He wasnโt a bad boy, the tearful mother professed to the crowd who gathered on the beach. Yes, he was precocious, as his teachers would attest, but he was a bright and friendly child with a clever imagination. Surely you can see that; just look at him happily playing tag with his new friends by the water.
It was dreadful, no denying, but it was a horrible accident, the weeping woman explained. A simple game of hide and seek gone terribly awry. Teams of two, boys against girls. Her son and his little friend Jack took turns hiding in a hollow on the beach, each one covering the other with sand and rocks. It was really the perfect spot to hide.
Her son scampered off behind a nearby dune to wait in hiding when the girls called out โReady or not, here I come!โ They quickly found him behind the dune and he chased them, forgetting all about his friend buried beneath the sand and rocks. Only when he heard urgent voices yelling โJACK! JACK!โ did he remember his friend.
He ran to the spot where Jack was hiding, desperate parents on his heels, but it was sadly too late for his little friend. Of course no one blamed him; it was a game turned deadly, fun between innocent children.
Later, as the boy sat on his bed, he removed a slip of paper taped behind his bedpost. With a red crayon, he crossed off the name โJackโ from the list.
We were driving down iconic Route 66 in our convertible Volkswagen Jetta on our way from Chicago to Santa Monica, California, everything we owned being towed in a small rented U-Haul. In the backseat on the floor behind us, sleeping in his carrying case, was our bulldog puppy, Ringo.
Weโd been on the same stretch of road without seeing another soul for what seemed like an eternity โ nothing but miles of tall corn and wheat fields swaying in the breeze. We talked about everything, especially opening our new veterinary practice โ a huge step in our professional lives but one we were ready for. Our real estate agent sent us photos of our new office with the name boldly printed in black lettering on a light grey awning: Peterson’s Planned PetHood. ๐โโฌ
Rummaging through the glove box looking for a snack bar, I came across The Beatles White Album. โHey, look what I foundโ I said, showing the CD to my husband, Doc.
โExcellent! Put it on, Babe.โ
Opening the case, I discovered a long-forgotten joint, crushed but still viable. โWhoa! Check it out. This CD comes with a bonus track!โ
We lit up, the stale weed snapping and popping as it burned. Even the smallest of tokes resulted in fits of coughing but we still got a decent buzz on. The CD was an incredible find; with each mile down the road we got a little bit higher and a little bit louder singing along to the tunes.
And then there it was โ the unmistakable intro of funky get-down guitar slaps and drum beats leading into โWhy Donโt We Do It In The Road?โ. We were grooving in our seats, thumping on the car doors, digging the hell out of that song.
Doc pulled the car over onto the shoulder. Lowering his sunglasses down his nose, he looked at me seductively and started singing โNo one will be watching us, why donโt we do it in the road?โ
โHave you lost your mind? What are you … some horny teenager?โ
โWell, you’re half right, Iโll give ya that. Here we sit … a hot banging Beatles song playing, my incredibly sexy wife in a miniskirt and plenty of road. Listen. Paulโs practically begging us to get out of this car and do it IN THE ROAD!โ
“Your know, we can get plenty cozy right here IN the car” I suggested, slowly stretching my legs on the dashboard.ย
Doc laughed and leaned over to kiss me, whispering โWeโve done it IN the car โฆ a lot. Cโmon, Becca!ย ย Letโs get down [*kiss*]ย and dirtyย [*kiss*]ย and do it in the roadย [*long hot kiss*].ย
It didn’t take much for me and doc to turn each other on. Pushing the โREPEATโ button on the CD player, he grabbed a blanket from the back seat and we ran to the rear of the car. Laughing, I wriggled out of my panties and wrapped my legs around Doc’s waist as we eased ourselves to the ground.
Just as Paul let loose with the high note, we heard an “Ahem” and froze. Glancing sideways, we saw the shiniest pair of black boots standing two feet from our car. A man’s voice said โPardon me, folks. Trooper Matthew Blake, Oklahoma Highway Patrol. Just as soon as youโre finished checking that tow hitch, I suggest you best be on your way.โย And he walked back to his patrol car humming โWhy Donโt We Do It In The Road?โ.
As he drove by our car, Trooper Blake gave us two short beeps of his horn. We sheepishly got back into our car and continued our journey to Santa Monica. What a lovely little rest stop that had been!
After a few months living in our new digs, doing some online research and making a few calls, I finally discovered the address for the Oklahoma Highway Patrol location of Trooper Matthew Blake. I prepared a small mailing box with a shiny new pair of Ray-Bans and a mini photo of our infant son. A small card read:
“One For the Road” Gratefully ~ Doc, Becca and Matthew Blake Peterson ๐ถ๏ธ
I smiled imagining what that trooper’s reaction would be when he read our son’s name.
Death was on Julia Rubino’s mind a lot during 1976.
Automatic negative thoughts (or ANTS as she called them) started crawling around her brain months earlier when she first heard about the mysterious murders in New York City.
The killer openly taunted the police; seeking misplaced attention and public veneration, he wrote rambling and ambiguous letters to journalist Jimmy Breslin who printed them in his column in The Daily News. In his letters the murderer sometimes referenced a cult, hinting that the killings were a rite of passage. Other times he claimed a demonic dog owned by his neighbor Sam spoke to him demanding the blood of pretty young girls.
All the victims were females with long dark hair; as a college student with shoulder-length brunette curls, Julia felt particularly vulnerable. When she told her parents she wanted to cut her hair and dye it blonde, they said she was over-reacting. Julia’s boyfriend Steve told her she was being ridiculous, that there was nothing to worry about. He said they were safe in their little town of New Rochelle. Violent crimes like that only happened in dangerous urban locations, not quiet Westchester County.
On date nights, Julia and Steve often drove to the Glen Island Beach parking lot in New Rochelle; it was a popular make-out spot and the police very rarely patrolled the area or bothered the couples parked there. When Julia told Steve she didn’t want to go parking any more, he got pissed off. Tearfully she told him the murders were making her afraid of her own shadow. She reminded him that the killings always involved two victims โ young women and their boyfriends parked in cars. She couldn’t shake the notion that something terrible was going to happen to them.
Steve argued that Julia was being paranoid and they had no other choice if they wanted to be alone. They had no privacy living at home with their parents and Julia refused to go to a motel saying it made her feel sleazy. Frustrated, Steve yelled at her to calm down and get a grip. Afraid of losing him, Julia begrudgingly decided they had only one option if they wanted to be alone and that was the dark parking lot of Glen Island Beach.
On July 29 things took an unexpected and shocking turn; the first murders in Westchester County occurred. This time the killer’s MO was different and left the police wondering if the shootings were done by the same individual or a copy-cat killer. The victims were two girls sitting in a car in a well-lit area โ not a girl and her boyfriend in a dark parking lot.
The two women were nurses Jody Valenti and Donna Lauria. They had been sitting in Jody’s double-parked Oldsmobile outside Donna’s house talking about their night out at a New Rochelle disco. When Donna opened the car door to get out, a man suddenly approached. Pulling out a gun, he crouched down and opened fire. Donna was killed instantly but Jody survived. The attack happened quickly, however, Jody was able to give a description of the assailant. It matched that of the shooter of the previous killings.
Westchester County residents were panic-stricken, especially Julia. Police urged everyone to stay vigilant and refrain from sitting in parked cars. Julia considered dropping out of college and staying at home until the murderous madman was caught; her parents convinced her it was irrational to completely cut oneself off from the world. No one understood how scared she was, especially now that the murders were much closer to home. She felt like she had a target painted on her back. Every young woman felt the same way; our lives were being controlled by an unknown killer and our own fears.
For more than a year the killer held the citizens of New York captive. On the night of August 10, 1977, the state of terror finally ended. After a brief but intense shootout, the murderer was apprehended at his Yonkers apartment, ironically just minutes from Westchester Community College where Julia was a student. Julia could finally breathe a sigh of relief. Whatever her reasons were, she had a feeling deep in her gut that if the killer had not been caught, she would have eventually ended up on his list of victims. That is something that will remain unanswered forever.
Dear readers โ Julia Rubino, her boyfriend Steve and her parents are fictional characters I created for this story; everything else written here is true and accurate. I know this because I lived through it and was as terrified as everyone else.
In August it will be 46 years since that historic arrest. The notorious killer is David Berkowitz, known around the world as Son of Sam. Berkowitz pled guilty to all the shootings; six people were killed and seven wounded, some horribly. His weapon of choice was a .44 caliber Bulldog revolver gun.
On the day after his sentencing, Berkowitz was taken first to Sing Singย prison in Ossining, NY, then to the upstate Clinton Correctional Facilityย for psychiatric and physical examinations.ย Two more months were spent at the Central New York Psychiatric Center before his admission to the infamous Attica Correctional Facility. Berkowitz served about a decade in Attica until he was relocated to Sullivan Correctional Facility in Fallsburg, where he remained for many years. He is now housed atย Shawangunk Correctional Facility which is located in Wallkill, Ulster County.
Berkowitz described his life in Attica as “a living hell, a nightmare” โ as it should be; no one is more deserving.
She paused at the approach to Cabin 1-8, one foot resting on the first step. Her days were always rough but today had been more difficult than usual. She lost one of her patients today; of course as a nurse it had happened to her before but itโs something she never got used to.
She took a deep breath and walked up the remaining steps to the front door. She could hear the radio playing โApple Blossom Timeโ by the Andrews Sisters. She smiled at the thought of dancing in the living room in his warm embrace.
Before her hand could turn the knob, the door opened. He smiled and drew her into his arms, kissing her deeply. They both knew at some point the doctors would realize he had regained his memory and vision; he would be able to return home but for now they would take whatever comfort they could find in each otherโs arms.
He locked the door and they ran upstairs to his bedroom โ unhappy thoughts of their own spouses rapidly fading from their minds. All that mattered to them was today and these stolen moments together. Tomorrow would come soon enough.
Invisible in the temporary stillness before dawn, the trio of soldiers crept silently through the jungle. One had an injured leg as the result of a skirmish; he knew his injury would impede their progress and he pleaded with his comrades to leave him to die alone with dignity. The steadfast friends refused to abandon him in the middle of enemy territory.
Walking on, the soldiers spotted a tallthicket in the distance where they could take shelter. Painstakingly, one soldier carried his injured brother on his back into the copse while the third searched for something for them to eat. Finally for the first time in hours the exhausted trio was able to get some rest.
After a while, the wounded soldier awoke with a fever, his leg swollen and throbbing. Since it was now midday, it was too risky to leave their cover. Outside was sweltering and humid and the chance of them being caught would be great. No โฆ they would stay where they were until it was safe to venture out.
Suddenly their wounded brother heaved a ragged breath and died. Grief-stricken, yet aware they must move on, the soldiers covered their comrade with rocks and began the slow crawl out. Without warning a long carnivorous caterpillar slithered through the brush and swallowed the startled army ants. They struggled bravely, as courageous ants are wont to do, but in the end they could not prevail.
Boundary: a line which marks the limits of an area; a dividing line.
Often boundaries serve a purpose, sometimes they are waiting to be transcended.
Every Friday, here at The Rhythm Section, we will explore the ocean of music using the latter as our lodestar: breaking of a boundary. /*
There are times, days, moments in our lives when dark clouds amass overhead. The impending storm is not softened by the anticipation of petrichor, since nothing seems to penetrate that darkness spreading inside.
Suddenly, comes a ray of light.
It can be a friend with enough empathy to bridge thousands of miles as if they were inches.
It can be a simple joke that will fuse tears with laughter.
Or it can beโฆ Lucy.
Before we talk about Lucy, let us look for a moment around her. Her mother; she didnโt give up when her child wasโฆ
โPromenaders?โ Chrissy looked up from her homework, a confused look on her face. โWow! Such a weirdword! Wonder what it means.Mom, are you listening to me?โ
Julie, Chrissyโs mom, stopped preparing dinner and turned to talk to her daughter. โYes sweetie, Iโm listening. I know the word and you do, too. Just think about it for a minute, Chris. Anything come to mind?โ
Chrissyโs face was skewed in a bewildered expression. โIt sorta sounds like that weird fruit, the one with all the red seeds in the center which youโre supposed to eat. How bizarre is that … eating seeds? Ya know what Iโm talking about, mom?”
Julie laughed. โYouโre thinking of pomegranates, Chris! And yes, itโs a little strange but the seeds are really delicious. Iโll get some for you to taste. Now, back to your homework … โpromenadersโ. Itโs a word youโve heard before. Try again.โ
Chrissy absentmindedly chewed on her pencil, deep in thought, then smiled as though a huge secret had suddenly been revealed. โI know! Prom-en-ad-ers are teenagers who go to the prom!โ And she burst out laughing at her play on words.
โVery clever, Chrissy girl, but not quite right. Wait … youโve just given me an idea! Letโs see if this jogs your memory.โ Julie dashed out of the kitchen and returned with one of Chrissyโs yearbooks. โRemember when everyone took square dancing in 6th grade?โ
โSure, but what does that yearbook have to do with anything, mom? That was, like, ages ago when I was eleven. Iโm fourteen now!โ
Julie rolled her eyes. โYes, I know … youโre so very grown up now! Here, humor me and take a look at this picture. Itโs from one of the square dances you used to go to. Read the caption.โ
Chrissy heaved an exaggerated sigh, took the yearbook from Julie and recited the verse:
*Then you all promenade with the sweet corner maid singing “Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny! Oh!โ*
Chrissyโs eyes opened wide. โI remember that song! Thatโs the part of the dance when we strolled around the dance floor. Sooo, that must mean promenaders are people who stroll!โย ย
โThere ya go, kiddo! You got it!โ Julie exclaimed. “Process of elimination; just some of the ‘smarts’ we acquire as we get older โ like grey hair.”
Chrissy jumped off the kitchen stool and raced down the hall to her bedroom.
โHey … where you off to? Dinnerโs almost readyโ Julie called out after her.
โIโll be back in a second, mom. Just checking if I have any grey hair yet!”
My parents were extremely good-looking; both could have been movie stars. Mom seemed completely unaware of her effect on men.
Despite this, Dad was incredibly jealous and insisted Mom cancel her home delivery of olive oil because he believed Luigi, the delivery man, had a โthingโ for my mother. She, of course, thought it was ridiculous but complied.
Dad was always at work during deliveries. The final olive oil day was extremely hot and Luigi wore shorts, something he never did. It was only then I noticed the heart-shaped birthmark behind his right knee โ exactly the same as mine.
โConfused, Jesse? What’s there to be confused about? We have plans. I thought you were onboard and happy. Whatโs going on?โ Sarah stood, impatiently tapping her toe.
โThatโs just it, Sarah. I donโt know whatโs going on. We really need to talk about our wedding plans.โ Jesse paced back and forth, hands shoved deep into his jeans pockets.
โHold it right there, cowboy! Are you calling off our wedding?โ Sarahโs eyes grew dark and angry.
โThat was not my intention, Sarah, but Iโve been thinking โ how’d we get from a simple garden wedding to this elaborate affair you’ve got planned?โ
Sarahโs face flushed with exasperation. โWell, this is a fine time to bring that up! Our wedding is two weeks away and everything is ready. My dress, the venue, the flowers, the caterers, our honeymoon. Even the name cards for the tables have been printed!โ
โI know, Sarah, and before I realized it, our wedding turned into the social event of the year! You didn’t discuss any of this with me and I was right here the whole time. I donโt want a circus with a cast of characters I donโt even know or a stuffy office job to be happy. Your dadโs a great guy and offering to make me a partner in his business was extremely generous but I never wanted a power job and I certainly donโt want to be treated differently because I’m the bossโs son-in-law!“
With every word Jesse said, Sarah became more irate until she couldn’t stand it another minute. “Enough!You’re right, Jesse! I intentionally left you out of the planning because I didn’t want you trying to talk me out of my dream wedding! If you had your way, we’d be getting married in a barn in Nebraska. You’re so big on the truth, Jesse, here’s some truth for you. I’m glad your hillbilly family can’t make it to the wedding!” Sarah spat the words out angrily.
The room was silent for a long time. Finally, Jesse spoke. “Is that why you convinced my parents not to come to the wedding. Don’t bother trying to deny it; I know it’s the truth. Do you think I’m a fool, Sarah? Did you really believe I would never find out what you did? I’ve known for weeks and the only reason I never confronted you with what I know is because my mother, who is infinitely wiser, kinder and more forgiving than anyone I know, convinced me not to say anything.”
Instead of feeling sorry for what she had done, Sarah tried to justify it. “Jesse, surely you can see I was only trying to do your parents a favor and spare their feelings. They never would have felt comfortable being here.”
“Sarah, you know my background growing up on a farm. I come from simple, hard-working people. The smell of the earth, working with my hands, tending to the animals โ thatโs what I know and love. I always dreamed of having my own farm some day, waking up with the roosters and working in the fields. I dream of family barbecues with square dancing, homemade ice cream for dessert and a passel of happy kids running around. Iโm an uncomplicated guy, Sarah. All I want is us, a family and a farm.โ
โWhoa, Jesse. Back it up. I have dreams, too. Ever since I was a little girl I wanted to marry a man as smart and handsome and rich as my father. I want a huge wedding at the Waldorf, cruising around the world on a honeymoon, living in a penthouse overlooking Central Park. Now youโre asking me to give those dreams up for life with a bunch of rugrats and a barn in the middle of nowhere? You canโt be serious, especially after everything my father has done for you.โ
“What the hell are we doing here, Sarah? Your dreams are all about the wedding; I did’t hear one word about our life together. I never asked your father for a thing, certainly not some hifalutin office job doing something I know nothing about. All I did was fall in love with the girl who shared my cab one rainy afternoon. Where’d she go, Sarah? My mother may understand you but I feel like I don’t know you at all.”
โJesse, youโre not thinking straight. Do you really believe youโll be happy spending your life milking cows, working the fields and going to state fairs instead of living in the lap of luxury with me?”
โYou know what, Sarah? Youโre right! I wouldnโt be happy โ at least not with you โ and you would never be happy with me.โ Jesse walked to the door, then paused. โIโm sure some day youโll meet a guy who’s just as shallow as you but that guy’s not me. Goodbye, Sarah. Thanks for stopping me from making a huge mistake.โ
“Hold on, cowboy! We’re not done here! You do not get to walk out on me, Jesse!” Sarah seethed.
Jesse grinned. “That’s where you’re wrong, Sarah.”
“You’ll be sorry, cowboy. You hear me? You’ll be sorry!” Sarah screamed as Jesse turned and left.
He laughed softly to himself knowing Sarah was wrong again.
UPDATE: Mrs. Bill just read her story to Mr. Bill who smiled sweetly, told her it was a wonderful story,just like all her others, and very nicely reminded her that it was actually their 51st wedding anniversary, not their 52nd. They say it’s the short-term memory that’s the first to go. ๐ ๐พ ๐ฅ ๐
It was 52 years ago on this day in June when a young woman sat in the kitchen of the finished basement of her familyโs home in The Bronx, NY. This was the only home she knew and now she was about to leave.
She was ready. She was always ready, never late a day in her life. And she wasnโt the least bit nervous. She’s Sicilian!
Here she was, dressed in her finest at 9:30 in the morning, eating Oreo cookies dunked in a tall glass of milk while everyone upstairs was running around like a bunch of headless chickens.
And by her finest I mean her wedding gown! Who eats chocolatey Oreos while wearing a pristine white wedding dress? She does!
Let them run around upstairs checking things off the โTo Doโ list. She figured if it wasnโt done by now, it probably wasnโt very important.
No, she was ready โ not just for her wedding day but for every day to come. And not a dribble of Oreo-speckled milk anywhere on her spotless dress.
In exactly 90 minutes she was going to marry the finest man sheโd ever met. Of course, he was handsome and tanned and smelled like salt water and Aqua Velva. He was insanely smart, brilliant actually, and funny as hell but not in a goofy way. He was clever and kind and amazing. And he treated her like cut glass.
He was tone deaf and colorblind โ two things she definitely was not โ but she was willing to overlook those flaws. When your world spins a little faster and your heart does a tarantella when youโre with him, little things like that donโt matter.
Well, she better go brush the Oreos out of her teeth, although that would make for unforgettable wedding photos! She headed off to the bathroom, the train of her wedding gown flowing behind her. She grinned at her image in the mirror and cracked up.
This was a big day. The biggest. The best. The beginning of Mr. & Mrs. Bill.
And, to top it all off, there was going to be cake!
Happy 52nd Anniversary, my love, my Mister Bill. Something tells me weโre in this for the long haul.
The assignment was as crystal clear as todayโs sky.
No fuss, no muss with this one. Just the way she liked it.
Her mark was not native to this country, their customs not his own. He did not approve of an afternoon rest. To him it was the height of laziness. He abhorred sleep, calling it little snatches of death.
For her the quiet of the afternoon was pivotal for a successful mission.
One could set the clock in the bell tower by this manโs routine. It never fluctuated, never deviated. How could anyone lead such a boring existence?
She craved excitement, adrenaline rushes. Sheโd been waiting for this day for some time. In her mind this could have been accomplished weeks ago but she had her orders.
Everything was planned to the second โฆ literally. She dared not be up there when the bell rang out the time, even with her noise-eliminating headphones. That could potentially destroy the objective.
He was in sight now.
Poised on the highest balcony, her finger on the trigger, she steadily, gently began to pull back until the nape of his neck was perfectly centered in the telescopic lens.
He took his final step. NOW! Almost instantaneously he fell unnoticed to the pavement.
She efficiently stored everything into her backpack, carefully removing the paraglider and slipping it over her shoulders. Swiftly she stepped off the railing. The glider opened smoothly, easing her descent.
Getting tangled in one of the turrets was an unwelcome complication.
NAR ยฉ 2023 250 Words For the lovely Jenne Gray’s weekly Unicorn Challenge, June 9, 2023
With exactly 67ยข in his pocket, Dr. George Powers made his daily trek to McDonald’s for a morning cup of coffee. He would walk from his rent-controlled Greenwich Village apartment, buy his coffee and sip it while flipping though his dogeared copy of โThe Complete Organ Methodโ.
On this particular morning, George trudged through the slush in his beat up boots, 67ยข jingling in his pocket. Placing the coins on the counter, he ordered his usual.
โSorryโ said the girl taking orders. โThe price is now 69ยข.โ
Befuddled, George exclaimed โIโve been a patron here for years. The price is always 67ยข!โ
Apologizing, the girl explained that she didnโt set the prices. George scooped up his 67ยข muttering โoughta be a lawโ and trudged back home.
George was, to put it nicely, frugal. He saw how difficult the Great Depression had been on his parentโs life and livelihood. His father was always saying โNever trust banks!โ Fortunately George was an excellent student, earning a scholarship to college and a grant to continue his studies for a Doctorate in Music.
Upon graduating high school, George was drafted to serve during WWII; he was never deployed and spent every day of his four years in the army at Fort Benning, Georgia. One day he noticed a baby grand piano in the corner of a lounge area and asked if it would be okay for him to practice. He was granted permission and in exchange would sometimes play for officer’s dinners. George’s self-imposed rigorous study habits in school carried over to his time in the army, waking at 3AM every day and practicing the piano for almost two hours before 5AM wake up call.
After the army, George enrolled in college, working weekends as assistant organist at Trinity Church in Greenwich Village. He was lucky; the church was close enough to his apartment and school so he didn’t have to pay for public transportation. The following year the organist retired; George replaced him and began teaching organ lessons. At the same time he attended graduate school, earning his Doctorate in Music. He made a decent salary yet continued his frugal lifestyle of eating cheese sandwiches, wearing the same clothes and drinking water from the tap. His only splurge was a morning cup of McDonald’s coffee.ย
George’s favorite student was Brad Ridgeway; he reminded George of a young version of himself. Brad worked in the mailroom at Dun & Bradstreet; his salary was so meager he could only afford to live at the YMCA. He was determined to become a great organist one day but music school was not in his budget. Brad’s parents worked for Walmart in his hometown of Columbus, Ohio and he wouldn’t dream of asking them for money. Times were tough but he just kept on pushing through one day at a time.
Despite their considerable age difference, Brad thought of George as his best friend; he didn’t realize it at the time but George felt the same way about him. When a very affordable furnished apartment not far from George became available, Brad was able to move out of the Y and settle into a place of his own. He wasn’t crazy about the furnishings but beggars can’t be choosers.
Occasionally on lesson days Brad would walk to George’s apartment building straight from work and the two of them would continue to Trinity Church. They looked like the cartoon characters Mutt and Jeff. At 6’3, Brad towered over the 5’8″ George. The duo was oblivious to the stares of people on the street and sometimes got so caught up in talking about music, they’d walk right by the church and have to backtrack half a city block or more.
One day at his lesson, Brad noticed that George had really let himself go. The soles of his shoes were falling apart, his sweater was threadbare in places, his eyeglasses were taped together in the center and he needed a haircut. In addition, his coat wasn’t warm enough and Brad was concerned about George’s deep persistent cough; he really did not look well at all. Brad asked George if everything was alright, if there was anything he could do. George just shrugged it off, mumbling something about “this damn weather” and the long-term effects of a case of childhood tuberculosis.
At the end of the lesson George handed Brad a tiny sealed manila envelope and earnestly said โSon, hold on to this. Open it only if something should happen to me. Keep it safe and don’t tell anyone. It’s for your eyes only.โ Brad slipped the mysterious enveloped into his pocket; that was the first time George ever called him “son” and that made him think of his parents, now gone. Brad knew better than to ask any questions; if George wanted him to know more, he’d tell him.
About a month later, George uncharacteristically missed one of Bradโs lessons. Brad waited at the church for about twenty minutes, then went to George’s apartment to check on him. The landlord informed him that โthe old guyโย had passed away in his sleep three days earlier.ย Shattered, Brad slowly walked home; hours later he remembered the envelope. Grabbing the plant in his kitchen where he had hidden the envelope, Brad stuck his fingers in the dirt and pulled out a small plastic bag containing the envelope. He opened it and found a scrap of paper and a key; written on the paper was โG.C.T. 520โ.
Brad was stumped by the initials G.C.T. For days he tried to decipher the note, with no luck. One morning while reading the newspaper, Brad’s eyes landed on a short article on the bottom of the page. As he read the headline, Brad couldn’t believe what he saw: “Construction Work to Begin at G.C.T.” As he read on, Brad discovered the three letters stood for Grand Central Terminal โ the largest commuter train terminal in New York.
Brad raced to the bus stop and boarded a bus for Grand Central. On the way there he figured out “520” could only be a locker number. Running through the terminal, he finally came upon row after row of lockers. He located #520 and with trembling fingers unlocked it to discover it was crammed with small brown paper bags.
Loosening the tape and peeking inside one bag, Brad’s eyes nearly popped out when he saw it was stuffed with money! Scrawled on the bags in George’s handwriting was โNEVER TRUST BANKS!โ Shocked, Brad slammed the locker door and locked it. He scrambled around the area hoping to find a discarded shopping bag or cardboard box. He eyed a big bag tossed on top of a garbage can, swiped it and went back to the locker. Methodically he filled the large bag with all the small bags, tossed his sweater on top to conceal the contents of the bag and returned home as quickly as possible.
Safely back in his apartment, Brad emptied the shopping bag onto his bed and began counting the money bags; there were 75 bags and each one contained 50 $100 bills. George, in his frugality had stashed away $375,000 and put it all aside for Brad. Dumbstruck, Brad slowly sat on the edge of his bed, disbelief washing over him.
Little did Brad know that was just the beginning of his shocking news.
A couple of days after finding the money at Grand Central, Brad received a call from a man who identified himself as a lawyer and the executor of George’s will. “George’s will? What more could Georgepossibly have toleave anyone?” Brad wondered. The lawyer asked Brad to come by his office which he did the following day. When Brad arrived at the office, he was handed an old battered suitcase; the lawyer told Brad the suitcase was left to him by George and its contents were now his. Brad was given the key for the suitcase and left the lawyer’s office.
Once back in his apartment, Brad placed the suitcase on the kitchen table and unlocked it. There was a note resting atop a layer of newspapers. The note read:
“Dear Brad. For all the years as my student, you were the only personI felt I could count on. I know you struggled financially and life was roughfor you so it seemed only fitting that I leave you what I could.In this suitcase are my cherishedorgan books; I want you to have them. Whatever else is in thiscase I can no longer use. It is yours. Bless you and don’t forget โ NEVER TRUST BANKS! Fondly, George”
I’m asking myself at this point, dear readers, if you have figured out that in addition to his beloved organ books, George had placed the remainder of his money in the suitcase and had given it to the lawyer for safekeeping?
If you are wondering if this story is fact or fiction, I can tell you without a shred of doubt that it is true; I have not changed the facts, only embellished them for your reading pleasure. You see, in early 2000 I began organ lessons with Dr. George Powers at Trinity Church. Eighteen months later, 911 happened and all lower Manhattan was closed off: I wasn’t able to get down to Greenwich Village for lessons. Shortly after that, knee surgery sidelined me and I was forced to give up the organ all together.
During those 18 months I got to know Brad and a couple of George’s other students casually in passing. On Easter Sunday 2010, I received a call from the secretary at Trinity Church; she was informing all George’s students of his death. Brad had been George’s student for quite a few years and I believe George did the right thing leaving his money to Brad; neither one had any relatives, only each other.
By the time all the money had been counted, Brad had inherited an astonishing $2.5 million in cold cash! This information was revealed to me by another of George’s students while we were attending a memorial service for George at Trinity Church. As it turns out, the student I was talking to was the wife of George’s lawyer.
After the memorial service, I never spoke to any of George’s students again and I never found out what became of Brad Ridgeway. Despite George’s opinion of banks, I hope Brad made some wise investments and is enjoying a very comfortable life!
Dedicated to the memory of Dr. George Powers.
NAR ยฉ 2023
This organ is almost identical to the one at Trinity Church. The pipes are located at the front of the church while the organ is in the rear. Due to this type of setup, there is always a momentary sound delay.
I hope you enjoyed that incredible story of Dr. George Powers and Brad Ridgeway. Please join me today for a new edition of At The Movies. I look forward to sharing another great video with you. https://rhythmsection.blog/
โDonna, itโs here! I swear Samโs gonna wet his pants! Yeah, thatโs right. I was gonna get the smaller grill, but I said โScrew it! This is what Samโs had his eye on all winter. Why not go for the super deluxe model with all the bells and whistles?โ And talk about perfect timing! Delivered right on his birthday. Itโs pristine Donna; the kids are mesmerized by it. Oh, no! The kids! OMG, I knew I should have covered it! Theyโre using it to block their hockey pucks! I gotta go, Donna! This is a disaster. Kids! You little bastards!
Originally all that was available in the world of crayons was a thin mustard-colored paper packet with drab green lettering which contained eight crayons – one each of black, blue, brown, green, red, violet, orange and yellow … fine, reliable, steadfast colors indeed … the proud forefathers of what was to come …. and even though other brands of crayons could be found in every toy or arts and crafts store around the worldย โ various sized boxes containing a multitude of colors โ none could compare to the “King of Crayons” … CRAYOLA!
As time went on, more colors were created and updated boxes were designed until finally in 1958 the crown jewel of crayons made its debut; nothing compared to the new bright yellow and green box with red letters emblazoned across the front shouting out “64 DIFFERENT BRILLIANT COLORS WITH BUILT-IN SHARPENER!” โ alerting us that this was indeedย “The Grand Crayonon”!ย with one peek inside the magic box revealing to curious and imaginative kids everywhere a rainbow battalion of wax soldiers standing at attention in their cardboard armories …ย ย a plethora of pigmentation, a confluence of chromaticity … a legion of luminosity .. gem-like colors galore!ย
No longer were kids confined to a measly eight colors for now, instead of one red there were four, five hues of orange, eight varieties of yellow, six choices of green, a profusion of eleven blues, five purple shades, an assortment of eight pinks, an incredible selection of ten browns, two grays and one each of silver, gold, copper, black and white while one of the blues was called cerulean, which everyone thought sounded more like a gas than a color!
The artistic possibilities were endless: the sky was no longer just blue but sky blue and midnight blue … trees weren’t plain old green – they were forest and pine green … flowers were carnation pink, brilliant rose and periwinkle while lemons and olives were, believe it or not, lemonyellow and olive green!
And just when you thought the pinnacle had been reached, along comes the totally unexpected … washable crayons, erasable ones, scented, fluorescent and even glitter crayons; now oranges, grapes and cherries smelled like fruit, tulips and violets smelled like flowers and reflected stars sparkled and shimmered in the Pacific Blue.
It’s no wonder why something as ineffably magical as playful, colorful crayons should have their own theme park … The Crayola Experience… a fabulous place where kids and adults can participate in “The Power of Creativity” and say “Thank you, Crayola, forcoloring our world!”
NAR ยฉ 2023
Written in response to GirlieOnTheEdge and Sundayโs Six Sentence Story Word Prompt. The rules: six sentences โ no more, no less. Punctuation be damned! The magic word this week is BOX ๐ฆ ๐๏ธ
Pamela sat huddled in the corner of the school office, her hands tightly clutching the sweater of her school uniform around her. A few buttons on her blouse were missing and the sleeve was torn at the shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes swollen from crying and she chewed her bottom lip nervously. No one paid any attention except to toss an occasional accusatory glance her way.
She ran her fingers through her dark hair, realizing her pony tail had come undone. She sniffled and wiped her nose on a tissue in the pocket of her sweater. Staring down at her penny loafers, she was startled by the sudden shrill ringing of the phone on the secretaryโs desk.
โYes, sir. Right away, sirโ the secretary said into the phone receiver, then hung up and called out โPamela, Principal Hoffman will see you now.โ
Pamela rose slowly and gathered her school books, still clutching her sweater. โQuickly, Pamela! You mustnโt keep Principal Hoffman waiting!โ the secretary snapped at her.
Pamela entered the principalโs office and was shocked to see the drama coach Mr. Booker there. She quickly looked away, her face turning crimson. She felt naked standing there before them, their lecherous eyes staring at her.
โWell, Pamela, do you know why youโre here?โ asked Principal Hoffman.
Pamela looked down at the floor shaking her head โnoโ.
โLook at me and answer the question, you insolent little slut!โ yelled the principal, aroused by the feelings he was experiencing for yet another woman-child standing trembling before him.
Tears ran down Pamela’s cheeks as she looked at both men, the smug, loathsome expression on Mr. Bookerโs face filling her with dread.
He slowly walked up to Pamela until he was close enough for her to feel his breath on her face. โYou filthy liar. You know exactly why youโre here” Booker spat out. “You came to me backstage after play rehearsal, rubbed up against me and ripped open your blouse.โ He reached out and grabbed her chin. โAdmit it now before you get in more trouble!โ and obscene thoughts of all the things heโd like to do to Pamela raced through his mind. He was repulsive.
Pushing his hand off her face, Pamela cried out โNo! I didnโt do anything! You did!Youโre the liar, not me!โ
Mr. Booker caught hold of her wrist in his large hand. “Then explain why some of your buttons are missing?” The teacher dared her to speak.
Pamela said nothing at first, then looked into Mr. Booker’s dark eyes and yelled “Because you’re the one who tore my blouse, you pervert!”
Booker raised his hand to slap her but Principal Hoffman banged his fist on the desk. โPamela, this is a Christian school and we do not tell lies nor do we act in promiscuous ways. Now admit what Mr. Booker said is true.โ
She remained silent and shook her head in defiance.
โFine, Pamela. Youโre dismissed. We will be calling your parents this evening to inform them of your disgusting behavior. How disappointed they will be to hear you are following in your sister’s salacious habits. Now, get out!โ
Pamela left the office and ran home. She knew her parents wouldnโt return from work for another few hours. She threw herself onto her bed and called her older sister. โMiaโ she cried into the phone.
โPammy, whatโs wrong?โ Mia asked.
All Pamela said was โMr. Booker.โ
Mia’s heart sank and she felt sick to her stomach. โThat bastard! Listen, Pammyโ Mia said. โMom and Dad didnโt believe me and they wonโt believe you either. There’ll be hell to pay when Principal Hoffman and Mr. Booker spew their lies to Mom and Dad. Listen, Pammy. Change out of your uniform and toss it in your backpack with some clothes. Don’t take too much. We want it to look like you were never home. Walk as calmly as you can to the bus stop on the corner and use your school pass to get on the bus to Journal Square. From there, switch to a PATH train to the end of the line in Hoboken. Iโll be at the terminal waiting to pick you up; you remember my car is a blue CRV? Someone might be able to ID you getting on the bus to Journal Square but they’re likely to lose track of you after you switch to the train to Hoboken. Youโll be safe with me and Ronnie, Pammy. Don’t worry; we’ve got big plans to get out of this hell hole. where we can be safe.โ
Pamela did exactly as her sister said. She left her house and got on the bus to Journal Square. She didn’t see anyone and she never looked back. When she finally arrived in Hoboken, she spotted her sister’s car across the street. She ran to it and jumped into the passenger seat in front.
Without even a glance in her sister’s direction, Pamela buckled her seat belt and breathlessly exclaimed “Oh, Mia. I’m so glad to be here.” When the doors locked automatically, Pamela looked up. To her horror her sister Mia wasn’t in the driver’s seat; it was her boyfriend, Ronnie, and he was waving a very sharp knife dangerously close to Pamela’s face. Pamela always had a bad feeling about Ronnie when her sister first hooked up with him but Mia wouldn’t listen to anything people had to say.
“Why, hello Pammy. I’m so glad you’re here, too.Look at you, all grown up now.” Very slowly Ronnie traced the outline of Pam’s neck with his knife and popped off the top button of her blouse, then the second and the third. He stared at her exposed bra as he rubbed his hard crotch. “Oh yeah, sweetness. You’re getting me all excited. Yes sir. We’re leaving here and driving down south where no one will find us. We’re all gonnahave us a whole lotta fun.” He reached over and ran his rough hands across her breasts. “I bet you taste like sweet Georgia peaches.”
It was then that Pamela heard moaning coming from the back seat and turned to see Mia on the floor; she was bound and gagged and wearing only her underwear. Just as the sister’s terrified eyes locked, Ronnie tossed a blanket over Mia and drove off.
Ronnie flipped on the radio and started singing along to a country song as Pamela looked straight ahead and wept silently.
Marla, from Marlaโs World, has created a writing challenge. The challenge is for multiple authors to write a single story. She will choose a story that she has written, or that another author has submitted for this challenge, and she will nominate the next person to continue writing it. Once that person has added their section, they will nominate the next author. It will continue like this until the story is complete.
He woke up slowly, stretching out his fatigued muscles as if he hadnโt just spent all day yesterday using them. He laid in the bed staring at the unique shape of the ceiling. He had always loved this house โ the architecture made him feel at home and at peace.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and tried to stand up, but his calf immediately cramped. It wasnโt a bad cramp, but it was enough for him to flash-back to the competition yesterday between his brother and him. Once a year they met up at this place, the last place they had seen their grandmother, and they created a competition that their entire family would participate in.
Because it was in memory of their beloved grandmother, Tutu Lulu, they had decided that it had to take place on the ocean, as that was her favorite place on the planet since she was a young girl. She had taught them Aloha สปฤina, or to love and appreciate nature, especially the crashing waves. Therefore, this competition involved the ocean.
They would compete against each other in various โeventsโ such as surfing, speed-snorkeling (which was something they had created as children), and shallow-water scuba diving. The whole family truly enjoyed it, and everyone turned up.
Yesterday had been so much fun, except when Kai, his older brother, and he nearly came to blows in front of the whole family.
Kai accused him of cheating in their speed snorkeling event. Heโd won it for the first time ever and wasnโt going to back down to Kaiโs arrogance.
The claim was made that he had grabbed onto big brotherโs ankle which was ridiculous. But Kai produced evidence in the form of red and purple finger marks above his foot.
A shouting match turned into a shoving match and if his brawny uncles hadnโt intervened, who knows what would have happened.
It was decided to break for their picnic lunch before entering the water for a more relaxed shallow scuba diving experience.
The two avoided each other until dayโs end. Stars twinkled and the moon looked larger than ever on the horizon when Kai approached his little brother beside the bonfire on the beach.
Looking at his hands as one finger traced the rim of his sweating beer, Kai whispered to him,
โI heard her, Noa. She spoke to me clear as day.โ Kai had taken Tutu Luluโs disappearance the hardest. She had named him after the sea and had been her sidekick longer than he. He hadnโt really recovered from their loss.
โIโm sorry. But when you, someone, grabbed me Tutu Lulu spoke to me.โ
โShe told me that difficult times were ahead and you and I would have to put aside our differences and work together.โ
โDo you think it was Tutu Lulu who grabbed your ankle to attract your attention then?โ Kai ran his damp fingers through his hair.
โI donโt know, but it makes sense. The finger marks are beginning to fade but looking more closely, they couldnโt be yours as theyโre too small.โ
The two brothers sat side by side on the sand. There was three years between them, but Noa was the bigger of the two though in the shadows cast by the fire, it was hard to tell one from the other. โShe always seemed to prefer you. Sheโs never come to me, not even in my dreams. Did she say anything else?โ
โI doubt it as we started to fight and the uncles intervened. I wonder what she meant?โ
Now it was the following morning and yesterdayโs events were still preying on Kaiโs mind. The competition was over and everyone would be returning to their own homes after the traditional family meal in the huge kitchen. As always, it was a joyous affair, but suddenly their laughter and banter was shattered by the sound of rocketsโฆ
Fandango, from This, That, and the Other, continued with
โWhat the hell is that?โ Kai said. He and Noa ran outside, followed by the rest of the family.
One of the uncles looked at the rockets streaking across the sky. โOh Jesus,โ he said in disbelief, โthose are anti-ballistic missiles and theyโre coming from the direction of Pearl Harbor. Someone go into the house and turn on the television.
Everyone gathered in the living room and silently watched the shocking news that satellites had detected a half dozen missiles launched from North Korea headed toward the Hawaiian island of Oahu. Tensions between the U.S. and North Korea had escalated over the past few months, but no one anticipated that North Korea would actually go so far as to launch potentially nuclear armed missiles at Hawaii.
The solemn newscaster tried to reassure viewers. โMilitary leaders are confident that our anti-ballistic missiles will intercept and destroy the incoming North Korean missiles well before they get close to Hawaii,โ he said.
โAnd if not,โ Noa said, โbend over and kiss your ass goodbye.โ
โShut up, Noa,โ Kai said. โThis is serious.โ
The adolescent and teen years for Noa and Kai were not easy ones. Being half Hawaiian and half Korean, they were constantly teased by the other kids in school. It was their large, loving family that kept them grounded and focused.
The ocean is what saved them and stories at the feet of their beloved Tutu Lulu. Among those special times, Noa and Kai will never forget the days their grandfathers and other elder members of their family recounted the day Pearl Harbor was attacked by the Japanese.
The brothers would often play โwarโ down on the beach; they spent so much time in the water, their mother teased them about eventually growing fins. As the boys became older, their attention was drawn to exciting careers that would allow them to continue their relationship with the water โฆ that was their calling to become Navy SEALs.
Now, with the television droning on in the background about North Korea possibly launching anti-ballistic missiles at Oahu, Noa and Kai knew exactly what they had to do.
*****************************************
Good news! My friend Pete at Mister Bump UK has been tagged by me and will continue passing the baton.
โHey, lady! Wait up!โ the young man yelled. โYou dropped your purse!โ
He bounded down the steps calling after her. Finally, she turned around to see what the commotion was all about. Upon seeing the womanโs face, the young man stopped short. She wasnโt an old lady at all but a rather attractive woman in her mid-thirties. The teen was at a loss for words.
โThatโs my purse!โ declared the woman. โWhat are you doing with my purse?โ Her voice was raised now and took on an accusatory tone. โYou snatched it, didnโt you?โ
โNo! Honest, I would neverโ the teen stammered. โI found your purse at the top of the steps. I ran all this way to return it to you. See, take a look; one strap is coming loose; you must have dropped it and didnโt even notice with all those bags youโre carrying.โ
โOh, my goodness! Thank youโ she replied. โYou can never be too careful these days.โ The woman reached into one of her shopping bags and handed the teen a bottle of water. โPlease let me give you some money for returning my purse.โ
The young man gratefully took a long swig from his bottle. Just then he was grabbed from behind. A chloroform-soaked rag covered his mouth; he was quickly dragged to a van and tossed in the back while the woman casually walked away.
โNot bad. That’s four today. That last one was a cutie. He’ll fetch us a pretty pennyโ she laughed.
NAR ยฉ 2023
It’s time once again for the weekly Unicorn Challenge. Shall we begin?
Orlando Hightower โ or โKeysโ as he was known by everyone โ was probably the hottest black jazz and rag pianist since the legendary Scott Joplin. He was the real deal, on top of his game at the tender age of 17. The world was his oyster.
Times were dangerous in Harlem, New York. The year was 1923 โ the United Statesโ era of Prohibition and racial segregation.
Orlando was born with fingers wiggling and toes tapping. He had an innate talent to play whatever popped into his head and danced out of his hands. Once he heard a tune it was carved into his memory. He created songs on his grandmotherโs rickety upright as easily as someone writing a shopping list.
When Orlando was 12 his mother got a job as chief housekeeper for the Gale Family. Orlando would tag along with her, making himself useful and staying out of trouble. Mrs. Hightower kept him on a short leash knowing how easy it was for young boys to get caught up in the allure of unsavory activities. She always said Orlando was destined to be a man of noble position. A life of crime only led to the destruction of morals; once that happened you had nothing in your future except misery and a jail cell.
Moe Gale was co-owner of the world-famous Savoy Club and an extremely wealthy man. Orlando would entertain himself for hours at the Galeโs baby grand by penning original songs. One of his favorite things to do was write pieces in the pentatonic scale using only the black keys of the piano. Orlandoโs talent did not go unnoticed by Moe and he was determined to have him play at The Savoy.
Unlike many clubs, The Savoy had a no-discrimination policy; people of every race were welcome. Moe implored Mrs. Hightower at least once a week to allow Orlando to play at the club and her answer never changed: โWhen heโs old enough.โ Moe would always ask when that would be but Orlando’s mother just shrugged saying โWhen I know, youโll know. For now just let him be a boy.โ
After almost five years of Moe pleading with Mrs. Hightower, she finally relented and gave permission for Orlando to play at the club โ on a trial basis. Moe was ecstatic; he knew a sure thing when he heard one. Moe became Orlandoโs manager and kept him on the straight and narrow.
Orlando started at The Savoy as pianist with the large house band and his skills were quickly noticed by the clientele. Soon he became a member of the jazz quartet and shortly after was featured as accompanist for some of the biggest singers of the day.
Finally the night arrived for the debut of Orlandoโs solo performance and his career took off like a starship. Mrs. Hightower sat at the best table in the house, her face beaming with pride as she watched her son play. But the thing that brought her incredible joy was the marquee out front โ
โAppearing Nightly At The Savoy: The Incomparable โKeysโ Hightower!โ
Mrs. Hightower could now rest easy knowing her job was done. Orlando had turned into an accomplished, successful and noble gentleman of high character. He made his mother proud.
NAR ยฉ 2023
Wasn’t that video fun? I hope you’ll stop by today and see if we can keep the fun going At The Movies! https://rhythmsection.blog/
Francesco glanced down from his perch 60 stories above the streets of New York City; that translated into roughly 900 feet in the air. As he ate lunch, he talked casually to his companion, Giuseppe, who sat across from him on a ledge about four feet away. Francesco lit a Camel cigarette, tossed the box of matches to Giuseppe and both men lounged on their beds of steel. Francesco took a long drag on his cigarette, keeping his eyes open to maintain his balance on the 18-inch-wide metal plank. A whistle blew, its shrill notes informing the men that lunchtime was over.
Giuseppe pitched the matches back to Francesco. They rose to their feet, now old pros at this daily death-defying ballet they performed. When they first arrived in America, they learned very quickly that the jobs of police officers, firemen or train engineers were not meant for them; those positions were reserved for the Irish and English immigrants. The Italians and others who didn’t speak English were forced into manual labor โ jobs in construction or sanitation where grunting and nodding were the main forms of communication. They took pride in their work, the resulting cathedrals and skyscrapers testaments to their skill and determination.
An errant gust of wind made its presence known; it swirled around the men’s feet and scooped up the wrappings from lunch, tossing the papers about before they slowly drifted out of sight. Both men held on to a nearby vertical beam, silently waiting until the wind stilled.
Looking below at the large wind flag, the men saw that it was white; it was safe to continue working. A yellow flag meant to exercise extreme caution while red indicated dangerous weather conditions. The crew worked through many different elements, but if a red flag was up, no one climbed the beams.
There were no harnesses to prevent a catastrophic fall, no safety nets should someone slip … nothing to protect the men, to save them. All they had to help them scale the beams were ropes dangling from above, good balance and guts.
Calmness restored, the men strapped on their tool belts containing welderโs gloves, hammers and tongs. A pulley system was used to hoist beams and buckets filled with iron rivets in white hot coals. Using their tongs, the men removed the rivets one by one from the coals, inserted them into holes in the beams and hammered them into place. After every hole was filled, the men climbed up to the next level and repeated the process.
When the end-of-work whistle blew, Giuseppe reached for the rope to begin the long, slow descent to solid ground. A slight misjudgment caused him to lose his footing and he slid off the beam like a marionette whose strings had been severed. Francesco yelled out in horror โNo, Giuseppe, no!!โ as he tried in vain to grab his friendโs arm. The crew watched in stunned disbelief as Giuseppe fell headlong to the sidewalk far below, his screams echoing throughout the canyon of steel.
Francesco slumped over, his head in his hands, silently weeping as a single mournful thought invaded his mind: he didnโt even know Giuseppeโs last name.
In this special edition of At The Movies, I am showcasing the film โSands of Iwo Jimaโ, a 1949 WWII movie starring John Wayne as Marine Sgt. John Stryker.
Despised by his own men for his rough attitude and exhausting training regimen, Marine Sgt. Stryker is a hard-nosed soldier who will accept nothing but excellence from those in his command. As the war in the Pacific progresses, though, the young marines begin to respect Strykerโs hard-edged outlook on war and his brutal training methods, as it has helped them prepare for the harsh realities of the battlefield. Theyโll need all of Strykerโs battle tactics if they want to survive what will end up being one of the bloodiest engagements of the war: the Battle of Iwo Jima.
Among the widely recognized tunes featured in the movie is the beloved โMarinesโ Hymnโ composed by Jacques Offenbach inโฆ
There is a place somewhere called Paris And Iโm going there on vacation today; A city where every useless worry or care is Forgotten and carelessly tossed away.
I donโt need to see the Eiffel Tower Or pray at Cathรฉdrale Notre-Dame. Iโd happily pick a delicate wildflower Or caress a charming manโs arm.
Iโd love to stroll through Pรฉre Lachaise, Have a chat at the grave of Jim Morrison. Iโd play him some tunes like Jimiโs โPurple Hazeโโ, Just dishing the dirt with that sexy rapscallion.
You wonโt catch me near the Seine for dinner; Much too highbrow and touristy for me. Seat me at a bar with the saint or the sinner; Weโll close the place down at quarter past three.
Mona Lisa is enigmatic in a gilt frame so fine But the thought of the Louvre is a total bore. Iโd rather be laughing in a park drinking wine Or sharing a smoke on a bench with a whore.
Iโve got nothing to hide; itโs far from a secret: When it comes to Parisian men Iโm a big flirt. The playboys in the square whisper โCome, be my petโ And I purr โOui, oui, mon cheri! Who will it hurt?โ
There is a place somewhere called Paris And Iโm going there on vacation today. Iโll give life a sultry lingering French kiss; When Iโm in Paris I like to do things my way.
Boundary: a line which marks the limits of an area; a dividing line.
Often boundaries serve a purpose, sometimes they are waiting to be transcended.
Every Friday, here at The Rhythm Section, we will explore the ocean of music using the latter as our lodestar: breaking of a boundary.
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If you thought we are going to be all zen here at Breaking Boundariesโฆ well, you have another thing coming!
Amps are red hot from overdrive, loudspeakers are vibrating like CERN particles before collisionโฆ andโฆ I am pissed off!
Because of the way music industry promotes โemptysโ in glamorous wraps and leaves โfullsโ desperately seeking a place under the sun. To be honest, yeahโฆ that is the way we have built our societies in general; but I digress.
I told you, last time we met, we are heading south to Palestine for some Hard Rock action. You bet yourโฆ
Giving an old dog a new bone for Sadje’s photo prompt challenge. Woof!
Image credit; Grin @ Unsplash
โYou mangy son on a bitch, get your ass off my lawn! Go on … get the hell outta here!โ
That was Old Man Jenkins. He and his wife Harriet live next door to us and the source of his rage was none other than our pet French bulldog, Jacques. My husband Ted would run out of the house, apologizing profusely.
โSorry, Mr. Jenkins! Jacques a handful but heโs just playing. Heโs really lovable once you get to know him. Just look at that grin.โ
โGet to know him!? Are you freaking nuts, Peterson? That bastard just crapped on my fruit trees!โ
โThink of it as fertilizer, Mr. Jenkinsโ Ted suggested sheepishly and dragged Jacques away.
โFERTILIZER!?! I think you mean just plain shit!ย
โHush now, Aaron!โ chastised Harriet. โUsing such language … why, thereโs children next door!โ
โDonโt hush me, Margaret! That damn dogโs a menace! If you canโt control your frigging mutt, Peterson, Iโm gonna call the cops. Or maybe Iโll just put a bullet between his beady little eyes.โ
And the kids started crying.
โNow, Mr. Jenkins, please donโt say things like that. Youโre scaring my kids.โ
โWell, thatโs just too damn bad! You solve this problem or I will … permanently!โ
Ted brought Jacques back inside, promising the kids everything was going to be ok, that Old Man Jenkins was just sputtering angry syllables he didnโt really mean.
The next few days we kept Jacques on a short leash. Old Man Jenkins seemed to calm down and busied himself with his fruit trees.
On Saturday morning Harriet Jenkins approached me in the grocery store. โThank you, Alice, for keeping Jacques out of our yard. Now Aaron can care for his beloved fruit trees in peace. In fact, heโs been so preoccupied he hasnโt noticed the family of critters living in our wood pile. Theyโre just so darling, I even named them โ Caspar, Melchior and Balthazar!โ
And off she went, chuckling suspiciously.
Sitting down to dinner later that day, we suddenly heard Old Man Jenkins yelling at the top of his lungs. We never heard him scream like that before so we knew it had to be something awful. Please … not Jacques! We raced outside, stopping dead in our tracks: there stood Old Man Jenkins, pricked by at least 100 porcupine quills.
So that was the “family of darling critters” Harriet was referring to!
โExcellent aim, my little darlings!โ exclaimed Harriet. โGuess they know a prick when they see one, Aaron!โ
The Elephant's Trunk 