Skip to main content

Town Without Pity

When I was a kid growing up in Royersford, Pennsylvania in the late 50's and early 60's, we always had a large console stereo in our kitchen. As soon as our father left for work, our mom cranked it up. We danced and sang like wild maniacs.

Mom had an interesting assortment of records, Jonnie Ray, Puccini operas, and jitter bug. We'd stack the records up randomly and take turns being "the contestant." You never knew what your song would be until it played. But the crazier we acted, the more the crowd roared. Rick was known for his silly costumes, (think pointy, white cotton brassieres on his head) and Kit for her exuberant bossa nova. 

But the song that I can't get out of my head this week is Gene Pitney's "Town Without Pity." I've been hearing it day and night for the past few days.

I remember mom standing for long periods of time at the kitchen door gazing longingly through the glass. It scared me to the core. She was no longer in love with our dad, which I did not know until I came home from school on Christmas break in 1963 and found out we were leaving. 

She'd had a poorly-kept-secret love affair with a man from our church. Dad said he was the last person in Royersford to find out. Now when I read the lyrics, I see why this song resonated with her and still frightens me. I made an encaustic painting to get rid of the emptiness this song brings up.

Town Without Pity
When you're young and so in love as we
And bewildered by the world we see
Why do people hurt us so
Only those in love would know
What a town without pity can do

If we stop to gaze upon a star
People talk about how bad we are
Ours is not an easy age
We're like tigers in a cage
What a town without pity can do

The young have problems, many problems
We need an understanding heart
Why don't they help us, try and help us
Before this clay and granite planet falls apart
Take these eager lips and hold me fast
I'm afraid this kind of joy can't last

How can we keep love alive
How can anything survive
When these little minds tear you in two
What a town without pity can do

How can we keep love alive
How can anything survive
When these little minds tear you in two
What a town without pity can do

No, it isn't very pretty what a town without pity 
Can do 



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Genealogy: it’s about connection

Each one of us has two parents, four grandparents, and eight great-grandparents. For every generation you go back, the number of people who procreated, to eventually make you, doubles. When I first started out on my genealogy journey, these numbers astounded me, and still do. I love to think about my DNA stew. It feeds my soul. Playing with numbers Let’s assume each generation makes a baby at age thirty. Perhaps the age should be 16, 18, 20, or 25, but whatever, I picked 30 for this exercise. After all, in the past, people started having children earlier than today, but they also bore many more children and did so over a period of 10, or even 20, years. Stick with me for this simplified and fictional example: For a child born in 1960, there were two parents who were born about 1930. The baby’s four grandparents were born about 1900. The baby’s eight great-grandparents were born in 1870. (You see, I'm doubling the number of grandparents and going back 30 years at the same time....
5 comments
Read more

Personal history

Our son Sammy and daughter-in-law Katie gave me a handful of vintage photographs of unknown people for Christmas this year. They came with this note “We hope these snapshots prove inspiring for your work.” They are. Found photo of unidentified family I’ve been known to stand for hours at flea market stalls and silently flip through boxes and boxes of old photos. What am I looking for? I don’t know. Well, yes, I guess I do. It’s connection. When I was 10, our parents divorced. My brother, sister, and I called it “the war.”  Before the war, with three of us kids at home, our household was bustling. We lived on Summer Street in Royersford where our many friends were just next door. I can still hear the venetian blinds on the front door clang as it was opened and closed a hundred times a day. After the war, it was devastatingly quiet. I was alone much of the time. I can see now exactly what I did about it. I became exceedingly charming, ridiculously helpful...
Post a Comment
Read more

A time of beginnings

Perhaps 15 years ago or so, we created a Moon Garden at our Coventryville house and it turned out pretty cool. The structure of the garden was native black granite boulders surrounded by white gravel paths.   We planted it with annuals and perennials with gray, silver, or pale green foliage and fragrant white flowers. Here and there we allowed some purple. A Moon Garden is designed to be enjoyed in the evening and on moonlit nights. It was a labor of love. Over several years, our family had suffered much loss: our nephews Michael and Matt, Steve’s mother, my stepfather Will, and my Mom. Chairs at our holiday tables went from a bustling many to a quiet few.   The Moon Garden felt perfect for that time of our lives -- a quiet spot to reflect, heal heavy losses, and soothe jangled nerves. At night the garden glowed. But now doesn’t feel like a time of endings. Steve and I are settled in our retirement routines. It’s been three years since we left the corporate world....
2 comments
Read more