Presidents' Keg Party

By Andrew Sheehy

History was never written in such a light until Michael Kegeldork decided to tell the real inside story of what transpired during some of the most important moments of Americas past.
One Christmas Eve, down the shore, Kegs thinks hes home alone when four figures from days gone by show up at his door step. The expected and unexpected take place during the next mystical twenty four hours. If it wasnt for the beer it probably would have been remembered as a true masterpiece of American journalism. With it, history becomes something you will never look the same at.
George, Tommy, Abe and Jack all want you to enjoy the read!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 14, 2010
• ISBN: 9781456812409

Book preview

Copyright © 2010 by Andrew Sheehy.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2010916740

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4568-1239-3

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4568-1238-6

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4568-1240-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book please contact:

andrewsheehybooks.com

or call Xlibris 1-888-795-4274

89402

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

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Figure if I list my brothers and sisters they may buy one of these books.

Big E the duck, Mikey the mouse, Chrissy the cat, Richie the bear, Dennis the dog, Tay the tuna, Lele the elephant, Katie the kangaroo, Kelly the chipmunk.

Now you know their names and what they look like.

Oh, and mom kind of looks like a squirrel.

CHAPTER ONE

OGGG!!

My head felt like someone had just dropped kicked every brain cell I had left after surviving last night’s third annual border royal between my American and Mexican buddies over at Rocco’s Bar ’n Grill in Northeast Philadelphia. Once again my girl exploded, I had reached new lows during the buy one get one free portion of the night. I decided not to let her to elaborate, I felt I’d hear bits and pieces of my actions as the days and weeks crept by. Anyway, everybody knows stories like these seem to evolve as people get sober. She did tell me in no uncertain terms that my presence at Rocco’s was no longer appreciated, at least till we passed some type of amnesty.

I made the mistake of foolishly asking.

What moron doesn’t want me there?

I wanted to know who my real friends were.

She handed me a list of signatures that were placed in alphabetical order, Alonzo, Amelia, Arcola . . . I stopped reading at D when I saw her name. Seems like I must have insulted anyone who was born south of the Mason Dixon line. It was the tequila talking, I pleaded, but she wasn’t listening.

My name is Michael Kegeldork but everyone including my mom has called me Kegs since I can even remember. My folks moved down from Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn to South Philly right after they got married and I was hatched six months later. Pops was considered some kind of local legend for his uncanny ability to make both sides of any argument end up despising him. Mom once told me, soon after he passed away, the whops, little Hitler’s, wetbacks, brothers, polocks, even the ones that were Catholic celebrated his death with equal passion. A real unifier she told me.

The family decided to leave all of pop’s things out after he went to that big cheese steak in the sky; many times it feels like he never left.

My ma on the other hand, is the glue that holds the family together. I see her as that round hole in a square world but friends and family alike seem to gravitate to the woman.

This morning however, all I could think about was getting home and feasting with my dog Scooby, the only responsibility I had in the entire world. The little mutt would be waiting with baited breath for his Saturday morning ritual of a left over Gino’s cheese steak, extra mayo with a side order of jalapeños. Me and my girl had rescued our kinky, blond hair pal from the pound in Franklin Mills an hour after he had been dropped off. I always believed he figured it was some kind of quick detour in a dog’s life.

Sign said: Scooby, loves to play football, sleep and eat cheese steaks from Gino’s which maybe the cause of his bladder problems. I recall thinking that happens to everybody who eats there.

Problem was the sign couldn’t tell us how abysmal he was at football. Didn’t fetch, run or even catch but that dude can eat and sleep with the best of them, two things me and my four legged buddy have in common.

Today though I knew immediately this was not going to be Scooby’s lucky day. My mind flashed a picture of his chilly, sodden nose plastered to my balcony window waiting for me. I can see his mind contemplating, rut row, the master got plastered again.

He could stand to lose a few pounds anyway.

Light was now streaming in from the window across the room, settling like a lazar right on my beard stubbled face. My eyelids were in lock down mode, my mouth felt like I had just chewed on a piece of chalk and my body, well my entire body was flat out listed as MIA. I heard my girl’s voice reverberate from the bathroom saying she’d call me later in the day; I tried vocalizing that I loved her but I stuttered to get the words out. Just turning my head towards the door made me feel like I was going to ralph. I focused on the nightstand, reached over, grabbed hold of the bottle of Old Number 7, moved it towards my lips and took one big slug.

AHHHH.

Sitting up reminded me of being in the Hellhole at the Reading Terminal fair. It seemed like a total out of body experience. There was a half smoked Marlboro in the ashtray next to the nightstand so I grabbed it, fired it up, took a drag, than another swig of drink and my body began to come back to reality. Every person out there who has had one of those tequila nights knows exactly how I am feeling at this time. Bourbon seemed like the only remedy for the situation but I needed to wait till I was alone to try my new found medicine. Sitting there with a smoke, pint of my ma’s fountain of youth (Jack Daniels), my phone chime exploded like Big Ben. By sheer survival mode I quickly reached over and snapped it open.

What!!?

I wasn’t in the mood for much discussion this morning.

Hey Keg’s, you alive?

I comprehended right away that Lurch, my best friend in the world must have been with me at sometime last night.

Two months to the day after I came into this world Lurch Pugsley Gomez was born three doors down from me and we’ve been together ever since.

By the way my homie is what you’d call a midget, you know a little person, not that it matters but I thought I should tell you. The guy stands just over three and a half feet, has the heart of gold and a wallet to back it up. He won 2 million dollars in the power ball last year when he took the Phillies infield numbers, timed them by pi and divided them in half. The next day he became my very bestest friend in the whole wide world, or at least in South Philly. Half pint dresses like a GQ model, has a baritone voice that the girls love and maybe the stingiest person I have ever hung around with. He also has this weird habit of flicking his black hair off his forehead every time he was telling a lie. Quite the quandary when picking up chicks.

Listen, you got to get up and do it. His words echoed in my ears, around my three surviving cells and somehow I comprehended he was asking a question.

Do what?

Seemed like the right reply.

Tell the world what happened.

Then I knew right away what my diminutive friend was talking about. I ran my hand across my forehead, took another long drag, stubbed the square out trying to think of an answer.

While pausing for that moment I looked around the room at my girl’s décor. Pictures of me and her at the shore last summer, nephews and nieces that I had never met and two of my dog Scooby scoping out some pretty poodle at last year’s human/dog 5 k in which we walked precisely three hundred yards, the exact distance to the nearest tavern along the race route. His photos were kind of a before and after sequence with the first one having Scooby’s head up in the air, tail sticking out and a smile only HIS mother would have loved. The second shot had him an hour later on his back, all four legs straight up in the air, his eyes closed and tongue hanging out. The guy could never handle his scotch. The pics were situated in ascending order on her desk. The walls of this room were painted a putrid bright yellow that she said brightened up her life each morning she opened her eyes, I burped up something I must have eaten last night and then settled back on the pillow.

Your right, I need to get the darn thing on paper so I don’t have to spend anymore nights figuring out how crazy I am.

I thought I heard him snort but I didn’t let him get in another word. I clicked the phone dead, rolled out of bed, slipped in a pair of tan shorts (commando, not because I was cool but because someone had taken a dump in mine sometime last night),on with my green Eagles t-shirt, some flip flops and a paperboy cap my grandpop had left me.

Next I grabbed my knapsack with the laptop, papers, snacks and something else that was green, yellow and had minute hairs on it that I was afraid to throw away on account that it may have been from some far away prehistoric era and worth millions of dollars. Of course Lurch told me it was an orange from last year’s July Forth concert we went to at the Art Museum.

I took a deep breath, opened the door of my girl’s apartment and stepped out into the sun baked streets of Philadelphia. People were streaming down both sides of Spring Garden, they had no idea I was one step away from puking my guts out all over them. I shook my head to clear the cobwebs, blew my nose on some napkin that I had confiscated from Rocco’s last night, rolled it up, tossed it at one of the wire framed trashcans that was locked up to a bike rack (missed but some pigeon swooped it up before I could try again) and waited for my second wind.

Lucky for you it happened.

Today I will tell my story, so settle back, grab a beer, a pack of cigs and a chick or dude if you’re so inclined. You ain’t going to believe this one.

It seems like forever since I drove away from my parent’s beach home that frigid Christmas day in December of 2010. I’ve spent many nights trying to figure out how I could tell my girl and family what took place over those mystifying twenty-four hours. After that tequila night and reassurance from my munchkin friend I’ve decided to do something about it.

Now as I sit at my computer inside the Starbuck’s at 18th and Broom I’m just beginning to come to grip on how I talk about the events that took place that bitter, snowy day. You’re going to suppose that I’m cracked and maybe I am.

I can’t believe it happened either but the more I dwell about it the more I appreciate I was there.

I can’t hold that fact inside anymore.

Lurch told me to tell you right from the start this isn’t a horror film or novel; it’s just about what really took place.

Don’t even consider Friday the Thirteenth; or maybe something had happened so frightening I would never be the same. That’s well, full of BS. No this was different, I surely changed that day, but it was what I would describe as a pretty frickin cool change.

Then again, maybe I’m still drunk.

How should I begin?

It was cold; I mean really cold as the wind ripped between the buildings at the condo on the oceans