I die a little each winter, in the late winter, in the post-Christmas and New Year’s party time winter. In the cold and short dark days of the New Year, part of me shuts down and the part that goes away never comes back.
Finally, the warm days come and with them the summer and I turn some old Springsteen up loud, Boomer music I know, you don’t need to remind me. I dig out my leather jacket, bought in 1974, happy it still fits, and my Fender Telecaster attitude, and wonder if the spirit that filled this old jacket and those greaser boys still haunts those abandoned places we eventually ran away from, to the soft yellow light of hearth and home so long ago.
Huddled in packs we worked our way through hot nights, our path lit by Marlboro’s and Kools. Pointy toed boots shuffling from Camaros and Mustangs, never the money for Corvettes, to the night’s place to drink, where we’d devastate the sweet street-girls with our abundance of charm and wit. Expecting far more in return than we offered. Far more than could be expected from the purchase of a pitcher of beer, and a couple of songs on the juke box. Too cool to dance, we sat in dark corners sullen and working on our hard-edge. Collars up trying to be so tough, waiting for the pretty girls to come and salve our wounds.
Do the spirits of the young boys still haunt those places, like the streets of my hometown or the boardwalk and beaches of Asbury Park? Sometimes when I stand on that beach, the destination of so many summer migrations, I call out the names of my missing troops, but the only response is the surf and the wind. I can still feel the angst as we fought for position in a hierarchy that meant everything then, and absolutely nothing now.
Maybe the boys have gone to one of those meetups someone was always hustling off too. Those meetings on the other side of somewhere with genuinely scary dudes we weren’t allowed to fear. So we buried the fear so deep it could not exist.
I stand on that same boardwalk now and try to smell those far-off summer scents. The grease and ninety-three octane exhaust—French fries and fried dough and the carnival air. Madam Marie is closed, our fortunes to remain forever untold. Then I sit quietly and try to connect to the anarchy of those summer days when we ruled the world, and that carnival and all its characters were simply part of our parade.
Falling asleep watching the moonrise in our cars at the beach, and wakening to breakfasts of warm beer and cigarettes, masters of our own destiny, too young and too stupid to care. All those girls, portrayed in song, we couldn’t live without, but somehow managed to… and the realization the rising moon was a Burger King sign, two blocks away.
Those summer days crashed hard, and life and jobs and houses and families called, and we lost our leather and our rage. The boot heel of the world stomped down the attitude until the fire was barely an ember.
I wonder at night as I drive through these places, many boarded up and left to the rot and wind, does the spirit of those high-strung boys, always at war, still haunt those places. Would that leather boy know me now. Would he fight me now?
Some of us held on too long, until our time abandoned us and we metamorphized into old, busted knuckle greasers, living in now steady retreat.
Loved it Bill! Smartly written and the imagery was “spot on”!
I didn’t get to grow up in that era, but my Mom did… I can just see her with her guy… them taking a spin, stopping in “their spot” for some “quick fun”
I remember many trips to Asbury Park, the beach, and the boardwalk from my 28 month adventure at Fort Monmouth, NJ trying to survive my interrupted college education to learn and then teach as an instructor at the Army Signal School. Being drafted forced me to enlist in the Army to avoid becoming a Marine and wasting a semester of college with my report date mid-semester. Delayed entry and getting a decent MOS of choice was improved by testing out of the first 10 weeks of basic electronics classes and being offered a longer, better course. Then getting selected as an instructor to finish out my Active Duty requirement without going directly to Vietnam and not collecting $200 was like a "Get out of jail free" card while playing Monopoly with your life at stake.
The boardwalk was a tangible option to distract me from the terrors of military service and growing up trying to pay your own way in life and your education. My life turned into an unexpected adventure of multiple paths that included travel to every state except Hawaii and eight trips to Europe as my military career extended to over 33 years, from E1 to E9 Sargeant Major while only belonging to three units: Basic Training at Fort Leonard Wood, MO, Advanced Individual Training at Fort Monmouth, NJ plus becoming Permanent Party status for the rest of my Active Duty period, then after a year of Inactive Reserves, I was invited to join a Major Logistical Headquarters Unit in Kansas City, KS near my home that lasted for over 30 years. The stories would fill multiple books but the experience and opportunities were amazing.
My civilian career as a Fire Protection Systems Engineering Technician took me to projects in every state and 10 countries an a lifetime of fulfilling my lifetime goal of always helping others.