Want to know where I went to school? Welch's Music, Soundsville, Good Karma, Arcade, Scratching the Surface, Monty Rockers, Blue Meanie, and Off the Record. These were the local independent record stores that I went to, from the time I bought my first record at age 10, through my young adult years. My two brothers and I were total fiends. Lawnmowing money, paper route money, tips from busing tables, just about all of our expendable income was spent on records. Periodically it would get to the point that my parents forbid us to buy more records. We'd often ignore that, and bring them home through the back door, or if it was a 45, just cover it up with a jacket or something.
One summer day I'd ridden my bike to Welch's Music, to buy "American Pie" by Don McLean. Welch's was an old fashioned music store. They sold instruments and sheet music, gave music lessons, and sold records. When I returned home, knowing my Dad was at work, and that my Mom was not likely to notice (or pretend not to notice, she was much more lenient), I walked right in the front door, bagged record in hand, right into the living room, where my Dad was. He had come home for lunch, which he didn't often do. I was busted, red handed, and he went off. He had a temper, particularly when one of us kids disobeyed. He began yelling at me, and yelling at me. He continued yelling at me, cornering me in the kitchen. I had no defense, I broke a rule that had been spelled out clearly. I had defied his authority. The minute or so he was going off seemed like it would go on forever. So I did something I'd never done before or since. I intentionally broke the record and dropped it in the kitchen trash can. Then he said "Go to your room." I was fucked.
I knew what that meant. While he returned to his lunch, I sat in my room trying to prepare for what would ensue. After what seemed like an eternity, he called out from the other end of the house, and told me to get in his truck. It was about to get heavy. He got in the drivers seat and we took off. I had no clue where we were going. He pulled up in front of Welch's Music and told me to get out of the car. All sorts of things were going through my head. The only thing I could think of was that he might go off on the clerk who had sold me the record, that's how confused I was. We walked into the store, and up to the counter. He asked me what record it was that I'd bought. I was probably stammering when I said "American Pie". He asked the clerk for the same record, paid for it, and then handed it to me. Then he dropped me off at home, and returned to work. It was the only time I ever went record shopping with my Dad, and it was the first time I remember realizing that, underneath all of his heavy disciplinary anger, he had a soft side.
My Dad passed away several years ago. In his last decade or so we did get a chance to share music with each other. His soft side had completely taken over. And I still have that 45. Though the song lost it's luster after hearing it approximately fourteen million times, I still still treasure the record itself. It has a story, as does just about every other record I own. The majority of them were bought at independent record stores, which is what this post was supposed to be about. Tomorrow is Record Store Day. Go shopping. My Dad won't care.
Visit:
Record Store Day
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