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A Jukebox

      I was friends with a couple, Rosie and Ricardo, and their four-year-old Ricardo Jr.  They were a lot of fun and always good conversation.

      Ricardo‘s father owned a Mexican bar on Atlantic Boulevard, just where the 60 comes out onto Atlantic. His father told him that when he died, the beautiful, older, music really well curated  jukebox would be his. Well, the old man died, and the bank said they owned everything in the bar, including the music. 

   Ricardo was very angry and hurt about all this. My friend was in deep mourning. And felt robbed of the jukebox. 

     At the time I owned a van. Out came the backseats, I borrowed some bolt cutters, and some orange traffic cones. We went to the back door of the bar at about 9:00 at night. On came my four-way flashers, the cones placed in the alleyway, then the bolt cutters to cut the bank lock off of the back door of the bar. We put the jukebox in the back of the van, claimed a number of important family treasures, and helped ourselves to only a few bottles from the bar as well.

   It was actually much more difficult to get the jukebox up to the second floor apartment than it was to liberate it from the bar. 

   Forever after, Ricardo got to hear 40s and 50s music and norteños, and memories of his father, in the comfort of his living room.