Street Lamp Falsetto

During the summers, on very hot, humid nights, people drifted to their fire escapes in hopes of a breeze of any kind.  Blankets down, we drank lemonade and hoped for a chorus or two—or more.  The corners were furnished with street lamps that barely lit the sidewalk below them.  Nearly every Friday or Saturday night, groups—often rival groups—set aside their differences to offer up their latest doo-wop songs, often originals.  Sometimes, if it all fell into place, the I-talians and the blacks would be on opposite corners.  Behind the basso "bo-bo-bo's” more often than not was a striking falsetto-singing man who brought applause.  The brownstones along the block would erupt in cheers and whistles, and these competing day-time rivals gave each other purchase, respect.  We'd throw down change after each song.  One of the members with a flashlight would walk below the escapes and pick up the notes and change.  Sometimes someone yelled out a favorite, and the group would instantly dive into "Blue Moon" or some other doo-wop favorite.  The Italians mimicked Dion and the blacks didn't have to imitate anyone.  They were both good, they both brought invisible smiles in the night, and often they'd show each other respect by applauding their rivals.  For hours they sang and we listened, swatting at mosquitoes and fanning ourselves in the hot humid darkness.
Interesting how during the daylight hours they were niggers and wops all over again—but at night, they were voices, they were music, they were songs, there was a treaty in the harmony.