And you were getting good at it too.
Not your fault, you just overdid it. Trying to make an impression. Practiced for hours – you were good. Coulda given Chubby Checker a run for his money – you had all the moves down and you tossed in a few of your own – the flicked wrist and pointed finger were going to be your trademark.
Eleventh grade – you gave up all the kid stuff. Bike gone, hair swept back – Vitalis and Aqua Net – a Duck’s Ass, Jellyroll and a cloud of hairspray every time you walked out of the bathroom. You were a shoe-in for American Bandstand. You had that thousand watt smile and you were getting love eyes from all the cheerleaders – you were beyond cool – they stopped making cool after they got to you. Lately you’d get stopped on the street and asked if you were really Edd “Kookie” Byrnes. You’d love to nod your head and give an autograph but you gave a prize winning smile, a once over and a “catch ya later” wink as you continued your stroll.
Yep – you were the living, breathing end. Even guys admired you.
So when they announced the “Fall Frolic” and a Twist contest at school it was time to show what you were practicing all Summer and see how far your thousand watt smile would get you. A week before the dance they announced the winners would be on American Bandstand. TV. Color. Coast to Coast. It was time to get serious, no playing around – you had your future and you could see it a mile away.
The night of the dance the adrenalin was doing backflips across your brain. And when it came your turn you grabbed the hand of the Girl’s Club President and did a slow stroll to the center of the Basketball court. Spotlights came on and Sam Cooke’s Twistin’ The Night Away blasted over the PA system.
Everything was going great – you were putting in a little extra energy and hopped from one foot to the other.
And the next thing you heard was a loud pop – not like a firecracker or somebody shooting off a gun. The pop was coming from you.
Legs buckled – crashing face first on the gym floor – couldn’t get up – couldn’t feel your left leg. Beyond shooting pain.
Things got confusing after that.
All you remembered was maybe hours later; lime-green walls, a doctor shaking his head, asking if you were doing the Twist and your leg wrapped up in a cast.
A dislocated knee – nobody told you about that – occupational hazard – happens a lot – happened to you.
You and The Twist had parted company – you were confined to your bed for the next two weeks. Just you, a stack of get well cards and a radio next to your bed.
And a whole bunch of thoughts. Maybe you should learn a musical instrument – something that doesn’t require you dislocating your knee.
No Bandstand – not this lifetime. At least there’s KFWB and Gary Owens keeping you company.
Here’s an hours worth of Gary Owens during his stint at KFWB from September 22, 1962.
