F
Jimmy LaCroix’s older
brother, Evie, usually didn’t speak two words to Jimmy, or let him speak two
words to him. (Jacques and Evian, by the way, to mother, mother Daphne, and all
still up around Gaspe French-Canadian relatives but to Jimmy and Evie, strictly
Jimmy and Evie, among themselves and their respective Olde Saco corner boy
crowd in that odd second generation, first generation-skipping rush to become
Americanized, to be like the bloody old time oppressor English and bog-grown Irish,
and shed that blasted patois adieu thing, that down from cold Canada
farms and mines hunger thing, that damn Gallic saint this and saint that thing
and bless yourself before every meal, at night, in front of every passed church
thing, and vanilla melt in with souped-up hot rods, Luckies cigarettes rolled
up in a white tee-shirt sleeve, and a Coke bottle beside you at all times in
order, hell, what else, in order to “pass” with the swamp yankee Down East
lobster fisherman’s daughter and that Irish mill hand mick’s colleen daughter,
the one with that flaming red hair, prayer book in one hand and her other hand
in, well, let’s leave it at that since Irish colleens, or for that matter
wistful mermaid yankee, swamp pedigreed or otherwise, girls do not figure in
Jimmy’s, or Evie’s, life just now.) Evie LaCroix fully subscribed to the
prerogatives of being an older teenage brother, an older American teenage
brother moving hard and fast toward twenty something and different troubles.
Moreover Evie one all-American
teenager (black French-genetic hair, long thin build, wiry, and a smoldering
something that girls, women, found sexually stirring) rushing to twenty with
both a valid license to drive , no suspensions, no drunk stuff against his
record (although he had been seen on back roads, the dirt roads and gravel pit
ruts that passed for roads, around Gorham Road, just off U.S. Route One, out in
farm country, driving full-throttle, some cheap jack whiskey, probably some
Johnny Walker color, some blond, he favored blonds, joie blondes, excuse the
patois, tied close in the front seat, or his corner boys from Mama’s Pizza
Parlor over on Main Street front and back, when he was barely fourteen and sans license), and an automobile, or
rather the automobile, a late model flash red (make that very cherry red) ’56
Chevy. A car that said, unmistakenly said, watch out, move over, pops, in your
Dodge wagon, Plymouth whatever, Ford tank, and take note of this
stud-mobile.
That hard fact car was
nothing but a girl magnet (hell, Evie had picked up a few real women, already
twenty something and experienced, looking for kicks, night time is the right
time kicks, and ready to do what was necessary in the sex department to get to
that front seat on more than one frosty Friday night when her walking daddy was
just away, and according to rumor, even a very married woman, a thirty
something woman, a Mayfair swell woman with kids from over in swanky Ocean City
who got her kicks for a while, very hush, hush and out of town up in Portland
nestled up against his shoulder) added fuel to the flame of the “no talk” rule
between the brothers.
See teenage guys in the Acre
(the French-Canadian section over on Atlantic Avenue, so called for either
god’s little acre or hell’s, take your pick, near Jimmie Jakes Diner II, the
one where all the young no car teenagers hung out in the summer nights since
time immemorial not the one by Ocean Avenue for the blue-haired luncheon ladies
and summer touristas long gone) had too much to do to keep those fast cars up
in order to keep that girl magnet headed their way to talk to inconsequential
brothers. Every day after school let out (and some weekends too) when the joint
began to hop until closing Evie LaCroix could be seen at the Adventure Car-Hop doing
solemn duty to car-filled cars as a short order cook serving greasy burgers with
all the fixings (twenty -six possible combinations)and oil-drenched fries (one
combination)to the multitudes. (Evie, in the time-honored Acre tradition, like
all his corner boys, had no use for further schooling once he got some dough in
his jeans, dropped out at sixteen once the school hours proved inconvenient to
his new lifestyle.)
Every once in a while, work
while, Evie, pulling his head up from the splattering stovetop to turn over
some burger with fried green peppers would eye his girl of the moment, Lorraine
Champlain, the ace carhop of the place, and one fox that every guy in town,
every guy maybe from young guys like Evie to old, maybe thirty- year old guys,
wanted to get next to. Just in case you don’t remember or don’t have Wikipedia handy a car hop was, well, a
young, good-looking woman who came (in some places via roller skates) to the
side of your car, took your order, and eventually brought you your burger with
whatever on it, fries and soft drink on a tray. Nice touch in car- conscious
1950s America, even in sleepy old dying mill town Olde Saco, Maine.
Lorraine, all blond hair
(real, by the way, Evie said so real), small breasts like all F-C girls, long
forever legs, legs made for wrapping around some guy, made forever longer by
the short shorts she wore in summer along with midriff- revealing halter, and
some perfume thing that made you do a double-take when she took your order (if
Evie did not have his head up, otherwise pass, wisely pass, please). And while
many guys ogled Lorraine (and left big tips as tribute) she was true blue to
her Evian (not Evie, not to her, or anything like that by the way and no
mother’s boy talk about him letting her use that forbidden name, not unless you
wanted to mix knuckles with corner boy tough Evie, no, leave that noise at
home, or better stand in some sullen corner if that is your line). So you can
see that Evie certainly would have had no time, no time at all for bon
Jimmie.
Except Jimmy, all twelve
years of him, had to, just had to break his armed truce with Evie and speak
two, maybe more words. Jimmy was smitten (local Olde Saco corner boy, junior
division, word for love, puppy love learned, or half-learned, from a poem, some
old- time Robert Browning thing picked up in Miss Genet’s class and immediately
adopted in junior division corner boy society) with one Mimi Dubois, Lorraine’s
cousin, and someone who might one day challenge Lorraine as the ace car hop in
town. But that future prospect was not what was bothering Jimmy that day, the
day he got up enough nerve to ask Evie the big question.
He had asked Mimi to go to
the movie theater, the Bijou where they had sci-fi stuff and monster movies not
the Majestic where they only had old time film noir fare with guys getting
themselves blasted up for dames and getting nothing for their efforts, except an off-hand slug in
the chest or something, with him on
Saturday afternoon to watch the double feature and he needed a please, please
favor because the theater was too far from her house to walk and her parents
would not let her go without a ride. (They in time-honored tradition did not
make the social faux pas of
suggesting that they take the pair to the theater, jesus, no, they had been
told in no uncertain terms to not even mention that possibility.) Also Jimmy’s
parents were out for the very good reason (although not as good as the “in no
uncertain terms” one) that Mr. LaCroix had been laid off from the dying textile
mills where he had worked most of his life and he didn’t have an automobile at
the moment.
So Jimmy spoke, spoke to Evie
on the fly after school one afternoon as Evian was preparing to enter his
chariot very cherry red Chevy to head to Adventure Car Hop about driving him to
the theater. And here is how young Jimmie laid out his case to his older
brother. One day at Doc’s (the local Acre drugstore where the junior high
school kids hung out because, one, it was right across from the school, and
two, Doc’s had a soda fountain and super jukebox that played all the latest
teen hits)Jimmie had cornered Mimi. It was there that Jimmy approached his
sweet Mimi to ask about going to the movies. And Eddie Cochran saved him. No,
not Eddie in person, but his latest hit, Sittin’
In The Balcony.
Jimmie kind of came at Mimi
sideways, like twelve- year old goofy guys will, and asked Mimi off-handedly a
hypothetical question concerning her choice for movie seating options. Down in
the orchestra which meant a silly date, like old people did, watching the
movies, and maybe eating popcorn or up in the balcony where in Olde Saco
tradition (and maybe every other civilized place as well) the young, very young
sans automobile, sans money, sans any idea of what was going on went to “make
out” and not watch some silly old double feature (although they might come up
for air for popcorn occasionally).
[The whole teen Saturday afternoon
double feature movie arrangement, circa 1957, the etiquette if you will, bears
some further detailed description. Not for the under eighteen Acre/Olde
Saco/Maine/U.S.A/ World teenage crowd. Hell no, this was (is) almost
instinctive stuff, not stuff that had to be mentioned, has to be instructed
about from one generation to another or one older sibling to younger sibling,
has to beat around, beat down by every academician, sociological or
anthropological academician especially, looking to make a nice career
instructing bright college kids about the mores of this heathen cult. That
movement was genetic. But there might be some clueless parents who maybe never
went to the movies, or who only sat in the orchestra section (to see the movies
better, jesus), or went to the library on Saturdays, whatever, so here is the
skinny:
The 1950s Saturday afternoon
double- feature (already this is something very different for more modern ears)
at the Bijou was where almost every kid had to learn the basic social skills
necessary to survive in cut-throat Olde Saco teen world. First off it was
strictly the Bijou that produced a double feature of monster movies (The Blob That Devoured Toledo, Godzilla
Meets King Kong, stuff like that), thrillers (The Night Of The Living Dead, etc.) or weird alien stuff. Sci-fi
stuff with scary things for outer space. And that is why every kid (and his or
her date, if applicable) lined up early. The other movie house in town, The
Majestic, was strictly, well, for maybe those library-goers taking a break one
Saturday, or kids who wanted to go into the film industry, or adults who had
enough sense to stay clear of the Saturday matinee at the Bijou to watch silly
romances (adult hard to follow the plot stuff because it was not clear who
loved who, or who didn’t, or who ran off with who, and why, stuff like that),
or arty stuff. Maybe people who today need some instruction on what went on at
the Bijou.
The great divide though (and
another reason to get in line early) at the Bijou, in the Acre, in Olde Saco,
in Maine, in the U.S. of A, maybe in the World, was where dated up kids would
sit, orchestra section or balcony (singles, guys or girls, groups, guys or
girls, don’t count here and took their lame dumb luck seats down below, including
those clowns who were there to actually watch the movies, again jesus, why
would anyone do that). So every date situation from twelve to eighteen (nobody
older, not on Saturday afternoon, they were saving their energies for the
night, the night time is the right time and not at some silly movie house but
rather down at Olde Saco Beach, really Seal Rock at the far end), began with
that critical question.
Needless to say the balcony
was off-limits to anyone over eighteen, ushers, the management, anybody once
the film started. Now here is where those lucky enough to make the cut had
things working their way at the Bijou. Those B-films (hell, maybe C,
D, or F, who remembers) were great for “making out” (wink, wink). Why? Not every girl or guy who went up in balcony
was brazen, or all that knowledgeable about love, or anything, or about how to
“get in the mood,” although all wanted to get in the mood. So those dopey
scenes on the screen where some gigantic monster devoured a building, or weird
trapezoidal beings took over average American bodies, or where some seaweed
looking blot sucked the life out of some average American kid were just scary
enough to make the couple, and it wasn’t always the girl, draw closer for
protection. Nice, huh, and then you didn’t have to look at the screen after
that (except for a little popcorn, or something like that.]
And Mimi?
Mimi answered like this, and
thus caused Jimmy his boldness in asking his brother for help. “If you are
asking me just to ask me a silly question while Eddie Cochran’s Sittin’ In The Balcony is playing then
I’d answer orchestra but if you are really asking me to go to the movies with
you then it’s the balcony. Evian laughed, laughed out loud at that and then
grabbed Jimmy by the shoulder and said, “Sure kid, I was young once too.”
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