All The Young Punks Pt. 06

----- I write short stories within my larger tale. I could easily cut the class election with no impact on Joe's storyline. I have cut a few shorts from these early chapters, but this one stays because I like it. Some shorts play out over a few chapters. This one wraps up neatly within part six. -----

----- SEPTEMBER 1978 -----

Joe sat on the faculty stoop before school. Betty McDonald walked by with her friend Bryan. She waved at Joe. He nodded. Kids around the school teased Bryan by calling him Brain. The dumb kids thought that was funny.

"Hey, Betty," Joe called out. "Are you going to run for class president again?"

She stopped and turned, then walked back a few steps. "I think so. I mean, I've run three straight years. I may as well lose one more time."

"I admire that you never quit. Manfredi kicks your ass every year, but you still fight."

Betty shrugged. "Well, he has lots of friends: the whole disco clique, the baseball team, and the track team. Most kids don't vote, so he wins."

"Yeah, he's got the jock vote, and you have them." Joe nodded toward the bookish huddle twenty feet away. Then he imagined for a moment how cool it would be for Betty to end the reign of Mike Manfredi: golden boy, baseball star, and class president... three years running.

"If we could get the kids who don't usually vote to fill out a ballot, how many would you need?"

"Less than half the class participates," she said. "I lost by almost a hundred votes last year. It was worse the year before."

"Okay, at least sixty kids from school come to my gigs, mostly seniors. That's a start, right?"

Betty chuckled, "Do you want to be my campaign manager?"

"Is that a thing in high school?"

Betty shrugged. "It could be."

"No. I don't want a job, but I can whip votes for you, like they do in Congress."

"You would do that?"

"Fuck yeah. You deserve a chance. Manfredi is a cocky shit. Imagine how big it would be to upset him after three years of that dick being class president?"

Betty flashed a big smile. "It would be awesome."

Joe smiled back. "Let me talk to some kids, but let's keep this quiet for now. When's the election?"

"The first Friday in October, the sixth."

"Okay, almost three weeks, plenty of time. We'll talk later."

The first bell went off as Betty walked off with a bounce in her step.

Mike Manfredi wasn't a bad kid. He was a popular boy with a flashy smile and made-for-television face who annoyed people. He was a smooth talker, good with the ladies, and a bit arrogant for Joe's taste. Joe also knew that Mike made fun of Betty every year when she announced her challenge for office. He was condescending towards her and her bookish friends.

Joe wasn't digging this newfound popularity in school but there wasn't anything he could do about it, so he decided to use it to his advantage. In the first week, he covertly canvassed the non-jock school factions: the stoners, rockers, hippies, and punks. He had friends or acquaintances in each clique. These groups had overlap, most were invisible students. None played sports or got involved with extracurricular activities. They showed up, went to class, and ran out like the building was on fire when the final bell rang.

Joe recruited people he knew best in each faction with the same speech. "Betty is a trooper. She never quit trying, even when she knew she had no chance of winning. She's the ultimate underdog; a quiet girl, a nerd, and most kids don't know her. She's not popular outside the ACP classes. She deserves this, and wouldn't it be great to slap that smug 'I'm better than you.' smile off Manfredi's face?"

That last line was effective. Mike was an annoying snob. The idea of elevating the lowest among them over him was appealing to everyone. Joe closed his pitch with, "Keep this on the down low. We don't want Manfredi to know until it's too late."

When Joe got to his old crush's clique, Sandy thought it was hilarious he had gotten involved in class politics. She got her hippy friends on board. Dean Coyle, a talkative stoner with a big brain, kept his crew in line. John Tedesco, the tallest kid in school not playing basketball, handled the rockers. Steven Conte was desperate to redeem himself. He handled the punks with the pink-haired girl who had recently added a white streak. Because she always wore black, Joe nicknamed her Good & Plenty.

He recruited the Washington twins. They weren't in his class but they dated seniors on the basketball team. Joe knew the basketball players didn't vote, but he had their respect after defending the twins from John Russo. With the help of Nicole and Monique, he hoped to pull some of the black kids into the movement.

As Joe whipped the votes, he couldn't help but channel a nerd band he loved at the time. If any punk band personified awkward brainy youth, it was DEVO. Joe's band played two of their songs, but they didn't cover their biggest hit.

'Whip It' was an ear-worm for the election run-up. He couldn't get it out of his head. He walked the corridors singing it under his breath. When talked to his election operatives about whipping the vote, he left them with the parting words, "Whip it, whip it good."

In the second week, Bryan Murphy and Lori Stanton, two of Betty's smart clique pals, threw their hats in the ring for student council. Their candidacies were added to the campaign. Joe was whipping votes for them too.

They did their best to keep the scheme as quiet as possible, but whipping over a hundred votes generated some buzz. Joe didn't want Manfredi's crew to know how big an effort was afoot. There was a rally scheduled for Wednesday, two days before the class election. All office candidates would make a stump speech in the auditorium. Joe intended to turn that event upside down.

A week before the election, on a Friday night, The Young Punks played The Underground. As usual, there was a big CHS contingent on hand. That's where Joe made the first overt push. About halfway through the first set, he gathered the crowd's attention.

"Listen. A lot of my classmates are here. I've talked to some of you about the election next Friday. If I haven't, listen up. You all know Mike Manfredi."

There were scattered boos.

"I know, he's kind of an entitled dick. His dad is on city council, ran for mayor once, and probably will again. Mike has been class president three straight years." He held three fingers out. "Politics is the family business. We'd like to end that run."

Claps and cheers came from the back of the room where Conte and Good & Plenty hung with their punk crew.

"Betty Martin runs every year and loses badly, but she never quits! That's why I support her. She's a good kid, smart and hard-working. I think she's earned a chance to be class president."

Joe was happy to hear more applause.

"I know for sure that no one in this room votes in school elections. but next Friday you'll do it for Betty... or for me. I really don't care. Imagine how cool it will be to rock the school by upsetting Manfredi and keeping him from winning four straight years."

That drew more applause and cheers, even some college kids were on board.

"Tell your friends. We're pushing to get Betty, Brian Murphy and Lori Stanton elected. Next Wednesday there's a rally after lunch in the auditorium. That's when Disco Boy is gonna find out we're coming for him."

--- THE PUNKS JUST TOOK OVER ---

Saturday night was The Young Punks' debut at Barney's Irish Pub in Worcester, their first show out of state. Sal was still pissy about driving more than an hour to an Irish pub he'd never heard of. On the ride up, Joe was sick of Sal's bitching.

"Look, we handed out these cards for a reason, and we told people if they get us a gig near their school, we'll come check them out and do a show."

"An Irish pub doesn't sound like a good fit."

"Monica gave our card to the daughter of the owner. She runs the bar at night. It's a younger crowd after the day drinkers go home. That's what Barney told me. He said the punks started showing up, just a handful, and a month later he had two dozen. They have a weekend house band, and it's punk rock."

"Then what do they need us for?"

"They don't Sal. It's just a fucking gig. If this place sucks we get paid and we don't come back. It won't be our first dud."

Nate snickered from the back of the van. "That sports bar in Warwick was rubbish."

"We still got paid."

When the band arrived at 5:45, they were in a residential neighborhood. The bar was once a house, the large backyard paved over. More than two hours before they started collecting a cover charge, they found a dozen men sitting in a dark, run-down pub. Barney came out from behind the bar with his hand extended.

"Are you Joe?"

"Yes, and you must be Barney." Joe shook his hand.

"It's nice to meet you," he smiled. "Trish is excited to have a new band playing. I guess she's sick of the same old."

Barney was a keg of a man, short and stout with a big round head barely covered by what remained of his sandy hair. His neck was as wide as his head. When the guys entered behind Joe, the expression on Sal's face was unmistakable.

Barney looked up at him, "Don't worry. These drunks will be gone before dark when this place gets handed off to my daughter. She'll be here soon, and the freak show will be right behind her." He pointed. "The stage is back there. If you need anything, just holler."

Trish arrived as the band was setting up. She was a younger, female version of Barney, stout and thick, with kind eyes, except she had a shock of red hair that was all over the place.

"I'm so glad you made it." She took Joe's hand. "Monica will be very excited to see you. She's been telling everyone about your band. I'm expecting a good crowd."

"We're gonna finish setting up and then step out for a quick bite. Are there any good diners nearby?"

"About a half mile up the road is the Euclid Grille. It's very good."

"Can you watch our gear?"

"Sure."

The band stepped out for a bite to eat that turned out to be not so quick, because Joe saw a record shop. They spent a half hour in Valentine Vinyl & Tape. They talked with the proprietor, Jimmy Valentine, a middle-aged Englishman with an extensive inventory of punk, especially UK bands. Joe invited him to the show. Sal had to push him out of the store. When they returned to the pub, Joe was mugged by his biggest fan.

"Oh, my God! I'm so happy to see you," Monica practically screamed as her arms went around Joe's neck. She kissed him. The band shared glances. "I told everyone about your show," she smiled. "Don't make me look bad."

"Barney wasn't kidding," Joe said, looking at the crowd that had taken over the bar. "This is a legit punk crew."

Monica made wide eyes, "Oh yeah. We have some characters. The thing is, they're all really cool people. Let me introduce you."

Monica dragged Joe around the room introducing him to punks with shaved heads, Mohawks, tattoos, face piercings, and all manner of punk fashion. It was all leather and denim, not a silk shirt in the room. The band had actual punk fans back home, but this was next level. These kids were committed. In the billiards room, Joe met the leader of the house band.

"Sticks is the drummer and singer," Monica said.

"Nice to meet you," Joe shook his hand. Sticks just nodded. He didn't seem as friendly as the others.

"They're a trio," Monica said. "That's Rudy the bass player and Tek, the guitarist."

Joe nodded at the punks across the pool table. They returned nods. Sticks was tall and skinny with a tight haircut and lots of tattoos. Joe didn't like the skinhead vibe he was feeling.

The band's first show in Massachusetts started okay, but some of the hard punks were not won over so easily. Like all their gigs, Joe enjoyed the delighted expressions on punks' faces as they played unusual songs, but he also could not escape the faces who weren't getting on his carnival ride. The first singalong took them by surprise. It was not the best crowd performance, except for Monica, who was singing loud and proudly eight feet in front of Joe. During a break between songs, Joe tried to break the ice with the tough crowd.

"Hey, this is what we do." He pointed with both arms extended. "We make you part of the show. I need some commitment." He paused a moment, "Like you have for these fucking costumes."

He got a laugh so he pressed on. "It's impressive. Really. This place is a punk rock freak show." He gestured to a guy up front with a short mohawk, neck tattoos, and face piercings. "How do you find a job? Can you even get through a metal detector?"

He got more laughs, so he did crowd work between songs, cracking jokes about the hard punk fashion. He felt the crowd coming his way. Late in the first set, when Joe went into the carnival barker routine for the dance contest, Monica was up front, jumping, big tits bouncing, raising her hand before he asked for volunteers.

"Okay," he said. "I feel obligated to pick Monica since she got us this gig. She's a defending champion from one of our Rhode Island beach gigs this summer. Who would like to challenge her?"

Joe helped Monica on stage as he scanned the crowd for hands. Several contenders stood out. Joe picked the cute redhead. As Joe helped her onstage, Monica ripped Joe's mic from his hand and talked trash.

"You're going down, bitches!" She pointed at the crowd. "Not one of you can take the crown from me."

The crowd laughed and booed. Joe had to wrestle the mic back as she played the heel, taunting the women up front. Joe looked back at his bandmates with wide eyes. Monica was taking this shit seriously.

"Okay." Joe took the mic. "Listen, you punks did a real shitty job on the first singalong." He pointed like he was the boss. "You're gonna sing to this dance song. Since we're in Massachusetts. I picked a simple song. I hope you Massholes can handle it."

The crowd booed him. Monica grabbed the mic, and they both held it. "I'm from New York, and he's right, you guys are Masshole pussies."

They booed Monica. She loved it.

Susan, the cute red-headed girl, a casual punk chick; was wondering why she raised her hand and what she had gotten herself into. Monica hammed it up. Joe had to pull the mic away from her, he looked over at the bar, Trish was laughing, delighted. That snapshot made Joe very happy.

Joe stood between the contestants, using his hands to keep them apart. "Okay ladies, when the music starts, give us your best moves, shake your butt, wiggle those titties, show the punks what you got." He paused. "No biting, no head butts, and no blows below the belt. Are you ready?"

The band played Batman, the girls started dancing. Joe looked at the punks. "Can you handle this song?" Then he led them. "Batman!"

Monica danced like a stripper, flashing her fine round bottom at the crowd, pulling her pants down just a little.

"Batman!"

She turned and pushed her ample breasts together making kissy lips at the punks.

"Batman!"

Susan was dancing fine, but she was being outclassed. The Masspunks were singing loudly.

Batman!

Monica was hot, voluptuous, and naughty. Susan had no chance.

"Batman! Batman! Batman!:

The vocal vote was closer than Joe thought it would be. Some cheered for both. When Joe raised Monica's hand as punk dance queen, he instructed the bartender to give her a drink on the band.

"No," she pushed him. "I want your Tweety Bird shirt."

Joe thought for a moment, "Okay, hang on." He stepped away from her and then looked across the room. "I'll make a deal with you. You can have it... if you can take it off my back."

The punks erupted. Monica nodded, "Okay, bitch, it's on!"

Monica lunged at him. Joe sidestepped her. She turned and got a hold of his purple Tweety Bird shirt and began tugging hard. Joe twisted away from her. The cotton stretched. She had a good grip on it, trying to pull it over Joe's head. He held his arms tight against his body, hands under his pits... the nun-ruler defense. She couldn't get his arms out but she pulled the back of the shirt over his head. Sal and Nate were laughing maniacally. The punks cheered her on. Joe then did a spinning reverse move to put her in a headlock. Monica stomped on his foot, not hard, but Joe pretended it hurt and fell backward, to the stage floor. Monica jumped on top, slapped him, and pulled his shirt over his head again. He slowly let his shirt slip away, and then then let it go. Monica ripped it away from him and held the shirt over her head, victorious. As they stood and faced the crowd, Joe shirtless, he saw the faces of the hard punks had turned to wide smiles. The dance contest and tee-shirt wrestling had won them over.

Sticks approached Joe during the set break with a very different vibe. "That was fucking crazy, man. Monica is a natural wrestling heel. She trash-talks sports all the time."

"Fucking Yankee fans," Joe said. "With a big mouth. The worst."

Sticks laughed. "Don't they all have big mouths?"

Joe nodded. "Yeah, we do too, we just never win enough to be that obnoxious." He gestured to Monica, who was now a celebrity. "I think she just reinvented my dance contest gag. I'm gonna have to buy more tee shirts and make that wrestling bit part of the show."

On the ride home, at 2:45 AM, Sal was no longer complaining about how far the drive was. He was sold on Barneys and the Worcester punks. Joe sat quietly in the passenger seat of the van with a satisfied smile. He didn't have to say a word.

---- ELECTION WEEK -----

The following Monday, Joe spoke with Betty and Bryan before school. She was excited.

"Two Basketball players and a cheerleader asked me if I think I have a chance."

"I hope you told them, 'Yes, if they vote," Joe said.

"I did. I said we need their help. Even the stoners are asking about the election."

"Great."

She was feeling confident, but she was also nervous. "I'm worried about the attention. If Mike finds out about this, he'll get the word out to all his friends. They'll turn out for him."

"But they already do, don't they?" Joe said. "How many more kids can he get?"

"The football team," answered Bryan. "They don't vote. If he gets them, we're cooked."

"He's not one of their guys. The football players don't care about Mike."

"They're all jocks, Joe," Betty said. "They stick together."

"No, they don't. What about the basketball team? Jocks aren't a monolith. They have cliques too."

Betty paced back and forth. "Do you know any football players?"

"Look," Joe met Betty's eyes. "you need to focus and nail that speech. Leave the votes to me. Did you look at the notes I gave you? Pretty good, huh?"

"Yeah, but that's not my style. I'm..."

"Mousy. Is that the word? You'll have to push that timid shit down and speak up. The scrappy underdog angle will get more kids to vote for you."

"I don't know. Defiance isn't something I..."

"Just once!" Joe held a finger up. "Just once you have to stand up and say you're sick of the same old crap."

Betty stared at Joe for a moment. Bryan was smiling. He was all in.

"Okay," she said in her mousy voice. "I'll do my best."

"Look," he said calmly, taking Betty's hand. "When I'm on stage I feed off the energy of the crowd. There are going to be a lot of people at the rally cheering you on. I promise you. We will be there. When we boo Manfredi and cheer for you, you're gonna feel it in your chest. Channel that energy, and speak the fuck up!"

"I've never felt this anxious about a vote."

"That's because you never had a chance. You ran knowing you were gonna lose. There was really nothing at stake. After this rally, everyone will know you're in this fight."

"Manfredi will have a full day to get his people..."

"Calm down, Betty. It'll be too late. Your speech at the rally will win people over. Everyone loves a long shot."