in the pink
Story
and
Photos
by
M.Fo
Clockwise from Left: Frontside on the face
at a blazing pace, Jay Adams. Future legend
Danny Way breaks normal pool rules with 540
degrees of madness. Fine dining haven in
front of the motel. Pumped pinksters line up
to get down.
J
Jo-Jo Bridenthal was a truck driver by trade, but he also washed
dishes, dug ditches, unclogged toilets and sinks, roofed
houses, inspected for termites, emptied septic tanks, ham-
mered nails, mowed lawns, delivered newspapers, cooked
hamburgers, fried fries, worked on Chevy's, skydived with full field
kit, ammo and B.A.R. into intense Kraut fire, cleaned fish, butchered
pigs and chickens, installed water heaters, plowed fields, planted seed,
milked cows and goats, custom designed and engineered precision
tooling, wrote poetry and painted houses and fences
like a sonofabitch. But right now he was out of work.
The sun stabbed through the curtain of the tiny
room into his stupid face-this was his alarm clock.
He rose, surrounded by squashed mosquitoes,
squashed beer cans and a squashed black and
white tv-products of last night's Scotch-fest-frenzy.
While brushing his teeth with some flat Coca-
Cola, he heard the ralphing death throes of his next-
door neighbor, Harry the Dreamer through the walls.
Harry was an ex-Marine who'd lost a lung to a
Wakazashi blade in a banzai charge on the Island
of Saipan. While awaiting airvac, Harry caught some Tojo grenade
frags in his skull during a counter attack. When he would get all worked
up, Harry liked to break beer bottles on the metal plate that covered
most of his brain. Every evening Harry would celebrate another day
53