Cutting My Musician’s Teeth, An Epilog.
Several readers of the previous post (bless them) wondered, in comments and in e-mails, what the story was on “Frank,†and what would motivate a guy to openly defy the kind of characters everyone in Jersey knows should not be trifled with. The readers also asked how Frank fared as a result of being pummeled by a half-dozen big, thick shot glasses, bottles and Christ knows what else.
As often happens, the questions caused me to focus again on the incident, and I realized that I must have been mistaken when I said that the incident with Frank and the Bent-Nosed Guys occurred on a Saturday night, when it had to have occurred on a Friday night. I say this because I remember having to return to the place to play the night after the incident, and we did not play Sundays at the Rhythm Lounge.
Anyway, here’s what happened.
On the way to Union City the following night, we wondered whether Frank would be tending bar and how he would look and act after having gotten such a beating. Recalling him bloodied and staggering around the previous night, just before the owner drove him to the hospital, I was certain that Frank would not be “on the stick,†either because he was physically unable to work, or because he had been fired for having provoked the shitstorm.
I was wrong.
When we walked into the joint the following night, there was Frank, behind the bar, with two black eyes and bandages covering the dozen or so stitches that were necessary to reassemble his face.
The leader said, “Jesus, Frank. We didn’t expect to see you here tonight. How are you?â€
I expected to hear the response of a man who had learned a valuable, albeit painful, lesson about “customer relations†and self-preservation.
I was wrong again.
Frank laughed out loud and said, “My head hurts a little, but I’m O.K.†He continued, “But I’ll be ready for those guinea bastards if they show up tonight!†And, with that, he reached around to his back pocket and pulled out a big-assed leather sap and smacked it against the bar.â€
Needless to say, I spent the rest of the night hoping that the Bent-Nosed Guys would not re-appear, and, thankfully for Frank, they did not, nor did they show up for the remainder of our booking in the Rhythm Lounge. I suppose they weren’t pleased with the service in the place.
Frank was one crazy, Irish son-of-a-bitch. I figure he must have been a native of Union City.
Those are some damned good stories. You don’t get that kind of thing down here in Texas. Must have been quite a sight, especially at such a young age.
All I ever got to see was people swimming across the river…
Comment by Evilwhiteguy — March 8, 2005 @ 6:46 pm
Thanks. I used to say, “Some day, I’ll write them all down.” Looks like I’m doing that bit by bit. 🙂
Comment by Jim - Parkway Rest Stop — March 8, 2005 @ 6:50 pm
Remember the movie Roadhouse? We played at a bar like that before, where people would throw shit at the band and fight like wild dogs. It was scarcey back then, but as I look back on it, it is now funny as hell. Take care and see you in April, Cat.
Comment by Catfish — March 8, 2005 @ 8:08 pm
I’ve been in the bar when similar things happened, but not at such a formative age. Maybe you could have Little Jim catch a piece of flying glass and have Rita minister to him. If you know what I mean. I know it’s real life, but it seems like such a platform for fiction.
Comment by Sluggo — March 8, 2005 @ 8:36 pm
“Little Jim” would have happily endured a glass cut and a bit of “attention” from Rita, but, in the end, I was just happy to have a chance to play.
P.S. The guys in the band were the ones I reunited with decades later in Colorado and later in Hawaii. You can imagine the stories, the laughs and the music!
Comment by Jim - Parkway Rest Stop — March 8, 2005 @ 8:45 pm
Jim, what’s a “big-assed leather sap”? Never thought I’d hear a Jersey-an use a phrase I didn’t know. Now if he’d pulled out a big-assed NJ tomato that would be a different story. And btw, what’s a Jersey-an called?
Comment by Shamrock — March 9, 2005 @ 8:59 pm
Shamrock – Another name for a “sap” is a blackjack.
Comment by Jim - Parkway Rest Stop — March 9, 2005 @ 9:02 pm
Some years ago, the brother of a friend of mine who was a cop in Jersey City took out his gun in a similar establishment in Union City and shot a gentleman who was fooling around with one of the go go dancers. She happened to be the cop’s mistress and obsession. Needless to say, he is no longer a cop but I do thinks he is out.
Comment by Joseph — March 10, 2005 @ 9:10 am
A gifted writer
Cousin (and blogchild) James is on a major roll over at Parkway Rest Stop. This guy can tell a story, folks, and he’s been knocking some especially good ones out lately. Check out his early days in the rock and…
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