| MY DREAM WAS TO BE A ROCK AND ROLL GROUP |
| Music Intro, C, Am, F, G7 I was crusing down fifth street, scoped out this babe so da gone sweet--I had to stop-stop to check her out--In a skirt so short to tight, she was simply dynamite--I had to stop-stop to check her out She was poetry in motion, She was out right pure devotion, She lit the flames to my emotion, I had to stop to check her out Music Interlude – C, Am, F, G7 With every step she displayed pride, My mind was racing with delight--I had to stop-stop to check her out--Had to get her in my ride, so I pulled up by her side--I had to stop-stop to check her out She was poetry in motion, She was out right pure devotion, She lit the flames to my emotion, I had to stop to check her out In the summer of 1958 sitting at the dining table my primo and closest friend Joey wrote our first song inspired by an experience as we road our bikes down Santé Fe drive on the west side of Denver. As we completed the last line, Joey playing his guitar and singing lead while I sang backup I thought this would be the big step into becoming a rock and roll singer, we were on our way to the big time, or so we imagined. Hay Larry I heard Joey calling in between the beep-beep of the horn on a bicycle. I ran out of the kitchen where I had just finished doing the breakfast dishes and around the house to the front yard and there he was as cool as ever. This time however he was holding up a Schwinn bicycle that had ever thing you could imagine on it. It was light blue with chrome rims and fenders with a headlight mounted on the fender and a streamlined tank with the built in horn, super cool handlebars and to top it off a luggage carrier. Before I could ask if I take it for a ride, Joey handed to me and said try it out. I quickly push it down the walk leading to the street and hopped on as we hit the street, which at that time were still gravel roads. Up and down the street I peddled feeling so cool as the kids from the Poplar Street neighborhood stopped to look at the bike. In a bit Joey called me back, he was now standing next to my mom and as I road up the walk I could only say to mom, this is so cool. Mom, however was quizzing her nephew when and where he had gotten the bike. Joey responded that the bike really was not his but belong to a friend from school and had been loaned to him. Mom of course knew better, figuring out he was lying and had probably borrowed it without the owner’s permission. Avoiding the need to answer which Joey was great at, he asked. Auntie can Larry go bike riding with me for a while before I take the bike back? Mom gave her okay and I went around the back to get my bike. There on the back porch was my vintage Hiawatha bicycle that dad had bought a number of years back and kept in the crawl space of the house until I was 11 or 12 before he allowed me to ride it. A very basic bike with these super wide handle bars which reminded me of a Texas longhorn because of their width. I could actually ride two individuals on the handle bars because they were so wide, the bike in general look a bit odd and did not compare in any manner with the Schwinn my primo was riding. Joey and I jumped on the bikes and headed for the nearest paved road which was 64th Avenue, few streets in Derby were paved with the exception of the major roads and none of these had sidewalks. Once on 64th Joey suggested we ride to the west side, meaning west Denver where he and my Aunt Flora lived. Joey’s dad, my Uncle Sam was killed in an industrial accident a couple years back so now it was just Joey and my aunt. I don’t think I can go to the west side I quickly informed Joey. Oh come on it’s not that far we will be back before you know it was his reply, I know a short cut. Down Vasquez we peddled until we got to 46th Avenue to York all the time now riding on sidewalks which was the first time I remembered riding a bike on sidewalks. I followed Joey on this what was by now becoming my greatest adventure yet still thinking of what would happen if my mom and dad would find out about this. In an hour or so we were now on Santa Fe Street, Joey zig zaging down the street and me right behind him, where were we now going? She was poetry in motion, She was out right pure devotion, She lit the flames to my emotion, I had to stop to check her out… Just as we crossed 8th Avenue and Santa Fe coming out of the Five and Ten Cent store that was located on the corner this girl stepped out of the store and headed down Santé Fe. The first thing that came out my primo’s mouth was a very loud, “Horle primo, check her out”. I froze, fearing she had heard his words, I couldn’t make a sound as we started to follow her after dismounting and now walking our bikes. Joey continued, ‘Man, she is hot, we have to check her out’. By now we were not more than fifteen or twenty feet behind her, I knew she had to heard what Joey was saying. Yes, the girl looks very good. She had to be in high school at least, probably West High. She was wearing a dark skirt and a white blouse, both very tight. I wanted to stop following her but instead continued pushing my bike and walking along side of Joey. I was terrified, the truth be known at this stage of my life as I approached my thirteenth birthday I was so shy and fearful of girls I did my best to avoid them. Not Joey, he was so cool around them he would see a girl and in a few minutes he was giving them his line, the fact was he had made a couple of stops on our ride to talk to girls along our route. Joey would talk, laugh and do his thing I just stood there in total silence. My hope now was that Joey would give up on this girl and we continue going to where ever we were going. Check her out, he again said in a loud tone while punching me on the arm and then it happened. The girl stopped and turned around took a couple of steps towards us, and in a mean tone simply said. Look you little punks, bug off before I slap the heck out of you both. Joey tried to talk but she cut him short as she continued speaking. You little punks better get back on your bike and go home to your mommies, then made a gesture with her hand and walked off not looking back. The next thing I remember Joey saying, Man, she just flipped us off, she is too cool. To demonstrate how ignorant, I was I ask Joey, what’s flipping off? Joey laughed and said she gave us the bird. I still didn’t know what he was talking about. We flipped our bikes around, jumped on them and headed in the opposite direction as Joey started singing the words, “gotta check her out she’s so hot” to the tune of Blue Moon, he would add other word and repeat “gotta check her out”. I joined in with some bop, sho bops, ooo we and in a bit we were at my aunt’s house on Klamath. Joey, was a natural musician and singer. He was maybe six or seven when he picked up a harmonica and in no time he was playing songs on it and singing when he wasn’t playing. His favorite was mostly Rockabilly and Hank Williams was his favorite singer. I remember we would go out on Halloween night for trick or treat, knock on a door and yell, trick or treat. When someone would ask for a trick, Joey would break out with Jambalaya and a crawfish pie, me oh my oh or Hay Good Looking, what cha got cooking, while I would add the boom boom boom of what I figured was bass. It would not be long before our brown paper bags would be loaded with treats. Once we stood outside of the Rocky Built Hamburger place trying to get change as Joey sang and played and I did backup on songs like, standing on the corner watching all the girls go by, Put another nickel in the nickel odium, Blue swade shoes and others. The owner of the place chased us off and we ended with less than ten cents for our efforts, but Joey was cool. Joey got ahold of a guitar and in no time he was play song after song all in the key of C, F or G, in those days that all you needed, his voice made up for what at that time was his short coming in the ability to play the guitar, but I thought he was good as Elvis. We walked into his house, the back door was unlocked and now the reality of my aunt seeing me with Joey was going to get me in a lot of trouble at home. Joey, I’m going to get in trouble when auntie sees me, I better get out of here. Oh, don’t worry mom’s in Pueblo and won’t be back until tonight or maybe even tomorrow. He then picked up his guitar and started with, “Check her out, she’s so hot’ in the key of C but it was not coming out right. I picked up a pencil and an Indian Chief table that was sitting on the table and started to write down some words, but I could not make them match the chords that Joey was playing, then suddenly Joey played a chord that was really different. Neither Joey or myself knew music, but Joey could play and the new chord made it easy to put word to the song he had been singing. The event an hour or so earlier with the girl on Sante Fe street gave us the story he wanted to sing about and I was able to put the word together in such a way as to make it sound like a song. In a while we were both singing our first song which we simply called Check Her Out. Music Intro, C, Am, F, G7 I was crusing down fifth street, scoped out this babe so da gone sweet I had to stop-stop to check her out In a skirt so short to tight, she was simply dynamite I had to stop-stop to check her out Slammed my car into reverse, the cat behind me started to curse But, I had to stop to check her out She was poetry in motion, She was out right pure devotion, She lit the flames to my emotion, I had to stop to check her out Music Interlude – C, Am, F, G7 With every step she displayed pride, My mind was racing with delight I had to stop-stop to check her out Had to get her in my ride, so I pulled up by her side I had to stop-stop to check her out She was poetry in motion, She was out right pure devotion, She lit the flames to my emotion, I had to stop to check her out Music Interlude – C, Am, F, G7 Called out to her, hey baby doll, She looked at me as I recall I had to stop-stop to check her out Then she told me to drop dead, my skin went flush my face turned red Well, I had to stop to check her out I had to satisfy my doubt, Would such a chick check me out, But I ended up striking out, (Made no difference that I struck out) Still I got to check her out, Yea I got to check her out But wait, this was not the end of this story. Time has slipped away from us during the excitement of the events of the day. First my unauthorized journey from Derby to the west side on our bikes. The encounter with what I can only recall as that of the Westy girl, Joey’s attempt to perhaps hit on her and then her not to pleasant reaction. The encounter that would result in two thirteen age boys, well let’s say two thirteen age boy, one thirteen going on eighteen and the other thirteen going on ten or maybe eleven, that resulted in our first song, Check Her Out. But now we had a real problem, I had to get back home before my dad got home from work. In our home there existed the expectation that a soon as dad got home from work, supper would be ready and the family would sit at the table to eat what mom had prepared. Any change from this routine would amount to dealing with dad perhaps going from an okay mood, to a bad mood or worse from a bad mood to him getting really upset. We jumped on our bike and began pedaling like crazy, first we rode up Colfax until we hit York street, passed East High School and headed down York to 46th Avenue, jumped on Vasquez to 64th Avenue and 65th and Poplar which was home. My bike was old and heavy and it took everything I had to keep up with Joey on his Schwinn but somehow I managed, probable motivated by the thought I did not want to face the wrath of my dad if I did anything to hold up his dinner. I don’t know how we did it by we got there before my dad got home from work. Mom, met us as we were walking our bikes up the walk and started to quiz us on our where about all day. Joey responded in his cool manner, Oh auntie we just road everywhere, we even thought of going all the way to Vegas, but that was too far. Mom look at me for the truth and I replied we went to Welby to ride on the hills, I lied. I knew that going to Welby was out of my boundaries but I would be in less trouble then say we went to the west side. Mom, got upset and then let us know she was going to pass this on to my dad, right after we had dinner. However, I was now starting to think about Saturday evening and having to go to confession, this incident would mean a lot more Hail Marys and Our Fathers and scowls from our Parish Priest who already had me tagged as a delinquent child. Dad came home a bit surprised to see his nephew there, who incidentally was going to start his trip back home but mom wouldn’t let him. I myself was glad of this because now both of us would share the wrath of my dad after we finished dinner. Dad main concern at first was if my aunt knew where Joey was and he was informed Dad’s sister was in Pueblo and was not due back till later that evening or may the next day. This I think annoyed dad more than his nephew running around all over the place on his own. Dinner came and went and as we were clearing up the table mom ratted us off and the lecture began from my dad, but to my surprise it was not as bad as I had imagined. I would end up having my bike locked up for a week or so and dad had Joey put his bike in the trunk of the car and he would take him home although having to drive to the west side on a work night annoyed dad somewhat. Joey and I never again road our bikes to the west side again. Joey and I never wrote another song together again. Our paths would continue to cross over and over again and at times when we were in our twenties, thirties and maybe later in our forties we would once again unite and play our tunes, but never Check Her Out. Shortly after that day in the early summer of 1958 my primo would begin his journey into a life time of going in and out of prison. Joey got busted for stealing the beautiful Schwinn bicycle that had ever thing you could imagine on it. The light blue bike with chrome rims and fenders a headlight mounted on the front fender and a streamlined tank with the built in horn, super cool handlebars and to top it off a luggage carrier. When we did get together not to my surprise my primo has mastered another instrument, a saxophone, the piano, his singing was amazing. Every once and a while we would go to the east side where another primo lived and during an overnight stay Joey and I would venture into the Black churches just to listen to the singing. Sitting in the back of these churches we would listen to the soulful sound of pure gospel music. Once the music stopped we would leave the service and head back to my Aunt Helens apartment, Joey singing the songs word for word of what we had just heard and me doing the backups of, Yea Load, of a hum of Sweet Jesus. Joey and I were born four months apart, he in March and myself in June. From my first memory of him which was at what I believe was his seventh or eighth birthday party he stood out as the prince of all the cousins on my dad’s side of the family. He lived in a big house in the west side, it always seems he had everything me and my primes desired or at least everything I desired. He was outgoing not the least bit shy, while I hid in the background not wishing to seen. He looked like my auntie but was dark skinned like my Uncle Sam and had this jet black wavy hair. In his teenage years he was a Paul Anka, a Chris Montez, a Richie Valens. A kid with all the musical talent you could imagine but a sad and hidden dark side. Joey showed up from time to time riding a bike at our home in Derby, the two time that most impacted me was when he came by with his guitar strapped over his shoulder and he taught me a few chords and a couple of rock and roll riffs. I would forever be hook on trying to learn how to play a guitar and several months later I bought a fifteen-dollar guitar in a pawn shop on Larimer Street. The second time he showed up would leave me in tears and a sorrow that yet lingers in my heart. I remember this day almost as if were just yesterday. Joey showed up at our house but instead of pulling up and calling out my name, he got off again the bike he was riding and walked into the house wanting to talk to my mom. His eyes were red from what I could see came from crying and he asked my mom, “Auntie is it true that I was adopted”. Mom, stood there in shock at his question and asked why he was asking that question. Joey simply replied that his mom, my auntie had told him earlier she had adopted him as a baby. I would find out later that what had happened to bring this to light was that another cousin had overheard his parents speak about the adoption of Joey and the cousin had passed this on to Joey. Joey than confronted my aunt with this information and at the age of fifteen she told her son that this was in fact true. Joey immediately came on his bike to our home to hear from my mom and dad if this was the truth. In tears mom shared the truth as she knew it with Joey as he broke down again and cried and cried and all I could do is join him in this outflow of tears. Joey and I were like brothers and what made this situation so close to me was in my eyes at that time, Joey was and had always been the older brother to myself and not just the four month difference our age, but the four or five-year difference in our degree of maturity. Joey, thirteen going on eighteen and myself thirteen going on eleven if that much. The world had now change for Joey and me and now for the first time in my life I saw he was just a kid like myself. At this time come another difficult in this another chapter of Just Larry where I depart from the left side of my brain to the right side, the side that seeks to grasp at the truth and what can be said by some the ugly side. In order to understand the events of my primo’s life and the circumstances to how this gifted singer and musician took the past of an individual who would have spent the greatest part of his life after turning eighteen in prison we need to understand his foundation as a child. In the hour that I pen this narrative I put together hours of conversations I absorbed listening to my parents, uncles and aunts and older cousins and merged their words with the thinking of the generations that proceeded that of Joey’s, and my own. In many regards it was very little different that of most of Americans born in the early years of the twentieth century. The talk in low whispers around the table when my parents and either my aunt and uncles especially my Uncle Paul and Aunt Bertha was Joey was Aunt Flora’s natural birth son. Many a young girl would get pregnant some in their early teen which in the deeply Catholic Imbedded Spanish home received this with great embarrassment. If the girl did not get married immediately after finding out she was with child she would be sent to live with the family member living the furthest from her home until the baby was born. The baby would then get raised by a family member, many times by the mother of the girl, her child would be raised as either her little brother or sister. The story in the case of my Primo was his mother and father married after his birth and it was told to all that they had adopted this child, a beautiful baby boy who just happen to look like the mother and had as his characteristic of his father which included his dark skin and wavy hair. It was whispered that Joey was raised by both his birth mother and father at least until his dad was killed in a tragic industrial accident. However, the story of his birth remained a well kept secret until another cousin shared the secret that Joey was adopted and then when Joey took the story to his mom she could not face the embarrassment that she had gotten pregnant and he was born out of wedlock so she chose to say the son she raised was adopted. The dynamics of this situation was that this was not unique to this one family. How many Spanish married couples lived with the guilt of their first child born either before they were married or perhaps with the guilt that their little brother or sister, cousin was their child. How many coupes lived with and attempted to hid the shame that their first born even when they would later wed. I ache for my Primo, aunt and myself for I also knew of the dark secret that existed in my own home. A young couple from two small compos, villages, in New Mexico would come to meet in of all places Portland, Oregon. He was an Army Air Corp corporal and the young lady was one of the many girls and women working in the shipyard on the west coast who would come to be known as Rosie the Riveter. The couple in this case would be my parents Jose and Rosa, she was a real Rosie the Riveter. What would become a life time commitment to both began with the girl getting pregnant, the couple getting married and having a beautiful baby girl. Sadly, she would bear the stigma of being pregnant when she went back to New Mexico to give birth to their child. If life cannot be cruel enough to this young mother by being stigmatize with her situation which alienated the family of her husband, she was also from a family whose foundation was within the Native American community. Both of these factors would create much pain for this girl as she was now seen by her Spanish American in-laws. However, the greatest pain she bears for the greater part of her life was her beautiful baby girl, her first born would die a year and a half later of leukemia leaving her heart broken mother believing this was her punishment for conceiving this child before being wed to the man who would spent their lives together until she passed away. I often wonder if this was not another factor that Joey and I were close. Yes, we were born a few months apart, our early years were spent six block apart on the west side of Denver. Our mothers lived with the stigma of living in a society where bearing a child before being wed was seen as extremely unacceptable. One mother lost her child as an infant the other lost her young husband to a tragic industrial accident and both perhaps feeling as if their tragic circumstances were a sort of punishment for what they saw as past sins. In an old shoe box filled with scraps of paper I would find a folded sheet of tablet paper with the printed words to a song written so many years ago. It was ever so easy to flash back to that day now so many years behind me and hear my Primo singing the words to the song. I would revive the song, change a few of the lyrics, keeping the tempo and rhythm exactly like the moment Joey would discover what I now know is an Am chord and bring back the moment of excitement we wrote our first song, while feeling the sorrow of what might have been the season, Check Her Out, never made the rock and roll charts and we, I never saw my dream of becoming a Rock and Roll singer a reality, was this my punishment for my past sins. I guess we will never know. |