This is the beginnings of the site so it is a little rough. Be patient, I will perfect it in the near future. The picture is courtesy of a former Tatnuck chick.  If you have any other pictures to donate to the site please email it to me (The Cat’s daughter) at haruzian@yahoo.com. If you would like the original, unedited version of what you are about to read, I’ll send it but you asked for it! In the mean time, read on...

HEY, GREEK, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?

Rev 08/17/2007

Note: The Author/Collector/Editor of the following (with assistance by June) was never “wrapped too tight” when he was young, and has severely  deteriorated, so please consider that in reading the following which are presented from his warped perspective, and may not be anywhere near  accurate…Grazie. 

Well, I sent a letter to Jackie S* recently (6 months, a year ago?) and said that the Greek was “Tatnuck”. He was the permanent fixture, the one character, the essence of what Tatnuck was, and I made that statement before he croaked, so it ain't his kickin the bucket that triggered my saying it. I did not, and do not like, wooster (one of things I shared in common with Pete G. in his later years), but always felt a little nostalgia for Tatnuck cause the Greek was still there and so many of the crazy things that we did had the Greek involved in them some way or another. You could always count on his being in or around the Square, or coming thru the square when you least expected it (usually at some insane hour, like 3:30 a.m.).

* I left the Square before all the marriages, so I still forget and use the maiden names. One of these days before I croak, I’ll catch up…maybe.

I remember many strange things about the Greek, and the strangest is that approximately 2 weeks ago, after probably 50 (no shit) years, the Greek called me and he chatted about a house on Stark Road he was looking at for a friend of mine,  and what great folks I had (we disagreed on that one), and how my folks had offered to take him in when he didn't have a place to stay, and about his daughter Cristina? who was arriving in Toscana Italy from France in a few days and could I show her around (The Greek knew I was moving to Italy and thought I was already there, maybe…)?  Then he said something poignant re the economy (he had an innate business sense) to the effect that he didn’t know what was going on, but that he and his son had jobs all over New England and were workin their butts off, and yet for the first time in 50 years, he had to borrow money for his business! A week or so later I woke up in the middle of the night wondering why in hell the Greek was still alive (he’s a month younger than me) after all the butts he was smoking, and simultaneously wondered why in hell I was still alive after all the uppers, downers, and alcohol I had consumed…the next day (or maybe it was two?), after this “first call in almost 50 years”, the Greek buys the farm…weird!

"1595JK"! One of the first things Steve always asked me when we saw each other every 3 to 5 years was what the hell his telephone number had been on Cape Cod when he was a young kid....when I would answer, “1595JK”, he would always display amazement that after all the years from the time he said something like, "Cat, you have one hell of a memory...I want you to remember my Mother's telephone number down the Cape!", that I still remembered. Little did he know I had it tattooed on the inside of my eyelids….we Armenians are smart that way.

One time the Greek asked me for some money and, being from Tatnuck, you didn’t ask why, you just gave it if you had it (Dave B. was my favorite “touch” at Classical and always covered me for lunch if he could). I guess it was maybe a few bucks, give or take. A day or two later, I ran into the Greek walkin down Tory Fort toward Mower (I think he was residing at that time in Farmer D’s “fort” near Tommy S. and Eddie C’s house), and I said, "Hey, Greek, you got any of that money left". He said no, and I said, "What the hell did you do with it, BLOW IT ALL ON FOOD?". For some obscure reason, that broke Steve up. Strange things made the Greek laugh…

Farmer D kept a little cannon in the “fort” for “protection. You know the kind, they used to advertise in MAD Comic Books (Yes, Comic Books, not the Magazine) as being “great for parades, and completely harmless...as long as you don’t stand in front of the muzzle when firing”. Anyway, Farmer stuffed a bunch of nails and assorted pieces of other body damaging material into the mouth of the cannon, and a bunch of match heads into the breech, with instructions to the Greek to fire the thing if anybody dangerous approached…like a social worker or a cop? Anyway, in the middle of the night, the Greek was listening to my portable radio, which was blasting out a popular ballad of the time, “Ape Man” by Nervous Norvis (which really used to piss off Rocky Cahill when I was out late at the Fort). This, evidently, attracted the attention of Mrs. C who came down in her bathrobe to investigate. Now, I do not know what occurred next, as there are several versions of the story, but somehow the cannon went off, resulting in a near miss which, if the trajectory had been slightly more accurate (say, five degrees left), would have re-arranged at least part of Mrs. C’s face. That near miss resulted in the termination of the Greek’s residency at “Fort D.”.

In retrospect,  I perceive Steve as a tragic-comic figure in younger life, who then stood up on his own two feet and became a rock...his Sister danced in Boston at the El Morroco, the Zara, and the Khaim oriental nightclubs/restaurants. We all went to see her one night, drunk as usual. I do not recall seeing her, but Mike R. and I were so drunk we got into a fight with some sailors and I got hit and didn't know it. I fell asleep at one of the clubs with my face in about a quart of beer we had spilled on the table. Not sure the Greek drank at all...he seldom did if I recollect.!! We were probably 18 at the time.

My Father may have been the Greek’s very first commercial customer in Steve’s then future paint business. I was in the side yard one day and my Father and the Greek, who were continually arguing as Armenians and Greeks are prone to do, and it had something to do with who was paying for the paint. Now, this was in 56 or 57…I know it was then because my Dad had a 56 Packard and he always bought the new model when it came out the fall before, so it had to have been 56 or 57. Anyway, it seems that my Father didn’t like living in a purple house, although he had paid $500 less than our neighbors had paid for their houses because nobody else liked purple either. I guess the Greek and Dad had decided that the Greek was to paint the house for, if memory serves, somewhere around $100. My Dad wanted the Greek to pay for the paint, and the Greek said it was extra, and my Dad wanted to know how many houses the Greek had painted before, and the Greek was “dancing” around THAT question because I don’t think he had ever actually painted a house before. Anyway, a deal was struck and we eventually had a white house and I am fairly certain that my Dad was the Greek’s first paying customer…whether it was profitable or not, I didn’t know, and I’m sure the Greek didn’t know either.

The Greek played “close to the vest” on many things…he was the original “only if you need to know” guy. He would have made a wonderful government spy…maybe working for Vinnie R. in the Company…who, coincidentally, I heard was stationed in Greece for many moons. Anyway, this “close to the vest” also applied to the many good things he did for people over the years…so, let’s leave it at that…close to Steve’s vest…I don’t think he would give a rat’s ass about having his good deeds blasted all over the place, despite Marc Anthony’s speech (Bob Newhart’s version), “Friends, Romans, Countrymen, I got something I wanna tell you…”

Steve once asked me to accompany him down to the Cape one time, and we left around midnight in Joe D’s 49? White Ford convertible (de-chromed, of course, but for some reason with no windshield wipers)…anyway, we arrive at the cape in the middle of the night, and we discover the gd fog is worse than the proverbial pea soup. Now, the Greek was supposed to wear glasses, even when he was young (he couldn’t see worth a shit sometimes, but no one was supposed to know that). Well, with this heavy mist, and without wipers, the Greek decided that rather than run into something, like a tree, that “the Cat” should get out and walk in front of the car cause Joe D. would have a shit fit if his new paint job somehow got dented. Being an asshole, I went along with this doomed scheme, but after wandering around for the better part of 3 or 4 minutes and only getting about 50 feet, I told the Greek that we had our heads up our respective asses and that we should probably just camp out where we were, which seemed to be grassy, so the chances were that we weren’t on any road and the chances of being slammed into by a 14 wheeler (they didn’t have 18 wheelers back then) were pretty goddamn slim. So, we snoozed until sun came up and the fog burned off…and that’s when we noticed that we, and Joe D.s’ Ford, were smack in the middle of some guy’s lawn, maybe 15 feet from his house and 50 feet from the road, with at least one wheel in his flower garden. The Greek jumped up and said something like, “Holy shit, Cat, we gotta get the hell outta here!” Well, with all this “moisture”, that damn Ford just cranked and cranked, but wouldn’t fire, and the Greek kept mumbling something about “Sonny” (if I remember, that may have been Joe D.’s nickname…don’t know) having a bird if we got towed and the cops took the car and like that. Well, when a Ford V-8 is cranking a few feet from your kitchen window at 6ish in the morning in a small town on “the Cape”, some occupant of the house is bound to hear it sooner or later, and, just as the “later” came round and the front door opened, the motor caught and the Greek popped the clutch and we were outta there in a blast of smoke and germaniums…I’ll bet we left skid marks over the entire 50 feet from that guy’s garden to Route 6 on the cape.

In response to a “T&G” article about us vandals “desecrating” the war monument (it had something to do, I think, with an explosive being detonated on the square), it was the Greek, I believe, who suggested that the smart move to mollify the local T&G readership was to clean up the mess, and further, the Greek, or somebody, recommended painting over the mess in flat white as being the most expeditious methodology. In thinking about it, this may have been the precursor to the Greek’s wanting to paint the entire universe, or, at least, his section of it, by starting his own paint company a few years later. Once the plan was laid, five or six 5 gallon buckets of white paint were “appropriated” from an involuntary (and unknowing) philanthropist by Duck and his band of Merrymen. Then the TTs set about doing their late night impression of Rembrandt on the monument, the road surfaces, the buildings, the fire hydrants, the sidewalks, and several storefronts. The next evening, after the donut shops closed, the cops showed up and were screaming all over Tatnuck lookin for us. About that moment, I happened to wander out of one of the side streets wearin Levis with white paint on them when some dipshit cop happened by in his donut-mobile and asked me if I was one of the guys who painted the square white and I said no and kept goin. The Greek observed this and it struck a funny chord with him, probably due to the fact that the cops were, and are, so gd stupid. I mean, come on, I was wearing what would later be known as “designer jeans”…Michelangelo would have been jealous, Picasso envious, Van Gogh proud, and Gucci richer. Anyway, about that time, I was dating a wonderful young lady (who I did not end up marrying), and after the white painted Levis incident, the Greek used to say that if the young lady and I ever had kids, they would “pop out wearing Levis with white paint on them”. So, if I get back there to attend his funeral, you can bet your ass I’ll be wearing Levis with white paint on them…I just found some in the garage.

The Tatnuck Troops “controlled” a small section of land on Cataract Street where everybody parked to do their thing, whatever their thing might be. Now, I do not remember all of the cast of characters in one particular scene, but I do remember that, in response to an insane cop named Bennet who challenged the TT’s control of the Cataract turf by “raiding” lover’s lane (actually, it was almost a dump by that time), the Greek and another TT dressed up in a kerchief and, along with two “guys”, pretended to be making out…the plan was, if I remember, to beat the shit out of Bennet when he pulled his “raid the lovers” scene. I wonder what really did happen…anybody know?

Allen and the Greek boarded the Greek’s 49? Plymouth shit box and headed off to Dee-troit to purchase a brand new 56? Chevvie…within a relatively short time, the two returned with the brand new Chevvie, but no shit box. When the Greek was asked about the Plymouth, the initial story had something about a circus in it, driving back non stop for 24 hours at 100 mph+ to “break in” the small block Chevie V-8, and a few other unintelligible comments, but I never did get the real story. Wherever that Plymouth is, may it rest in peace with Steve. I think, but cannot remember, that somehow Steve ended up with Joe D’s Ford convertible…is that accurate?

As I perceive it, the “Tatnuck Troops”, or the “Tatnuck Gang” as we were referred to by outsiders, was really comprised of many circles, some intertwined directly with other circles, and some just touching other circles, with individuals kind of loosely inhabiting one or two circles simultaneously. I hung with Kenny, and separately with Mike plus Bobby, but seldom did Kenny and Mike and Bobby and I do something together. Bobby D. hung with Joe D., Mike and Peter were close, Duck spent a good deal of time with Roch, and like that. The one exception, other than loners like Hitler and Sam, was the Greek. The Greek seemed to be his own “circle”.

Cooks Pond is where I used to stash blankets around so that if I got lucky and the opportunity arose (this was before we had cars all the time at our disposal) for me to be with some young lady, we would have something warm and fuzzy to lie on while we discussed relative merits of Catholic dogma versus Hindu dogma. A few years back, Eddie C. and I, on our way to “Hot Dog Annies”, stopped to see the Greek at his “compound” at the end of Stark Road. Steve was on a rider mower and, as we approached, he stopped, shut the engine down, and said, “Holy shit, it’s the Cat and C.…wadda you guys doin here?”. Eddie said that we were on our way to the “Silver Grille”, and had just been over at Cooks walking around. Steve’s immediate reply, without battin an eye, was, “Whatta you doin, checkin out the Cat’s blankets?”. That was the Greek, ya know?

To trigger your memories, here’s a breakdown of guys who hung around Tatnuck (edited for public consumption - please add any I forgot, and correct any errors):

TTs

B. DavyIrishClassical

C. Fast EddyIrishClassical

D. FarmerSwedishNorth

D. BrentTrade

D. DickyIrishClassical

E. The GreekGreekNorth

F.  FlashIrishSouth

G. Pete FrenchClassical

G. BobbyFrenchSt Peters

J. AlEnglish

K. PaulyIrishSt Johns

L. Little LukeFrenchSt Peters

L. BobbyIrishClassical

M. TommyIrishTrade

N. KennyIrishTrade

P. HashItalianClassical

P. DuckFrenchAssumption

P. RochfordFrenchClassical

R. MikeIrishNorth

S. ToastieItalianSt Peters

S. PaulyItalianNorth

S. ZekeScotchClassical

U. SoulieClassical

OLDER TTs

C. RockyIrish

D. BobbyIrish

D. JoeIrish

D. HitlerIrish

D. JerryFrench

G. PaulFrench

H.  The OwIrish

H. SamIrish

L. Big LukeFrench

L. UgIrish

M. PaulIrish

M. MickeyIrish

M. Gordan

N. JoeIrish

R. BillieIrish

R. PeteIrish

R. VinnieIrish

R. JamesieIrish

YOUNGER TTs

C. JimmyIrish

D. RickyIrish

D. ?????Irish

K. TwinkieIrish

R. BobbyIrish

T. Stevie

Now, if the Tatnuck Chicks could come up with a list, it would complete the picture because without them, most of the guys would have been nuthin, ya know? Of all people, the Greek would appreciate the Tatnuck Chicks…after all, he married one, didn’t he?

Eddy C’s brother Jimmy told this story (a slightly different but more accurate version), and I might be mixing up two events here, but, what the hell, it sounds good…Eddy decided to swipe his Father’s car (the NASH) one night and go joyriding. Aiding and abetting Eddy in this crime of the decade was Bobby L., Dicky D. and the Greek. Now, because they were going to be cruising about town quite late (the crime was to be committed in the wee hours), the Greek instructed Eddy and Dicky to dress “older” because those two were not the most mature looking of the TTs, while the Greek had probably been shaving twice a day since he was 11 and still have five o’clock shadow at noon. Come the wee hours, the Eddy, the Greek, and Bobby have the Nash-mobile, but Dicky is no where to be found, so the Greek sneaks up to Rich Street, finds Dicky’s bedroom window, and taps on it. Nuthin! The Greek hits it a little harder. Nuthin! Finally the Greek really smacks the old panes and a light goes in another room, so the Greek hightails it back to the car. After a few minutes, the errant light goes out, a conference is held, and the decision is made to break off a tree  limb and stick it through Dicky’s window and prod him awake…an absolutely foolproof plan. The Greek locates a tree limb...actually, more like a tree trunk, and, with a little deft maneuvering, coaxes this miniature Oak through the window and into Dicky’s bed. Dicky, it must be noted, has heeded the Greek’s advice re dressing “old” and is wearing his Father’s topcoat and felt hat. Anyway, the plan didn’t work out as planned because not only didn’t Dicky wake up, but he grabbed the tree limb and rolled over and pulled it out of the Greek’s hands, sending the thick end through the window and crashin to the floor. This time, a couple of lights came on and the Greek, figuring discretion was the better part of valor, split the scene. Now, you have to imagine Dicky’s Mother coming in to his room and finding him in bed, with his Father’s topcoat and felt hat on, clutching a tree! I do not know if Dickygot out of the house that night, or what happened to the Greek, but I do know that Eddy and Bobby were driving out around the reservoirs in Holden, when Eddy, looking down to light a cigarette, inadvertently parked the Nash on its roof, thereby greatly diminishing the Nash’s operational capability. So, Eddy and Bobby and Eddy’s dog, (God knows why the dog was there) hoofed it back to Tatnuck where Eddy, figuring he had it made and they would think someone stole the car, snuck in and went to bed. Great plan, right? Wrong! It seems that during the trek back to civilization, the dog had an argument with a skunk, and lost. So, when Mrs. C gets up to go to work, and finds the car nowhere to be seen, and smells the dog, and tells Mr. C, and Mr C. figures that the dog couldn’t have been sprayed by a skunk in the house during the night without them knowing something about it, and that who else might be involved? This is probably the first and last time that Eddy was “ratted out” by a dog.

The Greek was definitely not Roman Catholic, but he seemed to attend Mass every Sunday with the rest of us over zealous, religious fanatics. The Mass was held, of course, at a  Greek establishment next door to the actual church. We all collected outside the Greek spa and waived at parents entering the church and made it look like we would soon follow…which we occasionally did, sitting on the side where there was a small alter…maybe for 5 to 10 minutes, tops, and then we were outta there. I have heard that the Greek is gonna get a send off from a Greek Church in worchester. If true, I can only wonder if the Greek ever went near any church after I left Tatnuck…anybody know?

                                                      

                                                       

                                                         The Kenwood Diner, still serving Moxie?

Hey, any of you remember these 50’s “sayings”?

•CALL IT THE WAY YOU SEE IT!

•CALL A SPADE A F----N SHOVEL!

•LET IT ALL HANG OUT!

•DON’T SWEAT THE SMALL S--T!

•WHEN IN DOUBT, USE FORCE!

•SHOOT FIRST, TAKE NAMES LATER!

•DO IT JUST FOR DRILL!

•IF IT FEELS GOOD, DO IT!

•WHAT YOU SEE IS WHAT YOU GET!

•MAKE LIKE A TREE AND LEAF!

•HE’S A F----N SHOEMAKER!

Kenny, Mike and me conned “Ross the Boss” out of his 56 Packard one night to go to the local drive-in…we had no intention of going to the drive-in, as we were, for some obscure reason, dateless. We immediately headed for our real destination, Boston, hoping to get into some joint with a waiter dumb enough to serve three 18 year olds. Much to our amazement as anyone else’s, we actually found such an establishment.   Where it was, I do not remember…the thing I DO remember much later that evening is weaving down the long driveway to “The Meadows” Lounge (owned by Vaughn Monroe?) and stopping so Kenny could water his horse. Kenny, not being the most private of persons, decided that the water level in that beautiful pond out front of the main entrance was a mite low and could use an additional supply, so he whipped it out and added a full measure, which didn’t seem to make any difference, but it made Kenny feel as if had contributed something to the planet. Unfortunately, somebody’s parents from Tatnuck were spotted approaching, so we had to dump Kenny in the Clipper’s back seat and book outta there. Kenny had been chugging both beer and pickled eggs all night, and by the time we got around Shrewsbury or so, he was passed out in back,  but spewing gas like a Cummins Diesel. Mike and I decided that the trunk of Packard, being spacious and upholstered, would be the ideal place for Kenneth. Now, if you remember that Packard, it had automatic levelers, so when Kenny’s 7 stone was added to the back end, that Packard sunk like the Titanic. I mean, the goddamn mufflers were on the deck. BUT, in a moment, the electric leveler motors began humming and the Packard raised its mighty ass up a level position, and we jumped in and took off again. Now, the story should end there, except that I was too drunk to go home, so it was decided that I should crash at Mike’s house, which I did. VERY early the next morning, like 5 o’clock, either Mr. or Mrs. R (I don’t suppose it matters which one it was) came rushin up the stairs and said that there was yelling coming from the Packard in the driveway, but when they looked out the window, they couldn’t see anybody sitting in it. Mike and I looked at each other, then remembered, “KENNY’S IN THE GODDAMN TRUNK!”, and crashed down the stairs, half in and half out of our pants, and out to the Arc. When we got the trunk open, Kenny was pisssssed! The story should end there, but it didn’t. When Kenny dragged himself out, the Packard, relieved of its overly cumbersome burden, raised its back end high into the atmosphere…talk about a “rake”…Jesus, it was at a 40 degree angle. Mike and I looked at each other, and said, “Well, it’s SUPPOSED to do that. Now, it will come down and level itself”. Well, it didn’t…it just stayed up there and no matter what we did with the switch and jumpin up and down on the ass end of that goddamn boat,  its butt just stayed up there, at least 10 feet off the ground (or so it looked from our angle). So, Mike volunteered to drop Kenny, and I drove home, staring through the windshield almost straight down into the pavement, at 15 mph, cause if I hit a small bump in the road, the grille would have fallen off. When I was about to turn right onto Mower Street, who the hell do I see but the goddamn Greek, sitting on the monument, at SIX FRIGGIN O’CLOCK in the morning, pointing at me and laughing his ass off.

By the way, back in the 50’s, Elvis was not as “cool” as he later became (the Legend was larger than the man, me thinks).  He was not a "hep* Cat, or a "hip**" cat. The "Cats" from the cool cities, such as New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Detroit, Cleveland (where the DA haircut was invented by an Italian barber), St. Louis, and a couple dozen other large and mid size cities, didn’t think much of Elvis….it was mostly the Chicks who thought Elvis was cool.

* Highly Enlightened

** Highly Informed

DA’s were in…"Duck's Ass" haircuts with the pompadour on top with long hair pushed straight back on the sides into a DA. Some had a “flat  tops” or “crew cuts” with long sides straight back into DA, and these were called “Balboas”. IF a little curl was added to the front (like Eddie C.), dangling down over the center of the forehead, it was called a "Cincinnati". Moderate, not long, sideburns were the style. When I moved to the Square, no one had a DA but me, so I was the a--hole…six months later, half of the Tatnuck Troops joined me in being an a--hole by having a DA…except, of course, the Greek who wore his hair like, well, a Grik.

Remember the jeans (called “Levis” or “Dungarees”) were worn tight, somewhat low, and were "pegged" (taken in to a diameter of 14' to 15" at the bottom or, if you couldn’t afford the tailoring at $1.00 a pair, you folded them into a suedo-pegged configuration), and gradually tapered up to the knee. To be really cool, and very few around could handle it, there would be NO cuffs EVER on pants and jeans. Speaking of “Levi’s”, most guys didn’t think of changing them until you could stand them in the corner at night, and they’d still be standing there in the morning. There were a few of us who wouldn’t consider even washing them then unless they would come running when you whistled for them. Of course, they weren’t so cooperative when you bought a new pair for $4.00 or so, cause once you put them on for the first time you discovered that you could barely move cause they were so goddamn stiff. You’d stand there, straight up cause they didn’t allow bending over, and then you’d try a few tentative steps…unfortunately, if you wanted to go left, that was out of the question….those goddamn “Levis” would go straight ahead. So, to “un-stiff” them a little, you’d jump into Cooks…a PLUS to that method was that the “Levi’s” dried to your shape…from then on you could identify them cause they looked exactly like your legs! I don’t ever remember the Greek wearing Levi’s…I think he wore chinos (polished and unpolished)…anybody remember?

OK, heard from the first Tatnuck Chick (actually, from Highland area, but qualifies as “semi’Tatnuck” Chick”* because she dated a Tatnuck Troop, and that’s good enough for me). So, from June, here’s the start of a list of the Tatnuck Chicks:

TCs

B. Joycie   D. Joyce   E. Debbie   H. June*   J. Janice   N. Ellie   P. Janice*   R. Janice   S. Jackie

T. Judy   T. Lois*

OLDER TCs

There weren’t any older Tatnuck Chicks because any Chick over 18 had

enough brains to stay the hell away from Tatnuck Square!

YOUNGER TCs

N. Judy   R. Sue

One day a bunch of us were hanging around the Square, and the Greek was perched on his favorite side of the monument, facing toward the VD and up Pleasant Street toward J’s Restaurant (Remember the Greek’s imitation of the elder Mr. J, “That’ll be SEVENTY FIVE CENTS!”), when all of sudden he jumped up and went to the edge of the Square, shaded his eyes with his hand, and said something like, “Holy Shit, look at THAT!” and bent over double laughing. We all turned to see what the hell was so funny, and there came Ug, right smack in the goddamn middle of Pleasant Street, walking toward the Square, straddling the center line, not lookin left or right, pushing his two kids in a double baby carriage, with a half dozen cars backed up behind him, honking their everlovin horns off! As I said, strange things broke the Greek up.

“Dear, Dear, have a beer”

“No thank you, I don’t drink!”

The Greek would walk into a gathering  somewhere, utter those silly goddamn words, and then laugh himself silly…as I said, strange things…

Music was on 45 RPM records which had 2 sides with 1 song on each side...about half of them had a "B" side song which was equal to or better than the "A" side! The purpose of music was to get you to slow dance, or to make out with your chick, or to drive like a bat out of hell, or to fast dance...most of the early 50's music was by black groups, and were banned by white radio stations and white music stores, so, back in my days before the move to Tatnuck, we had to drive to black neighborhoods in Boston (like “Fat Man Robinsons” in Roxbury) to buy the records (they sold for $1.00 apiece and minimum wage was 90 cents!).

Computers…If you spend a lot of time on the computer, this website which June H sent to me, is great to play the top 100 (or less) from the 30’s to the 80’s automatically while you’re surfin the net looking for real estate deals in Croatia…and the website is www.tropicalglen.com  I hope the Greek had his “museum” office computer equipped with background music.

Fourth of July bonfire that never happened (according to the T&G)…on the morning of the 5th of July, back sometime in the 50’s, the T&G ran a full width photo on their second front page showing a mound of wood, cartons, furniture, and other assorted flammable and semi-flammable materials. One or two of the gentlemen in the photo appear to be giving the universal sign to the photographer, and the caption read something like, “Bonfire That Was Prevented In Tatnuck Last Night”. Well, as many of the T&G readers subsequently learned, the prevention didn’t exactly happen…in fact there was quite a conflagration, because, what the T&G didn’t know when they snapped that pic was that there was probably 20 or more gallons of gas saturated into that pile of rubble, and, as a cop or two looked on protectingly, Davy B. , clandestinely approaching from the monument, threw a wooden match right into the middle and, nothing happened! The match hit, and stayed, on the one piece of dry wood in the whole goddamn mountain of wood. So, Davy (again, I do not know what was going through his brain), tiptoed into the this mountain of gas to pick up the match and re-position it, hopefully where it would do some good. At this moment in time, the match, of its own volition, figured it didn’t need Davy and it rolled off onto one of the gasoline soaked pieces of wood and Davy was, as I remember it, blown ass over teakettle about 3 feet in the air and immediately acquired a “fell asleep on the beach at Hampton” quality sunburn in about 7 seconds. Now, there was still a half filled one gallon gas can on the ground nearby and someone, ostensibly to prevent it from blowing all over Davy, ran up and kicked it toward the Tatnuck house where one Edward C, “ A Young Man About Bonfires”, was watching all this shit going on. The can headed unerringly toward Eddy and the next thing you know, Fast Eddy had flames shooting out all over the goddamn place. Without a second’s hesitation, the Greek came out of nowhere and, for once in his life, was really moving (Steve was not known for rapid ambulation…I rarely if ever saw him actually run, and then it was more like a train on rickety tracks rockin side to side down the tracks) leapt on Eddy, knocked him to the ground, and rolled him around till Eddy reached the smoldering stage. While all these shenanigins were going on, the fire trucks couldn’t get through because someone had laid telephone poles across the approach streets…if they did happen to somehow make it to the Square, someone else had ringed the fire hydrants with old tires, added a coating of glue, and had set them ablaze. The flames were so high and loud, and the commotion so intense, Hank T.’s Mother (Hank was the only Jewish kid crazy enough to come down to the square every once in a while…he was from the Bronx - that should explain it), from her backyard on South Olean Street, saw the flames lighting up the sky and heard the sirens wailing and saw people running and cops scurrying around with their bags of donuts and she panicked thinking that we had been attacked by Russia. Another typical day (or night) in Tatnuck.

Abbie Hoffman, who lived on Ruth Street (a small street that runs between Chandler and May just past the Temple), formed the “Ruth Street Stomping Society” with and used to buy multiple copies of R&B records and sell them to friends at no profit (The first one I bought was “Forty Cups Of Coffee” by Joe Turner, I think). Abbie could not have really been Jewish because, evidently, did not care about profit  …for example, when Abbie headed up the national “Yippie” movement, he published a book with the words, “STEAL THIS BOOK” on the cover.

To get black music (R&B) on the radio, we had to tune into the very few AM (there was NO FM then) stations which played them. In New England, after sundown (many stations went off the air due to their FCC license restrictions), we could get stations further away like “The Sounds Of The Hound” on WKBW in Buffalo, New York, or WMEX in Boston, or stations in New York City and Philadelphia! The later it was, the further away the station you could get.

If you can remember the Month and Year you became a teenager (if it was 1954 or later), let me know and I’ll email the Top Songs & Artists, top TV Shows, and Top Movies for that Month and Year to you. If it was 1953 or before, I’ll email the Top Songs, but not the Top TV Shows (who the hell was watching TV at age 13 anyway?) or the Top Movies….  rajengineer@hotmail.com   For the Greek and I (he was 29 days younger than me), it was:

POP HITS

Blue TangoLeroy Anderson

DelicadoPercy Faith

Don’t Let The Starts Get In Your Eyes Perro Como

Glow WormMills Brothers

A Guy Is A GuyDoris Day

Half As MuchRosemary Clooney

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa ClausJimmy Boyd

I Went To Your WeddingPatti Page

Kiss Of FireGeorgia Gibbs

Slow PokePee Wee King & The G.W. Cowboys

Till I Waltz Again With YouTheresa Brewer

Wheel Of FortuneKay Starr*

Why Don’t You Believe MeJoni James

Wish You Were HereEddie Fisher

You Belong To MeJo Stafford

* That is playing on www.tropicglen as I type this!

R&B HITS

Goin HomeFats Domino

Have Mercy, BabyDominoes*

Lawdy, Miss ClawdyLloyd Price

Night TrainJimmy Forrest

One Mint JulepClovers

* Led by Fats Domino’s brother-in-law, Reggie, who used to keep me apprised of where Fats was playing so I could bring my Chick

You did not cuss (swear, use foul language) around adults, women, children, old people, and females! Remember standing on the Square swearing up a storm, with the infamous word “f--k” right smack in the middle of a longer word, and when an adult or female or child approached, the entire crew, in unison, with no signal or prompting, would drop all the swears until the person was out of earshot…amazing!

One time, my uncle by marriage, a Grik named Perry, happened downstairs to the playroom at my parents house and began watching us playing poker. After a bit of observation, he asked if he could join in, and the Greek was happy to have another Grik in the game. I think the guys figured that we had a pigeon because Perry does not look like the sharpest tack in the box. Anyway, we all geared up to make a few sheckles off this bird, but, as it turned out, we not only had empty pockets at the end of the games, we owed this guy our pants!  I later learned that Perry served in WWII and walked across most of Europe, playin poker as he went. On the return trip by slow boat to the States, he held 3 or 4 games simultaneously! Perry is still alive and well and retired in Portland CT after a long and successful career as an accountant (or card sharp).

“Vaseline Petroleum Jelly” (cheap) or “Brill Cream” (expensive) was used to grease your hair into place, thereby staining every fabric or material your head touched - walls, couch pillows, chair backs, your chicks' dress, and, god forbid, your hat…that is, IF you were EVER un-cool enough to wear a hat!

Making out was everywhere....back hallways in school, closets at parties, back seat of cars, on blankets at the beach, on blankets in the woods, at drive-in theatres (called "Passion Pits"), on golf course putting  greens, and especially while babysitting…a make out “session” usually lasted a minimum of 2 hours. Eddie C. claims that he was not one of these guys making out all the time…I don’t believe him.

If you like that old time R&B, you might be interested in some of the groups and soloists who were among some of the earliest to bring us the original "R&B" (NOT Rock & Roll) If you are, the following is a list of the more well known, mostly black, whose songs and talent were stolen by white “cover” artists who did a real shitty job with them…the biggest piece of hypocritical shit was Pat Boone! His positively shitty cover of Little Richard’s “Tuttie Fruite” reminds me of Steve Martin in “the Jerk”…check it out yourself when The Jerk is trying to snap his fingers and clap his hands to the black music!  The following are just some of the Soloists and Groups who made the 50’s what it actually was, and what it is remembered as today. It was music that made you want to slow dance, fast dance, drive fast, and just cruise with the guys or your chick:

SOLOISTS: Bo Diddly     Buddy Holly     Chuck Berry     Clyde McPhatter    Eartha Kitt

Fats Domino     Floyd Cramer     Ivory Joe Hunter     Jerry Lee Lewis     Joe Turner   Johhny Ace     Laverne Baker     Little Richard     Lloyd Price     Little Willie John   Nappy Brown Robin Luke     Roy Orbison     Ruth Brown     Sam Cooke    Screamin Jay Hawkins Shirley & Lee

Smiley Lewis     Thurston Harris   Willie Mae Thornton

BIRD GROUPS: Crows     Flamingos     Orioles     Penguins     Ravens     Robins     Swallows  

DOG GROUPS: Spaniels

CAR GROUPS: Cadillacs     Eldorados     Impalas

JEWELRY GROUPS: Charms     Jewels     Diamonds

SPICE GROUPS: Nutmegs   

FLOWER GROUPS: Clovers

GENERAL GROUPS:  Channels     Cheers     Chords     Cleftones     Coasters     Crests     Crickets  Danny & The Juniors     Del Vikings     Dells     Dominos     Drifters     Dubs    

Five Keys     Five Satins     Frankie Lyman & The Teenagers     Harptones     Heartbeats

Huey Piano Smith & The Clowns    Little Joe & The Thrillers     Magnificents   Midnighters     Moonglows     Olympics     Platters     Rays     Sheiks     Shirelles    Turbans 

Drive-Ins! How about the $5.00 Saturday Night Date for two couples at the Shrewsbury Drive-In? Add this up:

•5 gallons regular gas at the “Jenny” station$1.00

•2 packs of “Wrigleys” spearmint gum at “VD”$  .10

•2 packs of “Lucky Strikes” at “VD”$  .50

•1 pack of “protection” at “VD”$  .40

•3 GIQs of “Dugans” beer at “Chandler Market”$1.00

•8 Italian club sandwiches at “Turo’s”$1.00

•1 carload (any number) at “Shrewsbury Drive-In”$1.00…$5.00 TOTAL

After the girls were dropped off, the additional “Boys Meeting” after the Saturday night date cost:

•2 Italian meatball sandwiches at the “Boulevard”$  .50

•2 coffees$  .10…$0.60 TOTAL

Or

•4 barbeque hot dogs at “Coney Island”$  .60

•4 chocolate milks$  .60…$0.80 TOTAL

Or

•2 pepper cheeseburgers at “Hot Dog Annie’s”$  .50

•8 dogs (4 barbeque & 4 “loaded”)$1.00

•2 large cokes$  .50…$2.00 TOTAL

Fat Frankie M., outweighing everybody else by at least 100 pounds, used to love grabbing everybody in a headlock, except the Greek who would possibly unlock Frankie’s head from his body - the Greek was not known to be a fighter, but nobody messed with him…I think his noon time 5 o’clock shadow alone was enough to intimidate them! One day, this stupid habit of Frankie’s evidently pissed off Dicky D. who took off from the Square and on up through J’s yard yelling that he was gonna “get” Fat Frankie. None of us thought much about it at the time, but about 30 minutes later, we heard this yelling coming from up on top of J’s lawn, and here came Richard wearing a 14th (or maybe 15th) Century Helmet, maybe a steel breastplate (can’t remember), and swinging the biggest goddamn sword I had EVER seen. Well, he came down J’s steps, screaming something like, “I’m gonna cut your goddamn head off, Frankie”, and swinging that sword…well, even the Greek abandoned the Square THAT time…he was laughing, but he, like the rest of us, weren’t gonna f—k with Richard when he was really pissed.

There was a farm way up past Bobby L’s house, and someone on the farm had an old car which Kenny and I borrowed (without the owner’s permission) one night to practice what little driving skills we had (neither of us were licensed by the Gestapo at the time). Our route from the farm brought us by Bobby’s house, so we pulled into his driveway and honked the horn to see if Robert would care to join us in developing our driving skills. Bobby came out, barefoot, and when we told him that we had borrowed this car, Bobby put two an two together and told us that in no way was he gonna be part of this scheme. However, when we told him he could be the first driver, he unhesitatingly jumped in the driver’s seat. Well, in backing out onto the street, Bobby, not being well versed with standard shifting, stalled the car. Here it was, sticking out at a 45 degree angle, blocking any traffic which happened along, and the damn thing wouldn’t restart. Kenny, being the only passenger in the back, jumped out and began to push. Well, Bobby lived at the crest of a rather steep hill (more like a small Swiss mountain) and after only a few steps pushing, the car began to pick up speed and Kenny had to run like hell to get back in. Somehow, Kenny ended up on the running board, hangin on for dear life, while Bobby and I screamed down the hill toward Pleasant Street. Now, for some reason, Bobby had difficulty differentiating between the brake and the clutch, and as we careened hell bent down the slope, Bobby was pumping the hell out of the clutch, and not the brake. Well, I figured that there was no way in hell that we were going to make the corner at Pleasant, so I decided to jump, but we were going way too fast, and Kenny was yelling, and then, at the last moment, Bobby discovered the brake and clamped on it just as he did a hellacious spin around onto Pleasant Street throwing Kenny off into somebody’s yard and ending up on the sidewalk. Once Bobby got the car turned around, we headed for Tatnuck, not figuring that the sidewalk scene and Kenny landing in somebody’s front yard might have attracted some attention, which it had, and that attention resulted in a call to the cops, who were screaming down Pleasant Street just as we were approaching the top of the hill before the Square. Bobby again clamped on the brakes and leapt from the car, running behind the donut shop. I was out of the passenger side like a shot and running for the school. Meanwhile, it seems we had failed to alert Kenny, our back seat passenger, as to our intentions, and the car, and Kenny, kept rolling and went right down Pleasant Street….meanwhile, Bobby, in the excitement of the moment, had forgotten that he was shoeless, and the high speed evacuation across the macadam did a number on his feet….my memory fuzzes up at this point, so I do not remember what happened to end this Tatnuck Tragedy.

Allen had this 40’s something Ford Convertible wit a V-8 and, I think, twin chrome plated electric fuel pumps. He and Bobby D were up on the reservoir roads North of 122 (which went to Paxton) when the fuel pumps quit. Somehow, the Greek and I and Davy and maybe somebody else ended up going up there with one of those tall, thin gas cans which held maybe a half gallon of gas and had a long, flexible nozzle. When we arrived, one thing led to another, I guess, because the next thing you know, Davy is perched on the passenger side front fender with his legs in the engine compartment pouring gas very slowly into the carburetor. The Ford is buckin along at about 15 MPH or so, and someone suggested that, to get a more even flow than one could get holding the can in an unsteady hand, that the can might be propped up somehow at an angle on top of the engine and a more even flow could be established. This was soon  accomplished, and,  sure as shit, the journey resumed with a more steady gait. Now, I don’t know what was going on in Davy’s brain at that time, but he was just sitting there with nothing to do except watch the gas dribble into the carb, so I guess he figured he had time for a cigarette…a Lucky Strike was fired up, and Davy blew his ass right out of the engine compartment…fortunately, landed in the snow by the side of the road.

Anyway, all this BS is for the Greek, wherever the hell he ended up....this is the way I remember it, and this is the way I'm gonna play this final song, because the way I think (and I may be wrong) the Greek would have played it...no cryin in your beer, no playin with fancy smancy words, just plain lettin it all hang out...thanks for listenin to one man's rememberances about the guy who was "Mr. Tatnuck", the Golden Greek, Steve Economos (it’s not ee kon a MUSS – it’s ee kon a MOO…get it right, GODDAMN IT!).

If you have any stories to share, or can fill in the ones synopsized below under “A Little Help”, or correct the versions hereto before, please email to me at the address under my signature following, or snail mail to me at the address following my signature.

John Charles Aruzian

rajengineer@hotmail.com

5015 West Sahara

Las Vegas NV 89146

P.S. Either Zeke or me (depending on who can con the other into doing it) will put up a website entitled  www.tatnuck.org and will publish anything you send along.

A Little Help…If you have any details re any of the following, add them to this rambling narrative and we’ll publish a “collection” entitled” “Hey, Greek, Where The Hell Are You?” .

•The building of the “camp” at Cooks with a heat stove and electricity (tapped into by Tommy M. from Phil Thurston’s power line) with “waste” materials donated by the construction company building all those houses on the old farm at the corner of Mower and Olean. I believe the Greek was subsequently the first lessee. Sam and I got drunk there once, and got into a fight. Now, I was in no way in Sam’s fighting league, nor do I care to get the crap beat out of me, but liquor provides either false confidence, or stupidity, or both, so we went at it, stumbling around till somehow the stove did something that caused the place to get a bit charred. I think it was after that incendiary incident that the Greek moved in with Joe D. I was lucky that Sam was so drunk that he didn’t land one of his hams against my head. Later, we became a little friendlier and joked about it. The Greek, I think, was slightly PO’d.

•Bobby D. running a motorcycle from the Shell into the outside wall of the VD and Doc Daley, upon hearing the bang and watching his “for sale on Sunday’s only by Jerry D.” booze bottles fall off the shelves, saying something like, “What in the hell are THEY up to now?”

•The cop Bennet drawin his gun (did he fire a shot?) on the Owl (who, I heard, died after a career of flyin F-14’s off carriers) after falling on his ass when chasin Tony…Bobby D. had seen Bennet hoofin toward the Shell and threw some used oil right out in front of the goddamn cop (Note: I heard that later Bennet was shit canned for being a danger to the community at large, and ended up being a Rent-a-cop at Hialeah in Florida).

•The time Mike R. thought that Joycie (his then current “fiancé`”) was two timing him, so he hid in the trunk of Allen’s car while Allen and his Chick and Joycie and some guy double dated. What happened?

•Cat threw a stone in air, it came down on windshield of Jeep, driver gets out, runs up, and before anyone knew what was going on, grabs Cat by throat and begins to strangle….Greek grabs driver and pulls him off…

•The black Police Officer (Eril Holly) who was knocked off his motorcycle by a rope someone had strung up in the woods so their card game wouldn’t get raided.

•The fire bombing of cars from J’s hill.

•The tire bombing of cars from J’s hill.

•All night “mobile” card games movin from the Cataracts to Rich Street to ?

•Duck using his Father’s invaluable 78 RPM record collection (like Gene Krupa jamming with Lionel Hampton type stuff in NYC after playing separate gigs) for skeet shooting with a pellet (or BB) rifle;

•The Hash-mobile on the front porch of that house on Pleasant Street near Newton Square.

•The Hash-mobile with more parts inside than outside because every time Hash hit something and a fender, or bumper, or anything else fell, he’d stop, one of the guys would jump out, grab the fallen aperture, and throw it in the back.

•Joe D.’s Dad’s 54 Ford “leanin” up against a pole on Dawson Road with the Greek takin to the air out though the glass top?

•Wheel chair races at City Hospital with Bobby D., Joe D., Dillon, and the Greek.

•Governor Volpe’s “visit” to the Square with Mrs. J.

•The President’s limo screamin down Pleasant St through the Square and all the Tatnuck Troops did a 180 and turned their backs as he went by…contrarians forever, those guys!

•The Greek, sittin in the back of Lois T’s black Plymouth?, telling ghost stories, and at the height of this activity, the Greek stuck his hand outside through the back window and around and into Lois’s window, who memory serves, lost control and hit something?

•The cops grabbing TTs and pushing them into the passenger side back seat of their patrol car while someone was letting them out the driver’s side.

•Paul M’s rod parked on a police/fire call box down near the Temple on Pleasant Street.

END