10 Smile up at the ones who stand and frown

I wanted to get this little story in. It's a little weird and had everything to do with me. As a really little girl I was pretty aware of things going on around me. Adventurous lonely walks everywhere. Listening to my sister's early Rock and Roll 45s. Pirate movies. Anything gypsy and beatnik. Yeah, and The Queen of Outer Space. 

Some things were great back then, but not everything. I love old cartoons and movies. I laughed then and I laugh now. But my little girl brain had some questions. I'd watch Popeye when I was little and couldn't understand why Olive Oyl was being pulled on one arm by Popeye, and the other arm by Bluto. "Mom. What are they doing? Can't she do what she wants?" "No. Women have to put up with men." I'd just think in my little head "Hmm. What does that mean?" "Mom? Why can't Lucy go to the club if she wants?" Same kind of answer. Boy, I got sad for Lucy. "Why can't she have any fun?" My brain kept clicking with that.

Dancing Gypsy

"Why can't I be a paperboy?" You just can't. My mom forced my brother to take me on the back of his bicycle when he was delivering papers. He didn't like that. We crashed hard one day and he yells "Just go home. Leave me alone." I went home defiantly and took care of my bloody knees by myself. I learned to do that early. I was always doing dangerous stunts and I knew the in's and out's of wound care by experimenting on stuffed animals. 

Ok. Jump ahead to 1969. Let me just say I was pretty well weird by now anyway. My parents were friends with the owner of a local bar and restaurant. Charlotte's on Long Beach Road, near the movie theater and the A & P. There might be a picture on the internet, but there might not be. I will repeat that there are a lot of gaps in what history is making it there. My brother was a dishwasher at Charlotte's for a little while, but it didn't last too long. So somehow I ended up being a dishwasher there on Tuesday nights. My first job. That was the night that the Kiwanis Club met in the extra room. First couple of weeks, I was just a dishwasher. Real dishwashing in a big sink with dirty water. You wouldn't want to spend the  few extra cents it might cost to change it out once in a while. There were a lot of dishes. I cleaned them better than George and Charlotte wanted because I snuck in clean water every so often. While I was working, George and Charlotte had a habit of going into the bar and drinking their own booze. They'd end up in a terrible fight by the end of the night. George would hand me a few dollar bills on my way out the door.

Photo of the A & P in 1953. The white building down the block is Towers Funeral Home.

I'd say something to my parents. My mom said "Oh. They're ok." My dad would look up from his newspaper and continue smoking his Kent cigarette. Can you imagine some of the crap they had to do at shitty jobs during the depression? I know some of it and it sucked. At one time, my Mom worked at a New York Woolworth's lunch counter. It was infested with rats and she was bitten by them. Both of my parents were thankful they had shitty jobs. At least they could eat.

Ok. So by the third week or so George and Charlotte were fighting a lot more. I heard screams of divorce, which was still something very difficult and taboo at that time. I ended up doing more of the work because they were so busy with that. I had to basically do everything. I had to put appetizers on the table. I also had to return pickles and olives to the jars at the end of the night. I had to dish out the food and bring it to the table. I had to clear the dishes and wash them. At least they cooked food and left it warm in the pots for me to deal with. They said "You are now a waitress." I had to wear one of those dumb white waitress uniform dresses. Still wore sneakers though.

This is the first part of 1969 and during the latter part of the year all hell broke loose. Must have been working at Charlotte's for about a month when I went in and the Kiwanis had already been drinking up a storm. Let me remind you that there were no women allowed at this time. Ok. I'm trying to cope with all these drunk idiots that apparently never made it out of the house at any other time. I am a petite, but somewhat mentally mature, teenager. (Disclaimer: I never mentally matured past this point.) I think younger people used to be more mature because we were never home and learned everything on the streets.

It's after dinner and they're all still rip roaring drunk. The Kiwanis didn't have to worry about drunk driving problems because they were the business leaders in town. I don't think that there were many laws about that back then anyway. I know damn well my father drove into a fence at a local restaurant on Woods Ave. and took it down. No big deal. Everyone knew my dad, so it was ok. The restaurant just fixed the fence.

I'm trying to clear the dishes and now they're having the "Best Legs in Oceanside" contest. All these drunk men are laughing hysterically with their pants legs pulled up over their knees. All of them, each and every one of them. Some of them standing on tables. I thought I was in an episode of the Twilight Zone.

Similar

 

Here's the one real name I will use in any story. Joe Terzo. He owned a pizzeria near the town triangle. We didn't have a square because the town was some type of strange vortex.

Joe was the president of the Kiwanis for many years. He also had a part in the "Sanitation District." Have you seen the Sopranos? Joe passed away in 2001. He lost a lot of weight since when I knew him apparently. He kind of looked liked Vito Spatafore at the time, but older.

George is actually doing a lot of work bringing them the booze that they wanted. So he's in and out of the room. Alright, their legs aren't good enough anymore. They want to see my legs. Well, I'm already wearing a stupid waitress dress. Ok? No. Joe Terzo wants me to stand on a table. "No, I don't want to." Yes, yes. They were all cheering. "Where the hell am I?" These guys were worse than a mob meeting because they had absolutely no finesse. Tony would have told them to shut up and leave me alone.

Joe Terzo is insisting "C'mon. Get on the table." No. By now, George shows up and sees that Joe is getting a little upset. George looks at me close and says "Go ahead. It's Ok. Get on the table. They're nice men." He didn't want to lose their business. I think their business kept the restaurant alive. Alright, I got brave and stood on the table. Even though I was a teenager, I was brave beyond many years. I almost felt a tear, but thought of pirates. What the hell? Imagine being a pirate. I think you'd have more to worry about than standing on a damn table.

The idiots went wild. I was on the table surrounded by them. They were hootin' and hollerin' like a weird nightmare scene from an independent film. All with a fish eyes lens. I'm thinking "What are your wives doing right now? I hope they are having sex with the landscaper. I hear there's some type of root problem that needs to be taken care of."

They immediately awarded me the trophy. They really went hysterical because they said I really did have the best legs in Oceanside. Whatever. So I walked home that night with the "Best Legs in Oceanside, 1969" trophy. I showed it to my parents, but people didn't get that upset about everything back then. I put it on top of my dresser and filed away the experience. 

I passed Joe Terzo's pizzeria every morning on my way to school. Back in those days Italian Restaurants got bread deliveries early in the morning, a couple of times a week. I made sure I got up in time and stole 4 to 6 loaves of long Italian bread. I don't remember anyone calling anything a baguette, or any fancy name at the time. I gave some away. A number of us also played sword fighting with the bread and then threw it away. The cubby hole stoner kids. I did this up until the summer and then forgot about it anyway.

The trophy stayed there behind a bunch of junk and when I finally moved away it was still there. When my mother finally sold the house who knows what happened to it. There was a big sale. My maternal grandmother's dresses and hats were sold and anything else that was left. If somebody bought it, it could eventually be something that Mike Wolfe finds on American Pickers or it may have been melted down in a fire like Rosebud.

Believe me, it might not sound like much but I was determined to live my own life after that. (I say in a weak voice.) But everyone has stories like this.