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'60s Song
by Tom Dwyer
Copyright 2010 Tom Dwyer,
All rights reserved.
Published for the Internet by eBookIt.com
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-0029-7
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
In the ‘60s the Beatles were the gods of white radio. The Temptations, Aretha Franklin and Marvin Gaye carried the voice of the blacks - - sometimes the music mixed.
CHAPTER ONE
The hot morning sun was already moving through the housing project on the banks of the Schuylkill River in Philadelphia. It created a haze that blanketed the city with a sweltering heat that seemed to have the whole world moving in slow motion. Frankie Johnson, a skinny, black teenager with a slight limp in his right leg, knocked on the front door of his best friend’s house. They had been friends ever since their families moved into the housing project on the same day ten years back. Frankie knocked again and heard footsteps in the house. The door opened, and George Bannon, a muscular Irish kid with wavy black hair and deep dark eyes saw Frankie standing on the steps.
"We going swimming today or what, white boy?” Frankie asked. George looked through the beat-up screen door that was hanging off one of its hinges, and then waved him in. Frankie entered the small two-story house where George lived with his mother and a younger sister. The family was on the waiting list with the housing authority to move to a bigger house up on the hill but it could be years before a vacancy might open up. The small dirty kitchen had dishes in the sink and bags of trash waiting to be put out. George opened the refrigerator and helped himself to a soda for breakfast.
"Yeah, we're going swimming. Hold your horses there, Tonto. Hey, I heard one of the McCanns got shot up in Vietnam.” George said as he yawned, trying to wake up.
"I didn't know any of the McCanns were over there."
"I heard it from one my cousins. She used to date the guy. He's in a hospital overseas somewhere."
Frankie sat at the small kitchen table. He placed his weakened leg on the chair next to him, and then helped himself to a stale sugar donut that had been sitting on the table for days. George shook his head in amazement.
"Don't they feed you at home?"
Frankie continued to eat the donut and gave George the finger.
George sat down next to Frankie and grabbed a piece of the donut that had almost made it to Frankie’s mouth.
"Man, I really don’t want to go over there. I don’t know what I’ll do if I get a draft notice.”
"You got that right, George. Besides, the way things are going around this project, we'll probably get killed right here, even before we get a chance to get sent over there," Frankie said, finishing the donut.
"You know, sometimes you ain't that dumb for a Negro, you know that?"
"Black person. We're called black people now. Get hip, cracker."
George pulled a worn tee-shirt on over his head, grabbed his pocket knife off the kitchen counter and stuffed it in his back pocket.
"Does that mean I got to call Aunt Jemima a black person now?”
Frankie shoved him out the door closing it behind him.
"It's just a matter of time, white boy, and you'll be working for me."
They cut across two vacant lots littered with old cars, broken bottles, and burnt tires. They came to an entrance to Fairmount Park on the edge of the housing project. It was still early in the morning and the park seemed deserted. They walked under tall poplar trees along a dirt path until they came to a steep incline that led down to the Schuylkill River.
"You know, George, being black in this country is no joke.”
George kicked a large stone toward the river watching it sail through the morning light.
"Let me tell you something, Frankie, I'm just as oppressed in this country as you are. Don’t matter what color you are. Being poor in this country, now that’s screwed up.”
They continued down the incline until they reached the river where they felt a cool wind blow over them.
"I'm going in," George said. He removed his tee-shirt and sneakers then jumped into the cool river water. Frankie watched George disappear under the surface. He removed his shirt and sneakers and disappeared under the water as well. The two figures converged on each other under the water and began wrestling. The first to break to the surface was George. He gasped for air, and then swam back to where his clothing was on the river bank. Frankie broke the surface a moment later, and followed George to shore. They laid on their backs letting the morning sun flow over them. Only the sound of cars horns from the expressway on the other side of the river broke the silence.
"Hay, Frank, let's dive into the cave."
"No, man. We almost didn't get out the last time we went in there!"
"Come on, you chicken-shit, nothing’s gonna happen."
They walked along the edge of the river carrying their shirts and shoes. To their left rose a 50-foot wall of black bluffs formed from coal and granite that ran parallel to the river like a fortress. They stopped at a series of three large boulders shooting out of the water under the Strawberry Mansion Bridge. The boulders hugged the bank as they rose out of the ten feet or more, majestic and mysterious. Frankie and George hid their clothing under a shiny black rock at the base of the bluff, and then dove down between the two largest boulders. They swam down along the edge of one of the boulders, their hands touching the rock as a guide, their lungs burning for air as they made their way deeper into the cool water. When they hit the river’s bottom, George motioned for Frankie to follow him. George swam through a small opening between the base of the two boulders which led up into the cave buried deep in the base of the bluffs. He burst into one of the cave’s many rooms, his lungs praying for air. Frankie came crashing through the surface of the water right behind him.
"Christ, I got to stop smoking!" George yelled.
The two climbed out of the water onto a stone ledge. The cave’s ceiling was low and was covered with stalactites, huge crystal icicles which filled the area with a strange natural light. George had discovered the underwater cave two summers back when his fishing line got stuck and he dove down to disentangle it. It was then that he discovered the small entrance between the base of the boulders leading upward to the cave. Since that day, Frankie and he had returned to the cave a few times, but had never told anyone about the place. It was their secret.
They walked along a narrow ledge that led deeper into the cave. George stopped in front of a familiar crevice and reached in pulling out a small water-proof bag he had brought down with
