Carlo & The Juke Joint

While down south in the Army, I wanted to hang out with some locals so I could get a good vibe of the surrounding area. My roommate Lou & I met these 3 brothers who lived right outside the Army base. They knew the vicinity well & even though they had a strong southern drawl, they were originally from Panama & spoke fluent Spanish.

There was the youngest, Gee & his two older twin brothers, Bert & Carlo. Gee was our age but the twins were older than Lou & me. Bert had himself together but Carlo had just came home from a stint. In our book that made him an OG so we began to follow his lead. Carlo knew we were looking for something to get into so one day he asked us if we’ve ever been to a “Juke joint”. A Juke joint? I’ve seen these places in the movies before but never in real life, so I was down.

A juke joint sounded like a spot way out in the woods somewhere - where every man is for himself. Carlo could see the look of concern in my eyes so he handed me a piece & told me to stash it under my car seat. We then rode through the pitch black woods following behind the three brothers in a big blue 4 door ’72 Duece with dual pipes. They weren’t hard to miss so it was easy for me to keep up down the winding country roads.

Eventually, the woods opened up & in the clearing was a rickety wooden shack with loud music bumping from inside. There was no parking lot, just cars parked in dirt all around the shack. When we got to the door, we were thoroughly searched & even had to take our shoes off. After passing the search, our hands were stamped & we were ushered along inside.

There was no beer on tap or any wine - just moonshine – different grades with intriguing nicknames like “Donkey punch” & “Panther’s breath”. Some college & local girls dancing to the music but the dudes in there had a look about them that reminded us we were definitely way out in the backwoods. Carlo knew that once our hands were stamped at the front door, we could go out to the car – show the stamp – come right back in. Now was a good time to go to the car & get the piece from under the seat. I get outside & quickly slip the piece under my shirt. I use my hand stamp at the door like a badge & sure enough, soon as I’m back inside, Carlo is fighting with some dude over a girl. Out comes the piece in one swift motion – WHIP – right across the jaw & back under the shirt.

My instinct was right about this place as no one seemed to care what just happened. Back to partying.

 I don’t recall the name of the club or where exactly it was, but this city boy will eternally remember his first experience in a good old fashioned Southern juke joint.