***From The Pen Of Joshua Lawrence Breslin-Take Two

 

CD Review

Sentimental Journey, Pop Vocal Classics, Volume 2: 1947-1950, Rhino Records, 1993

Scene: Brought to mind by the sepia-toned family album-style photograph from back in the 1940s, the time of the 1930s Great Depression survivors and of those who fought World War II, or waited at home for the other shoe to drop, that graced the cover of this CD. And by the song Far Away Places, Bing Crosby’s version especially that was something of an anthem for the hopes and fears of that generation.

This photograph, showing some worthy smiles, is a minute in the life of the parents of the generation of ’68 and one can sense  the expectations for great things to come,  or at least that the hump had been crossed in life’s struggles, life’s struggles for most people in America anyway. In a few years there will not be scrimping for new dresses and shoes for Mom to replace that work-a-day wardrobe that got her through the war or a better pair of work boots for Dad and maybe even a new suit to replace that 1930s one that had now long outlasted its threadbare existence. One had hopes anyway. 

****
“Prescott James Breslin get your dirty hands off that wall this minute," yelled Delores Breslin (nee Leclerc), Mother Breslin to some, including the yelled at Prescott, honey, to Prescott Breslin, Senior, Father Breslin to the junior one being yelled at just this minute. Just as Mother Breslin, hell, let’s call her Delores, was getting ready for cascade rant number two aimed in Prescott, Junior’s direction wafting through the air, the radio WJDA air, came the melodious voice of Bing Crosby singing in that bubbly sweet, nuanced voice of his, Far Away Places. The air went out of her vengeance lungs for a moment. Ah, their song, Prescott, Senior and Delores' song. Their forever memory song.

Delores flashed back to the night in 1943 over at the Stardust Ballroom on East Grand in Old Orchard Beach that she, then a hard-working typist for the State Insurance Company right here in Olde Saco (and making good money for a single, no high maintenance girl, living at home to cut expenses even more) and Marine PFC Prescott Breslin stationed, after serious service in the Pacific wars (Guadalcanal, etc. which he like many men of his generation remained silent about, kept quiet and inside about, unto the grave. It was only when old war buddies who came to eulogize him at funeral time mentioned certain heroic exploits that the family even knew of such bravery although he whole downtrodden life spoke of a different, less definable bravery) at the Portsmouth Naval Base met while they were playing that song on the side bar jukebox between sets. Sets being performed by the Be-Bop Sextet, a hot, well, be-bop band that was making a national tour to boost civilian morale while the boys were off fighting.

They hit it off right away, made Far Away Places their song, and prepared for a future, a joint future, once the war was over, and they could get their dream, shared dream, little white house, with or without picket fence, maybe a dog, and definitely kids, a few although they never specified a number. The perfect dream to chase the old Great Depression no dough blues and World War II fighting dust away, far away. And to be able to breath a decent breathe, a not from hunger breathe.

Just then Delores snapped back into the reality, the two by four three small rooms and a kitchen reality, of their made due, temporary veterans’ housing set up by the Olde Saco Housing Authority (at the request of and funded by the War Department) to house the housing-hungry returning vets and give them a leg up. Add on to that humiliation (her family, although not his down South Appalachia family, had had a private single family home all though the Great Depression) the further reality that Prescott’s job at the Macadam’s Textile Mill was none too sure now that rumors were circulating around town that the mill-owners were thinking of relocating to North Carolina. Prescott, son of a coalminer and a coalminer himself before he jumped at a chance to join the Marines, was glad, glad as hell, to have that unskilled work in coal-mine-less Maine.

And the biggest reality of all: well, Prescott, Junior, Kendrick, and, most recently, still in the cradle Joshua all quickly in succession once the separation of war allow for a resumption of normal (Catholic normal) intimacy. And three was enough, more than enough thank you she mused. But as that terrific tenor of Dick Haymes singing Little White Lies was making its way into her air space she fell back to thinking about that now old dream of the little white house, with or without picket fence, a dog and a few (exactly three, thank you) that was coming just around next corner. Somebody’s corner. And just as she was winding up to blast young Prescott, his dirty hands, and that wall, maybe a little less furiously that she intended before, her thoughts returned again to her Prince Charming, the Starlight Ballroom1943, and their song. Their forever memory song. Yes, she would get by.