Читать книгу '60s Song - Tom Dwyer - Страница 5

CHAPTER THREE

Joey Johnson was twenty-one years old when he finally got out of jail. He had been sent away to Camp Hill, an upstate prison, for three years for holding up a liquor store on Ridge Avenue. While in jail he met some members of the Black Panthers, a militant group determined to fight by any means necessary the white man’s oppression of the blacks. To Joey, the words and belief of this group opened his eyes and made him strong. He now had reason to live.

Frankie watched his older brother from his bedroom window walking up the long winding steps that led to their house in the project. Joey was no longer in jail, but to Frankie, he seemed to be in a prison of his own making, his body and mind, tight with anger, was ready for any danger.

One evening a few weeks back, Frankie had watched a few of the local white boys give Joey a hard time. The four street-tough teenagers had been drinking beer when they spotted Joey as he stepped off the number 61 bus. The leader of the group, a loudmouth jitterbug by the name of Wilson, made a derogatory remark about Joey's outfit, saying he looked like a pimp. Joey stopped sharply like a wolf sensing danger, then walked towards Wilson with the slow assurance of a man on a mission. He was a few feet from Wilson when he quietly said, "If you bother me, I'll kill you," then continued on his way. Nothing more happened that night between Wilson and Joey. It would take a little more time for the hate to explode.

Frankie steered clear of his brother as much as possible. There was talk that Joey was going to move to West Philly into a house with his Black Panther friends. It couldn't be too soon for Frankie.

The morning after the party at Eva's, Frankie went to his part-time job at the Shoprite supermarket on the outskirts of the project. Loading boxes and bagging groceries put money in Frankie’s pocket and opened his eyes to a place where both blacks and whites came together, if only to purchase some bread and milk. George was also up early and walked to Boathouse Row, a string of colorfully painted frat houses on the Schuylkill River where the rowing teams from the local collages stored their rowing gear. George’s job was to keep the boathouses clean, do minor repairs on the boats, and make sure the buoys were in the right place on the river for the races. He was learning the laws of sailing and the rules of the water-- something project kids usually didn’t do.

But, on both their minds that Saturday morning as they worked at their respected jobs, was the thought of meeting up with Eva later that evening.

Frankie and George stood outside the Alden Theatre on Midvale Avenue. A light rain was falling as they watched people file into the movie. They were about to give up and leave, knowing all along that Eva wasn't going to show when she turned the corner, braking abruptly in front of them. "Get in," she said. They both stood dead still marveling at the late model, baby blue Cadillac with white seats, then closed their mouths and hurriedly climbed in.

"We didn't think you were going to show Eva," Frankie said, still admiring the car.

"This is some car, Eva," George said.

"My father bought it for me. I think he was trying to bribe me to go to collage."

"Some bribe," George said.

Eva drove the car away from the theatre towards the East River Drive.

"We have a house in the country not far from here. It belonged to my mother before she met my father. It's always empty. I think it would be fun if the three of us go and hang out. What do you say?"

George studied Eva's face in the driver's mirror. He took a few drags from a cigarette and said, "Lead the way."

Frankie and George looked at each other once in awhile to see what the other was thinking. This was something totally different for both of them, this beautiful, wild girl who wanted to hang with them.

In less than fifteen minutes they had reached the city limits and were riding through rich, rolling hills and country roads that weaved beside flowing brooks. Even though it was only twenty-five miles from where they lived, neither George nor Frankie had been up this way before. It might as well be on the other side of the world as far as they were concerned.

Eva turned up a dark country road, and stopped in front of beautiful, old, rustic stone house, with a wide wrap-around porch and stately windows.

"Man!" Is all George could say as he jumped out of the car.

"What do you have to do to be rich in this country?" Frankie asked, walking towards the house.

"Well, it doesn't take a lot of brains, I can tell you that." Eva replied, fumbling with the key to the front door. She finally opened it and entered the house with Frankie and George following.

"Oh, man, there got to be a law against this kind of wealth.” George shouted, walking around the main living room.

"This is just too much, Eva. Why would you ever want to leave all of this?”

She opened a window then turned towards Frankie who had asked the question.

"There is something else out there for me that has nothing to do with my father’s money, or his constant demands."

"Let me tell you something, Eva, I wish I had some rich guy’s demands on me. In our neighborhood we never know what’s going to come down. Last week, some dumb-ass kid got high on glue. Got his hands on a gun and shot up his family because he thought they were telling dudes from outer space to take him away. Killed his grandmother, and wounded his kid brother. Now this gluehead, he needed some demands on him."

Eva sat down on a large, plush couch.

"Well, when you two come to San Francisco with me, you won't have to worry about your neighborhood. It’s all about love out there.”

George smiled. He wasn’t convinced that love was the answer to all his neighborhood’s problems. He walked over to where Eva was sitting and planted a warm kiss on her cheek. She took George and Frankie’s hands and said,

"Come on, I'll show you two the rest of the house."

She led them down a long hallway into a bedroom. When Eva switched on the light, posters of rock stars stares back at them from the walls. There were music records piled in every corner, and on the floor, the fanciest stereo they had ever seen.

"What's all this?" Frankie asked, walking around the room.

"It's my hide away. It's my place to get away and groove."

"So why go to San Francisco?" George said.

"Because that’s where everything good and pure is happening.”

Frankie walked around the large bedroom. There were two large windows overlooking a lush rolling field. A fireplace and a large four-poster bed filled one side of the room.

"Who’s this?" Frankie asked, picking up a photograph from an old oak dresser.

Eva took the photo from him, transfixed as she looked at the woman's face in the picture.

"It's my mother when she was in college. She was studying to be an actress at Bennington. Then she met my father."

George walked up behind the two of them and looked at the photo.

"She's beautiful, you look just like her."

"People say that. I believe her soul traveled to me when she died." George and Frankie shot glances at each other.

"Come-on, there is so much to see in this house. Let me show you the basement."

They followed her down an old wooden staircase to the basement, into a large room with stone walls and a huge hearth. A large mahogany bookshelf ran the entire wall. In the center of the room was the biggest pool table Frankie and George had ever seen and in the corner was a fully stocked bar.

"Help yourself. My father keeps the bar for his friends, but he never comes here since my mother died.”

George stepped behind the bar and found two beers in the refrigerator. He opened one then slid it down the bar towards Frankie. Frankie caught it just in time as it went by, then shook his head at George. George opened the other for himself, took a healthy swig, then asked Eva what she would like.

"Nothing. Come-on, follow me, I want to show you something."

Eva walked over to the large bookshelf and moved a row of dusty books to one side, then pushed a panel that was hidden behind them. A section of the bookshelf swung open like a door and led into a dark tunnel.

"What the hell is in there," George asked, sticking his head into the tunnel.

"It's part of the underground railroad from the Civil War. Slaves would come up from the south trying to get to a safe haven. The original owners of this house were Quakers. They would hide the slaves here for a while then move them further north.”

"Hear that, Frankie, your ancestors probably came through here? Unfortunately, they made a wrong turn at the projects."

"Very funny, George, very funny."

"Come-on, let's go in," Eva said, leading the way.

Eva crept through the tunnel with Frankie and George following her.

"Hundreds of runaway slaves came through this station. They would stay here for a few days, rest up, get some food, and then move on.”

George and Frankie listened intently to Eva. Neither one could take their eyes off of her. She seemed wise beyond her years. They walked further into a large, damp room. It had a dirt floor and stone walls with water dripping through cracks, and it had the stale smell of animals. In the center was a wooden table as old as the house itself. Small stalls built to hold animals lined the perimeter of the room.

"That's where the slaves slept," Eva said, pointing her finger towards one of the stalls. “There are underground passageways that run from this basement right down to the creek out back. They use to put the slaves on small boats and take them further north. But many of them just didn't make it."

"That's screwed up," George said, running his hand along the damp walls. He couldn't help but think about the cave he and Frankie had found under the river. Was all of this underground stuff somehow connected?

Frankie stood close to Eva.

"This is my history here. This is what happened to my people. And you know something, we're still running."

Eva took Frankie’s hand.

"I love coming down here and just walking around. It can be real scary down here at night. You can still almost smell the fear and hope that these people experienced as they moved north. It’s all around us.”

The three of them stood quiet.

"And you know something," Eva said, breaking the silence. "My father doesn't even know that this exists. He's always too busy to see what's right under his nose.”

George turned towards Eva.

"So how did you find out about this passageway?"

"I was reading one of the old books in our library about the houses in this area. It mentioned secret passageways that lead down to the river. One day about a year ago, I was in the den looking at a book when I accidentally pushed a panel and the whole bookshelf swung open. I've never told a single person about this place. You two are the first to know. And now it's our secret."

"You never told your father?" George drank the last of his beer waiting for an answer.

"No, why should I? He wouldn't care. He's in his own little world."

"What about this whole San Francisco thing? What does he think about that?" Frankie asked, picking up a rusted pair of leg irons.

"He thinks it’s just a phase I’m going through."

"What if daddy cuts off the old money, says that unless you go to college there won’t be anymore money coming your way?"

Eva walked up to George and grabbed him by the chin.

"You really hate people with money don't you, George?"

Her question caught him off guard. He stepped back looking for his answer.

"I hate them because I want some of the action. I don't want to end up being a white nigger, if you know what I mean."

Frankie dropped the leg irons he was holding and turned to George.

"You ain't smart enough to be a nigger, George," Frankie said.

“Don’t use that word, George. It’s ugly.”

George turned, and once again ran his hands along the wet, stone walls.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, really. It’s just Frankie and me playing, okay? Let’s get out of here,” George said.

"Wait,” Eva said, blocking George and Frankie. “You must both promise me you'll never tell anyone about this place. It's very important!" Eva looked back and forth at both of them. Frankie and George couldn’t help and think of their own secret place.

"And, you both need to kiss me to prove that your word is good."

She put her arms around Frankie and kissed him firmly on the lips while George stood and watched in amazement. Finally, Frankie pulled away slowly, looked over at George, then said to Eva, “You’re a real strange girl, Eva, a real strange girl.”

Eva then turned to George. She grabbed his face and kissed him passionately. When they finally parted, she said, “Secrets are very powerful things between friends.”

The three of them left the secret passageway and returned to the study, closing the bookshelf behind them.

Later that the evening, after running out of things to say, they sat in the dark in the large living room, listening to music. Eva got a joint from her pant’s pocket and showed George and Frankie how to smoke it. It was the “Summer of Love” and anything was possible. The world was theirs to taste and experience. A Procol Harum song, “Whiter Shade of Pale” filled the house. The melody floated around them like a rich circle of smoke, drawing them all closer together as they drifted off into the music.