Dos Parties

It is June 2009. Summer, sort of. New England has set some sort of record for moisture and coolness, going back to 1903.

Jack called on Wednesday from the Atlanta aeropuerto -- it is in Georgia -- to invite Sandy and I to his party the very next Saturday. We met Jack in 1980 through our then-new Marshfield neighbors, the Egans. One year Jack and Jean were at a Beach Boys concert in Cohasset when they remembered that Sandy and I were hosting a party that very night. They came quite late but they still attended. They both just kind of make their way through life, floating around obstacles, always with a smile. They are both very warm-hearted people. The first time Jack Bostwick came to one of my Mexican Pool Parties, he brought a bottle of Pepe Lopez Tequila and our lives have not been the same since.

I checked our schedule and saw that we had the band Magnolia’s 20th Anniversary party the same day. Jack’s was in Wareham and Magnolia’s was in Westport, less than an hour away from each other. In party style, they were a million miles away from each other.

Jack’s summer house is a three-storied affair on the beach. From the top floor, to your left is the west end of the Cape Cod Canal. Southeast sits Falmouth, and straight out, the Atlantic Ocean and Martha's Vineyard -- which was named after Enid and Jerry's third child. Jack has friends from all over the world. He is a party person for sure. He told the same story he always does. The one about falling in love with Jeannette Egan the first time he laid eyes on her. We never get sick of hearing it. I don't think Tom Egan minds. It is like my story of "the waves parting" when Sandy and I first met. Oh, you are sick of that story? Lo siento.

If you are invited to one of Jack’s parties, bring some food or at least come with a full belly to absorb the tequila. Jean and Jack are gracious hosts but not big on food. One year there was a little food, but no utensils. Next year Jack wants me to co-host a party with him. I said, "I don't want to have another party." Sandy and I had them for thirty years. His reply was, "Hugh Hefner stopped having parties at the Playboy Mansion, but then started them up again, even bigger than before." Hugh Hefner is eighty-three this year. Mark off your calendar for next summer. I hope Hugh brings some of the bunnies, especially Miss February, to Jack’s next party.

Magnolia’s bash is held almost yearly at Ritchie and Maggie Moniz's rambling house on the east fork of the Westport River. His driveway is longer than my street. There are parking attendants and porto-potties and a very large, white, almost-circus tent. That must cost them $1,500 at least. There are tables of food and grills to cook on. Lois was there. Her first Cajun/Zydeco dance was last Sunday, down in Exeter, Rhode Island at Bishops Castle. At one point she walked up to Michael, Charles and I, and asked, "WILL SOMEONE PLEASE DANCE WITH ME?" I think she has become a regular with only two dances under her belt.

Dancers bring their own liquor, but mostly they drink water. A cash bar here would be a failure. You can't make stuff like this up. Before a Cajun dance, years ago at the Holy Ghost Brotherhood Hall in East Providence, I asked the person on the other end of the phone, "What does the hall look like? Are there tables and chairs?” He replied that there were some chairs, but PEOPLE COME HERE TO DANCE. Hmmm.

Magnolia brings authentic Cajun music to New England. Most members live in a corner of Massachusetts very near to Rhode Island. When you go to a Magnolia dance, all your cares just drift away. Being at a Magnolia dance makes you feel like maybe it is 1930 and the most exciting things to do are to greet old friends, make new ones, share a meal and dance. That is not a bad way to spend an evening, is it? Louisiana Cajun people call it passing the time.

As Sandy and I waltz counter-clockwise in front of the band, we get warm welcoming smiles from Michelle, on fiddle, and her husband Alan on accordion. There is a break in the music while the host sets off his fireworks over the pasture, before the river. Someone says they are as good as the Fourth of July fireworks at McCoy Stadium in Pawtucket. Everyone agrees.

It has been another great summer Saturday. Dancing has become a major pastime for Sandy and I. The tunes on my past Bob's World CDs reflect it. Dance Me To The End of Love (L. Cohen), Dance, Dance, Dance (Steve Miller Band), At The Hop (Danny & the Juniors), Danse de Mardi Gras (Steve Riley & the Mamou Playboys), Look Who’s Dancing (Ziggy Marley), What I Like About You (The Romantics), Johnny Can't Dance (Ardoin Family with Dewey Balfa), Do You Wanna Dance? (Chris Montez), and Come Dancing (The Kinks).

And when they said COME DANCING!
My sister always did.

Listen here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U9tVlwycepg



We pass a good time, eh?

Epilogue:

At least two people at the Magnolia party Saturday night told me to search out Bernie David, a musician from Louisiana who was to play his accordion at the Historic Winslow House in Marshfield the day after the party. Why the Winslow House, you ask? It was Colonel John Winslow who was ordered to expel the Acadians from Nova Scotia in 1755. Evangeline, Longfellow, well you remember, don't you? The story of the two lovers separated because of the expulsion. Warren Perrin, author of Acadian Redemption, was to be the speaker. The book is about a Cajun rebel who was almost solely responsible for the Acadians’ decision to live in present-day Louisiana, way back in 1765. His name was Joseph dit Beausoleil Broussard. It was easy to spot Bernie on the dance floor with his big white cowboy hat and alligator cowboy boots. We were all dancing New England Cajun, but Bernie had a cool dancing style that stood out, at least to me.

Sandy and I did indeed attend the lecture. Mr. Perrin was a fine speaker. Of course I bought the book. The day before, he and his wife Mary had attended a Canadian celebration in Leominster. Fitchburg and Leominster, Massachusetts have a large French Canadian population. We spoke to Mary in the kitchen where she was preparing jambalaya for all the attendees. Hey, I don't know how it happened, but there was a mention of a certain band from Louisiana. Mary knows it well. Her brother Sam Broussard is the singing, guitar playing songwriter for the Mamou Playboys. Mary and Sam are descendants of Joseph dit Beausoleil Broussard. I did not make this up. You cannot make stuff like this up. Twitter me with any questions.

Robert Bachant, 1620
Paris, France