The Watsons Go to Birmingham--1963 Read online

  He slapped the cologne on me and said, “I don’t want your mother to know I put this aftershave on you. What with you smelling so good and this new mustache coming out I don’t want her blaming me when all these little girls start attacking you.” I twisted my face up.

  We walked into the living room to watch cartoons, but when we got there Dad kept going and said, “If your mother gets up before I’m back just tell her I won’t be long.”

  “Where you going, Daddy?” Joey asked.

  Dad gave his famous answer, “Out,” and closed the door behind him.

  Dad missed Felix the Cat, Soupy Sales, Beany and Cecil, The Rae Deane Show and Betty Boop. He missed Momma getting up and Byron getting up. When he finally got back we were all sitting on the couch watching the worst cartoon ever made, Clutch Cargo.

  Dad walked in and turned the TV off.

  “Dad!”

  “Sorry, kids, everybody’s got to come outside right now. You too, Daddy-o, and you too, Wilona. I’ve got a surprise.”

  Dad made us stop at the front door and get in a line, one behind the other, Momma first, then Byron, then me, then Joey. Except for bald-headed By, we were all laughing and wondering what Dad’s surprise was when he opened the door.

  Following Dad, we walked down the front porch steps and stood on the sidewalk like a little parade. I bet the neighbors wondered what the Weird Watsons were doing this time.

  “All right,” Dad said, “when I say it, I want everybody to close their eyes, and I’m warning you, anyone who looks before I tell you to is going to get it.”

  My eyes, of course, would be sealed. If a bomb exploded under me I’d be standing in the hole with my eyes sealed. Even if my head got blown off they’d have to say, “Here’s that kid’s head, and yup, his eyes are locked tight as a safe!”

  Byron said I was stupid for listening to everything that Momma and Dad said, but if I was so stupid why was he the one who had a great big, bald, shiny, knotted-up head?

  Dad said, “O.K., now hold the person in front of you by the shoulders. Wilona, you hold on to mine. This is only going to take a minute.”

  He said that last part because Momma rolled her eyes and was real close to stopping everything by turning around and going back into the house.

  “All right, close ’em.”

  Momma gave him her “last straw” look and closed her eyes, then so did we. Dad shuffled us ahead a little bit and then we all stopped. It was real hard not to peek.

  “O.K., keep ’em shut, I’m not playing.”

  I heard a car door open, heard a loud pop, then heard Byron say, “Awww, man …”

  Me and Joey cracked up. We knew a certain person had peeked and got popped, right smack-jab on that bald head.

  Finally Dad said, “That’s it, open your eyes. What do you think?”

  Dad had opened the driver’s side of the Brown Bomber and was standing with one arm pointing the way inside.

  In the middle of the dashboard, to the right of the steering wheel, something real big was sticking out. Dad had taken one of our giant towels and set it over the thing. Everybody stood there staring.

  Finally Momma said, “Daniel, what on earth is that towel doing in there?”

  “The towel is fine, Wilona. Aren’t you wondering what’s underneath it?”

  “Yeah, Dad, what is that thing?” I asked.

  “Well, Kenneth, since you seem to be the only one with any curiosity, I guess you’ll be the one who gets to unveil the Bomber’s latest addition.”

  I crawled into the front seat and raised a corner of the towel so no one but me could see what was under it. I couldn’t believe it!

  “Dad, it’s great!”

  The rest of them, Byron included, crowded up to the Brown Bomber’s door.

  Momma had a worried voice. “What have you done to this car now? Daniel, what’s under that towel?”

  I grabbed a corner of the towel. “Ladies and gentle—”

  Byron interrupted me when he saw I was going to tease them. He said, “Awww, man, just pull the blanged towel off so I can get outta here. I ain’t got all day to listen to your mess.” He was always in a hurry to get out of someplace but never had anywhere else to go.

  “Byron, how many times have I told you about saying ‘ain’t,’ and Kenneth, you stop playing and move that towel this minute!” Momma said.

  I talked real fast before Momma could get any madder. “Ladies and gentlemen, the newest addition to the Brown Bomber!” I whipped the towel aside. “Our very own drive-around record player!”

  Momma went, “Oh my God!” and gave Dad a dirty look, then walked back into the house.

  Joey squealed, “Oh boy!”

  Even cool old Byron forgot how cool he was and screamed out, “Awww, man, this is too, too hip! No one’s got one of these. Speedy don’t even have one in his Cadillac! Too much, man, way too much!”

  Joey and Byron climbed into the car on either side of me.

  We all said, “Turn it on, Daddy!”

  I knew Dad was kind of disappointed by the way Momma had acted. She really hurt his feelings by walking off like that. Some of the time I think she forgot how sensitive Dad was. Even though he acted cheery with us I knew it wasn’t the same for him now. I knew if Momma had stayed and hadn’t gone off mumbling about money we would have been having a lot more fun.

  But Dad forgot all this stuff real quick and got excited about showing off the record player. Dad was like me, he loved putting on a show, or as Momma said, we both loved acting the fool. Dad was the best at it, though, and I couldn’t wait until I was as good as he was.

  “Well, well, well,” Dad said, leaning down into the car, “I see you three have the ultimate in taste. I see you’ve chosen the top of the line, the cream of the crop, the True-Tone AB-700 model, the Ultra-Glide!”

  We had too, ’cause right on the front of the record player in big red letters it said, “TT AB-700, Ultra-Glide”!

  “As I’m certain you are aware, the problem in the past with this new technology in automotive sound has been road vibrations interfering with an accurate dispersal of the phonic interpretations.”

  “Huh?” Byron said.

  Dad said, “In other words, I’m sure you know that in the good old days every time you drove over a bump with one of these things the needle would jump and scratch the record.”

  Me and Joey played along. “We know, we know!”

  “And, as I’m sure such a fine, intelligent-looking family as this one … it is Mr. and Mrs. Watson and your son, isn’t it?”

  “Oh no,” Joetta said, and pointed at Byron. “This isn’t our son, this is just a little juvenile delinquent boy that we feel sorry for and let follow us around some of the time. Our real son has hair!”

  Even this didn’t bother Byron, who was amazed by the Brown Bomber’s latest addition.

  Dad kept imitating the guy who sold him the record player. “Yes, as I’m sure a nice family like this one is aware, it was only last year that the scientists at Autotronic Industries made a brilliant, beautiful, breathtaking breakthrough and developed a suitable system for controlling these vibrations.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “I saw it last night on the news. Walter Cronkite said it was a miracle!”

  Dad laughed. “Precisely, Mr. Watson. Walt has two of these babies in his car and one on his motorcycle!”

  “We know, we know!”

  “Yes, the vibration problem has been overcome by the exclusive Vibro-Dynamic-Lateral-Anti-Inertial Dampening system.”

  Dad had memorized that word ’cause right on the arm of the record player it said “V.D.L.A.I. Dampening, Patented”!

  “Come on, Daddy, turn it on, stop teasing!”

  “Now, now, Mrs. Watson, be patient, and tell that little-delinquent-that-follows-you-around that if he touches one more knob on that record player I am going to pull his fingers off.”

  Byron mumbled and sat back in the seat.

  “Before I dazzle you wi
th the symphonic sound of this unit, let me point out some of its less-appreciated features.”

  “Oh, please do.”

  “Awww, man, just turn the blanged thing on. If I gotta listen to all this jive I’m gonna go in the house and get some real cool sounds.” Byron opened the passenger door and ran into the house.

  “Now, Mr. and Mrs. Watson, I’d like to direct your attention to the rear of your classic automobile.”

  Me and Joey crawled up on the backseat and looked at the back window. On the rear shelf a hole had been cut and was covered with that same stuff that’s on a screen door.

  “I can see you’re wondering what that is. Well, let me explain. What we have here is, believe it or not, a second speaker! And I can tell by that intelligent look on your face, Mrs. Watson, that you have grasped that that speaker is not placed in the rear deck haphazardly, no, ma’am.

  “Some people think we just have a hole hacked in back there by any old mechanic, but nothing could be further from the truth. That opening is scientifically and mathematically positioned by a factory-trained technician to enhance the TT AB-700’s true high-fidelity sound!”

  “Wow!”

  Byron exploded through the front door with an armful of 45s and Momma right on his tail.

  “Byron Watson, don’t you stomp on those stairs like that and don’t you slam that screen door!”

  She trailed Byron all the way to the car, fussing at him the whole way. I knew she was using Byron as an excuse to come back out and see what was going on. I guess all the laughing and fun we were having made her want to join in.

  Now that she was back Dad started really cutting up.

  “Well, well, well, Mrs. Watson,” Dad said, but not to Momma, to Joey, “I see your beautiful young daughter has decided to join us, and not a moment too soon either. Why don’t you scoot over a bit and let her in.”

  Joey loved this chance to pretend she was Momma’s mom. She patted the seat next to her and said, “Come on in, honey, this is really cool!”

  Momma slid in under the steering wheel with a halfway smile on her face.

  “Wunnerful, wunnerful!” Dad said.

  Byron lifted the record that was already on the turntable and started putting one of his own cool songs on.

  “Put it back, son, you’ll get your turn. First we have a special request from a certain young lady to a certain handsome young man. If you’ll excuse me, ma’am, I’ll just reach over here and get this show on the road.” Dad reached over past Momma to start the car, but on the way his hand kind of accidentally on purpose brushed her chests.

  Boy, did they think we were blind? Even though Dad thought he was being slick, everybody saw this.

  Momma puckered up her lips to squeeze down a smile and crossed her arms over her chests, Joetta giggled and me and Byron scrunched our faces up.

  Momma did a fakety little slap at his hand and smiled.

  Dad turned the key and the Brown Bomber fired up.

  “O.K., young lady, here’s that special number you requested.”

  Dad couldn’t help himself and started imitating a disc jockey.

  “Here’s the man with the patter,

  Here to spin the platter,

  Why, it doesn’t matter,

  ’Cause the world is getting fatter.

  I’m the man with the tune

  That’ll take you to the moon,

  That’ll make your poor heart swoon,

  I’ll hold you like a spoon.

  I’m the man with the jive …”

  Byron chirped up, “Ain’t that the whole natural truth?” but Dad didn’t miss a beat.

  “… Put your love thing in drive,

  Bring your little world alive …”

  Momma slapped the car seat. “Daniel, start that record!”

  “All right, all right.” Dad stopped his rhyming, not because Momma told him to, but because I bet he ran out of stupid poems.

  “But first, let me tell all you people out there in Radio-Land that this number was requested by a Miss Wilona Sands for the wunnerful, wunnerful man in her life, the Big Daddy of love, Daniel Watson. We at Flint’s only soul station, WAMM, dedicate this song to Daniel, from Wilona. Spin it, maestro!”

  Dad reached over past Momma to start the record player.

  Joey grabbed my arm with one hand and squealed into her other one.

  Byron was grinning like a giant, bald-headed kindergarten baby.

  Momma still had her arms crossed but was starting to smile. She brought one hand up to cover her mouth.

  My foot was tapping on the Brown Bomber’s floor a mile a minute and I couldn’t make it stop no matter what I did. I guess I was grinning pretty hard too.

  Dad’s hand touched a knob that had “Start” written on it, but before he turned it he pulled his hand back and said, “First, however …”

  We all screamed.

  “Daddy!”

  “Awww, man!”

  “Come on, Dad!”

  “Daniel!”

  But Dad wasn’t through yet, and you couldn’t rush him. In fact, the more you’d complain, the longer he’d take.

  He put his hand up to stop the noise. “But, first, we at WAMM want to apologize to the nine other women who called in requesting love songs to be dedicated to Daniel Watson. If they stay tuned, we’ll play their songs later in the evening.”

  Momma said, “That’s it,” and started climbing out of the car. It was a fun “That’s it,” though, not a serious one.

  Dad blocked the door and finally, finally turned the knob that said “Start.” Then he got into the backseat.

  We all froze. Even the Brown Bomber seemed to get quieter as the V.D.L.A.I. arm from the record player lifted itself and moved toward the 45 that was on the turntable. The arm dropped and a hollow little boom bounced around in the car. A moment of silence and then …

  And then the most beautiful notes of music I’d ever heard came from the front of the car and the back of the car at the same time.

  “DOOM, DA-DOOM DOOM,

  DOOM, DA-DOOM DOOM,

  DOOM, DA-DOOM DOOM,

  DOOM!”

  The notes were so deep and strong it felt like we were sitting inside a giant bass fiddle.

  Momma screamed and put both of her hands over her mouth. She’d recognized “her song” after the first couple of notes.

  The guy on the record started singing “Under the Boardwalk” and I had to turn around and look because it sounded like he was right in the backseat with Dad.

  We sat in the car for almost two hours as everybody got a chance to go in the house and get their favorite records.

  Even though we had a pretty good record player in the house, it couldn’t compare with the sounds that came from the scientifically and mathematically put-in speakers that the Brown Bomber had. The Ultra-Glide cast a spell on all of the Weird Watsons.

  Byron was always saying that Momma couldn’t stand to see anyone having too much fun; but, to be fair to her, I have to say that she stopped us from having fun in steps instead of doing it all at once.

  First she thought the music was too loud and made us turn it down some; then after all of us kids got to play four songs each (I played “Yakety Yak” all four of my times) she made us get out of the car and she and Dad played Nat King Cole and Dinah Washington and other mush-ball singers; then she said to Dad, “Did you tell them yet?”

  Oh-oh! I leaned into the car to get a look at Momma’s stomach. This sounded like the way Byron and me found out we were going to get a sister.

  Everybody’s ears jumped up. Something big was going on.

  Dad wasn’t too comfortable with things like this and said, “No, it can wait.”

  “No, it can’t.”

  Momma let the last song finish, then said, “Turn it off, Daniel.

  “Children, in a little bit Daddy’s going to get some vacation time and we’re going to drive to Alabama. Grandma Sands is going to keep Byron for the summer and if things don�
�t work out he’ll stay there for the next school year.”

  This was too good to be true, a long trip in the Brown Bomber and no Byron for the whole summer! And probably for the whole year, ’cause when it came to Byron nothing ever worked out!

  Byron looked at Momma and Dad with his mouth wide open.

  “We’ve been telling you, Byron, you’ve been given warning after warning and chance after chance to straighten up, but instead of improving, you’re getting worse. Do I have to remind you of the things you’ve done just this last year?”

  Byron still didn’t close his mouth.

  Momma started ticking off the things that Byron called his Latest Fantastic Adventures.

  “You’ve cut school so much that Mr. Alums has come here three times to see what’s wrong with you, you’ve been lighting fires, you’ve been taking change out of my purse, you’ve been in fights, you had that trouble up at Mitchell’s Food Fair, you had that … that … problem with Mary Ann Hill, you set mousetraps in the backyard for birds, you fell out of that tree when you were trying to see if that poor cat always landed on its feet, you got that conk, you joined that gang.… There’s just too much, Byron. We can’t have all this nonsense going on.”

  I hoped those weren’t the only Latest Fantastic Adventures that Momma knew about. I could list about a hundred more.

  “That’s why Grandma Sands is going to look after you for a while. You’re about to run us crazy.”

  Momma changed the tone of her voice. “You’re going to like Birmingham, Byron. It’s a lot different than Flint. There are lots of nice boys your age down there who you can be friends with. There’s lots of fishing and hunting that you can do. Things are a lot better there. I love that city. Your grandma tells me it’s quiet in our old neighborhood, she says that that stuff on TV isn’t happening around her. It’s just like I remember it being, it’s safe, it’s quiet. And there’s no Buphead!”

  Momma and Dad had threatened to send Byron to Grandma Sands about a million times but we never thought it would happen. This was for three good reasons.

  The first reason was that Alabama was about two million miles from Flint and By knew Momma wouldn’t let him ride the bus that far alone. He also knew it would be just about impossible for her to sit on a bus with him for the three days it took to get there.