The Brandon File: The Skatin' Rink...

Of all the mill villages in Greenville County, Brandon, as far as I know, was the only one to have a combination skating rink/bowling alley. The Mill owned and operated the place and William Donehue was the manager. William ruled the "skatin' rink" with an iron fist...and a whistle that helped convey his absolute authority. One short "tweet" - you still had a chance to avoid his wrath provided you ceased whatever foolishness you were in to. One long, shrieking warble - and you were on the way to expulsion. And the expulsion could be lengthy depending on the offense. Of course, being a good little boy, and having the good fortune to live next door to William, I rarely ever felt the sting of his admonishment.

Sherry, Sherry baby Sherry,
Sherry baby Sherry,
can you come out tonight?
(come, come, come out tonight?)

Outside, kids are milling around with their skates hung around their shoulders, getting in a quick smoke before hitting the rink. "Give me a drag off that Lucky". "Get ye own." "Dayum, you got a whole pack!".

Inside, the hum of the florescent lights is barely audible over the din of eager kids lining up to rent skates or bowling shoes. A long shriek of the whistle is followed by William scolding a fat kid he spies on the approaches without said proper shoes. "I'll throw ye ass outta here"! As I said, William Donehue drew no quarter and took few prisoners. The fat kid's bad judgement is followed by stares and condemnation from the older guys. "Hey boy, am I gonna have ta stomp you"? Across the way in the rink, a pretty girl wearing bobby socks is gliding solo on the hardwood , flawlessly switching from forward to backward skating in a graceful pirouette. Soon, her performance is marred by a gaggle of R.A. kids from the local church, pushing and shoving one another; their chaperon oblivious to their roughhousing. Before long, the chaperon was in William's office getting an ear full. A few minutes later he appeared on the rink, red faced and warning his hellions of their impending doom.

The pin boys are showing up now, talking the usual nonsense about girls they didn't know and money they didn't have. "You setting up for Gazaway?" "No, I got Sorgey." "What did he roll last time?" "Bout 275". "Did he tip ye"? "50 cents". "You a lying dog"! By the time the league bowlers start to arrive the place is smelling of buttered popcorn and lane oil. Donehue is spraying the shoes with disinfectant when he spots a boy and girl in the shadows of the rest room engaged in a lip lock worthy of Bogey and Bacall. The sharp warning of the whistle is followed by, "now yall cut that stuff out! This ain't no damn hotel. Yall's mamma's know yall down here doing that?" A group of giggling mill hill girls surround the jukebox and feed in enough nickles to saturate the evening with Soldier Boy, Leader of the Pack, Down in the Boondocks and the entire Four Seasons song book - whether you like it - or not.

They called her, Rag Doll. Pretty, Rag Doll.
Such a pretty face Should be dressed in lace.

The crash of pins signify the real beginning of the evening's festivities. The league bowlers go first and they are serious. I loved to watch theses guys; the pained expression of seeing the 7-10 split, the contortions of body English, and their under the breath cursing (William allowed no outward profanity - save his own). The frivolities are shattered by Benny Sorgey yelling down lane number 1 at his pin boy who has done the unpardonable: He has pulled the string on the automatic pin sitter just as Benny had released the ball for his spare attempt. The clang of the ball hitting the metal framing brings Donehue bounding from his office with veins popping. The pin boy hunches in horror as a stream of profanity hurls toward him from up the alley (the league guys did have some latitude with William concerning their language). "I guess you won't be gittin' 50 cents tonite you dumb aice".

Going to the chapel
and we're Gonna get married

As the evening dissolves into night, activities slow and William counts up the register, readying the place to close. A small kid with a stutter sweeps the rink and cleans the bathrooms. "Wh-wh-where's the dang Pine-S-s-sol?" Two older boys sweep the lanes and apply the oil whose ever present fragrance lingers forever and always. The passionate pair that drew William's ire slink from the shadows of the rink and walk hand in hand towards West Greenville. The pin-boys rack up the pins and clean up after themselves; their alleys littered with soda bottles, uneaten nabs and dozens of Viceroys smoked down to the butts. After rolling a 263, Benny Sorgey changes his shoes, bags his 16 pound ball and leaves the building, still cursing his "worthless" pin sitter who, as predicted, went home tipless this night.

10 minutes later Donehue locks the door and chases away a teenage boy loitering outside the building."We're closed now, you can go home", William says with authoritative urgency. Cutting through the mill yard, I walk home with William and listen as he tells the story about seeing Ted Williams play baseball against the Yankees. I had heard the story many times, but I never tired of hearing him tell it; or of his trips to New York with Fred Mcabee, and their ribald post war exploits in the "apple". It was hard to imagine so much world out beyond the village.

Two hours later, homework finished, I was fast asleep and dreaming of impossible spare saves and bobby socked girls swaying to yet another song by Frankie Valli. My small slice of the world fast asleep with me.