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HOW THE BEATLES CHANGED MY TIRES

Jay and Andy Feldman were my best friends when I was 10 years old. They lived right across from me, 168th Street, on the other side of The Grand Concourse, in the Bronx. My side was always The Other Side, the less glamourous side, the Morrisania Hospital side.

I always felt people on my side were less fortunate than the ones across the Concourse...in hindsight, I had no reason for that! Not sure if it was reverse-snobbism at an early age, or just plain wonder at the lunacy of spatial division as a little human, standing on his corner, arms outstretched, a speck across a boulevard as wide as a picture-book-grand-canyon, preparing for a run down the hill...yeah! that's probably what it was.

Jay and Andy Feldman were my best friends when I was 10 years old, I said that already...but I needed to refresh my memory. This is all coming out in pieces as I search recollection, looking past the empty purse in my head, pushing aside thrown-away scraps in my brain. Bits of fluff come to the surface... there it is! Jay is now 12 years old which would make me 13...time flies, when you're lost in your life.

There's a lot to dig through, as it all comes out at me. And I don't think what I'm looking for is even worth finding, let alone sharing with you. But it's all I have right now, and in time...it'll make sense to both of us.

As I said, Jay was 12 years old, we were in his room with his brother Andy, who was 9. Jay was talking about his Bar Mitzvah, and I remember being impressed by this big party he was getting. So big, he had to talk about it a whole year before. Andy was very small, he always spit on the ground, probably some gland problem but I thought it somehow made him seem adult. His voice was very deep for his size, & raspy like the Little Rascals midget...insanely deep, raspy and spitty. Jay's voice, at this point, was changing, so every now and then, in the middle of a word, it would crack. In hindsight...I remember finding this humorous; deep, raspy little brother spitting on the ground, and cracked voice big brother...well, not spitting on the ground.

Okay, so here comes the memory I've hand-picked for this story...the memory I've isolated and cornered, like the skinny 4-eyes trying to hide, from a game of dodgeball by those who are obviously older yet maintain their status by vigorous displays of unrequited ignor-anus-ness!! Sorry, there are issues surfacing here, as unexpected for me as they are for you...anyway...here goes!

Jay tells Andy to close the door. Andy sort of acknowledges him, with a knowing wink-in cahoots for some secret assignment. The door closes, me and Andy are sitting on Jay's bed. Jay says "I got something to show ya!" while Andy eagerly awaits my response. Implied tension from pre-pubescent assholes, leads to imagined sweat from about-to-be-revealed secret.

     He reaches under his bed and pulls out...The Beatles Greatest Hits, Volume 2.
     "Oh Yeah...my sister has Hey Jude!" I say.
     "Yeah, but check this out!" he responds with a knowing wink of his own.
     It's a two-record set. He opens his turntable. He puts on the second one. He cues up "Ob-La-Di".

At this point, I'll exaggerate and say that Andy is so excited by what's about to happen, that he's now standing ON the bed, as a puddle of drool has formed a lake around his forgotten saliva-wet-dream, a wad of blankets and fingers jammed into his mouth, sponging his barely concealed glee. Jay, the architect of this carefully rehearsed hysteria, takes his time...stretching out maneuvers like a 12-year old maestro-before he puts the needle down, he gives me the album sleeve, which has the lyrics...

     "Make sure you read along...okay!"
     "Okay."
     "You Ready!"
     "C'mon already!"
     "Okay, here goes..."

It appears as if Jay's eyebrows have become hairy villains, arched and ready to strike. By now, Andy has wound himself up into this tight ball of kinetic frenzy...I wonder what he's up to these days. The lighting in the room appears darker somehow, I look at Jay's feet for a second and imagine cloven hooves...I glance over the lyrics, then stop and think that I'm cheating if I don't wait to read them with the record. I've got to remain alert... something dangerous is about to happen, and I wanna be ready! Jay crouches over his turntable. The room is deathly quiet. The needle hits the groove. The music starts...
     "Desmond is a .....................
     Molly is a .....................
     Desmond says to Molly ...................
     And in the ......................
     Obla-Di, Obla-Da, Life goes on...BRA!"

     The three of us look at each other, mouths open...except for Andy.
     "Whoah, what was that?" I say
     "I know, can you believe it!" says Jay
     "They actually said it?" I say
     "It's right there in print!" says Jay
     "And they're gonna say it again!" screams Andy from the ceiling!

     "Obla-Di, Obla-Da, Life goes on...BRA!"

THERE IT WAS...the taste of forbidden fruit...the nectar of adolescence, creeping up my leg into libido...BRA!...the unmentionable my mother told me never to mention...BRA!...the curiosity that covers the curious...the mere possibility of there being something out there besides Andy and Jay...BRA!

I think I'm actually exaggerating the moment! I was taller than Jay, and towered over Andy, so I was always the older friend who should know better. But I was a pubic abnormality and developed late in life. My dad died when I was ten so my mom was the keeper of my id, ego and hairless development. The birds and bees were split between my two sisters and me. I was more interested in my beagle, and thought I knew it all...until...BRA!

We listened to that song over and over, eventually we let the entire record play a few times, while we played with The Johnny Lightning Indy 500 Championship Racing Set and Hot Wheels. Whenever that song came on, we'd sort of smirk at each other, but with quiet anarchy. I mean, Jay's mom was just outside watching TV, besides...we didn't really know if this required loud celebration.

I think we were sort of embarrassed by the mention of this garment...yet we knew there was something good about the nasty. Were we venturing out onto unknown territory like wicked little explorers on a hairless climb. Encountering the precipice between boyhood and fear. Could this have been the line between hormone and eunuch. You know, there's a perforated line between genius and moron...but there's a solid line between those two and me!

We stayed in that room all afternoon, singing "Obla-di, Obla-da, Life goes on...BRA!" It was the first time I ever played a record while playing with toys...I always thought the two were impossible together, and here I was actually arranging what I could hear while rolling little cars into a wall. I felt like an adult, as I alternated between crashing my cars and looking at the lyric sheet.

I went to Jay's Bar Mitzvah next year. After that, we moved to 177th street and the Grand Concourse...which might as well have been to Mars, since I hardly ever saw them again. I hinted heavily, and my mother bought me The Beatles Greatest Hits Vol. 2 for my birthday.

I had no friends nearby, and during summer when I wasn't getting 50 cents stolen from me, I'd wander around the main drag, where I found a newsstand that had Mad magazines and Playboys, a couple blocks away. I became tall for my age and heard tireless comments from the neighborhood kids about how some flood was over. Looking older than I was, I was soon able to buy Playboy magazines to hide under my bed. And although I don't remember doing it, I'm sure I must've played "Obla-Di-Obla-Da" while looking at the pictures.