Memorable greasers

[Monkeyleg]

For probably most of the folks here on APS, the term "greaser" conjures up images of John Travolta and Olivia Newton John.

But, for the old fogies like me and a few others, the term paints an entirely different picture.

In the 1950's, greasers were the guys with black leather jackets, jeans with the cuffs rolled up, and more oil in their hair than in the motors of their cars.

By the early 1960's, though, the greasers dressed with more class.

And, by "class," I mean wearing clothing that none of the rest of the young guys could wear without their sexuality being called into question.

This was the era of Frankie Valli. "Hoods," as we also called greasers, did what they wanted.

I remember very well one of the classiest greasers I ever knew (or, to be entirely honest, ever dared to walk near): Larry Colbo.

Larry Colbo was mostly American Indian, although I don't know anyone who ever asked him what tribe.

Larry Colbo had stone-cold eyes, cheekbones that looked like they were chiseled from granite, a pompadour haircut that probably took an hour to comb every morning, and the talent for breaking the face of anyone who crossed his way.

Larry Colbo dressed to the nines: lace shirts, silk brocade vests, pegged pants, and Italian shoes with Cuban heels, fitted with horse-shoe cleats.

Horse-shoe cleats, for those young-un's here, were shoe cleats made of steel, in the shape of horse shoes, that were attached to the bottom of the Cuban heels of greasers' shoes.

They didn't serve much purpose, except to announce the coming of a Greaser: one single Larry Colbo sounded like the entire Wehrmacht marching into Paris.

They were also banned in just about every school in the country, as they chewed up the wooden floors.

But, who was going to tell Larry Colbo to get rid of the horse-shoe cleats? Certainly not the school principal, who was scared to death of Colbo.

Larry Colbo did what he wanted, and busted up anyone who said otherwise.

One area that Larry didn't do well in, though, was schoolwork. More specifically, any kind of schoolwork.

There was a guy--I forget his name now, so let's call him Jimmy--who had one leg that was shorter than the other. He was a target for just about every bully in school.

Jimmy wasn't an ace student, but he studied, and got decent grades.

And, somewhere along the line, Jimmy and Larry Colbo formed a symbiotic pact. Sort of like John Steinbeck's "Of Mice and Men:" Jimmy would do Larry's homework, and Larry would intimidate, or bust the noses of, anyone who bothered Jimmy.

It was weird to see the two walk together in school, or even on the streets. It was like "The Odd Couple" taken to the extreme, with Sammy "The Bull" Gravano sharing a cup of cappuccino and a bagel with Woody Allen.

When I got to my next school, I saw Larry Colbo's older brother, Al. Al Colbo didn't walk with a picked-upon "geek."

He towered over the gang who followed him. When he and his guys walked down the hall, the crowds of students parted like the Red Sea.

In the wake of his guys followed the girls. With their ratted-up black hair, black eye shadow, and black lace dresses, it was hard to tell if they were headed to a funeral or to the boudoir.

Didn't matter to me, though. In my primitive, primordial and hormone-driven state, I just looked and said, "me like."

[Art Eatman]

In Texas, during my growing up years around WW II, "Greaser" was mostly applied to Mexicans because of the pomade on their hair.  However, it dates back well before my time; the appelation was used by Clarence Mulford in an early Hopalong Cassidy book.  Written in the nineteen-teens, IIRC; "Bar-20 Days".

My comment about a Pomadeer was, "He only goes to the barber shop to get his oil changed."

My early teen years, I was little and scrawny, wore glasses and made mostly A grades.  Easy target for bullies.  I discovered that if they all thought I was insane, they wouldn't bother me.  That came about one day when I center-punched a bully's forehead with an egg-sized rock and--after he came back to conciousness--told him that the next time he got on my case, I'd kill him.  Credibility is a wonderful thing.

, Art

[grampster]

I went to high school in the late fifties.  Graduated in '61.  We called 'em hoods.  We all tried to emulate the true hoods.  Blue jeans with the cuffs rolled up, white long sleeve shirts with the collars up.  The sleeves were carefully rolled up twice.  If they didn't wear the white long sleeve, it was a white T-shirt with cigs rolled up in the sleeve.
Engineer boots were the footwear of choice including the horseshoe "taps" on the heels.

Hair was pomaded, or you used vaseline if you didn't have the money for Butch Wax or Rose Pomade.

Hair was combed back into a "Duck Tail" or "DA" and some wore a flat top on the top and sides were long and combed back into the "DA".  Sideburns were a given.

The best of them had Mercury's, Fords, Chevy's with Laker Pipes, or Splits, or Hollywood Mufflers.  Spinner hub caps, lots of chrome, lowered in the rear or the front or all the way around.  Baloon tires with massive whitewalls.

There was always going to be a gang war between groups of "hoods".  Rumors ran rampant.  Locations and times were broadcast.  Those of us on bicycles roamed the outskirts of these war zones, hoping to see the action.  Usually no one showed up, or if they did there was a lot of strutting and braying (all the the while hoping the cops would show up so everyone could run for the hills)

We'd all hang around the local soda bar and eat burgers, fries and cokes and cheat at pinball.  Listen to Elvis, The Platters, Fats Domino, The Four Lads, Rosemary Clooney, Don Cherry, Frankie Laine, The Four Aces, Jerry Vale, Mary Robbins, Johnnie Ray, The McGuire Sisters, The Crew Cuts, Perez Prado, Eddy Arnold, Tennessee Ernie, The Diamonds, Vaughn Monroe, Carl Perkins,
Frankie Avalon, Bill Haley and Comets and on and on and on, on the jukebox

Not a bad time to be alive.

[wingnutx]

I put Murray's Pomade in my hair when I have enough of it. Joining the reserves put an end to that.

I dress sort of like a greaser/skinhead/lumberjack

[Monkeyleg]

Art:

Sounds like "David and Goliath Come to Texas."

Grampster, that's a pretty vivid recollection. I saw much the same thing.

"Hollywood Mufflers." Man, I haven't heard that in a looonnng time.

[AJ Dual]

Dick, these reminisinces are good enough that if you posted a few of these samples on other boards, you could probably get some banner revenue from putting them all up in a blog...

[Perd Hapley]

Greaser
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greaser

a derogatory term for a Mexican, originating in the western United States in the mid-19th century, see Greaser (derogatory)

Greaser (1950s) is an American English slang term from the 1950s for a youth whose hair was combed back with various oils, "greased" back, and who was usually, although not always, associated with a street gang.

a device to apply grease

someone who uses waste vegetable oil (restaurant grease) or another fat to power their automobile. Also, someone who uses a derivative of a fat, such as biodiesel, to do the same.

I think the first use is the most common these days.

[AJ Dual]

I always think of the 1950's hood reference first, and I'm only 33...

[wingnutx]

I always think of the 1950's hood reference first, and I'm only 33...

Me too. 36, though.

I've never heard anyone use 'greaser' as a racial slur except in movies.

[mustanger98]

I always think of the 1950's hood reference first, and I'm only 33...

Me too. 36, though.

I've never heard anyone use 'greaser' as a racial slur except in movies.

32 here. My recollections have been The Fonze and some of Louis L'Amour's badguy types. They said- and this was Time Life Books series on the Old West- it was much more of an equal opportunity employer than Hollywierd has been, but it was a still very racist environment as a general rule.

[Guest]

I am a '55 model myself.

Yeah, same year as classic Chevy's and T birds.

Greasers?  Yeah, remember, didn't see any racing them T birds, now them '55 Chevy's were eating Ford's lunch!

I must have caught the tail end of this Greaser Era, but I remember enough. It was interesting , to a kid.  I guess being a kid my age and size must have been a special niche, ask one why everybody put cigs folded under the left T shirt sleeve and "Hey Tony, how come the left , not the right, the kid wants to know".
Tony shrugged, meaning  "always been left, so left it is".

If I had been older, I would probably been "thumped".

Mentors knew some of these Greasers, and these Greasers respected the Mentors.  Good enough for kid like me to drop a handkerchief for a race on a private road, I'd even get to pour the bleach for tires ...*cough* *cough* *GRIN*.

Don't matter if the hair is greased, gray or missing, turning a wrench and messing with engines is a common thing to do.  Gals are gals, aprons and baking cookies, or smacking gum and "Tony, you know this old lady used to race that guy in her daddy's car when they were dating?"

I was the right size to get a dropped bolt or wrench or both from under a Greaser's car, a Mentor was having as much fun messing with and giving a few pointer's from his day.

Some stuff always been , always will be, no matter the names attached ...




I was out getting coke bottles , these brought  2 cents each, and I had quite a few. I wanted the money to get some .22 shells. Some guys I didn't know showed up and yelled at me, then they broke all my bottles, and laughed. One tried to hit me, and I hit him with a stick, I hit him hard in the knee, he screamed at me and I outran the one that took off after me.
All my bottles broken and all that mess and no money. I was mad and then I got sad.

I was trying to be careful but I cut myself. Greasers passed by, then came back. "What's wrong kid?" I told them, and then they saw I cut myself, we used some napkins to help with the bleeding, one used his knife to get a piece of glass out.

"Who did it?" They asked and I all could tell them what the car looked like.

The beat them up, and said I had really hurt that knee.

One of them ones that broke my bottles had a brother that went to my school, he was bigger and said he was going to beat me up.after school one day.  Made me mad. He waited until we got off school property one day and then he ran out from behind some bushes.  He ran out and I went down low , I tripped him, he knocked me down and kicked me hard. Then I stabbed him with a pencil in the leg, he hobbled  off with my pencil in his leg.

I didn't know anyone else was watching, but the Greasers had shown up and seen this. "You okay kid?"
"No, yeah, I don't know, my sides hurt, I'll be okay?"

I was walking with a few kids, nothing being said, mad about the whole thing, and my homework I started at school and had to finish had gotten torn. Darn, I was going to have to write all that over again...

Greasers stayed back, followed me home, driving real slow, they rev'd the engine sometimes, but I knew they were close.

Bully had to go see a doctor, he didn't tell what happened, but word was I stabbed him so it was serious.

"Not a full box kid, we only shot a few, but if you want 'em you can have 'em"
Greasers gave me a box of .22 shells.




I learned real young how to open a stapler and use it to hold stuff on bullentin boards. Seems all the thumbtacks would disappear and end up in the heel of tennis shoes, 3, 4 , 5  of them in  each  heel of each shoe sometimes. They would come out during recess, and I have no idea how come that big hardwood floor got scratched up at school...

"click" "click" "click" "click" ...

*wink*

[Art Eatman]

grampster, two reasons for cuffs on Levis:

1.  That's the way John Wayne wore his.
2.  As you got taller, you grew into them and Momma didn't have to buy new ones on account of "High water pants look bad!"

, Art

[Monkeyleg]

Art, there was another, more utilitarian use for the rolled-up jeans: they made handy ashtrays.

My late father-in-law was a classic early 50's greaser. There's a photo we have of him leaning against his car, rolled-up jeans, and the sleeves of his white t-shirt rolled up, pack of cigarettes neatly tucked into the fold.

As late as 1970 or so, he still wore his jeans rolled up at the cuffs, and would deposit cigarette ashes into the cuffs when in the house.

Speaking of "high water pants," I don't know if you had this style of greaser in Texas, but we had a few here in Milwaukee: they wore what we called "high-boy" slacks that rode above the navel, and zipped down the sides. With those they wore sleeveless t-shirts ("muscle t-shirts"), and either porkpie or fedora hats.

For some reason, I only saw those greasers hanging out at the roller rinks.