***The Roots Is The Toots- The Music That Got Them Through The Great Depression And World War II…

 

…and memories of that girl (or guy you fill it in but I, male, am telling this story) who got away, the one that you spied in the hallway in school, who kind of looked, well, interesting, and then you, relying on your boys’ lav Monday morning before school talkfest about what did or did not happen that previous weekend found out that she was “spoken for,” unapproachable anyway, and you let it go at that. Moved on to the next furtive glance and then put that in the back of your mind. Always wistful though when you saw her down that now forlorn corridor, wishing that she could be your friend what with what lay ahead as the war clouds of the world were gathering and you knew you had do something about it, about stopping the night of the long knives.

Or still dreaming about that night when another she, a she from work downtown all beautiful and alluring, who kept making glances your way, especially after you got your number picked and were getting ready to head out, but who was also very married, married to a guy, a guy your brother hung out with, whose number had already been picked and was on his way to Europe, told you in no uncertain terms that you were her choice to keep the morale of the boys at home up and took you around the world. You then slogging it out in some basic training hellhole getting, ah, funny feelings thinking about that and about whether she would still be interested in keeping morale up when you get leave before shipping off to that same Europe.       

Or try this- you were married to another and yet another she, maybe alluring, maybe not, but available could be coaxed into doing her “duty” to keep the morale of the boys waiting for their numbers to be called and meeting in a crowded bar, a little drunk, a little flirty and not particularly worried about marital status what with the shortage of men around kind of led you to that room and showed you like that beautiful and alluring fluff what was what.

Or maybe story-book Hollywood bill of fare all misty and good that girl next store who would not give you a tumble but would talk to you for hours, go to the dances with you, share a soda, drop nickels in the jukebox but who, drunk sober, or in between would not do her duty although if you came back alive them, well, we will see buster.

Or one of a thousand other reasons for parting, some good, some bad but in misty future time regret, after accounts were settled and the world, your world anyway, got back to jukeboxes and furtive glances, regretted for that maybe first love, she of the hallway school looks, she of the alluring downtown look, she of the coax-able disposition she of the frosty no, and why things hadn’t worked out. Thus this song to get one by on that cold, lonely remembrance night.