From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin- His Rock And Roll Ruby Moment

 

 

Rock and Roll Ruby Lyrics-Johnny Cash

 

Well I took my ruby jumpin on a dance in the town

 

She took her high heels off and let her stockings down

           A

She put a quarter in the jukebox to get a little beat

      E

Everybody started dancin` on the rhythm of her feet

A

She’s my rock and roll ruby

E

rock and roll ruby

       B7                                    E

When ruby starts a rocking it satisfies my soul 

 

Well ruby started rocking bout one O`clock

And when she started rocking she just couldn’t stop

She rocked on the tables and she rocked on the floor

When everybody yelling ruby rock some more

 

Chorus

 

It was round about 4 and I thought she would stop

She looked at me and then she looked at the clock

She said wait a minute daddy now don’t you get soul all I wanna do I rock a little bit more

 

Chorus

 

One night my ruby left me all alone

I tried to contact her on the telephone

I finally found her bout 12 O`clock

She said leave me alone daddy cause your ruby wants to rock

 

Chorus

************

He remembered the first time he saw her, spotted her really, when he entered
Johnny Jake’s Bar, Johnny Jake’s up in Olde Saco, Maine, the old time textile town then having seen better days , that late 1956 night, that night he learned about hunger, hell, maybe desire was a better word but he didn’t want to get caught up with words not once he got a look at her. All he had  wanted that night, that cold Friday night, was a few drinks with his corner boys (corner boys whom he had known from hunger high school day at Olde Saco High when they all hung out in front of Mama’s Pizza Parlor over off Atlantic Avenue near the Acre just like his father, and his father before him, had done, waiting, waiting for something, some fresh breeze in that no air town, in that no air state, and, although he wasn’t complaining, no way, this no air red scare cold war country), listen to this mad max daddy rockabilly music that was getting so much play on the local rock station, WMEX, and was drawing big crowds into Jimmy Jack’s on the weekends, and go home after a hard week’s work at the mills.             

He remembered that guys, and maybe a few girls too, were calling out to her, calling out rock, Ruby, rock in honor of  the new wave Sun Records rockabilly hit by Warren Smith, Rock and Roll Ruby, that had everybody, every guy, in a lather about their dream Ruby, and maybe every girl dreaming her Ruby dream too. It wasn’t until later, much later, that he found out her name was actually Iris, Iris Genet then living in Biddeford (but really almost fresh from French-Canadian homeland up near the Gaspe heading south to catch some of the fresh breeze). But that was later, much later, and until that time Ruby fit her just fine. Yah, just fine.

It wasn’t like Ruby was some great beauty, although she had that wholesome prettiness that almost all French-Canadians girls of interest had whether from the Gaspe or from greater Olde Saco. Naturally she was slender; some would say thin and get no argument, with the genetic small breasts and long legs of F-C girls of interest, topped off by blue eyes and brownish blonde hair. She was wearing capri pants that night and a form- fitting white blouse. But all of this was so much hot air because what Ruby had, had in spades, had in diamonds, had in hearts, had in clubs, had in any part of the deck was, well, energy, sexual energy, enough sexual energy to float battleships if there was some way to transport the one to the other. And all of that energy was on display on the dance floor of Jimmy Jake’s that night as she danced to Good Rockin’ Tonight, the song the rockabilly cover band, the Rockin’ Ramrods, was playing as he came in, spotted her, and learned what hunger, was all about.  

Funny there was nothing choreographed about her moves, not at all, her play was based on, one, that slender (okay, thin) athletic body moving in about six direction at once in almost perfect harmony with the beat coming from the band, and two, that she was doing it all by herself, solo, alone, on the floor, on a couple of tables and in a flash  on top of Johnny Jake’s beaten up, beaten down, whiskey/beer/rum- stained brown mahogany bar. And guys and girls were egging her on although he distinctly saw some cat-like daggers in the eyes of some of the girls when their guys got, well, a little too carried away. And thus he took up Ruby dreams.

And just Ruby dreams because that night he sensed, and maybe correctly, that, one, every guy, every warm-blooded guy, in the place probably wanted to take a run at her too and from what he saw did (even some of those cat-like dagger- eyed girl attached guys) and, two, he noticed that while she was on everybody’s mind never once did she dance with a guy, fast or slow, and while the drinks piled up in front of her spot at the bar (rum and coke seemed to be her drink) no walking daddy was around that spot and no guy got a chance to sit near her for more than a quick minute, and then was dismissed. No this Ruby dream was not going to be conquered, if conquered at all, in any one evening and so that night he had his corner boy drinks, left with them, and  spent a restless toss and turn night.   

He went back to Johnny Jake’s the next few, maybe four Friday nights in a row, sometimes with his corner  boys, sometime solo depending  of his feel for the night (and the amount of tossing and turning that he had done that week), his lucky rabbit’s foot Frenchman luck feel for the night. No soap, Ruby, dancing with the saints of rock and roll or something, making more moves as she turned into a whirling dervish, looking foxier by the week, drinks piled up in front of her spot, no walking daddy around, no guys spending more than a few minutes at her station, dancing on the tables, and that hard-bitten bar counter, now mainly with her shoes off and in a dress rather than capris to fire guy dreams even more. And with the inevitable calls of rock, Ruby, roll (although the dated girls were noticeably more silent and their dates, probably having been rebuffed a little too often for eyeing Ruby just a little too often, had noticeably less lust in their eyes, Ruby lust anyway).

He figured, one, sweet Ruby was a “lessie,” some hellhole bitch just out to rile the plebes, cause riffs among the heteros and move on, two, she was some kind of hooker who was just letting off steam after a hard week at the pillows (although Johnny Jake, Johnny Jake in person as the manager of the place, was very, very careful about letting whores, obvious whores anyway, work his room) and, three, she was just some tease, some damn F-C tease just like the F-C (and Irish girls) from Olde Saco with a novena book in one hand and eat your heart out boys in the other.                 

Then one Wednesday night, an off day in the blues department, he dropped in to Johnny Jake’s for a couple of shots, whisky shots (hold the water chaser came with it on the first order  which told Tim the friendly bartender he was in for some serious drinking), and sat at the bar. Then Ruby came out of the Ladies’ Room all Ruby-like, dress, blouse, no shoes on, and sat down at her “spot” a few stools from his. She worked on a rum and coke for a few minutes then went to the jukebox  and dropped some change in the machine, change that sounded like quarters , made a bunch of selections, and soon Sonny Burgess’ Red-Headed Woman was blaring over the speakers and Ruby was working the table tops (mainly empty that night). He decided this was his time, he was ready to move, but something, maybe something in the determinedly provocative  way she danced, something in her abandon like nobody  else was in the room(and if there was it was of no import), and sometime  in her face that spoke of sorrows, maybe not deep sorrows but sorrows, held him back. He finished his drink and left.        

He had another toss and turn night although this time more over reevaluating his “take” on Ruby, he sorrowed-up version of Ruby, the thing  he sensed in her that held him back earlier in the evening . Gone were the “lessie,”whore, tease theories of her reason for existence replaced by a story line of displacement and loss that drove her from Quebec. One line went along an axis of her being too much of a free spirit, too “advanced” for some sleepy fishing village along the Saint Lawrence or the bay, maybe she had been the subject some “shunning” campaign from the shrill villagers jealous (and fisherman desirous of that energy, and fisherman wife responding with those same cat-like Olde Saco dagger eyes) and so she packed up and left. Left but did not leave, first time from home, her old country ways against the fast-paced new country ways. The second line, the obviously second line, was that she had been unlucky in love, some stupid guy had abandoned her, some local guy and so she had to flee to get a fresh start. He liked that second one better, better because it provided some kind of hope against the restless nights.          

That next Friday night he and his corner boys showed up once again at Johnny Jake’s, and he expectantly looked for his Ruby. She was not there. He asked Tim if he knew why she wasn’t. Tim filled him in, including informing of her real name and a few other sketchy details. His Ruby had flown the coop, or rather gone back to the Gaspe, because her man, her bad- ass man, Jeanbon Bleu, had just been released from prison. He said to himself, jesus, turning pale, pale inside anyway, was that who she was hooked up with. Jeanbon was well-known to every hard-ass (and soft-ass) corner boy from the Gaspe to Nashua for half the armed robberies and crazy madness in that part of Canada. He thanked his Wednesday night lucky stars he had stayed put. He had had his rock and roll Ruby moment. No, his rock and roll Iris moment. And that was enough.