All The Young Punks Pt. 32

---- JUNE 1980 ---

With Tina now out of school, Joe opted to start the first summer road trip in New York after ending the last trip there. This meant no return to Providence and nearly a month in the city, including ten days off in the middle. This was his plan to make Tina happy. She had her VSGG job and was volunteering with the Creative Youth Program, but she had more free time and he knew his road trips were going to be a problem over the summer.

He couldn't shake the discomfort he felt after the Art Ball. When they got home after the event she apologized for leaving him alone much of the evening and then fucked him silly. Joe knew Tina loved him, but his insecurity got the best of him. His feelings of inadequacy lingered for days. He was doing his best to please T at the risk of causing issues at home. He hadn't seen his sisters in nearly seven weeks. The last two phone calls home were less than cheerful.

After the band completed their three days in the studio they played all four boroughs and crossed the river to play their Jersey City bar, The Van Vorst, a small but cool bar, not a college gig. Most patrons were people who worked in the city and lived in Jersey.

On an off day, he asked Tina to drive him to the shore, specifically Rockaway Beach in Queens. He wanted to see if there were any beach clubs there. Tina assured him there were. After speaking with managers and leaving his business card in three bars that had live music, they spent the day at the shore. Sitting on a blanket on a crowded beach, Joe was reading. Tina leaned against him.

"How many bars do you need?" She asked. "How many can you play?"

"We used to play every club once a month, now it's every two months. Some we don't get to if we can't book a date. I don't know how many we need. I'm figuring this out as we go."

"How far do you want to go?"

"I don't know. We have a factory gig in Buffalo coming up and maybe a job in Pittsburgh. That's probably far enough."

"So just the northeast?"

"I've never thought about it. I just add venues as we find them. I still haven't gotten to my college towns up north. The band problems derailed that plan. I need to get on it."

"So you'll never stop adding to this?"

"I don't have a crystal ball, T. I don't know."

--- LOBSTER BOY ---

Joe booked all the beach bars, from New London to Newport, six gigs in eight nights with days of sun, sand, and surf. He secured the old wooden shack behind the salt march near Ninigret Pond in Charlestown, Rhode Island. The setting was not punk. It was grassy wetlands, waterfowl, and a long walk to the ocean. It was so quiet it drove Nate mad.

"I always hated this fucking place," he whined.

"Are you yanking me?" Simon said. "This is pristine. I can't believe you guys stay here."

"That's what I'm saying," Nate said. "This sucks."

"We have the Minnow, crybaby," Joe said. "You can have the bed. I'll sleep on a cart with my sleeping bag."

"That's not it. It's boring. And it's too quiet."

Joe enjoyed the silence, only the sound was the wind and Nate's occasional bitching... and birds, so many birds. Joe had books and his Mead notebooks to occupy his time. The Minnow had a Jensen Powerplay cassette radio with Pioneer speakers. Sal and Nate played cards with the radio on. Joe and Simon wandered off, walking the trails of the marsh.

"I can't believe I'm here," Simon said. "finally seeing America."

"Yeah, it's pretty cool seeing it with you."

"You never told me you camped at the beach."

"It never came up."

"I wish you told me. I would have picked up a sleeping bag."

"I took care of that."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. I have two. I couldn't let my lead guitarist have a shitty night's sleep."

A bird flushed out of a stand of tall grass, flying just overhead, causing Simon to leap backward and screech, his hands overhead, he ducked,

"What in bloody hell?" He flinched a second time.

"What the bloody hell is right," Joe said. "You screamed like a frightened schoolgirl."

"I did no such thing."

Joe looked back. "We're too far from the cabin for them to have heard you. It's your word against mine, you little twat." He shook his head. "I just lost a some respect for you." He held his finger and thumb an inch apart, smiling at Simon.

"He practically flew in my face."

The following morning, the SS Minnow pulled into the Misquamicut State Beach parking lot. After a few road trips with The Minnow, the guys had developed a routine. The Winnebago Brave had a shade canopy on the side. They set up a card table, and four chairs, and had it made in the shade on the edge of the sand. Joe lay down a blanket twenty feet away. They staked a claim for the day. Within walking distance were showers, food, and a few bars.

They didn't leave until the beach crowd was nearly gone and it was time to head into Westerly to play the Knickerbocker Cafe, directly across from the Amtrak station. The Knick was traditionally a blues club, but the beach crowd and locals loved the punks so management brought them back, year-round.

After the show, they grabbed a greasy bite and drove fifteen minutes back to the shack on the salt marsh. The next day was rinse and repeat, Roy Carpenter's Beach all day and the Ocean Mist at night. The third day was Scarborough State Beach and the infamous Bon Vue Inn in Narragansett. That was a tough night for Simon the pasty Brit.

Joe was happy to see Kelly Marsh that night, platonically. She teased him and asked how married life was.

"No ring," he said, holding his hand up. "But I like the deal we have."

"So it's working out for you, this monogamy thing?"

"Yes. It is."

Several songs into the set, Joe addressed the crowd. "You may have noticed we have a new guy in the band," Joe tried to keep a straight face. "His name is Lobster Boy. Look how fucking red he is." He gestured toward Si. "This is Simon, he's British, and it seems the English don't mix well with the sun. He's in a bit of pain right now." He paused. "We almost canceled the gig. Not kidding."

Simon was hurting. For three days he slathered on products to protect himself from the sun. On day three he stayed in the shade. They had not yet developed enough UV protection for this pasty West Londoner.

"So, please, do not pat our boy on the back or touch his body in any way. That goes especially for you ladies."

"I'll give him an ice-cold bath he won't forget," a young lady shouted from the bar.

"Well now," Joe turned to Simon. "You might want to consider that offer. That's what my Mom did when I was a sunburnt kid."

"I'll be his Mommy," she shouted.

Joe leaned toward Simon. "Take it, Si. She's hot and a little drunk."

Colleen took Simon back to her beach cottage in Snug Harbor, played nursemaid for a night, the next day, and the following night because the band had no gig. When the Minnow picked him up two days later, Simon was much improved.

Joe punched him in the arm, "You broke your road cherry."

"Barely. She could hardly touch me."

"But she did."

"I wasn't burned under me trousers."

"Did she give you the ice bath?"

"Yes, and it was very nice, except for my willie shriveling up."

Looking at the map as the Minnow sailed over the bay to Newport, Simon pointed at a village close to Ninigret Pond. "What the hell, Quonochontaug?"

"That's it," Joe smiled. "You nailed it. You can speak Narragansett Indian."

---- MORNING MUGGING ----

Joe tried to sneak into the house after 3 AM. The band had played Newport the previous evening and drove back to the city after the show. They'd have three days in Providence, with a night at The Living Room, before heading north for another week. As he tiptoed through the kitchen in the dark, the light turned on.

"What are you doing?" Mom said.

"I'm coming home."

"At this hour? You couldn't stay in the garage?"

"It's good to see you too, Mom."

"I'm sorry." She stepped closer and hugged him briefly. "You scared the dickens out of me?"

"What does that even mean, the dickens?"

"You haven't been home in two months."

"I know. I wanted to sleep in my bed. I'm sorry I woke you."

"Would you like me to wake you for breakfast? The girls will be very happy you're home."

"Sure. I'll come up."

A few hours later, Joe was rudely awakened by Jeanie jumping on his bed. She startled him. He opened his eyes to see her face inches from his.

"Good morning," she said with a smile. "Mom says you need to come upstairs to have breakfast with us."

"I've changed my mind. I'm staying in bed. I'll see you later."

"No," she said. "pinching his side through his bed sheet."

"Don't do that." He swatted her hand away.

Jeanie got up and yanked on his sheets. Joe gripped hard, trying to remain covered. She yelled upstairs. "Julie! Come help me!"

Footsteps thumped down the basement stairs. Jules appeared to find them in a linen tug of war. She jumped on Joe and began tickling him. He lost his grip and his bedsheet. Joe got Jules in a bear hug to end her tickling.

This was a common scene years ago, the girls waking Joe for school by harassing him, ripping off sheets, and tickling him. It had been a very long time since the last morning mugging. He didn't mind. It was better than them not reacting to him coming home. Those underappreciated homecomings hurt a little. This was better.

"Okay. I'm awake. I'll be up in a minute."

"Did you bring us something?"

"Yes, look in the side pouch of my pack."

Jules went fishing and found candy bars and gummies..

"Did you get my postcards?"

"Yes," Jeanie said. "What are The Finger Lakes?"

"A bunch of long and narrow lakes in New York that were left by glaciers millions of years ago."

"They look beautiful."

"They are. It's bucolic."

"What does that mean?"

"Pastoral."

Jeanie stared at him.

"It's the country, woods, mountains, and lakes."

They sat around the kitchen table for breakfast. The chaos of Theroux family mornings made Joe happy. He missed his sisters, but he often didn't realize how much until he got home. Eight weeks away was too long.

--- MISSION ACCOMPLISHED --

The large circle behind the arch at Washington Square Park was a chaotic scene of children ages eight to thirteen, the Creative Youth Program. Tina was at the center of it, surrounded by a dozen long tables with art supplies piled high, and scattered about. On this breezy day, she found herself chasing paper the kids let loose, some purposely so they could laugh at the teacher determined to not litter the park. As she tracked down her umpteenth loose work of art that morning she saw Betty sitting on a bench with two people.

"Hey, Betty!" She called out, waving for her to come over.

Betty waved back, got up, and walked her way. Her companions followed.

"Hey," Tina said as Betty approached, "I thought you were going to call."

Betty furrowed her brow. "Did I say..."

"You were pretty drunk. Maybe you forgot?"

"I'm sorry."

"What are you doing here? I thought you were going home when the semester ended." Tina glanced at Betty's companions. "I know you from my boyfriend's gigs."

The dude offered his hand, "I'm Clancy. And we know you from," he gestured to her hair. "and the shows at Tommy's. We dig Joe's band." He turned to the familiar girl. "This is Gretchen."

Gretchen waved. "I love your hair."

"Thank you." Tina looked at Betty with a shrug.

"I took a summer job," Betty said.

Tina smiled, "Does that mean you're staying at NYU?"

"It seems so." Betty gestured to the chaos behind Tina. "What's all this?"

"The Creative Youth Program. I volunteer." She then explained the program and her involvement since high school. "And you're hanging with punks now?"

"They're not really punks," Betty said.

Tina nodded, "They kinda are. Joe has this whole thing about punks and the varying levels of commitment." She pointed at herself and then the couple. "We're soft punks, no tats or face piercings, we dress up when we go clubbing, but not too extreme. We're not punks every waking hour."

"That makes sense." Clancy said. "The punks at Tommy Guns are totally committed."

"Or they should be committed," Tina smiled. "Some of those costumes are insane." She turned to Betty. "So, what are you doing for work?"

"I'm translating French academic papers to English. I'm fluent, and finished eighth in the National French Exam."

Tina smirked. "There's that big brain Joe talks about." Come this way so I can keep an eye on these kids.

Another work of art blew past her. Tina let it go. They followed her to the tables. Less than a minute later, a tall young man walked up to the group. Betty greeted him with a hug. He kissed her on the cheek. Tina made a curious face. Betty blushed.

"This is Tomas," she said, looking up at him with a smile. "This is Tina, she's Joe's girlfriend."

Tomas extended his hand, "Yes, I recognize you from around campus and the bar." He had a Spanish accent.

Tina smiled and shook his hand, then slightly scrunched her nose "Are you...?"

Betty nodded with a smile. "They saw me at Joe's show and..."

"She was clearly with the band," Clancy said. "We knew Betty, sort of, but had no idea she was friends with you guys."

Tina nodded and smiled. "Cool." She turned to Tomas. "Where are you from?"

"I am Argentine, studying here."

"Very nice." She looked at Betty. "When Joe gets back from the road you should let him cook you dinner at my place. I'm sure he'd like to meet Tomas."

Betty scrunched her nose. "Joe cooks?"

"Yes, he does." Tina looked at the kids getting out of control. "I have to get back to this. Joe is back next week. Call me."

As she returned to her duties, Tina smiled, watching Betty walk off hand and hand with her new boyfriend. "Mission accomplished,' she thought. 'Joe is going to be very pleased.'

---- AIRPLAY ----

The band sat in Marty's studio listening to the playback of recordings they'd done several weeks ago. Marty wasn't an engineer who tinkered with the band's sound. There was no overdubbing or major audio edits. He was a down-and-dirty live studio recording tech who only cleaned up small issues in post. Joe could hear the difference. The sound was better, but still not good enough.

"We're not doing anything with these," he said, "But you're correct, hearing this makes me know where we stand and I think we need to fix some things. My guitar tone is shit on a few songs. I need to back off on the distortion a little, and maybe play cleaner on The Devil You Know and a couple of others.

"I think it's fine," Marty said, "but we can record it that way so you can compare. It's getting late, maybe you guys can come back this week and do that."

"I can't," Joe said. "I have plans."

"You have a week off."

"Yes, a week off, and I'm taking it off. Tina's having a hard time. She has the summer off and I've been on the road. This week is her birthday and our anniversary. I'm taking her on a roadie."

"Where are you going?"

"Up north. That girl never leaves this city. She's like Simon, an urbanite who never sees the world outside of New York. I'm taking The Minnow."

"I get it," Marty nodded. "That's why you're storing your equipment here."

"Yes. Sal and Nate are taking the train back home."

"Do you have time for lunch? Stan would like to take you to his favorite deli."

"I'm free tomorrow. After that, I'm unavailable."

Weeks ago, after their third day in the studio, Marty introduced the band to the distinguished older gentleman who had visited the booth during their recording session, Stan Greenbaum was a former studio executive. He was an old friend of Marty who had retired but liked having a little skin in the game. They had talked for ten minutes while the band packed gear and agreed to meet again to discuss The Young Punks' future. Stan insisted they meet at his deli.

When Joe walked into Fine & Shapiro on the Upper West Side, he found Marty and Stan waiting. He slid into the booth beside Marty.

"This was a haul," he said. "How many delis do you think I passed between The Village and here?" He glanced around. "What's so special about this joint?"

"It's only the best deli in the city," Stan said, not appreciating Joe's attitude.

"I'll be the judge of that."

"And what does a punk like you know about delis?" Stan asked.

"I know if the pastrami is good I'll come back. If not, it's crap."

"No. It's the brisket," Stan said. "If you knew anything you'd know that."

Joe hid behind his menu for a minute. His first impression of Stan was that he was a cranky old man. He didn't know if that was just his nature or if Stan was truly miserable. He ordered the pastrami. Stan got the brisket. Marty went with a BLT.

Joe sipped his soft drink looking at Stan. "Has anyone ever told you that you look like Carl Reiner?"

"I know Carl personally, from my days in LA. I have more hair than Carl."

Joe made a face. "If you say so."

Marty was eager to get the band back in the studio to rework the tracks Joe was unhappy with. He didn't care to make small talk. This was a business lunch. He looked at Stan.

"Joe's not happy with the recordings."

"I'm okay with a few of them, but most are crap."

"Right," Marty said. "How about we take the four songs you're happy with and make a demo tape? I can bring it around to my contacts in radio to see if they'll give you air time."

"And what happens if it gets on the air?"

"If it gets airplay," Stan said. "And it does well, we get you back in the studio to record more."

"And then what?"

Stan rolled his eyes, "We shop you around to record labels."

Joe looked at Marty. "You said it yourself that you have a hard time getting bands on the radio because you're not associated with a studio label. Aren't we doing this backward?"

"I've gotten a few on air."

"But not enough."

"Those few were the best I had to offer. I think your music is better and will kick a door open."

"Don't get the kid all excited, Marty." Stan turned to Joe. "Look, there are no guarantees. All we can do is shop you around and see what happens. If you don't get air time, what do you lose?"

"I suppose nothing."

"So why not give it a shot?"

"I think you should look at college radio," Joe sipped his drink. "WNYU and WFUV."

"Those are weak signal stations," Marty said. "I think we need to go bigger."

"Okay," Joe nodded. "If it's not costing us anything it can't hurt to try." He pointed at Marty. "but only those four songs. I don't want that other rubbish in public."

"It's not rubbish. Joe. You need to give yourself a break. Those are good songs and recordings."

When food arrived, Joe asked Stan about his career. In between bites of brisket and coleslaw, Stan explained that he served in the World War. When he returned home he went into radio and then took a job with RCA Records as an A&R man. He started during the big band era and witnessed the rise of rock & roll, Elvis, The Beatles, and Woodstock. He changed jobs, working for Capital Records in LA for a decade before coming home to NYC. As the years passed Stan grew weary of the studio system.

"I saw so many talented kids get screwed over," Stan said, "but the worst part was seeing artists that never got a chance. If some suit at the top doesn't like your sound or the way you look, he can end your career. It's not always the best bands that make it big."

"Then why do you want to do business with the labels?" Joe asked.

"That's how you make it. That's the system. How else are you going to succeed in this business?"

"I have some ideas," Joe said while sipping the last of his Coke, making a slurping sound.

"Goddamn it!" Stan barked. "Did your parents teach you any manners?"

Joe slurped harder with a smile.

Stan called to the waitress. "Can you get him another drink before he drives me crazy?"