It’s the Saturday after Thanksgiving, 1983, At twenty four years old, I’m on a plane home from Western New York, after having visited some relatives.
I can’t shake the feeling that I recognize that old black guy in front of me as a famous musician. “Duke Ellington?” I wonder. “Count Basie?”
At least one of them’s dead.
There’s a middle-aged couple next to him. The wife asks him, “Are you Cab Calloway?”
My anxiety attack is no more. I heave a sigh of relief.
I overhear Calloway say softly, “That handsome young gentleman back there won’t have to go crazy now.”
Each week Rochelle Wisoff~Fields leads us in Friday Fictioneers, as we write a story based upon a photo prompt.
This week’s photo was supplied by Lucy Fridkin.
“Henry and Peter made their daily trip to Erika’s House of Music at the South Bay Shopping Center.
The owner and her husband, as always, greeted them in their Austrian and German accents.
“The twenty second’s coming up,” Henry intoned.
“It’s interesting that J.F.K.was killed on the feast day of the patroness of music.”
“Yeah,” Peter reminded him. “So much of the nauseating Sexual and Cultural Revolutions of that era was set to such perfect music. A little charisma can be poisonous.”
“There’s good and bad in every era,” Henry noted as they looked around for Jimmy Page’s sheet music.
This week’s photo prompt was supplied by Bjorn Rudberg. Rochelle Wisoff~Fields guides us weekly in Friday Fictioneers, as each of us writes a hundred~word story based upon a photo prompt.
Old friends John and Cynthia, and Paul and Jane, ran into each other at a Liverpool art exhibit.
” ‘Ey Paulie”, John intoned, “Remember that band of ours? What were we, bloody Bea’les with an ‘A’?”
“Yeah”, Paul admitted. “Stu’s murder in ’60 scared us into quittin’.”
“Teachin’ at Dovedale Primary’s nice,” he went on, “But we might ‘ave done something with that.”
“Anyway”, John said, “George and Ringo are electricians and we’re all ‘appy. We should get in touch with them, Patti, and Mo later on.”
The foursome, none under seventy, hung around in an atmosphere of deafening silence.
Each week Rochelle Wisoff~Fields leads us in Friday Fictioneers, an attempt to write a hundred~word story based upon a photograph. This week’s Photograph was provided by Claire Fuller.
“Mr. Faffner,” Satan explained to Harvey, “On this day in 1812, Beethoven began writing a famous love letter to his Immortal Beloved.”
“Did you also know,” he continued, ‘that on July 7, 1940, Ringo Starr was born?”
Harvey cringed, begging helplessly for an explanation.
“As Lucifer, my good man,” The Father of Lies continued, “I was in charge of music.”
“Little do you know how easily I deceive and destroy people with it.”
“People warned you not to join that band. Don’t you remember what I did to John Lennon?”
This week’s photo prompt is from Jan Morrill. Rochell Wisoff~Fields is our weekly Friday Fictioneers moderator.
Because Claude obeyed his Mommy and Daddy, his fairy godmother granted his wish.
She brought his favorite doll, Mr. Fleener, to life.
There was one condition though:
“He must never play ‘My Gal’s A Corker’, lest he die.”
“Never refer to Shakespeare, and he won’t play it.”
All went well for weeks at a time. Mr. Fleener mostly played Big Band era standards and show tunes.
One night Mommy and Daddy went to visit family and left Claude with a baby sitter.
“Oh No!!” he gasped. “Not Rhoda the English major!!”
From afar they heard: “My Gal’s a Cooorker”!!!
This week’s photo prompt was supplied by John Nixon. Rochelle Wisoff~Fields leads us weekly in Friday Fictioneers.
“What’s that?” Roger couldn’t help wondering.
“Oh,” Felix explained. “That’s Blanche’s latest obsession. She’s come under the spell of avant-garde art this month.”
“She insists upon dragging me to all the latest experimental movies, concerts, and poetry readings.
“Just remember,” his friend intoned. “There are worse things in life than being surrounded by hoards of espresso-sucking existentialists in black,
“I know,” Felix explained, “It’s just that I feel so uncomfortable with all those characters.” I wish she’d find friends who are easier to understand.
“Console yourself,” Roger replied,”With the fact that they don’t get you either.”
“That helps,” admitted Felix.
Our fairy blogmother for Friday Fictioneers is Rochelle Wisoff~Fields. This week’s photo prompt has been supplied by Kent Bonham.
It was the second week of our junior year at St. John the Baptist.
Mike, Bill and I were listening to “Fame” in our music lab.
“Lennon co-wrote it,” I boasted,”So it must be good.”
Mike reminded us of “Jet” from McCartney’s “Band On the Run” album.
“I thought the major was a lady, suffragette,” he intoned.
When we weren’t too busy ogling all the lovely girls in school, we were always talking about music.
Eventually, to avoid trouble with Sister Christophine, we sat down and behaved. In our heads, though, we were grooving to Bowie.
Each week we, along with the help of Rochelle Wisoff~Fields, attempt to write a hundred~word story, Friday Fictioneers, inspired by a photograph. This week’s photo prompt was provided by her husband, Jan W. Fields.
Ringo and Paul were at their favorite pub one night.
“Do you think we should ever tell folks?” The aged bassist pondered aloud.
“It might bloody flip ’em out,” his drummer companion replied.
They reminisced about their band’s plans to reunite in 1983, upon the twentieth anniversary of the “Please Please Me” album.
“Remember John’s nasty Rolling Stone interview,” Paul mused. “When he lashed out at us, throwing ’em off the track?”
“Oh did George ever do a number on us!” Ringo chimed in.
“Oh well,” said Paul. “It wasn’t meant to be, I reckon.”
“Yesterday” came on the radio.
This week’s photo prompt is by Rochelle Wisoff~Fields who leads us weekly in our Friday Fictioneers, an attempt to make a hundred~word work of fiction out of a photograph.