ABSTRACT
Adolescent white boys in suburbs in the 1954 were a sight to behold. We wore our hair long and our pants pegged. We shopped our finery in the west edge of downtown Cincinnati. There some enterprising soul offered colored people’s style to affluent white kids who were already listening closely to the music from Memphis. It would be another two years before Elvis would make his appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show. Another two years before our parents would get the first clue. Most of them, mine included, were too shocked by the sex to see the black in his act. We had little patience for them. Our blood was fresh. We listened to the radio on muggy summer nights before air conditioning.
