The Shack. What the hell is that? I asked the same question the first time someone wanted to bring me up there. It was a soda fountain a block away from school. I was new in the neighborhood just having move to the suburbs from Brooklyn. It was where these kids hung out before school every day.

Now the reason it comes to mind is because I just wrote something and mentioned President Kennedy in it. As you know, everyone, who was around, remembers where they were when they heard he was shot. The Shack is where I was. But, of course, this was not before school. It was somewhere around two o’clock and I was cutting shop class as usual. But this is not about JFK, great man that he was, but about the Shack and the people who colored it’s canvas and gave it life. Its worth the tell.

The Canvas

Different than Brooklyn? You bet, but that’s another story for another day. I get to the place and find it is much bigger than I expected. Maybe twenty booths, crammed with six or eight people to a booth. There are two or three standing at the end of each booth, and people walking all around. The jukebox is rock-in none stop and loud. There are Cokes, Vanilla Cokes, Cherry Cokes and French Fries providing the power breakfast of the day. Every damn girl in the place is bouncing to the music in her seat and half of them are singing along. It was the craziest place I had ever seen (country bumpkins I figured).

The music is Frank Valli, the Supremes, The beach Boys. People are shouting across the room. “Hey, did you see Jimmy last night? He was suppose to meet me at the Beach Comber but he never showed up.” A broad shrug. “Well if you see him today, tell him I said he is a jerk and I’m looking for him.” A girl shrieks from the other side of the room and it is followed by loud laughter. The place was a mad house so I figured I would fit right in after all.

The Plot Thickens

After a while you begin to realize that there are actually different groups of people in the place. Oh, everyone knows everyone else, they interact but there is segregation. The place is divided up by towns! If you are from one town and someone from another you can talk but it doesn’t get much cozier than that….that’s as far as it goes. These guys played Football. Town against town and it was serious business. They often had fistfights on Friday nights or maybe after a game. Not gang fights, strictly one on one and usually just because they were from different towns. Dating – Forget about color, race and creed, you didn’t date out side of your town.     

There were few deep hatreds as far as I could tell, except for Ralph and Michael. It wasn’t even football, it was a mines bigger than your thing since the first grade. Most, if not all, of these people has gone to school, sat in the same classes and played the same Football Games since the first grade. They knew each other from forever and lived in their own world. It all made sense to them I guess, but I have to say it made me laugh to myself sometimes.