The 8-track tape version of Elvis Presley’s album “Moody
Blue” had played itself all the way back to track 1 (of 4) for the third
time. My parents had a lot of 8-track
tapes. 8 track tapes had 4 “sides.” I think it always confused me that they were
called 8 tracks, but they had four sides.
Right this moment I’m thinking maybe because they were in stereo, one
side counted as 2 tracks. Anyway, my
parents had a lot of them. They (my
parents) belonged to the Columbia 8 track tape club or something. Dad was a huge Elvis fan. He and mom had gone to see Elvis a few months
before at the Omaha Civic Auditorium. “Moody
Blue” was released a couple of weeks before our big trip to California and dad
promptly ordered it from Columbia’s 8-track of the month club. So we listened to it most of the time we were
in the car.
Sometimes dad would let us listen to something else. Not that Steve or I had much of anything for
8 tracks, but we were really sick of “Moody Blue.” All we had were tapes we’d been given as gifts
from our “cool” uncles. So we had “Wild
Cherry” of “Play that funky music white boy” fame. We had 10cc “I’m not in love.” I think there was some Chicago in there and
probably some BeeGees.
I was well aware that this music wasn’t cool. If I wanted cool music, I would have to buy
it for myself. But I didn’t like cool
music. I liked pop music. I knew what cool music was, though. I’d hear it while delivering papers. Some of the houses along my route were owned
by the parents of the cool kids. There
would always be music and a pungent smoky smell coming from the screen windows
of these houses. And coughing. Lots and lots of coughing. That’s how you could tell they were really
cool.
Two songs I distinctly remember hearing as I tossed
newspapers at the front porches of the parents of the cool kids were, “Rock and
Roll all Night (and party every day)” By KISS and “In a Gadda Da Vida” by Iron
Butterfly. I didn’t know the artists at the
time. Just the songs. I pieced it together later.
“Hey dad,” I cleverly interjected between a clicking on
tracks, “You know what’s funny? Somebody
said this ‘Fleetwood Mac’ is pretty good.
I say we listen to it and prove them wrong.” I was desperate to hear anything else.
But dad wasn’t having any of it today. “You know what boys? I figured it out. This 8-track is about 37
minutes long. If we listen to it about
40 more times, that will be roughly 24 hours and we’ll be home!”
The thing about 8-tracks and these “4 sides” I was talking
about – all the sides had to be the same length. Different albums dealt with this completely unacceptable
problem in different ways. Some would
fade to silent right in the middle of a song.
Then the machine would click over to the next track and the song would
continue, gaining in volume until it was back up to normal. Horrible.
Sometimes, the 8-track architects would just put the same songs in there
more than once. That’s what “Moody Blue”
did. So if listening to the same album
40 times in a row wasn’t bad enough, some of the songs would be played 80 times
by the time we got to Omaha. I said to
my brother, “I just wish Elvis was dead.”
Admittedly, when the news came nine days later that Elvis
had died, I was full of regret. I had no
idea that wishes were being granted. Had
I known, I would not have been so foolish.
I would have wished for something way cooler, like a Red Ryder BB gun or
something. Not that I was complaining, I’m
just saying.
I looked it up and here’s the actual listing from Elvis
Presley’s Moody Blue 8-track:
Track 1: Unchained Melody, If You Love Me, Let me be There
Track 2: Way Down, Little Darlin’, He’ll have to go
Track 3: Pledging My Love, Moody Blue, It’s Easy For You
Track 4: She Thinks I still Care, It’s Easy For You, Little
Darlin’
So 12 songs. 10
different ones. “Little Darlin’” and “It’s
Easy For You” are repeated. And pretty
close to each other. I guess the
thinking was that once you got to The second “It’s easy For You,” you could
skip ahead to the next track (track 1 in this case). But we couldn’t do that. We had to listen to the whole thing or it’d
mess up the whole “40 times through to Omaha” thing.
We had gotten up early that morning from our hotel just
outside of San Francisco to make the drive to Las Vegas. Dad was a huge Las Vegas Fan. I think if he could have ever seen Elvis in
Las Vegas, it would have been a real treat.
Kind of like how I’m such a huge fan of Pearl Jam and the Chicago Cubs
(except for the Chicago Cubs part). A
boy can dream …
Meanwhile, back in the car to Vegas …
As the king crooned some melody that wasn’t even chained, dad
noticed we only had about a quarter of a tank of gas left and decided we’d
better “fill ‘er up” before continuing on to Sin City.
We pulled into a dusty little gas station on the outskirts
of Tonopah Nevada. There was a single
pump located about 40 yards from the little building where the cashier
was. This was a strange time in America
because it was 1977, a transition was still in place from full-service to
self-service gas stations. Dad didn’t
quite know which it was when we pulled in, so he sat there for about a minute
before he decided to get out and pump the gas himself. As he was getting out of the car, a light
Blue 1975 Ford Granada pulled up behind us to wait. My dad, whistling a tune from the 1977 Hit
album “Moody Blue” by Elvis Presley, waved cheerfully at the driver of the
Granada before continuing on to fill the tank of our car. The man did not wave back.
There were 4 people in the Granada that I saw. The man driving. The adult woman in the front passenger
seat. And 2 cute girls in the back seat
that looked to be about the same ages as my brother and I.
Dad was taking his sweet time. For a moment he was dancing and singing a
little bit into the nozzle of the gasoline hose, “Oh Moody Blue, Tell me - am I gettin’
through” or whatever. Finally, he put
the hose in and started refueling the car.
Now, since this station had recently been full-service, the
gas dispensed rather slowly. This
allowed the attendant to clean the windows and check the oil, etc. Dad, now humming, took it upon himself to do
all of these things; including ensuring the correct tire pressure. The whole time, the man behind us was gripping
the steering wheel of his Granada with greater intensity.
Finally, the gas tank was full and the auto-shutoff thing
happened. This alerted my dad that it
was ready whenever he was. Which was
fine as soon as he topped off the wiper fluid.
Dad went over to the hose and saw that it had landed on an
uneven dollar amount. $18.52. “Hey Carol!”
dad shouted, “I bet I can get it to $18.75.”
Sure that would be easy now, but then it was probably a
little more than 1/3 gallon.
So as he was topping off the gas tank, the man in the car
behind us got out of his car. I thought that
was odd, because as soon as my dad was done, the man would have to get back in
and pull forward to fill up his tank. “How’s
it going,” my dad said as he slowly dripped that last possible drop into the
tank.
The man just stared.
Arms crossed. Grimacing below his
thick moustache. He was wearing sandals
and over the calf white socks. He was
dressed in light blue plaid patterned golf shorts and a powder blue polo. Typical family man on vacation style
(grumpy).
Dad Shrugged at the silence and replaced the nozzle to the
pump. Then he started for the building
to pay for the gas ($18.70 – he didn’t quite make it). Well that was the last straw. Family man had a request. “Excuse me,” he said addressing my dad a
little too loudly, stopping him in mid whistle, “Do you think you could move
your car forward so I can fill mine up.”
“Yes. Just a minute. I need to pay first. I don’t want them to think …”
Then the family man changed.
He turned to badass all of the sudden.
He said, and I quote, “Well god damn man, all I’m asking is you to move
your fuckin’ car so I can get some gas.”
A number of things happened in that moment. Mom, knowing dad better than any of us
clicked her tongue and dropped her head, catching it with her right hand. There she stayed for the duration of the
incident, pressing the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.
Steve and I giggled in sheer excitement. We turned around in our seats and rested our
angelic faces on our arms to watch this most entertaining scene play out. We saw the 2 girls in the back seat of the
Granada jumping around to get a better view and the adult woman in the
passenger seat pressing the bridge of her nose between her thumb and
forefinger.
“Woah! I told you I was just going to pay and get out of
your way and I was. But now I think I’m
going to get me a cup of coffee,” Dad said – and I cannot stress enough that
these were the actual words spoken, but my brother, my mother and I knew that
dad was just getting started. Apparently
so was family man turned gansta. Suddenly,
his tone and accent changed to what can only be described as “Black people he’d
seen on TV.” He walked toward my dad and
said something like, “No man, you’z gonna move that mother fuckin’ car or I’ma gonna move it for you.”
Dad laughed. He stood
there. The man stopped walking toward my
dad and turned around to go toward his car.
“That’s right,” Dad needed to push buttons now. We knew he would not let this go. “You be a good boy and go sit in your
car. When I decide I want to leave, you’ll
be allowed to put gas in your car”
But the man didn’t go to his side of the car. He went to the passenger side and told the
woman to move over. Then he started
fumbling around in the glove box. My
brother and I suddenly realized with horror and delight that the man was
getting his gun from the glove compartment.
“Mom,” we said, “The guy’s
getting his gun.”
“Your father is going to get us all killed,” my mom
predicted.
“Oh what? You got a gun in there?” my dad mocked, “I’ll tell you what. You might as well leave it in there because
whatever you pull out of that glove box, I’m gonna shove up your fuckin ass,”
dad was saying from right next to the guy who was still trying to bluff the gun
thing. “Did you look under there,” dad
said, pointing and trying to be helpful.
At that, family guy just sort of clammed up. He had no other play. He just sat there and stared forward while
dad berated him for a while like the bully he can be at times. Then he assured the man he would get out of
the way in a minute and asked him if he’d like to join him for a cup. He man slowly shook his head, staring blankly
in our direction, but miles beyond us.
After that we were glad to Sing “Moody Blue” all the way to
Omaha at the top of our lungs.
Then a couple of weeks later, God killed Elvis so dad would know how the Family guy in Tonopah felt. Utterly lost and all alone.
The End.
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