XXVII. WORST WEEK EVER
“How come I’ve never heard of Charlie’s Devils?”
There’s no history that it ever existed.
It was a hot night. I’ll never forget it. Uncomfortably sticky – the kind of heaviness that zaps your energy. The band had just finished a practice session, and it was late – like three a.m. – the last scheduled train of the night. We had to start after school got out because Mom refused to let me miss any days for what she called “your silly little music thing.” She couldn’t accept the fact that I had astronomical talent – light years ahead of George Starsiak’s skill – but my music career reminded her of Dad’s failed career.
Randy would pick me up at school and we would take the train into Manhattan, grab a pretzel or a hot dog from a vendor, and gather at the fancy new Sta
