By the evening news, that it would be 'home' to TENNIS players, well, 'ther goss de nayborhoot', Madre Mia.'. Fine athletes all, they ran to the beat of the cleat, already feeling the smooth, cool trophy that would cap at least a dozen family teeth. But rackets were for the extra buck; white shorts could be used for first communion and you fished with nets for crabs at
When word got out that the stadium would also house concerts, the whole borough felt like wearing war paint and scalping a few 'folks'.
Enter The Kingston Trio. Three college guys in striped, long-sleeved shirts had just made it big with a single, "Tom Dooley". (About a guy about to be hanged), packed the Newport Jazz Festival the previous year and were about to sell out in Rhode Island again with The Newport Folk Festival. Their key to success was singing and playing well on guitar, banjo and drums, being funny and avoiding the performing deathtrap of politically controversial material. (This was 1958-1959 and the 'Korean Conflict' was still bleeding.)
A high school junior with a three day after school job at Macy's had some extra cash - at least enough to follow this witty, world-traveled, easy-on-the eyes fellas who - just getting started - held the added attraction of cheap seats and the opportunity to 'hang' with college guys in the adjacent cheap seats. I first saw them at Forest Hills (Brooklyn abuts Queens) and within two years, knew every word of every song they did.
One of my favorites - political controversy be damned - was "A Merry Little Minuet". It is a supremely sardonic, satire on international telations. They did not write it, but performed it with exquisite charm and delicacy - qualities at the opposite spectrum of the commentary. What is still striking to me today, lo these fifty plus years later, is its uncanny timeliness. Yes. It is both timely and frightening. Not having the time to adequately research the tune, we shall have to rely on my memory, a very sketchy reliance of late - and in the early morn as well. 'Five, six, seven, eight. . . .
South Africans hate the Dutch.
expresses my feelings visually. There
is no unity or order; the caricatures seem
non-thematic and of differing pur-
poses. What was once unity and
intricate perfection, still developing
Later, Lorane. . . .