Remember the Alamo

The city of Brockton, Massachusetts, is not one of Boston's Blue-Chip suburbs. This is due partly to the fact that Brockton is not a suburb of Boston at all, but partly also to the fact that Brockton is distinctly non-Blue-chip in nature.

That this was the case Vag discovered approximately two minutes after entering the city--where he had heard was being held a street concert featuring that swinging master of the Eastern Gilt Edge circuit, Lester Lanin. As Vag made his way towards the center of town he barely avoided colliding with a gentleman, weaving and listing rather badly to port, who had succeeded in losing dinner and a large portion of lunch over his shirt and sportcoat. A quick glance and regrettably long sniff sufficed to give Vag an impression of Brockton which nothing would ever remove.

Now the fact that Vag had left Cambridge and driven over the scenic route south through Mattapan and other such unpleasant locales was in itself an event of more than usual moment. It required the beautiful concept of Lester Lanin playing his cotillion-brand music before thousands of uncouth wonks who had never seen the inside of a ballroom, much less L.L. in person. To lure Vag to Brockton, of course, the fact that Jerri Vale and Joni James, along with the "live-five" disk-jockey staff of WBZ, would be sharing the same bandstand with the great man added in no small measure to an already felicitous mental picture of the ultimate in incongruity.

Vag had imagined several possibilities: first, that of L.L. being torn to tiny fragments by roaring rock'n'roll partisans when they discovered that "Lestah don't rock;" second, that of a large-scale riot as the crowd grew restive listening to the sedate, proper beat of Mr. Lanin's society ensemble; and finally, that of a possible conversion of the Lanin band to the new rock'n'roll medium. Any of these would be well worth a trip to Brockton, and as Vag entered the square, his anticipation was high.

Vag could hardly believe his eyes. Thousands of locals filled the square, making it impossible to get within one hundred yards of the bandstand. He managed to fight his way to a point directly behind the bandstand by about 150 yards and, what was more important, a few feet in front of the Alamo Bar and Grill.

The announcer mounted to the platform, and introduced L.L. as one of the top bandleaders in the country, presenting him, as is the wont of most announcers, "without further ado."

Lester trotted to the mike, allowed as how he was very pleased to be playing before such a wonderful crowd and for such a noble cause (a clinic for child guidance, the need for which was amply demonstrated during the course of the evening), and proceeded to his music ("the order of the day"). After running through a pleasant little medley of Lester Lanin favorites, L.L. brought his musicians to a halt and turned around to accept the fervent applause of the appreciative multitude. There was no applause. Lester thanked the audience anyway, and, rather embarrassed, went back to a second medley.

Despite numerous exhortations on the part of L.L. and the disk-jockeys, Lester's music did not seem to move the populace to a spirit of dancing. Indeed, there were probably no more than ten people dancing in the entire square, two of which Vag noticed rocking to a medium-pace Lanin fox-trot. After this set was completed, followed again by a deafening silence, a long line of state and local celebrities filed onto the bandstand to say a few ungrammatical sentences to the assembly. Most nobable among them was perhaps Mayor Phil Des-Rosiers who welcomed one and all, expressed hopes for a bright future, and was booed rather severely by the crowd, thus casting some doubt on the good mayor's political future. Lieutenant Governor Robert Murphy spoke, representing his ex'lency the governor, and several other dignitaries made brief appearances. They were received with no reaction whatsoever; the only noise was that of individuals talking to each other.

After a few more attempts at musical excitement, L.L. gave up and pulled out his ace-in-the-hole, Lester Lanin hats, which he tossed benevolently to the agitated throng immediately in front of the bandstand. The last of the hats brought silence anew, and Vag began to fear anew that his sadistic dreams of mutilation and riot would go unrealized. His last hope lay in Joni James and Jerri Vale, and they failed him. The crowd watched mutely as Joni and Jerri appeared, sang their songs and left; Lester began to play again.

It was more than Vag could believe: not a single reaction to Lanin's music, loud boos for local leaders, pure apathy for two of the country's most popular vocalists. Vag began to feel the pressure of the crowd around him, although the people were not actually pressing physically against him since his snotty remarks during the evening had long since created a you-need-a-man's-deodorant circle around him. Turning around, he saw the seductive portals of the Alamo Bar and Grill. Slowly, as if in a trance, Vag entered, while on the platform, courageous to the last and seemingly oblivious to the now rapidly departing citizens, the band played on.