Oh no! Run for your lives. I'm coming out of blog retirement to share my latest inspiration.
This sudden impulse to dust off my MORE GLIB ThAN PROFOUND blog materialized when I dreamt I was telling people about a segment from the story below. Don't worry, this isn't that tired, recurring nightmare I had as an eight year old when my class trip to a firehouse took a painful turn when a hook and ladder ran over my foot. Instead, it's a true story (with the usual 15% enbellishment factor that my regular readers have grown to appreciate).
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I was approaching adolescence when my friend Jason turned me onto tabletop hockey. To this day, I doubt no game ever beguiled me that much.
I have no memory of Geoffrion as a Canadien. So, I'm not certain why I was attracted to him. Was it his colorful and emotion-filled personality, a cool sounding French name or perhaps his tough-guy "Boom-Boom" nickname? Most likely, it was a combination of all three, with a side-order of wisdom gained from Jason and his brothers. All I know is, when the NHL was still a six team league, he had faded past his prime. So, despite a decent 21 goal season, he retired at 32, in 1964.
In 1966 with the NHL on the verge of expanding to 12 teams, Bernie ended his two-year sabbatical and made a comeback. To my utter delight, my cellar-dweller New York Rangers signed him. Geoffrion's transition back as an active player resulted in an unspectacular 17 goals in his first year, (and a much more deflating, career-ending second season).
Simultaneously, I was entering Junior High, (a much bigger school), where I was blind-sided by the unexpected collison of mind, body and spirit called "puberty." This process also coincided with my impending rite of passage into manhood, (aka, Bar Mitzvah) which like a spector, ominously loomed over my next year's horizon.
The blue lining during this bombardment of change was that seventh grade exposed me to hygiene classes (which was so shrewdly presented, that it's sexual components created more questions than answers). Luckily, I met a wider range of kids who helped me untangle the complexities of maturity (with extremely entetaining misinformation) which resulted in making new friends.
Mike (the funny one), David (the studious one) and Donnie (a nice kid) and I walked to school everyday. Mike kept us rapt as he pandered to our over-active curiosity with exaggerated details from his health class. I figured it "had" to be true because his teacher's name was Miss Ball.
These friends weren't sports fanatics and none of them had the same passion for athletics as I did. So I was surprised when the four of us arrived outside school (JOHN WILSON, JHS-211), when Mike saw a guy from his band, (Borealis) and introduced me as "Boom-Boom Aidelbloom." Not only did we all laugh but the nickname went viral. It stuck and remains active in the heart and mind of several 50-year friendships including MGTP blog readers: Stu W, Skip E, Ernie S Stu R and of course my sister.
This new nickname came at a good time because for around a year, I had been trying to shed the childishness of being called "Stevie." My insistence led to clashes with my mom. After a while, she probably sensed that a compromise was in her best long-term interest. She allowed herself to lose this petty battle to save her big guns to quell possible rebellions over future teenage issues. But as soon as she started answering phone calls from my new friends asking--"Is Boom-Boom home? " She'd cup the phone, use a funny voice with a sly grin to say something like, "Is there anybody here named Boom-Boom?" Her passive aggressive point was, I may have graduated from "Stevie" but I was still her little creampuff. I always speculated that she associated my new moniker with henchmen from Murder Incorporated? Either way, she steadfastly refused to call me Boom-Boom without at least a little dig. To prove my snail-paced evolvution, I tolerated her low-level ribbing. Taking the high road was a good decision because soon, the Boom-Boom nickname had morphed into a more socially acceptable and sustainable, "Boomer."
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I moved to Las Vegas in 1979. Overwhelmingly, only my strongest friendships (with the help of Facebook), survived the time and distance as the Boomer nickname faded into oblivion.
In 1984, Boom-Boom Geoffrion's name came up in conversation when I was visiting Marietta Georgia. I knew he had been the expansion team Atlanta Flames first head coach (1972), so as a storehouse of useless information, I found it fascinating that he was now a permanant resident of Marietta.
A few years after returning to the eastcoast, I was hired in April 1990, in Atlantic City, at the new Taj Mahal Casino. On New Years Eve, I was dealing craps on a high-roller table. It was still early, (9:30PM), so we were open with no players. We heard rumors that there were celebrities in the crowd, (it was true, I had seen "Smokin' Joe Frazier sitting next to the singer Tiny Tim, at a blackjack table). So I was on my toes during this down-time, to see who else I could pick-out of the parade of revelers. Suddenly, as if by wizardry, I couldn't believe my eyes. I saw Bernie "Boom-Boom" Geoffrion.
Casinos, (in general) had a perceived etiquette back then. Some of these "unwritten undertandings" focused on decorum from the staff, respect for customer anonymity and an unyielding rule prohibiting solicitation of tips, favors, discounts etc. So asking for an autograph was strictly verboten.
Even though my immediate supervisor, (Bruce W.), was a "house man," the impulse was irresistable. I called out, "Mr. G!" Boom-Boom didn't respond. I had to think quick or he would've disappeared in the mass of humanity. I summoned my long dormant "vast sophistication of the subtleties of French," and shouted one word, "Monsieur!" He turned. We caught eye contact. We both smiled. He said something in French. Starstruck I blithered in English, "I'm your biggest fan...I was in Marietta six years ago but I didn't realize you lived there...can I have your autograph?" He made an abrupt about face and literally ran away, disappearing into the crowd. I was stupified and crushed.
I was so disappointed that I insulted him. At least Bruce didn't reprimand me. Instead he smiled, "Who was that guy?" Before I could answer Monsieur G. returned. I said, "Where'd you go?" He shugged and said in his charming French-Canadien accent, "I don't get recognized very much these days." After an awkward pause he held up a Taj Mahal pen and grinned, "I can't sign for you without one of these..." He interrupted himself and added, "Wait! I got to get some paper." He was turning away when Bruce said, "Mr G. it's okay." He removed the empty "player rating card" from his clipboard and handed it to my hero, blank side up. Like music to my ears Boom-Boom said, "How should I make it out." In my glory I said, "Easy. Bernie 'Boom-Boom' Geoffrion." He did leave out the "Bernie" in the finished product but that didn't tarnish a moment that will forever shine on the highlight reel of my life.
Hours later, I told my friend MLPJ about this. She said, "That's why I keep a baseball in my locker. Remember when Jose Canseco came in last summer. That ball is in a plastic thingy on top of my entertainment center as we speak. Besides, those 'no fratenizing with the guests' rules are bullshit. Everyone gets free stuff from customers and we ain't talking about autographs." She inspired me. A week later, I bought a baseball and put it in my locker. Twenty-Five years later, I cleared out that locker when the casino closed and that unisgned ball, (still in it's little factory-sealed box),came home with me.
Somehow, my nickname was never brought up at home. For no particular reason other than since the 1970's, I've seen so little of the old gang who still call me Boomer.
YES, THERE'S A NEW EDELBLUM IN THE WORLD!!! YEARS BEFORE BECOMING MY DAUGHTER-IN-LAW, I FELT GOLI WAS THE DAUGHTER I NEVER HAD. BUT BEFORE THAT, SHE WAS ALREADY CALLING ME "BABA STEVE," (DADDY STEVE).
