As with the other two “F…” stories, sensitive folks may want to consider whether they read it or not because, as it was proven in a previous post, sometimes the “F” word is the only thing that can be used in a situation.
As i was writing my previous post on the use of the “F…” word — i kept thinking of one last story on the subject, recognizing i needed the originator of the story to okay my using it here.
Last week, i got his approval.
Maureen and i stayed with our close friends, JD and Mary Lou Waits, in their great home in the Tahitian Village development outside of Bastrop, Texas. They were wonderful hosts.
In 1982, JD and i moved from his apartment in the Oakwood complex in Coronado and his boat slip on Harbor Island and from my rather remarkable apartment on 8th and E in Coronado to 72 Antigua Court in the Coronado Cays (visiting ten-year old daughter Blythe approved of the move). The second floor condo patio looked down on our boat slip where JD’s 25-foot Cal sailboat was berthed.
It was the perfect bachelor pad for a single commander and a single CWO-4 aviation maintenance officer. It was September 1982. In December, JD became engaged to his former wife, Mary Lou, and in February 1983, i became engaged to Maureen. The Waits were married in the rotunda meeting room on a small peninsula across from our condo. i was the best man and Maureen was the maid of honor. The four of us were the complete wedding party. There were about fifty guests. Maureen and i married that summer. JD’s and my assessment: we really screwed up a great thing.
We all hit it off. JD and i were known by our wardroom on USS Okinawa (LHA-3) as the “Booze Brothers,” a takeoff on John Belushi’s and Dan Ackroyd’s “Blues Brothers.” JD made Maureen laugh nearly non-stop. Mary Lou was the perfect foil for JD’s and my play off each other into absurdity.
It was and still is a great relationship. This is JD’s story as close as i can remember:
JD was raised in Houston. His father, the original John David Waits and his mother, Wanda Pearl ran a diner known for some of the best barbecue in Houston. One of the frequent customers knew Mr. Waits was a huge fan of Spike Jones, the band leader of the absurd with a network television show. When the patron learned Spike was performing in Houston, he gave John David three tickets to the show.
JD’s father planned out the evening in detail. He left almost an hour earlier than necessary to get to the theater. When Wanda Pearl wondered why, her husband explained his plan was to get there early for good parking and ensuring they would be there long before the performance began. He wanted to see all of his admired Spike Jones.
As if from a scene (without snow) from “A Christmas Story,” after beginning their journey to downtown Houston, a tire blew. It took Mr. Waits a significant time to replace the tire with the spare, but when he got back in the driver’s seat, he assured Wanda Pearl they had plenty of time to get to the show. Then as they got to downtown, the barrier bars to the railroad crossing lowered, and a very long freight train took over a half-hour to clear the crossing.
It was getting a bit tight, but Mr. Waits was calm, sure they would make it in time.
When they arrived at the venue, the parking lot was now full, not empty as it would have been had they gotten there as early as Mr. Waits planned.
They had to park at the very back of the lot and walk a long walk to the entrance.
Hot and exasperated, they entered the theater with the show having started, and Spike Jones doing his crazy stuff. With his flashlight, the usher escorted the Waits trio to the third row and then hurriedly scrambled back to his post.
The threesome then began to stumble and quiety apologize to the other attendees as they made their way to their seats in the middle of the row.
Spike stopped his routine and snidely remarked to them through his microphone, “Glad you could make it.”
Wanda and JD quickly took their seats. But Mr. John David Waits, fed up to the gills with all that had happened, still standing, slowly turned to face the band leader and said loud enough for all to hear:
“Fuck you, Spike!”
The entire crowd gasped. A silence ensued for a few seconds before Spike turned and directed the band to start the next number.