The Saga of Deadwood Dick

Life comes ringing your doorbell when you least expect it. My father and I we’re watching the Red Sox in black and white on the front porch. We had reached a degree of affluence to afford a color TV so the old b/w one was repositioned on the porch. It was the spring of my Junior year in high school. Carl Yastrzemski was in his heyday. This languid Sunday afternoon of baseball was suddenly interrupted when a car pulled up in front of our house. Two women neither of whom I recognized got out of their car and hurried up the stairs and started ringing the bell. My father was unsettled. I was intrigued. It just happened that we were the only two at home that afternoon which gave the intrusion an air of mystery.

Come in come in he hollered still in his chair. Oh Hi Jerry, said the first woman. Jerry Hello said the other. My father not knowing what to expect from the unexpected said Oh hello Vivian. Vivian the obvious leader of the two started right in. Oh, Jerry it’s so good to see you. We were on our way to a meeting of the players and we thought of you!. We’re doing a comedy this fall called Deadwood Dick and it’s a riot. We need lots of handsome men to be in it and we thought of you, didn’t we Ginny. Ginny nodded on cue. Vivian bubbled with enthusiasm. She was about my fathers age, maybe a few years younger and very well appointed. She reeked of Avon and was decked out in something discounted from Jordan Marsh. Oh, you’d be great she went on. My father, finally calmed by this time, realizing no pending disaster had caused their visit said in a friendly voice ..er well I don’t know if that’s something I’d have time for. Nonsense Vivian interrupted. It’s only one night a week and the show’s not till this fall! Well I haven’t done any acting in a long time. His voice started to take on a sonorous quality. Oh you’re a natural! Vivian shot right back. Ginny was nodding her head. It’s a comedy? he asked in a deep and thoughtful manner. He was becoming Lionel Barrymore right before my eyes. You know I’ve often thought of doing something like this. He delivered the line purposefully. Great said Vivian. We’re gonna have a ball. Just come to the Carriage House on Thursday night for the audition. Then as quickly as they appeared they got up amid some fawning and a parting kiss, hurried out the door and drove off. My father silently trying to figure out had just happened. Curt Gowdy said and that ends the inning, no runs, one hit and two left on base.

I was very surprised to hear that my mother was all for the idea. The Quincy Community Players a well respected theatrical group produced two performances a year whose membership boasted doctors, lawyers, judges, the crème’ of the city’s society. You’re gonna be a Thespian she cracked. My father took the whole thing very seriously and it became the exclusive topic of his conversation. Not only did he get a part in the play, he was cast as the Sherriff with a half a dozen lines all variations of I’ll drink to that, or this calls for a drink, or it must be 5 o’clock somewhere. The play was a very broad comedy with little story line. The action all took place in a saloon in the old west where the women were all good natured hussies and the men were either old lecherous drunken fools, dastardly bad, or heroically valiant. The dialog was rife with double entendre and sexual innuendo. It was the stuff of local theater. There were to be three performances in the fall. As opening night drew near my father’s feet barely touched the ground. We took turns reading his cues to him to the point where we all knew his lines as well as he did. We couldn’t wait for opening night either. It was during these rehearsals that I was coaxed into auditioning for an upcoming play in the spring. Much to everyone’s disbelief I was cast in a leading role for the Spring Production. My father was very proud of me. Chip off the old block…Finally opening night arrived and everyone else but me got ready to go. I had a track meet the next day so I was elected to go with my father to the final performance and since I was practically a member I could go to the cast party afterwards. My mother wanted no part of the party life if she was to go as an appendage. She had pursuits of her own and hated to bask in someone else’s limelight.

The show played to great reviews and my father even managed a mention in the article. It was as they say in the trade a puff piece but the phone rang a dozen times from people who called to say they saw his name in the paper and wished him well. By the third performance he was a trouper. When the curtain was lowered after the final encore the cast scurried around gathering their belongings and hurried off to the party. My father was waiting for me back stage. He hadn’t bothered to change out of his costume. He still had on his Woolworth cowboy hat, and faux leather vest wit a big tin star. Com’on’ he snapped impatiently. We left through the fire door down the iron fire escape steps to the parking lot out back. He revved up the car and drove to the cast party at Vivian’s house.

End part one.

The party was in full swing by the time we arrived. We were met at the front door by Alyson, Vivian’s daughter. I’d seen her at a few of the rehearsals but she looked very different now. Up to this point she was just some skinny Jr. high kid curled up in a chair doing her homework while she waited for her mother. Tonight she wore make up and was in heels. My father nodded politely and jostled his way through a few people by the door towards the sound of a piano. Now I understood why he was in such a hurry. He wanted to show off his big Irish baritone. He knew the words to every old time song in any book and tonight he was going to show everyone where the real talent was. You’re here! Alyson grabbed my hand. I know everyone! she said tugging me into the parlor. Apparently we made a cute couple by the smiles and nods of approval we got from every introduction. Here I must make something clear. Alyson looked a lot older tonight and I looked young. I was thin with no facial hair and could pass for someone four or five years my junior. This particular Dorian Grey quality didn’t pay dividends for quite a few years later. The fellow at the piano stood up and said he’d finished. I saw the look on my father’s face. He hadn’t even started. Almost immediately after I heard the scratchy sound of the HiFi phonograph. It was the Doors and their tribal chanting of Light My Fire, Light My Fire…Suddenly a room full of middle aged people started gyrating like awkward and overweight teenagers. The clink of their glasses and the regular eruption of laughter coming was a signal the party was in full steam Everyone already charged from the smell of the greasepaint and roar of the crowd was toasting to one another. Still tugging me around Alyson led me into the kitchen. There was an impromptu bar set up on the counter. Deftly she grabbed two paper cups, gave a quick look to see if anyone was watching then filled them with dark red wine. Before I could say wait a second she quaffed half her cup and looked at me and giggled. I took a sip and repeated one of my father’s lines. The Rolling Stones came rumbling through from the other room. I kaint git noo sa tus fac tion. She pulled me into the parlor and started dancing in the center of the room We were the only two who were moving on time to the rhythm. I stared at her while we danced. Her blouse was tight and it showed her blossoming figure. She was wearing tight slacks. By now the wine was starting to take effect. The Supreme’s were cooing Baby love, my baby love. Alyson became Dianna and she started to sing along with the record. When the song ended there was a lull and again I found myself being tugged back into the kitchen This time there were half a dozen people refilling their glasses so we walked through the kitchen out the door into the cool fall night.

At the far end of the lawn was a bench under a giant pine tree. It was hardly visible from the back door and Alyson made a bee line for it. I sauntered over a little slower. When we sat down I could hear the crickets chirping their last desperate mating calls of the season. It was now or never for them before a long cold winter. Suddenly and to my startled reaction Alyson threw her arms around my neck and started to suck on my face. Her tongue was in my mouth and I had the strange sensation that she was attacking me the same way she would attack a hot fudge Sunday. I had made out with girls before and it wasn’t like this. Her tongue was wrestling mine. I could taste the wine on her breathe. She was working very hard but it was clear nothing was working. There was no familiar rush of pheromones. No hot blood. No hardening of the artery. I gently tried to untangle myself. She opened her eyes and gave me the what’s wrong look. I felt uncomfortable and a little embarrassed. Beneath the make up and underneath the clothes I saw the little girl she still was. I put my arm around her and sat up straight. I smiled with a look that said nothings wrong. We sat there for about a minute when she said lets go inside. We both stood up and the same time and she gave me a look of relief. I took it as a thank you.

We went inside and I found my father. He was still packin, his cap pistol. He looked at me and said ready? I couldn’t help thinking on the way home that he looked disappointed. You were great I said. Thanks. It was a nice night and he took his time driving. My mother was waiting up for us and he quickly assumed and air of nonchalance. In the following years his version of the play had his part grow with each retelling until he was practically the lead. When Elvis Costello had a hit called Alyson many years later I couldn’t help recounting my own version of the sage of Deadwood Dick.

What, no donuts?

It was in the early ’60s and we were still kids. My Father had recently purchased a long, black, sleek, ’59 Chevy Imapla. It wasn’t the Super Sport, it was a little more sedate, a four door six cylinder but it did have the famous red interior. He had always liked the look of a limousine. He also thought Henry Ford was right when he uttered the famous words you can have a car any color you want as long as you want black. Probably because he couldn’t really afford it, the car was his pride and joy.

It was the middle of the winter on this particular evening when my father announced that after supper we’d all go for a ride in the new car to Cumberland Farms to get a few gallons of milk. Just the four kids. My mother was left out of certain pleasures. We all screamed for joy because that meant after we got the milk we’d get to go to Dunkin Donuts and pick out the biggest creamiest grease laden donut left at that hour of the evening. So we all piled into the car and headed off in search of a big sugar rush. I was in the shotgun seat  while my two sisters got a window seat in the back. My brother who was the youngest had to sit between them and suffer their torments. It was very cold that night and the hot steamy breath of my sisters and brother all clamoring at the top of their lungs created a fog inside the car and clouded the windows. Before the heater even had a chance to clear the windshield we were at the milk store. For some reason my brother didn’t close the door behind him when he got out so all the fog inside the windows had turned to ice. Not thinking too much about it my father cleaned enough of the inside of the windshield to give himself a little forward visibility. The view out of the rear window was a blur of shadows and colors. It was less than two minutes before we rolled into the Dunkin Donut parking lot, my father turned the car to back into a spot right in front.

Maybe he expected he could gauge the proper distance through the blur. Just at the moment of great expectation we heard a low ominous crunching noise. It was like the croaking sound ice on a pond makes when you venture out too far. Instantly my Father recognized the sound and jerked the car into first gear and sped off away for the shop. Just as we were pulling out onto the street the thunderous reverberation of the entire front plate glass window of the store came crashing down in million pieces. In a voice I almost didn’t recognize he command us to sit still and keep quiet. He darted up the first side street we came to.  Then up the hill behind the medical center. Then he darted across the street behind the high school. Then he did a u-turn and headed back in the direction of home. When we came up to a light across from the Police Station I almost thought he was going to pull in. Instead he looked towards me and asked in a low and conspiritorial voice, You don’t think anyone got our plate number do you? I didn’t know what to say so I just made a little face. It was a very somber ride home. It certainly wasn’t one of my Father’s finest moments. I’ll never know what was on his mind or what kind of stress he was under. Kids rarely pay attention to their parents problems. In the years since I’m reminded of my own impetuous and irrational behavior. When we drove into the driveway my father stopped the car and just sat there. We were all silent not knowing what to do.  Then my brother in his wonderful talent for stating the obvious asked, Does this mean we won’t get any donuts?

More Irish Times Show Info

Denis will be starting a new series at Worcester’s Irish Times Pub beginning Jan 19, 2011. This is a new venue for him and we’re all very excited. He’ll be joined by Dave Martel on bass and Bob Belanger on drums. All of your favorite songs from his three albums, as well as some new tunes from the current project… and of course you can expect a hearty dose of Irish drinking songs! And for all of you earlybirds who need to get up at the crack of dawn, these shows start at 9:00 PM sharp, so you’ll be able to have a great time and still get home at a reasonable hour. So grab your shillelagh and get ready to party like it’s 1899!

See you at the Irish Times

Added some new shows at the Irish Times in Worcester — check the Upcoming Gigs list for dates and times.

He’s Addicted

As promised, another new song from Denis’ next album, in progress at Tremolo Lounge. Something here for every addict…
[audio:/addicted.mp3|titles=Addicted|artists=Denis Coughlin]

To hell in nicely-appointed native-woven wicker carry-all made in India

Everybody has a new book out about the future of America. Bill O’Reilly, Glenn Beck, Whoopi Goldberg to name a few. I must confess I haven’t read any of them in any detail but the general thrust of them is that we used to be a great country but somehow we’ve lost our way and if we don’t get back on track we’re doomed to become a third world nation. What utter nonsense! If anything the 21st century will be the American century.

Ok calm down I can hear the clamoring. What about China? What about India? What about the Islamist Jihaad? I say ok what about them? China is a huge poor country with a very rich western perimeter. All of the wealth is concentrated in a relatively small geographic strip along the coast. It’s no longer a communist country and the politicians are in the pocket of the new rich. It has no real military power beyond its borders and it has no real navy. It needs good relations with the U.S. to keep the sea lanes open so it can keep all of our Walmarts full of junk. If the U.S. falls the Chinese wil have already fallen.

The Islamic world is in revolution. No point in delving into the long and sordid past of Shia vs Sunni other than to say it is highly unlikely they will unite to cause us any real trouble. We may very well lose the war in Iraq and Afganistan. It’s hard to see how any likely result could be described as a victory since the idea of imposing Jeffersonian democracy upon these tribal cultures is patently absurd. What is clear is that as long as the Persian Gulf remains open, and the oil is flowing America’s vital interests will be maintained. That will never change.

And that’s my point. We’re too big and too rich and too agressive to stop. We never have  to win any more wars we never have to cower to anybody’s military threat, or worry about being pushed aside. The recent little flap in Norh Korea is a perfect example. Ramping up the military exercise with South Korea might seem like throwing jet fuel on the fire in view of the pathetic attempts by the North to get some attention. The Chinese don’t like it either. So what do we do? We’re sending extra cruisers and an aircraft carrier so the exercise will be big enough for everybody on the Pacific rim to get the point. What we say goes because we’re paying for this party. How long will we be able to pay for it? My guess is for at least the next hundred years but that’s another blog.

For now Merry Xmas. Go out and buy that 42″ flat screen so you can watch 24/7 drivel and be the happy idiot Wall St. and the government expect you to be.

I’m Addicted

Coming soon, a tune for all our addictions.

New song – “Knucklehead”!

Here’s a sneak preview of the next Denis Coughlin album, in progress at Tremolo Lounge. Guaranteed to elicit a smile or three…
[audio:/knucklehead.mp3|titles=Knucklehead|artists=Denis Coughlin]

Webster House October 30th

Join us Saturday night at JoPa’s Webster House with special guest Myra MacCleod on the fiddle. Every time we play together something magic happens. 6 to 9pm. Can’t wait for this one!

My Tumultuous Arrival

Everybody knew the storm was due, it was only a matter of when. My mother said she felt fine and told my father to go to work. Likewise, everybody knew I was due, it was also just a matter of when. The Hurricane picked up intensity and jerked westward on a new path. It was now headed straight for our seaside town. My mother’s spasms intensified. Right about the time the tide crested and 15-foot waves crashed over the sea wall, my mother knew it wouldn’t be long before her water would break. She grabbed my two sisters and ran next door to our neighbor Ned. Ned was old and practically blind, but he had a car. We all piled in and my mother drove.

By this time the sea wall had given way and the water on the causeway was about a foot deep. Cars had higher clearances then, but it was clearly dangerous, and one of my sisters started to cry. Ned started talking about some storm 25 years before, and made it all sound routine. The rain was now torrential. The wiper blades were useless. Visibility was less than 10 feet. If a car was stopped in front of us we would have plowed into it. Ned couldn’t see anyway, so his calm voice kept the girls quiet. By the time we got to the emergency room my mother was unable to walk. My sisters helped her out of the car. The nurses lifted my mother onto a gurney and wheeled her in. Then just as the storm grew calm and the eye passed over the town, I slipped into this world. I’ve often been reminded of my tumultuous arrival. Some things never change.

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