The Gathering Storm

This Classic “We’re from Everett” repost was originally published on 6/15/2006. We’re reposting this now as a prerequisite to a guest article to be posted on Friday written by Arthur Ardolino. In that post Art will resurrect Everett's historic “DooWop” music era.

Not only does Art give you an in-depth knowledge of the many acappella bands from our Everett neighborhoods, but he also personally introduces you to the talented Everett singers that made it all happen. And just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, Art also has some original recordings of those Everett “DooWop” groups to share with you.

So when you wake up on Friday morning, Art will be right here waiting for you. In the meantime, allow me to re-introduce you to another classic “We’re from Everett” post entitled, “The Gathering Storm.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Growing up in Everett exposed us to every possible fad, style, and school of thought that permeated throughout every subsequent generation. Living through those changes gives us a clearer understanding of how we evolved into what we are today. Reminiscing about the good old days in Everett allows us to look back on those changes to observe what it was we were going through, why we were going through it, and where it would eventually take us.

My observation begins during my preschool years, when all four of us kids (my brothers, sister, and I) were much too young to stay home unsupervised when my parents got to enjoy a rare night out without being saddled with four unruly kids. Let's say it's 1956. Betty Day was our baby sitter. She is somewhat of a distant cousin, but I really don't remember how all the pieces fall into place.

Betty lived in one of Henry Gray's apartments down on Ferry Street. We could plainly see Betty's kitchen window from our back porch on Arlington Street. Even though I have not seen Betty since I was about 12 years old, I have her image embedded in my mind's eye. The image I'm seeing now is the one I mentally photographed when I was about four years old.

Let me tell you what she looked like. She had blond hair that was cropped in a cute curly flip type of style. I've never seen her without lipstick, earrings, or bobby socks. For as far back as I can remember, I've never seen her in slacks. I'm sure she wore them. What I do recall is how neatly she always dressed. And because she had such a pretty face, I'm sure she was a knockout in her day.

It was always a good time when Betty came to baby sit. She would bring over her record collection and we would all dance to the music. This is back in the days when you could stack five or six records on the spindle and they would automatically drop down onto the turntable after the previous record played. You did have to put the 45-rpm adapter over the spindle when you played singles. When it came time to play albums, you had to flip that little switch that stuck out from under the turntable from 45 to 33 and a third.

So what did we dance to? Well, Betty's collection was in no way as boring as my mother's records. That's for sure. My mother was a country & western buff. All she ever listened to was things like, "Put Your Sweet Lips A Little Closer to the Phone," and "There's a Muddy Road Ahead - Detour." Betty played things like "Ain't That a Shame," by Fats Domino, "Rock Around The Clock," by Bill Haley, and Chuck Berry's "Maybellene." At least they had a beat you could dance to.

I distinctly remember a day when my best friend, Stanley, and I, were riding our tricycles along the sidewalk on Ferry Street when we saw a young gentleman who came to call on Betty. Although casually dressed by today's standards, he looked as if he was going to a sales meeting. His hair was neatly combed with that typical wave in the front. His pants were neatly pressed. His shirt was tucked neatly behind his thin alligator belt and buttoned all the way to the top. And his leather shoes were freshly shined.

We watched Betty's gentleman caller courteously open the passenger door to escort his date into his shiny new Chrysler Imperial with the fancy red interior and wrap around windshield. The whole scenario looked like something right out of the Dobbie Gillis Show. These were the styles, the fashions, and the accepted social norms for the 50’s, but they were not the only styles, fashions, or schools of thought in this era. In every generation, for every style, fashion, or philosophy, there is always an equal and opposite force to be reckoned with.

Not only was this the age of the whiffle hair cut, but it was also the time of the beatnik generation. The beat generation was represented by poets like Allen Ginsberg, who was the first to publish a poem using the "F" word. And writers like Jack Kerouac, who wrote "On The Road." This book focused on the alternative bohemian lifestyle of the social dropouts who thumbed their noses at conventional mediocrity to head out across the country for nothing more than to just enjoy being alive. The beatniks were the exact opposite of the lifestyle Betty and her gentleman caller lived. To the beatniks, they were the "squares."

We had beatniks in Everett. How do I know that? I saw them once when I went shopping with my mother down to Grants in Glendale Square. My mother was very suspicious of these characters. They were so totally different than anything she was accustomed to, that's for sure.

Two of them were setting on the curb of the walkway in front of Ligget's Rexall Drug Store. The other one was standing off the sidewalk facing them. They looked so much like Maynard G. Crebbs that I just had to get a look at these characters. I stood and listened to them while my mother dropped some envelopes into the mailbox in front of the drug store. They were saying things like, "Oh man," and, "that's too cool," and "dig it my little man."

Time never does stand still. Things change. When Betty's generation grew up to become the young adults, it was my older brother's generation that took over the teenage scene. It's funny how we always laugh at the next generation's lifestyle as if it were something silly in comparison to our own.

I remember one afternoon when Betty was sitting at the kitchen table having a cup of coffee with my mother while I was playing on the kitchen floor with my matchbox cars. She looked up and laughed when my big brother, Billy, came home from school. "Get a load of this one," she smirked. Everything about him was so totally different from her generation.

Instead of combing his hair back into a wave, he sported a greaser curl that dangled in front of his forehead. Instead of a collegian sweater with a red letter E, he wore a white tee shirt under a waist cut leather jacket with the collar always turned up. Instead of a class ring, he wore a large bolt filed down into the shape of a ring. And instead of a Timex watch, he wore a dog chain around his wrist.

Billy's friends were into street dragging. They raced from streetlight to streetlight along the Revere Beach parkway just to prove they had the hottest car on the block. Instead of treating their car's interior as if it were a living room, they tore out the back seat to get rid of the extra weight to gain more speed. Friday night was gang night and Saturday night was date night. When they went dancing the last thing they wanted was a live band. They wanted to party to a stack of 45's.

His music was Elvis, the Everly Brothers, Del Shannon, and the rockin hits played by the Wolfman Jack himself. My brother's generation was the one portrayed in the "American Graffiti" movie.

My brother did not leave home because he got married. He left home to join the army. A year after that, he would serve his tour of duty in Vietnam. When he did, it was my older sister's generation that took over the teenage scene. I saw in her generation a small mixture of Betty's times, with a bit of my brother's lifestyle thrown in for good measure.

They listened to "Venus," by Bobby Vinton, "Breaking Up Is Hard To Do," by Neal Sedaka, "Walk Like A Man," by the Four Seasons, and "It's My Party," by Leslie Gore. It was also a time when people were finally waking up to the gifted talents of the Motown Sound. People like the Supremes, James Brown, and Little Anthony and the Imperials, added a whole new dimension to Rock N Roll appreciation.

My sister's boyfriend wore a sharkskin suit and always carried an umbrella. He combed his hair in a greaser style, but was in no way a greaser. The two alternative lifestyles were Fuscoes and Collegians. The Fuscoes were the street-wise toughs that dressed like sharp looking pimps, and the Collegians were the more passive academic crowd that dressed casually conservative. I understand they had a few clashes in that pool hall on School Street across from the Parlin Library. These were the signs of the times for the Everett High School graduates from around 1964 to 1967.

In many ways, I viewed my sister's generation as the calm before the storm. What was the storm? The gathering storm was my generation - the hippies of the all out counter Cultural Revolution that would turn the whole world upside down.

I laugh when I think to myself about the day I came walking into the house to find my sister sitting at the kitchen table rocking her first-born child to sleep. It brings me back to the time our babysitter, Betty, Laughed at my brother's lifestyle.

When I stepped into the room, she looked up and said," What happened to you?"

"Something wrong?" I had to ask - right?

"When was the last time you got a haircut?"

"I dunno - maybe a year ago or so. Why?"

"You look like a girl."

"Only with my pants on," I laughed.

"Where's your shoes and socks?"

"They were behind the couch when I left this morning."

"Don't you ever tuck in your shirt tales?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You writing a book?"

"I might."

"Well, leave that page out, okay?"

Every one believes that it was their generation who changed the world. When in fact, every generation makes its influential mark on the wave of the future. Every generation strives to break free from the bonds and restrictions enforced upon it by the preceding generation.

It's the common law of social evolution. We are supposed to learn from our elders. The last thing we should do is repeat the same mistakes all over again. What we've yet to learn is how to identify the good traits from the bad traits so we'll know which ones to discard.

The problem lies in the innocence of our youth. In our eagerness to rebel against our parents, we sometimes wrongfully scrap the whole equation thinking we know better than they do. By the time we do know better, we've already handed the whole catastrophe off to the next generation. I suppose that's nature's way of giving the older generation some form of revenge.

The Rappers revolted against Generation X. Generation X revolted against the Hippies. The Hippies revolted against the Greasers. And the Greasers revolted against the Big Band Era.

Do a little research and you'll find that the offspring of the Mayflower generation revolted against their parents as well. For the record, it was the children of the Mayflower Generation who coined the term, "Good-bye."

"Good-bye" is a contraction for the term, "God be with you." "God be with you," is how the Pilgrims said "good-bye." To the Pilgrims, the word "good-bye" was a vulgar slang that they frowned upon. They even forbade their children to say it, but you know kids, they said it anyway.

Throughout our lives we've witnessed one generation after another break away from the accepted norms to stake its individual claim on changing the world we live in. It never dawns on us that the day will come when we will be the generation that the younguns try to break free from. And yet, the day does come - does it not?

It has occurred to me that the time has come to give one preceding generation their due. Today, I cordially invite you to take a walk with me through the time tunnel. Let's go back to what we once thought of as an age of innocence in good old Everett, Massachusetts. Let's go back to the 1950s.

Come on, now. Close your eyes, tap your feet together three times and repeat after me. "There's no place like Everett. There's no place like Everett. There's no place like Everett." Okay, now open your eyes.

What you are about to experience is not the observations of a teenager during the 1950's. They are the sights and sounds of the 1950's as seen and heard through the eyes and ears of a seven-year-old child. These sights and sounds will undoubtedly play an influential role in the shaping of that young mind.

Our story unfolds in the living room of our apartment on Arlington Street. My family gathered around the television on this summer evening sometime after dinner to enjoy a variety of entertainment.

The evening began with a solid half-hour of my drooling over Annette Funicello on the Mouseketeers. Then, we watched Guy and Raldna belt out a few show tunes on the Lawrence Welk Show. We listened to Mitch Miller's inanimate men's chorus bellow out "Oh, Them Golden Slippers" to the accompaniment of an eerie wailing harmonica. After that, we laughed at the severed head in the little box that says "sall right" on the Ed Sullivan Show.

Milton Burl had just introduced the enormous Kate Smith. She held out her arms like a gargantuan dinosaur and began belting out yet another off-key rendition of "God Bless America" with a voice that yelled instead of sang. "Boy, they don't sing like that any more," my father commented as my mother nodded in agreement. I didn't dare say it out loud, but to myself I thought, "Somebody should stick a sock in her mouth."

Just as Kate Smith yelled, "...stand beside her, and guide her..." the loud twang of an electric guitar filled the room. The sound was so rich and true; it could not possibly have come from the TV. We all looked at each other inquisitively. And then it happened again.

"What in Gawd's name is going on around here?" my mother asked.

That's when it exploded. You should have heard it. The smooth electric tremolo rhythm of strumming chords accompanying a rich electric lead filled the room. It was coming from the front hallway downstairs. We hopped up and ran out into the front hall to see what in the world was going on down there.

I stood mesmerized at the top of the front stairs. Down at the bottom of the stairs stood my brother Billy, with Jacky (who lived downstairs), and Arty, and Mikey, and George. It was all the teenagers from Arlington Street. And man, they were rockin. I've never seen or heard anything like this before in my life.

They looked so cool with their hair all slicked back and their collars turned up just like Elvis. Swinging their guitars like Chick Berry, they filled our house with the sound of the future. For the very first time in my life, I wanted to dance. They were so "tuff."

Well "Good Golly Miss Molly," they "Rocked Around the Clock," and "The Good Times Rolled." I couldn't stop my foot from tappin' or my leg from shakin'. They touched a nerve inside me that Jimmy Dean or Tennessee Ernie Ford just could not reach no matter how hard they tried. This was the wave of the future. I could feel it in my bones.

In the 1950's, music had come to life like no other era before in American history. It was for the kids, by the kids, and of the kids. No matter how much the old folks badmouthed it, or tried to ignore it, it charged full speed ahead like an oncoming train. Rock N Roll was here to stay - and they knew it.

From my perspective, life all around me changed rapidly after that night. With every new innovation came yet another bewildered response from the older generation. "What will they think of next?" Wrap around windshields and automatic record changers were just the tip of the iceberg.

The older generation rolled their eyes when Elvis shook his hips on national television. Their mouths dropped open when Chuck Berry skipped across the stage with his guitar hung low. And they gasped in shock when Little Richard hammered out "Good Golly Miss Molly" on the piano.

You should have heard the way the older generation came down on these kids. Senator Joe McCarthy was convinced that the communists had infiltrated America's youth. The self-exalted religious leaders of the day warned that Satan himself had invoked the concept of Rock N Roll music to drive the whole human race closer towards the gates of hell fire. And every mother told every daughter how disrespectful it was for a girl to call a boy on the telephone.

My brother's crew cut grew into a DA with a curl that bounced in front of his forehead. That plain looking short sleeve shirt transformed into a white Tee shirt covered with a waist cut black leather jacket. Instead of playing stickball out in the middle of the street, he now hung around on the corner whistling at the girls.

Every step along the way, the older generation tried in vain to tighten its grip. What the older generation couldn't see was the forest because of all the trees. It was more than just music that led these crazy teenagers astray. What the older generation didn't understand was that good old fashion American Enterprise had targeted a whole new yet untapped market. Let's face it; nobody gets in the way of progress when it makes a profit for big business - right?

This trend setting Rock N Roll craze took over the airwaves, right along with the advent of the transistor radio. All the old cronies began to disappear from the hit parade in the same dispirited fashion that Jimmy Durante walked off into the darkness from under the spotlights at the end of each show. It wasn't long before The American Bandstand blew the roof off the top of the Lawrence Welk Show. For the first time in America, without the consent and in spite of their elders - music belonged to the youth.

The way they carried on was positively shameful - believe you me. Girls rode around in cars with boys after dark - without a chaperone! They danced openly in public to the tunes on the jukebox at Mellon’s in Everett Square. They cruised the carhops in their pin stripped street rods and drag raced from streetlight to streetlight along the Revere Beach Parkway in the middle of the night. They even parked beneath the pale moonlight and held each other passionately while listening to that satanic communist noise they called Rock N Roll. And I hear talk there was even a little hanky panky involving alcohol going on as well.

Just by listening to some of that music you knew the world would never be the same again. Lyrics like "How much is that doggie in the window?" were now replaced with "Ramma lama ding-dong." "Don't sit under the apple tree," had vanished in favor of "Don't step on my blue suede shoes." And titles like "The Beer Barrel Polka" were washed away with the likes of "Who Wears Short Shorts?"

Listen to their music sometime. You'll discover things you were never aware of. They were the first in so many ways. If you're a guitarist who loves hum bucking rock licks, trust me, Link Wray and Chuck Berry laid them down long before the Rolling Stones or Aerosmith ever played an instrument. I kid you not.

The rebellious youths of the Fifties began breaking down barriers and opening doors that had been shut tight for centuries. There was still a very long road to travel ahead, but they were the first to rebel against segregation. They were the first to turn their backs on the nonsensical rhetoric of puritan values and openly proclaim, "It's time to change." And they were the first generation to tote gun and canteen into the rice patties of Vietnam.

The teenagers of the Fifties were the first generation Baby Boomers. Make no mistake about it - they faced insurmountable odds to pave the way for every Rock N Roll generation that followed. They were the first generation to hear their parents yell, "Turn that God forsaken racket down!" As a result, they were the first to the throw the rock through the establishment's window.

As a hippie from the sixties, I've come to realize that the reason my generation succeeded in changing the world in so many ways was because the teenagers of the Fifties had planted the seeds of revolution before us. They opened the window of opportunity - and we jumped through it.

If you're one of those who glances back at the Fifties with an air of indifference thinking they were bland and unexciting, then verily I say unto you, "You will never clearly see the future until you remove that splinter from your field of vision." The Fifties rocked - and because of that - the rest of us rolled.

The teenagers from the Fifties grabbed a hold of America - and turned it around. We watched it happen - right here in Everett.

~~~ Original Comments ~~~

At Thursday, June 15, 2006 , Anonymous said...
Paul, call me old-fashioned, but I don't know why Progress, Stereo, and the Digital Age had to signal the end of those handy transistor radios. I miss those little buggers! You've done a great job of covering a lot of ground--the first label of the 50's generation that I recall is "beatnik."

~~~~~~~~~~~~
At Thursday, June 15, 2006, Anonymous said...
Well, my young friend, you did it again. I am glad to say that I was right in the middle of all that and loving it was such a great time in my life. Of course I have gone on to other great times in my life, but the fifties were special. Thanks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~