at some point because that is all I would drink for soda (then called tonic in New England). Jesus.
But the music was on fire that year as the breakout of the previous couple of years hit the pre-teen (me and my boys) audience that was just as starved for its own not good housekeeping-parent-seal-of-approval music as the older kids. Swiveling Elvis, duck-walking Chuck Berry, Mad man piano buster Little Richard, Bo Diddley (who made a very early and strong claim with that Afro-Carib beat and that incredible drum line to be the guy, the mad monk, who put the rock in rock and roll), Jerry Lee also busting up the black and whites, and a ton of other talent was hitting the airwaves so that if you tired of hearing one song after the one thousandth consecutive playing on your record player you could move right on.
Some years in those days, I believe reflecting banner years, had a ton of good stuff to listen to and in line with that premise one would today find multiple CDs (with about twenty plus songs on each one remember the songs then were about two and one half minutes or so) dedicated to the greatest hits for that year. For 1957, which had at least a magic two CDs worth we were in very heaven because one could hardly do the trick with just one CD. No way. Stick outs then included Chuck Berry’s Rock & Roll Music (Christ, he had about ten hits in those years and most of them still crank up the teen-memory dark night air with their electricity); The Platters’ classic last dance, school dance I’m Sorry (oh, please, please save that last dance for me certain she that I have eyed until my eyes got sore all night, and she, certain she, peeked at me too); Little Richard’s Jenny, Jenny (another guy who had a ton of hit in a short period, although they haven't worn as well as Chuck's); and Fats Domino’s Blue Monday (yah, back to school days Monday blahs, except for Monday morning boys' "lav" bragging rights if that certain she I just mentioned really did mean to look my way for that last dance, otherwise why have a Monday anyway). Those are just the icing on the cake to make you (me) wish, wish to high heaven that I was older, and had a boss ’57 Chevy so I too could take a run at those car hops and complain, also to high heaven, about those plastic hamburgers and fries to someone that mattered.
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