November 28, 2006

My Little Red Wagon Part II

That following week was the beginning of it all. We all have our own way we ‘got in’; exposure to the music, a funny haircut, whatever. The way the kids and the administration in my school handled what they saw in me truly made me what I was. The junior high school was bad enough; where I went junior high was seventh to ninth. I was only there for ninth. There were some fights in the hallways and of course the mental torture but the real problem was the administration. The people who are supposed to understand and work with teenage angst were the very people causing the biggest problem. punker.jpg

Every fucked up thing that happened there was the fault of the Punks. I swear my locker was searched daily. It was bullshit. Every time I put a new lock on they would cut it off in hopes of finding the next drug cartel. They wondered why we had such bad attitudes. As time went on the two other Punks got more and more nuts in style and attitude. More kids started getting into it as well. I’d say by Christmas that year there were around six or seven of us. One of the original Punks started growing in his hair and listening to Motley Crue. The other one became a good friend of mine and was also the first person I ever saw with Liberty Spikes. I haven’t seen Scot in about twenty years. I heard he died in a car accident but later found out I was misinformed. Still haven’t seen him though.

That year marked a major turning point for me. I’ll never forget it, even though my parents said I would. Most of the people I hung out with didn’t go to my school. Scot was an exception, but he and CJM didn’t really get along too well over time so we kinda grew apart. Christine was someone from my school I stayed in touch with. She went out with CJM for a while. I used to love going to her house, her parents were off the boat German and had no problem with us drinking as long as we did it there. Crazy right?? We were fucking young!

Her sister traveled a lot and would always bring back new music. She was responsible for hooking us up with the Damned, 45 Grave, Crass, TSOL and Social Distortion, to name a few. The parties there were insane. I met one of my cousins, Troy at one of her parties. I know that sounds nuts but it’s true. What’s even crazier is that long before I met my wife, she went out with him. Christine took a lot of mental abuse back then and to this day I can’t figure out why. She was one of the coolest girls I knew back then and had one of the best music selections ever. She did go out with, and I use that term loosely, a lot of dudes but I hate to think that was the reason.

Tesco's parents were often wrong about what he would and wouldn't remember...

Archives

November 22, 2006

My First Little Red Wagon

I used to walk to school. I hated the bus, the kids were always so cliquey. I was one of three Punks in my junior high school, at least the ones who looked it so I wasn’t very popular in the beginning. I guess I should fill in the blanks here...

pmfb.jpgI moved from Warminster to Warrington during the summer of ’83. In Warminster the kids were still about late seventies rock and the “cool” ones were about the Sugar Hill Gang. I couldn’t really get with either one. I had a thing for the Kinks and I was definitely impressed with Van Halen but the Punk stuff my dad was listening to was so new and perfect. When I moved to Warrington I met CJM, he was just getting into bands like the Sex Pistols and the Dead Kennedys through some other kids he knew from the city. I jumped right on that. I thought only people my dad’s age were listening to Punk so hearing another 14 year old playing it ruled. I remember the first haircut I got that summer, it had to be something new, it had to be Punk. No more parted in the middle feathered back on the sides. There was this hair stylist at the local strip mall that CJM was fully hung up on. She really was hot and she was from the UK so the accent was perfect at that time. I figured this chick had to know what I needed.

I sat down in the chair and she put the smock over me while asking what kind of cut I was looking for. You would figure that would be the perfect time for an answer right? Any man reading this knows that was impossible. Here I am this 14 year old wanna-be Punk looking at this extremely cute, English hair dresser… I’ve already completely undressed her in my head, I’ve fully consumed her perfume and thank God for the smock if you know what I mean –how the hell can I answer the question? She smirked a bit, shook her head with a smile and started cutting. I was fully in fantasy land watching her circle around me running her fingers through my hair. By the time she was done I was totally hojo1.jpgout of it. I consider that my first sexual experience just so you know. At that moment, I loved my hair. It took only my walk back home and into the bathroom to realize that I fully had a “New Wave Dave” thing going on. I wanted it off, but I didn’t want anyone to think the stylist fucked up so I dealt with it.

School started a week later and I thought I would never hear the end of it. Aside from the other two Punks who really only had your basic eighties spikes, no one looked the slightest bit out of the ordinary. I walked in on future CB West football heroes and seventies throwback dirtballs looking like I played the keyboards for Howard Jones. That first week I dealt with relentless torture from the jocks and dirtballs, humiliating laughter from all the popular girls and dirty looks from the teacher’s aids. It couldn’t be more perfect. Friday afternoon came and I couldn’t wait for my dad to come over and drop that sweet con-money in my hands –I went directly to the drug store, bought a box of jet black hair dye dumped in my hair and started cutting. After some tough maneuvering of the hand held mirror, I emerged with a black hacked very wide Mohawk. I couldn’t wait for Monday.

Tesco only has good hair days now. Archives

November 14, 2006

I Remember Part III

“We should just stay at Brody’s.” I looked at John like he was nuts, “We came down here to find CJM-“John cut in, “He’s home!” I looked towards Market East, then back at John. Before I could say a word, “If he’s home, he’s fine… Jane’s with him.” Jane was a bit protective of CJM and she hated all his boys, especially me. I still have no idea why. “Yeah, I guess.” We started back towards Brody’s house.

It was always kinda cool what happened in the city when it started to get dark, you could still see the people rushing to get out of the city as their work day ended while the night-crawler traffic rushed in. South Street was still pretty good back then, don’t get me southstreet6.jpgwrong, there were still plenty of assholes around but from Front Street up to around 7th it was always alive. This is when we would usually end up there. This time though, I was tired. I could see that John was as well. We covered what felt like all of South Philly trying to find CJM just to find out he already went home. I remember feeling a little weird about Butcher asking us if we needed somewhere to stay, Brody’s door was always open, why would we need an invite?

I tried not to think about it, the short walk to Brody’s felt so long at that point all I could think about was lying down. We were about three doors down from Brody’s and I could see the anxiousness in John’s steps. I knew we wouldn’t get to rest for long before people started showing up but it didn’t matter, I just needed to get me feet off the sidewalk. “It’s locked!” I thought John was gonna cry, “…Why the fuck is it locked?” Came to find out later that everyone went to Live Aid to start a riot and even if I remembered anyone talking about it, it wouldn’t have mattered, all I knew is that I was still gonna be walking. “Fuck man!” I think John must have realized what happened even though I didn’t know. He would take any opportunity to fight, especially an all out riot in the lot of some hippie gig like Live Aid and I could see it in his eyes. We walked back to South Street almost automatically to the pizza shop under Fat Tuesdays.

“Ickie?” Ickie was slouched down in the furthest corner seat in the place. “What are doing here man? Ivan is gonna kill you if he sees you here…” Ickie looked right past me, directly at John. I think John scared him more than Ivan did. “He’s at Live Aid with Justin.” I could hear the nervousness in his voice, “John is way too tired to…” before I could finish saying it, John had already ran past me right at Ickie. Ickie jumped over the table, right past John and out the door, John was right behind him.

Tesco knows that sometimes you can walk all day and still not get where you wanted to go.
Archives

October 30, 2006

I Remember Part II

Or least it felt that way at that point…. John and I hung out for a bit but we really wanted to find CJM. “He was hanging with Ickie and Justin last night when we left,” John looked at me like I was some kind of detective, “Well, Ickie lives in Norristown, so that’s out, Justin lives in West Philly, so that’s out….. Any other ideas?” “Fuck it.”

thephin.jpgWe walked around South Philly for hours stopping at all the spots where CJM and Jane might go. “Maybe they went home…” CJM lived right around the block from my house but I knew if I went back home now my mother would either lock me in my room or have my bags packed on the front step, “I can’t go home right now dude…..Yo, is that Ickie?”
Ickie was this skin from Norristown who hung with the Philly skins. “Ickie!” Ickie ran over to us in a panic, “Dude, have you guys seen CJM??” John and I looked at each other, “What do you think we’re doing here…..”

Ickie’s expression said it all, “You know what happened right…. Me and CJM left Brody’s to meet Justin-“ “I thought you were with Justin at Brody’s?” “-No, listen dude, so we see a bunch of guido’s at the corner of 6th and Pine… They start saying shit so I told CJM not to say anything stupid-“ “So what’d he say?” “-Your mamma.” I can only imagine the scene…. Here you have a couple young drunk skins walking past a bunch of low-life wanna-be mob club boys with nothing to do. “Fuck….” Ickie shaking his head he goes on, “One of them walks up to us, CJM of course gets right in his face and says it again – I’m ready to take off but I can’t leave him there you know?” I can see John’s fist clenching…. “So then what?” “-The rest of them walk up, slam me to the sidewalk, one of grabbed CJM by the neck, held him up on the wall and pounded him in the eye….”

John is turning red now, “John, relax dude…” “Then what?” “-I fuckin’ ran!” John grabbed Ickie like he was a rag doll, “You left him there!!” Ickie was shitting himself, “Dude, what could I do, there was like six of them.... I ran back to Brody’s house, Justin was there with Adam, Mark and Ivan, they all came back with me…..”

I thought John was going to kill him right there. I could tell by the anger in his eyes that he didn’t really need to hear anymore. The thought of CJM getting beat to shit while Ickie ran from the scene was a bit too much to take…Ickie would soon be a beaten, bloody mess on sidewalk – I figured I’d better speak up, “Then what?” Ickie replied to me while keeping an eye on John, “Ivan was pushing me the whole way back saying I was a dead skin if CJM is fucked up… Adam and Justin were running way ahead of us-“

Oldlexscoot.jpgAdam and Justin were two skins you needed on your side; they had so much loyalty they would kill anyone who fucked with one of their own. Justin, a tall good looking skin of obvious Nordic decent, always wore a black U.S. Army beret and carried a cane. The cane didn’t help him walk, it helped him beat people. Adam was a real ‘clean cut’ skin; all about the Fred Perry’s and polished 14 hole Ox Blood Doc’s. He was a union steel framer in the city who very much looked like he threw steel around all day. Justin initiated CJM a few years before so he kinda treated him like a younger brother.

Ickie continued, “-Some asshole in a beamer (BMW) started pointing at us as him and his girl were laughing, Justin jumped up on the roof of the car, and smashed the windshield with his cane-“ neither John or I flinched at this little addition to his story, Justin was known to flip out when he was even slightly provoked, “-By the time we got back, CJM was gone, the guido’s were gone….” Ickie looked like he was too nervous to go on; John was right in his face waiting for him to say the wrong thing…. “-Ivan slammed me to the ground, I heard Adam say he was gonna beat down every wop in the city until he finds CJM……” I could smell the fear…… “…..Then I got up ran-“

Before he even got all the words out, John had him on the sidewalk beating him on the side of his face until blood was pouring from his mouth. I knew if I didn’t stop him, he would kill Ickie. As I said earlier, John was like a vicious Pit-Bull….. And I would never try to pull a Pit-Bull from a fight. I had to do it, Ickie surely would be dead if I didn’t. No sooner did I pull John away…. You guessed it, Ickie ran.

“So now what?” John asked me, without a bit of remorse for what just happened, “Dude, you almost killed him!” John looked at me, “Fuck him – we’ve gotta find CJM.” I looked past him to see the TLA Video sign flickering on. “What time is it?” We kept walking around….. Down Fifth street to Christian, back up Eighth street to Bainbridge….. It seemed we covered all of South Philly! “What the fuck is going on up there?!” John saw them first and took off towards them… I still couldn’t really tell who it was.

As we got closer, I recognized Butcher but I couldn’t tell who he was beating – “Hurry up dude!” John could run like hell. I guess it was because he was a skater and I was a lazy lump of cigarette smoking trash! By the time we caught up, Butcher stood over his victim…. “India?!” I was shocked, she must have been alone. “What happened?” I was almost afraid to ask….

skintattoo.jpgButcher looked right at me, “Fuckers tried to take my boots! They’re not even Docs!!” He kicked India’s still, bleeding body, “Fucking whore….” John had no problem trying to get the rest of the story, “How did you find her alone….Where are her boys?” Butcher looked at John like he was next, “Fuck you John, you think I can’t handle a couple of pussy DC skins?” John actually looked worried, “No dude, I just don’t see-“ Butcher cut in, “I’ll go the fuck down there right now and kill every fucking one of them!”

Butcher was scary enough when he was calm, but right now, I don’t even want to look him in the eye. “Her two faggot boys kicked me down from behind, I got right up, ripped one of them, he ran, the other one ran so I beat the fuck out of her!” ‘Ripped’ meant he slashed him….. Hence the name ‘Butcher’. “She’s not moving dude” They both looked at me like I was an asshole, “She’s not dead,” John assured, “she’s just out.”

I couldn’t help but think that Butcher may have solved our DC infestation… They picked the wrong punk to jump. Come to think of it, I don’t recall any more ‘boot stealing horror stories’ since. “You two need somewhere to stay?” Here we are standing above this beaten, unconscious chick talking like it never happened – “I’m going back to Brody’s” We started walking, I looked at John, then to Butcher, “We’ve gotta find CJM.” “Oh shit,” Butcher stopped, “Brody told me he went home, I forgot to tell you….”

I was kind of relieved, a little pissed but not that I would show, not to him – “Let’s go get the train.” John spoke right up, “Later Butcher….” There was always this warm feeling when you walked away from Butcher, almost like you were walking away from Satan. We started walking back to Market East.

Tesco still lives just outside of Philadelphia and has walked away from Satan numerous times, usually after having coffee with him.
Archives

October 23, 2006

I Remember Part I

A story about a day in my life as a mid-teen Punk. I changed names and a couple facts here and there to keep it interesting.

septa1.jpg
John was a punk in every sense of the word; the look, the attitude, the music – he had it. He called to tell me CJM got knocked out downtown after Brody’s party – We had to get down there. I lived just outside the city, John lived about 20 miles north of me so I would just meet him at Market East and we would walk from there. Brody lived just off South Street on 6th. Not too bad of a walk when you’re NOT hung over. Brody was like the ‘King of the Punks’…. not only did he have a perfect double hawk but he knew everyone, his girl would go over to Europe all the time and bring back all kinds of otherwise unavailable music and of course, he was over 18 so he could stock up his fridge with beer purchased in Jersey (drinking age was to 18 there at the time).

I always hated Market East; bums everywhere, the whole station smelled like piss, every single asshole that walked by me either tried to start shit or just gave me that ‘I’m so glad my kid is not you’ look… but I waited there anyway. John showed up about 20 minutes after I did and we didn’t even get to the Gallery entrance before a couple older black kids started some shit – there were too many this time so we had to walk – this just made John even more pissed. We weren’t two blocks from the Gallery when John decided to beat some innocent kid to the sidewalk. John had a violent streak created by his older jock brother who would literally throw him down a flight of stairs if he looked at him wrong. I stood back on this one, I wasn’t a violent kid… at least not like John and CJM. We kept walking. John was singing “I ain’t no goddamn son of a bitch…..” I loved the Misfits but the only music in my head was GBH – man what a fucking great show – City Gardens actually got some real bands in there back then.

“Dude, let’s stop at Rock’s and grab some beer.” Didn’t matter that it was only 11:00 AM – John could drink all day…. Rock’s was this little deli where the old man who ran it didn’t care how old you were, if you showed him a card, any card I’m talking a school library card – ANYTHING, you got served. This was perfect for a couple of 15-year-olds, who either cut school or got suspended for poisoning the vice principle’s fish, and had nothing better to do all day, “I’m sure Brody’s out…” Of course I wasn’t gonna say no. I was a poor kid from the suburbs of Philadelphia – John lived in some $500k house in Buckingham – He always had some dough – Dude wants to buy me some beer, who am I to say no? (Nancy Reagan would have loved me!). We got some beer, Old English 40’s, and continued to Brody’s place. We ran into Butcher at the ‘Circle’, “Watch your back dude, DC skins are up.” Every now and then a couple of DC skins would show up, fuck up some young punks and steel their boots. ASSHOLES! skins.jpg

Butcher was probably to blame for this – He was one of Brody’s boys, a real fucked up dude who got his name from slicing up some dude’s face with a straight razor because he threatened Brody in some local rag….. He started with the skins at a ‘Rock against Reagan’ gig in DC. Philly Skins were pretty well known back then and actually got along with the punks… well, most of us anyway – As long as you didn’t wear any ‘un-American’ shit or rich kid Rock n Roll mall store crap, they were pretty tolerant. They always liked Butcher, probably because there wasn’t a situation that Butcher would back down from. Well they backed him up, chaos erupted and the relationship between Philly and DC would forever be shot…

“Fuck her!” He was referring to India-- the leader of this little skin mob from DC – If that’s not enough, she’s a black girl who doesn’t remotely resemble a skinhead…. whatever – “The mood I’m in…I hope we run into that bitch – no one’s fucking getting my Doc’s!” (This ‘fuck you’ attitude was typical of John…… CJM and I once witnesses a brutal beat down by his brother and his jock stooges…we tried to make him stop but he just kept going back – his face swollen and bleeding, he was like a wild pit bull – eventually THEY stopped and moved on…. as far as CJM and I were concerned, John won).
By the time we got to Brody’s the beer was gone but the buzz was good, hair of the dog right? I felt much better. Brody’s door was always unlocked. I suppose when you have a crew like his, you don’t really have much to worry about. The place looked like a bomb hit it… the ever-present stench of cheap beer, stale cigarette smoke, dirty hash pipes and cherry incense.

zipperhead.jpg“Brody! Where the fuck are you man??” John was too busy looking for floaters, “Yo Brody!” –
“Dude, stop yelling man” Brody appeared from the kitchen, “My fucking head….what are you guys doing back so early?” Brody’s hawks were both down,
“You like shit dude!” :blank stare:
“What happened to Budgie?” This is what Brody called CJM, addressing him any other way was useless.
“How did you hear already?”
I really loved this place, Brody and his roommates never had real jobs…. One was a bartender, one worked on South Street at Zipperhead and Brody owned a record store – all three were in the same band. This was a typical morning at Brody’s place, I woke up here enough to know that.
“I heard from Jane, she called John this morning….” Jane was CJM’s girl; a fringe skin who looked like a runway model.
“Wait, where the fuck is Jane?” Brody still hanging on the refrigerator door, “They both left about fifteen minutes ago….dude, where the hell is John going?” John had made his way upstairs looking for CJM but only found Stalin – Stalin was Ivan’s sidekick; Ivan was a massive skinhead, very intimidating, very communist – no one ever questioned why…… if you saw him, you wouldn’t either. Stalin, however, was a colossal asshole... Still, John would never pass up an opportunity to fuck with him.
“Why is Stalin always fucking that skank Tina?”
“Stop fuckin’ with him John…. dude, they left…”
We wouldn’t hear CJM’s version for hours…

....to be continued....

Tesco

Tesco still lives just outside of Philadelphia and still has his boots. Archives

October 20, 2006

Life Is A Loaded Gun

Going to shows back in the eighties was almost a daily routine.

It was so good seeing all these bands back in the day... man I miss those days... things just didn't matter! I grew up poor as hell. I bought all my clothes at thrift stores... except for the occasional BOY of London purchases... of course I usually stole those. I tore up every t-shirt, button down and pair of pants that my parents would buy me until they finally stopped buying them. We drank any alcohol we could get our hands on , usually it was whatever our ‘runner’ would drink. We would go to shows and sneak in through back doors or just hang out in the lots outside. I’d hold my lunch money so I could buy smokes. I fully didn't care.

tesc.jpgNow I work like 15 hours a day trying to get as much dough as possible - What boss works that fucking much? My hair... I said before how much I miss my hair. I'll say it again -I miss my hair! I do have to say, I don't miss school. I miss the parties that came from knowing people at school but I don't miss school itself. I remember my parents always saying how much harder the working world will be - WHATEVER! They obviously didn't have my teachers and administration officers! I don't know how it is now but in the eighties if you looked different than the 'norm' they made your life hell.

Of course looking Punk now is the norm.

I don’t wanna sound like the old man chasing kids off his lawn but what do kids have to deal with now? What exactly is different anymore? I have two boys, they’re both pretty young but the bullshit they have to deal with in school is making ME nuts! They don’t seem to care… I guess they really don’t know any different. I see kids all over my neighborhood but none of them look any different than any other kids around –I mean the whole old school Punk look seems to be back but there are tons of those kids around. You can fully stock up in the fucking malls now.

I really can't let it go. Everyone back in the day said that I would eventually stop with all the Punk crap and grow-up. I kinda had to grow-up... I was left with my Mom's apartment when I was 18 - I went from no responsibilities to way too much! My parents were still so wrong; working life is so much easier than school life... Of course now I have to provide and pay bills - and that kinda blows... why the fuck did I put myself into all this? I still don't stop bleaching my thinning hair, I still wear tanker boots to work, I still try to make it to a few shows a year and I still blare hardcore at ungodly levels in my truck.

I know… I’m like a fucking male Peg Bundy right?! Actually more so in that picture… that was 1995 and I was dressed all fucked up. The guy on the right is who I was talking about in last weeks post and the girl in the middle is now my wife.

Despite what he tells you, Tesco still parties like it's 1999.

Archives

October 9, 2006

Too Old Punks

Funny how things work out; The other day CJM and I were having lunch at this cool little bar in South Philly where the bartenders basically play whatever they want, and it's usually very good Punk - old school, local and some newer (accepted) stuff... that's right, ACCEPTED. You think I'm a snob, you should meet some of these old school Punks in town! We were talking to one of the bartenders and I said to him, "you look familiar as hell..." He returned by saying that he knew who I was the first time we came in last summer but he remembered me not being very nice so he didn't say anything to me... I've always been a dick!. He said his name and it all came back to me. After a lot of conversation about old times, that CJM stayed out of for some reason, I started thinking...

CJM was the first in our crowd to spike his hair and start wearing Dead Kennedys t-shirts. This was a ballsy move in the surrounding suburbs of Philadelphia. Back then, the city was booming with Punks; South Street was covered in mohawks, green hair and random violence... the Kennel Club was still open and booking the best bands of the scene... Pontiac Grille was still Dobbs - and it ruled (if you could get in).

Not in the burbs -

drunkpunks.jpgDenim jackets, hair feathered and parted in the middle, mullets and cheesy 70's metal was the way... not a couple of Punks with torn bondage pants and colored hair. I jumped right in and few kids back then did the same... most of the ones that did, did it very cautiously. One kid, who became a very good friend later in life, tagged along with our group doing anything we did, trying so hard to be radical but never really pulled it off. We never took him in. He was younger (and we were fucking young, 13, 14) and was more a pest always trying to hang out and stuff. We had enough trouble trying to get drugs and alcohol back then without some 'kid' following us around.

He went on to be the first in his crowd to take the dive... the younger ones. Later on, in my twenties, I ran into him in Doylestown. We bullshitted for a while about the early days and how much CJM and I were such assholes! We ended up becoming good friends and he turned me on to his crowd. This is when I got into a lot of the indie bands I dig. The big one he got me into is GVSB, yes, thanks to him.

These guys at this bar are his boys.

So here's CJM and Tesco sitting here all toned down Punks while these dudes are still full bore. I looked at CJM and said,

"You made these dudes Punks...everyone they turned on to it, you're responsible for!"

Funny how it all comes back around...


Tesco used to write at 100 Records til the man brought him down. You can now find him at Tesco's Place, as well as here once a week.

Archives


full archives