Drinkin' Wine,
Spo-Dee-O-Dee
by Don Drewniak
We go back in
time to the fall of 1957 when my two partners in
crime and I were fourteen-years old — two-thirds
of the way to the legal drinking age in
Massachusetts.
“Bring an
extra buck fifty for tonight and let’s leave
an hour early.”
“Why?”
I asked.
“Because
I’m asking you.”
Mitch and I
figured Lenny must have had a good reason so we
agreed.
I met Lenny at
his house. We then walked five blocks to get to
Mitch’s. Lenny remained tight lipped as we
set out to our first ever B.M.C. Durfee High
School dance. From there, we picked up South Main
Street and continued on until we reached Rodman
Street in the downtown area of Fall River.
Our leader
turned right and then left onto Second Street.
Nothing unusual about that as it would take us to
within one block of the high school.
“Gimme
the buck fifty,” ordered Lenny sounding like
one of the Durfee assistant principals.
We forked over
the money as he added his buck fifty to the pool.
“Let me do the talking. I talked to this guy
yesterday.”
“What guy?”
“Our
buyer.”
“Of what?”
asked Mitch.
“Wine.”
The only
drinking of alcohol I had ever done was a beer or
two at Ukrainian picnics.
“Just
follow me.”
We continued
onward.
“There he
is,” said Lenny as we approached Lizzie
Borden’s house.
“He’s
a freakin’ bum,” I said as I stared at
a guy who looked like he hadn’t taken a bath
or shower in years.
“No shit,
Dick Tracy.”
Lenny gave him
the money.
The bum
mumbled something to effect of, “Wait here.
I’ll be right back.”
As our buyer
walked toward a liquor store about a half block
away, Mitch said, “Hey, he can take our
money and disappear.”
If he tries,
we’ll run him down and kick the shit out of
him,” countered Lenny.
“You are
out of your mind,” I added.
The bum
entered the store.
“Bet he
bought the wine and went out a back door,”
said Mitch.
“There’s
no back door.”
“How do
you know?”
“I know.”
A couple of
minutes passed until the bum exited the store and
turned in our direction.
“See?”
gloated Lenny. “Now look out for the cops.”
“Dammit,”
I yelled.
Hello Mom,
I’m in jail. Can you bail me out without
telling Dad?
Our buyer was
carrying two bags, one of which appeared to have
three bottles and the other one bottle. He once
again mumbled. This time it sounded something
like “Have fun, boys.”
He passed the
fat bag to Lenny and then headed toward a small
park at the corner of Rodman and Second. Bag in
hand, Wine Man Lenny instructed us to follow him.
We entered the
door of an old brick building opposite the Empire
Bowling Alley and headed up a flight of stairs.
Then another, and one more.
Wine Man
pushed open a door that opened onto the roof of
the building.
“Hey,
Lenny, what’s up?” asked one of two
boys who were roughly our age. They were both
holding binoculars.
“What the
hell is this?” I asked no one in particular.
“Civil
Air Patrol,” answered one of the Binocular
Boys.
“You
really think the Russians are going to fly
thousands of miles to bomb Fall River?”
“Never
can tell.”
“You have
a better chance of seeing a flying saucer.”
“Seen
plenty of them.”
Fruitcakes.
Wine Man
pulled a bottle out of the bag and handed the bag
to Mitch. When I pulled the remaining bottle out,
the label was in Portuguese.
“Best
wine around,” said Wine Man who had already
grabbed a corkscrew from behind a roof vent.
I opened my
bottle and took a sip. It was a rough equivalent
of straight vinegar.
Mitch headed
to the back edge of the roof. I went to one of
the sides. Wine Man was busy drinking and talking
to the fruitcakes. Every time they weren’t
looking, I dumped some of the wine over the side
of the building. Mitch did the same. Wine Man’s
bottle was drained within fifteen minutes.
With about a
quarter of my so-called wine left, I put it down
and said to Mitch, “That’s it for me. I’m
leaving it for the fruitcakes. They can share it
with the aliens when they land on the roof.”
“Me too,”
added Mitch.
I figured that
the bum skinned Wine Man. He probably bought
three bottles of the cheapest wine on the planet,
and then used the differential to buy himself
something decent.
Off we went.
Wine Man was highly animated the rest of the way.
In we went to
the gym turned dance floor. The place was packed.
As it turned out, it was a good thing that it was.
I tried not to embarrass myself the three or four
times I danced. Mitch was pretty good and spent
the bulk of the first hour on the dance floor.
Wine Man was hustling some girl three or four
inches taller than he was.
Then it
happened! Wine Man began yelling. Mitch ran over
to me and whispered, “We gotta get him!”
Shit.
“Let’s
go,” pleaded Mitch, “we have to get him
out before the song ends.”
We managed to
grab Wine Man and made it through the gym and out
one of the two doors at the back of the newer of
the two Durfee High buildings. We pushed, pulled
and dragged him into a yard away from street
lights. It was not a moment too soon as he began
to heave. It was a long walk home.
There were no
repercussions as the faculty members who were
acting as chaperones and monitors were apparently
unaware of Wine Man’s theatrics. Tall Girl
remained silent and was ultimately “rewarded”
by being his date to the senior prom.
* * * * *
"Drinkin'
Wine, Spo-Dee-O-Dee" is a blues song written
in 1949 by Stick McGhee and J. Mayo Williams. It
was first recorded by "Sticks” McGhee
& His Buddies. It topped out at #2 on the US
R&B charts. The most successful cover was
that of Jerry Lee Lewis in1973 which reached #41
on Billboard's Hot 100 and #20 in US
Country.
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