Anyhow, one night when, as usual we had no money and nothing to do, we “JDs” rode around in my friend Joe Alba’s father's 1940s vintage black sedan…not exactly a babe magnet. On Atlantic Avenue near the White Castle restaurant, a police car pulled us over and took us to the Liberty Avenue station house for questioning. It seems that a bunch of guys dressed like us and riding in a similar car had taken a shot at someone that night. They grilled us separately in a back room just like in an old James Cagney movie.I guess the cops finally figured out that we didn’t do it (the sobbing probably helped) and let us go.
That incident helped put an end to my JD career. I also soon learned that high school girls preferred their guys to look more preppy than punky. ). Overnight I went from being Arthur Fonzarelli to Richie Cunningham. I exchanged my black leather Village People getup for button-down shirts and Chino pants with the little belt on the back that served no purpose at all. (Don’t deny it, you wore them too).
I could never go for the shoes that called "white bucks" though. There were still plenty of JDs left on my block, and they would do to me what Sitting Bull did to Custer if I ever showed my face wearing them.
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