Rock Writers’ Guild

The sunlight filtered in through the curtins in the back bedroom awaking nine year old Bobby Dooley. It was Saturday and Bobby did not need an alarm clock this morning. He through water on his face brushed his teeth ate a bowl of corn flakes and crept past his parents bedroom and scampered down the three flights of stairs. He stoped at the Apartment of Mrs Lubrenski and knocked quietly on the door. Mrs lubrenski owned the three apartment buildings on 48th street in Astoria Queens NY. She was an old lady with sad brown eyes and the gossip on the block was she lost her whole family in a prison in Poland. Bobby liked her and did odd jobs around the buildings for the money to go on his Saturday Adventures. Today he decided to go to the city and visit Central Park. Bobby walked the 12 blocks to the subway station. He passed the Black rock bar and grill where his Father spent a lot of time and money in the basement shooting craps with the older guys. Every one knew Bobby and said hello as they passed him in their big Cadilacs and fancy clothes. Someday that will all be his, after all everything is posible when you’re only nine years old.

 Bobby Dooley rode the train past the factorys and tenements down into the tunnel that ran under the East River and into Manhaten. A whole other world awaited for Bobby on this side of the river. A land of castles and skyscrapers and daydreams as real and gigantic as a land filled with a childs imagination could be. He passed the horse drawn carriges of the livery men that waited for the tourists to pay them for a tour around Central Park. Bobby Dooley knew the park well. He spent a lot of time there By himself playing in the park. He paused in the zoo and watched the lions and pretended to be a great hunter on safari in Africa killing elephants and rhinos and saving the greatful natives from destruction. Afterall any thing is possible when you’re only nine years old.

He passed the lake with the swan boats filled with family having fun on a saturday in April. He dreamed of the day when he would sail the seven seas and resque all the women from the hands of pirates and keep all the loot and buy sodas for the whole world. He walked thru the park and climbed trees and stoped at his favorite statues, crossed the little bridge that led to a path towards the Planeterium where in saturdays past he would become Flash Gordon and visit strange worlds and rocket to the farthest star in the universe Battling Clingons and Martians and saving the world from evil. Afterall you are the bravest and strongest when you are only nine years old.

But today he would visit his most favorite place. The museum of Natural History. Where there were displays of lions and tigers in their natural habitate. Cavemen discovering fire and hunting Masterdons and saber toothed tigers in the jungles of the past. Skeletons of dinesaurs displayed in the halls and even a rattle snake in a case where if you would push the button it would rattle its tail to warn you that it would bite. Little Bobby would become Tarzan of the jungle and swing from trees and play with the monkeys. Bobby Dooley left the building after hours of pretending and crossed the park to the Museum of Modern Art. He had’nt been there for awhile and the last time had seen paintings of flowers and boats by an artist whose name Bobby could’nt remember, But who battled demons and cut off his ear so the world could share his sadness and genus and the beauty only he could see. Someday Little Bobby Dooley would become a great writer and bring tears to the eyes of those who ventured into the mind and fantasys of a lonly nine year old child. Afterall All daydreams were posible when you are only nine years old.

Little Bobby Dooley returned home to Astoria and rode the bus down Ditmars Ave past the factorys and tenements, past the Black Rock bar and grill, past the tough men who smiled and waved to Bobby as he returned from his great saturday adventure. Past his fathers thirty nine Lasalle auto, painted black with gangster running boards, not as new and shiny as the caddys and Lincolns parked on the street outside of the bar but just as big. It must have been Al Capones car little Bobby thought as he got off the bus and made his way down 48th street. He sat on the steps of his tenement until he shivered with cold. He climbed the stairs and knew his family were waiting to hear his story of the great saturday adventures of little Bobby Dooley. They would have turkey for dinner and apple pie for desert and everyone would sing of the adventures of the slayer of dragons and savior of maidens from the ships of pirates.He stepped into the darkened house hoping there were leftovers on the stove. Someday he would sail far away to places with strange names and friendly faces where little Bobby Dooley would be king and wear fancy clothes and big diamonds and ride in big shiney cars and everyone would love him. Afterall everything is posible when you are only nine years old.