MAE JULIAN

Telling the tale of what happened to Boom-Boom at the end of her service with EMS‑would be premature, so, with your indulgence, I will leave that to a later story. Much happened between the beginning and the end for Boom.‑ So, continuing now…on with the story of the 7th street run, which earned Boom-Boom her nickname. Mind you, I would never put Boom in the “bleeding heart” category, but rather in the “soft-hearted” genre, which left her vulnerable to repeated treachery.‑ It was a character trait that endeared her to us all, but at the same time, left her wide open for victimization not to mention repeated shift change banter and story-telling…all at her expense, which she learned to tolerate, if not appreciate.‑ She was paired with Mick, as I have mentioned to you. Mick was from New York and had a bit of a hard time not seeing Boom as a Southern Belle. I think in his heart, he was horrified at what Boom was exposed to, and would have found it preferable seeing her married, rearing a few children and attending PTA meetings. This was not an uncommon opinion held by some of the guys at EMS during that time.‑ But, that being said, Mick continued with her as a partner. However he never failed to regale us with stories of Boom’s encounters with the populace of our fair city.

So…now as to the whys and wherefores of Boom obtaining her EMS nickname. It went out as a run down on 7th Street, as I last told you.‑ The run was dispatched as a 10-82, code 3,‑to a place called The Boom-Boom Room. It was a squalid one-story building, long overdue for paint.‑ The entrance was littered with beer cans, trash and the disgusting odor of stale urine.‑ There were no windows, if, indeed, there ever had been.‑ Boards were nailed haphazardly along the outside, covering what was left of any remnants of windowpanes. Even the sign announcing its name had only flickering dying neon lights. Mick and Boom entered the peeling front door where a small, hairy, bouncer stood, wearing an angry scowl, acting as the sentry. He was planted with his arms crossed‑over his chest, with his evil, mean eyes looking straight ahead.‑ It was as close as he would ever come to military. As our crew passed by the bouncer, their eyes adjusted to the darkened room. They saw people moving about on the floor, either dancing, leaning on each other, staggering, or weaving.‑ No one stopped what they were doing, least of all the gyrating wench on stage.‑ A worn, G-stringed, pale, washed-up strumpet was boringly grinding out her business, changing her own records on the small portable record player parked at the corner of the dirty, shallow stage.

As Boom and Mick waded their way through this semblance of humanity, they came upon a body on the floor. No one was paying the least attention, and no one was there offering a report, let alone assistance.‑ The derelict on the floor had a goose egg on his head that spoke for itself. Whoever had whacked him was nowhere to be seen. John Doe was semi-conscious, emitting in-human guttural moans.‑ The music had an unearthly whine to it that seemed to reflect the misery of the smoke-filled, malodorous room, and all the misfits in it.‑ Mick was at John Doe’s head and Boom was on her knees, checking his abdomen when a strange apparition appeared in front of her face. She saw a huge, engorged, veined phallus rhythmically bouncing about ten inches from her nose.‑ It was apparently the hugest specimen she had ever seen.‑ She was so aghast she leapt upwards and fell backwards, striking her elbows and head on the dance floor.‑ Mick, quick to be protective, lunged at the offending party only to have the phallus come unattached and fall to John Doe’s pale, sunken, skinny chest. The offender faded quickly into the crowd, and they were left, now, with a semi-conscious patient, a goose-egged head, and a monstrous phallus, all merging into one pulsating vulgar beat. Mick was in a dilemma. He would not leave Boom with the lecherous reprobates inside, and he couldn’t let her go out to get the stretcher, alone. At least that’s what his chivalrous heart told him. Boom was trying to regain her dignity, standing up and attempting to look as if nothing had happened.‑ She was clearly shaken, however.‑ Mick decided the best course was the easiest course: they would both go get the stretcher, as he refused to leave Boom behind in this house of horrors.‑ It appeared John Doe would not be any worse off, if left unattended for a few minutes. When they returned, parting the disgusting mass of humanity with the stretcher, it was suddenly silent. Boom looked alarmed, then, noted that it was only that the record had stopped, and the stripper was undulating her way over to restart it.‑ They loaded up John Doe, as Mick kicked the disgusting phallus aside.‑ They loaded up Fat Head and headed for General Hospital radioing in to Tick a 10-47, 10-82. Boom looked over at Mick and confirmed, “Drunk and injured”.‑ Mick looked over at her and said, “10-4, Boom-Boom”.‑ Thus her name was created.

The Waynedale News Staff

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The Waynedale News Staff

Our in-house staff members work with community members and our local writers to find, write and edit the latest and most interesting news worthy stories. This is your community newspaper, we are always looking for local stories that interest you.

> Read More Information About Us
> More Articles Written By Our Staff