The weekend elapsed with haste as they always did when there was school on Monday but at the same time, I couldn’t wait to tell Blazin’ about Boogie Bob. I had not talked to Blazin' about adding a new member to our break duo just yet. But after watching Boogie Bob throw down, I knew we had to have him on our side.
On the bus ride to school I thought about how Blazin' had blown me off and stuff but I wasn’t really mad, that’s just Blazin’ for ya. I also thought that if I would have went to the mall with Brock, we might have left the mall prematurely or heck we may have not crossed Boogie Bobs path at all, because we would have taken on a whole new walking path at the mall. Any given path you take can really change your life in a big way. Some people say that everything happens for a reason, which I don’t believe. Life is all about the choices we make.
I got off the school bus and headed straight to Blazin's locker. He saw me first, “Yo Swift, Sup Bro? Where were you all weekend?” If I didn’t know him any better, I would have been irate.
“I was at the mall breakin’ all day on Saturday … ringing a bell?” I asked.
Blazin' looked at me all puzzled and said, “I didn’t see you there? Nobody was there? So I left early.” Then Brock beamed like he had a rocket in his pocket, he big mouth smiled, his eyes shined like flashlights, and he told me, “Lincoln center in downtown Downers Grove has an after school break dance club. Anybody can go there and dance.” Blazin's eyes were wide and pure pump was emitting from his aura when he asked, “Do you want to go?”
Of course I said, “Yes” and then I said, “I’ll meet you here at your locker after school. Don’t forget about me!”
Blazin' curiously dumbfounded asked, “Why would you say it like that?”
I didn’t even reply to that question. I ignored it. Since I wear my emotions on my sleeve, I probably gave him a “you’ve got to be effin’ bleepin’ me look.” But I truly didn’t say anything. What would be the point in that, a leopard can’t change its spots. I just told him, “I don’t know how to get to Lincoln center so just make sure that you wait for me!”
Blazin' replied, “Word bro, word!” and then he hurriedly headed to his drama team that met every morning for fifteen minutes before school started. Brock had rushed off before I could tell him about Boogie Bob.
After a grueling day of dissecting a frog, labeling body parts, and getting kicked out of class for yelling, “Did the frog croak on his own? Or did they whack him?” – I was really ready for Lincoln Center. Only I hoped Blazin’ hadn’t forgotten about me.
I swiftly rushed down the stairs and headed to Blazin's locker, I didn’t want to take the chance of heading to my locker first and missing the mercurial Blazin'. I sped walked past the principal’s office and then briskly walked past our vice principals office, Mr. Green suit and white sox himself was there making sure everyone was in line. I was only “speed walking” but he told me to “stop running” anyway. They called him, “Earl J white sox” because he always wore floods (pants that were a couple of inches too short) that showed off his white sox. Once I knew I was out of his view, I darted to Blazin's locker. I was happy to see that Blazin’ was there. He was chillin’ like Matt Dillon (from the Outsiders,) all tough like. I slowed down to a chill gate once I knew he was waiting for me.
“I’m thinking Lincoln,” Blazin’ said all pumped.
“Let’s go to the center my brother,” I replied eagerly.
Blazin' high fived me and we made our way out of the school building and started venturing north through the neighborhoods towards downtown DG. Every five minutes or so Brock and I would stop on a random sidewalk or temporarily desolate road and bust out with break moves; swipes or scats or up rocks or freestyle - right on the hard and coarse pavement that we strode. Here we were breakin’, right in the middle of the roads and sidewalks right in the middle of our neighborhood when suddenly, in that instant, our crews’ name was born. I said to Blazin', “Yo bro, we ought to call ourselves The Neighborhood Street Rockers!”
Blazin' replied in an instant, “Yeah Swift, I like it, let’s do it – The Neighborhood Street Rockers.”
Blazin' dove onto the ground with his now trademarked beach ball and immediately after bouncing back up to his feet he said, “Whoa dude that hurt” but he was smiling, so I wasn’t too worried about him.
”I guess you better not do that move on rough concrete anymore,” I said.
Blazin' shook if off though and went back into laughing and talking about our new fresh crew name. He said it out loud like ten times, you could tell he really enjoyed the way it sounded coming out of his mouth. “The Neighborhood Street Rockers … The Neighborhood Street Rockers.”
Blazin’ wasn’t the only person with a rocket in his pocket. “Yo Brock my man, in all of the excitement I forgot to tell you. When I was at the mall on Saturday I met this cat Boogie Bob. He can rock head spins for days! Days I tell ya. Anyway, I think we should ask him to join our crew, The Neighborhood Street Rockers,” I said all cool.
Brock loved the idea. He was as pumped as a blow up doll at a pervert convention. He was pretty friggin’ pumped is what I’m screamin’. Crazy excited as all heck. “Now we’ve got three of us street rockers,” he said beaming.
After a circuitous route through the neighborhoods in Downers Grove, we finally made it to the red bricked three story building that was surrounded by a half dozen or so, old Victorian homes, you know the kind - with the turret shaped rooms; they look like spirals or rounded rooms that also makes them look like mini castles. A lot of the homes in downtown Downers Grove looked to be at least 100 years old – but the good kind of hundred years old, like historical society hundred years old.
Blazin' yelled, “Lincoln center, tharr she blows!”
We headed into the bricked building and started wandering the halls for signs of break dancers or music or whatever was supposed to be in the joint – nothing was really marked, there wasn’t a receptionist or a desk clerk, so we had to just wing it.
We heard faint emissive sounds coming from the hallways, which I remembered were very echo-friendly hallways; we could hear our own footsteps. There was an otherwise quiet feel to the building but down one hallway it sounded like a lady was talking rhythmically and playing classical music. I could tell that there must have been little kids in her class by her use of phrases like, “Do it like this sweetie and do it like that pumpkin.” All of the other rooms were closed and dark that we passed, so when we hit the end of the hall, we looked in the open room and saw a lady teaching ballet to tots.
Blazin' and I did a 180 and started making our way towards the other hallway on the other side of the building.
“The road not taken,” I said randomly as we walked to the other hall.
As we walked up the stairs to the “road not taken” we heard someone spouting unfamiliar words and spitting cackles coarsely. As we drew closer we heard, “I’m going to look cold man, COLD!” Then shrill laughter dominated the building drowning out the distant ballet teacher’s voice. The unknown voice continued while Blazin' and I looked at each other with smiles of: what the Eff is that?
“Schlernious! … Schlernious! … Shlur – nee-ouse Bro!” The tough voice spat.
Blazin' and I kept looking at each other like what in the Eff is that all about. Then we heard an even louder and higher pitched cackle, as we got closer to the room.
It was the only other open room in that hallway. Blazin' and I slowly and warily entered closer to the room that had faint sounds of jazzy -hip hop emanating from a small ghetto blaster that we saw sitting on the floor next to a water bottle and what appeared to be someone’s belt buckle without a belt. We peered in from the hallway for a few seconds while we whispered with laughter about that “Schlernious” business and what in the heck it may have meant.
The room looked like that other ballet studio we had just seen the lady and the tots in, with its hardwood floors, a mirror covering an entire wall, and one of those bars that ballerinas hold onto while they point their legs to the ceiling and all of that.
“I’m the baddest breaker,” The dude inside of the room said. And in that instant we had both understood that it was the same voice that had said that, “Schernious” word, which oddly enough drew us into the room inch by inch.
There was a tall lanky dude with a short black afro wearing maroon sweatpants and a maroon sweatshirt with gold letters across his back that read, “Rockefeller.” This character, Rockefeller, caught a glimpse of us and continued talking all loud, “Man, when I show up in that place with my tabletops and with my CHaaayN! I’m going to be lookin’ all tall. Straight up Tall …SHARP” Then confirming in Blazin's head and my head that we were in the right place, because neither of us was quite sure yet, the tall and skinny cat named, “Rockefeller,” jumped into windmills. He had super long legs. The longest legged windmills I had ever seen. You’d have guessed he was ten feet tall or had stilts attached to his legs they were so long.
Rockefellers buddy who was half sitting and half standing on the wall was wearing jeans and a maroon sweatshirt that read, “Speedy G” on the front and “Wild Style” on the back. Speedy G (I’m assuming that was his name) reached down and flipped over the cassette on his boom box, another Jazzy hip hop tune began echoing throughout the relatively vacant room while Blazin and I inched closer still.
And I think, but I’m not sure they may have requited our head nods and “Sups” as we walked in. Well, at least, Speedy G may have. I’m pretty sure he said, “Sup” but it seemed so reluctant.
Rockefeller leapt back into his hypnotically slow motioned windmills; maybe it was just an optical illusion due to his ten feet long legs but it really did seem like slow moe when he was breakin’. Watching that cat Rockefeller was very captivating because of his impressive size, grace, and smoothness of his slow motioned spins. You see, when I’m doing my windmills, I’ve got to spin around fast enough just to keep the momentum going – that’s why his slow motion was a trick in and of itself.
As I continued to be captivated by this cat Rockefellers’ windmills and the slow moe of it all, it really started to feel surreal, like a dream, or like a time warp, it’s hard to explain but it was that mesmerizing. Then suddenly, Rockefeller in continuous motion rolled onto the top of his head and began revolving head spins without missing a beat. Then back into copters and then back into head spins again; all in a nonstop motion; slow motion.
The towering slender Rockefeller sprung back to his feet and then paced the floor in random figure eight shapes with a serious, almost stern look on his face; he started to soliloquize in this intimidating tone, “Phony baloneys – don’t know what’s up! This cold cat breaker will take you out, Well – that’s what’s up!” Rockefeller cackled loudly and continued, “Nobody’s goin’ to want to battle me,” he said confidently as he strutted around in long stomping strides. Then he guffawed, “Aint nobody nuts enough to battle this cold dude,” Rockefeller had said to nobody in particular. He then high fived his buddy Speedy G, who then turned up the volume on the cassette player while nodding in requite.
Brock asked Speedy G what song was playing on his deck.
And he told us it was from a movie called, “Wild Style.”
Rockefeller crouched to the floor and began circling around with hand walks or crabwalks; I mean, most people were calling them crabwalks but the way he was doing them – I’d have to call them “hand walks.” He didn’t look like a crab, the way he had done them. This cat Rockefeller was rotating around in 360 degree circles with absolute ease, save for the taxed expression on his face. His legs were stretched out stiff, held together; his body was spinning around smoothly in a straight line; straight as an arrow. In contrast to his seemingly slow motioned helicopter, his hand walks were steadily gaining speed; I swear I felt wind from his legs as if a fan was blowing on me as he hand-walked around in circles.
As a B-boy who was still learning how to do hand walks or crabwalks, I can tell you how impressive Rockefellers’ breakin’ was; his breakin’ was bad to the emmer effin’ bone, is what it was.
Blazin' and I were both so mesmerized by Rockefeller’s display that we almost forgot that we were there to break too. Blazin' broke the ice for us as he beach balled a couple of times in between Rockefeller’s routines.
Then I busted out into windmills of my own. I felt the need to show Rockefeller that I belonged too, so I kept spinning with sheer might. After I finished my routine with a backspin, I jumped to my feet and Blazin' cheered, ”Yeah Swift, that was FRESH!”
Rockefeller interrupted us and bellowed, “Schlernious!”
Without hesitation, Speedy G chimed in and said in a mocking voice, “Yeah, hey man that was real fresh man. Yeah Fresh.”
Then Speedy G started a discourse with Blazin' and me about how Rockefeller and he found it funny how all of these new jack wanna-be B-Boys were all starting to talk like they were from the ghetto or from the city or they were trying to talk like they were hip hoppers and whatnot. When just a few short months ago they were all talking like suburbanite school kids with fancy pants vocabularies. Now all of a sudden everyone thought they were from the city.
Rockefeller laughed to himself while pacing around in zig zags.
Then Speedy G asked us, “So what’s up with you guys? Are you all going to talk all of that slick talk?”
I unassumingly said, “We’ve got a couple of pals that are originally from the city, Miguel 2 Tuff and Gio-So some of that hip hop slick talk comes kind of naturally to us because it rubbed off on us.”
That wasn’t necessarily the whole truth, but it was kind of true. I had really said that just for the eff of it, because after all, I had just recently met Miguel and Gio. But you know, I didn’t want to be one of “those people” that he was talking about.
Blazin' interjected, “Sup guys I’m Brock and this is my buddy Phil.”
Rockefeller muttered under his breath, “You guys seem all right,” as he shook our hands.
“How long have you guys been break dancing for?” Blazin' asked them in the most “Vanilla” voice you have ever heard. This ended up opening a whole new can of worms.
Speedy G scrunched his entire face and mockingly said, “Ohhh hey that’s real fresh breakkk! Dancinggg! Where did you learn to breakkk dance like that? … breakkk dancing dude.” Speedy G had mockingly enunciated the heck out of those words like a school teacher that was teaching the Queens English would have. It was quite obvious that he was ripping on us.
Then Rockefeller jumped back into the conversation, “Yeah hey great, break dancing dancers can you break dance like a breakdancer?” Rockefeller had used the most contrived Vanilla voice you had ever heard as he ripped on us.
When suddenly the smart ass condescending voices coming from Speedy G and Rockefeller changed to stern and didactic, Rockefeller said, “I’m a B-Boy … you might even call me a breaker. But don’t call me a breakdancer – that’s wazup. The word break dance is a word from the media. That’s what’s up gents. I’m a straight up COLD B-Boy … Cold B-BOY …”
Blazin' chimed in, “I didn’t know, I just heard lots of people calling it break dancing.”
“Are any of these people cold ass B-Boys like us?” Speedy G asked.
Blazin' and I both shook our heads NO and Brock said, “Well hey guys you’re right … I first learned about breakin’ from that TV show PM magazine …”
Speedy G interrupted, “See what I’m saying … the media taught you that word. If you want to sound like you know what’s up … we are B-boys … Break boys … NOT Break dancers.”
I told Speedy G, “Well now I know that ‘Breakdancer’ sounds lame, that’s cool”
“Now y’all been educated,” Rockefeller boasted.
The next hour or so Rockefeller and Speedy G kept to themselves on one side of the room and Blazin' and I practiced our breakin’ routines for the upcoming breakin’ contest for the Big Burger on the other side of the room. It was a relatively amiable atmosphere in the room for the rest of the time. We were all there for basically the same reason; a place to break. However, Blazin' and I intentionally kept our voices low as we plotted our moves for the battle. We didn’t want Rockefeller finding out about the breakin’ competition. He would have been a force to be reckoned with if he had showed up. So we kept our plans quiet. “Loose lips sink ships,” I whispered to Brock when he asked me why I was so quiet about the battle.
After a stretch, Speedy G turned off his cassette tape and unplugged his boom box while Rockefeller picked up the water bottle and belt buckle that had a chain running through it. He placed it around his neck and began to saunter towards the door. The two of them strut past us with bouncing swagger and head nods as Blazin and I said, “See ya.”
Rockefellers face took on a whole new glow after he had placed his shiny metal charm around his neck; his necklace was a belt buckle nameplate made out of shiny metal letters that read, “G.T.R.”
Rockefeller said, “See ya Gents Laytrah … Got To Rock Crew is outta here!”
Rockefeller was a rather intimidating fellow when you first met him but it seemed like we were relatively cool with him and Speedy G. Relatively, may be the operative word. I was surprised he actually acknowledged us on his way out. But I was glad he did. He was a bad ass breaker with much cockiness but I understood that. Sometimes, you’ve just got to be cocky. If you are going to pick a personality trait, would you opt for “pansy” or “cocky?” I’m just asking.
After Speedy G and Rockefeller left, Blazin' and I began our breakin’ routines for the big competition in earnest. Suddenly the room seemed so quiet and vacuous; it’s amazing how just one person can really liven up a room.
After about an hour of creating synchronized b-boy routines, Blazin' and I began the hour long trek back to our cribs so we could be home in time for dinner.
On our walk back home, Blazin' and I conjectured about what the word “Schlernious” may have really meant. We eventually came to the conclusion that we didn’t know. We said the word over 100 times each in 100 different tones of voice in a 100 different sentences back and forth to each other, literally. We didn’t talk about anything else the whole hour walk home.
“What’s your schlernious cooking for dinner tonight,” I asked.
Blazin' said, “Schlernious and noodles.”
Then I’d say, “You’ve got to be schlernious. I am eating schlernious too.”
It was schlernious this and schlernious that.
Blazin' belted out schlernious stuff like, “This walk home is wreaking schlernioius on my dogs (Brock always called his feet, “dogs.”
And I would say junk like, “For schlernious my man, for schlernious!”
We figured that Rockefeller must have just made that word up and that he just liked to trip off of it once in a while. And now we were tripping off of it like big ol schlernious dogs too. (Not dogs as in feet but dawgs as in hip cats. You dig?)
Brocks’ crib came up first and we said our au revoirs and talked about how our schlernious crew was going to be better than anybody else’s schlernious crew and then he told me to enjoy my schlernious when I got home and I told him I’d see him at his locker at schlernious tomorrow.