Brian O’Dowd was born in Dublin. He lives in Toronto. O’Dowd is a Professor at the University of Toronto. His novel ‘A Wicklow Girl’, was published in 2017. Available on Amazon etc. Publisher: Tellwell, Canada. In 2019 he won the prestigious Prix Galien 2019 Canadian Science Award, as reported in the Irish Times. https://www.irishtimes.com/news/health/dubliner-wins-prix-galien-2019-award-for-pharmaceutical-research-1.4093350
Summer’s Time Ⓒ
Brian O’Dowd
Sitting in college caf always counting pennies fascinated listening to Tony regale from his summer in Wildwood New Jersey!
‘drinking frozen daiquiris’
Whatever they are what I wanted. Meanwhile distracted watching Trish O’Neil in the line at the buffet, seeing those ribbons in her hair. Problem with Dublin birds always searching for best, with having loads of creatures better than me. Also not popular with the lads either, there’s that. That summer shared a shoe box flat in Camden town with parade of school mates. Word got out some of us rented a dive kip, they flocked over then with not room to swing a cockroach. As a security guard I’d work nights, dine on factory vending machines and the few smokes. Often good for a decent hot shower. Reality with nothing good happening for 20 year old lad, no opportunities for female interactions in that big smoke. Work free days out in Finsbury park bit of sunshine, listening to nearby transistors digging two favorites ‘In the summer time’ and ‘American Pie’.
All knew the score, cash for college.
Then cover rounds of pints come December.
Otherwise confined to barracks.
Unwelcome when only sponging.
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1
Airport, got visa stamped, first in family making trek across the pond without soaking wet or perish from starvation. Greyhound bus joined awesome ‘automobiles’ streaming into New York city, better than tin pot vehicle yokes father endured those Dublin winters. Passed decaying Harlem tenement blocks bestraddled with sagging fire escapes. Night sleeping on motel floor, students packed like sardines. Diner breakfast scanned headline in the paper.
‘Country brutalized by war’
Lonesome bus to Wildwood, knapsack few scruffed dollars. Boarding house room, hustled gopher job on a carnival pier, mighty $1.10 an hour! Cash in hand! Wildwood’s magnificent Boardwalk stretched for miles. Short order moved to off boardwalk apartment rambling lodgings with lads from Baltimore. Situated over a Carnie side show game.
“Knock ‘em bottles down win teddy bear. Hey what about ye? Buck eejits.” Hearing that all day, give Belfast lad credits giving value for his dollar. Crowds parading, souvenir shops, record stores, taffy shops and candy floss, ice cream with banana splits. Philly steak sandwiches and hoagies. Sonny and Cher ‘I got you babe’ filled air from the pier, and barbeque chicken aroma. One of those great fellas drove a Buick Skylark with 8 tracks, Nancy Sinatra ‘Boots are made for walking’ belting down Atlantic avenue. Awesome machine! Never to forget!
Those bronzed football lads with boardwalk runs every morning. I skinny slice of bacon, round glasses, pimples with a nylon shirt. While every lad over there was a Charles Atlas. Once flush with eighty bucks got bell bottoms jeans, tie dye tee shirts and desert boots. ‘Burger with everything, mayo on the side, milk shake then was my go to order. Fish out of water but wanted to be fitting in, now living my shot in America! Amazing lucky! Scott McKenzie’s ‘San Francisco’ had invoked California dreams in Ireland’s world. Early morning sun tan avoiding those gladiators. Lucky boys living the life! Wanted to be one of them in New World.
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Only Vietnam horror screwing it all to hell.
Mama’s boys to marines, USA
treasure dispatched to paddy fields.
Far East nightmare descended, infested and consumed minds. From mowing grass, clipping hedges in leafy suburbs destined to defoliate forests of ‘Mekong’ deltas. Dropped into hideous jungles filled with demon tunnels, ambushed shot at by Viet Cong. Guys who’d been came back damaged, many never returned to their Jersey world. By wars end 57,939 young American souls departed their sad world, families heartache each trying to deal with such loss. Country hemorrhaging their most finest young souls. One Green passport son was fortunate, facing no terror in my free state, small islands mostly don’t send sons to foreign war. Only draft from front doors when generations of sons and daughters left holding one way ticket. From our paddy fields solitary farmers cut turf bothering no one. Only wishing for farm girls passing by.
“Wildwood Central on the Shore radio, 30 degrees in store. Guys and girls get out, strut your stuff. Coming up ‘Alone again (Naturally)’ with Gilbert O’Sullivan.”
Morning breakfast frosted donut, instant coffee and honey. Detritus scattered from a night’s frat party, upturned shot glasses, empty bottles. Lot of fun happening while I was sleeping, now with feeling like the country mouse.
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USA already creating the future popping moon gadgets. Just rescued an Apollo space ship from quarter million miles with astronauts having virtually no air to breath. Only ingenuity masking tape, with bits and bobs available in that tiny capsule. Rah, Rah, USA, on board with that! Could have hung round Dublin helped my old man’s antique business. But New Jersey had surfing, diners, fast cars, Coke machines, drive-in movies with tall girls on skates. Experienced America watching Donna Reed show, Hawaii 5-O and the Monkees.
A believer!
Slot machines with condoms dispensed like chewing gum, then being forever banned in Ireland.
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Bar booth evening, cold pitcher between two working mugs, me and new mate Rickey. An artful lodger strutting in red sneakers, peering through purple glasses, long hair capped by a leather hat. Ran dodgem rides, compulsory those times required short haired wig. One leg in a cast got bumped on the job. Observing our friend Rachel chatting at the bar getting free shots. Hoping she’d return alone, girding my loins not wanting to have fisticuffs with other suitors. How it was with babes ocean side in Wildwood.
Hoping get turned on in these my summer days.
“Mike those frat cats forever get the honeys. You getting anywhere man?”
Still looking to find Wildwood hill more green than Dublin.
“Not much trying bars still bit shy really. Jocks tell me stuff like I didn’t eat some cereals.”
Few Dublin lads already flew home being stressed, going back picking gooseberries on farms.
Dealing with a different world.
Not practiced in their arts.
That’s all.
Us being raised on porridge, golden syrup.
Then all the spuds.
Boiled, fried, roasted, often down the chipper.
Left somewhat serious girlfriend in Dublin, we’d French kissed on a couch in her Ranelagh bedsit. Maybe have summer flings we decided out of necessity! Wrote and told her I’m like working out on swinging gym ride on the pier, takes shoulder muscle to get going. I’d hammer on with that. Need muscles in land of giants. Improve!
“Mike listen Philly chicks dig jocks man but look everyone got a different vibe man. Got my regular old lady down Cape May, so do not mess around! Not me, no how. Got my scented candle gig goin on, that’s my bag man.”
Rickey puffed one skinny chest, gave hope in my heart. Boardwalk at night truly young man’s delight. Tanned hippy chicks in flip-flops, afternoon ocean frolicking now escorted by Ma and Pa. No chance running loose, long beach ‘closed’ all night, patrolled by cops in jeeps! Not observed with Garda on Courtown’s strand in Wexford.
Glorious Wexford days in July.
Bonfire nights on the beach with cider.
Pirate radio station with the hits.
Not much sex in Ireland those days!
“How you getting round on that leg? Bummer.”
“Hey dig it magic pills man.” Shook the bottle.
“Okay I’m just drinking beer!”
“Whatever man draft numbers came up. Got this ankle damaged can’t go in the army, ain’t no Hopalong Cassidy. Only hoping Nixon ends it. Peace with love man. You stashing any cash?”
“Leeds last year worked hard in a bakery, but made no bread! Now here so way better.”
“Dig those Who ‘Live at Leeds’. So cool, never got with an English babe but dig their accent man.”
Sometimes it’s annoying.
‘No more filed half pennies or foreign coins in this meter. Told youse on last warnings.’
Meter would declare: “Glad you dropped in Bob, just going out.”
“Hey man those cat’s been coming since High school, every summer same crap goes down. Rach likes Irish guys, digs you man. You got a shot. Definito. Remember her boyfriend panicked with draft, split for Canada now gone off the map. That hurt her bad.”
“Cool man, cool.”
“Hey gotta get fried chicken. Take it easy, cool man.”
“Peace out man.”
Explained lay of land then split for home.
Rickey boy stay in school. Hippie’s revolution be done and over, having drop out leaders with dead fish followers. Needed my American dream, riding a Harley with the Byrds, find my true love story a Jenny Cavilleri. Drive my Cadillac over the Golden Gate bridge, steak and chips with California red wine.
All that!
Plenty!
Eventually Rachel veered back.
“Got the story my friend Betty Windchuk dated one of those Baltimore boys. My lord above so much rough housing! They said you are odd, all nerdy or something. So want you to vacate!”
“Oh yes did not fit in, talented that way. Can be off putting, awkward. Total status quo types and me talking about Timothy Leary and Marshall McLuhan.”
Even at home most often an odd ball.
“Anyway they’re leaving for Cali in a month for surfing. Those lads parents all big shots.”
“They were having fun! Now me alone again.”
With Rachel staring at me.
Good on them lads.
Precious summer days,
Girls, Girls, Girls.
Perfumed perspiration,
sweeter than napalm.
“Only blowing off steam, heavy pressure for boys these days. You’re so not cat’s meow for them. Those Jocks with high jinks I’ll tell you!” She laughed! “At heart bunch of squares no flower power hippies! Surfing beach boys, Jan and Dean style for sure.” She says.
“Yeah so conservative do not dig the great Zappa or Captain Beefheart! But that’s my style!”
“Anyways sorry to say just got this list of their complaints!”
Waved bit of paper and smiled.
“They’d sure some beefs with you! Okay now just trying to help!”
Set up for a right pasting.
“Said kitchen smelt of potatoes!”
Boiled spuds mashed with butter, sorry not accustomed to be dinning out every day. Not flush with that spare cash, then facing winter famine times in Dublin. Between exams will need pints to chill. Otherwise? Every Dublin city pub I know price for the pint. No regular local just get wind of any one with pennies cheaper. Vital!
“Tired of ‘Blue Danube’.”
“Seriously? Favourite from 2001 movie!”
I’d been playing ‘Stranger on the Shore’ forever, when they were out.
“Preachy rants that marijuana scrambles brains. No one asked or needed that lesson! While only busy chasing away girls they were chatting up from the boardwalk! They are athletes and you know would never use drugs.”
“Well certainly that’s true.” Only wished to inform, always being a know it all.
On reflection I’m out of time pompous idiot. Those kids on holidays getting confronted by jackass me? No one needed stupid me involved. Girls and boys so full of life and then meet Dublin Grinch.
Unforgiveable.
I agree.
Very last straw.
There’s even more? How?
“You asked what a little deuce coupe was?”
What would I know?
“Even that bothered them?”
Who are these people? Big cultural divide, I’d my racing bike they’d flashy cars.
“Finally so cut to the chase worse you ripped off their beer! Goodness.”
Rachel laughing out loud.
“Parents stacked cases supplies every weekend. Who’d count few bottles?”
“Now they don’t trust you!”
Rigorous harassing at Liquor store, checking I.D. like it’s Dead Sea scrolls. Been steadily drinking grand pints in Irish/London pubs for years, no problem customer. Should have traveled with approval letters.
Heard one Irish lad informing barman he was legit as ‘his life began at conception’.
Law student of course.
Still spent his pub night on fizzy drinks with ice.
“I’m strange with my bits of Irish!” Then she kissed me. Loner wretch me left only gasping. Much appreciated!
Out of the blue so changed my mood!
Even being found guilty with such genuine complaints.
“Let’s play pool.” She says.
Dime a game on their small green table. Although she got me startled with the ips from that kiss, feeling bit shaky. When booze kicked with rock steady hands I cleared tables. Playing with a well spent youth in Dublin’s snooker halls.
Just!
Let her win.
Stupid!
Ended she owed few bucks, I’d cancel for more playtime! Good night for me.
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Ground floor apartment, hippy girl Rachel lazing on beany bag listening to ‘Rocket man’. Fiddling with a match stick created tower sculptor from bits and bobs with glue. Long black hair, that baseball hat, hotpants and no socks. She ran a busy boardwalk Jeans and Record store with her brother. I was a good customer! Maybe my America adventure might not to be only about ice cold rum. While playing Beach Boys her hand signal not interrupt, rapture with that sound. I remained still as a mouse. Apartment walls festooned, dayglo posters of Hendrix, Easy Rider, loved ‘Woodstock to Wildwood, 69’ poster over the bed, framed copy of Desiderata. Lava lamps, incense burning, Byrds cassettes galore, not as the crow flies. In Dublin after watching Easy Rider felt different on that CIE bus going home. Xaviera Hollander’s book lay open on the table with Myra Breckinridge ready in waiting. Finished bottle of delicious Boones Farm only wondering if there was more and how those lips would taste again.
“Rach he’s got to stay here. Rent something.”
Gave Rickey my discrete two thumbs up!
“Crying out loud Michael.” Wide big laugh from Rachel. “Honestly Rick hardly they take anything serious over there, all down the pub have few pints where everything gets sorted. Jersey never Dublin so don’t be messing about. Guys tensed with war ongoing, fine beautiful boys affects us all. Everyone. Terrible this our so dirty war.”
Feeling of angst since from New York city. Rachel bowed her head verge of tears, sleeve dab her eyes, then overflow softly crying. That ancient a/c machine intervened, Rachel and Rickey bonded having consoling bear hug. Gentle Americans at so difficult time. By then I was their intruder.
Consider each boys life not lived,
girlfriends not loved nor married,
loss of children not born.
Even now so bothers my mind.
‘Peace and love’, trite mantra,
but right on for this life.
No other words.
Only Sad.
“Needs someplace. Surfs up next month in Cali.” Rickey offered two cents as if he knew those Pacific waves.
“Okay Michael maybe best you need stay away from that boardwalk!”
“Can’t afford to go cut and run, need to make dough, not going back early work in a bakery. Go home skint still owing loan for my airfare.”
By September cash needed for disco birds sparkling wine, taxi to Dollymount strand. Worthy investments.
“How about the supermarket?” From Rickey boy.
“I hear two bucks an hour, need nights 8 to 8. I’ll take you in the morning.”
Crash all day, fair play for big dough. More cash to flash at college afford the lunch. Still feeling doozy, but so aware of Rachel okayness. Captivating chick with that peaked hat.
“Are you bit Italian?” I ask feeling composed as Shakespeare.
“No! Heaven’s sake! New Jersey, South Shore girl. Yea! Only ever lived here. My grandfather Spanish, one from Galway, Connemara someplace, close to those big cliffs. Such lovely cousins in Kimmage near KCR cross roads by Puddle road. Loved visit meeting so many family!”
Tantalizing beauty at 22, knew her way around, eyes to tempt wanting wanton ways. If requested desired to round bases. Deserving good karma when I’m good sends me up to bat. Finally.
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Weekday nights at the supermarket, tins of Irish stew for sustenance. Rented her uncles attic having a cool sleep with daytime breeze. Weekends Rachel served paella and those inviting frozen daiquiris. Week nights stacked those empty shelves, often evangelical songs on the radio station. One midnight called the station requesting ‘Stairway to Heaven’, had a great chat as they obliged.
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With Wildwood beach restrictions, closed by night. Really! Unlike bonfire parties on Courtown strand. That red convertible with racing stripes! Rachel drove like a beast, roaring the Garden State Parkway at night, blasting ‘Satisfaction’, shooting through mosquito breeze. Swim those hot nights on beaches by Sea Isle city, betwixt Wildwood and Ocean city. In sand dunes under Orion’s belt by breaking waves. Having a swim worried about hungry sharks out at night, stayed in the surf. Sand dunes stared at the moon, like moon walkers never expected to get so far. Together we saw young Springsteen, once hitched a ride to the Stones at the Spectrum in Philly. She wore my new Stones T shirt when thumbed rides back down that Jersey Turnpike. Wild times in Greenwich Village with fabulous Velvet Underground and saw Mamas and the Papas.
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End of August arrived fast. Finished night shift, two days left for this Wildwood adventure. Rickey sat on the door step.
“Heavy news.” Handed me a folded note, plus an airmail envelope. Wow so much attentions.
“Peter called from Toronto, she’s gone man. Travelling to Ontario man. That Irish letter picked up at frat boy’s apartment.”
Dear Michael,
I’d not wanted to say goodbye.
We used up all our time.
Love R
“Rach and Petey since high school, crying when she left. Took her to the bus terminal. Left this for you.”
Photo album of that New Jersey summer.
Double down Dublin girlfriend Noreen, wrote met a Johnny boy in Courtown’s ballroom. ‘They’d’ drop any stuff at my mothers. Buses like girlfriends leave together, one summer day passing by. Henceforth to live and learn.
Landing in Dublin, knew head to PJ Nelson’s Disco that very evening, having catch up to do. ‘Hell-bent for leather’. Strut my Jersey tan with cool gear just no Jersey girl. Hopefully leave sand grains on cushions in young one’s bedsit. Once Rach sent card of a blissful two at dawn on the beach, after never saw her again. Times pass still give a damn about that Wildwood.
I’d replied.
Had a great time at the concerts!
Never understood how it came to pass. Never forgotten!
2
Previous summer having two weeks in a stone house, isolated down a boreen in Connemara. Spending time with my mother, brother and sister no holiday for Dad stuck grinding away in Dublin. Out across Galway bay were cliffs of Moher, three hulks of Aran islands and being surrounded by long deserted tumble down cottages. Our neighbour dear old Mrs. Connolly, told us her two daughters departed years ago to Massachusetts. In her thatched cottage a kettle always on the go over a turf fireside.
“Those colleens never return, sure now they send few shillings to the post office. That’s good enough, God bless their hearts and keep them well. A Dhia throcaire beannaigh beirt chailini doibh.”
Sitting round her table with homemade bread and salty butter drank mugs of tea with turf yellowed water from the well. Nearby dilapidated shack with willow pattern broken cups and saucers on stone floor, emptied picture frames and shattered windows. Roof blown off years long ago on winter winds. Our rented house with a chipped bakelite radio for Radio Eireann, even ‘pirate’ stations with hits! Down rocky hills to lonely beaches skimming stones into prevailing winds, that ocean we swam with thick sea weed and swarms of jelly fish. Feathered birds in nooks and crannies but no bikinis on display. Having darkness descend on long evenings, in that gloom reading tattered copy of ‘Tarry Flynn’. Playing board and snap card games, drinking delicious flagon of cider. From the dresser drawer grimy chess board, box of wooden buttons supplied for missing pieces. By late evening occasional rosaries recited with mother, then her quiet naggin of whiskey while studying the newspaper crossword. Three-mile hike to village phone, then collect briquettes in pram for chill nights. Church Sunday mornings shawled widows in front pews. Priest sermon in gaelic understood a bit, especially got my attention dire warnings about evils of contraceptives. Under Church pressure Taoiseach famously delayed any legal intrusions, when he put that all “Ar an mhéar fhada”.
Only by St John’s Eve to see any young people, they arrived for few days from the towns gather and celebrate ‘Bonfire Night’. Somewhat to my relief when Dad’s station wagon took us all back to Dublin city.
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