—- JUNE 1979 —-
Joe and Angie met at the garage on a weekday during exam week. Joe had taken two tests that morning and was dismissed early. He picked a time he knew Sal would be working at the liquor store. He hoped Pops would also be out. He was nervous, self-conscious, not entirely sure he wanted to do this. Angie was very persuasive and Joe was a sucker for her charms.
Seth handled the camera. Joe sat on the porn sofa, Angie in an easy chair. She pitched him a few softball questions about the origins of the band, and then asked about the circuit of clubs he was building in Southern New England, and his plans for the future. That’s when he realized he had nothing to be nervous about. She was a friend, not a journalist, and he was telling a story she had heard before and he had told many times.
“How does it feel to be so popular in your hometown?” She asked as the camera moved from her to Joe.
“Are we really that well known?” Joe shrugged. “Our friends and the college kids at The Living Room know us but we’re not exactly a household name.”
Angie rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean, Joe. You’ve come a long way in one year and you might be the best local band in town right now. How does that feel?”
“We are sons of Providence,” he nodded. “So that’s cool. I feel it just the beginning.”
They talked on camera for less than twenty-five minutes. It seemed to go by fast. Joe felt more at ease with each passing question.
“You’re young,” Angie said. “and punk bands typically don’t endure. Even if you achieve your goals with The Young Punks, this likely won’t last forever. What would you do post-punks?”
“Wow. You already have us failing?”
“No. I’m stating a fact. Punk bands aren’t known for longevity. You’ll ride for as long as you can and then what?”
“Start another band? I don’t know. I have only one goal,” Joe focused on Angie’s intoxicating eyes. “to earn a living making music. I don’t have to be rich and famous to be happy. I just want a comfortable life in the music business doing what I love.”
“Do you want to be famous?”
Joe exhaled, pondering for a moment. “I want to be happy.”
As they wrapped up, Joe went to the fridge for a beer. Angie had one more favor to ask. She followed him over, and as always, she turned on the charm.
“Can I have one of those?”
“Sure.” Joe looked over at Seth. “You want a beer?”
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks.”
Joe popped the top off a bottle and handed it to Angie who was now standing very close. She leaned against him.
“Thanks,” She took a sip and smiled. “Would you mind if we set up and filmed your graduation show?”
“That’s five days after your deadline.”
“I know. Seth and I would like to shoot some of that, just for fun and also for the experience. How many concerts do we get to shoot?”
“It’s a party.”
“It’s a show. We’d like to get some of that on film.”
“That’s fine. It’s no extra work for me, right?”
“Not at all. We’ll have a few friends along to help.”
“Okay, deal.”
“What are you doing the rest of the day?” Angie asked.
Joe exhaled. “I have to go back to school to serve one final hour of detention.”
Angie laughed a little too loud for Joe. She covered her mouth. “I’m so sorry. That’s just funny to me, detention. What did you do?”
“Well, it’s a story. Do you know Rock & Roll High School by the Ramones?”
“Of course I do.”
Joe gestured to the kitchen table. “Have a seat and tell you a tale of tomfoolery.”
—-- 500 RED SOLO CUPS —--
Sal, Pops, and dependable Denny had most of the party logistics under control. The food and beverages would be the usual pizza and beer as well as soda pop and dishes Tony fixed in the garage kitchen. Pops cooked for two days leading up to the party. Joe was in charge of setting up the stage with Denny, inducing a PA system they had recently purchased. Previously, the band was as low-tech as you could be in the garage. They didn’t mic their amps or the drums. For this outdoor show, they’d mic everything. Denny was very useful in this work.
Denny had a protege, a kid from the hood who was dependable and somewhat handy. Petri was a skinny kid, barely 130 pounds, quiet, and a bit awkward. Everyone liked Petri because there was no reason to dislike him. He would help Denny with beer and pizza distribution.
Tony had connections in the City of Providence. A friend in the maintenance department dropped off sixteen orange drums that would be used to cordon off his property from the larger industrial complex. They were also useful as trash barrels. Tony’s pals in City Hall helped him pull a permit for the party and he made sure his cop connections knew he was behind the event. The good news was, there were very few neighbors to complain. The nearest residence was nearly a quarter mile away.
After a long and boring Friday evening Central High School graduation ceremony and a noisy late dinner for nine at Andino’s Family Restaurant on The Hill, Joe had Dad drop him off at the garage so he could help Denny prepare for the show and do a sound check.
The band would set up on the loading dock overlooking the mill complex. Beyond Pops’ property was a much larger lot for the hulking four-story brick factory with hundreds of windows and thousands of panes of glass, many broken. Parking would not be a problem.
Nate’s drum kit was set up just inside the double-wide garage door, in line with the amplifiers. The garage itself would serve as backstage. Joe paced off the distance between Nate’s bass drum and the front edge of the loading dock.
“What are you doing?” Nate asked.
“I need to know how much room I have.” He then paced from his mic to Sal’s mic and then back to Johnny’s as Nate watched.
“Why? You’ve played how many gigs?”
“This is the biggest stage we’ve ever had. It’s deeper and much wider than any…”
“The Brickyard has a big stage.”
“This is bigger,” Joe smirked at Nate. “I plan to use it all.”
“Don’t fall off,” Nate smiled. “That would end the show.”
Joe looked down. “It’s a drop, but the kids will catch me.”
The dock platform was four feet off the ground, much higher than any club stage, and a hard fall to the pavement.
“You’ll land on their heads.”
“I won’t fall because I know my marks.”
Tony was busy in the kitchen preparing trays of food. He enlisted Johnny as his assistant. Sal, Nate, and Petri set up two tents and tables outside for pizza, beer kegs, and cup sales. The band would charge one dollar for a bottomless red solo cup, all the beer you can drink. Those dollars were more for taking a head count. The party was otherwise free of charge.
Joe had spread the word through his contacts within all the school factions that everyone in the class of ‘79 was invited to his graduation bash. He invited friends in Boston and Worcester, including the house band at Barney’s, Atomic Ray Gun. He asked Sticks if his trio would like to play an opening set. ARG agreed. It would be their first gig outside of their punk Irish Pub.
June 9, 1979, was Joe’s first full day of freedom and he was going to do it right. They had a plan. Everything was covered. Pops had volunteer hoodrats. The garage was buzzing with activity all morning. The party officially started at noon. Atomic Ray Gun arrived at 10:50 with three carloads of Massholes behind them. The locals started flowing in immediately after them.
From afar, Joe saw Monica walking in with her new boyfriend. Sticks pulled Joe aside. “Sorry about the dude with Mon. We were hoping he wouldn’t come.”
“No. Don’t worry about it. That’s one chick I don’t have to deal with.”
“Is Kelly coming?” asked Sal.
“Yes, and she’ll have some of her BU girls with her.”
“How is that going to work with Claire?”
“It’ll be fine. She knows about Kelly.”
Atomic Ray Gun began setting up as a second wave of guests began rolling into the parking lot. Denny’s crew started selling the numbered red solo cups for a buck. Claire showed up just before the music started.
“I’m really busy right now,” Joe said. “sorry.”
“Can I help?”
“Yeah, you can write numbers on these cups with this.” He handed her a Sharpie. “He has two hundred out there, so you start at 201. I’m handing this job off to you. Give the cups to Denny at the beer tent and tell him there’s more ice on the way.”
Claire looked out towards the lot. “There’s already a good crowd. How many are you expecting?”
“At least a few hundred but we''re prepared for more.”
Joe had done enough shows to judge crowd size. His graduating class was just over five hundred. He figured half might show up, plus underclassmen, hoodrats, and college kids. He was expecting over three hundred. As the first band was ready to take the stage, Joe estimated they were over two hundred.
Angie, Seth, and two other RISD film students arrived to set up their cameras. As she hugged Joe on the loading dock, he noticed Claire was watching.
“How much are you going to film?” Joe asked.
“I don’t know,” Angie said. “We’ll get the opening of each set and a few songs. Take a break and shoot again when you’re doing your bits.”
“Would you like my setlist?”
Angie smiled. “You are amazing. That would be awesome. I know your best songs and I need to get You’re So Vain.”
Seth walked up with a bag of gear and a camera on his shoulder. “We have a camera to shoot from out there and a mobile Jonathan will move around with up close. Where can I set up my tripod?”
“There are heavy pallets by the portable Johns.” Joe pointed. “They stack nicely. We can move them wherever you want. They’ll allow you to shoot over the crowd.”
“Perfect.” Seth went to work, waving his friends along.
“Let me get you the set list,” Joe said to Angie. She followed him indoors.
“This is an ambitious undertaking,” she said, looking out at the gathering crowd and then inside at the backstage party. “You’re producing a concert, Joe?”
“It’s just a party.”
“A damn big party.”
After Angie went off to help her cameramen, Joe sat for a few minutes, taking a break, observing the scene they had created. Pops had pulled two of Joe’s classmates into the kitchen and put them to work. ARG was about to do a sound check. The film crew was setting up. Everything was going too smoothly. He expected something would go wrong because ambitious undertakings always have glitches.
He went to the kitchen where Pops handed Joe a plate with a meatball, sausage, and peppers. “Eat something,” he said. “Once this show gets going you won’t have time.”
“Thanks, Pops,“ He took a place at the kitchen table.
“Hi Joe,” two cheerleaders waved on their way to the bathroom. There was a steady stream of young women walking in and out.
After his quick bite, Joe walked out to the loading dock and stepped up to the mic. He had announcements to make. Dozens of partiers were walking over from the parking lot. More cars were pulling in behind them. The party had created a mini traffic jam in the west end of the city.
It was showtime. Joe’s peers cheered as he stood behind the mic overlooking the crowd. The line for beer cups was long. A whiff of weed drifted by. Joe waited, taking in the moment.
“All right, boys and girls! Central High class of nineteen seventy-nine!” He paused as the kids cheered. “Welcome to your graduation bash!” He stepped back and let them whistle, hoot, and holler.
“I have some announcements before the music starts. We have three simple rules. Pay attention!”
He waited for the murmur to die down. All eyes were on him. It took a long moment.
“Rule one: Bathrooms. Ladies can use the indoor bathrooms or portables if they dare.” He pointed to the back right corner of the lot where two port-a-johns stood. “Dicks can use only the porta-johns.”
He looked beyond the crowd at the scene in the parking lot, cars unloading, more pulling in, and groups walking toward the party.
Rule number two: Boundaries. Those orange barrels mark our property line. Keep the party inside. No beer is allowed in the parking area. That Providence police cruiser out back will be here all day to keep an eye on you animals.
Rule three: Beer cups. They cost one dollar. That cup is your ticket to beer, pizza, and soda under the tents… all day, or until we run out, which won’t happen. Each cup is numbered. Don’t lose them. If you do, you’ll have to buy a new cup.”
He paused again, a dozen cars were in line, stopped, trying to park. Joe noted a significant number of underclassmen and began mentally adjusting his crowd estimate.
Sal shouted at Joe from backstage.
“Oh, yeah.” Joe nodded. “There’s a fourth rule. The open-top barrels are for trash. If we see you throwing trash on the ground we’ll put you in a barrel head first.” He looked back at Sticks waiting in the wings. Sticks nodded.
He turned to his class with fists held high. “Are you ready to rock?” The early birds roared.
Joe motioned for A.R.G. to come out. “Let’s get our brother band up here.”
As they took the loading dock stage and plugged in, Joe waited. “I’d like you to welcome our friends who will get this party started.”
He nodded at the trio behind him. They nodded back. Joe pulled a toy gun from the back of his waistband and held it high. It was a 1960s toy formed from sheet metal, light blue with yellow flames.
“Do you kids remember this?” He pulled the trigger making a whirring sound in the mic and sparks. “I got this for Christmas when I was five years old.”
The boys who had the ray gun as kids sounded off.
“From Worcester, Massachusetts, give it up for our good friends… Atomic Ray Gun!”
The crowd cheered. Joe shot sparks at the band as he walked off. Sticks beat the time for his band to rip into their first number, the Ramones’ Blitzkrieg Bop. The crowd chanted with them, “Hey ho, let’s go! Hey ho, let’s go!”, and the show was on.
“Perti says he’s up to 244 on cups,” Claire informed Joe as he walked backstage. “And there’s a long beer line. I have to make more cups.”
“Should we run two kegs?” asked Sal.
“Do we want them chugging and puking by three o’clock?" Joe replied. "The line will slow the drinking down.”
“Do you want to frustrate your guests?" asked Pops. "Tap the second keg and I’ll pick up another at the store.”
“Okay,” Joe said. “You’re in charge.” He swiped his hands together. “I wash my hands of food and beverage-related duties.”
The Ray Guns were a power trio, loud, and high energy that got the crowd primed. The smell of grass floated through the crowd as many sparked up. The backstage party in the lounge and kitchen included the constant traffic of young ladies using the bathroom.
Nate called Joe. “Hey, if you see an underage girl hitting on me, tip me off, okay buddy?”
“I’ve got your back.”
Sal raised his hand. “Me too.”
Joe then slipped outdoors to mingle and greet his former classmates, many he barely knew. He was surprised by the number of disco queens who showed up, along with their unbuttoned silky-shirt boyfriends.
“Hey, Kimmy,” he called a disco girl from his homeroom class since middle school. “This is real music.”
“Can I dance to this?”
“You can dance to anything.”
He hung out with his stoner friends for two songs. They were one source of the wafting hashish. The jocks claimed the turf close to the beer tent. Basketball and football players gave him high fives and back pats as he passed through. He asked that they maintain order in the beer line. It was hard for Joe to get far without being stopped by someone who wanted to talk, to give a thank you.
Way in the back, sitting on upside-down orange drums, were his three sisters. A few feet behind them, just outside the perimeter, was their chaperone, Dad. Jackie was visibly unhappy that she was being constrained to the rear periphery. Joe hugged each sister and stood with them for a song, listening to the PA system from 160 feet away.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“This is something else,” Dad said. “Where did you get all these people?”
Joe shrugged, “We have a lot of friends. Once we put the word out… it spread fast. The clubs we play here are small. This will be our biggest home crowd.”
Sandy was also in the back with her hippy clique avoiding the elbow-to-elbow crowd up front. She embraced Joe. “This is impressive. I can’t believe it.”
“I can,” Joe said. “I’m just waiting for something to go wrong.”
“I hope it doesn’t. Break a leg.”
“That might fuck up my day.”
On the way back, he stopped to see Seth who was standing on a platform of wood filming ARG. Joe looked up. Seth gave him a thumbs up, Joe nodded and walked toward the nerd crew.
Betty hugged him. “I’m so glad I’m gonna finally see your band.” She winced. “Does this mean I kept my promise?”
Joe rolled his eyes, “Technically, yes. I’ll give it to you. You could’ve come out long ago. The only thing stopping you was you.”
“I know.”
He hung with the nerds for one song. His social rounds were complete, Joe headed toward the beer and pizza tents to check in with his hoodrat helpers. Denny was busy. “We’re at 308. Some still haven’t gotten cups. Not everyone is drinking beer. The soda is gonna run out and we need more ice.”
“How are we on pizza?”
“We’re good. The second batch of twenty is here and Pops ordered the third round. He’s bringing back another keg.”
“Good. Hey, I need a cup.”
“I need a dollar,” Denny said. “You made it clear. No free cups.”
“You fucker. I have no cash on me.”
CHS star basketball player, Miles Carter, reached over Joe’s shoulder and handed Denny a buck. “I got ya, Joe. Thanks for the party, man.”
“Thanks MC. Have you seen Monique and Nicole?”
“Not yet but they said they’d be here.”
When Pops arrived with fresh pizzas, Joe and Petri helped carry them to the tent and then Joe rejoined the backstage party. Standing on the dock, stage right, He looked out over the crowd. Kelly and her BU crew were walking in from the parking lot. When he stepped inside, he had to stop to let Sandy pass.
“Let me show you around.”
“Can I pee first?”
The backstage party was an ever-changing scene as people moved in and out of the factory garage. Joe was on his best behavior, only two beers before his set. When Sandy emerged, Joe gave her the sixty-second tour. Claire watched them from a distance.
Atomic Ray Gun wrapped to rowdy applause. Joe stepped up to the mic and led the cheer for an encore. The band obliged. Their final song was the Clash’s White Riot, a short tune they extended with an instrumental jam.
The two bands worked together to swap gear and get The Young Punks’ stage ready. There was no rush. Joe noticed Dad walking toward the porta-johns. He grabbed the mic.
“Jackie, Jules, Jeanie!” he waved over the crowd to his sisters and motioned for them to come up front. The girls made a jailbreak along the side perimeter. Joe looked over to the nerd crew.
“Hey, Bryan Murphy, Betty!” They looked up. “Keep an eye on my sisters.”
Dad threw his hands up in frustration when he realized they had run off.
“Dad!” Joe pointed toward the girls.
Joe stepped inside to find the red solo cup he left lying around, cup 313. He found it. Claire pulled him aside. “Who’s the brunette you kissed?”
“That’s Kelly, and she kissed me.”
“I think you kissed her back.”
Joe smiled, “Maybe I did. Wish me luck.” Then he went to work smirking, finding her jealousy amusing. She glared at him talking to Angie, then Sandy, and now Kelly.
As Sal, Nate, and Johnny took the stage, Joe took a moment to quickly repeat his pre-show announcements. Then he strapped on his Butterscotch Tele.
“Are you guys ready? Is there anyone here from next year''s class of 1980?”
A modest cheer went up, dozens of kids.
“You will be the last class who will drink legally in high school. The state of Rhode Island is raising the drinking age to nineteen next year, right after you graduate.”
The crowd booed.
“I know, but it’s much worse than you think. You’ll turn eighteen, drink legally for a short time, and then you’ll be underage when they bump the age up on July 1st.”
Joe watched faces process that information, then boo again, even louder.
“The age will go up again the year after that. You’re gonna get screwed three straight summers until you’re twenty-one.”
They booed again.
“Fuck the politicians!” Someone up front shouted.
As Joe turned his volume up. He looked over at Dad standing with the nerds and sisters.
“Okay, let’s do this. We’d like to thank everyone for coming out. Congrats to my classmates, we’re finally free.”
Joe looked back at his mates.
“We’re gathered here today, because - schools! - out! - forever!”
Johnny played the opening to Alice Cooper’s ‘School’s Out’. A song they learned especially for the occasion. How else would you open a high school graduation gig?
Joe had launched over a hundred and fifty shows over fourteen months, each giving him a rush as his band and the crowd came to life but he got goosebumps for School’s Out unlike any other. His classmates joined the chorus.
“School’s out for the summer
School’s out forever.
School’s been blown to pieces.”
From their first gig, The Punks began every show with three or four hard songs to get the crowd amped up. They transitioned straight into My Generation by The Who and then Bowie’s Rebel Rebel.
Jonathan was upfront in the crush, filming with his assistant helping him move through the crowd. Joe tried to ignore the camera, casting only a few glances toward the lens.
Over time, you learn to know your audience. Joe’s classmates were not a punk crowd, so they opened with rock covers. He sang parts of Rebel Rebel without playing guitar. He did motions with his hands, like a model primping and posing. It just happened one night at UConn and the kids loved it so it became a bit. Joe’s sisters laughed at him acting all prissy. When they landed on the last Bowie chord, the party''s roar was impressive.
“Denny! What cup are we on now?”
When the noise died down, Denny answered. “Four twenty-two!”
“You guys like punk rock? Let’s play that shit.”
We Got The Neutron Bomb by the Weirdos was an obscure song and their newest punk cover. Then Joe hit them with The Damned. His loyal fans up front did the pogo for the Ramones. On the next break, Joe went into crowd work, his favorite way to buy time.
Joe gestured to the punks directly below him. “All these kids up front, in the crush, those are our fans. They’ve been to the nasty Underground and the dirty Met Cafe to see us play and they see us downtown. We’re gonna play some chick songs. We call this Boot and Skates.”
Joe looked over at Dad. The old man turned away and walked a few steps, his back to the stage. Joe kept looking back at him. Dad glanced back as he walked a circle away from the crowd during those two songs. His sisters enjoyed his weird songs not understanding their significance.
“Everyone wet your whistle. It’s time for you to sing with me.” Joe paused. “Yabba, dabba do!”
The Young Punks virgins followed the lead of the fans belting out the lyrics to The Flintstones, a song only the initiated expected. When it came to a crashing end, Joe grabbed the mic.
“That’s fun, isn’t it? I told ya, we make everything punk rock.”
Joe stepped to the side stage where a hoodrat handed him a fresh beer. He walked back to center stage and took the mic in one hand with his beer in the other. He looked out at Angie and Seth on their makeshift platform fifty feet away. She gave him a high thumbs up. He glanced down at Jonathan, smiled, winked at the camera, and launched loudly into his carnival barker schtick.
“Ladies of dubious virtue!” he paused. “Step right up! I need volunteers for a Young Punks tradition. The one and only, completely original, famously infamous… Punk Chick Dance Off!”
As always, the band provided an exclamation point.
His pace quickened. “Come closer girls. This is your chance at stardom, to show off your talent, to shake it and wiggle, to prove yourself the dirtiest dancer at Central High, in a one-on-one, face-to-face, battle of butts and boobs.”
Nate crashed cymbals.
“I need two brave women willing to risk shame and ridicule in pursuit of the coveted title of - Punk Chick Dance Queen!”
Hands went up. Joe pretended to be mulling over his options but the game was rigged. A disco chick would face a punk dance legend.
“Kimmy Tomasino! C’mon down! You will represent the disco queens of Central High School.”
She was lifted to the stage by friends, embraced Joe, then jumped up and down as if it was ‘Let’s Make A Deal’, and Joe, Monty Hall.
“This isn’t gonna be easy Kimmy. We have a ringer in the house. From Long Island, New York, by way of Worcester, Massachusetts, the undefeated, six-time Punk Chick Dance champion, Monica Sullivan!”
Barney''s faction cheered loudly as Monica moved through the crowd and took the stage. She bounced like a boxer before a match, fake punching, a routine she had perfected over six bouts. Kimmy looked on, not knowing what was going on. Joe moved them together, face to face, Mon gave him a peck on the cheek.
“Okay ladies, when the music starts give us your best moves, shake your moneymaker. Kimmy,
you’re gonna have to get trashy to take down the champ.”
Nate bopped his snare drum.
“Are you ready? You must dance for the entire song. Bump gloves. No head butts. No hitting below the belt. One - two - three - four.”
Nate, Sal, and Johnny played a hard version of The Venture''s sixties instrumental surf rock classic Walk Don’t Run. Joe stepped aside and let the girls do their thing. Monica whipped out her dirtiest, sexiest moves, refusing to be upstaged by a rookie high school disco chick. Kimmy had talent, she could dance, but she was over-matched.
Monica got in her face trying to intimidate the young girl. Kimmy backed away but kept shaking. When it was over, Joe stood between the combatants. He held each by the hand like a boxing referee.
“Class of seventy-nine, you’re the judge. You choose your queen. Only cheer for your favorite. If anyone boos these lovely ladies I’ll come down there and smack you.”
He waited a few seconds, looking over a crowd of smiles. His classmates were digging the show.
“Let’s hear it if you think Kimmy is the Young Punks dance queen!”
That’s when Joe realized that home-field advantage was going to make this close. His classmates roared in support of their own. Kimmy had good moves but not nearly as strong as Mon’s.
“Shit.” He looked at Monica. ”You may not be getting a shirt number seven.”
Monica grabbed the mic. “I am not losing to a disco bitch. How many of you Providence pussies think my perfect punk ass out-shook hers?”
Playing the role of wrestling heel was Monica’s idea long ago. It was fantastic. The crowd went wild with Barney''s crew going loud and long. When the noise settled, Joe wasn’t sure who won.
“It’s never been this close before.” He looked at the guys. “Band meeting!” Joe huddled the band by Nate’s drum kit. He covered his mic. They pretended to have a long meeting. When they broke the huddle Joe walked slowly to his mic. He stood in silence. It was a riveting fake drama.
“Okay, to the uninitiated, the dance-off is only half this contest.” He turned to Monica. “Would you like to tell them what the second half is?”
Monica leaned in, “The prize is Joe’s sweaty, stinky tee shirt… but you must take it off his back.”
“And I don’t give up my tee shirts easily!” Joe glanced at Kimmy. She had no clue what the fuck was going on. “So, Kimmy. If you can take this nasty, gym-worn Central Knights shirt off me, it’s yours. But Monica’s in the fight too.”
Monica pumped her fist, “Yes! It’s mine!”
Kimmy stared at these two nutty people on stage with her, “I don’t want your fucking shirt!”
The crowd laughed. Joe laughed. It was the first time a girl refused to take his shirt. Monica didn’t hesitate, she took Joe by surprise, grabbing him in a headlock. He spun her around and broke free, but she had a grip on his shirt. Joe pretended to fall to the ground. The class of ‘79 delighted when Monica pounced on Joe. While she tugged on his shirt he was grabbing tits and ass for all to see. After forty seconds of her kicking Joe’s ass and taking his high school phys-Ed shirt. She stood victorious over Joe, shirt raised above her head. Monica never once failed to deliver in this bit. Joe stood by her side.
“Ladies and Gentleman, seven-time Punk Chick Dance Off Champion, Monica Sullivan!”
The crowd cheered as the girls walked off. Joe looked out over the crowd. He could no longer see the orange barrels as the party area was full, some spilled into the forbidden zone. There was an unsanctioned group of guests in the parking lot, far from the actual party.
Since he was shirtless, they went straight into Iggy Pop and The Stooges, I Wanna Be Your Dog. Joe had no guitar. He sang lead and used the entire stage to reach out to his friends.
During a one-minute break, Joe slipped on a new shirt and strapped on his white pawn shop telecaster. Jonathan made his way onstage to get shots of the crowd and close-up shots of the band.
As they broke onto some guitar-heavy Talking Heads, Joe realized this party was the greatest thing they’d ever done as a band. Angie was correct, they had produced a small concert and the sound system was great.
“Okay degenerates, I’d like to introduce my band. I’ve been through a lot with these guys. I have three little sisters over there,” he pointed, “and these are my three big brothers. To my right, the coolest dude on lead guitar, CHS class of ‘75, Johnny Bucci!”
The class of ‘79 saluted as Johnny played a mini-lead.
“The man in back, whose beat keeps the train on the tracks, class of 1976, Nate Gordon!”
Nate crashed cymbals as they cheered him.
“I’m not actually sure Nate graduated. There’s some speculation…”
“I have the diploma.”
“.... in forgery.”
They nailed the timing on that small joke. Joe wrote it and they rehearsed it. It got a good laugh. That was the level of Joe’s planning, writing three-line scripts.
“To my left, a face you might remember. When we were freshmen, he was the scariest dude in school. On bass, class of ‘76, Salvatore Mancuso!”
Sal got the loudest cheers because everyone on Federal Hill knew Sal. He took a bow.
“We need to thank some people who’ve worked their asses off to make this day happen. In the beer and pizza tents, let’s hear it for Denny, Jan, Kush, and Petri.”
Cheers.
“Where’s Pops?”
Joe looked around for Tony. He was in the kitchen. Claire dragged him to the stage.
“This is Sal’s dad. You may know him as the old man at the Liquor Mart who cards everyone. He owns this factory garage and lets us live here. This is our band home. Pops has done so much for us we owe him more than thanks. Give it up for the best Italian on the hill, Tony Meats Mancuso!”
Joe gave Pops a half hug as the friends of the band showed him how loud they could get it.
Pops looked out over the crowd. “This idiot should have charged you ten bucks. The band’s losing their ass in their own fucking garage!”
“All right, get back to work old man, this show ain’t over yet,”
Pops grumbled as he walked off. “Smart ass punk.”
They played a two-and-a-half-hour show without a set break. Joe introduced a new bit. The ‘Name That Tune’ game show winner took home a tee shirt of his choice and then Joe gave away more.
“It’s time for a T-shirt raffle.”
Claire came from backstage holding up two shirts.
“Jackie, pick a number, one through four.” She shouted three.
“Jules, pick a number one through ten.” She shouted seven.
“Jeanie, choose a number one through ten.” She shouted four.
“Beer cup number 374, come up here and claim your prize.”
A girl Joe didn’t know came forward and selected a Bugs Bunny shirt. The band played a few more punk covers and then Joe called on two friends he had seen arriving shortly before the set began.
“Let’s do another dance-off. Monique and Nicole Washington, get up here!”
Everyone knew the gymnast twins. They walked on stage blushing as the throng cheered them. Joe did a mini-version of his barker routine and the girls danced to the Batman theme. Monique, the extrovert, had no problem out-shaking her shy sister. She took the Red Sox shirt off his back. After another T-shirt giveaway, cup 222, they neared the end of the show.
Joe wrapped it up with the ‘Gilligan''s Island’ singalong and one final song.
“This is the end, but there’s still plenty of beer. You’re welcome to hang out longer. We’ll put some music on.” Joe pointed at Sal who held a large box over his head. “As you leave, stop by the tent or up here and take a few Young Punks 1979 bumper stickers. Joe held one up. “As you can see our design team went wild. Black with white typeface, very stylish. We had 2000 made. Sons and daughters of Providence, I want to see them all over this fucking city, on cars, on buildings, on buses, on dogs!”
Joe took a moment as Sal put the box on the edge of the stage near the stairs. Hands reached in grabbing stickers as Sal strapped his bass back on. “Thank you for coming out. I’d like to say I’m gonna miss you guys… but my Dad taught me to never lie.”
Joe looked back at Nate who would lead them into the finale, another song they learned for this show. He looked out at Angie and got another thumbs up. Jonathan was back in the crowd.
“Would you like to hear the Central High School punk rock anthem?”
That was the loudest the Knights had gotten all day as everyone knew what he was talking about. Nate drummed them into Rock ‘n’ Roll High School and the class went crazy. They extended the Ramones'' two-minute version with a long jam. Joe bounced around the stage, pounding chords, and then they repeated the opening verse before ending with a chord-ripping, cymbal-crashing crescendo. It was the first and only time The Young Punks would play that song.
After the band took a bow, Joe leaped onto the front stage crush of humanity to see his classmates off, embraced, high-fived, and talked with as many as he could while making his way to the beer tent. Cold beer in hand, He weaved back through the crowd heading straight to the nerds.
“Remember when everyone at school thought you were a mental case?" asked Betty. "They were right. You’re a lunatic.”
Joe’s sisters thought he was the coolest big brother ever. Jackie hugged him first, then Jules and Jeanie double-team hugged him
“Well, Dad. What do you think?” Joe asked from his sisters’ embrace.
“You’re never gonna get a real job.”
“I won’t need one.”
“I know. I think you’re gonna be okay.”
The traffic jam leaving was worse than the arrival. People were lit, hooting and hollering. Within an hour, the vast majority of kids had left. There were maybe a hundred remaining, most standing by the beer tent, a group at the front stage, and close friends backstage. The pizza was gone. Soda had run out. Pops was feeding people what remained of his cooking in the kitchen and lounge area.
Jackie sat with Joe on the couch across from the porn sofa. Claire on his other side. Jules and Jeanie were running around the garage. Pops walked Dad to the back to show off the cars Dad had seen around town for years.
Claire gestured toward the kitchen. “Why do you call him Petri? His name is Paul, right?”
Sal laughed, “Joe gave him that name. He’s always sick. He has so many allergies and ailments… it’s crazy. He missed a lot of school as a kid.”
“And when he gets a cold,” Joe added, “It lasts for weeks. He once gave me the same cold twice. I said he carried more germs than a petri dish and a nickname was born.”
Nate came in from outside. “Hey, that cop is pissed off. They tagged his cruiser with three stickers. He’s trying to peel them off.”
Sal laughed, “Good luck. Those fuckers don’t come off.”
“It’s crazy how good they stick,” Joe added.
The Worcester punks had a long drive home. They thanked the band and said their goodbyes. Monica gave Joe and hug and kiss on the lips in front of her boyfriend. The after-party went deep into the night. Claire did not hide the fact she didn’t like this Monica chick.
“She’s kinda trashy, don’t ya think?”
“Meeeooow,” Joe made cat claws.
—-- OPPORTUNITY —--
The following day the band slept in. At noon, they told Pops to get lost, they got this. The band went to work picking up the mess. When Nate pulled them together for a break, the final keg was still pouring. The four guys sat on the loading dock with a beer. Nate had something to say.
“Joe, I know you’ve booked beach gigs through the summer, and I don’t want to piss on your parade, but I have a proposition.”
“We’re almost booked through July,” Joe said. "What have you got in mind?”
“My Uncle Babe manages apartment buildings in Greenwich Village and Chelsea. He’s doing renovations over the summer and offered a place we can crash for a month.”
“What for?” asked Sal.
“My cousin Jerry tends bar in Hell''s Kitchen. A few months back his boss started having live music on weekends. He wants to expand to weeknights and he needs bands. We can get a couple of nights there and maybe find other gigs around the city.”
The guys exchanged glances while his offer sank in.
“We’d be throwing away a lot of sure money to spend a month scraping for gigs," Joe noted.
“I know that. I’m just running this by you guys. It’s a month in New York City. It would be pretty cool to have a couple of clubs there.”
“Yeah, that would be cool.” Joe nodded. “I’ve never been to New York.”
“My cousin claims his bar is legit punk; a dive filled with weirdos, like Barney’s. We can’t get in the apartment until the middle of July. We have time to think about it.”
Sal nodded. “Yeah, it’s definitely something to think about.”
“Damn, I just bought a new bathing suit," lamented Johnny.
“We’ll be back here in mid-August," said Nate, "still beach season.”
Sal started singing. “If we can make it there, we’ll make it…anywhere.”
“New York fucking New York,” Joe said half under his breath. “How could we not?”