70s EXPERIENCES - CONTINUED
Buoyed by our success - and the thrill of our mission at the Webb household...the pull is just too much, the high, the rush - it’s totally addictive, besides providing us with so much joy and exuberance. It is literally an adrenaline kick!
With that in mind, me and Skinny get to work creating a very detailed and structured schedule - we must be highly disciplined now - to cause at least some mayhem in the neighborhood every night of the week...I mean, we have the time, y’know? Might as well put it to good use! So we plan out the entire week with an actual schedule, a highly sophisticated chart that we hang up on the wall of the clubhouse - for example: Monday night we will throw acorns at the Dalton’s house - until they come out to see what’s going on. Then, when they go back inside, we will continuously ring their front doorbell - and hide behind the bushes across the street. Tuesday, the schedule calls for ringing all the bells simultaneously in the lobby of the Amsterdam Gardens Apartments - proceeding to watch all of the residents come out at the same time, completely puzzled - and do it over and over again. This is good for multiple laughs, thereby streamlining our output. Wednesday, we go up to Skinny’s room in the attic - and throw water balloons out the window at poor old Mr. Acker, walking his hyperactive little hotdog, Fritz - at exactly 4pm...and, well, you get the picture.
Our favorite activity, however (well, besides eating all the raisins out the Raisin Bran at the Webb establishment, of course!) is our very authentic catfighting noises. Yes - catfighting noises. It goes like this: Every week now for about a month, we hop over the fence to the neighbor’s house behind Skinny’s - the Dobermanns, ironically enough. Now, you have to realize that these people are actually our friends - I mean, they take us to Yankees games with them! And picnics - plus other activities! We know them really well - yet, we just cannot seem to help ourselves.
We hide in the backyard - under the outside of their living room window - and make really loud sounds - like cats fighting. They keep looking out the window, but they can’t see us because we’re hiding. We’re very professional in our preparation for this - it totally disturbs them as they try to watch the Yankees game.
“Oh, those damn cats are back again!!
“Scat! Hiss! Scat!”
Mrs. Dobermann yells out a number of times, as she goes to the window for a fourth attempt.
“How annoying - every week they come back like this!”
‘I can’t even hear Phil Rizutto ( the Yankees announcer) with all that noise! Complain the kids - Ellen and Bobby.
“This is terrible! “ Cries out Mr. Dobermann, now in obvious distress.
Finally, in exasperation and frustration, they sic Petey, their frenetic little terrier on ‘the cats’.
He runs out in a fury, barking and howling, but when he sees us, we shush him and pet him and give him treats, so he stops barking. Now, seemingly with the cats gone, they call him back into the house - with a sigh of relief - and reward him for a job well done. At last, there is some peace!
That’s when we start the catfighting all over again - just a few minutes later.
“Oh no! They’re back!”
THE 70s AND NOW CONTINUED
I don’t know - the ease in which we broke into Daniel Webb’s house to eat all the raisins out of their Raisin Bran? It only seemed to embolden us, make us giddy. It was just so much fun, we decided - oh, we should definitely branch out with our endeavors. I mean, why only eat the raisins out of their Raisin Bran when we were capable of so much more? Intoxicated with our new-found prowess, it was decided between us that we had barely scratched our vast potential up until this point!
We reasoned that they would be gone for hours on Saturday - so why should we restrict ourselves to merely eating all the raisins out of the Raisin Bran? Why not more? At this point, our minds begin to fill with all sorts of delightful ideas! Our next step is to eat all their Cool Whip - and replace it with shaving cream ( back in those days, shaving cream had no menthol smell, or anything - it was just plain), of course, we would continue to spy on them at dinnertime, having ourselves a fabulous laugh when his mother made a strawberry shortcake - using the shaving cream as frosting!
Soon, we begin cooking hamburgers and watching TV at their house while they’re away. Before we leave, lock all the doors from the inside - effectively locking them out of their own house...it is becoming a truly blissful routine, and has the effect of restoring our battered self esteem from the horrors of high school. One by one, we embark on ever more hilarious activities - drinking half their bottle of Schweppes Ginger Ale and replacing it with tap water (they always think it has gone flat), and - finally, removing all the furniture, pictures, rugs and bikes from their front porch - while they were actually home, watching TV in the living room, no less - and hiding it in the tool shed in their backyard. But more on that one later. We’re not finished yet, oh no!
Our crowning, most auspicious activity, however is what we consider our coup de grace - our grand finale
Ah yes - a stroke of pure genius! We decide to do the unthinkable - switching their entire living room - with their bedroom furniture!! Their bedroom was upstairs - we bring down their bed, the bureau with the mirror on top, the night table - EVERYTHING - and bring the couch, the TV, the stereo up to the bedroom! Hahahahaha….I shit you not! We are beside ourselves with glee, doubled over with laughter, for at least an hour. This is the proudest we have ever been of ourselves, as we feel we’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty! We cannot WAIT till they come home so we can see their reaction…
When the time is almost there for them to arrive home - we position ourselves in the bushes so we can get a good view. The car pulls up....Mr Webb gets out, followed by the rest of the family and opens the door to the living room…
“What the hell - ?
These poor people - what did they ever do to deserve this?!
EXHIBIT B - THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN NOW AND THE 70's
t all begins while me and my cousin Skinny are watching ‘The Creature From The Black Lagoon’ on TV. Down his basement - a Saturday morning in March of 1974. The 12th time we’re watching it, as it is part of ‘Creature Features’ horror festival. In Roselle, New Jersey.
We’re 14 years old, and definitely shaken by the sudden forced racial integration of our new high school. We’re kind of jittery and jump - but also bored and restless - all mixed in with our emerging teen hormones. Another source of confusion.
“Hey - let’s break into Daniel Webb’s house!” Suggests Skinny spontaneously.
“Yeah!” I respond gleefully.
Now the thing is, Daniel Webb is probably our best friend. We know his whole family well. We’ve even eaten dinner over there. God, I mean, we pick him up for Church every Sunday morning. But we’re also kind of annoyed at him. He’s been elected the Treasurer in every club we’ve formed so far ( the last being Club UFOR - Unidentified Flying Object Research) and yet, we never know where the dues money went after each of them folded. We suspect that he has ALWAYS been embezzling the funds! That is treason, we decide among ourselves!
He lives 4 houses down from Skinny’s...and we know their EXACT schedule for every Saturday. They go shopping at the A&P at about 10 am, come back to put away their groceries, then pile into the Dodge to visit their grandparents in nearby Kenilworth - where they stay till early evening.
“Let’s go!” We both squeal at the same time.
It couldn’t have been easier to break in - they have one of those totally useless chain link locks on their side door - I mean - WHO was that supposed to stop? The Hamburgular from McDonalds?! We easily pick it - and we’re in! Exhilirated - crazed with power - INVINCIBILITY even! We survey the living room riches around us - the deluxe 26 inch Admiral color TV, the Zenith 8 track stereo system, the antique armchair in the corner - all waiting to be plundered! And - and...we decide to eat all the raisins out of The Post Raisin Bran. I don’t know, it’s again spontaneous, I guess...we pour the cereal into two small bowls. Skinny and I both proceed to eat EVERY raisin out of the said bowls, pour the bran back in the box, seal both the packaging - AND - the box top with Elmer’s Glue (very carefully) - placing it back in the EXACT same spot on the pantry shelf! We CANNOT stop laughing!! We are so PROUD of our achievement. We leave, re-locking the door. Little do we know this will become our Saturday afternoon ritual for the next year. The worst part of it is... we don’t stop there. No. We THEN take to spying on them... from outside their dining room window while they are eating dinner! Stepping on cinder blocks, barely able to control ourselves -
“Hahahahah! Shut up! Put your hand over your mouth then! Do you want them to hear us?”
The dinner table conversation would inevitably come around to the dearth of raisins in the Raisin Bran - again. They are puzzled. Hahahaha….this is the fuckin’ FUNNIEST thing ever!!
Oh, and we continue to pick Daniel up for Church the next morning every Sunday for a year.
This could NEVER happen today - there would be the home security alarms, the cameras - and the cops arriving immediately. We would be facing a lifelong dosage of Adderall.
THE DIFFERENCE FROM THE 70's AND NOW
This is what I mean by how different society was back in the 70’s - much looser - the society now is WAY too corporate and tight-ass - everything now is so tightly controlled.
So, it’s maybe the second week of January, Roselle, NJ - 1978. I’m 18 years old. It’s fuckin’ FREEZING out - like 2 o’ clock in the morning. Just one of those bleak, endless winter nights where everything seems like a barren landscape. The holidays are over, and it’s just kind of depressing, y’know? Especially when you’re 18 years old, not working and you just have WAY too much time on your hands. So, me and my friends, Richard and Luddy are doing what we do most every one of these endless winter nights. We sit in Rich’s 1967 Dodge Dart, smoking weed and drinking bottles of Michelob, crackin’ on each other, laughing, just basically trying to alleviate the boredom of winter existence. We’re still kids, really, only out of high school maybe six months - and this is what we do. Like I said, it’s the second week of January, holidays over, and everybody has thrown out their dead Christmas trees in front of their houses, on the curb. We’re park a couple of blocks from Rich’s house, right in front of this dead end street. The night’s almost over, we’re baked - and we’re bored. Now, Luddy, who always carries a Bic lighter on him, ‘cuz when he farts he puts it near his ass - and the flames grow really big, y’know, because of the methane gas, I guess. He’s kind of a genius like that. Suddenly, we notice - hey - there’s, like, about fifteen or twenty dead Christmas trees all in a row in front of us! Let’s - let’s LIGHT them on fire!! Hahaha - yeah - nobody’ll get hurt - we’ll just scare them. So we drive slowly and sneakily down the street with the Bic lighter - and we light each and every Christmas tree on fire! We can’t stop fuckin’ laughing, man! Pretty soon, when we’re on our way back to our parking spot, the whole block is ablaze with the Christmas. Luddy, for no apparent reason, carries this megaphone with him all the time, and all of a sudden, pulls it out:
“Evacuate your houses! This is the Roselle Fire Department! Evacuate your houses! One by one, all these lights go on in the houses - people start milling out in their bathrobes and hardhats and slippers - they’re gasping in horror at their trees being all lit up. They think their houses were on fire! We turn off the car lights and duck - we’re on the floor - dyin’.
Soon, two fire trucks come screaming down the street, siren’s WAILING - by the time they get there - the trees have just burnt the fuck out! No fires - just a bunch of people standing around at 2AM in their pajamas in 13 degree cold. Everybody just kind of looking at each other with puzzled, embarrassed looks. If that was today, it would somehow be construed as a hate crime - or a terrorist attack - or something, and we’d be getting fuckin’ waterboarded in some kind of Guantamo Bay set-up.