the first skipper to guide two separate franchises to World Series victories after winning with the National League’s Cincinnati Reds in both ’75 and ’76. Congratulations also go out to series MVP, shortstop Alan Trammell.”
“Hey J,” I hear Bobby say to Janelle, “wha’s up with Ted and the job?”
“He said, ‘No problem,’” Janelle replies.
To which Bobby says, “Cool.”
“What job?” I ask, being nosy.
“Ted’s getting me and Bobby jobs at Country Boy’s,” Brad announces. Which is this Total Dive diner on the corner of 9 Mile and Vassar. Though in all the years I’ve lived in Hazeltucky, I don’t think I’ve ever once set foot inside.
So I ask, “What kinda jobs?”
“Busboys…$2.92 an hour to start, plus tips.”
Then I say, “How come you didn’t ask me if I wanted a job?” Not because I want or need one. But because this is the first I’ve heard about it and I wanna know why my Best Friend is keeping secrets from me.
“Please!” Brad groans. “I can just see you working as a busboy, Jack.”
Even though he’s right—I could never do such menial labor—I tell him, “You still could’ve asked.”
The drive down Woodward ends up more of a traffic jam than an actual “parade.” In fact, the ones doing all the parading are us fans. Not a Detroit Tiger is anywhere in sight. But what I fear might turn into a re-creation of the ’67 Cass Corridor Riots amounts to a huge par-tay in the streets.
I can’t even explain how totally cool it is to see so many people celebrating together. Black, white, Caldean, you name it…All thanks to the “Roar of ’84!”
Of course, Brad’s Mom—Laura Victor-Dayton-Victor, having gone back to using her maiden name since divorcing Brad’s Deadbeat Dad—is a nervous wreck the entire time she’s behind the wheel. Hands at 10 and 2. Staring straight ahead.
“Br-a-a-d,” she drawls in her Alabama accent. “You boys be careful, you hear me?” To which she’s referring to the fact that Brad and Bobby are now totally hanging out the passenger window. Meanwhile, I’m crammed in the backseat with little sisters Nina and Brittany.
We’re just about in the heart of Motown at this point. Down on Woodward near I-75. All four lanes are jammed with people. Shouting, cheering, rejoicing. It’s hard to even tell there’s a road ahead of us to drive on, it’s so packed.
An older black man clad in the official Kirk Gibson #23 pinstriped jersey shouts, “We did it!” As if his sitting at home watching on TV had anything to do with the Tigers’ victory. Then he High-Fives both Bobby and Brad before launching them into a chant of “Bless—You—Boys!”
I only hope they don’t start singing that stupid song!
To our right, I see a glow of red. Which must be the Fox Theatre marquis. On the left, searchlights from the parking lot crisscross the cloudy sky. Woodward Avenue is a Sea of People and our tan little K-Car is Moses, parting it.
I’ve gotta admit, despite all the excitement surrounding me, I’m a little p.o.’d. Brad’s barely talked to me this entire time. From the minute I got in the car back at my house, he and Bobby have been like proverbial peas in a pod…What’s up with that?
Personally, I don’t see what’s so hot about Bobby Russell: #1—he’s got braces; #2—he’s got bleached blond hair, spiked on top, à la Billy Idol. Which wouldn’t be so bad except for #3—he’s also got a totally stupid six-inch dyed black tail hanging down from the back.
I mean, maybe he used to be kinda cute when he was younger. I saw a yearbook picture Carrie Johnson had of him from back when they went to Roosevelt together and he didn’t look so bad. But that was before he broke out with acne. And started smoking!
“Now what?” Laura says to nobody in particular.
Looks like we’ve come to the end of the line. Woodward and Elizabeth. Next to a totally cool old-fashioned diner, complete with neon sign, called the Elwood Bar & Grill.
“Why can’t we take Jefferson back?” Brad asks.
“That’s what I was planning to do,” his Mom replies, totally frustrated. “They won’t let us through.” Ahead, we can see the cops blocking off the rest of the avenue.
“Fucking pigs!” Bobby Russell shouts out his window at the Men in Blue.
I see Laura give him a look. Though she doesn’t say anything. I’ve got a feeling she doesn’t care for Bobby Russell either.
“What are we gonna do, Mom?” Brad asks.
“I don’t know, Bradley!” she snaps. The tension in the car is starting to rival that of the throng outside.
“How are we gonna get home, Mommy?” Brittany cries out.
“Mommy, I’m scared!” Nina chimes in.
“Please sit and be quiet…Everybody!”
Poor Laura…All of a sudden the whistle from a traffic cop is blown, totally freaking her out. We can see the officer giving us the “Turn Your Vehicle Around” hand signal. Which means we have no other choice but to head back up Woodward, through the traffic jam towards Ferndale/Hazel Park.
At which point, Laura sticks her head out the window. “Officer?” she says demurely, all the while trying to maintain control of the steering wheel and keep the screaming kids in her car under control. “Can you pretty please help us?”
Now here’s the thing about Laura Dayton…The woman is a Total Looker! I can’t even tell you how many guys at school have commented on how hot she is.
One time, I went shopping at Oakland Mall with her and Brad and we ran into this guy from school, Rob Berger. Who’s actually pretty cool, for a Jock. The next day in Mr. Davidson’s 4th hour Biology, Rob was all like, “Who was the Total Babe you and Brad Dayton were at the Mall with yesterday?”
And I was like, “Um…She’s his Mom.”
“Get the fuck out!” Rob Berger said. Like he couldn’t even believe it.
Which is why all Laura has to do now is bat her eyes at Mr. Traffic Cop and she’ll have us out of here in a jiffy…
“I need to get my children and their friends home to bed,” she explains when he leans in the window. Trying to get a closer look at the Hot Momma, I’m sure. “It’s a School Night, you know?”
To which Mr. Traffic Cop replies, “Of course, Ma’am.” With a wink and a smile. Then he throws in, “Would you mind my asking where the children’s father is this evening?”
“I have no idea,” Laura smiles. “We’re no longer married.”
Ding-ding-ding!
Mr. Traffic Cop pulls back the blue and white “Do Not Cross” barrier, allowing divorcée Laura Victor-Dayton-Victor, her four children, and their two friends to pass in her tan little K-Car.
“He sure was handsome,” Brad’s Mom sighs. In the rearview mirror, I see her smiling to herself, knowing she’s still got “It.”
“Didn’t he look just like Ponch from CHiPs?” adds Brad.
I take a peek out the back window, deciding the cop wasn’t that great. I mean, I used to be a big CHiPs fan back in like 3rd grade, and he was no Erik Estrada! In fact, my Best Friend at the time, Joey Palladino, and I used to watch the show every Saturday night and talk about it on Monday in Mrs. Fox’s class. We were always arguing over who was cooler, Ponch or John. I always picked Ponch, of course.
Too bad Joey’s family moved away the Summer after 6th grade ’cause his parents didn’t want him going