Novel in Progress
Chapter One — Seaside City
Lee Marsden was a young man with a meditative countenance and unruly brown hair. He trudged from one small boardwalk business to another, asking prospective employers if they needed summer help. Though the summer season was still a good two months away, Lee was getting the jump on the annual migration of job-seekers that would soon descend on Seaside.
A beach rhythm pervaded the boardwalk. Waves crashed to the shore, tides rose and fell around the rocky jetty at the south end of the boardwalk. It was still off-season, although summer was closing in fast. Many of the boardwalk businesses hadn’t yet opened, and were shuttered with retractable steel. The boardwalk was silent except for screeching gulls.
A possible job was at Palestra’s Rides. Marsden had filled out an application, and Raymond Palestra had asked him to come back for an interview. Raymond hadn’t said much about the amusement park job. It had to be better than working in a restaurant, Lee thought as he climbed the steps to the amusement park office. As Marsden entered, Raymond motioned for him to sit on the battered green metal chair across from the desk. A wet salt breeze puffed languidly through screened windows overlooking the silent amusement park. Behind a battered green steel desk sat Raymond, who ran the park for the Palestra family. He was sullen but powerfully built, and wore a greasy blue baseball cap over his receding hairline. He squinted at Lee Marsden’s employment application.
“Says here you were in a sound and lighting club in high school. You know how to operate a sound system?” grumbled Ryamond.
“We installed a new sound system on one of the rides last year,” continued Raymond. “You ever barked?”
“Talked over the microphone. Tried to get people to buy tickets and ride,” explained a slightly exasperated Raymond.
“Oh,” replied Lee, “I see… I made announcements over the loudspeakers at basketball games, wrestling matches, talent shows, that sort of thing,” replied Marsden.
“We can put you on The Olympic Bobsled ride,” abruptly stated Raymond. “When’s the soonest you can get here after you get out of school?”
“School lets out the 20th of May, so I can be here the following Monday morning, sir,” replied Lee. Lee was a freshman at Maryland University.
At this Raymond rose from behind his desk and held out his hand to shake it. “We look forward to having you work with us, Lee,” Raymond asserted, concluding the interview.
Lee Marsden couldn’t believe that he had been given so much responsibility, to be the operator and the barker on the Olympic Bobsled ride. The ride consisted of six cars that went around an inclined circle. As riders rode up and down the incline, they felt the centrifugal force and a downward incline, inducing a bobsled effect. There was an alpine scene with snow, mountains, and skiers, painted on a backdrop behind the higher inclined half of the circle. It was this incline which set the Olympic Bobsled ride apart from the kiddy rides. Looming mysteriously above the apex of the inclined circle was the ride operator’s booth, affording a fantastic view of the entire amusement park, the boardwalk and the beach beyond.
Newer and flashier rides were out on the pier, named The Typhoon and The Avalanche. The gargantuan Ferris Wheel was also out on the pier, where it could be seen for miles away, revolving slowly like an indomitable clock. Across the boardwalk was the other half of Palestra’s Rides. Hoping to jazz up the aging and somewhat drab Olympic Bobsled ride to attract riders, the amusement park owners had installed a massive sound system, two incredibly powerful speakers had been concealed beneath the Olympic Bobsled ride. There were two regular stereo speakers hanging from the ride structure, out where they could be seen. However, hidden underneath the ride itself were the monster speakers, each larger than a refrigerator. They could be heard for blocks. The amusement park owners hadn’t scrimped on the decibels, hoping that with the addition of the new sound system, the Olympic Bob might have a couple of years of profitability left.
Marsden hadn’t a clue as to how to be a good barker, and on his first day at work he’d asked Raymond to teach him. Raymond wasn’t a barker, he was the mechanic who maintained the rides. Raymond had showed Marsden which buttons to push to operate the ride- how to turn it on or off, and how to put it in high gear. Actually, that was the extent of Marsden’s control over the great, grinding machine- on or off, low gear or high gear. Of course, there were also flashing lights and the massive sound system. After the captive passengers had gone around a couple of times in low gear, Marsden pushed the button to put it into high gear. Raymond said to listen to the other barkers, and try to be as good as them.
Perched on a metal stool facing an open window of the Olympic Bobsled operator booth, Marsden had a beautiful view of the tilted ride cars, the amusement park, the boardwalk, the beach, and the distant ocean horizon. To the right of the Olympic Bob, Lee could see The Rocket. The Rocket was unique in that it didn’t go around in a circle, instead going straight up and spiraling back down. The Rocket was operated by Walt, a poultry inspector during the off season. Walt took ride tickets, put kids in rocket cars, and then turned the ride on. Most rides only had one operator. Only rides with barkers necessitated two people- one to take the tickets and put kids in the ride cars, and the other to “bark” over the microphone, play records, and operate the ride controls.
The window of Lee’s operator booth had no glass- it was just a rectangle cut from the steel box booth. The window had a heavy steel shutter, locked at night to safeguard the sound equipment. In front of where Lee sat perched on his stool was the control panel for the ride. The control panel for the ride was comprised of three panels of switches. Two of the three panels controlled the ride cars: forward & backward, low gear & high gear. The third switch panel controlled the lights.
The sound system was on Lee’s right. A record turntable was ingeniously suspended from the roof of the operator booth with bungee cords. The bungee cords kept the ride vibrations from skipping the needle on the record turntable. Resting below the suspended turntable was the mixer and amplifier for the sound system. There were various controls on the mixer for the record player and Lee’s microphone. The microphone was at the end of a flexible gooseneck mike arm bolted to the ride control panel.
For Marsden’s first week on the job, they had given him two Top-40 hit singles. Lee played these same two songs over and over during the first week. Lee’d asked Raymond if he could bring his own records, but Raymond was dubious. The previous year, the first year The Olympic Bob had been souped-up with the sound system, they’d let the ride operator bring his own records, and it had been a disaster. The previous guy was into Black Sabbath and other metal bands. His records had attracted few riders, and some tourists had even complained. So Raymond was wary of letting Lee bring his own records.
When the amusement park was slow, Lee could rush to get a pizza slice and soda, and sometimes got a Cherry Coke and slice for Walt also.
“Hey Walt,” Lee said, leaning against the railing of The Rocket. It was a baking hot, quiet late afternoon at Palestra’s. Marsden handed Walt a jumbo cup filled with Cherry Coke and crushed ice. “You must be as tired of hearing those same two songs as I am,” said Marsden.
“Look Walt, I’ve got a great record collection, music that would be perfect to play on The Olympic Bob. Thing is, Raymond won’t let me bring in my own records. Were you here last summer when that guy in brought in that heavy metal?”
“Sure,” answered Walt, looking disgusted. “It was awful crap. I hated it. Drove people away! People wouldn’t even come in the park, wouldn’t get near The Rocket.”
“My records aren’t like that, Walt. I’ve got some great old R&B that would be perfect to play out here on the boardwalk. What kinda music would you like to hear?” asked Lee.
Walt pondered this question, taking a gulp of Cherry Coke and squinting into the sun. “Beach Boys,” Walt spat. “I’d play Beach Boys. Perfect for the beach. It’d draw people in.”
“I’ve got Beach Boys, Walt! I’ve got a great record collection, the perfect collection to play on the ride,” Marsden exclaimed. “I’ll line ‘em up all the way out the pier. Can you say something to Raymond for me? Ask him to let me bring in my own records. You’ve been here a while, he’ll listen to you. How long have you’ve been working here, Walt?”
“Oh, this is my seventh summer, Lee,” Walt said in a friendly way. “I’ll talk to Raymond for you. But your records better bring people into the park.”
Eventually Raymond allowed Lee to bring his own records in, with trepidation. It was made clear that if Lee’s records didn’t attract a sufficient number of people lining up at the ride and proffering tickets, it would be back to the three Top 40 hit singles that Raymond bought at the corner drug store.
Lee brought his own records. He listened to the barkers on other rides, especially the large whirlers out on the pier. After a couple of weeks he got a patter down. What made it exciting was the immediate feedback when Lee got it right. He knew he was making the right sounds when people expectantly lined up, tickets in hand.
Lee knew something about rock ‘n roll, and once he got his patter worked out, he was serious competition for the other barkers in the amusement park- The Hurdy Gurdy and The Typhoon. Each barker kept an eye on the other barkers within the park, and Lee Marsden consistently had people lining up in long lines. It was somewhat embarrassing for the other barkers, because their rides been designed to have music on them. The Olympic Bob had music tacked on as an afterthought.
Marsden polished his rap, and soon was skillfully interweaving words with the music, flashing lights, and the hypnotic revolving motion of the tilting cars. He’d chant his Olympic Bob mantra over the pounding bass of the massive sound system: “YES YOU COULD BE THE NEXT ONE TO RIDE THE EXCITING OLYMPIC BOB! UP DOWN & AROUND TO THE SOUND! FASTER AND FASTER! NOW HOLD ON REAL TIGHT AS WE WIND THIS BABY ALL THE WAY UP FOR YOU!” Then Lee’d throw the ride into high gear.
Lee would occasionally see the other barkers from The Hurdy Gurdy and The Typhoon in the screened-in porch where the carnies congregated. It had wooden benches and soda machines, and the carnies would have a slice of pizza or a cigarette during their breaks. Sometimes the other barkers made derisive comments on how black the music that Lee played was, because Lee played a lot of R&B and soul.
As the lines grew in front of The Olympic Bob, Lee Marsden began to be known on the boardwalk. He would stroll down the boardwalk late at night after getting off work, wearing the bright orange windbreaker with Palestra’s Rides logo on the back. People muttered “Olympic Bob” as he walked by. One of the “dirtballs” (as the locals referred to the street people who lived beneath the boardwalk), began to call him “Mr. Disco”.
The long hours at Palestra’s Rides were Lee’s life. He would get there at eight in the morning, and be there until at least ten at night. The long hours were why there were so many Irish lads working as ticket takers- unlike Americans, they didn’t mind the long hours. They lived in together in crowded apartments, and were just happy to have jobs.
Lee enjoyed talking over the microphone, playing records over the monster sound system, switching the gears, flicking the lights. He loved working at the heart of the boardwalk, smack dab in the center of the crowds and the action. As the weeks passed, Lee became a better barker, refining his rap to attract more people on the ride. Lee was a dedicated Palestra’s employee. It didn’t matter that the number of people riding the Olympic Bob bore no relation to Marsden’s salary. It was a challenge, and it was his job. Lee Marsden was Olympic Bob.
One day, Lee was rapping his rap and had just switched the ride into high gear when he noticed that two people in the lead car were having more than the usual amount of fun, waving their arms as the car bounced. Suddenly Marsden realized that the car wasn’t supposed to bounce, and as he looked closer he could see that the front wheel of the car had come off the track! The people in the car had no idea that the ride was malfunctioning- they thought it was just the thrill of the ride. Marsden immediately threw the “off” switch to shut the ride down, and announced that the ride was temporarily closed. The line at front of the ride dispersed, angry at having waited and then not getting a chance to ride. Lee ran as fast as he could to Raymond’s office.
“Raymond!” Marsden blurted, catching his breath. “Raymond, one of the cars came loose on the ride! I had to shut it down.”
“Calm down, boy. Anyone hurt?”
“No sir. I saw the front car come loose and I shut the ride down right away,” Lee answered, panting.
Raymond was nonchalant as he rose slowly from his swivel chair. “Good,” he said, thoughtfully chewing his ubiquitous gum. “Go on back to the ride… I’ll be out there in a few to fix it.”
Lee went back to his booth atop the Olympic Bob. He straightened up his records on the floor of the booth and waited for Raymond to show. Fifteen minutes later, Raymond approached the ride carrying a sledge hammer over his shoulder. Raymond then went over to the front ride car with the loose axle, pounded it a few times, and then made the familiar twirling motion with his left arm signaling Lee to start up the ride. Raymond disinterestedly watched the Olympic Bob twirl a few times, and told the Irish ticket taker at the gate to start taking tickets again. Everything was back to normal, as if nothing at all had happened.
Lee thought Raymond’s method of repairing the ride was unusual, but figured Raymond knew what he was doing. After all, he’d been the mechanic at Palestra’s Rides for years.
A week went by and there were no further mechanical problems with The Olympic Bob. Lee had been working long hours. It was around seven on a Tuesday evening, and the loose axle of the previous week had all but been forgotten. Suddenly, while the cars were going around in high gear, the front axle of the repaired car came loose again, and the ride car began bouncing wildly. For a minute or so the occupants of the out-of-control car thought that this was just another faster and more exciting gear, but excitement became terror as the ride car tilted over toward the ride spokes. Marsden saw that the rogue car contained a small boy in the front seat and a grown woman in the back seat. Lee shut the ride down as fast as he could, but saw the boy’s head bash and scrape against the ride’s track as it went around for a half turn before halting. People began screaming and running around wildly, adding to the din of the booming sound system playing Miss You by The Rolling Stones.
Lee shut off the music, and ran again towards Raymond’s office. Before he could run down the side of the ride to the ground, however, he saw Raymond come trotting down the stairs of his office. It was the first time Lee’d ever seen Raymond moving fast. Raymond ran up to where Lee was standing at the front of the ride, and told Lee to announce that the park was closed, and that everyone had to leave immediately. Their tickets would be refunded if they wished. Lee was glad to have Raymond there telling him what to do. As Lee began making the announcement, he heard the wail of an approaching ambulance.
The six year old boy died of massive head trauma. His name was Scott Willis. Scott’s mother had been riding in the seat behind him. She sustained a broken collar bone and some lacerations, but survived.
The next day the park was closed, and Lee stayed home watching TV. A couple of TV news reporters came by to interview Lee Marsden, and he tonelessly described what he’s seen regarding the accident. He didn’t mention that the ride had recently been repaired.
Subsequent to the accident, The Olympic Bob ride wasn’t fun anymore for Lee. The hours were long and the bounce had gone out of his rap. It was impossible to work at Palestra’s- Lee knew the accident was due to their indifference. Lee had always suspected that the ride inspectors were in Palestra’s pocket, but had never considered that someone could be injured or killed.
After a week of trying to continue to work at Palestra’s, Lee stopped going back. He looked for another job. The vast majority of the jobs were in restaurants. There were always a few lifeguard jobs open, but Lee didn’t have the time to do the training and certification. It was now well into the season, and all the primo jobs were taken.
A week later, Lee was still trudging the boardwalk searching for work. The prospect of a food-service job loomed: washing dishes, flipping hamburgers, or waiting tables. It was just after seven o’clock in the evening, and the boardwalk was thinning out as the dinner crowd headed back to their hotels.
Lee usually carried a harmonica in his jeans pocket. Marsden had been playing harmonica since he was a child, and was proficient. Lee loved harmonicas. He loved that he could get so much entertainment out of something so portable. Harmonicas didn’t even need batteries. Lee disdained the throngs paying for arcade games and nauseating rides; he thought harmonicas were more fun. Occasionally Lee would meet guitarists strumming on boardwalk benches, and they’d have an impromptu jam.
As Lee walked north on the boardwalk past Second Street, he discerned a small group of people gathered around a scruffy bearded guy playing a mandolin on a boardwalk bench. Lee approached the group to get a better look at the mandolin player. He was a swarthy fellow whose long dark hair flowed over his collar as he played the weathered mandolin. As the bearded fellow rhythmically strummed the small stringed instrument, it produced an ethereal drone which blended strangely with the murmur of the waves. The mandolin player alternated droning instrumentals with familiar Eagles songs.
The mandolin player had high cheekbones and looked Native American. He was wearing denims, a red headband, and a neck choker of Cherokee design. He saw Lee holding a harmonica and cast an encouraging glance Lee’s way. Lee guessed that the mandolin was being played in the key of C or A minor.
The metal wail of the harmonica’s brass reeds cut through the ambient boardwalk noise. The mandolin player noted with approval that Lee was in tune, as the trill of the harmonica blended well with the jangle of the mandolin.
In a short time a small crowd had gathered to listen to the music. Dollars and coins accumulated in the mandolin player’s open case. Boardwalk crowds invariably attracted a police officer, and soon a policeman arrived. The cop was saying “O.K. break it up, move along,” just like in the movies, and confiscated a beer or two. The officer looked disapprovingly at Lee and the mandolin player, but didn’t say anything directly to them. Live music added to the boardwalk beach resort ambiance; after all, people were on vacation. However, the local merchants wanted the tourists to be in their establishments spending money, not sitting outside on the boardwalk.
Lee Marsden sat on the boardwalk bench beside the mandolin player, proffered his hand, and said, “Lee”.
“Sancho,” replied the mandolin player, shaking Lee’s hand. “You blow a decent harp. What key harp you got there?” In musician lingo, harmonicas are sometimes referred to as “harps”.
“C,” answered Lee. “I can use it to play in G, C, or A minor. I’ve got D and A harps back in my room.”
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