We Were on a Road to Nowhere, but All Elvis Kept Saying Was, "It's Still a Fuckin' Caddy!"

Previously, Part 15: It's a Mixed Up, Muddled Up, Shook Up World...

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It was 1978, and even back then, I didn’t consider myself homophobic. But when push came to shove, I didn’t want the job selling European suits at Filene's. Measuring that inseam made me a bit uncomfortable…  

Maybe I was a little insecure and hung up on being macho, or just afraid of being misunderstood. Still, for whatever reason, when they told me I was hired and I’d be receiving the same commission Larry got, which was a lot of fuckin' money, I declined.  

The next day, I gave two weeks' notice, and upper management was so upset that they decided not to give me the satisfaction of resigning. They told me to leave the store at once. I was fired!

I was fucking pissed, and I got a bit animated. That's when the head of security arrived to escort me out and ensure I left without incident, putting a whole new meaning to “it didn’t end well.” After I was safely out of the store and no one could hear him but me, he said, "Good Luck."  

I immediately called Pokey and went to work for him. It felt right wearing dungarees and work boots again and working outdoors in the fresh air, not in the stale air of an aging department store. I was back in my element.

Pokey hired a lot of his friends during the summer, and a majority were kids I graduated high school with.

Elvis moved to Sharon from Jamaica Plain in first grade and we'd been friends ever since. His birthday was on June 13th, a day before mine, and I used to give him a lot of shit about not being the brightest bulb, "What a difference a day makes, huh Ellie?"

Most days, he and I left the job site for lunch and headed up town in one of our cars to save on gas. We were both usually broke by mid-week. Elvis had a '59 Cadillac Coup De Ville, the one with the long tailfins. His was silver, heavily faded, a little rusty, and well past its prime, but as Ellie constantly said, "It's still a fuckin' Caddy!"

We left the job site and were headed up town for lunch when I asked Ellie to drop me off at my apartment. I had no cash until payday, which was a day away, but I had a can of tuna, some white bread, and enough mayo to make a sandwich. Ellie said he had a buck in his pocket, and he was gonna get a frappe at Bendinelli's Variety. Mr. B made the best frappes, and if all you had was a dollar, you couldn't spend it more wisely.

When I got in my apartment, I immediately opened the jar of Hellman's and took a whiff to be sure it was still good. It smelled okay, so I checked the bread for mold, and it was okay, too.

Once I mixed the tuna and mayo, I was able to make two sandwiches without having to use the heel, which wasn't off the table if it came to that. I was hungry. Landscape work will give you an appetite. I inhaled the first one, and as I was about to take my first bite of the second when I thought about Ellie…

When I heard the horn beep I ran out and jumped in the Caddy. I looked at Ellie and said, "I got something for ya…"

He cracked a big smile, and then I handed him a tuna sandwich wrapped in an old school baggie, the kind where the top folded to create the seal. Ziplocs weren't a thing yet,

Ellie was ecstatic, and he devoured that sandwich while we drove back to the job site. It's the kinda shit you do for your childhood buddies.

Ellie had an idea. He wanted us to quit working for Pokey and start painting houses so we could make more money. His father was a house painter and my grandfather on my mother's side was, too. It seemed like a great idea, but after painting a couple of houses, Ellie thought he was a better painter when he was stoned. He wasn't. And we got into it. He quit, walked off a huge two-story house and barn we were painting, and I had to finish it myself. It took me most of the summer.

My girlfriend was home for the summer, and we spent a lot of time together, but soon, she'd be heading back to Boston to finish her second year at Fisher and earn her Associate's Degree. A lot of my friends were headed back to school, too, forcing me to reflect on my life and the road I was on that was leading to nowhere. I decided to apply to Northeastern University and get back on track to become a physical education teacher and coach.

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After receiving the good news that I was accepted, I headed into Boston to look for a cheap place to live that was close to my girlfriend's dorm on Beacon Street by the Public Gardens (pronounced gah-dins).

I spent an entire day running around Boston and going into real estate offices, but all the cheap places had been scoffed up already. I was exhausted and sitting on the stairs of a building two doors down from the backside of Al Capone's Pizza on Beacon St., a half block from Kenmore Square and Fenway Park. 

Someone was exiting the building and couldn't get by so I had to move. When I did, I saw that the glass panel on the door said "Norge Realty," so I walked in and approached the woman sitting at the front desk.

I told her I was looking for a cheap studio apartment in the area of Kenmore Square and Northeastern. She said, "You're in luck! One just became available, and it's in this building just upstairs."

The realtor grabbed the keys off one of the hooks, and I followed her upstairs. I had a good feeling about this place…

And we're not little children
And we know what we want
And the future is certain
Give us time to work it out 

We're on a road to nowhere…

*All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental…