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

 

 

… it had been quite  a day as she viewed, viewed in awe since she was of an age, eighteen, when the wonders of the world could awe her, awe her small world North Adamsville existence, as the million twilight lights, maybe billion lights, of New York City came into view from the railing of ship she was standing on. It had been a struggle, a titanic struggle, to get her mother, her sainted small existence Irish Catholic mother, to let her take her first trip away from home alone. First trip of any sort except that time they drove up to the White Mountains in New Hampshire back in 1939 but at eighteen and adventurous that did not count. And she was not really alone on this trip either since one of the conditions for going was that she go with a girlfriend. In this case, Lottie, or as her mother called her, that Riley girl, who was standing awestruck right beside her just then.

And so here they were coming into the New York port after spending most of the day getting there from Rose Wharf in Boston having gone through majestic Cape Cod Canal on the way, awestruck then too. As they prepared to dock she, nor Lottie either, could not believe that so many skyscrapers, topped off by the Empire State Building, could exist in so an small area. The Boston skyline looked like some boondock outpost in comparison. They would investigate all of that after they settled into the Hotel Bellevue and freshened for the beginning of their three day stay.

They, naturally, fully expected to see all the sights, the Automat, Times Square, Broadway, the Statue of Liberty, go up that Empire State Building in person, and do all that any tourist was supposed to do. But what drove them to this city, what made her cross swords with her mother, what drove her to pressure Lottie into coming along in the face of mother onslaught, and face the prospect of seasickness was to be able to go to one of the clubs, one of the billion clubs like Minton’s, the Kit-Kat , or the Hi-Top and hear real guys, Benny, Duke, Chick, Tommy, Jimmy, Frank, Jesus, maybe Frank,  whoever was in town play or sing to swing, blessed sainted swing and nothing else, for keeps. And she, they, were not disappointed as they leaped in one night from small town girls to swaying swing aficionados. And they were not dancing alone or girl to girl either but you can figure that out…