Road House 1969

  ROAD HOUSE 1969

It was Saturday night, and they were on their way to the Roadhouse.  Red was driving, Art rode ‘shotgun,’ and Lil’ Bob and Jimmy sat in the back. Clarence, an older friend of Red’s from the notoriously reputed 25th Avenue, aka ‘2-5,’ insisted that Red take his Chrysler Coupe for a night out on the town.  He didn’t need the car, he was working the midnight shift at the Steel Mill.  In the morning, Red had to be on his way back to school.  Summer vacation was up. Clarence was proud of Red, like everyone who knew he was the only one from their neighborhood attending college.  He surprised everyone when he dared to leave. After graduating high school, turning eighteen meant most young men in their town went straight to a guaranteed job in the steel mill, or other blue collar work until retirement.  Though he had become friends in college with classmates from other parts of their town, when home during vacation breaks, Red always hung out with the ‘street’ friends he grew up with.

Art and Red lived on the same street, one block apart.  They were friends since third grade.  Art was serious, able, and a great listener who did not smile much.  He was tough.  In 1969, with an older brother being gay, he had to be.  Red was easy going and observant, and got along with everyone, even while being a rough and competitive sandlot athlete.  He was the kind of guy his friends gave the ‘benefit of the doubt,’ in critical situations.  No one ever saw him making trouble or being disrespectful to anyone.  But he was not a pushover.  He was the only child of a widowed mother who worked as a maid in the city hospital.  They did not have much.  But she managed to spoil him with just enough love to give him confidence, and a sense of independence.

Red and Art became friends with Lil’ Bob and Jimmy when in high school, they all migrated to Whitey’s Pool Room on 25th avenue, the central meeting place for the ‘street smart’ men in the area.  The Avenue’s central four blocks of commerce was lined with a barbershop, two restaurants, a record shop, Drug store, Liquor store, a Tavern, an Ice Cream Stand, Shoe shine shop, Dry Cleaners, and a Skating rink around the corner. Jimmy was a slim, ‘cool customer’ who dressed well and was soft spoken.  Once, after having had a fight with a guy, Jimmy showed up the next morning at the guy’s front door with a butcher knife.  Lil’ Bob was short, had the full bearded face of an old man, and dressed plainly.  He had a country air about him and showed little humor.  He appeared nonchalant, yet was ready for anything.  He was never seen with, or talked about girls, and was never known to have had one.  None of them had ever been in the serious, hand holding, courting girlfriend stage, yet.  They were ‘bip, bam, thank you Ma’am,’ kind of guys.  The unsentimental reality of the streets was hardening them.  Approaching manhood, they liked being known to be from, ‘2-5,’ and being privy to all the wisdom, and illegal activity the avenue had to offer.

The Roadhouse was a gambling den in the rural outskirts of their town.  A few years before, the town had elected a new Mayor, who believed a city could exist and thrive without graft and corruption.  The Mayor shut down all the backroom gambling in poolrooms and shady business establishments throughout the city.  The Roadhouse was outside the city limits and within County lines.  It was under the jurisdiction of the County Sheriff.  On most nights, especially weekends, this local gambling Mecca had an alluring, carnival like atmosphere.  Older men and women, and a few younger ones welcomed the exciting, colorful way of life that offered unsanctioned fun and a sense of adventure.  Most folks were well dressed, as looking good was part of their lifestyle.  While some gamblers wore overalls and such, after having just gotten off work. 

The Roadhouse was a one story, warehouse like structure with a rustic wooden bar serving hard liquor, beer, and sweet wine.  There were areas for whatever game was being played, throwing dice, playing cards, playing pin ball money machines, dominoes, three card monty, shooting pool, or any game of chance the owner, Sherman, could think of where money could be won, or lost.  His cut was guaranteed. 

Red liked standing near a card table whose dealer was a tall, beautiful, light browned skinned woman named, Mona.  She looked middle aged and processed a simple, unadorned elegance.  She had a pleasant, matter of fact charm that was alluring to him.  Red saw her as the kind of woman he would one day like to have.  But he never tried playing at her card table, or even spoke a word to her.  He figured she would see him as being too young, as she was reputed to be Sherman’s woman.  Still, Red simply liked looking at her.

 He, Art, Lil’ Bob and Jimmy would drift apart, going from gambling area to gambling area.  Occasionally, one of them would throw dice or take a chance at three card monty, or try their hand at a game of pool.  For the most part, they just moved around watching, soaking up the festive atmosphere.  The seasoned adults were the real Road House gamblers.

Watching a dice game, Red noticed, walking around casually in a kind of self possessed way, Pat White, a pretty, clean cut, ‘saditty’ looking girl he knew with from high school.  She lived in the better, more upscale part of town.  He had never seen her out in the town’s night life before, and especially not at the Road House.  He was surprised.  Passing, he and Pat casually spoke with their eyes and kept moving.

Later, needing some fresh air, Red found himself outside in front of the Roadhouse, standing away from a group of men who were drinking, talking, and smoking cigarettes.  Red was about to move off when one of the men recognized him through drinking’s blurry eyes.

             “Hey Red, that you!?” Asked a near teetering Skeezy, an older Whitey’s poolroom veteran.  Red answered, accommodatingly.

             “Hey, Skeezy, what’s happening?” 

             “You what’s happening, I hear! You still up in that schoolhouse, ain’t you?”

             “Yeah, I’m supposed to go back tomorrow.” 

              “Yeah, well don’t fuck around!” Skeezy paternally admonished. “Don’t fuck around!”

Amused, Red said, “Yeah, I got you, man. I got you…” and sauntered off. 

Alone, Red stood looking up at the night sky.  There were not many stars visible.  He had heard that because of the polluted air and smoke from the steel mills and other manufacturing factories in their town, it was not only bad for their health, it also obscured the view of the stars, even that high up in the night sky.  The city was on a flat landscape.  There were no scenic hills and valleys to beautify the area.  The greatest view to Red was on the horizon, bordered all the way across by the tops of trees.  Red remembered as a small boy, gazing at the tops of those trees, wondering what was on the other side.  The question always stayed with him, giving him his first experience of imagining far away places, and the adventures that might be there for him when he became a man.

Red had been passionate about sports in high school, but was too small and unskilled to make the sports teams.  He grew 6 inches after he graduated, but by then he was adrift in the streets.  A couple of summers later, Red stopped by to see a close high school friend, Ervin, who grew up on the other side of town and was attending college.  Ervin won “best dressed” in their senior class and was a music prodigy.  He was on a music scholarship and was practicing on his drums when Red got there. 

              “Man you still dressing sharp!” Ervin said, admiringly.  “You keeping your shoes shinned…” Red grinned.  “I’m the sharpest one on my campus,” he added.  “They ain’t use to seeing Cats like us!”  Red was amused.  “You know,” Ervin continued, “you should be in college.  I remember how good you were in 10th grade English.  You used to read all the books and you did all the book reports.  College wouldn’t be too hard for you.”  Red hadn’t even thought about college.  He remembered walking across the stage during their High School graduation ceremony and not feeling a thing, not even when a diploma was placed in his hand.  “You know,” Ervin continued, "Coach Dennis is getting his Masters degree at State University, he brought home some college applications to show students.  Let’s go over to his house and look at some?”  “Nawh, man,” Red begged off, chuckling, “I don’t need to do that.”  “Red!” Ervin continued, “You should be in college, it would be good for you!”  Red tried to change the subject, but Ervin wouldn’t let him.  “I know if I like it, you’d like like it.”  “Nawh, man,” Red countered.  But no matter how many times he said, ’no’, Ervin gave him a reason why he should say, ‘yes.’  With an amused sigh, he finally said, “Alright, man. Let’s go look at the applications.”  Red went to Coach Dennis’s house because he knew Ervin meant well and was only trying to look out for him.  He also knew looking at a college application wouldn’t change his mind.

Red was thinking of his completed first year of college.  He still didn’t know if he was really cut out for it, and he wasn’t sure if he was going back.  He had done just enough to get by in his classes, and he instinctively knew what he was doing was not right.  He rationalized it by thinking that this college was not an inspiring environment like his high school was, socially or academically.  Attending a White school was a lot different from attending an all black high school.  He found college life to be more tame and regimented.  And he didn’t feel the warmth, school spirit, or sense of belonging that could motivate him.  But he did like learning.  In his hidden, vulnerable moments, he allowed himself to admit that the familiar routine of his hometown surroundings was making him feel aimless.  Red didn’t know how to really express it, but he always wanted to know what he knew he didn’t know.  As easy and comfortable as his hometown life was, he knew there had to be something else, something different, something more. 

In the streets he learned to be aware, how to use his intelligence, and control his feelings.  Could this square, white kids college help him with that, to expand his mind?  Could the knowledge he could possibly get help him to “cultivate,” what Ervin called, “his greater possibilities,” once he discovered what his greater possibilities were?  Red went along with this college business because Ervin convinced him that he had to get out of their hometown to “investigate his potential and cultivate it.”  To decide what he wanted to do, to make something of himself.  No one else had talked to him about college.  And it was the only college he sent an application to, and he got accepted!  And it did offer the possibilities of a larger world.  Yet, while there, he hadn’t even chosen a subject to Major in.  He still was living only in the moment, in the ‘right now.’  His thoughts froze.  He wanted a drink.  But he was not a drinker.     

Sitting at the bar, trying to ease his thoughts with a beer, Red heard a small commotion further up ahead in the vicinity of Mona’s card game.  He went to see Pat White sprawled out flat on the Roadhouse floor, unconscious.  Lil’ Bob was staring down angrily at her.  Jimmy stepped over to Red, saying quietly to him. 

           “Lil’ Bob whispered something in her ear, and she spit in his face.  He knocked her out, cold.”

Red looked to Lil’ Bob, who was still concentrated on a sprawled out Pat.  He looked to Mona, who continued dealing cards around her table with a cool, disgusted look on her face.  All the other patrons began moving away in a ‘minding their own business’ kind of fashion.  They knew these 25th avenue boys.  No one wanted to start anything they could not handle.  Sherman, stout, handsome, and middle aged, appeared.  He surveyed the situation and glanced at Mona, who met his eyes.  He then looked to Lil’ Bob, saying evenly,

             “Get her out of here."

Lil’ Bob didn’t move.  Art and Jimmy picked her up, grabbing opposite ends of her arms and legs, like medics in a movie, minus the stretcher, and carried her out.  A mean faced Lil’ Bob followed them.  On-lookers went back to doing what they were doing before the commotion.  Red followed his friends out.

Art and Jimmy were hurriedly carrying her across an adjoining field of high weeds, further away from the Road house.  Red caught up to them. 

            “Where are you going?  What are you gonna do with her?”  He asked.

They flopped the still unconscious Pat down onto the ground in the high weeds.

            “We’re gonna fuck her.”  Jimmy answered. He unzipped his pant’s fly, then looked back to the roadhouse.  Unsure if he could be seen or not, he thought better of it.  He zipped his fly back up. 

            “We can’t do it here,” Jimmy said.

            “Red!” Art ordered, “Go get the Car!”

Red set off for the parking lot across the street from the Roadhouse.  He jumped into the Chrysler, quickly started it, and pulled out onto the dirt road.  Ahead in the distance, he saw Art, with a still unconscious Pat slung over his shoulder like a large sack of flour.  He was moving purposely across the dark weeded field to meet Red in the approaching car.  Jimmy and ‘Lil Bob were close behind.  Red watched them as he was getting closer.  Pat’s limp body moved roughly against the rhythm of Art’s quick, hard steps.  All the eyes in the field looked set and determined.  Red’s eyes looked blank.  When they were about to converge at a meeting point, Red kept driving on past his friends.  Jimmy, Art and Lil’ Bob looked dumbfounded as the car moved further up the dirt road away from them.  Red’s eyes were no longer blank.  He did not look back.

                                                                                         Tommy R. Hicks

                                                                              buckdancered@aol.com

                                                                                         323-664-9466