Dead-Heading

I didn’t have much of a chance of getting into the concert, but I agreed to give my friends a ride to Philadelphia any way.

It was a chance at a road trip, some free beer and pot, and there was the potential for fun!

It was the summer of 1985(?), and it was a slow weekend, no work, and I had no summer classes at college. I don’t really remember what led up to it, but a few of my friends talked me into driving down to Philly from Upsala College, in East Orange, to see The Dead at the Spectrum.

I did not have a ticket, but they said we might be able to scalp one…so we piled into my blue, 1980 Subaru hatchback, and we headed for the New Jersey Turnpike! The trip down was not very memorable, although I do remember being in a ‘race’ with a guy in a Chevy Citation X-11 during the drive. He kept trying to catch up to us and pass us, but could not, for try as he might, he was always just a little bit behind, his X-11 being no match for the Japanese might that is Subaru!

Looking back now, I count myself lucky that I did not get the attention of the NJ State Police, because I was moving pretty fast, and we were drinking and partaking of illegal substances during the trip!

Eventually, we got to the exit to Philadelphia, waved good bye to the X-11, and made our way across the bridge and into the city, and drove to the old Spectrum.

When we parked, my friends once again assured me that I would have no problem getting a ticket, “There are always people selling tickets in the parking lot.” However, after wandering the lot for more than half an hour, all we found were badly counterfeited tickets, and I figured out pretty quick that I would not be getting in to see the Grateful Dead that night. I was disappointed, but not that much, I kind of expected to be shut out.

However, my friends took pity on me, after all I did drive them all the way down there, knowing that I might not get to see the concert…and they were counting on me to drive them home!

So they gave me some beers and a few other ‘supplies’ and we agreed to meet at the car after the show, and I bid them well.

As the crowds filed into the auditorium I was wondering what I would do for the next three hours or so, and began to wander around the lot.

I soon found that there were almost as many people outside as in the concert! Most were hanging out in lawn chairs and partying in the lot. Others were wandering, like I was, some selling all kinds of items, from t-shirts to drugs, or just meeting up with friends they knew from other concerts. Most of the people I met were really friendly and would invite me to come over and hang out for a while.

I shared what I had, and they shared what they had and we would talk about the band, and listen to the music filtering out from inside of the Spectrum, so it was really chill.

During the course of the evening, I found myself on a bus with a cute girl, who had stayed behind to watch the vehicle and all her friends’ stuff. She told me that someone volunteered to stay behind  and watch the bus at every concert.

We smoked and had some beers, and shared a few other substances and got just a little ‘friendly’ but nothing outrageous. It was fun and she wound up giving me a tie-dyed t-shirt that was way too small, but I did not care. By the time we parted, it was getting late and I figured that the concert would be ending soon, so I stopped with the substances and the beer, and decided to walk around and try to sober up before the drive back home.

As I made a circuit of the parking lot I came across and incident that is still very clear in my memory!

I saw a crowd of people just standing around and wanted to see what was going on. Somehow, I made my way to the front of the crowd, where I saw a circle of mounted Police, surrounded a guy who had stripped down to his drawers, he was obviously messed up as he was standing there barefoot, screaming and throwing bottles on the ground! When he ran of them, he would pick up the broken pieces and slam them back on the ground and scream!

He was not throwing them at the cops, nor was he screaming at them, and they were just watching him, perhaps hoping he would wear himself out. To be honest, I don’t think the guy knew the cops were there…not yet any way. While I was watching, another guy ran up to him, I assumed he was a friend, and he was trying to talk him down, afraid he’d get hurt and arrested, and then hurt some more.

After a few minutes they both sat down on the ground and the cops moved in, put him in handcuffs and put him in an ambulance that had just arrived!

With the excitement over, I made my way back to the car, to find my friends waiting there for me. They apologized again because I had to stay in the parking lot, and asked if I had a good time and just said “It was interesting.” And I proceeded to tell them what I could.

We hung out long enough for the lot to begin to empty and they gave me the supplies I needed to make sure I would be able to stay awake for the ride home.

There was no X-11 on the trip back to East Orange, but we had fun, as they told me how great the concert was, and I regaled them with tales of the parking lot.

I have seen several concerts in my life, some were big names in big venues, others were smaller shows, watched from lawns at Snug Harbor or Green Lane Park, I even made it to the Spectrum once more before it was closed down, when I took my daughter to see N’Sync when she was nine. However, I never did get to see The Dead in concert, but the evening in the parking lot was the most memorable concert I never got to go to!

 

 

 

 

Flipped

I was Sober for a change…that’s important to note.

It had been at least two weeks since I had a drink or illegal drug, because I had been very sick. In fact, I had spent ten days in the hospital, and only got home a few days earlier, just in time for Christmas.

It was December 29^th 1982, and the joy of being home from the hospital, along with the ‘magic’ of Christmas, had faded. I was already becoming bored. Due to my illness I could not drink, there was no pot to smoke, and while I was a student at Upsala College, right down the street, most of my friends had headed home for the Holidays.

Fortunately, my sister and her kids had come over, which broke up the boredom; however, she was having car trouble and was worried about making it back home to Staten Island, so our father volunteered to go with her in case the car broke down, and asked me to follow in the Toyota, so I could give him a ride home. I was happy to have something to do and jumped at the chance.

My two nieces, who were 8 and 6 wanted to ride with me, so I made sure they were safely secured in the back seat, with their seat-belts before we left.

As her car was questionable, and her mechanic was on the Staten Island side of the bridge, my sister decided to take the local route, through Bayonne and across the bridge. There were lights on almost every corner and I was having trouble keeping up with her dying Volvo. I usually drive pretty fast, but I had my nieces in the car…and it is pretty difficult to drive fast on the streets of Bayonne…even without all those traffic lights.

I remember making a comment about the importance of not having an accident while trying to keep up, but before long we got to the bridge, and we were right behind the Volvo…all was going to be fine, we were almost to our destination.

As we got onto the bridge, I was going around 40 or 45 (though the limit was about 35), but I was keeping up with traffic. I distinctly remember passing the Police car, reminding myself to be careful, as I did not want a ticket. Then, I ignored my own warning…knowing there was a toll on the other end of the bridge, I took my eyes off the road for a moment, as I reached over to the passenger seat to get my wallet.

When I did, my hand must have slipped on the wheel, because when I looked up, we were heading straight toward the high divider! I turned the wheel sharply but still caught the edge and the car when up the divider and turned on its side! Before I knew what was going on, I looked out of the passenger window and could see only asphalt going by…and I knew that this could not be right!

At that point, all I wanted was to get the car back up on its wheels, I thought this would fix everything, and so I turned the wheel, although I knew that it was useless, none of the tires were touching the ground as this point…but somehow, it worked and the car righted itself and I was able to turn on my signal and pull over to the shoulder.

Note that all this happened in heavy traffic, but we did not hit any other cars!

Once we were stopped, I released the death-grip I had on the wheel, put on the emergency brake and turned around to check on my nieces…above all else, I prayed that they were not hurt!

My older niece was hysterical and crying, but said she wasn’t hurt…to be honest, I felt the same way, bordering on shock! My younger niece, who was about 6, was laughing and asked me “Can we do that again?”

I looked out of the windshield and saw that the Volvo had stopped a few yards ahead and my father and sister were running towards us. However, before they reached the car, there was a knock on my side window, it was a cop!

I rolled my window down and he asked if we were all okay, and I told I thought we were, he saw that the girls were in the back with seat-belts on, and just then my sister appeared and began checking on them. Once it was clear that we were okay…just shaken up, the cop told me that he was impressed that I had gotten such distance and altitude out of the Toyota, and asked “How did you get it back up on the road?”

I honestly answered, “I don’t know, I just kept turning the wheel and that worked!”

By then, other cops had arrived, and the officer I was talking to asked me how fast I was going. I told him about 45, and he said “No, the speed limit is 35, you were going 35, right?” I did not get it at first, and wanted to be honest but he insisted, and I got it just in time to confirm “Yes, I was going 35!” just as another cop showed up to hear it!

My thinking is that he was not anxious to give me a speeding ticket, or to see me get any charges, considering that I did not hit anyone else, the girls were belted and safe, and I was clearly sober.

Although it had been on its side, sliding along the on-ramp to the Bayonne bridge, my father (I was done driving for the day) was able to drive the Toyota off the bridge and to my sister’s mechanic a few blocks away. From there we got a flatbed to take my father, myself and the wounded Toyota back to New Jersey, where we met up with my mother.

I was terrified that she would be mad at me…I mean really mad, she had a temper, and this time, it would have been justified. When we got out of the truck, I approached her with caution, telling her how sorry I was (that was not a lie) and I braced for whatever punishment I would receive, but instead she hugged me, telling me she was just glad that we were all okay, and that “…sheet metal can be replaced, but we could not!”

Later, she said that it was probably too soon for me to be driving again after being so sick, but I never bought it, I knew that I had been distracted by the kids and worrying about paying the toll, but in the long-run, I had to admit that it really was just an accident, and I learned to forgive myself.

And, the Toyota was eventually fixed, and eventually, I bought it off of my parents and drove it until the Summer of ’87, when once more it wound up on its side…this time it was parked in front of my apartment on Staten Island (having moved down the street from my sister, when I worked on Wall Street), and another driver backed into it, ending its valiant life!

As for my nieces, they are now adults with families of their own, and doing just fine; although, my older niece did flip over a Ford Aerostar when she was a teen, but maybe the experience in the Toyota helped her, as she and her passengers survived that crash with no problems.

Funny how life comes around like that…from time to time.

 

A depiction of the crash I drew shortly after the event.

“Let’s Go!”

Her voice haunts me…

It was kinda flat, but held a hint of false cheeriness. Professional, confident and yet, so very disconcerting. She was the voice of our recent vacation…which included a road trip through the Mid-South.

Once, it was more colorful: “Get back on the interstate, drive down three exits for Stubbville, bear right at the red barn, and then go straight for 2 miles and turn left at the Dairy Queen and you’ll be on State Road 101, it’ll wind through the hills for about 5 miles until you get to Wolfe’s Repair, with the old blue Impala up on blocks, and then you will make another left onto Henderson…etc.”

Sure, these directions were almost impossible to follow, but they were interesting.

Today, all we need to do in order to get lost is to type in the address and let an app like Waze or Google Maps guide us to our destination, using the most efficient route possible.

And it always begins with a cheery (but not too cheery) “Let’s go!”

On our recent trip the eponymous female voice of our GPS was there to guide us along our journey. It took us from Missouri, where we visited with friends, and then down through Branson, into Arkansas, and along scenic route 14 that skirted the Ozarks, including taking us to find a land-bridge that was not to be found.

Although we did find plenty of bug-bites.

Eventually, our GPS voice brought us back to the interstate and into Memphis; however, the character of the city was lost on her as she called out directions and route numbers. The expanse of the Mississippi went unnoticed as we crossed the arched bridge, as did the various landmarks and neighborhoods we passed by on our way to the motel.

While in Memphis, our GPS voice guided us impersonally along the city streets, as we visited the National Civil Rights museum, enjoyed some barbecue, visited Beale Street, the museum of Rock and Roll and the legendary Stax Record studios. At the studio, I got to see Isaac Hayes’ custom Cadillac, filled with all kinds of options, like a TV, cooler, and fur lined seats…but no GPS, and I figured that he never once missed it!

Isaac ALWAYS knew where he was going!

Our GPS lady also took us to a park along the river, where the bridges were lit up with dancing lights, which reflected off of the water, which shimmered in the fading daylight. It was a beautiful, warm night, but our GPS took no notice of the sights, the people wandering the park, or the music that drifted on the warm summer air all the way from the bars on Beale…it simply reeled off street names and told us to go left or right, and led us down dead-end streets before telling us to turn around.

While driving around Memphis, I was struck by the juxtaposition of having the streets and directions announced so coolly by the GPS, while experiencing them as so full of life and music.

When it was time to leave Memphis, our GPS directed us to the parking lot of Graceland and then off across Tennessee towards Nashville. Taking us away from the city of the Blues with her usual subdued enthusiasm by saying “Let’s go!”

She took us from the interstate and into the hills where we sought out a more scenic drive…but found that this part of Tennessee looks an awful lot like our part of Pennsylvania, so we asked our GPS to take us back to the interstate and on into Nashville!

On our way, we made a pit-stop at a “Visitor’s Center” to get our bearings and use the restrooms. It was in a small, brick building. It was nothing fancy, but it was clean and convenient. The staff of the center seemed friendly enough, asking where we were visiting from, and telling us about some scenic areas nearby; however, as I waited for my girlfriend to finish up in the restroom, I perused the books for sale in the lobby and noticed something interesting.

Most of the books were about Nathan Bedford Forest, and then I saw that there were pictures of him around the room, along with historical displays about his life and service during the war…and what he did later in life!

Although dulled from the road-trip, it did not take me long to realize that I was standing in a shrine to the General and his ‘great’ achievements!

Yes, I knew we were in Tennessee; however, standing in this shrine to the founder of the KKK left me feeling more than a little uncomfortable, and I was reminded that we cannot always judge a book by it’s cover, as the people I met there gave me no clue of their point of view – but then why would they, it was obvious to anyone who was paying attention.

While standing there looking at the propaganda, I did catch myself contemplating saying something about the books and displays…and their implications, but this thought passed quickly. Common sense then took over and made me see the wisdom of discretion in this case, and I waited until we were back in the car and driving away before mentioning anything to my girlfriend.

While she found the whole thing curious, our GPS voice had nothing to say about the matter, instead she obliviously guided us away from the shrine and towards Nashville.

During our time there, she continued to send us in circles (literally: as we were directed through a traffic circle about five times while touring some of the less touristy parts of the city), into some industrial areas, and back again past the Country Music Hall of Fame and Broadway.

Still and all, she was our companion as we learned by navigating the narrow and confusing streets of Music City – while we might have been misdirected, and gotten ourselves lost, she always brought us back home…including on the final leg of our southern journey, when she took us to the airport for the trip home.

She did not care that we were boarding a flight that would take us back to a reality that was waiting to hit us in the face with bad news (a tree about to fall, family illness, financial woes and major changes) she was just doing her job.

While she served us well as we traveled throughout the Mid-South, our GPS did so without much charm.

Relying upon the GPS was just one more way to isolate ourselves…to stay in our nice, air-conditioned cocoon. It almost makes me miss when I was a kid. Back then, a road trip meant piling into the big station wagon, with my brothers, a dog or two, and all the windows open. The wind would blow around the maps, comic books and snack wrappers all over the car, and make it almost impossible to hear each other – though not impossible to fight among ourselves!

Routes were plotted out on maps, and directions ask (grudgingly) of farmers or gas attendants, who gave us colorful descriptions of how to get to where we wanted to me.

It was also a way of making a connection with others that cannot be found via GPS.

That said, whether we get colorful directions from a local person, or from a cheery (almost) GPS voice…hearing those words can always incite a certain sense of adventure and excitement:

“Let’s Go!”