THE GREATEST RECORD EVER MADE: "You Really Got Me"

An infinite number of rockin' pop records can be the greatest record ever made, as long as they take turns.  Today, this is THE GREATEST RECORD EVER MADE!

This post was originally published privately, for Boppin' (Like The Hip Folks Do) subscribers only, on January 4th, 2017. This is its first public appearance. For as little as $2 a month, supporters of Boppin' (Like The Hip Folks Do) on Patreon receive one exclusive bonus post each month: Fund me, baby! 



THE KINKS: "You Really Got Me"

The record had no precedent.

Link Wray was the closest thing it had to a prototype; the growling, cantankerous power chords of Wray's "Rumble" sounded like a force of nature, a monolithic, lumbering whamwhamWHAM! pouncing through cheap speakers to devour unsuspecting radio listeners in 1958. "Rumble" influenced anything loud and threatening that was ever played at 45 rpm from that second forward. And one imagines it must have influenced The Kinks, as well. Nonetheless, even six years later in 1964, there had still never been another record quite like "You Really Got Me."

It's not just a matter of velocity; "You Really Got Me" seems faster than it really is, and attempts to play it too fast or (worse) too heavy--like Van Halen's meatball cover in the late '70s, or even The Kinks' own live renditions in the '80s--feel insincere, wrong. No, the song is methodical, deliberate, but still pounding with desire and passionate, right-now insistence. Its implied speed, its breakneck illusion, makes it all the more powerful, menacing, like a cobra poised to strike and rob you of your last breath. It's a punk song, even a proto-metal song, but it has a groove. It has a soul. It has a heart.

And it seethes with the frustration from which it was born.

The Kinks had released two previous singles: a perfunctory cover of Little Richard's "Long Tall Sally" (backed by a great beat raver, "I Took My Baby Home") and a lovely Britpop number called "You Still Want Me." The former had sold respectably (but unspectacularly) in the UK, and the latter had been a relative stiff. The song's composer, Ray Davies, is said to have pounded out "You Really Got Me"'s bluesey creation at home, on his parents' piano. Frustrated. His frequently estranged brother, Kinks guitarist Dave Davies, couldn't get the dirty, gritty six-string sound he wanted on the song--Frustrated!--and wound up slashing his amp with a razor blade just to get the guttural effect he could only hear in his head. Ray Davies thought the first recording too polite, too polished, too smooth. FRUSTRATED!! He begged the record label to let them have another go at getting it right.

And they did. Release! Girl, you really got me goin'. Cigarette?

With "You Really Got Me," The Kinks had their first big hit, and not just in the UK. That simple, ferocious riff echoed across the Atlantic, and The Kinks were suddenly part of a British Invasion, an insurrection armed with guitars, bass, and drums, a rock 'n' roll police action that reclaimed the colonies for Her Majesty. Yes, of course, The Beatles were the shaggy-headed faces of this unexpected Britmania, and those Liverpudlians' wit and style and sheer pop brilliance were the driving force of that scene and its sound. But no other rock 'n' roll group was more British than The Kinks, and no song ever summed up the British Invasion as well as "You Really Got Me." 

The Rolling Stones tried to surpass it, tried to make a record that could beat the overwhelming, transcendent urgency of "You Really Got Me." And while the Stones created a lot of terrific singles in the process, they couldn't match The Kinks. Nor could The Who, nor The Sex Pistols, nor even The Ramones, though Forest Hills' Finest likely came the closest. The Kinks also tried; their follow-up single "All Day And All Of The Night" was arguably even better, a steamrollin' refinement of "You Really Got Me"'s primal attack. But "better" isn't the same as Greatest. In the visceral realm of pop music, of rock 'n' roll, immediacy can be immortal. God save the greatest. And God save The Kinks.

Blogkeeping: The Vinyl Frontier

I've fallen a little behind in some of the things I wanted to write this week. A full post on how I became a fan of The Monkees should be done within the next few days, and a private post (for subscribers only) is also imminent, discussing The Beatles' White Album. What have I been doing with myself when I should be writing? I've been listening to some vinyl.

For this coming Sunday's edition of This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio with Dana & Carl, Dana needed the night off, leaving me to do the show solo. Although Dana and I are each capable of doing shows separately, the dynamic of TIRnRR is built specifically on the interplay between my song selections and Dana's song selections, and it's not quite the same show when one or the other of us is missing. So, in Dana's absence, I had to figure out if I also wanted to take the night off, or if I should try to do a regular show without Dana, or do something a little different. In pursuit of different (for TIRnRR anyway), I decided to take a cue from our pals at The Wax Museum with Ronnie Dark over on WVOA-FM, and slap together This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio's first all-vinyl show.

Now: I respect vinyl aficionados, but I am not truly one of them. I'm fine with CDs; if I gotta, I'll even take digital files (or, as my pal Rich Firestone calls 'em, "air"). Though a pack rat by nature, I tend to get rid of my LPs if I own the same title on compact disc. Yes, heresy, I realize. But I only have so much space; the convenience of CDs makes them an attractive format. Nonetheless, I still own a lot of LPs and 45s; The Beatles, The Ramones, and The Flashcubes have been largely immune to the periodic purges of my vinyl collection (though my Ramones 12" singles did find the right price to make me bid 'em cheery-bye), a few albums carry a sentimental attachment, and a whole bunch of records either aren't available on compact disc, or I haven't yet bothered to switch them out for CDs.

The idea of doing an all-vinyl show appeals to me, and anytime I think something sounds like fun, I'm honor-bound to set about the task of overdoing it. In fact, I've already prerecorded almost all of Sunday's show at home, copying my vinyl selections onto mini-disc (in mono) for playback in the studio at showtime. Our studio setup is not conducive to vinyl; there is only one turntable, so segues from vinyl to vinyl are impossible. That's why I had to do it at home.

I think the show will be interesting, a mix of LP and 45 tracks in TIRnRR's inimitable style. There will be a lot of tracks that are readily available on CD, many tracks that would be difficult to find on CD, and some that have never been legitimately released in that format at all. You'll hear from most of your expected TIRnRR stalwarts, from The Kinks to The Kinks, you'll hear the needle drop on my Sire LP of End Of The Century so The Ramones can sing us in with our opening theme song, and you'll hear the warmth and crackle of well-worn wares from many labels: Capitol, Coral, Apple, Virgin, Casablanca, London, Laurie, Tamla, Warner Brothers, K-Tel, Adam VIII, Colgems, Arista, Emergo, RCA, Epic, Columbia, Motown, MCA, Norton, RSO, Passport, Design, Bearsville, Enigma, Warwick, Polydor, and more. And you'll hear one famous singer make what I'm pretty sure is his This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio debut. Hope you can join me Sunday night, April 9th, from 9 to Midnight Eastern, www.westcottradio.org. There will be surface noise, and we're proud of it.

The above-mentioned private post on The White Album is the inaugural installment of my new series Groove Gratitude (A Gift Of Music). Here's the boilerplate that will open this and future editions of Groove Gratitude:

Groove Gratitude (A Gift Of Music) looks back on albums I received as gifts. A gift of music can be greater than even the gift itself or the music itself, reflecting the circumstances of who gave us the record (and why) and what it meant to us, then and now. A song can transport us back in time within a single spin. But an album that's connected to a specific someone who gave you that chance to listen and experience? That album has a story to tell.

(And, of course, one can become a patron of Boppin' (Like The Hip Folks Do) for as little as $2 a month, and see private posts like my White Album piece months before they're available to the general public.)

The Everlasting First will continue with the previously-promised post about The Monkees, WHAT IF? SO WHAT? will continue with my 1979 observations about The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Comic Book Retroview will continue its reminiscense about DC's 100-Page Super Spectaculars, and there are several editions of Love At First Spin, Rescued From The Budget Bin!, Virtual Ticket Stub Gallery, and The Greatest Record Ever Made slouching toward Bethlehem. It's all coming, sooner or later, right here at Boppin' (Like The Hip Folks Do).

But I better get all these LPs and 45s put away first.

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DAYS IN ITALY by Annie Burns

My review of Days In Italy by Annie Burns appeared in the January 24, 2003 issue of Goldmine.



ANNIE BURNS
Days In Italy
Art For Art's Sake (901)

It's been a bit too long since we've heard a new record from contemporary folk artists The Burns Sisters (though the group reportedly has a completed album ready to go). In the interim, two of the sisters have gone ahead with solo albums.

Jeannie Burns' self-released Coming Up Close came out in 2001, and now Annie Burns follows suit with her own latest solo effort, Days In Italy. The album continues the earthy, folk-rooted sensibility that has characterized most of this family's work, both together and solo. It lacks the gorgeous harmonies of the group efforts but maintains the clear, pure feeling of inner, natural harmony that has endeared The Burns Sisters, individually and collectively, to fans for so long.

"The Owl," inspired by a children's book, provides an appropriately atmospheric intro to Days In Italy's tales of hope, heartbreak, loss, longing, and cathartic joy, facing both the mystery of the unknown and the possibility of redemption.

In the midst of this, "God Made Woman" seems a lightweight anomaly, one that might not seem out of place on some interchangeably anonymous country-pop diva's CD product. It's hardly a throwaway, however, as it works in context as the upbeat, smilin' counterpart to Burns' other, more somber tracks.

The stand-out track is "The King's Gonna Fall," a confident expression of self-determination (given added resonance in the post-9/11 world), built on a soulful bedrock oddly reminiscent of Bob Dylan's "Knockin' On Heaven's Door." This segues neatly into the title track, an imaginary travelogue of a European trip never made, of dreams and plans cut short by the death of a close friend; its sprightly nature belies its sorrow and makes it all the more powerful.

The only thing missing would be those above-mentioned harmonies. It's to Burns' credit that Days In Italy can stand on its own merits, and she's certainly proven--both here and on 1994's Into The Wild--that she can create compelling work outside the aegis of The Burns Sisters. Nonetheless, one hopes to hear Annie, Jeannie, and Marie Burns combine their voices again for a new record sometime soon.

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THE EVERLASTING FIRST: Quick Takes For M [comics edition]

Continuing a look back at my first exposure to a number of rock 'n' roll acts and superheroes (or other denizens of print or periodical publication), some of which were passing fancies, and some of which I went on to kinda like. They say you never forget your first time; that may be true, but it's the subsequent visits--the second time, the fourth time, the twentieth time, the hundredth time--that define our relationships with the things we cherish. Ultimately, the first meeting is less important than what comes after that. But every love story still needs to begin with that first kiss.

MIGHTY COMICS: 




The success of the Batman TV series in 1966 prompted a new superhero boom. But even before that, in 1965 the Archie Comics line revived some of its superheroes--sorry, mighty heroes--from the '40s to cash in on the burgeoning success of Marvel Comics. Archie's Mighty Comics imprint was campy, corny, and too-obviously designed to emulate the pizazz of Marvel Comics, albeit with no evident understanding of that pizazz whatsoever. Written by Superman's co-creator Jerry Siegel and drawn by Marvel veteran Paul Reinman, these comics could rightly be called terrible, but I loved 'em anyway. My first Mighty was Mighty Comics # 43, starring The Shield, The Black Hood, and that hen-pecked hero, The Web. The book was one of three comic books (along with DC's The Brave And The Bold # 70 and World's Finest Comics # 164) I discovered one day in the magazine basket in our bathroom at home. All righty. Never did learn who left 'em there. The book was silly, but fun, and it featured the debut of Pow Girl, who was secretly The Web's hot-tempered wife, Rosie. I can't explain why, but even at the age of six or seven, I thought Pow Girl was sexy. Maybe she was my gateway to Barbi Benton in Playboy?





MISTER MIRACLE: 



The departure of Jack Kirby from Marvel to work for DC in 1971 was seismic. I was barely aware of comics credits at the time, but I read all of Kirby's DC books, starting with Superman's Pal Jimmy Olsen through Kirby's creations The New Gods, The Forever People, and Mister Miracle (all four books a part of Kirby's "Fourth World" saga, introducing his megavillain Darkseid). I liked all of them, but gravitated especially to the super escape artist Mister Miracle. I missed the first two issues, but got on board with Mister Miracle # 3.  The appearances of Mr. Miracle's future wife Big Barda in subsequent issues sealed the deal. If being smitten with comic book women is wrong, Lord, I don't wanna be right.



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Our new compilation CD This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio, Volume 4 is now available from Kool Kat Musik! 29 tracks of irresistible rockin' pop, starring Pop Co-Op, Ray Paul, Circe Link & Christian Nesmith, Vegas With Randolph Featuring Lannie Flowers, The Slapbacks, P. Hux, Irene Peña, Michael Oliver & the Sacred Band Featuring Dave Merritt, The Rubinoos, Stepford Knives, The Grip Weeds, Popdudes, Ronnie Dark, The Flashcubes,Chris von Sneidern, The Bottle Kids, 1.4.5., The Smithereens, Paul Collins' Beat, The Hit Squad, The Rulers, The Legal Matters, Maura & the Bright Lights, Lisa Mychols, and Mr. Encrypto & the Cyphers. You gotta have it, so order it here. 

This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio # 867

This week, Uncle Sam's in Syracuse finally met the wrecking ball. It was about time; the old building was a disaster, a hazard, a fallen monument to good times long since passed. If left in place much longer, it would have fallen literally, collapsed under the weight of neglect and indifference, its flashing lights dimmed and broken, its kickin' sound system silenced forevermore.

Uncle Sam's is gone. Its memory will remain standing tall for as long...well, for at least as long as I have memory.

I can't say I was ever an Uncle Sam's regular. My first visit there was probably around 1978, when I was 18. It was, as far as I could tell, just a freakin' disco, and I hated discos. What was I doing here? And how soon could I leave?

Well, that viewpoint changed radically once I saw a rock 'n' roll show at Uncle Sam's. On May 24th, 1979, my local fave raves The Flashcubes opened for Joe Jackson at Uncle Sam's, and the show was amazing. I mean, I adored the 'Cubes already, in every crappy or slightly-less-crappy dive I could catch their rampagin' live splendor, but this? The Flashcubes playing in a larger nightclub, on a brightly-lit stage, through a PA that actually let them sound as brilliant as they were?! Revelation. Exultation! Uncle Sam's, I want you!

After that opening set by The Flashcubes, The Joe Jackson Band certainly didn't disappoint, delivering an impeccable set of a-boppin' and a-poppin', highlighted by a then-unreleased song called "I'm The Man" that made my jaw drop and my head swim in delirious abandon. This ain't no disco. I do have time for this now!

I only ever saw a handful of shows at Uncle Sam's, but the delight of those shows remains palpable, immediate, and unforgettable. Just over a month later, on July 6th, a mere five bucks got me in to Uncle Sam's yet again, to see live sets by The Flashcubes and The Ramones, and the debut Central New York screening of The Ramones' movie, Rock 'n' Roll High School. The cathartic effect of that night was incalculable, occurring less than a week after one of my best friends decided his best path in life was to blow his own brains out. The movie was great. The Flashcubes were great. The Ramones were The Ramones! No one even minded hearing Joey Ramone forget where he was, and announce from the stage at Syracuse's Uncle Sam's, It's great ta be back in Schenectady and it's great to see you all here--take it, Dee Dee! Close enough!

(That night was also the first time I ever heard the song "Chinese Rocks;" The Ramones hadn't released their version yet, and I wouldn't hear any recorded version of the song until I bought a copy of The Heartbreakers' Live At Max's Kansas City '79 on Staten Island the following November.)

I returned to Uncle Sam's to see The Pretenders in 1980, with The Necessaries opening. The Necessaries' lead guitarist was the legendary Chris Spedding. Spedding had been in The Wombles, he'd worked with The Sex Pistols, he'd released a bunch of records of his own (including "Pogo Dancing" backed by The Vibrators),and he'd turned down an opportunity to join The Rolling Stones. I ditched my characteristic shyness enough to go up and talk to Spedding between sets. I asked him why The Necessaries didn't perform any of his great songs, like "Boogie City" or "Motorbikin'," but he politely waived the question away, insisting No, this band is The Necessaries, and it wasn't supposed to be a vehicle for him to play his own catalog o' gems. He autographed a Dead Ducks flyer for me, and we bid each other well. The Pretenders were also terrific, though Chrissie Hynde did get pissed at one guy in the crowd, who was hawking a local rock tabloid called The National Rag by going up to the stage and yelling, Chrissie! Do you work for The National Rag? Okay, maybe she had a right to be pissed....

Cash flow woes led me to pass on a chance to see Foghat at Uncle Sam's in '79, and to miss seeing the 'Cubes open for Pat Benatar there on New Year's Eve. I moved away from Syracuse, so The Pretenders' show was my final visit to Uncle Sam's. By the time I returned in 1987, Uncle Sam's had become The Country Club, or Suburban Park, or whatever they were calling it that week. I only went there once, in the early '90s or thereabouts, to see Tommy James. James was very good, but he only played for twenty minutes, with no other act on the bill. Luckily, the bar was open. And so we drank.

I never again set foot in the former Uncle Sam's. In the back of mind, I harbored a fantasy that it could re-open some day, that it could reclaim its lost glory, that it could once again be the rock 'n' roll heaven that helped save a lost nineteen-year-old whose world seemed to teeter on the brink of oblivion. The front of my mind knew better, I guess. But that spark of memory never faded, and my gratitude remains. As the physical evidence turns to dust and debris, the memory remains independent and unbowed, and cherished still. It's great to be back in Schenectady. And it's great to see you all here. Uncle Sam's, we salute you.

Oh, by the way: we got a radio show.

This week's extravaganza includes awesome new tunes by Lisa Mychols, Ruby Free, Captain Wilberforce, The Outryders, and The Britannicas, new archival gems from Michael Slawter and Artful Dodger, and the nonpareil array of irresistible rockin' pop you expect from The Best Three Hours Of Radio On The Whole Friggin' Planet. And the whole shebang begins with a three-song salute to Uncle Sam's. Raise a Firecracker, 'cause this is what rock 'n' roll radio sounded like on a Sunday night in Syracuse this week.

This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio with Dana & Carl streams live on Sunday nights from 9 to Midnight Eastern, exclusively at www.westcottradio.org

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TIRnRR # 867: 4/2/17

THE RAMONES: Do You Remember Rock 'n' Roll Radio? (Rhino, End Of The Century)
--
THE RAMONES: Rock 'n' Roll High School (Rhino, Loud, Fast Ramones)
THE PRETENDERS: Kid (Sire, The Singles)
JOE JACKSON: I'm The Man (A & M, Steppin' Out)
SWEET: Fox On The Run (Capitol, The Best Of Sweet)
ARROGANCE: Praying Mantis (Gaff, The 5' 11" Record)
POP CO-OP: Feint Of Heart (Silent Bugler, Four State Solution)
--
LISA MYCHOLS: He's Got Me Dreaming (CD Baby, single)
THE JAM: Beat Surrender (Polydor, Direction Reaction Creation)
THE LEGAL MATTERS: Short Term Memory (Omnivore, Conrad)
PAUL McCARTNEY: My Brave Face [demo] (Capitol, Flowers In The Dirt)
PACIFIC SOUL LTD.: We Go High (Karma Frog, The Dance Divine)
HOLLIS BROWN: Ride On The Train (Alive Natural Sound, Ride On The Train)
--
CIRCE LINK: I'm On Your Side (circelink.com, The Pop EP)
OTIS & CARLA: Knock On Wood (Atlantic, OTIS REDDING: The King Of Soul)
ANDY BOPP: Lowe (andyboppusa.com, Blisters And Thorns)
CLOCKWORK FLOWERS: Here Today, Gone Tomorrow (theclockworkflowers.com, Colours Vol. 3: Yellow)
THE MONKEES: Words (Rhino, Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn & Jones, Ltd.)
THE CURE: Grinding Halt (Rhino, The Cure)
--
THE OUTRYDERS: Piangi Con Me (& Live For Today) (joealgeri.bandcamp.com, single)
DR. FEELGOOD: She Does It Right (Parlophone, Down By The Jetty)
CHUCK BERRY: Promised Land (MCA, The Anthology)
X-RAY SPEX: I Am A Cliche (Sanctuary, Germfree Adolescents)
THE COASTERS: Charlie Brown (Warner Music, Yakety Yak)
THE PRETENDERS: Cuban Slide (Rhino, The Pretenders)
--
CAPTAIN WILBERFORCE: Everybody's Talking To Themselves (Kool Kat Musik, Black Sky Thinking)
RAY PAUL: Pretty Flamingo (Permanent Press, Whimsicality)
ROXY MUSIC: Dance Away (Reprise, Street Life)
THE FLOWERS OF HELL: Mr. Tambourine Man (Optical Sounds, Odes)
THE BYRDS: Here Without You (Columbia, Mr, Tambourine Man)
THE MONKEES: Me & Magdalena [Version 2] (Rhino, Good Times! [digital version])
--
RUBY FREE: Start Of Something Big (SodaStar, Shades)
THE PENETRATORS: Keep On Rollin' (Stones) (Fred, Legacy)
THE ROLLING STONES: Connection (Abkco, Between The Buttons)
THE NERVES: Hanging On The Telephone (Alive, One Way Ticket)
THE FLASHCUBES: She (7a, VA: Listen To The Bands)
THE BANGLES: The Real World (Omnivore, Ladies And Gentlemen...The Bangles!)
--
MICHAEL SLAWTER: Obvious (Futureman, An Assassination Of Someone You Know)
THE BEATLES: I'm Happy Just To Dance With You (Apple, A Hard Day's Night)
VEGAS WITH RANDOLPH: Women In Airports (vegaswithrandolph.bandcamp.com, single)
CREAM: I'm So Glad (Poltdor, Those Were The Days)
ARTFUL DODGER: Follow Me (Real Gone Music, The Complete Columbia Recordings)
THE FACES: Stay With Me (Warner Brothers, Stay With Me)
--
THE BRITANNICAS: Real World Time (joealgeri.bandcamp.com, single)
THE VELVET UNDERGROUND: Here She Comes Now (Polydor, Peel Slowly And See)
BADFINGER: Got To Get Out Of Here (Warner Brothers, Wish You Were Here)
DAVID BOWIE: Hang On To Yourself (Virgin. Bowie At The Beeb)
THE ANIMALS: It's My Life (Abkco, Retrospective)
THE WHO: The Kids Are Alright (MCA, My Generation)
COTTON MATHER: The Book Of Too Late Changes (Star Apple Kingdom, Death Of The Cool)
BIG STAR: September Gurls (Big Beat, VA: Thank You, Friends)
CHUCK BERRY: Berry Pickin' (Chess, After School Session)

Tonight On THIS IS ROCK 'N' ROLL RADIO

Aw, MAN! I haven't even managed to whittle down my choices yet to what will fit in the ol' CD case, a case that holds roughly three times as much music as I'll have time to play tonight. A few miles away, Dana is probably facing the same dilemma with his choices. How will we squeeze this all into a mere three hours? Well, that's the FUN part, innit? And we have to try 'n' save room for new releases from Ruby Free, Captain Wilberforce, The Outryders, The Britannicas, Lisa Mychols, and Michael Slawter. Plus, like, The Ramones and stuff. Time is not on our side. But we'll go out a-swingin'. Sunday night, 9 to Midnight Eastern, www.westcottradio.org

April's Fool

April 1st. April Fool's Day is the time we set aside each year to celebrate tricks and tomfoolery, to play jokes and spin tall tales, to deceive with delight, and delight in deceiving. I've never had much use for it.

But this year, it provides me with an excuse to tell a story that's been on my mind for quite some time. On April Fool's Day, I don't have to say whether or not the story is true. It could be fact or fancy, lies or Gospel. The story is easier to tell that way. It's a story about April, who very nearly became my first real girlfriend.

I was fourteen, and lonely. God, I was lonely, a chubby, weird square peg with little hope of fitting in anywhere. I was a sophomore in high school, and although I had a few friends, I certainly didn't fit in there. I don't remember what set of circumstances prompted me to join Junior Achievement, but join I did, in the fall of 1974. I was fourteen. I wish I'd been more mature at fourteen.

Some of the details are fuzzy, either because I haven't fully fabricated the narrative's nuances, or because I just don't remember. But let's say that Junior Achievement met once a week. Do you know what Junior Achievement is? JA is a program designed for teenagers to work together in forming their own small business, or working with an existing business, and learning about this process of entrepreneurship, work ethic, and pride in one's labor. Each week, I left my home in Syracuse's Northern suburbs to meet with my fellow local members of the teen proletariat downstairs at a location on James Street in Eastwood. There was...well, what works for verisimilitude? No one else from North Syracuse, nobody I knew? A dozen classmates from North Syracuse? Two dozen? Ah, let's say there was one guy I knew, though we were never really pals. One guy I knew, and a bunch of other kids from other parts of Syracuse and its suburbs. I wanted to get into a broadcasting group--radio fascinated me, even then--but that group was filled. I wound up in a manufacturing group, a group that would create, market, and sell a product yet to be determined.

My group included a girl from Liverpool. Her last name is unwritten. Her first name was April.

April was a little older than me, a worldly woman of sixteen. She had red hair. She was cute. And she saw something in me that may not have really been there. Maybe I fooled her. Maybe I fooled myself.

The first orders of business for this new Junior Achievement company were to elect a hierarchy, determine individual roles, choose a product, and come up with a name. I pushed the idea of publishing a magazine, which would have given me a chance to write. Instead, we were going to make spoon rings. We would call ourselves Care-Craft. The Fortune 500 would surely tremble before us.

No one ever believes me when I claim I'm shy. They don't believe it now, nor do they believe it about the younger me. People hear me on the radio now, they hear my bluster and bravado, and presume I must be at ease wherever I am. Shy? Carl?! April Fools!

But I am shy. I've always been shy. And I've always covered it up, or tried to cover it up, by playing a role, by joking, by wearing The Fool's vibrant mask. In high school, my social studies teacher once introduced me as "Carl the sarcastic loudmouth." I didn't feel chastised; it was a badge of honor. I wanted to be Groucho Marx, John Lennon, Peter Parker, the Sweathogs. I wanted to be more than the nothing I felt I might be.

This boisterousness was in evidence at Junior Achievement. I was kind of an asshole.

I don't recall the circumstances that made April take notice of me, or vice versa. I'll have to write in some more convincing motivation for our characters, I guess. But she seemed to think I was funny. She seemed to think I was interesting. She seemed to think there was something there.

Was I smitten? Maybe...a little. I wouldn't have admitted it. That would have implied vulnerability. That would have revealed weakness.

For a few weeks, my role with Care-Craft was promotion. I would design posters to advertise our fine line of spoon rings; it was, I thought, a much better idea than having me try to actually make the damned things, to bend spoons into something resembling attractive fingerwear. No. Poster design. Marketing. Creative endeavor. That was my niche, boyo. I cranked out crappy, presumably-clever little Care-Craft posters that were utterly useless. I was switched to ring production, potential lacerations notwithstanding.

But when I was still toiling away in earnest endeavor on my posters, April watched me intently as I drew an image of Gone With The Wind's Rhett Butler and Scarlett O'Hara in a romantic scene. The poster showed Rhett and Scarlett's burgeoning love as a symbol of commitment and devotion, the same commitment and devotion that one expects from Care-Craft rings. Care-Craft! Rhett and Scarlett! Romeo and Juliet!

And April added: "Like you and me!"

Wait.

Did April really say that? Out loud? Really? Does this girl really, actually, y'know...like me?

She did. She did say it. And I presume she did like me, too. If only my damned walls didn't go up so fast.

My defenses kicked in immediately. Oh, no, I chuckled, waiving off April's declaration. God, what did she think of that stupid reaction? She'd opened up. She'd made it clear--crystal clear--that she thought the notion of Carl and April sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G was perfectly viable. And I'd rejected her. This should have been my lonely heart's dream come true. But I was a chickenshit fourteen-year-old. I rejected her.

If I had a time machine, there are lots of things I'd do. I'd see The Beatles in Hamburg. Okay, maybe that's about all I'd do. But I'd also go back to 1974 and smack some sense into clueless little me. The one other North Syracuse kid there, flabbergasted, tried to set me straight, bless 'im. She likes you. What's the hell's wrong with you? Go for it, you idiot.

I quit Junior Achievement instead. Like Groucho Marx, I would never want to join a club that would accept someone like me as a member.

If we presume April is fictional, I probably haven't done an adequate job of making her seem real. She appears in this narrative as the cute girl with a heart of gold, a wisp, a wraith, a young boy's fantasy. I haven't created a sufficiently vivid image of her long skirts, her thin figure, her stubborn, insubordinate strands of red hair, her light skin, the hint of freckles surrounding her nose, her yellow socks cuffed above sensible shoes, her eyes, her laugh (which was more of a giggle), her smile, the grace she hid beneath an awkward mask of her own. I haven't done this character justice. If she were real, I didn't do the person justice either.

Where should the narrative go next? Perhaps we meet again years later, a random encounter at Wegmans or McDonald's, and laugh and reminisce for minutes on end, vow to stay in touch, but--of course--never do? Or maybe she sends me a picture of her on her wedding day, a lovely bride, with the message either stated or implied, This is what you threw away, you jerk? Or, I guess the likely thing, we go through our lives separately, and never meet again?

We'll go with this scenario, as unlikely as any other: I'm at a party in Buffalo with Brenda, my soon-to-be fiancee. A college girl starts flirting with me, and mentions that she's from Liverpool. I, in turn, mention that I used to know a girl from Liverpool, and it turns out the college girl knows April. I declare that I had such a crush on April when I was in high school--tell her Carl said hi! And then I leave the party with Brenda, as the puzzled college girl watches, confused.

I did see April one more time. I think. I'm not sure. Except that I am sure. When Brenda was pregnant in 1995, I recognized a woman working at the office of Brenda's OB-GYN. Brenda had a very difficult pregnancy. This office visit didn't seem an appropriate time to go over and strike up a conversation with a woman who was almost--but not quite--my girlfriend two decades before that. Our eyes may have met. I couldn't say whether or not she recognized me. And I'm not going to tell you if I think she did.

This is where the story should end. I could imagine that April found happiness in whatever life she chose for herself. I regret not being a better person in 1974, and I regret that missed connection that I spurned as a teenager, but I'm happy that Brenda and I met, fortunate that I grew up enough to allow someone to love me, and to be able to return that love. Happily ever after. That's how the story should end.

The story did end. But its ending fills me with sadness and simmering anger.

April was murdered. She was killed by some lowlife she'd taken in, someone she'd helped, someone she'd sheltered. I read the report in the newspaper, my eyes filling, my teeth grinding, my fists clenching with fury. I just sobbed, helpless...helpless. How could anyone do that to her? How could anyone do that to anyone, of course, but to her? She'd been so sweet, so kind, friendly. I was shivering. My rage was mounting, but ineffectual. There was nothing I could do. I just felt...oh, I can't even come up with a word that isn't trite and maudlin. The empty misery inside me just fixed me in place. The anger has never quite gone away.

I don't know the moral of this story, the lesson to be learned from this tale that might be true, or might be elaborate misdirection. Whether fact or fiction, we must understand that April was not her real name. If I made this up, then April never had a name; if it's true, then I never earned the right to call her by name. I like it better as fiction. In fiction, we can close our book at the end of the narrative, and no one was really hurt, no one really suffered, no one died. If we don't like the ending, we can imagine a better one. If it's not fiction....

April and I weren't meant to be. But God, why did her story have to turn out like that? Why do I still feel guilty? Why do I want to find the guy who killed her and bash in his goddamned skull? It's not that I could have saved her (I couldn't have), nor that we would have built a life together if I'd done things differently (we wouldn't have); it's just another reminder of how fragile we all are. Our time, our connections, our bonds, our hopes, our possibilities, our dreams, our loves...well, we're not guaranteed anything. And we will lose all of it, sooner or later. If there is a better place, somewhere beyond what we think we know, I can only hope April is loved, and appreciated, and happy.

If the story is true.