The Roadhead Chronicles
By Mike Marino
Sample Chapter: Where Cool Was Born
Page 8 of 8
The drive-ins, the carhops and hot, sweaty summer nights. Godzilla and The Attack of the 50 Foot Woman, Marilyn Monroe and Jayne Mansfield, Dean and Brando. All took their place on the stage to create the concerto of pop culture. Music poured with the intensity of hot oil from every radio, the beat blending harmoniously with the backseat fury that was let loose in the 45 rpm rhythm of the night. The gauge would soon drop, heading for "E", and "empty" would be Groucho's secret word as our gas would run low, and time would run out. The days of teen dreams would soon move down the food chain of memory and become nothing more than just that, a backseat full of fading memories.
In time, and soon out of step, the innocence of American hi-fidelity nights of Brylcreem dreams, last dance songs and fresh fin's of Bel Air's would face the final curtain. The wet head was dead, the fin began to retract, withdraw and disappear into automotive obscurity, and soon, very soon, too soon, the first body bags full of America's young and dead, would come crashing home to American shores on a tsunami wave of death from that far away land of Vietnam.
Nobody saw it coming. Nobody heard it coming. Until it was too late.
Vietnam, the land that no one had ever heard of before, was making itself known, loud and clear. It was a killing field that destroyed the illusion of youth and it's dreams, and both were now washing ashore on a beach, cool, moist sand, now drenched in young, rich, red, warm American blood accompanied by a new war reality. We? We were no match for it's powerful riptide and surge, that raced on shore, then retreated, and like a vacuum sucked all our dreams, all our youth and all our innocence far, far out to sea.
End of sample chapter