<figure class="wp-block-image size-large is-resized"><figcaption class="wp-element-caption">You wouldn’t take no for an answer . . .for a while, anyway.</figcaption></figure>



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You remember.

She didn’t dislike you. But she didn’t like you either.

Most people in their right minds would look at you two and think you were her little brother.

She was half a head taller than you – she was two years older than you – she came from a family with all brothers.

That didn’t bother you. You were in love – you knew you were. She was the one, you had no doubts.

You were persistent – you knew where she lived. You rode your bike past her house every five minutes.

She could hear you – you knew she could – you had playing cards with clothes pins attached to the spokes on your bike. You made noise – you made dogs bark – you pissed off neighbors, especially on the weekends.

You followed her at school. You watched her eat lunch – she didn’t like baloney – she threw half her lunch away – she had girlfriends – they all sat together – they’d look over their shoulders and laugh. They were laughing at you. You didn’t care – you weren’t in love with them. She winced like she stepped on a rock.

You tried to talk to her – stomach went on vacation every time – gallons of sweat – hands that shook like propellers in mid-flight. You couldn’t do it.

You had to get the nerve someplace. Your friends were no help – they knew less about women than you did.

She said hi once – in line at the cafeteria – you froze. You blew it.

After what seemed like years, you finally talked yourself into taking action. Saturday was the day.

The chances of seeing her walk out of her house while you rode by on your bike were astronomical at best.

You decided the best thing was to hide in the bushes across the street and wait.

And wait. And wait.

The sky was wandering in the direction of sunset when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

You turned and came face to face with two large guys who didn’t seem happy to see you.

They proceeded to turn your body into pink mashed potatoes.

Just as a Police car pulled up and took what was left of you into custody, flinging you in the backseat like wrinkled laundry.

The object of your affection came out of the house and identified you as “that’s the guy”. The two sets of fists belonged to her older brothers.

She knew who you were and knew where you lived. That was slightly comforting, realizing you weren’t invisible after all. Made up for the loose teeth.

Your mom and dad were wide-eyed and incredulous as the two cops explained what you were doing and how did you get that way.

Dad got the lecture – mom got the call from the school principal.

You got grounded, maybe for the rest of your life. Your mom begrudgingly emptied the medicine cabinet of every bandaid and all the Bactine that was available and proceeded to patch you up.

You throbbed with pain. The best you could do was lay in bed and listen to the radio – with the lights off.

Your first foray into the land of mysterious relationships and the do’s and don’t’s of good courting was a disaster.

It wasn’t until your 30th High School reunion that she apologized for her brothers beating you to a pulp.

By that time you were laughing too hard to die of embarrassment.

But you still remember being stretched out on your bed like a mummy, listening to Gene Weed and contemplating the meaning of life.

Here’s a half hour of Gene Weed from WQAM in Miami exactly as he was heard on July 23, 1957.

The post It’s July 1957 – It’s Miami – You’re A Kid – You Have Ideas – She Has Brothers appeared first on Past Daily: A Sound Archive of News, History And Music.