All The Young Punks Pt. 13

"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 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.

"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? Bump gloves, no head butts, and 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.

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 just sang the 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. 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 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. 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. 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 our 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 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 alergies 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 definitely 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?"