Life in the Ville by Jimmy Del Ponte

My daughter and my grandkids came up to visit me and Gammie on Monday. We walked from Gorham St. to Davis Square along the bike trail. It was a beautiful day with sunshine and just the right amount of chill in the air.

We were on our way to have lunch at Boston Burger. We went in and were seated. The kids, 6 and 3 began busily coloring their menus. I never saw Davis Square from the angle we were seated at. I could see The Somerville Theatre to my right and in front of me was a clear shot of the rest of the square with people bustling about.

We sat near the door and for a second I thought I was back hanging around Harvard Square in the early ‘70’s. I got a strong whiff of Patchouli oil. Man did that scent bring back memories. I didn’t know anyone still wore it. What next? Brut, Charlie, Hai Karate, or my favorite, British Sterling?

So we ordered and the place started to fill up with families. It was a holiday and parents were off from work and kids were on school vacation. As people all around me dug into succulent burgers and sensational looking paninis, I scoffed down my Greek salad. Doctor’s orders, “Lay off anything delicious!”

I was working on a story about the closing of Rockin’ Bob’s Guitars, so as the rest of the family crossed the street to head back on the bike trail, I walked over to snap a photo of the front of the store.

I caught up with the fam and we proceeded to walk on the bike trail beside Au Bon Pain. I was holding my 3-year-old grandson’s hand and Gammie and my daughter were holding my 6-year-old granddaughter’s hands.

In a flash some twenty something idiot speeding on a bicycle scared the crap out of us. He came so close to us that if I just put my hand up I would have been able to … smack him. I wanted to. He was weaving in and out around the people walking calmly on the bike trail. If a small child gets hit by a clod on a bike it could be very bad, even for an old buzzard like me with two new hips!

I started yelling at the jerk until my daughter gave me “the look!” Hey, I’m Papa. I’m supposed to protect my cubs. My inborn punky born and raised in the 60’s Somerville temper flared. And believe you me, I have been very patient and relatively cool and collected in these situations. Well, cool and collected for me.

So I finally calmed down, and my blood pressure was slowly returning to its usual, although still dangerously high normal level, and we start walking back to Gammie’s house. There’s a road we had to cross called Buena Vista that runs from Holland St. alongside Harvard Vanguard and out to Meacham Rd.

The street winds around a blind corner then across the bike trail. There is a crosswalk. So I look both ways, and see no cars. Then all of a sudden this Subaru comes bombing around the corner going about 30 mph. She sees us in the crosswalk and jams on the brakes.

Of course, being the wise guy I am, I yell at the driver, “SLOW DOWN!” She gives me a dirty look because I’m blocking her now. She starts waving her hand for me to move, and I start waving my hand … with one of my fingers sticking up. You see, I have what they call “ trigger finger” and sometimes it gets stuck!

She was speeding in an area where mothers, fathers, joggers, bicyclists, people with dogs, parents with baby carriages and even an elderly lady with a walker were out trying to enjoy a day off in the sunshine on a beautiful day. Speeding recklessly. I finally moved out of her way and the 30 something race car driver took off like a bat out of hell with me yelling. I’m so glad that I’ve mellowed out in my old age.

It’s a shame that on a day that I wanted to spend some time with my family there had to be jerks that couldn’t care less about safety, laws, or just plain common decency. There’s as many nuts when I’m on foot as there are on the roads. The only safe place for me is in my living room watching The Andy Griffith Show, Match Game, and The Three Stooges.

I hate driving In the city, especially with the detours. But it stinks that now I have to be vigilant even on foot. When I drive, people blindly walk in front of my car with no regard for safety. Ear buds, head down, and looking at their phone while walking in front of cars.

Last week I stopped at the Grove St. crosswalk in Davis Square to let people cross. I pulled away and a jerky jogger ran right in front of my car. Scared the hell out of my poor mother in law. I rolled the window down and as I passed him I yelled, “You should be more careful pal!” And he gave me the finger. So I called him a few choice names and I actually just happened to be going the same way he was running. Then it donned on me … I’m too old for this baloney. So what do I do now? Can’t drive, can’t walk. Gotta stay in.

This story was originally meant to be about Rockin’ Bob’s closing, but it took a strange turn. So let me end with a little bit about that store that saved a lot of gigs by selling a guitar string, or a microphone cord that was needed.

My kids and their good friends who are also brothers in a band grew up with stuff bought at Bob’s. He was always pleasant and helpful and fair. Bob had the best technicians and guitar experts. The other day I dropped in to say goodbye to Bob. I thought of a song that I always refer to when a beloved and popular Somerville business closes, and that’s Another One Bites the Dust.

Bob is closing the store to retire after 39 years in the same location. I didn’t pry and ask if he was leaving because of increased rent. We spoke simply of retirement. Bob was amazed that the store lasted 39 years and how quickly the time had gone by.

And so Rockin’ Bobs goes the way of La Ronga Bakery, Patsys’ Bakery, La Hacienda, Johnny D’s and an ever growing list of businesses saying bye bye to Somerville.

Good luck and thank you, Bob. I hope you enjoy your retirement. The musicians of Somerville will never forget you. What will be in that space? Another donut shop or a Sushi place? I know one thing, I’d sure rather be able to walk to Davis Square for a guitar string or a pick rather than a lump of colored sugar or a hunk of raw fish.

The staff and food and other customers at Boston Burger were … aces. The people I met that tried to ruin my day were … asses!

So, to end this tale of music and speeders and reckless bicyclists I will close with a snippet of a Simon and Garfunkel song, “Slow down, you move to fast!” I’ll be home watching Andy, Opie, Goober, Aunt Bee Barney Fife, and Otis. I’ll order Boston Burger delivery while strumming my guitar with strings I got at Rockin’ Bob’s. I won’t ever have to leave my house.