Balboa Park

Balboa Park
by Jake Rivers ©

Author’s Note:

Balboa Park soccer stadium is located along Interstate 280, just north of Geneva Avenue in San Francisco. It is a short walk from the Balboa Park BART Station. It has been a hotbed of Premier League Soccer in San Francisco for generations.

To make it clear, the two chapters, LIFE … HERE AND THERE and SUMMER OF LOVE are time in the past and the other four chapters are time in the present (late 1967 and early 1968).

RED CARD ROMANCE

“I loathed the game and since I could see no pleasure or usefulness in it, it was very difficult for me to show courage at it. Football, it seemed to me, is not really played for the pleasure of kicking a ball about, but is a species of fighting.”

George Orwell, Such, Such Were the Joys

I was at Balboa stadium for my usual Sunday of soccer. It was warm for the early November day, but rain was forecast for later in the afternoon. The big match was between the Scots and the Greek Americans, at one o’clock. I grabbed a ham sandwich and a couple beers and walked up the ramp. These were the best sandwiches I’d ever found anywhere. The rolls were always fresh and the ham high quality. They had condiments but I liked it best with just plain ham and the roll.

I stood there for a minute trying to get a feel for the mood of the crowd. If the vibes felt right I enjoyed sitting on the front row, about six feet above the field. I would sit near one of the dugouts where I could listen to the guys talking on the bench and see the action up close and personal.

A lot of the players got to know me over time and I kinda came to be known as a neutral - that is, I wasn’t into the ethnicity of the game. I mostly didn’t care who won; I just loved hard-nosed, skillful fútbol, football or soccer, whatever they wanted to call it.

If the vibes were bad I would sit up on the top row, off to the side a bit. It gave me a safe spot to watch with a good overall view of the action … safe being the key word here. Overriding my instincts, I sat down above the Scot’s bench. I figured I could move at half time and be safe enough for any expected ensuing extra-curricular activities.

The game started typically enough for these two teams. Both teams regularly brought first-rate, young players from their home countries and put them to work in a network of restaurants, travel agencies and other small businesses. They would find them a place to stay, often with family members that preceded them, and give them a stipend for each game played.

The Scots typically played a hard-nosed defensive game with a tough, no-fear libero balanced by a young phenom up front who brought a grace and speed of play that Balboa rarely saw.

The libero, or sweeper, had free rein to run around the field and knock people over - he loved to take the best of opposing players out of the game. He was a stocky tank of a man with deceptive speed and a take-no-prisoners attitude. He defined the word pugnacious and was a man the fans loved to hate, with his fiery temper and equally fiery mop of red hair. After a few minutes of play he would turn bright red and his freckles could be seen from across the field. Adding an exclamation to this was his playing without his bridge showing this big hole where his two front teeth used to be.

Missing two front teeth on a child is a cute thing. Seeing this force of a defender charging at you with a committed intent of maiming you … well, the missing teeth that made him look more than a little demented was not cute.

The Greeks played a disciplined passing game softened by the highly skilled players breaking out with great individual efforts. They had a young player, maybe in his early twenties, Theodoros Nikopolidis, who was a free kick specialist who was a wonder at getting off crosses into the box with pinpoint accuracy. Five minutes into the game, Teddy as he was known, put a low cross to the near post of the Scots, which was headed across to the far post for an easy chest-in giving the Greeks a quick one up lead.

I could see the Scottish libero looking fiercely at Teddy and I knew there was going to be trouble. I’d finished one of my beers and the sandwich and decided I’d move as soon as I finished my second beer. The Scots kicked off after the goal and Teddy intercepted the pass back up the line by the Scots defender and he held the ball, moving up slowly while waiting for one of his players to break. He made eye contact with the left wing and let go with a deep pass to the far post that was headed diagonally across the goal away from the defending goalie.

Teddy was standing there with a big smile on his face as the ball passed in front of the keeper and across the goal line. Hands on hips, standing loose and easy, he never saw the Scots’ enforcer coming in late, cleats up.

Mayhem!

The ref came running in blowing his whistle, red card waving futilely as the players started fighting and the fans came running down, too many of them jumping over the rail to the field to join the fight. I started edging away, knowing this was going to be a bad one. My attention was arrested as I saw a pixie of a girl jump over the rail to the roof over the Scots’ bench. She looked to be about fifteen with a slim figure and long wavy black hair that hung halfway down her back.

I stood there admiring her fierce temper as she shook her fist and shouted imprecations at the Scots players. I’m sure that I would have blushed if I’d understood anything she said. Since it sounded Greek to me I assumed by this she must be Greek. Then she made a very un-girlish sign to one of the Scottish players standing there with a ball in his hand, away from the fray. I’d noticed this with a few of the teams. Some of the players had learned through painful experience to step back out of the way and let the fights take their course.

The girl turned, standing with one foot on the railing, and saw me staring at her. She gave me a quick grin and stepped into the stands just as the ball thrown by the irate Scot hit her in the back of the head. The ball hit her at the moment she was transferring her balance from one foot to the other and she took a dive right at me. I threw my hands up too late and succeeded only in flinging my beer right on the front of her blouse and deflecting her into the wooden bleacher seat.

The fight was getting worse, so I picked her up and ran to the side about twenty yards and sat down, still holding her. She was stunned from the force of the ball hitting her, but was starting to come around. Her pleated wool skirt was hiked high on her thighs so I pulled it down and saw a nasty cut on her knee from hitting the edge of the bench seat.

I grabbed the handful of napkins I always stuffed in my pocket for lunch and held it to her knee - trying to staunch the blood. I looked to see if she was hurt anywhere else and noticed the beer had turned her blouse and lacy white bra more or less translucent. Hell, no question, it was more than translucent. I could see that she had small but well-formed breasts with dark areolas, currently nicely firmed up from the chill of the beer.

I quickly looked at her face and upgraded my estimate of her age a bit, maybe a year older than fifteen. She had heavy black eyebrows, an oval face of creamy white with the remnants of a summer tan. Her cheeks were flushed from the fall and I presumed the high emotions she had been feeling. Her nose was small, a little upturned with a slight bump at the bridge of her nose.

With no thought of propriety or reason I leaned over gently and kissed that tiny bump. Two things happened at once: the girl opened her eyes, staring at me and a rough hand grabbed my shoulder squeezing and pulling me up.

The man attached to the clenching hand was shorter than me but burly, wide through the shoulders with a heavy build. He had a bushy, full mustache shot through with grey and dark wild eyes that made it clear to me that I was in trouble. He pulled his hand back, the callused fist looking like a boulder to me and I instinctively crossed myself … later I realized that probably saved me from a great deal of discomfort.

The man hesitated in view of my making the sign of the cross while the girl jumped between us, jabbering at him something fierce. She pointed at her knee and her head - obviously explaining what had happened. She said something else and he shook his head no. With a steady firmness in her voice she repeated what she had said. He finally nodded his head but didn’t say anything.

The girl introduced herself and her father, “I am Jacinda Nikopolidis. You may call me Jaci. This is my father Theodoros Nikopolidis. You may call him sir and smile at him.”

I put my hand out to him and said, “Sir, I am Jimmy Moore. I was trying to help your daughter.” The smile part was definitely weak.

He shook my hand with a great deal of hesitation and muttered something.

She smiled and told me, “He wants to know how kissing my nose was helping me.” She added sweetly, with just a bit of sarcasm thrown in, “Actually, I’m kind of curious myself.”

I looked at him, seeing only the impending threat and gave it a shot, “Well, Sir … uh, well, Sir, see - well she was in shock so I thought …” I looked at her and continued, “Oh, hell. I don’t know why. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I’m sorry.”

She nodded an acceptance of my apology and put her hand on her father’s shoulder. “We own a Greek Restaurant over on Mission called the Athens. It’s normally closed on Mondays but during the soccer season we have a party for the club and friends and relatives after every Sunday game. My father has invited you to come tomorrow to thank you for helping me. You should be there at seven.”

I took my jacket off and asked her slowly, “Okay, so he has invited me. I get the idea that he doesn’t really want me to come. Do you?”

She gave me a warm smile and said, “Yes, Jimmy, I do. Please come.”

I handed her my jacket as I told her, “Sure, I’d like to come.”

She looked at my jacket in her hand, instinctively taking it when I’d handed it to her. Puzzled, she held it up with a question in her eyes.

She hadn’t noticed her blouse so I waved my hand at her, “So you can cover up - you can give it back to me tomorrow night.”

She glanced down at her now “see-through blouse” and, face flushed, she threw the jacket on and ran up the stairs. Her dad glared threateningly at me and held his hand out. With some fatalism I shook his hand and felt his immense strength and the hint of pain that I knew would come if I hurt his daughter in any way.

He had nothing to worry about … somehow I knew with a great conviction that I loved her. Hurting her would be a form of masochism.

They got the game started again and when I went up to replace the not exactly wasted beer I saw Jaci and her father helping an injured player from the Greek club into a car. I could see a red stained bandage around his thigh and saw that this was the injured Teddy. Neither team seemed particularly interested in the rest of the game. It started raining and turned into a defensive struggle. Everyone, including the refs, just wanted to get it over with.

LIFE … HERE AND THERE

“Man, as long as people want to hear jazz, I’ll give it to them.”
Lionel Hampton

I was an only child and when I was two my dad died in the surf at Guam … he didn’t even live long enough to make it to the beach. After rushing through training he was shipped to the Pacific and this was his first … and last action.

My mom raised me by herself and I tried to make it easy for her. Sure, I got in trouble like any kid, but I knew it would break her heart if I did anything serious. She was a cook in the cafeteria at the University of Oklahoma in Norman.

I dreamed of going to OU as a kid. I knew I wasn’t the all around athlete that my dad was - he was the starting fullback on the 1939 Orange Bowl team that was skunked by Tennessee. 17-0. He was also a good enough baseball player to get invited to some pro tryouts, but after mom got pregnant, he took a marketing job with a local oil company and gave up sports.

I worked hard at my grades and my running, hoping I’d be able get enough in scholarships to make it and it worked out that way. With mom’s help I was also able to get a part time job in the cafeteria and I pretty much coasted through school and earned a degree in math.

After I graduated, I got a job with the same oil company my dad had worked for. My job was to analyze the data they collected from the exploration process and make sense of it. They sent me to a one-week assembly language programming class at IBM followed some time later by another class in FORTRAN. With my math background it was fairly easy for me to pick it up.

There was one other thing that was always a big part in my life. My dad’s older brother - the one I was named after - owned a jazz club in Norman. It was a nice bar cum restaurant of a decent size. He had a house band that was always changing and he brought in some of the better jazz groups over the years like Stan Getz, Charlie Byrd and the Brazilians Joao Gilberto and Antonio Carlos Jobim. My personal favorite was John Coltrane; he played with such incredible freedom.

When we got together for family functions, they always seemed to degenerate into jam sessions. Everyone on my father’s side of the family seemed to play one or more instruments. I grew up listening to this over the years and grew to love the music.

When I was about ten Jimmy asked me, “Do you still have your dad’s trumpet?”

I shrugged my lack of knowledge and he got up and together we searched, finally finding it on a shelf high in the garage. He brought it in and cleaned it up - wiping it off, cleaning and oiling the valves, then gave it a shot. It had the most incredibly pure tone. As he played it, everyone nodded, I guess in tribute to my dad.

He started working with me and within two years I was jamming with the family. I formed a jazz group in high school and later in college. Like my uncle’s band, it wasn’t anything really formal. We’d get a gig and I’d scramble around and see who was available.

Sometimes we would have three or four guys, other times a half-dozen. When I started college I started playing with the band at the club. I really enjoyed when I had a chance to jam with the various groups that came through to play in the club. This would be after the show or when they were practicing or even just screwing around.

I spent a lot of time on weekends at the club. They would be cleaning up, stocking the bar, in general getting ready to open. I liked to sit on the stage and just noodle around - playing but not really thinking about it. It was a great release for me; I always seemed in such a mellow mood afterwards.

One afternoon when I was doing this, John Coltrane walked in; he was scheduled to play that night. I stopped playing and stood up but he waved to me to keep playing. After a minute he cut in with his soprano sax, taking what I had been playing to somewhere entirely new. He nodded for me to take over and we did that for about twenty minutes. Each time we switched we went to a place I’d never been before … he would play with the harmonics. I was pretty damn good … he made me great.

He moved into his hugely successful My Favorite Things and I just sat back and listened.

When we finished, he came over a looked at me for the longest time. Then he nodded and patted me on the shoulder, “Your dad was good, boy, but you are a damn sight better.” He started to walk away but turned back. “I’ve never mentioned this to anyone, but I saw your dad just before he died. I was playing for the Navy Band in Hawaii and he had a three-day leave on his way to Guam. We got some guys together and played and got drunk for two days. He had your picture and kept showing it to everyone. Jimmy, he was proud of you. He would be even more proud now. ”

Playing with him that one time changed the way I felt about music. No, not that so much as he made me feel the music and how to play it.

I thought about it later that night while he was playing and I knew that he was somewhere I could never dream about being. I guess I saw it like being a gunfighter - no matter how good you are there is always someone better.

From John, I learned both pride and humility about music and where I fit in. I came to understand that I played for myself really. Playing with or for someone else was just something I did; playing for myself is whom I was.

Over time I played with so many groups and so many styles I could just fit in. I didn’t just play jazz. I would do a little of everything. One year I met a kid from Mexico working on his masters. While he was there he played guitar for a local Mariachi group. We became friends and I wound up playing with them. I played Ave Maria at a cousin’s wedding and Taps at a friend’s funeral. I got in with a couple of guys and we played pop stuff at a local club; stuff like Tijuana Brass and Dizzy Gillespie’s ‘Dizzy Goes to Hollywood’ album. Really, we’d try to play about anything anyone asked for.

Three years after I finished at OU my mom died in a car accident. One time we had been talking and she asked me that when she died she wanted me to play St. Louis Blues at her funeral. She told me it was dad’s favorite song. I kidded her about never dying but agreed.

When the time came I couldn’t do it. Uncle Jimmy came up and played it for me in a muted, melancholy style and I stood there and cried. As he played the words from W. C. Handy ran through my mind:

“I hate to see the evening sun go down.
Yes, I hate to see that evening sun go down.
'Cause it makes me think I'm on my last go 'round.”

Always after that a tear would form when I heard that song.

It was a hard time for me since mom and I had been so close … she had always been there for me and it just never occurred to me that one day she would be gone. I felt like making a change but Jimmy told me to get over my grief first.

“Don’t leave for the wrong reason; leave when the time is right.”

We talked about San Francisco - he had some friends there.

“John Handy is a friend of mine. He’s never played here before, but I know him. He knows more about the jazz scene in San Francisco that anyone else.”

A couple of months after that I was at the wedding of one of the guys I ran with in college. During the reception the band took a break and I sat at the piano, just messing around. I couldn’t play it like I could the trumpet but I was pretty good. I was just picking out some of what I call bar music when the bridesmaid sat next to me. I looked at her but I didn’t stop playing. She was a big girl - almost as tall as me but a lot curvier. She was at the least voluptuous but somewhere south of chubby. And she was drunk on her ass. At first she sat there, leaning into me and listening to the piano.

After a bit she started naming songs, asking me to play them. I never did find out if she was trying to stump me or just liked the songs. Somehow she sobered up a bit and I wound up giving her a ride home. I also never found out how that seemed to happen … it just did. Which lead to breakfast in bed, which somehow I fixed. I didn’t learn her name - June Burroughs - until she finished eating. I could have saved myself a lot of grief if I had taken the time then to think about what was going on but lust can be a terribly powerful force on a young man.

We dated for a few months in a sexual frenzy until one night a gig got canceled and I drove over to June’s place. We hadn’t made any promises or anything but I felt like we were pretty close and making progress. I opened the door and right on the living room sofa she was going at it with OU’s current Heisman candidate, a big blond kid from Waco, Texas. I looked at her and made a quick decision. Whatever had been there was gone and nothing else really mattered … it’s not like she was mine … or anything like that.

I looked at him - he wasn’t exactly cowering and I made another quick decision. If he broke his hand against my hard head the OU alumni club would lynch me. I walked away, muttering to myself, “Damn! That was another of life’s lessons learned.”

Several weeks later Jimmy and I talked it over and we decided it was time for me to try something new. I cleared things up and headed west. I had an offer from The Bank of California to develop algorithms for computing interest in their bond department. It seems that FORTRAN was not accurate enough for the huge sums they worked with. It was something I could do and I was looking forward to the move.

A GUITAR, TWO MANDOLINS AND A CONCERTINA

The next day I showed up at the Athens restaurant right at seven. I wasn’t sure what to wear so I put on a sports coat and slacks but left the tie in the car … just in case. I knew that in the Latin culture showing politely late was de rigueur and there were too many risks for me in showing up too early. What if I had to spend a half-hour alone talking with Jacinda’s father, Theodoros?

There were about a dozen people there but no Jaci. Her brother, the walking wounded was there, sitting on a sofa wearing shorts with his leg extended and the thigh heavily taped.

I walked over and introduced myself, “Hi, I’m Jimmy Moore; I was in the front row when you were taken out yesterday. How’s the leg?”

“Hello, call me Teddy - everyone does. I’ve seen you around the stadium a lot on Sundays … don’t you have a life?”

I laughed at that.

“The leg is better that I have any right to expect. They thought the femur was broken but it’s just a nasty bruise and cuts from the cleats that took twelve stitches. I’ll be out until the spring season. Say, thanks for helping Jaci. I didn’t see it but one of the guys saw the jerk that threw the ball at her.” Laughing, he continued, “He also heard and saw what she did to make him mad. She does have a temper!”

“Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I guess you met my dad?” At my nod, he continued, “He can be intimidating but if you show the family respect and honor you will never find a more loyal friend. Anyway, thanks. Jaci is special and has a lot of friends.”

Deciding to risk it, I asked, “Uh, many boyfriends mixed in those friends?”

Teddy looked behind me at an arriving Jacinda, “Here she is now. Let’s ask.”

Jaci smiled at him and then me, a bit mystified, “Ask what?”

I gave Teddy a dirty look but he ignored me, “Jimmy here was wondering if you have many boyfriends. What do you think, Sis?”

Jaci rolled her eyes, “Yeah, I have so many that I can’t keep their names straight. Thanks for reminding me of Jimmy’s name … I would have been really embarrassed to have had to ask him.”

She took my hand and started walking around and introducing me to people. “I forgot to bring your jacket. Thanks! I had no idea what your beer had done.” Here she blushed prettily. “You’ll have to come to the house to pick it up. Maybe dad will let you take me home,” she added in a teasing voice.

“I guess I shouldn’t wear that blouse when the Scots play. Or when you are around, huh? What do you think?”

I turned a little red but stood my ground, “I uh, I liked it.”

She snorted and said, “Yeah, I’ll just bet you did.”

“Say, some of the guys are going to do a kind of ‘roast’ on Teddy to give him a hard time for falling down hurting his leg and only helping with two goals. Can you think of anything to add?”

I looked over and saw a small band setting up for the dancing after dinner and saw one of the guys had a trumpet. “Yeah, when the time comes, just say something like, ‘One lesson for you from all of this … the next time you have to play the Scots, just tell them, Never on a Sunday.’ And I’ll take it from there.”

She nodded then went off to check on the food. The restaurant was providing some appetizers and dinner was potluck.

I went over and talked to the trumpet player - he was okay with my borrowing his instrument. I was pleased his trumpet was decent quality.

People kept coming in. Jaci introduced me to her mom, Dori, her oldest brother, Dominic, and her younger sister, Elissa. Her mom was sweet and smiled a lot … and didn’t speak much English. Dominic was sturdy and pleasant. Elissa was an imp - I could see she would be a problem. She was about twelve and when Jaci introduced us she stood then and rubbed her nose with her finger. Clearly, someone had been talking.

After everyone ate - and I had no idea what half the stuff was - they did the roast and it was mostly funny and nothing in a mean spirit like sometimes happens. When it came time for Jaci she ad-libbed a bit.

“Teddy, we all know how much you love to play against the Scots, I mean you play for a few minutes, get a couple of assists and sit out the rest of the game. I think the next time you play them, just never, ever, play them on a Sunday.”

Not exactly what I’d said, but it would work. I was already on the stage holding the trumpet. I jumped into a Dizzy Gillespie arrangement of Never on a Sunday, a kind of bluesy, jazzy version. After about twenty seconds I segued into something like the Tijuana Brass version … loud and very up-tempo. When I stopped I wasn’t sure if it had been such a good idea. Everyone was staring at me like I had three heads. Then Teddy started clapping and everyone joined in. I gave the horn back and the band started right up with a dance number.

I looked for Jaci but someone already had her on the floor. The guy was tall and skinny with black curly hair and eyes that were a kind of smoky black. I shot several arrows in his back but it didn’t seem to bother him. As the first number started, Elissa stepped up and grabbed my hand, pulling me on the floor. Jaci saw us and laughed as she shrugged helplessly.

Elissa actually danced pretty good and started right off with, “Do you love Jaci?”

I figured, what the hell? “Sure, kid. I know it hopeless because she said she has all these boyfriends, but what can I do?”

She nodded sagely, earth mother, wise in the ways of love. “Yes, it is a problem. Maybe I can help you out? Should I?”

Oops - that backfired. At this stage I figured I had nothing to lose by having her on my side. “Sure, Elissa. I know my heart will be broken without your help. It’s a shame that you aren’t older. Then maybe I wouldn’t have this problem.”

She smiled at that. She seemed to be enough of a woman to know that I was putting her on. Jaci was walking up as the dance ended and Elissa told me, “Quick, kiss my nose?”

Without thinking, I did.

Jaci arrived, finally ready for a dance, and asked, “What was that all about. Do you kiss all the girls on the nose or just those in the Nikopolidis family?”

I didn’t answer - I could be mysterious too. I also kissed her on the nose, eliciting a smile, and we started dancing. It was a dream to hold her in my arms. The band was playing a slow, instrumental version of ‘I Left My Heart in San Francisco’. I pulled her in a little closer and she didn’t resist.

I started to ask her for another dance but a smooth looking older guy, about my age, stepped in and held her close for two dances. I found out later he was a distant cousin and had just arrived from Greece. He looked kind of smarmy to me. He was a little taller than I was with black curly hair and teeth that lit up the dark corners of the room. I went back and simmered over a beer and then with some determination walked out and cut in before the second song finished.

We started dancing again, not talking … both of us musing on whatever. She was probably missing smarmy man and I was admiring how wonderful she felt in my arms. Thinking of something, but not really thinking, I asked her, “Do you go on dates?”

Made curious by my question, she asked, “How old do you think I am?”

Thinking quickly how touchy girls were at that age - I had finally decided that she was sixteen - I added a year and said, “Umm, uh, seventeen?”

She stopped, staring at me and abruptly disappeared, as girls were wont to do. I walked over and sat down next to Teddy. He looked over at me and asked how I was doing.

“I don’t know Teddy. Say, how old is Jaci?”

Looking at a girl over by the bar he was distracted for a minute. “Oh, she will be twenty-one just after Thanksgiving. She’s about a year-and-a-half younger than me.”

Twenty-one? No way! Damn. Okay, that explains the disappearing act.

Teddy added, “Hey, you’re really good with that trumpet. It was kind of funny but I don’t think everyone got it.”

I sat there with Teddy while the band played out the set. It turned out later that they were from a soccer team down in San Jose. Elissa came by and I asked her where Jaci was. She gave me a look that said either ‘you blew it kid’ or ‘wouldn’t you like to know?’

I saw Jaci a few minutes later over by the kitchen door but when I got there she was gone. I was walking by the stage where another group was setting up. This was both clearly the main event and a Greek group. They had a guitar, two mandolins and a concertina of some type. The guitarist was older and I assumed he was the leader.

As I walked by he stopped me, “You were the one that played, ‘Never on Sunday’ a while ago, right?” I nodded and he continued, “Jerry, the guy with the trumpet earlier is over there drinking. He said you could use his horn again. You are good, really good. We are going to open with ‘Zorba the Greek’ and I think it would be great if you joined us. You can do this, right?”

“Sure, no problem. How do you want to do it?”

“I had in mind something like ‘Feuding Banjos’. We will start together with an up-tempo beginning then you start over slow then we’ll kick in. Each time we switch we pick up the tempo a little and at the end we play together, real up-tempo kind of stuff. Sound good?”

I figured ‘what the hell’. It looked like I’d blown my evening and any chance of a love life anyway. Who knows … might there be a real need for Greek trumpet players?

“Okay, I’ll start with a flourish and you kick in.”

The guests had seen the band getting ready and were moving towards the dance floor. I didn’t see Jaci among them. I had really blown it!

The bandleader tapped on the mike, “Folks, we’re ready if you are for another night of dancing at the Athens. We have a guest, Jimmy Moore, that’s going to help us with the first number. Let’s show him how we dance in Greece!”

I saw Jaci peeking from behind the kitchen door at the sound of my name.

He nodded to me and I started off with a bright piercing intro with fast triple tonguing. At the end of the first phrase the band kicked and we let them have it fast and furious together for about a minute. Then I took it slow and stately with a nice pure tone. Then it went back and forth as we had talked about. We didn’t rush it - the whole piece must have taken over ten minutes. When we got to the end everyone seemed to be dancing or going crazy or something Greek like that. Jacinda was standing on the stage beside me with a proprietary air about her and a big smile on her face.

I wiped the trumpet down and sought Jerry out and thanked him. We chatted for a minute and I asked him if he liked jazz music.

“Sure, man, we’ve played a little but we’re not good enough to do it in public.”

“Give me your phone number and I’ll set something up, okay?”

I’d clearly made a lot of friends and for sure, everyone knew who I was. As I walked around Jaci held onto my arm like I belonged to her. I could live with that.

I did get a chance to drive her home and before I walked her to the door I asked her, “Do you like jazz music?”

“I don’t know, Jimmy. What is it?

SUMMER OF LOVE

The next two years, 1966 and 1967, ‘The Summer of Love,’ changed my life in many fundamental ways. I had a red 1964 MGB so I couldn’t carry much with me. The bank was paying for the move so I boxed everything else up for the mover.

I drove out of Norman on the first of July, planning on arriving in San Francisco on my birthday, the tenth. I took my time and drove around the back roads of northern New Mexico and Southern Colorado, enjoying the trip and the beautiful country. I blew through Utah and Nevada fairly fast leaving me time for a couple of days in Reno. I won a couple hundred at blackjack that pretty much paid for my trip.

I came into San Francisco from the north, across the Golden Gate Bridge. There were some wisps of fog but I could see the myriad of sailboats out on the bay and my first view of the lovely white city spread over the hills. I wound up on Park Presidio and made my way to Clement Street where I had a nice lunch at a German restaurant.

After I finished, I browsed the apartment ads over a cup of coffee and called one on Fourth Avenue between Lake and California. The owner, a nice Canadian lady, was waiting for me when I drove up. There were four flats in the building, two down and two up. All the entrances were outside so it seemed pretty private. She showed me around and it seemed suitable, except as being a place I could play my trumpet. I hadn’t really expected to find a place I’d like without a lot of hunting, but this would do fine for a while. I could always use the mute and play it softly.

At ninety-five dollars a month it was well within my price range of what the bank was paying me. It was a typical SF flat, a long hallway that ended in a family room (or dining room) with the large kitchen behind that. As you went down the hallway there were doors opening into the living room, bedroom and bathroom. There was also a door from the living room to the bedroom.

I moved my stuff up and drove back to a small grocery on Clement and stocked up on food. I’d arrived on the ninth, the day before my birthday. I had nine days until I was supposed to start at the bank and I planned on spending it seeing the city and the surrounding area. I was a bit tired that first night so I dabbed some butter, a little salt and pepper and a splash of white wine on a Halibut steak and grilled it. With the rest of the Louis Martini Chardonnay, it made a decent dinner.

I’d brought my small portable record player with me so I put on several random albums - Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington, etc. - and organized what little stuff I had been able to bring with me. The owner loaned me some sheets, pillows, and towels until I could get some. The bed was comfortable so I felt the first day in my new life was fairly successful. I felt lonely but I figured time would take care of that … I hoped.

The next few days were fun. I drove all around San Francisco, rode the cable car and took in the tourist sites and started checking out the jazz clubs. I knew there was a good jazz tradition here and it was easy to find some nice clubs. I had John Handy’s phone number but I wanted to get settled in before I called him.

There were a few nice places in the Broadway/Columbus area of North Beach along with some great Italian Restaurants. I passed on all the hype about Carol Doda, the hottest girl in the new topless movement. Not that I didn’t like breasts but I preferred them two at a time and without a bunch of other people around.

I discovered that Golden Gate Park was close enough to run to as part of a longer run without having to drive - it was about a half-mile away. One day I was over in the Kezar Stadium corner of the park and decided to walk on over to Haight-Ashbury and see what all the excitement about the hippies was about.

It was quite a change for me coming from Oklahoma and I tended to be a bit conservative anyway. It was colorful, crowded with gawking tourists (I did manage not to gawk), and a plethora of mostly young people in all manner of dress - and undress - and the heavy, sweet scent of pot was in the air. It was like a year-round street carnival - there was always something going on.

I stopped at a small coffee shop to rest a bit before I ran home. There was a girl, I’d guess around my age of twenty-five, playing a guitar and singing. She had a jar out for contributions. She had the purest voice of any girl I’d ever heard. She was doing a Joan Baez medley and doing it well. She looked to be about average height with an angelic face and from what I could see there was no bra under her shapeless granny dress. I listened to a couple of numbers but felt my legs starting to tighten up so I dropped my change in her jar and with a wink I took off.

Several weeks later I was in the area again, at night, mostly to see what was going on in the music. It really ran the gamut. There were some groups that I saw later after they had made it. Other groups or individuals bordered on the amateurishly pathetic. I wound up back at the coffee house and the girl was there again. I sat closer this time and flirted with her on and off. When she finished she walked over to me.

“You’re really cute. Would you like to walk me home?”

Walk me home? How coy was that? Well, hell, a score is a score.

Her not wearing shoes should have warned me. I noticed her feet and ankles were dirty and her toenails were long and split. She put her arm around me and led me to a third floor walkup flat about three blocks away. There was a young girl of about six that was obviously babysitting her younger sister, who looked to be maybe two. They were both filthy and the toddler had dried snot smeared around her face.

They were watching cartoons on an old black and white TV with a terrible picture. She gave them a hug and led me into the bedroom. With no preamble she closed the door and pulled her dress off - with nothing on beneath it. I sensed a fairly strong earthy aroma wafting off her body and I saw she hadn’t cut the hair in her armpits in some weeks. I’ll grant she was a beautiful, full bodied girl, but …

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”

She shrugged and I turned and hit the stairs running. I never went back to that area again except for a couple of times to show friends from Oklahoma around. I knew then - if I hadn’t already known it - that I was into clean girls. Still and all, it was fun to track in the media the happenings of the hippies. It was just not my thing. The final thought came to me that ‘free love’ could possibly be quite expensive.

The last weekend before I started work I made out a deal with the landlady that if she provided the supplies I’d repaint my flat. It made a much bigger difference than I expected.

The next Monday I went in to work for the first time. The first problem I ran into was that parking was terrible and I wound up on a lot in one of the old warehouses on a wharf on Embarcadero and having to walk all the way back. I’d noticed busses while I was driving in and I made a mental note to ask about them.

The bank was at California and Sansome, which turned out to be a great, central location. It was a beautiful old building, majestic even. The computer offices were in an office building next door on the Sansome side of the bank. I got situated with all the paperwork and was introduced around. I quickly found out that my project wasn’t going to be as much fun as I expected.

There was this old man - past sixty-five - that was holding the bank hostage on his bond algorithm. The bank owned the rights but he was holding out for a big chunk of money for ‘training and documentation.’ It was very uncomfortable at first but I talked to my boss and then talked to John the geezer. I didn’t mention that I’d got my boss to agree.

“John, you’re going to have to face it some time … the bank does have a right to this. I’ll tell you what, I think I can stretch this out over a year and you can make more money than you are asking for. I just need to show some progress.”

He was kind of grumpy about it at first but he eventually came around. I rewrote all of his code except for the bond interest computing routines in FORTRAN and put in escape code to call those routines. I carefully documented everything including an extensive mathematical analysis of his process. I worked closely with the Bond Department and wrote several supporting applications. We got everything done in six months and the bank just gave him a check for the rest of his time and let him go. The bank was pretty happy with me since I’d resolved a testy situation.

I quickly found out that there were some great watering holes around. I read in the paper one day that San Francisco had the highest rate of fatalities from cirrhosis of the liver of any city in the country. There were some lovely old bars that were just damn fun to drink in. I’d rented garage space from a guy across the street from my flat and took the bus to work. I caught it on Lake Street, about fifty yards from my apartment and it let me off in front of the bank. I could go out drinking and not have to drive home. It turned out that not paying parking more than paid for anything I had to drink.

I found a great restaurant that we would go to after a couple of drinks some nights, call the Tadich Grill. It was the oldest restaurant in California, founded in 1849. They were on Clay Street in the basement of an old building. It was a place of many firsts for me: I’d never had liver and onions before and they were always terrific. It was also the first place I’d had artichoke, beef tongue and fresh oysters. My favorite though was the grilled Petrale Sole, which was actually not sole at all, but flounder.

It was a wonderful place. Croatian immigrants had always run it and the waiters tended to stay there until they retired. They were kind of crazy but it was a fun place. I was sad the next year when Wells Fargo bought the entire block to build a computer center and the restaurant had to move over to California Street. The food was still great but a lot of the atmosphere had been lost.

Another place I liked a lot was Paoli’s Old Library on Montgomery and California (later torn down to build the Band of America monolith). Besides being a great Italian restaurant it was the best place in town to pick up little banker chicks on Friday nights. There were tons of banks in the area with all the tellers, secretaries and all the other jobs that drew single girls to San Francisco from the hinterlands by droves.

These girls weren’t making much money so once a week on Friday was all they could afford to do. It was kind of fun because half the girls were just out for fun and the other half were desperately looking for a husband. The thing was they were pretty much all smart, clean and well dressed. I shied away as much as I could from the ones that could hear the wedding bells ringing - after June I was in no hurry.

But fun was fun and I couldn’t say I was ever lonely very long. I made friends with a couple of girls that I would take around to the jazz clubs or out to a nice dinner. The casual sex was great but after a time I became a little jaded, and became a bit more discriminatory.

I really fell in love with San Francisco. It was mostly a friendly place though it did have some hard edges. Besides the City I drove around the area a lot. I was particularly happy when I discovered the wine country. A decent cab could be found for less than two bucks. I particularly liked to visit Buena Vista in Sonoma. It was a great place to take people from out of town - you could just wander around and they had a great picnic place.

One of the other programmers was a German guy named Guenther. He lived and breathed what we called soccer and everyone else in the world called football. He subscribed to several German soccer magazines and could tell you about any team in any division in Germany. He’s the one that got me started going to the Sunday soccer matches at Balboa Park. He played for a top-level club named Concordia. I’d go watch him play then go drink German beer with some of his teammates. I got so I liked just going and watching matches with any of the teams.

He also started teaching me the game and I picked it up fairly fast. I would never have the ball skills that he did but I was fast and could run all day. He got me on with a team that played third division out at the beach chalet in Golden Gate Park almost to the ocean. It could be rough and dirty but I found I had a hell of a competitive instinct. I learned a lot about the flow of the game by watching at Balboa Park and playing gave me a better appreciation for watching. I mostly played halfback on either side. I didn’t really aspire to play with a higher division team.

I did find several small jazz groups that I could do a gig with once in a while. I was gradually getting to know the jazz scene, not just in San Francisco but also in some of the surrounding cities.

I did meet up with John Handy and got to know him fairly well. He taught at a number of bay area schools like Berkeley, Stanford and San Francisco State. He talked me into tutoring some promising students at San Francisco State and forming small groups to give them an experience playing with others.

He was a great person and probably had more impact on the San Francisco music scene than any other single individual. At the time he was doing some arrangements of using violins against his saxophone. As he put it, “I find the violin to be a very sensitive and expressive instrument capable of musical expressions that other instruments are not. I've discovered that there's a certain way to write for them to give them a saxophone sound."

I didn’t see any way I would ever move back to Oklahoma … I’d found a new home.

FALLING IN LOVE

“Do you like jazz music?”

“I don’t know, Jimmy. What is it?

Okay, she doesn’t know anything about jazz … this is going to be fun.

I drove away from Jaci’s home feeling somewhat bemused. It really could be fun to teach her about jazz. Somewhere around where my heart was I could feel a warm fuzzy feeling … could it be love? I knew Jacinda liked me but how did she really feel?

I felt impatient - I’d never felt this way about a woman before - but I knew that I had to take it slow. Not only with Jaci but also with her family. They seemed very conservative and if I rushed it I’d never have a chance to try to make things work out.

I let it alone that week. If waiting a week was the right thing to do then I’d be golden. If she was expecting, even waiting, for me to call … well, a bit of curiosity never hurt a girl. I thought the best thing was to show up at the next Greek-American game at Balboa Park - which was the next Sunday at two.

It turned out to be a sparkling, radiant day, warmer than normal for November and not a cloud in the sky. When I walked through the portal into the stands I saw the Nikopolidis family sitting together. I walked up to say hello but before I could say anything, Jaci beat me.

“Jimmy, you’re here!”

Well, yeah.

She grabbed my hand and pulled me down to sit beside her. She introduced me to her mom and dad again, “… remember this is the young man that kept me from being hurt.”

I stood and shook hands again with her dad but he was still wearing the stern face. Her mom smiled but didn’t say anything. I sat back down.

“Jimmy, why didn’t you call me this week? I waited and waited.”

She looked somewhat petulant, but I just smiled and answered, “I was really busy but if you want, I’ll call you this week.”

We chatted about the game and what she had been doing. She had mentioned to me she had a portable record player in her room so I told her, “I’ve an album I’d like to play for you. I want to show you some of why I love jazz. Can I come over for a bit after the game today?”

“I’d like that. Let me ask my dad.”

She spat a torrent of Greek at her dad and his response was apparently positive - although it didn’t sound that way. Before she could respond to me her mom added something. I’m not sure if what she told me was a proper distillation of what her parents had said.

“They said it’s okay, but only if you can stay for dinner.”

I supposed the dinner wasn’t really a requirement but an invitation. I smiled at her, “Sure, I look forward to it.”

After the game I took off with Jaci in my MG with the family trailing along later. They were talking to some of the players and it would take a while for Teddy, since he was walking slowly with his cane.

They didn’t live too far away from the stadium and we were there in a few minutes. We went in bringing the album from my car. I gave her my hand to help her out of the car and she held on to it tightly. She let go to open the door then grabbing my hand again she almost skipped up the stairs. As we went into her room she seemed a bit nervous.

“Everyone will be here in a minute and I wanted to thank you for helping me last week. Teddy said I could have been really hurt.”

With that she threw her arms around my neck and started kissing me. I was standing there with the album in my hand and somehow had the presence of mind to toss it on the bed. I was startled at first but when she put the tip of her tongue between my lips I put my arms around her, lifted her up and held her tightly. I could feel her small, pert breasts pushing into my chest and slowly my hands - on their own volition - slowly lowered to her soft, round buttocks, holding her against me. I immediately got an erection and she had to feel it pressing hungrily against her.

She finally let her arms loose and pulled her head back, staring intently at me. I reluctantly lowered her to the floor and let go of her. She stepped back, panting a little. She looked down at my obvious show of lust and turned away, flushing a bright red. She walked over to her dresser and opened her record player, looking quickly back at me.

“Anyway I just wanted to say thanks. Hand me your record.”

I smiled to reassure her and handed her the album. I wanted her to hear some jazz music before I tried to explain anything about it to her.

“This is an album from Django Reinhardt. This one dates from 1955. Just listen to it and then you can tell me what you think.”

She put the record on and sat on the bed. I was sitting on a chair by the door, which she had left open. When she heard the front door open she walked over to the top of the stairs - her room was right in front of the staircase - and hollered down, “We’re up here listening to music.”

They waved hi and her sister, Elissa, skipped up the stairs. She sat down next to Jaci and listened for a minute, then looked at me and back to Jaci. She reached over to Jaci’s nightstand and grabbed a couple of Kleenex. Walking over to me she held it at the edge of my mouth and wiped it. Looking back at Jaci, she said, “You’d better fix your lipstick before you come downstairs. She turned at the door and walked back to put the tissue in the trash and as she walked by, she said with a smirk, “Hey, Jimmy, nice music.”

Jaci looked mortified and ran to the bathroom to repair the damage we’d done.

When she came back she smiled shyly, took my hand and led me downstairs. As we walked down I asked her how she had liked the music.

“It’s wonderful. It is so alive. Much of Greek music uses stringed instruments of one kind or another, so I can relate to this.”

She led me to the living room where the men were talking in Greek and arguing about something - which turned out to be soccer, of course.

“I’m going back to the kitchen to help mom with dinner. Would you like a beer?”

At my nod she took off. I sat down in an open chair and there ensued a discussion of soccer and politics in Greece in a conglomeration of Greek and English. I certainly knew no Greek and several of the men who stopped by had recently emigrated from Greece and knew only the barest English.

I was impressed by the passion of the various discussion threads. I was to find out this was typical … the Greeks were a passionate people in many ways. I was able to participate a little in the talks on soccer but mostly I sat back and watched people. A couple times Jaci brought me a beer and stood behind my chair with her hand on my shoulder … it was a nice feeling, like I belonged to her.

Dinner was typically Greek: moussaka, which was ground lamb with layers of eggplant; dolmades (stuffed grape leaves); and a Greek salad. The food was accompanied by Greek wine or beer and lively conversation. Jaci was sitting next to me and made sure I was included in the talk. She would translate frequently, particularly when someone was talking about me or asking me a question. She touched me all the time. A hand on my forearm, hitting me on the leg when I said something funny, and once in a while taking my hand and looking at me with that shy smile of hers.

Several of the men were jazz aficionados so we talked some about that. They insisted that I get my trumpet from the car and while the women cleaned up after dinner I played a wide variety of stuff. Jaci kept drifting in and finally just stayed by my side. I finally was able to stop by insisting I needed a beer.

When I left it was with an invitation to her twenty-first birthday party the next Sunday. It was the Sunday after Thanksgiving and there were no soccer matches scheduled. As we walked to the door her mom came up and said something to Jaci. She looked pleased by what her mom said and when we walked down the street to my car I asked her what her mom had told her.

“She said for me to invite you for Thanksgiving dinner. It’s not a Greek holiday but we’ve been celebrating it. We don’t do turkey, though,” she finished with a laugh. With a quick kiss on my cheek she was off and I drove home to my lonely apartment.

I sat in bed with one of my favorite albums playing, an old one by Billie Holiday, and sipped on a glass of brandy. Of course, I was thinking about Jaci. I knew this was a girl I couldn’t trifle with … not that I had that in mind. This looked as if it could get serious very quickly while at the same time I needed to move slowly with her. She reminded me of a skittish colt but her kiss was that of a woman. I knew that somehow I was in love with her and I was pretty sure she loved me too. There certainly was a strong chemistry tying us together.

Jaci had given me a couple of books on Greek - it seemed obvious that it would behoove me to at least make a stab on some basic words. I called her a couple of times in the days before Thanksgiving asking her about the pronunciation of some key words. She seemed pleased, both that I had called her and about the language questions.

Thanksgiving was fun and the next day I took her for a drive to the top of Mt. Tamalpais in Marin County. We stopped at Muir Woods on the way. She had never been there and found the huge old trees fascinating. The drive up to the summit of Mt. Tam was curvy but the MG/B was perfect for the road. The view from the top was incredible. We could see the bay area lying out before us and for the first time I realized how large it was.

We were alone at the viewpoint and I was standing behind her, with my hands on her shoulder. I dropped them lower and held her tight and kissed her ear. She stood still for a minute, then turned to me, her lips eager. We kissed for a moment of eternity, then getting chilled we sat in my car. We started kissing again and my hand strayed up to her breast. She put her hand over mine and pulled me tight to her. I caressed her nipple for a moment, feeling it get hard. She was breathing heavy but I didn’t want to go too fast.

The signals I was getting from her was to go farther but I backed off and held her back with my hands. We stared at each other for a longish time then I put my arms around her, holding her tight. I whispered in her ear, “Jaci, I can’t help it but I’m falling in love with you.” I held her tight and when I felt her shoulders shaking I held her back and looked at her. She wiped her eyes and tried to smile, then leaned in and kissed me quickly but firmly.

“We’d better go, Jimmy. I’m taking my mom shopping later today.” She didn’t say how she felt about me but I was sure she loved me too.

The party was fun. It was at the restaurant and was crowded with tons of food. The same band was there and this time I was able to dance with Jaci all I wanted - though we both danced with others. It was clear that she was very popular and loved by all. She really was a very special girl.

I didn’t want to get her anything too personal so I got her a couple jazz albums. One by Dizzy Gillespie - I wanted her to hear some good trumpet work - and one by Duke Ellington for the big band sound with some old favorites on it. She seemed to appreciate it and in later discussions I felt she was really learning to like jazz.

After the New Year we got into regular dating. I was over at her place a lot, especially on Sundays. I seemed to be accepted by her family although her sister teased us a lot. For Valentines Day I took her to dinner at Tadich Grill and then to a jazz club I played at occasionally. At the club I was asked to sit in for a couple of numbers and Jaci said it was okay.

I had a lot of fun with it and the crowd was appreciative. Jaci was quite impressed, “You’re really good, Jimmy. You should do this full time.”

“I think about it a lot but it’s a chancy business. I’d like to do more than just play. I’d like to compose and maybe do some teaching … maybe be a mentor for some up-and-coming kids.”

From there I had to go by and pick up another album she wanted to borrow and she asked if she could come up. She had never seen my apartment. I showed her around and somehow we wound up in the dining room, which I used as a den. We were sitting on the sofa talking then somehow she was in my arms.

It got hot quickly. I had her bra undone and was rubbing her breasts and for the first time she had her hand on my erection. I pulled her sweater up and kissed and sucked on her breasts. I unbuttoned her skirt and my hand was rubbing on her when she started shuddering - I knew she was having an orgasm.

I knew she wouldn’t stop if I continued and somehow I was able to cut it off. I held her close and she whispered, “I love you, Jimmy.” She had never actually said that before but I knew she did.

I took her on home and driving back I knew I wanted to spend my life with her. I started thinking seriously about asking her to marry me. She was the one for me.

LOVE … AND PAIN

I was walking around downtown one Saturday afternoon in my neighborhood on Clement. I saw an engagement ring in the window of a small jewelry store and I immediately knew it was the right one. I went in to take a closer look at it and the more I saw it the more I liked it. I wasn’t sure when I wanted to ask her but I went ahead and purchased the ring. It was a couple of weeks later, on a Sunday in early June that the time seemed right.

Her family, except for her sister, were all going to Fresno for an Open Cup playoff match. The winner would go to Arizona for the regional championships. Because of the long drive they were going to stay overnight in Fresno. Jaci didn’t want to go because we had a date planned. Elissa was going on an outing with a friend of hers and was going to stay overnight since school was out.

Jaci called me and asked me over to listen to some music and then later we could go out for our date. I got over there around one in the afternoon. She made some lunch for me and we went up to her room to listen to music. No one was home so we left the door open.

We were both sitting on her bed, listening to a Louis Prima album. An accidental touch, a spark, then we were in each other’s arms. In no time I had her blouse and bra off and was kissing her and rubbing her breasts with my hands. Our hormones were working overtime and our pent up passion was just too much. It seemed so natural for us to express the ultimate love for one another. We were like a freight train on its way to a crash: we were just going too fast and there was no way to stop.

It was passionate; it was beautiful. If there were any doubts at all of our love for one another, our first coupling removed them. We made love; we talked of our love. I showed her the ring and asked her to marry me.

“Yes, Jimmy, yes, of course. But Jimmy, you have to ask my father.”

She had some tears in her eyes. I put my hands on her face and kissed her gently. I whispered, “Are you sorry?”

“No, no, I’m not. I wanted you so much.”

She gave me back the ring and I put it in my coat pocket.

And tired, sated, we fell asleep. Knowing we were alone, knowing we would resume, knowing the date was off and now we would stay and continue our loving. In some deep, passionate dream I heard a noise - a door slamming? - that raised me a level towards consciousness. Then thumping on the stairs … “Jaci, wake up!” Both of us rising to a sitting position with the sheet falling to our waists. Elissa a shadow in the door - gasping in shock. Jaci covering her breasts and crying.

Elissa ran down the stairs and Jaci gave me a quick kiss. “I have to talk to her. Go on home now, just … quickly, go. I’ll call you later.”

And I did … I rushed out the door. I waited two days for her call and finally I tried to call her. Her brother: “She’s busy right now, I’ll tell her you called.”

And two days later a knock on my door shortly after I got home. Knowing it was Jaci I rushed to open the door - only to stare blankly at her brother, Teddy.

“Can I come in, Jimmy? We have to talk.”

I blankly led him back to the den and grabbed a couple of beers. Opening one, I asked, “What going on, Teddy.”

“Well … I won’t beat around the bush, there’s hell to pay. Elissa told dad what she saw. If it had been me I would have kicked the shit out of you but I wouldn’t have told. There has been fighting and arguing for two days. The bottom line? You can’t see Jaci anymore. Don’t try to see her, call her or even send a letter. I don’t like this, Jimmy, but this is the way it has to be.”

“Teddy, they can’t do that. I asked her to marry me and she said yes. They can’t keep us apart. She’s an adult and we can get married if we want!”

“Jimmy, that might be true if she was an American girl. If either of you fight dad on this he will send her back to Greece. Even if you went there they would hide her so deep in the mountains you would never find her. You have to face it - if you try to force this there will be a lot of unpleasantness and it will only get worse. I’m on your side. I argued for you but was told to stay out of it.”

We talked some more but I could see that’s the way it was going to be. Teddy left and I drank a couple of more beers trying to come up with an idea. I was devastated and I’m sure Jaci was too.

The next few weeks were really hard on me. I decided I wasn’t going to hide so I kept going to Balboa Park for the soccer matches. Sometimes I’d see her family and she would usually be with them. I’d look over at her tear-streaked face and try to make eye contact, but she wouldn’t.

They attended church at Annunciation Cathedral, the cathedral church for the Greek Orthodox Church for the Metropolis of San Francisco. I’d attended service there several Sundays with her and her family, so I decided to just go every week. They weren’t going to make me go away that easy! I’d come in late to make sure they were there and then sit a row or two in front of them. I would never turn around to look back but I knew they could all see me.

I went over to their restaurant two or three days a week - just sat down and ate but talked to no one. Teddy came over one night and asked me why I was doing it. I told him, “I really love her, Teddy. I don’t know what to do. It just hurts so damn much.” After that I never went back to the Athens. I think I was starting to look pathetic. One thing I didn’t want was pity.

One thing I did do was send her an album and circled one of the songs, “Talk to Your Heart” by Ray Price:

“When you’re alone at night with the world locked outside,
Have a talk to your heart about me.
And if you’re told that it's right that we stay apart,
Then let me come in and talk to your heart.”

I never heard anything about it so I didn’t know if she even played it.

This went on for about six weeks then one night I was playing at a dance club. It was salsa, not jazz but I could play about anything – and I loved to play in front of an audience. I looked out and saw Jaci dancing with that smarmy Greek guy that I didn’t even like the looks of. They were dancing too close and talking with animation. They stayed late and I don’t think Jaci even noticed me … even when I played several hot solo riffs with my trumpet.

When the second set was over - my friend would be back for the third and final set - I walked down to their table. They were still talking to each other and I stood there unnoticed until the waitress brought them another drink. Jaci looked up, saw me and turned deathly white. In a foul and jealous mood I spat at her, “Yeah, I guess your love was really something special. I see it didn’t take you long to find someone new!” I turned, with my horn still in my hand and went back to the dressing room, changed clothes and left by the back door.

I got home and about half an hour later my phone rang but I was in no mood to answer it. I gave up on Jaci then. For the next couple of weeks I stayed away from the telephone. I loved her like I knew I would never love anyone again. I was in a lot of pain and started drinking too much. I got careless on the hours on my bank job and started doing more gigs. My boss got after me for coming in late too often and I resigned.

I started doing more gigs - jazz only now - and started looking for a group I could play regularly with … maybe do some recording. My life had changed abruptly over just a few weeks and I wasn’t sure I wanted to stay in San Francisco. A buddy was trying to get me to move to New Orleans and my uncle wanted me to come back to Norman and take over the club.

Then about ten weeks after my life had gone south, there was another knock on my door. It was Teddy, of course. I didn’t even bother to say hi. I just walked down the hallway to the kitchen for a couple of beers and met Teddy in my den. I was assuming he’d closed the door.

I tossed Teddy his beer and held mine up in a half-assed toast then guzzled it down and went to get another. He sat there, a sad look on his face, looking down at the floor. Finally, he looked up and rocked my world.

“There is just no easy way to do this, man, so I’m going spit it out. Jacinda is pregnant.” He must have seen a look on my face, because he continued, “And don’t even hint of asking if it’s yours. If you do I swear to God I’m going to beat the living shit out of you! I’ll wrap that trumpet around your head and neither you nor it will ever play again.

“She is about two-and-a-half months along. We found out two days ago when she missed her second period and went to the doctor. We’ve gone around and around with this. Bottom line, there are two choices and you are the lucky one who gets to make the decision. Jaci will go along with what ever you want to do.

“What I want is for you to get married. I know you love each other and it’s the right thing to do. It would be a civil marriage now and possibly a church wedding later. The other choice is she goes back to Greece to have the baby and if that happens she will probably stay there. She says she can’t live here without you. Man, there has been a lot of crying around our place.”

“I’m confused. A few weeks ago I saw her dancing with a guy and they looked real close. That’s when I gave up and dropped out. I even quit my job at the bank. How can she say she loves me?”

“Oh, that was Adonis. He’s like a third cousin and he and Jaci have known each other all their lives. She puts up with him but she really doesn’t like him. She was out dancing because mom and dad got after her for staying in her room all the time. She came home and cried for a week. I guess something happened, huh?”

“Yeah, something happened. Well, hell. This is quite a shock. I’m telling you right now that no matter what happens I want the baby in my life. I’ll move to Greece if I have to, so make sure everyone is clear on this.”

He nodded, like this is what he expected of me.

“Okay, Teddy, what’s next?”

“Well, we set up a meeting at our house in the living room. It will be you and Jaci with me as a chaperone. You can say anything you want to each other - and I’ll try not to listen. But no touching - you cannot touch each other. Dad doesn’t want this to be a decision made in the heat of a moment of passion.”

So I found myself two weeks later in the parlor of the Nikopolidis house. I was a few minutes early, so I sat there with Teddy, both of us nervous and both of us nursing a beer. Jacinda came in, escorted by Elissa, who was crying.

Jaci looked like she was trying to keep from crying herself. “Jimmy, I have to ask you something important to me. Elissa thinks you hate her for telling my father what she saw.”

I could see the ball was in my court. I looked at Teddy, then at Jaci and finally at Elissa. I walked over to her and gave Jaci’s sister a hug. Teddy didn’t say anything so I guessed that was okay. “Elissa, I want you to be my sister too, and I want you to be around to help us love the baby. Can you do that?”

She jumped up and kissed me on the cheek and ran out. Now Jaci was crying too.

I didn’t care what Teddy said. I was going to do this my way. I had the ring in my shirt pocket and I slipped it out and knelt before her. I put the ring on her finger and asked, “Jaci, I love you more than life itself. Will you marry me?”

She fell on her knees and kissed me wildly. “Oh, yes, Jimmy, Oh, God, yes!”

I stood her up and taking her hand, said, “Please take me to your father. Now.”

She looked like she didn’t want to do it but finally nodded her head. I looked over at Teddy, again. “Could you come along and translate? I figure he could probably understand, but I don’t want any confusion.”

We walked back to the kitchen. I held up Jaci’s hand so her parents could see the ring.

“I love your daughter, Jacinda, with a deep and forever love. I promise to take care of her and our baby. I will never interfere in whatever she wants to do with her family. I understand how important that is to her.

“Sir, I would like your blessing on our marriage.” I could see tears in her mom’s eyes while Teddy was still translating. When he finished her dad looked at me for a long moment and then stepped forward and gave me a hug that liked to break three ribs.

Then everyone was hugging and kissing and I heard her dad say something about ouzo. There were suddenly small glasses full of a colorless liquid and everyone but Jaci drank to a toast her dad made. I tipped up the glass and started having second thoughts about being tied in with a Greek family … at least one that drank ouzo. It about took my head off.

It was a long, crazy night. I was given a few minutes alone in the living room but neither of us wanted to talk at that time. We just held each other tight until it was time for me to go home.

She did tell me about the record I sent her, “I listened to that song over and over and I did look into my heart. If I had any doubts that erased them. I tried to call you but I think you were too mad at me to answer.”

We were married at a small ceremony in the restaurant several weeks later. It was simple and I think everyone was just relieved that it was all over and that it had worked out okay. We moved into my apartment for the short term and a couple weeks later went on a honeymoon to Greece. We spent a week in Athens with family, followed by two weeks on Mykonos where some third or fourth cousin owned a small inn.

We talked everything out - how we had felt and the misunderstandings. It was a good beginning for us and for all the years of our marriage we were able to sit down and work out our problems. Jaci decided she wanted to be a grade school teacher and she successfully pursued that. I did hook up with a good band and we had all the work we could handle. We did some recordings that were quite successful.

I insisted that we only travel one month during the year and one week of that was at my uncle’s club. That was always in the summer time and Jaci and the kids would come along.

EPILOGUE

I was sitting in the front row at Balboa Park, above the Greek Americans’ bench. Teddy, at fourteen was the youngest player ever to play for the Greeks. Early in the second half he scored a goal on a long free kick that curled in to the upper right corner of the net. He had zero musical interest or inclinations and wanted to play professional soccer in Greece in a couple of years. Elissa, our daughter, was a tall and willowy twelve and wanted to be a model.

Jaci and I sometimes talked about the rocky beginnings to our marriage but we both agree that we became closer because of it. We had no tendency to become complacent in our love. We realized it was a gift from God and something to work hard to make good. And it was very good.

And, yes, since you ask. I did learn to speak Greek. In fact I became fluent and I treasured our vacations to Greece every year. There were a few clubs where I could drop in and play and I enjoyed it immensely. Jaci always referred to me as “her American trumpet player.”