And I said "Obie, I don't think I can pick up the garbage with these handcuffs on."
He said, "Shut up, kid. Get in the back of the patrol car."
I remember the first time I heard Arlo say those lines. I was in my room, the sound was coming through the wall and it was being produced by the LP on my brother Jim's Sears Wildcat Portable Stereo.
That stereo, after it came home from college with him, after his car accident and subsequent months in the hospital in a coma (in which I believe he taught our mother "Saint Doris" a few words Jesus hadn't meant for her to hear.) never left that spot on his desk where he played solitaire, smoked "Players Straights" and listened to music after walking the dog and blowing a doobie. Even if it were portable, that thing and the cigarette ashes on top of it never moved, until it was replaced years later, when he moved out and into a commune, as I took my turn in the front room in my senior year of High School.
In High School "Officer Obie" became synonymous with being a "Narc." Something no one in the culture of the 70s wanted to be identified with. Kids being kids, me having the name O'Brien, that was the first thing that was said to me if you were intending to insult me or pick a fight. As I was the guy most of my friends bought their pot from, this did not go over well or happen often.
So, we chuckled and teased each other, my brothers and I, calling each other by turn, this insult with affection and shared knowledge. If you were one of us, it was cool. If you were not, God help you and the wrath of Irish brothers in a group! (Not to mention the displeasure of an Irish sister, who could whip the four of us at any moment, in any way she fashioned.)
Now it is with mixed feelings and a knowing smile, that I image my deceased brothers faces, when if I had had the chance to tell them, what I realized the other day: Housatonic, Richmond, Richmond Furnace, West Stockbridge, Pittsfield and Lenox Massachusetts. Our O'Brien relatives are all over this place. Right where Arlo was talking and singing about.
From my research I'd say there is a better than 98% chance any "Officer Obie" real or imagined, that might have said: "Kid, we found your name on an envelope at the bottom of a half a ton of garbage, and just wanted to know if you had any information about it." he was one of "Us."
Today of course, I couldn't give-a what you thought of me, and it has been a lifetime since I smoked a doobie, let alone sold one. You want to call me "Officer Obie" go right ahead, if you are one of "Us" it's cool. If you're not, that's cool too.
I imagine my brothers are up there right now, punching each other in the arm and laughing:
"See, I told ya, jerk, your turn to flip the record."
"I got it last time."
"Get me a beer while you're up, or I'll kick your little Irish ass! An make sure ya don't scratch it neither!"
"Yes sir "Officer Obie!"
© obeedúid~
29/Jan/14
He said, "Shut up, kid. Get in the back of the patrol car."
I remember the first time I heard Arlo say those lines. I was in my room, the sound was coming through the wall and it was being produced by the LP on my brother Jim's Sears Wildcat Portable Stereo.
That stereo, after it came home from college with him, after his car accident and subsequent months in the hospital in a coma (in which I believe he taught our mother "Saint Doris" a few words Jesus hadn't meant for her to hear.) never left that spot on his desk where he played solitaire, smoked "Players Straights" and listened to music after walking the dog and blowing a doobie. Even if it were portable, that thing and the cigarette ashes on top of it never moved, until it was replaced years later, when he moved out and into a commune, as I took my turn in the front room in my senior year of High School.
In High School "Officer Obie" became synonymous with being a "Narc." Something no one in the culture of the 70s wanted to be identified with. Kids being kids, me having the name O'Brien, that was the first thing that was said to me if you were intending to insult me or pick a fight. As I was the guy most of my friends bought their pot from, this did not go over well or happen often.
So, we chuckled and teased each other, my brothers and I, calling each other by turn, this insult with affection and shared knowledge. If you were one of us, it was cool. If you were not, God help you and the wrath of Irish brothers in a group! (Not to mention the displeasure of an Irish sister, who could whip the four of us at any moment, in any way she fashioned.)
Now it is with mixed feelings and a knowing smile, that I image my deceased brothers faces, when if I had had the chance to tell them, what I realized the other day: Housatonic, Richmond, Richmond Furnace, West Stockbridge, Pittsfield and Lenox Massachusetts. Our O'Brien relatives are all over this place. Right where Arlo was talking and singing about.
From my research I'd say there is a better than 98% chance any "Officer Obie" real or imagined, that might have said: "Kid, we found your name on an envelope at the bottom of a half a ton of garbage, and just wanted to know if you had any information about it." he was one of "Us."
Today of course, I couldn't give-a what you thought of me, and it has been a lifetime since I smoked a doobie, let alone sold one. You want to call me "Officer Obie" go right ahead, if you are one of "Us" it's cool. If you're not, that's cool too.
I imagine my brothers are up there right now, punching each other in the arm and laughing:
"See, I told ya, jerk, your turn to flip the record."
"I got it last time."
"Get me a beer while you're up, or I'll kick your little Irish ass! An make sure ya don't scratch it neither!"
"Yes sir "Officer Obie!"
© obeedúid~
29/Jan/14
