Doo Wop Debacle

Scientific research has shown that the same part of your brain that processes music also processes memories.  That’s why listening to music can suck you back into the past.  In fact, many Alzheimer’s patients can still remember old tunes, even when they’ve lost many other memories.

This fact is true.  And so is what I’m about to tell you.

Back in 2001, my father was watching PBS and saw this fundraising special.  It was a reunion concert of old doo-wop bands.

“Good night, sweetheart, wellllll….. it’s time to  goooo….”

The music took him straight back to the early 60’s, down to Ocean Drive, South Carolina.  That’s where my father and mother used to go and shag dance.  They were really good and would win contests and all that. 

Bands like Maurice Williams and the Zodiacs and the Dominoes would play at these little beach parties where everyone drank rum and cokes and danced barefoot in the sand.

Back then, my mom and dad were golden Kennedy youth – all shiny and full of promise.  But, over the years they fell apart like something out of a Pat Conroy novel.  My mother developed MS, my father developed into a full-blown alcoholic.  And by 2001, they were divorced after more than thirty years of marriage.

But, those songs… “under the boardwalk, out of the sun… under the boardwalk, we’ll be having some fun…” My dad couldn’t resist.  He pledged $150 to get the whole box set.

When they arrived, he called my mom at her apartment across town and said, “Hey Trish, I got these great CD’s of doo wop.  You gotta listen, they’ll take you back.  I’ll bring them by.”

My mother said something like, “MM-hm.”  She had no intention of listening to those CD’s.  She didn’t want to be reminded of the past. She hadn’t walked, much less danced, in over a decade. So, when he dropped off the 4 CD’s of 101 doo wop songs, she just left them by the door.

He called up a week later, “Hey Trish, didja listen to ‘em?”

“No,”

“Why not??”

“Because I didn’t want to, Elbert.” 

His bubble was popped. He thought the music might be a way for them to have a conversation like old times.  “Fine!  I’m coming to get them.”

“I’ll leave them outside my door.”

“Good, I didn’t want to see you anyway.”

But, when he got to her apartment, the CD’s weren’t there.  He banged on the door, but my mother wouldn’t answer it.

And so the great Doo Wop battle began.  

He accused her of stealing the CD’s, she accused any number of neighborhood kids of stealing them.  My older sister asked if perhaps the neighbor could have picked them up, thinking my mother was away.  She was barked down by both of my parents.

My mother believed, in fact, that my father HAD picked up the CD’s, but was just accusing her in order to have a reason to call. Her bluff was called when he sued her in small claims court - think Judge Judy, without the cameras.  A sheriff’s officer came to her apartment to ‘investigate’ and asked her a few questions.

My mother was distraught.  She called me up, “Megan, your father is SUING me for $150.  And I don’t have it!”

Now, I work in public media, so I was furious.  “$150??  Those CD’s only cost $70.”

“Well, he says he paid $150.”

“He better not be telling the IRS that because he made a tax-deductible contribution to his public television station and received a GIFT worth $70.  He shouldn’t be able to sue you for any more than than the fair market value.  Have you told him that? Have you?!?”

She hadn’t. And I think the sheriff must have discredited my father’s claims, because the suit was dropped.

Finally, my older sister decided to check next door, over my mother’s protests.  “Hey, is there any chance that you saw some CD’s…”

The neighbor was totally embarrassed.  “I did!  Ohmigawsh, and I TOTALLY forgot to bring them back over.  I hope it wasn’t any problem.”

This is how you know this a story from the South: my sister said, “No problem at all.”

She drove the CD’s over to my father, who no longer wanted them.  My mother didn’t want them.  And so they sit in my sister’s garage… To. This. Day.   And the memory of that calamity could be tucked in there as well.

But then I turn on PBS during their eternal pledge drive:

"Good night, sweetheart… well, it’s time to go…”  

The memories just come rushing back.