*Bowling Alone In America?- For Chrissie M., Class Of 1964

Click on the headline to link to a Website devoted to ... bowling. Of a different sort.


Markin, Class Of 1964, comment:

Chrissie, Christine Anne McNamara, bowls. Chrissie McNamara, the “hottest” sweet sixteen quail at 1962 at North Adamsville High School bowls. Oh sure Chrissie does other things, things like cheer-leading for the raider red gridiron goliaths in the brisk, bright, leave-filled fall (and doesn’t cheer-lead the basketball team because winter time is primo bowling time), participates in the school play, writes for the school newspaper, has a sweet what-you-see-is-what-you get personality, and is off-handedly beautiful. Not your drop dead, remote ice queen, who will need plenty of cosmetic help as she frightens away the age lines coming, beautiful but whole package beautiful (looks, personality, intellect) that will have you, hell, has me scratching my head. Scratching and figuring as I watch her reading something just this minute about two rows over from where I sitting in this dead-ass last period study class. Best of all, even if all my scratching and figuring don't work out today, in not too many minutes I will get to go past her house, after I have made sure she is walking in front of me, on the way to my own house, and will probably get a big Chrissie smile as I do so. And maybe a “Joey, Bowey” hi from her as well. That’s me, Joseph Bowdoin, and the Joey Bowey thing is from the kids back in middle school, and I don’t like it, like it at all. Except from Chrissie it is okay. Ya, it’s like that.

Yes, but here is the problem in a nutshell, Chrissie bowls, and if you want to get anywhere with Chrissie, as everybody knows, and has known since about fourth grade, way before I got here, is that you had better bowl too. You can be James Bond 007 (or Sean Connery) and have done all kinds of adventurous stuff but if you don’t bowl go slump-shouldered to the back of the Chrissie line. You could be the greatest running back in the history of football, breaking every record and every linebacker’s mean-spirited heart but no bowl-no go. Or get, heart-broken, in back of Sean in that just-mentioned line. If you are a nerdy guy (as I am, somewhat) but you bowl, well, theoretically you have a chance, but let’s face it plenty of talented, good-looking guys, who under ordinary circumstances would give bowling the gaff, are, even as I speak, sharpening up their games to get a crack at those ruby-red lips. Damn.

Oh, did I mention that I have been in love, or half in love, or some percentage in love with Chrissie ever since she gave me an innocent kiss at her twelfth birthday back when I first came to North Adamsville in the seventh grade. Really, the kiss was nothing but a good wishes peck on the lips that wouldn’t count for anything for older guys (or girls, either) but for a shy twelve-year old new boy I was in very heaven. Call me crazy, call me a nutcase ready for the funny farm, but every once in a while when Chrissie calls me Joey Bowey from her front door I swear she says it in such a way that maybe that kiss wasn’t so innocent after all. In any case I have been plotting, maybe not every day, but plotting ever since to get a second, real kiss from her ruby-red lips. And to hold that slender hour glass figure, to dance close to those well-formed legs, and to tussle with that flaming mass of red hair that goes with those ruby-red lips. And, and… well you get the idea.

But see Chrissie bowls and I don’t, although I have, lately anyway, spent a fair amount of time at Jake’s Bowl-a-World, the bowling alley located downstairs across from my real hang-out, my corner boy hang-out, Salducci’s Pizza Parlor up the Downs. Now Jake’s is not the kind of bowling alley that Chrissie or any other foxy girl would hang out in because, honestly, it’s a creepy place where young junior high school wannabe hoods, real high school drop-outs, rejected no-go corner boys, and beer-swilling adults hang out and make noise. But, see, it is the perfect place for a not bowling guy to hang out and “learn” bowls, on the quiet.

Oh, did I mention the other problem, the problem beyond my not bowling, my not being (so far) worthy of that second ruby-red lipped Chrissie kiss. I see that I didn’t now that I have read back. Well, here it is if you can believe it. I can’t get to bowl with Chrissie, can’t get to bowl with her that is unless I ask her for a date which is way ahead of where my current plans for her have unfolded, because at school, at foolish North, the boys and girls have separate bowling teams that don’t even bowl at the same places. Yes, I thought you would see my dilemma. See the idea was that I would start bowling with one of the teams, she would notice me and notice that I could use a few pointers, would come over and give me those few pointers, and then when I walked by her house not only would she give me that big warm smile but probably want to talk about this or that, bowling this or that, and that would be my opening to ask her to go bowling, bowling alone with me. Foolproof, right? Except for that stupid school rule thing.

Now here is how I heard the story, although I might be off on a few points, of why there are two separate teams and why they bowl at different places. A few years ago Jake’s used to be the place where everybody, boys and girls, bowled after school for practice a couple of days a week and for the home competitions with other schools. And that made sense because it only took about ten minutes to get there from school. Now, like I explained to you already, this Jake’s is nothing but a run-down place with about ten lanes, an ice cooler filled with tonic (that’s soda for you foreigners), a couple of food vending machines, a few pinball wizard machines, rest room I avoid using, if possible, and that’s about it. Small time stuff. Everything kind of dusty and seedy from the minute you head down the darkened stairs right on through. Good enough, like I also said before for hoods, corner boys, and rookie bowlers.

But then, back in the bowling team days, it was kept up better and was a magnet for kids, boys and girls alike, to come and bowl…and other things. Those other things being listening to the big oversized jukebox filled with a ton of records, rock and roll records to cry for, and three for only a quarter too, dancing, close dancing, on the small dance floor that was set up then (and that you can still see all scuffed up and scummy now), and some off-hand hanky-panky, kid’s stuff really, from what I heard, the usual boys copping a “feel” and the girls letting them like has been going on since they invented teenagers, in a couple of small back rooms that Jake, sweet brother Jake, let the kids use.

You can see where this after school jukebox rock and roll, close dancing, back room thing is going, just like I could when I heard it. Murder and mayhem. No, not from the kids gone wild under the influence of communistic rock and roll, or libertine close dancing, or hell-bent back rooms but when the parent police heard about it. That part is foggy but it, as usual, involved a snitch by someone to his (or her) parents, or something overheard on the telephone by a parent, or something. And from there to the headmaster police, and from there to the real cops. Nothing ever came of it from the real cops, which tells you automatically that the parent and headmaster cops overreacted, as usual. But now you can see what a fix I am in. So Chrissie right this minute is probably chalking up spares over at the North Adamsville Bowl-a-Drome and the guys are over the other side of town at Mr. Bowl’s place and never the twain shall meet. And you wonder why kids, including this kid, are ready to jump off the rails, and none too soon either. But I still hold my dream of bowling alone with those ruby-red lips. I’ll let you know if I work out another fool-proof plan, okay.

*From The Be-Bop Night -The 'Real' Scoop on "Tri-Hi-Y"- An Investigatory Report- "Inside Edition" Move On Over

Click on the headline to link to a "YouTube" film Club of the modern doings of one school's Tri-Hi-Y Club. Hey, don't shoot the messenger on this one. I just like to provide a relevant link with my posts

Al Johnson, Class of 1964, comment:

Originally posted in June 2008. Revised and updated in March 2010

Today I have my investigative reporter's hat on. This is intended to be a light-hearted look at an old school organization. But I have a lawyer in the wings just in case.

Beware of Greeks bearing gifts. That was good, if unheeded, advice a few thousand years ago. Apparently it is advice that we should have also heeded back in our school days. The subject today is the mysterious, seemingly nefarious, doings of Tri Kappa Phi, colloquially known as Tri-Hi-Y. (I have, as yet, been unable to untangle the relationship between these two names but I suspect the latter is merely a classic front name.) Ostensibly this was a girls' club devoted to public service. Or, at least, that is what they would have us believe. However a glance at page 17 of the 1964 "Manet" belies that story.

According to their own words this organization was committed to furthering "pure thoughts, pure words, and pure actions" among the members. This, my friends, reads, to these old eyes at least, more like the program for the vestal virgins in the temples of pagan Greece than a program for a society then on the edge of a sexual revolution. That should have been the tip-off. Now we live in a more skeptical age and would have had our antennae out when confronted with such shameless hyperbole. Then, naive as we were, we bought the story hook, line and sinker.

Look, I am a fair person, or try to be. In order to get a grasp on this unfolding story and learn more about the group I, innocently, e-mailed the president of the organization in 1964. Result- Nada, a resounding no reply. I then pursued another avenue that I thought might be more fruitful. I e-mailed the chaplain of the group in her junior and senior year on the North Quincy Alumni site. Now she is not just any fellow classmate but currently the secretary to the headmaster at North Quincy High. Dear readers, she has access to the records!

I, good-heartedly, offered this ex-chaplain the opportunity to place our correspondence under a confidential attorney-client blanket. I further suggested that she might fall under priest- penitent immunity provisions concerning her testimony. Result - Stonewalled, no reply. Apparently, this is one secretary that went to the Rosemary Woods Secretarial School. Moreover, another closer look at the "Manet" told the tale. The winsome smile and twinkle in her eye of her class picture on page 117 did not jibe with her Cotton Mather-like visage on page 17. I then determined that I needed to investigate this matter further.

Right now, I admit, there are more questions than answers. Little did this pair and their accomplices know that some forty-four years latter an intrepid alumnus with some time on his hands was going to fall onto their little threadbare operation. I will continue to try to unravel this tangled story to the bitter end. Here are some questions that I have right now though that you, my friends, can help me with. Why did a so-called 'public service' group in a democratic, secular institution need a chaplain? What deep, dark secrets were being kept from us? Moreover, apparently, from the lack of response to my inquiries, members are sworn to secrecy unto the grave. Why? And here is another little tidbit to feast on. Why was the turnover rate in the organization so high, especially in senior year? Was it impossible to keep to the public "3 purities" slogan mentioned above with a straight face or did a number of members fall afoul of the cabal at the top? Are there any whistle-blowers out there? More later. Tri-Hi-Y, indeed!

***Bowling Alone In America?- For Barbara A., Class Of 1965

Click on the headline to link to a Website devoted to ... bowling. Of a different sort.


Al Johnson, Class Of 1964, comment:

This entry was originally posted in April 2008 on Classmates.

Why were there separate boys and girls bowling teams in 1964?

"A book is a dangerous weapon"- part of an old time television ad in support of literacy.

Yes indeed, a book is a dangerous weapon, especially in the hands of a man with a mission. And not just any book, my friends, but a priceless copy of the "Manet", 1964 edition, our year book. I was so alienated then that I believe I threw my copy out the day after graduation. But that is another story. For those who have not read my comments on a previous Message Board entry I recently came into possession of this treasure through Bill Cadger, the great cross-country runner and track man from our class. Now this document and a copy of the list of attendees at the 20th class reunion in 1984 should keep me in commentary until the cows come home. They are like manna from heaven. So what is the subject matter for today? Well, the title of this piece tells it all-bowling, naturally. Or rather, more to the point, why was it necessary to have two separate teams in such a unisexually-friendly sport? (Yes, I know this is an awkward construction, but it suits my purpose.) For those who still have their "Manet", see page 35.

I, moreover, have my legal eagle's hat on today. Let me try to make my point by an analogy in the law. Lawyers Tom Kiley, Kevin Murphy, and Steve Kalish (and any others that I do not know about), who suffered through briefing those endless Constitutional Law cases, will appreciate this. There are various tests to determine whether governmental actions pass constitutional muster. The easiest standard for the government to pass is called the "rational relationship" test. Here, basically anything a governmental actor does, short of murder or mayhem, is okay- so tell your client to go home and get on with his or her life. Separate bowling teams by sex do not even come up to that standard. What gives?

Okay, we are talking about 1964, a time well before women's equality of access was legally, and more importantly, socially recognized. A case in point. In those days there were no young women running track at North. The theory then was that women could only run to the store. Apparently they would break apart or have some other malignant physical problems if they ran more than one hundred yards. Now we know better. Just the other day on Boston Marathon Monday Ms. Tune from Ethiopia not only ran 26 plus miles but had a sprint left at the end. Kudos.

So what does this have to do with the bowling teams? Just this, what possible reason could there have been, even then, for separating the sexes in such a benign sport? I loved to bowl as a kid and spend more than my fair share of time, if memory serves, in that downstairs bowling alley just outside of Norfolk Downs. I know myself, from later experience, that more than one woman could beat the pants off of me at ten pin. No sweat. And here is the real tragedy. I freely now admit that I was very shy around girls in high school. I think that had there been a mixed bowling team I might have been able to overcome that affliction. I would have been less maladjusted and maybe, just maybe, I would not have thrown away that year book. And...

Wait a minute! Let us get this story straight. In the year 2008 this writer is alleging, based on a quick perusal of old "Manet" pictures, that North Quincy High School's failure to provide mixed bowling teams stunted his human potential. And led to a subsequent depraved and sordid life. Well, yes. And others, I am sure, carry those same emotional scars. That, my class mates, is where the little legal discussion above comes into play. Tom, Kevin, Steve- don't you think we have a basis for a class action suit in behalf of the aggrieved members of our Class of 1964? Maybe on a theory of intentional infliction of emotional distress with a "lost of consortium" claim (a quaint legal term) thrown in? Fellow victims, step forward. Tell your heartfelt stories.