All The Young Punks Pt. 01

Joe's record collection and guitar were his life for his first two years of high school. Every evening he retreated to his basement room. At school, he was a punk loner who didn't talk much and was usually reading a paperback. Most classmates knew him only for the times he defended himself, or others. He had friends at school, some stoners and rockers, but not close friends.

By sixteen, Joe had an impressive growth spurt and could play decent rhythm guitar. Once he had a little freedom, because Jackie was taking on more chores, he decided to start a garage band. Mom still wanted him close to home, so Joe and three other low-talent high school boys practiced in Dad's two-car detached garage behind their tenement house on Federal Hill. They were never very good, but it was fun, and playing with other kids pushed Joe to the next level. Collaboration is a big step.

After dinner, Joe helped Julie with her science project while Dad watched the CBS Evening News. Dad was a Cronkite guy. Joe sensed his sister was slacking and letting him do the heavy lifting. He sat on the floor in the bedroom. Jeanie lay on the bed, watching the drama, with a smirk.

"I'm not doing the project for you." Joe interrupted Julie's whining. "I'm showing you how to do it. I can't do all the work." He paused. "Okay... maybe some of the stuff you can't do."

"You do art," Julie whined, "I don't... I'm not good at this stuff."

"It's not art, it's science. But you chose a science topic that requires art when you don't do art. That was a dumb idea. You should have written an essay. You're good at that. You chose art and now you want me to earn you an A."

He stared at his sister waiting for a reply. "I'm here," he said. "helping you, but you have to do the work. Paint Mars. It's one color." Joe elbowed her. "Can you handle it?"

Julie nodded, sadly.

"Don't give me those eyes. You've been doing that your whole life."

"That's because it works," Jeanie spoke up. "She always gets her way with you."

Joe lightly pushed the baby of the family. "Pfft, you all do." He looked back at his middle sister, "Jules, you do know what color Mars is, right?"

"Don't be mean." She pouted. "It's red."

"Then get painting red." He pointed, "That size ball."

Joe loved his sisters dearly, but there were moments of resentment when his home duties prevented him from pursuing other interests. He wanted to try out for his high school basketball team but that would never work, practice was after school. One of his few friends, Sandy, recruited him for the drama club. Joe had a crush on Sandy since grade school. Freshman year, when she insisted he try out for a school play he really wanted to do it, just to spend more time with her. Afternoon rehearsals made that impossible. He sadly declined.

Now that Joe had more freedom and fewer demands on his time he was on a mission. His band was his social life. Dad's garage became the hangout a few days a week after school and every Saturday morning, for ten months. Now, a year into his project, Joe's high school garage band seemed so long ago, but it wasn't. His band lineup had changed dramatically in a short time.

After helping his sisters with schoolwork, he sat with Dad in the living room. The evening news had just ended. Dad looked over his newspaper at his only son.

He sighed, "Your mother is upset about you hanging around with these older guys."

"You don't have to tell me. I hear about it all the time."

"I know you're just playing your music over there, but she's worried that Sal is a bad influence."

"How so?"

"He's older. He works at his dad's liquor store. We're not blind. I know you drink beer."

"Not a lot."

"You shouldn't drink at all. You're not eighteen."

"I will be, just not soon enough."

"Look. I told your mother I'd speak to you, so I did. Just do me a favor and don't torment her. Don't come home smelling like beer. Stay out of trouble. I know you've paid a price for being the oldest. I'm trying to cut you some slack."

"I know, Dad. I appreciate it."

"That doesn't mean I don't share your mother's concern about Sal."

"Sal's a good guy. Don't let anyone tell you differently. So he works at a liquor store. Who cares?"

"It's not the beer that concerns me."

Joe knew that Dad's talk was more about keeping his promise to Mom than setting him straight. Mom was a drama queen, always on him about not attending church, slipping grades, his obsession with his band, and now... his older friends. Dad was always the more low-key, reasonable parent, except for Joe's seventeenth birthday, a few months back when the old man evicted the band out of his garage because he suspected they were smoking pot.

Dad spoke from behind the newsprint. "I never told your mother about the pot smoking."

"I wasn't smoking that day. I told you one of our guests lit a joint. I never touched it."

The newspaper dropped. Dad peered over the top. "I'm sure you've tried it by now."

"Yes, but It's not my thing, Dad. Weed makes me jittery."

Dad's eyes remained on Joe, not believing his son, but not making an issue of it.

Joe stood up. "I'm going downstairs. I'll tell Mom we talked."

"Thank you." Dad went back to hiding behind his Providence Journal. "And don't play your music too loud.

"I never do."

"Pffft."

"Hey Joey," Jeanie peeked from around a corner. She was clearly eavesdropping. This house was full of spies and informants. "Will you read to me?"

"You can read to yourself. You learn more that way."

"But I can't do the voices like you do."

"Okay, but I pick the story."

Jeanie smiled, "Okay. I'll ge ready."

------ FIRST CRUSH ------

On a school morning, Joe sat on the stoop of Central High School's side entrance, where the faculty and administrators entered the building. Most students wouldn't be caught dead there, except the nerds. The smart kids were known to butt-smooch their favorite teachers as they arrived, but also, it was safer. The jocks wouldn't harass them at the faculty entrance.

Joe wasn't in the nerd squad. He was mostly a loner. He usually read before school and the smart kids were quiet. He sat there because no one bothered him. The nerds were intimidated by him and the kids who thought they were cool avoided teachers.

"Hey, Joe." a voice called out. He looked up from his book to see his first crush, Sandy, walking his way. Her blonde hair blew back like a bad teen movie. Joe's heart sighed. Books were clutched against her chest. "What's happening with your band? I heard Pete and Robby quit."

"Yeah." Joe played it cool on the outside as he melted inside.

Sandy stood four feet in front of him, looking down, waiting for an explanation. None came. "Are you gonna tell me what happened?"

"I'm guessing you already know. Pete's a whiny bitch who runs his mouth."

"He doesn't like Sal."

"He doesn't like anything we're doing, so he quit. That's not my fault."

"And Robby went with him." She leaned closer to see what Joe was reading. "I heard they're starting a new band already."

"Good for them."

Joe had a crush on Sandra Ruggerio since third school. They lived one block apart and hung out through eighth grade, then she became a popular girl and made popular friends. Everyone loved Sandy. She was smart, kind, sweet, and beautiful. They were still good friends but didn't hang out so much anymore. She was busy with drama, the school chorus, and across town taking a class at Rhode Island School of Design. Joe moved on from that crush, but not really. Sandy was an artsy hippie chick and dressed the part. She loved Carly Simon, Carol King, and Creedence Clearwater Revival. Joe joked that she had the C's covered and should listen to another letter.

She stared at Joe. "Is that all you have to say?"

"There's nothing to say."

"I heard you lost your bass player first because you punched him in the face."

"Because the moron stood on my amp, jumped off, and knocked it over. Then he got pissed off at me because I lost my cool over it... so I shut his mouth for him."

"Why do you fight?"

"I don't pick fights."

"But you fight all the time."

"I do not."

Sandy nodded with her nose scrunched, "Yeah, you do."

Joe stood up, face to face with his former best friend. She was a few inches shorter, her blonde hair blew in the wind, across her face. "I smacked down a few bullies, that's all. They had it coming." He narrowed his eyes. "I don't start fights."

"Okay," she shrugged. "What are you reading?"

"1984."

Sandy laughed, "Again? How many times have you read that?"

"A few. It's my favorite book. I like Animal Farm too."

"And Brave New World." She smiled. "Orwell and Huxley. You like creepy old authors with demented ideas."

The morning bell sounded. The nerds scurried off, around the corner of the building to the main student entrance. Sandy and Joe strolled slowly. There was a time when Joe was a little hurt that Sandy found more popular friends. She dated older boys. One of her boyfriends was a jerk. When Joe's parents gifted him his black leather jacket for Christmas of his freshman year, Mom bought it big, so he could grow into it. Sandy's boyfriend, Todd, made fun of him.

"Hey, Theroux, is that your dad's jacket?"

Joe ignored him. Two days later, Todd made another smart-ass comment. Joe stopped, glared at him, glanced at Sandy, and walked away. A third comment, the very next day, drew laughs from the popular kids.

"Hey, Theroux. You need to wear a sweater under that thing to fill it out."

Joe walked up to Todd, who was a year older and a little taller, and without warning, jabbed him in the nose. It was one short punch that brought tears to Todd's eyes. He stumbled back, holding his face.

"What the fuck, man?"

"Joe!" Sandy yelled at him. "He's joking."

"No! He's being an asshole." He pointed at her. "Tell your boyfriend to shut his face or I'll do it for him."

Joe walked away. Todd never taunted him again and Joe grew into his black leather jacket. More than two years later, he had a reputation for fighting. He didn't think it was fair. Some kids were afraid of him. Which was okay, because they left him alone. His bad reputation had pros and cons.

As they entered school, Sandy looked up at him. "I worry about you."

"Don't."

"Are you gonna stay in school?"

"Yes."

"Will you graduate next spring?"

"That's more than a year away. How do I know? I think so."

She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. "Stay out of trouble."

"I always do."

Sandy laughed. "No, you don't. I gotta run."

------ THE TEN BUS ------

RIPTA bus number ten ran east to west through the city, from Blackstone Blvd on the East Side to downtown Kennedy Plaza, over Federal Hill, and on to Manton Heights in the West End, the projects. Joe had been riding number ten since he started therapy. Mom and Dad accompanied him for a few months. At twelve he started riding the bus solo. It was an unexpected taste of freedom on College Hill. As a teen, he started using the Ten Bus to go downtown, to concerts or just to hang around.

Joe's neighborhood, Federal Hill, was the most Italian neighborhood in a city run mostly by Italians. Mayor Buddy Cianci was Italian, as was the majority of the city council, the chief of police, two-thirds of cops, the fire department, public works, and recreation. You had to be connected to get a city job, and being connected meant you had to be Italian or be closely associated with the Italians in charge. Sometimes you become associated by handing over an envelope stuffed with cash.

The city of Providence, but especially The Hill, was infamous for sketchy business and corruption. It was the home turf of The Patriarca Crime family. Raymond L.S. Patriarca operated his syndicate out of The Coin-o-Matic Vending Machine Company on Atwells Avenue, a few blocks from Joe's home. He owned every cigarette machine in Rhode Island and beyond, as well as candy, pinball, and jukeboxes.

The Hill was infamous for good reason, there were mob hits on Atwells Ave, people getting beaten by large Italian men for reasons of business, and envelopes changing hands. Joe did not like the bad Italians. They were the fathers and uncles of the bullies at Central High School.

The good Italians of Federal Hill were famous for their mile-and-a-quarter avenue stretching west from downtown with two dozen restaurants, pizzerias, as well as delis and bakeries. St. Joseph's Day and Columbus Day had parades and feasts, every bar and restaurant on The Hill was packed, and streets were blocked to traffic for the big Italian festival every march March and October. Joe adored the good Italians.

******

Weeks before Sandy grilled Joe about Pete and Robby quitting the band, Joe skipped school on a Monday and took the Ten Bus downtown to the Civic Center. Queen tickets went on sale at 10:00. He was in line at 7:15. A smart group up front was handing out numbered index cards. A young lady gave Joe a card. He looked at it, number 88.

"We have 120 cards," another college kid told him. "If we stick together no one is crashing this line."

"This is a great idea." Joe nodded. "I was here for the Aerosmith melee."

"Did you jump into the brawl?"

"Fuck no," Joe laughed. "I'm not fighting for fucking Aerosmith tickets."

He laughed. "Will you fight for Queen tickets?"

"I will," Joe nodded, "because Thin Lizzy is opening for them."

"Okay, man." He slapped Joe on the back. "Hold the line."

"Hey, Joe!" A voice from behind called out.

Joe looked through the crowd to see Pete Smith, his guitarist. Joe turned to the college kids. "Give him a number." Joe took another card and walked over to Pete, handing him the number 90.

"I thought you weren't coming," Joe said. "I'm getting you a ticket."

"Now we can get more. What's this?" Pete held up his card.

"After Aerosmith, these kids came up with a plan." Joe then explained the self-governing crowd security plan of one hundred twenty Queen fans.

"Why a hundred and twenty?"

Joe shrugged, "Maybe that's how many index cards come in a pack."

They stood in line with a cute girl with blue hair who had the number 89. The scent of weed moved through the crowd. Joe stood there quietly, just people-watching. These were his people, music fans his age and above. Peter elbowed him.

"Hey, man. We gotta talk about Sal. He's making me crazy with the criticism."

"Don't look at it as criticism," Joe said. "He makes suggestions. He's pitching ideas and they're not bad."

"I don't want to play like The Ramones, loud and obnoxious. They're clowns. That's not what we do."

Joe raised a finger, "Don't shit on the Ramones."

"Yeah, yeah, you have all the records," Pete said in a snotty tone. "All I'm saying is, we do our thing, then Sal joins and wants to change everything. We have to put our foot down."

Joe was grateful when girl number 89 interrupted Pete, "I like your leather."

"Thanks," Joe smiled. "Me too."

"I like how it's not the cliche biker jacket with all the zippers."

"The Ramones can pull that off, but I'm not that bold." Joe looked down and pulled his breast pocket zipper. "Just two pocket zippers and the big one."

"It's a clean look," she looked him up and down. "and it's good on you because you're lean."

"Thanks." Joe smiled again, wondering if she was hitting on him. "I like your hair. It takes some serious O's to dye it blue."

Girl 89 furrowed her brow. "O's?"

"Ovaries. You don't have balls."

She smiled and chuckled, covering her face with her hand. Joe smiled proudly. She was definitely cute.

"I'm Amanda." She offered her hand. "I go to RISD."

"I'm Joe." He accepted her hand. Joe knew not to mention his school affiliation, so he changed the subject. "This is Pete."

"Hi, Pete."

Joe leaned in closer. "Can you believe these tickets are fifteen bucks?" He made a face. "My first show here was Kiss, it was six bucks, then Bowie was eight, and Aerosmith was ten, Alice Cooper was twelve."

"And Frampton was twelve," Pete added.

"Yeah," Joe said, "It's getting crazy."

She looked up. "You saw Bowie?"

Joe nodded, "He was amazing."

"I was back home on school break."

"Where is that?"

"New York City

"That doesn't suck."

"It does if Bowie's playing here, and when he played Madison Square Garden I was here."

"That does suck. So where in New York?"

She made a face, "Queens."

"That's Ramones turf."

"I saw them at CBGB."

Joe pushed her lightly, "Get the fuck out, really? I'd kill to see them there."

She made another face, "They were cool but that place is a shithole. The bathrooms are disgusting. I just can't."

Joe nodded towards Pete. "He hates the Ramones."

"I don't hate them," Pete said defensively. "I just don't like them."

"He just said they were clowns."

"So where do you go to school?" She asked.

"Central High," Pete answered too quickly.

Joe wanted to punch him in the ear as he watched cute blue haired Amanda's face turn from friendly to surprised, to disinterested.

"You're in high school? How old are you?"

"Seventeen," Pete said.

"Oh. I never would have guessed."

She very slowly turned her shoulder sideways, trying not to be obvious, but it was. Joe glared at Pete who had no clue how uncool he was. Pete took the opportunity to continue his protest of Sal.

"I'm telling ya, Joe. We have to tell Sal we're not a punk band and we don't want to play the shit he wants. We already have a style."

Blue haired Amanda looked back at them, "You're in a band?"

"Yes," Joe answered too quickly.

She made a 'huh' facial expression.

"And we have a shitty bass player who's a maniac." Pete added.

Amanda turned away.

Joe turned to Pete, "You are without a fucking clue."

"Ya know," Pete pointed at Joe. "you're always going on about the good Italians and the bad Italians. Sal isn't one of the good ones. You said it yourself, he's a fucking meathead."

"I mean that in a good way," Joe snapped back. "...sort of."

No one is pleased to see Providence cops, but when four mounted patrol officers appeared, horseshoes clomping loudly on the concrete Civic Center Plaza, Joe was relieved. The impressive horses got everyone's attention, and the likelihood of line crashing diminished. Also, Pete stopped complaining.

Joe was almost regretting standing with his friend. Had Pete gone on about Sal for the next hour Joe figured he'd have to trade number 88 for 120 just to get away. Joe had befriended Pete at school two years ago for one reason, Pete played guitar. He also had a best friend who played drums. He liked him okay, but he could be a dick at times. For many months Joe focused solely on two things, Pete played guitar, and their shared love for The Kinks and The Rolling Stones. He let Pete's dickish whining slide.

A few weeks after the Queen tickets were purchased, the differences of opinion in the band would blow up, and Joe would have to pick a side.