—- 1978 —-


    After The Young Punks'' second show at The Underground, Vic made them his Saturday night band at The Underground for as long as they wished. Each week they easily surpassed the fire marshal''s limit of 165. The college kids they knew from RIC invited students from Providence College. They became regulars along with the hoodrats and Joe’s classmates. Each week Joe added new stunts to his bag of tricks.


    Claire missed the second and third shows because of her hostess job at Twin Oaks Restaurant. She was annoyed that she wasn''t seeing the evolving show. She popped by the garage every Sunday and heard all about it from the kids hanging out. Joe was really into her, but things were moving very slowly. On the fourth weekend, she called in sick again, determined to not miss out.


    Between sets that night, a man approached Sal at the bar. They talked for a few minutes, he handed Sal a card and left. Sal came back to the stage with a smile.


    “That’s the asshole from the Met Cafe. He wouldn’t give me the time of day when I tried to get us in there. He wants us for a midweek date at his place."


    “What did you tell him?” Joe asked.


    “I’d get back to him.”


    The Met Cafe was another dive bar, a small stand-alone building directly under the deck of the elevated Interstate 195 which cut through downtown connecting to I-95. It was an eerie, dark industrial setting on the gritty edge of downtown, a poorly lit area, like a scene from a film noir.


    On a Wednesday night, The Young Punks debuted their show at their second club. They weren’t playing downtown, but it was close. It was a good gig for a weeknight, maybe a hundred and fifty paying partiers, including students from Rhode Island School of Design and Brown University.


    A few dozen friends of the band showed up but the best thing about that show was most of the crowd had never seen them before. Everything was new to them. Joe enjoyed seeing the smiles on college kids'' faces, delighted with his on-stage shenanigans. They went crazy for the TV themes and dance contests. It was a fabulous night, another boost to his confidence, which was already pretty high. The club manager asked them to come back next week.


    Claire was able to make that show. She and Joe were having a great time. She pulled him aside before the show with some breaking news. “I got fired. My boss found out my boyfriend has a band and that’s why I missed work last week.”


    “That sucks. I’m sorry to hear that,”


    “It’s okay,” she said. “School is out in a few weeks and I have my summer job. I was done anyway.”


    What struck Joe was her using the term ‘boyfriend.’ They hadn’t been undressed yet. It was only making out and heavy petting… but he was hoping. Claire’s other news was better.


    “I and a few classmates asked the Student Union to hire you before the semester ends. I gave them your business card.”


    The Rathskeller at the Student Union was a campus bar and club where Joe and Sal had seen John Cafferty & The Beaver Brown Band play months ago. It was a cool hangout for students only… with guests permitted.


    By the time they played the Student Union, the band had ten shows under their belt. Joe had tweaked and fine-tuned his schtick. On that night in The Rat, they introduced a new stunt, the Great Beer Race. Joe selected a guy and a girl from the crowd. They cleared a path from the stage to the bar. Four beers for the band were poured. The contestants ran from the stage to the bar, grabbed the beers, and returned as fast as they could. The frat boy won the race by a wide margin. As he was high-fiving his frat bros, celebrating his victory, Joe called a time-out.


    “Hold on, not so fast pal. I failed to inform you… there''s a penalty for spillage.”


    Joe held the two beers the frat boy delivered at eye level. Sal held up the girl’s pint glasses for all to see. They pretended to be carefully inspecting the contents, but it was obvious.


    “The winner, by disqualification for abuse of alcohol, Melinda!”


    The guys booed, and the girls cheered, it was a good bit. The crowd was digging Joe’s antics. The Rat show was great. They made a lot of new fans. On that night Joe realized playing new venues was the most fun because their show was fresh.


    Afterward, Claire and Joe hung out in her dorm. Joe figured this was the night. She said he was her boyfriend. They finally had privacy, but it all blew up in his face.


    Lying on her bed, kissing, Claire asked Joe when his graduation was. He leaned back. His heart sank. At that moment Joe realized he was a dead man walking.


    “Next June.”


    Claire pushed him away and sat up. “Next year?” Her mouth was agape. “You’re only a junior?”


    “Yes. Did I say I was a senior?”


    “No. I just… “ she stammered. “I just assumed. How old are you?”


    “Seventeen.”


    “What the hell, Joe? I thought you were eighteen and graduating in a few weeks. Why didn’t you tell me?”


    “It never came up. You just assumed.”


    “No.” She stood up and looked down at Joe on her bed. “The other guys are so much older than you. How the hell did I… “


    “I don’t know, but you made all the first moves.”


    “So it’s my fault?” She said, walking towards her window.


    “No, but I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong.”


    Claire let out a long exhale and stood silently, staring out at the campus after midnight. Joe didn’t wait for the rejection he knew was coming. He stood up, grabbed his leather, and stood by the door.


    Claire turned to him. “I’m nineteen. I can’t date a seventeen-year-old high school junior.” Then she struggled to get her words out. “I don’t what to say. I just can’t.” She stared at Joe for a few seconds.


    Joe said nothing. He waited a moment, opened the door, and left. He walked more than two miles back to the garage, feeling sorry for himself. When he told the guys what happened, Nate burst into laughter. Sal found it amusing but held back. Johnny sat quietly, feeling bad for Joe.


    “Ya know,” Johnny said, “Fuck her. If she shows up here expecting to hang out, I’ll show her the door.”


    “No,” Nate said. “Claire’s hot. You don’t give hot chicks the boot.”


    “Don’t be an asshole!” Sal barked at Nate. “Can’t you see he’s hurting?”


    Nate bowed his head… corrected. Joe sat quietly for a minute. The guys didn’t know what to say. Finally, Joe spun his misfortune.


    “Fuck it,” he said. “She told me weeks ago she has a summer job in New Hampshire and she’ll be gone for two months. She’s a camp counselor. I guess she has a boyfriend up there and she wanted me to know. This was going nowhere anyway.”


    “You’ll be fine, Joe,” Johnny said. “You have girls all over you these days… in case you haven’t noticed.”


    “He hasn’t,” Nate laughed. “Because he’s been too wrapped up in goody-two-shoes Claire.”


    “Can you guys do me a favor?” Joe asked. “If she comes around, please don’t fuck her. That would hurt.”


    His bandmates all nodded and muttered under their breath, and Claire’s name was not mentioned again.


    -—-- PSYCHOTHERAPY --—-


    Joe took the Ten Bus through crosstown traffic to College Hill. It was not his best ride. A drunk man had thrown up in the back of the bus, and then got off, leaving commuters to suffer. Joe held his nose, laughing to himself. He began writing a song in his head about the stinky bus…. Vomit Comet. He imagined trashing Clash chords with a jaunty rhythm.


    As he walked into the reception area of the medical office, Dr. Nichols was talking to another patient, a young girl. He stepped back into the hallway. Over the years, he learned that Dr. Nichols preferred to not have her clients mingle. When the girl’s parents arrived to pick her up, Joe walked in.


    “Hello, Joe,” she smiled. “I was glad to hear from you, it’s been a few months. I hope whatever’s troubling you isn’t serious, but it’s good to see you.” She looked him up and down. “Did you have another growth spurt?”


    Joe shrugged and looked down at his feet. “My jeans aren’t high waters. The last time I had to buy new clothes.”


    “You look… a little taller.” She waved her hand to her office. “Please, come in.”


    After some small talk, she went to the usual questions.


    “How are you and Mom doing?”


    “The same old shit.”


    “How’s school?”


    “It’s okay, just school.”


    “Have you had any fights?”


    “Nope.”


    It sometimes annoyed Joe when the first fifteen minutes of each session was wasted on reviewing the same issues he’d been talking about for years. Dr. Nichols pulled out her notepad and pen. Joe liked her skirt, maybe a little short for a woman his Mom’s age, but she had the legs for it. She took a deep breath and shifted herself in her chair.


    “Is there a particular reason you’ve come in to see me?”


    “I don’t know if this is something we should even be talking about.”


    “We can talk about anything you want. That’s the point of therapy.”


    “Even girls.”


    “Is that what''s on your mind?”


    “Yes.”


    She smirked. “You and every other seventeen-year-old in America.”


    Joe took a deep breath and exhaled. “My band is doing great. Our friends love us and there are a lot of girls around, college girls.” Joe told her the story of Claire, all of it, and how it made him feel rejected, and the other times college girls have snubbed him.


    “It happens a lot. Once, standing in line for concert tickets, I had this cool conversation with a cute girl. She was flirting with me. It was obvious… until she found out I was in high school. Then she gave me the cold shoulder. It happened a few times at the record shop around the corner.” He pointed south.


    “I will say this, Claire is correct. It’s different for girls, to a point. When I was thirty I dated a man who was twenty-seven. At that age, a couple of years is not an issue but at nineteen two years is a big difference, especially when she’s an adult in college and you’re a minor in high school. I understand how you feel, and I sympathize with you, but she’s not being unreasonable.”


    “I understand that,” Joe said, “But when they’re clearly into me, flirting and touching, and we’re having a good time, and then they turn on dime… that’s cold. It’s humiliating.” He lowered his voice. “And it hurts.”


    “Ya know,” She said with kindness in her eyes, “You’ve grown into a good-looking young man. These girls are attracted to you, but they think you’re older. Maybe because you’re in this band with the older boys. I think you should be honest up front, to avoid these harsh letdowns.”


    “I suppose.”


    “If college girls are flirting with you I’m sure high school girls are too?”


    “Yeah, a little, but they don’t have the confidence older girls have, so it’s hard to say for sure and I don’t want to assume and embarrass myself. Also, those conversations are kind of boring… well, compared to the college girls.”


    “You’re young, Joe. These things get worked out over time. Every teenager goes through this. Look at it this way. If girls like you, that’s half the battle. You’ll be fine.”


    “It sucks. I can’t wait to turn eighteen and graduate.”


    The doctor looked at her watch, then scribbled something in her notebook. “We’re about done.” She looked at Joe. “So, let’s end this as usual. What’s making you happy these days?”


    “My band has played fourteen gigs, and we get paid.”


    “That’s great. Where do you play?”


    “Around town, at a few bars.”


    “Ummm, you’re not old enough to be in bars.”


    Joe put his finger to his lips, “Don’t tell anyone, doctor-patient confidentiality.”


    “I definitely won’t tell your Mom.”


    “She knows.”


    “How does she feel about it?”


    “Let’s see,” Joe flipped a finger out for each word, “Worried, disapproving, disappointed, suspicious. Ya know, the usual stuff.”


    “What do your sisters think?”


    “They think I''m the coolest older brother in the world.”


    Dr. Nichols smiled. “I’m not going to make another appointment for you. I think you know I’m here for you. You can call any time.”


    “Thanks, Doc.” As they stood, Joe was close, looking down at her. Barbara Nichols looked up. He could smell her perfume.


    “I’m pretty sure you’ve grown another inch.”


    “Maybe I have,” Joe said, then thought to himself, ‘And a lot more in my pants.’


    — HOT FUN IN THE SUMMERTIME —


    Joe didn’t wallow for too long. He had work to do, and a business plan to expand the band’s turf outside the city of Providence. It started with him making phone calls to nightclubs around Rhode Island and nearby Massachusetts looking for work. Summer was coming fast and he wanted to take full advantage of his school break. He told the guys they could play four or five gigs per week if he could find the clubs. When the cold calls failed, Sal offered to drive him to clubs to meet with owners and bar managers. They started in downtown Providence at The Living Room.


    There were two clubs downtown that stood above the rest, Lupo’s Heartbreak Hotel and The Living Room. Both were on Westminster Street across the river from College Hill. Brown and RISD students descended on downtown every weekend to party. These were the best gigs in the city. Lupos was by far the bigger club, but it was mostly rock and blues. The smaller Living Room was punk and new wave. It was a clear choice.


    Meeting with Randy Hien, the owner of the club, Joe and Sal were disappointed to hear he was largely booked for the summer, and with the college kids all heading home or to the beach, he didn’t need a new band. A light bulb went off in Joe’s head.


    As he and Sal climbed back in the work van, Joe smiled. “How about we drive down to Narragansett and check out the Bon Vue Inn? Johnny says that place is great. All the URI kids go there.”


    Sal nodded, “There’s a bar in Westerly too, The Knickerbocker. We may as well hit both.”


    “I think playing at the beach this summer would be pretty cool.”


    “I know,” Sal smiled wide as he drove off. “That’s where the girls are.”


    The one-hundred-fifty mile round trip to Narragansett and Westerly did not yield a job, but both bar managers seemed interested and said they’d get back to Joe. Undaunted, Joe and Sal pressed on, hitting every decent bar they knew to have live music and a few indecent joints. With less than two weeks remaining in the school year, Joe was determined to get new summer gigs.


    In early July, three weeks after the school year ended. Joe was flipping through vinyl records at Sound Waves, a music store in Wakefield, Rhode Island, a few minutes from Scarborough Beach. A brunette girl walked up behind him.


    “Joe, what are you doing here?”


    Joe turned to see a girl he barely knew from high school. “Hey, Kelly. What are you doing here?”


    She poked his shoulder. “I asked first.”


    “We’re playing The Bon Vue tonight?”


    Kelly shoved him lightly, “Get the hell out of here.”


    “You don’t believe me?”


    “No, of course I do. I didn’t know you guys played down here.”


    “This is our first weekend. We played The Ocean Mist in Matunuck last night. Tonight is The Bon Zoo.”


    Kelly laughed, “That place is crazy. Now I have to change my plans. I can’t miss this. Your band is so much fun.”


    “That’s the world on the street.” Joe noticed Nate was gawking at him from across the store. He smiled at him and glanced back at Kelly. “So what are you doing?”


    “My family has a beach house in East Matunuck. It’s my last summer before college.”


    “Where are you going?”


    “BU. I can’t wait but I’m also a little nervous.”


    “You’ll be fine,” Joe smiled. “You have a big brain.”


    Kelly blushed, “Thanks. It’s not the brain I worry about. It’s the city of Boston, and being away from home. I’m excited and anxious at the same time.”


    “Pfft, Boston is just up the road. You can come home anytime.”


    “That’s what my dad says.”


    Joe and Kelly talked for a few minutes. She promised to see him at his gig. Joe selected a Johnny Thunders & The Heartbreakers record. As they were leaving, Nate elbowed him.


    “Who was that hot chick?”


    “Kelly Marsh. She just graduated.” Joe met Nate’s eyes. “She and I didn’t speak for three years at Central. She was a year ahead, an honor student, and a popular girl. I didn’t think she knew me.”


    “Look at you, scoring with hot popular chicks.”


    “I didn’t score anything. I guess she saw one of our shows. She’s said she’ll be at The Bon Vue tonight.”


    “Sweet. Maybe you will score.” Nate slapped him on the back. “You could use a lucky break.”


    “And she’s bringing some friends.”


    The band had been doing gigs for nearly three months. Nate was now a true believer. He lightened up on Joe because he saw with his own eyes that the kid had something special going on. He never apologized. That wasn’t in Nate’s DNA. He simply respected Joe, but he still broke his balls.


    That weekend was the beginning of a new band routine for the summer of ‘78. They played beach bars every Friday and Saturday night and returned to the city for a couple of midweek gigs. Vic didn’t like that The Underground was now relegated to Wednesday nights.


    Joe assured him it was only temporary. “Look, it’s only for the summer. The Bon Vue holds around three hundred and they charge a three-dollar cover. We can’t pass that up.”


    “I can raise my cover,” Vic said.


    “But you can’t squeeze another hundred people in here. This is the smallest venue we have.”


    “Wednesdays are a crappy night.”


    “I’m sorry, man. We’re getting a lot of inquiries. That’s what I can offer you.”


    By the end of July, through sheer hustle and word of mouth, they had collected five clubs along the Rhode Island shore, from Newport to Westerly, as well as a couple of new suburban bars not far from the city. They had ten clubs in all.


    Every Friday morning they drove to the beach, spent the day in the sand and surf, grabbed a bite, did their gig at night, stayed overnight nearby, and repeated that action on Saturday. Joe cracked up laughing at Sal, standing on Misquamicut Beach talking to three girls who knew the band, wearing his leather jacket with a dozen zippers and buckles, in his Speedo bathing suit.


    He walked up, shaking his head. A brunette with an impressive chest waved, “Hi, Joe.”


    Joe waved back, checking out the teeny bikini she was busting out of. He poked Sal, “What the fuck is this punk beach fashion?”


    Sal shrugged. “I didn’t want to leave my leather in the van, and I was sick of carrying it.”


    “That’s how we knew who he was,” the redhead said with a smile. “Who else would wear leather to the beach?”


    “A meathead,” Joe laughed. “That’s who.” Joe looked down at Sal’s too-small bathing suit. “Are you smuggling grapes down there?”


    The girls laughed. Sal did not.


    After their show that evening at The Knickerbocker, they did shots with the girls and hung out on the beach. Monica, the chesty brunette, was a student at Holy Cross in Worcester, MA and she was sweet on Joe. Monica was a bit handsy. This was the band’s life through July and August. Sunday became their day off. The Young Punks had a successful summer, but not everyone was excited for Joe and his band.


    -—- COLD HARD CASH ——


    Joe arrived home late on a Sunday morning after a weekend of working and partying, tired, and in need of sleep. The guys had been up all night hanging out with Kelly and friends at her family''s beach house after their third Bon Vue date. He needed rest.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    The family had just gotten back from church. His sisters were all dolled up in their Sunday best, staring at Joe, who was a mess. He needed a shower. Mom needed to talk.


    “I don’t like this, Joseph. You’re never home. You spend all your time at that damn garage or playing in dirty bars. That’s no life for a teenager.”


    “Mom, the band is doing great. We’re good and I’m making serious money… for a teenager.”


    “You never see your sisters.”


    “Joe glanced at the girls. A little help here, please?”


    “Mom,” Jackie said. ”He’s home plenty.”


    “I eat dinner and sleep here at least four nights a week.”


    “That’s true Mom,” Julie joined in. “You’re not being fair.”


    “The band is my job,” Joe added. “I plan on making this work.”


    “So this is it? You think you''re gonna be a rock star? That’s ridiculous. What are the odds?”


    “Alice!” Dad said sharply, but that’s all he offered.


    “I have no delusions about being a rock star,” Joe said quietly, “but if I can earn my living doing something I love… I’m ten steps ahead of most people.” Joe glanced at Dad because that was the old man’s line.


    “Ten steps ahead of us working stiffs,” Dad added.


    “That’s not what I mean, Dad.”


    “I know, but it’s the truth.”


    Mom carried on for another minute and a half, just being a drama queen, expressing worry for her son. During her ramble, each sister hugged Joe and walked off. They were as sick of hearing her as he was. Joe loved his Mom but she was a bit too much at times.


    He never had to worry about the girls. His sisters adored him and they were happy he was doing what he had been talking about for more than three years, playing in a band… for real money. They were proud of him and never mentioned that they missed him when he was away. The girls knew Joe had sacrificed for years, and now was his time.


    The new school year was coming soon and Joe felt dread at the thought of going back. He put it out of his mind and focused on taking care of business. They did their beach bar weekends and city clubs during the week right up to the start of school.


    “Hey!” Joe got the attention of his bandmates in the garage. “Labor Day weekend is our last hurrah. I have five consecutive gigs booked, Wednesday through Sunday, all the beach clubs.”


    “Five nights away from home?” Sal laughed. “Your Mom will have a stroke.”


    "She might, then I come home for school and we settle back to weekends only.”


    “I could use the break,” Johnny said with a smirk. “Your whip is scarring my back.”


    “Oh. Am I working you too hard?”


    “No, but we could use the break.”


    “Next week is the final push. We’re gonna cash in and then we can take it easy.”


    That five-night run was bedlam, every club was packed with people partying on the last week of summer break. The band made a pile of money, cash that had gotten a little burdensome. When Joe returned home on Monday, the Labor Day holiday. His family sat at the kitchen table, Jackie and Jeanie were playing cards with Dad and Jackie’s best friend, Wendy Walsh.


    Mom did her thing, complaining that Joe was away all week. He said nothing, opened a duffle bag, and emptied the contents on the table.


    “Holy shit!” Jackie covered her mouth. “How much money is that?”


    Mom barked. “Watch your language!”


    “Holy shit," Dad said in a low voice. "How much money is that?”


    Joe stood proud. “That’s twelve thousand, four hundred and twenty dollars, in mostly small bills. There’s four grand in hundreds, three thousand in twenties, and a shit ton of fives, tens, and singles.


    Jackie''s eyes were bugged. “Is that yours?”


    “No, this is the band’s money. From the end of school to Labor Day, twelve weeks, we grossed just short of twenty-four thousand dollars. We each take sixty bucks per show. After paying band expenses, gas, meals, and hotel nights, this is the balance.”


    Jackie shouted to the other room. “Julie, come see this!”


    Mom was worried, of course. “You should not be walking around with that money Joseph.”


    “We haven''t had a chance to get to the bank. It was stashed in the garage. Don’t worry, I have three bodyguards, and two of them are tough sons of bitches.”


    “Joseph. Your language.”


    “How much do you get paid a night?” asked Dad.


    Julie walked in. “Holy crap. Whose money is that?”


    “Juliette Anne Theroux!”


    “Sorry, Mom."


    Joe smiled at Jules, “It’s my band’s money.”


    Dad asked again, “So, how much per night?”


    “It depends on how big the club is and the cover change. Our lowest-paying gigs are around $400 on a good night. Our best is the Bon Vue. We had a few $800 nights there. We did at least four shows a week all summer.”


    “And you get good crowds?”


    “We pack them in everywhere we go. It’s crazy.”


    Dad inhaled and then exhaled big. Mom had a look of concern. That summer, Joe hadn’t said much about the band to his parents, just an occasional update, or when Mom complained. He told them they were doing great, that’s it. Mom and Dad heard about Joe’s exploits from word of mouth around town. After seeing the band at The Underground, a few young guys at Dad’s machine shop told him, “Your kid’s band is really fucking good.”


    There were young nurses at the hospital telling his Mom - his prudish, hardcore Catholic angst-ridden mother - that they thought her son was cute and his band was fun. They had approached Joe at The Met Cafe to tell him they worked with his mom. One of those nurses was a bit drinky and handsy, flirting with Joe. He thought she was going to take him home. She was disappointed to meet his friend Kelly, who read the situation and swooped in to save him from being molested by an older woman.


    Mom and Dad knew the band was good but when that cash hit the table and spread out with a pile remaining in the center, they saw firsthand just how good they were.


    Joe suspected Dad was thinking, ‘Oh shit, now he’s never gonna get a real job.’ Mom had visions of Joe and Lucifer rocking hard in Hell, his soul burning for eternity. His sisters saw cold, hard, cash.


    Jeanie put her hands in the pile and tossed a grand into the air. She did it with pure joy. Jackie and Jules grabbed fistfuls of dollars. Everyone was laughing. Wendy tossed a handful high in the air. Even Mom smiled because everyone was happy, plus Joe was home in time for school.


    Then Mom extinguished the fun because Jeanie and Wendy had made a big mess to pick up. Joe had something important to tell them.


    “Mom, forget the mess. It’s nothing.” He turned to his sisters. “Girls, pick up the money. Don’t take any. I’ll be checking pockets later, and training bras if necessary.”


    Dad cracked up. Mom did not.


    “Joseph, is that what you learn playing punk rock in filthy bars?”


    “No Mom, the nightclubs are filled with full-sized bras. Some belong to flirty nurses from Rhode Island Hospital.”


    Joe looked over at Dad with a smirk. Dad enjoyed that remark but stifled his laugh knowing his wife didn’t. The expression Alice Theroux had, staring at her son, face brought a smile to Joe’s face. For once, Mom was speechless. He had their attention.


    “Please listen, and please take me seriously.”


    Jackie wanted to hear it. Jules and Jeannie kept picking up bills and piling cash on the table, a picture-perfect image to punctuate what he was about to say.


    “This is my future. I know you don’t respect what I do but I’m working very hard doing it. That should be the most important thing, right Dad? You told me when I was a boy, ‘It doesn''t matter what you do as long as you work hard and do it well.”


    Dad nodded.


    “I’m working my ass off and I’m really good at this band business. We started playing less than five months ago and we’re making good money.”


    He dropped a fat envelope on the table. “This is my cut.”


    “What’s all this then?” Dad asked.


    “Band money. We’re saving for the future. Right now we’re using Tony’s van. That can’t last forever. We’ll need a new ride someday. We’d like to buy a PA system and new mics. I need another guitar. We have plans.”


    “This is too much for me to take,” Mom said lowly, cupping her face.


    “We put on a good show and people pay cash to see it. You may not like my music but this pile of cash speaks for itself. My band is good.”


    Joe stopped talking. He knew Dad was convinced because he saw the logic, the math, and the ‘do what you’re good at’ angle. Mom operated on emotion and superstition. Just as she was about to say something, Joe ended the discussion.


    “Mom, this is my future! I will graduate high school as I’ve promised. When that’s done, I’m chasing this, doing what I love and earning a living doing it.”


    The girls were now stacking piles of ones, fives, tens, twenties, and hundreds. Dad sat silent, knowing he had no words to make a case that Joe should do differently. Mom walked away.


    Joe took his baby sister’s arm. “I know the count. If it''s all there, I’ll give you each twenty bucks and take you to the record shop after school on Friday. There’s no point in stealing five bucks, Jeanie.”


    Julie pushed Jeannie. “I told you he saw you.”


    Joe was done talking. “I have to get some rest. The first day of school is tomorrow. Woohoo! God help me get through one more year.”


    Before bed that night Joe told the girls band stories, tales of minstrels bringing cheer to the townspeople and the jester who made the carnival happen. It was creative if nothing else. Mom listened in from her bible reading chair just outside the girl’s bedroom door.


    She was a tough nut to crack... but so was Joe.


    — BACK TO SCHOOL —


    Joe cooked eggs for himself and his sisters on the first day of school. Jules popped the bread in the toaster. Mom walked into the kitchen in her bathrobe.


    “Are you going to walk your sister to school?” she asked Joe.


    “Does she need me to?”


    “It would be a nice thing to do on her first day of high school.”


    Jackie walked in as Mom spoke. “What would be nice?”


    “For your brother to walk you to school.”


    Joe looked at Jackie. “Do you need me to hold your hand on your first day at the big house?”


    “No,” Jackie poked him. “But it would be nice to walk with you.”


    “Wendy would like it too,” Jules said with a smirk.


    “Great,” Joe said. “Just what I need, giggling teeny boppers at seven in the morning.”


    Joe plated eggs. Jules buttered the toast. Jackie poured orange juice for herself and her sisters and coffee for Joe and Mom. She shouted across the house. “Jeanie! Breakfast is ready.”


    As they sat at the kitchen table Mom pressed again for Joe chaperoning his sister on her first walk to Central High School. Joe had not been in the same school as Jackie since elementary school when she was in second grade. Now she was an incoming freshman and Joe a senior. She was excited to start at the big house, as many called CHS.


    “Jeanie!” Jackie shouted. “Breakfast!”


    “Jesus.” Joe winced. “You don’t have to scream.”


    “Joseph, your language.” Mom glared at him.


    “I’m right here,” Jeanie said, walking into the room.


    “All this time and you’re not even dressed?” Joe laughed. “You’re such a space cadet.”


    Joe’s sisters were similar in many ways but they had unique personalities. Jackie, nearly 14, was the responsible, pragmatic eldest girl. She was a help around the house and generally obedient. Julie was the bookworm, a dramatic whiner, and Mom’s spy and informant. Joe had two nicknames for her, Jules and the Mata Hari, a joke she didn’t understand. Jeanie was a free spirit, brave and daring, creative, and had a natural talent for singing and dancing. Joe’s pet name for her was Peanut but also Space Cadet because she was flakey and forgetful.


    Like Joe, Jackie had very dark chestnut brown hair. It looked black in low light. Julie’s hair was more auburn brown. Jeanie’s was a dark shade of blonde. Jackie was tall and slender, Julie was average, and Jeanie was a waif.


    Jules smiled at Jeanie, “Joe’s going to walk Jackie and Wendy to school.”


    “Cool,” Jeanie looked at Joe. “I hope Wendy doesn’t faint.”


    “Shut up,” Joe said from behind his cup of coffee.


    Twenty minutes later, Joe walked out with Jackie just as her best friend Wendy walked into the driveway. They had been best friends since third grade, inseparable except for when they had fights. Wendy’s crush on Joe started long before puberty. She got a little giggly around him, which annoyed Joe.


    At the end of their street, Wendy looked up at him. “Do you have any advice for us?”


    “Don’t hang out by the teacher’s entrance unless you want everyone to think you’re a nerd. Stay away from Mr. Grady the gym teacher. If he puts a finger on you let me know.”


    “Why?” Wendy asked.


    “Because he gets too friendly with girls and touches them.”


    “Ewwwww,” the girls said in stereo.


    “Yeah,” Joe said. “Fucking ewww. He’s a creepy old man.”


    As they turned east on Broadway, Joe had something else to say. “If any boys give you crap, especially bullies, you let me know.”


    Jackie bumped against her brother, her way of saying thanks.


    “My sister says you get into a lot of fights,” Wendy said.


    “Your sister is a gossip girl.”


    “Is it true?”


    “No. It’s bullshit.”


    Joe was fed up with kids making a big issue of a few fights he’d been in over the years. He was trying to put that all behind him but everyone else kept bringing it up. In his mind, it was just part of growing up not-Italian on Federal Hill.


    When they arrived at the school, Joe said, “My work is done. Have a great day and don’t be nerds, you’ll get picked on.” He walked around the corner of the massive school toward the faculty entrance where to his astonishment, the nerds were gone, replaced by a group of underclassmen. They weren’t necessarily cool kids, but they were trying to be.


    “Where did the smart kids go?” he asked.


    A tall doofus in black leather answered, “They took off.”


    “To where?”


    “I dunno.”


    Something smelled fishy to Joe. The smart kids always hung out near the faculty entrance. It was safer for them. He leered suspiciously at the group of six kids. He sort of knew the cute girl with blue hair. She had been to a couple of gigs, but he forgot her name. Then he realized another boy had been to The Underground a few times, and Joe did the math.


    He walked up to the tall doofus. “Did you run them off?”


    “No. We didn’t.” He said unconvincingly, with fear in his eyes.


    “Not really,” the blue-haired girl said.


    “Sort of,” a girl with pink hair added.


    Joe put his finger in the doofus’ face. “This is their spot. You’re gonna go find them and tell them to come back. Got it?”


    The kid didn’t answer. He nodded and walked off.


    “They’re just around the corner,” said Pink Hair. “We didn’t run them off. Steven said some dumb things and they left.”


    “He was mean,” the blue-haired girl admitted.


    When the smart kids, more than a dozen, came around the corner, walking behind Steven the doofus, they saw Joe and understood what was happening. Joe didn’t say another word. He walked over to the stoop and sat. He then opened his book.


    That was only the first strange thing that happened on the first day of Joe’s senior year. In the homeroom period, three classmates wanted to talk about his band. These kids never spoke to Joe, not in three years. During the first period, a cheerleader practically fell over herself flirting. A cheerleader and Joe? That’s like cats and dogs. All day long kids he barely knew, and some he didn’t know at all, greeted him with “Hi Joe” or they wanted to talk about music.


    By the end of the day, Joe was thinking he might have to punch someone in the nose, in front of the crowded cafeteria, just to reclaim his bad reputation and scare them off. He had two strikes against him, so that plan was nixed. Joe didn’t like the label of fighter, but he enjoyed the fact that annoying classmates avoided him… for most of high school. This popularity thing was definitely not going to work.


    On the second day of school, Betty McDonald, the mousey, bespectacled, red-haired senior who was the unofficial queen of the nerds, approached Joe on the faculty stoop. He looked up from his book.


    “Thank you for what you did yesterday,” she said, clutching her books to her chest.


    “I didn’t do anything.”


    “Yes, you did. You told Steven Conte to give us back our spot.”


    Joe shrugged. He looked to his left to see Jackie and Wendy approaching. He didn’t walk them to school on day two.


    “I thought you said only nerds hang out here,” Jackie said in a mocking tone.


    Joe motioned with his head to the pocket protector crew twenty-five feet away. “And there they are.”


    “Are you a nerd too?” she smirked at her brother.


    “Betty. This is my sister Jackie. She’s a freshman, and one of your tribe.”


    “Hi.” Betty smiled. “What do you mean… my tribe?”


    “She’s a smart girl. She and Wendy are in the accelerated curriculum program.”


    Betty turned to Jackie. “Your brother isn’t a nerd. He watches over us.”


    Jackie furrowed her brow. “What?”


    “I do not,” Joe protested.


    Betty made a duh face at Joe. “Do you think we don’t know why you sit here every morning? It started in Sophomore year right after Jimmy got beat up, and then Thomas. You keep the mean kids away.” She turned to Jackie. “They’re afraid of Joe.” She turned back to Joe. “They don’t know he’s a nice guy.”


    Joe didn’t say a word. He was a little embarrassed and irked.


    “Scarecrow Joe,” we call him. Betty smiled at him.


    “Pfft,” Joe scoffed. “I’ve never heard that.”


    “Because no one is brave enough to say it to your face.”


    “The next person that does might regret it.”


    “Scarecrow Joe,” Jackie laughed. “I can say it all day and night. Whaddya gonna do, beat me up?”


    Joe stood up just as the bell sounded. “I can find another place to sit this year.”


    “No,” Betty said. “This is your spot, and ours is over there. We never bother you, do we?”


    “Not until today.” Joe walked away, and Betty followed, as did Jackie and Wendy.


    “You realize Steven Conte wanted to hang out with you, right? That’s why those kids were here yesterday.”


    “Well. I knocked that dumb idea out of his head.”


    “Yes,” Betty smiled. “You did.” She turned back to Jackie. “The strange thing about your brother is, he’s one of us. He only plays dumb because he thinks it’s not cool to be smart.”


    “That’s not the only strange thing,” Jackie said.


    “Yeah, well, my sister is such a brainiac she skipped a grade.” Joe looked at Betty. “She’s only thirteen.”


    “I’ll be fourteen in November.”


    “Still thirteen.”


    Joe was concerned about his sister starting high school so young. He was glad he’d be around for her freshman year. No one was going to mess with his sister. Next year, she’d be on her own.


    — BUSINESS CARDS —


    Pops had done the band many favors, starting with giving them a home. They used his van, he cooked for them, and he allowed the guys to have friends over any time his crew of Italian wise guys were not hanging around. One favor he had done right after their first gig didn’t pay off until school restarted in September.


    Tony called in a favor. He had his buddy Gianni at Columbus Printing make a simple business card for the band. All it said was The Young Punks - Providence, RI with the garage’s phone number. Joe and Sal handed these cards out all summer, especially to college kids at the beach. They told everyone, “If you can get us a gig near your school, we’ll make the drive and check the place out.”


    In mid-September, they got a call from a local club. Sal returned the call. When Joe showed up at the garage later that day, Sal was excited.


    “You won’t believe who called this morning.”


    Joe shrugged, “Who?”


    “Take a guess.”


    “Joe Strummer.”


    Sal scowled at him, “I’m serious, this is big.”


    “Johnny Rotten?”


    “Fuck off. Randy Hien.”


    Joe smiled wide. “The Living Room?”


    Ninety minutes later, they sat with Randy at his bar nursing beers. Since their last visit, at the start of summer, Randy had heard some things. Joe and Sal told him the story of their wild beach season.


    "Let me tell ya, a few times this summer we had good bands playing here and we had shit turnout. I was baffled. They should have been good nights. Then my bartender tells me about this band her friends are seeing at the Met Cafe.”


    Sal smiled. “We’ve drawn some good crowds there.”


    “I know, and it’s costing me. I heard you kids put on a show, do some crazy shit, and I wanted to check you out. Let’s see if you play with our college crowd.”


    Joe scoffed: “Are you kidding? They’re our biggest fans! Who do you think comes to The Met to see us? Your customers. We played for college kids at the beach all summer.”


    “Let’s get you booked for a weeknight, like real soon.”


    Joe didn''t like it. “Midweek, like a tryout gig? No, we’re way past doing auditions.”


    Randy looked at Sal. “Is this kid for real?”


    Sal shrugged. “Joe doesn’t trust club owners.”


    “Not true. They have to earn my trust.” He looked Randy in the eyes. “We’ve been fucked a few times.”


    “Shit," said Randy. "I feel like I’m being interviewed.”


    Joe leaned in, “No disrespect intended. You just said we were costing you money playing at The Met. I don’t think we need to do a midweek tryout.”


    “You want me to just give you a prime weekend spot, having never seen you?”


    Joe steeled his gaze. “Either that or we can play The Met. I’ll book that shit every weekend.”


    Sal put his hand on Joe’s shoulder. He thought the kid was going too far. They wanted to play this club and Joe was being a dick. Randy stared back at Joe, half smiling, a bit bemused. Joe leaned back on his bar stool. It felt like a scene from a mobster film. Randy had tipped his hand. Joe stood his ground. The Young Punks were now a commodity and he felt he had the upper hand.


    Sal looked at Joe. “What’s wrong with starting on a weeknight?”


    Joe stared at Sal for a moment then turned to Randy. “We really want to play here Mr. Hien. This is the best gig in the city but I want our first night downtown to be bigger than your club half-empty on a Tuesday. The college kids are here on weekends. That’s our crowd.”


    Randy flipped through a black leather book. “I don’t have a Friday open until October,” he looked at Joe. “The thirteenth.”


    Joe smiled at Sal: “We’ll take it. It’s gonna be a big night. You won’t regret it.”


    Joe left the bar satisfied for landing a weekend gig at the best punk venue in the entire state. Even Sal had to admit he played his cards perfectly.


    Before the band played The Living Room, the second call came in, this one from Worcester, MA. Some guy named Barney left a message with Pops. Joe returned the call, spoke with the bar owner, and couldn’t wait to tell the guys.


    “Hey, do you remember that crazy chick at The Knickerbocker?”


    “Which one?” Sal asked.


    “The long-haired brunette with the nice rack, Monica.”


    “She was all over you,” Johnny recalled.


    “Yes, she was.” Joe smiled. “Well, she goes to Holy Cross and she passed our card on to this guy Barney. He owns an Irish Pub in Worcester. He wants us to come up there for a gig.”


    “That’s more than an hour''s drive,” Sal noted. “An Irish pub?”


    “So what? It’s a job. We need to expand our turf.”


    “Yeah,” Johnny said, “but an Irish pub?” He made a face.


    “Barney says punks hang out there. They took over his place and they want bands. We have to at least give this place a chance.”


    The guys grumbled.