Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack... And...

We were in a Motown sorta mood for today's Happy Hour.  Here's one of the tunes we listened to as we knocked back a couple o' beers and enjoyed a Deep Dish:

Which brought to mind one of the first of not so many dirty deeds we've perpetrated on The Fairer Sex in this life. So, like it or don't, a reminiscence…

The year is 1962… specifically the Spring of that year… the place is San Jose, California. The Shirelles hit the Big Time that year, and the song above was one of my favorites then and it had quite a bit of overt and covert meaning for me and my Main Squeeze at the time…a wonderful girl-woman by the name of Marcy.

Marcy… she being about five foot three, kinda-sorta plump (finest kind!) and possessing a dazzling smile, among other wondrous things… was wonderful in more than a few ways. First and foremost, she was a girl who found me (sorta) fascinating, a minor miracle in and of itself. Second, she was a girl who ignored the conventions of the time in that she (a) was dating a guy who was about her same age; (b) I was a guy who had neither a car of my own nor a driver's license… something that was highly unusual at that point in time for a guy of my age and location (suburban NorCal); and (c) she was free with her charms... ample as they most certainly were... at least where I was concerned. Marcy, to her everlasting credit, had access to her parents' car and would pick me up and drive us about San Jose whenever we were free, seemingly without concern about the damage this would do to her image. And we were kinda-sorta in love… or as much "in love" as one can be when one is 17 and just beginning to figger stuff out. That's the background.

So… there we were… it was the eve of our Junior-Senior Prom and I was at work, doing landscaping things.

Time for yet another minor digression: I was living with my employer and his family at the time. My father and the rest of my family had moved down to LA a couple o' few months previously, Dad having taken a new job in LA and me not wanting to go along. So, with the help of kindly Mr. Roberts (my employer), we worked out a deal whereby I would remain behind in San Jose... going to school, working and living with Mr. Roberts and his family while Dad & Co traipsed off to LA. Marcy figured prominently into this calculation, by the way. Remember: we were In Love.

So, back to it. My foreman… Mr. Roberts' son… and I got into a helluva argument over the fact I wanted to leave work early and get ready for Prom Night. He wouldn't let me go; I was adamant I HAD to leave. It came down to "leave if you want… but if you do, you're fired." So I did what any impetuous 17-year old would do: I said "Fuck You. I'm leaving. Take your job and shove it." And I walked off the job, commandeering a ride from one of my co-workers back to Mr. Roberts' house. But there's more… I realized that I was gonna be out of a place to live by the virtue of the fact I'd just quit my job, in NO uncertain terms. So I took about 20 minutes and collected all my belongings, packed them up in a duffle bag, and walked out. I got my buddy to drive me down to the San Jose bus station and about 45 minutes (or so) later I was on a bus… LA bound.

And herein lays the dirty deed: I left Marcy hanging, without even making so much as a phone call to let her know I was leaving. And I never spoke to her again, to add insult to injury. I've often wondered about her in the intervening years, and if she ever gives (or gave) a thought to the asshole she loved who simply disappeared on what is arguably one of the biggest nights of one's teen years.

I suppose that kinda-sorta answers the rhetorical question… "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?"… doesn't it? And all that said… I've had worse done to me, and I've done worse. But we won't go THERE. Let's just pop open another brew and go back outside…


  1. Dad,
    Never heard that one... another reason why you need to come out to the burg so we can talk more and have a drink of single malt at the bar downstairs. It may be the only use that bar gets!

  2. Talk about burning bridges! I wonder if there is some goes-around, comes-around due on that!! I don't think I could top this when it comes to burning the fairer sex. I do have wonder about my one Girlfriend, she moved to OK and I have always wondered about her.

    BT: Jimmy T sends.

  3. Wow. I was on the other side of a deed roughly as bad. Sucks. Love stinks.

    The song that triggers the memory for me is "Shout" by Tears for Fears. I guess (rationalize) that the reason you posted this is well, to post it (all the reason you need), and because the song brought it all back.

    Word verification: "cortt" Ouch.

  4. Sam: There are MANY tales of my youth you've never heard... most of which you never WILL hear, LOL! That said, we'll put that bar to good use.

    Jimmy: Yeah, I burnt a couple of bridges that day. That happens when you're young and stupid. As far as "goes around, comes around"... maybe I'm living it. (Big-Ass grin goes here)

    Bob: Love does stink, indeed. As for my reason for posting... it's all wrapped up in the memory triggered by that song. Music is very powerful that way.

  5. "...it's all wrapped up in the memory triggered by that song. Music is very powerful that way."

    That was my point. And as you say, yours. Still, wow.

  6. I was never lucky in love as a teen, but never thatunlucky...ouch. And on prom night - oh Buck. No.

    And life goes on.

  7. What. A. Bummer.

    17 year olds are awfully silly. I would have gotten a motel room, brought the Honey to the prom and called it a childhood.

    Then I would have enlisted in the Marines.

    (Wait... Except for the Motel and the Prom, That really happened!)

    Great memory you shared. I hope she forgave you, and more importantly; that you forgave yourself.

  8. Wow. Having done a couple of deeds of a similar nature of dastardy, I can wince in sympathy.

    I have learned, from the victim of one such deed, that forgiveness is possible.

  9. Kris: As I said: young and stupid. I was all ate up with anger and didn't give a thought to the girl until much later... like halfway to LA... and then I was too embarrassed to call her and apologize once I got to my parents' place. Stupid.

    Darryl: I did forgive myself, years and years later.

    Gordon: I really DO hope she forgave me. The kinda shi'ite I pulled can sour a girl on men for life. Or maybe I'm just being hyperbolic. ;-)

  10. Oh, man, Buck. You suck!

    Just kidding, of course. You're still my good buddy blogger. But, wow, that was harsh (as you know, and acknowledge, and all the good stuff that makes you the nice guy you are.)

    I assume you may have tried to locate her via the tools available: Google, etc., without luck?

  11. So.. we had this offline, Jim and I. Wherein I replied: Further embarrassment: I don't remember her last name, which has probably changed (at least once) by now. That WAS 47 years ago...

    He came back with "Now that's pretty funny. I don't suppose just Googling "Marcy" would get you much of anywhere :-)

    God bless, Buck. We've all got our memories we'd rather have been more lovable in. At least, I know I do.

    I bet every person who reads your story and knows a Marcy will ask her some questions, though. Who knows? You might get lucky. It might lead to someone showing up at La Casa someday with a rifle :-)"

    And she would be but one of many. If she took the time, about which I'm thankful they DON'T. (big-ass grin goes here)

  12. I'm sure Marcy was hurt, but she probably figured it all out and moved on - making her a better woman for it.

    "Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover" must have played fifty times on the radio the night a boyfriend did something similar to me. When I hear that song today, I think about how stupid I was for letting him hurt me.

  13. Lou: One couldn't even begin to count up the casualties in the War Of The Sexes, could they? But we manage to survive...


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