The Final Finger

By Jim Crozier

Talk about a jerk - I want to tell you about the last time I ever raised my middle digit in anger, or indeed, used the English equivalent.

It all began during the first semester that I had returned to a Southwestern Pennsylvania university to resume my music studies. As I was now an acknowledged composer (the NY Times said so) I figured I had better spend a little time actually studying the craft. Two of my best friends were Bruce, a composer, and Tracie, a grad student in music history. They were lovers. She was married to this bureaucrat type – really nice guy, but boring.

Bruce had managed to get himself hooked up for a few weeks at Yale, studying the Charles Ives archives. One long week-end during that time, Tracie told her husband that she needed to go to Bethlehem, PA to research her thesis – there was some kind of historic pipe organ there – and asked me if I wanted to go to Connecticut. I said “sure”. And since I like to drive, proceeded to chauffer her, in her VW microbus, to New Haven. I had friends at Hart College so I spent the night at a jam session there.

The next evening in New Haven, I had the honor of really noshing my foot. Sitting in Bruce’s battered-but-solid Hornet, on an overlook, enjoying the sunset, Tracie spoke of the time she got to ‘sit in’ with the “Preservation Hall Jazz Band”. Well, back in the early 70’s, we were ‘serious composers’. And I said, “If you wanna call ‘that’ music”.

But, It was on the way back that I really got to show my butt.

I don’t know if you know how Pennsylvania goes. You see, except for around Philly, and a little bit around Erie, there are these mountain ridges running from northeast to southwest. And so, if you are going anywhere between two points of interest, you are going over the mountains. They are not big mountains, but there are an awful lot of them. So, you are going up or down all the time.

And, I don’t know how many of you have ever driven a VolksWagon microbus. They had about the same power-to-weight ratio as a loaded semi, so that’s basically where you got to ride in traffic - with the trucks!

Well, on the way up one particularly long grade, I was in the left lane on I-80 and, as usual, there was a long line of trucks in the right lane. I had gotten a good run at this one, keeping it up to 40 – and some hopped up teamster pulls out in front of me, immediately forcing me into 2^nd gear (with a top speed of about 25 mph). After he got around the guy he was passing, I slowly gained on him. And as I passed, reached over to the passenger window and ‘flipped him the bird’. Gee, that felt good. I crested the hill with a smooth shift into 4^th.

About 8 minutes and 2 hills latter, Tracie mentioned that wasn’t that truck gaining on us rapidly? I thought that was probably so. A convenient exit just appeared, I said, “let’s get a snack” and headed up the ramp. I stopped at the top of the hill. at the stop sign. The truck didn’t! Said his breaks failed, least that’s what he told the cop.

Well things really started going to Hell for Bruce and Tracie’s affair. For one thing, she had to call her husband. We were somewhat east of Bethlehem. He had to borrow the land lady’s car to come a get us. It was a quiet ride home.