The Motley Crew

The following is based on a true story, with only a few dramatic flourishes.Setting: A small hospital in a small town in the rural south, during the very early 1980’s.

Cast of Characters:

Petey: A young orderly and a nursing student.  Very quiet but possessing a wicked sense of humor that he shares only with his closest friends.  Nicknamed “The Silent Smiler” by some friends and called “Magnum RN” by others.  He also happens to be adorable, with deeply brown, wavy hair, mustache, and eyes the dreamy blue of a perfectly faded pair of Levi’s.

smiling magnum

Wayne: Also known as “Pig” due to his prodigious size and corresponding appetite.  Works in the laundry department.  This job lasts until he is feeding wet sheets into the industrial-size wringer and feeds his arm through by accident.  He makes an almost full recovery except for the fact that when cold, his arm turns the dreamy blue of a perfectly faded pair of Levi’s.

He is a man-child the size of a bear. A couple of his notable accomplishments include pulling a stop sign out of the ground just to see if he could, and never getting the lyrics correct of any song ever written.  He also routinely devours at least two large pizzas in one sitting.

Fentriss: A quiet orderly with the romantic soul of a poet, and velvety brown eyes that contain an ineffable secret sadness.  He’s a hospital employee until after a very long night out, decides to nap in the unoccupied bed of a double hospital room.His next job is at the local funeral home.  One of his tasks are to drive the hearse to the cemetery.  His employment is abruptly terminated when he exits the car during graveside services and forgets to turn off the radio—the radio playing Black Sabbath with volume set at a level which could rattle the fillings from one’s teeth.

Devin: Another orderly and the first of the group to live on his own.  He owns one of the largest collections of music on vinyl in town and possesses an almost encyclopedic knowledge of music.  This makes his place the defacto clubhouse and the scene of numerous small-town bacchanalia.This leads to a mythic and much recounted episode and famous quote which occurs when he finishes the remaining third of a keg before the group can regroup at his place the next day.  When questioned about the vanishing brew he responds with a line that no one present has ever forgotten, “It was here, I was here, I was lonely, so I drank it.”  Sad?  Or hilarious?  You be the judge.

Also has the slightly frightening ability to put a fried chicken leg in his mouth, and in mere seconds remove from his gob a completely clean bone; piranha-style.

Honest.  Until this google image search, I had no idea there was a group named The Fools.  A non-imaginary group, I mean.

The four young men form the fabulously popular (in their own minds) air band, named The Fools.  Their eager, enthusiastic road manager and concert promoter (in her own mind), debbie; also known as debutante, and Little debbie Digit: Queen of the Rotary Dial, or didge for short.She was also employed by the hospital, as a lab clerk.  This job entails visiting every floor and individual unit delivering lab results, which normally takes 30-45 minutes start to finish.  This roaming facilitates the burgeoning relationship between her and orderly Petey, increasing the delivery times to an hour or more.  Didge’s bosses become suspicious when the two become engaged.

The names of these participants have been changed to disguise their identity.  And I’m also pretty sure that the statute of limitations has expired.Thanks for your time.

Hair-Brained

It takes pain to be beautiful –Judy Simons.

In addition to being my mom’s best friend, Miss Judy was a hairdresser in Elizabeth City. She was responsible for maintaining my mom’s status as a blonde beehived bombshell.  I also went to her for haircuts.

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Is it Mom or Marilyn Monroe?  I can’t tell.

She was the instrument of the pain of which she spoke.  It was delivered in the form of less than gentle attempts to comb out the snarls from my tresses.  She was rough, and I was a big, tender-headed crybaby.  We were a match made in irony heaven.

My whole life I dreamed of the glorious day when I was old enough to have a say in my own hairstyle.  I was at the mercy of my mother’s aesthetic, and her view of an appropriate cut for a little girl.

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Do you see the look on my face?  I HATED my hair.

In kindergarten, she made me get a pixie.  I hated it.  It’s been close to fifty years, and I still harbor a little hostility about it.  But Twiggy and Mia Farrow were huge in the late sixties, so I sat in an adjustable chair and forlornly watched as almost all the hair was rudely amputated from my head.

Have I mention I hated it?

So finally, one day I was allowed to choose my own hairstyle.

I wanted the groovy cut that Carol Brady had.  Miss Judy gave me a perfect rendition. After I was given control, my hair was nothing special, long, with bangs and a ponytail, little girl hair.

Until the eighties happened.

I was a big fan of tough rocker chick, Joan Jett.  She was cool and brave and didn’t care what anybody thought.  And one of the coolest things about her was her hair.  She had a shaggy, shoulder-length do with bangs.  I got a picture of her and headed down to my local hair cuttery (Miss Judy was no longer an option).I loved it and decided that this would be my look when I married Petey in a few months’ time.  Unfortunately, not long before the wedding, the woman who cut it moved.  I found someone new and made an appointment for a prenuptial trim of my beloved Joan Jett.  She took one look and asked me two questions.

“So, did you do this to yourself?  And how do you want me to fix it?”Sadly though, that mop top I sported was the gateway cut to all sorts of disastrous coiffures.

It was so huge it looked like I styled it with a bicycle pump and shellac.  For a short time in the mid-eighties, my hair was assigned its own zip code.  My daily spraying habit was probably responsible for the disappearance of a dinner plate-sized piece of the ozone layer.

My Big Hair

And this is as sexy as it got for me, folks.

It was spiked.  With a half-cup or so of a gel/epoxy hybrid, I could conjure spikes on my head that were awe-inspiring.  They stood proudly at attention, stiff and sharp enough to make a porcupine weep with envy.

It was asymmetrical.  One side looked like the first day of school haircut of a thirteen-year-old boy.  The other side was a rigid bob, the likes of which you’ve probably seen on the head of the woman staffing your bank’s drive through window.

And, it was dyed.  For a while, it was the color of black cherry jello.  Petey wasn’t a fan.  He complained, “When I married you, you had brown hair.”

After the great pixie battle of 1969, I wasn’t having it.  He, nor anyone else was the boss of my hair. “Oh yeah?  Well when I married you, you had more hair!”

Thanks for your time.