Category Archives: The Good Ol’ Days

Who Knows The Shadow?

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“Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows.”

I knew that phrase before I ever heard a single episode of that very popular crime show from the Golden Age of radio. My dad liked to use the phrase and he would tell me of those old, old days when families would gather around the radio to listen to shows like The Jack Benny Program, The Lone Ranger, Gunsmoke, and The Shadow. People would sit transfixed looking at their radios as though they were television sets. Seems odd, but it does make sense if you think of the radio as a storyteller. Where else would you look? You don’t want to be rude, do you?

In the early 1970s, radio technology had advanced some due to the transistor. Radios could be smaller and more affordable. And they could be placed under you pillow, so you could listen as you went to sleep. Each Sunday night, after Casey Kasem signed off his American Top 40 countdown, the local station would play some old radio shows from that bygone era. Oh, how I dug listening to them, especially The Shadow.

Radio was theater of the mind and in your mind could be found the most spectacular special effects, effects that are just now being approached by the best FX departments of Hollywood. But, through radio (and books, I suppose) when cued by the dialog as to what is going on, each listener’s view in their mind’s eye would be unique to them. That’s something the visual medium is only able to do by not showing something to the audience.

Suspenseful moments were all the more suspenseful because you couldn’t see what was happening. It was the “less is more” concept and it couldn’t be any other way on radio. Jack Benny’s pauses were funnier, Fibber McGee’s closet had so much more junk in it than could ever be shown, and The Shadow’s laugh was so much creepier and more menacing simply because the visuals were all in our heads. In film, the viewer can be shown everything, but good filmmakers know that to build suspense or the feelings of dread and terror not seeing something can be much more effective.

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That’s why The Shadow was so perfect for radio. Trained in the mystical arts of the Far East, Lamont Cranston had the ability to cloud men’s mind so that he could not be seen. He became a shadow whose sinister laugh would alert the bad guys of his presence. Like Batman (whose creators were greatly influenced by Cranston’s alter ego), the Shadow knew criminals to be a fearful and superstitious lot and his abilities made him an excellent crime fighter.

He was assisted by his “friend and companion” Margo Lane. She was the only other person to know Lamont’s secret identity. I have to wonder, since this was the late 1930s and Margo and Lamont were not married, were any of the more conservative listeners concerned about the nature of their relationship? I don’t recall there being any indication of romance between them. Hey! Men and women can work together without any hanky panky.

In 1935 the character of the Shadow started out as the voice that introduced the CBS radio program the Detective Story Hour, on which he would open each show saying, “Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows!” and then he’d laugh that terrifying laugh. Later, in 1937, CBS developed a crime drama with The Shadow as its lead character and it was a very young Orson Welles who provided the voice. Listening to Welles as Cranston and the Shadow it’s hard to believe he was only in his early 20s.

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A very young Orson Welles as the Shadow.

Those old radio shows were aired live and with very little rehearsal. Actors had to be able to act from the page after only gaining a very cursory view of the script before going to air. They didn’t have much to go on, but most shows went just fine. On one particular Shadow episode (Death From The Deep) there were a couple moments when Welles seems to step on his fellow actors’ lines, but he may have been going for dramatic effect.

There’s an entertaining conversation between Welles and Johnny Carson about the old days of live radio dramas and comedies. (You can check that out here.) In that conversation Carson mentions what a great medium for storytelling radio was and he’s so right. I suggest you go to YouTube and find and listen to a few of those old radio shows. Let your mind’s eye have a little fun.

And remember:

“The weed of crime bears bitter fruit. Crime does not pay. The Shadows knows!”

Packing Peanuts!

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Daa-aaaaa-aad!!

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Michael Noble returns this week with a guest blog. Last month he related a story of an odd school experiment he was part of as a kid. This time he relates an odd thought experiment he did on his kids. The story is from about eight years ago and he swears this conversation really did happen…

“So how was school?” I asked the younger of my two daughters.

“Okay,” she responded.

“Do you have a lot of homework today?”

“Yeah…”

“Tough stuff? Or is it pretty easy?”

“It’s not that big of a deal. But I need some colored markers to do a project. I have to color in some things for a history assignment.”

“We have plenty of crayons…”

“No. I need markers. Colored ones.”

“Oh. Well, there are colored pens you can use. I saw them in a drawer just the other day.”

“I can’t use those. I need markers. The big ones. And they need to be colored.”

“Why do they need to be colored?”

“For my project.”

“Did your teacher tell you this project needed to be colored?”

“No. That’s just the way I want to do it.”

By this point, my older daughter was intently listening to our conversation.

“Do you have money to purchase markers?” I continued.

“No. It’s your responsibility as the adult to buy them for me.”

“No, it’s not! My parents never bought me markers. I never needed to color anything for a project. Matter’a fact, we didn’t have markers with colors back when I was in school. We only had crayons if we wanted to color anything. And they were pretty expensive at the time, if memory serves. A lot of us couldn’t afford them. And those who couldn’t, like me, managed by creating our own primary colors.”

“Really? How did you do that?”

“Well, it was interesting and creative. We picked our noses and used the boogers for the color green. We poked our fingers with stick pins ’til they bled for the color red. And we peed to get the color yellow. Green, red and yellow. Primary as primary colors get.”

Boogers.

“Need more green!”

Dad… !!!” exclaimed my daughters in unison.

“Wow, that trumps the walking two miles uphill to and from school story,” the elder one noted.

“Hey, waitaminnit!” my younger daughter interjected. “Green isn’t a primary color! The primary colors are blue, red and yellow!”

“Well, that just goes to show you how old I am. When I was a kid, the color blue didn’t exist. Green was one of the original primary colors. When blue was invented it took over for green…”

Dad… !!!” they exclaimed in unison once again.

“I know!” I responded. “I was rather impressed people were willing to do that. Come to think of it, green was a very popular color back then.”

Thank you, Michael. And eeewwww. You can read more of his writing at hotchka.com.

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Who Was That Masked… Kid?

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Photo: Paul Moore/Getty Images/Hemera

Warehouse Find welcomes back guest blogger Michael Noble. Just in time for back-to-school, he relates the unusual tale of a strange (and would never be done today) experiment he was asked to take part in by the officials at his new school. Those were the days.

It was the mid-1970s. My family and I had recently relocated from the Los Angeles County suburb of Covina, California south by some dozen miles to the more upscale city of Hacienda Heights. It was summertime and we were at the tail end of a move, still in the middle of adjusting to a new home and excited about the the promise of a pool being dug into our new backyard. Soon my sister and I would be starting out in brand new schools. A rather exciting, somewhat anxious time.

The weeks went by, the pool was completed (we could hardly wait to make new friends at school and invite them over to swim!) and it was finally the first day of the new school year. I was entering the 8th grade at Mesa Robles, a mere couple blocks distant. My mother, sister, and I walked to school that morning.

My first day was something I’ll never forget, something you’ll never believe, something you’ll never hear word of ever again. Because in today’s day and age there is no possible way something like what I’m about to tell could ever take place again in the public school system.

Arriving at school with my mother, it was discussed with the principal, my new teacher and a few other adults I was to be the protagonist in a little school experiment, if I was willing. I was told I would don a hat, put a bandana across my face and brandish a toy pistol that shot caps. Dressed and brandishing these items I would run through my classroom firing the gun along the way from one end right on through to the exit opposite the room. The reason for this little display was to see how much of the excitement the students in the classroom could retain when a pop quiz was offered right after the stunt. What was I wearing? Did I say anything? How many times did I fire the gun?

I was positioned just outside the room and burst through the door five minutes after class had begun. Flinging open the door I yelled out “Nobody move!” and ran my way from one side to the other, continuously firing my pistol in the air. The time of completion for this little display couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen seconds tops. Outside the other door was an assistant who ushered me to another room while the surprised students were given their quiz by the teacher.

Later, I was escorted back so everyone could see what I was wearing (one of the questions) and who I was. I was introduced as a new student and told to take a seat. I remember I was slightly embarrassed after all was said and done. But I’d made an impression to be sure.

Now … can you imagine such a scenario played out today? Not in the least. Such an event would be absolutely verboten. It was forty years ago I was made to participate in that little exercise, something that will never be done ever again.

School in the ’70s was a simpler, more innocent affair, devoid of cell phones and internet, where drama played out as above was an event to be shared when you got home over dinner with your family.

I rather miss those days …

Thank you, Michael. You can read more of his work at hotchka.com.

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The Most Marvelously Monstrous Monster Models

 

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Photo credit: Boy’s Life Magazine

Here at Warehouse Find I’ve written about favorite toys of my youth (Hugo: Man of a Thousand Faces, GI Joe, Jarts, and Shogun Warriors), but I haven’t written about model kits from those days so long ago. I must admit I didn’t build many models back then. I still don’t, even though I have at least half a dozen just waiting to be worked on.

No, my older brother was the model-builder in those days. And he had some of the coolest model kits to ever be made. I’m specifically talking about a popular line of model kits featuring monsters and scenes of the macabre.

In the 1950s, TV stations in America began playing the old Universal Studios horror classics, giving those great old, scary movies new life. Kids all over the country discovered the greatness of horror filmdom’s golden age. Aurora Plastics Corporation had been making model kits for close to ten years; when, in 1961, they hit upon the brilliant idea of capitalizing on those horror films’ new-found popularity. They would issue a line of model kits based on those monsters.

Their first was Frankenstein’s Monster. He was soon followed by Dracula, the Wolf Man, the Mummy, the Creature, and the Phantom of the Opera. Those would be followed by other famous Universal monsters. Later came the giant monsters: King Kong, Godzilla, Rodan, and King Ghidorah. (Click here to get more information on these great monster models.) They were a roaring success with the young-uns!

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By the time I was a sentient kid, it was the 1970s. (I turned six in late 1970.) My older brother had found the 70s’ versions of Aurora’s monster models. Those models jumped on the “kids like things that glow in the dark” phenomena. They reissued their original kits with a second set of selected parts that could glow in the dark! It was a cool idea, but it didn’t always translate well.

It was evident I was in my budding years of a lifetime of pedantry, because even at that tender age I thought the glowing pieces that were hands and heads made sense on Dracula and the Phantom, but on the Wolf Man, King Kong, the Creature? And why would Dracula, Frankenstein’s Monster, and the Phantom have glowing shoes? Godzilla having a row of glowing fins on his back was cool and it made sense, but his having a glowing head, hands, feet, and a tail was silly.

Well, no matter. The models were excellent. I was so envious of my older brother’s collection.

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Photo credit: eBay

Years later, in the 1990s, another set of reissues of some of those models hit the market, this time they were put out by Monogram. They were part of the Luminators model kit series, models made of transparent plastic in neon colors. You could send away for a black light that would make those kits glow in the dark. But they didn’t look so good otherwise. I bought a set (Dracula, Frankenstein’s Monster, the Phantom, the Wolf Man, and the Mummy) anyway.

I put Dracula together first, without painting him. He was a bright yellow collection of plastic that vaguely resembled the great monster. It just wasn’t very impressive. Then I remembered the lesson taught to me by the original series of Jonny Quest in the episode The Invisible Monster: Paint will make it visible.

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Photo credit: Bill Jones

I took the old vampire apart and began anew. This time I would paint him. But it wouldn’t be the last time.

I put the other sets together, painting the parts as I went along. I had a limited palette consisting of only a few colors of model paint. Those paints were oil-based enamels that didn’t mix very well to create a greater variety of colors. Still I did my best and I thought I had done pretty well. I even showed them off to a few people, including my older brother. I put them proudly on display in my room and then didn’t think about them much again.

Until.

Until I made a visit to Chris Mars’ house. Chris Mars is the original drummer of the legendary Minneapolis rock band The Replacements. He is also a very talented artist. His paintings, although disturbing, are fantastic. He is also a good friend of my best friend, Dave. Chris was out of town and Dave was house-sitting when he invited me over for a couple movies and beers.

Let me tell you guys! Chris Mars has a very cool house. His being an artist and into old movie monsters made his house particularly interesting to me. He had all kinds of monster memorabilia, some of which he created himself. And there, in his living room, was his set of Aurora monster models. They were painted so exquisitely, I was positively awestruck.

I’m also an artist. I’m mainly a cartoonist, but I can do portraits and I’m not bad at illustration. I like to think I’m pretty good at the cartooning and portraits. That I’m a decent artist. But looking at Mars’ monster models put me to absolute shame. I felt embarrassed by the models of which I had held such pride.

Chris Mars, without being there, had shown me that I didn’t have to use model paint. He clearly didn’t and he worked with a far greater palette than I had. So, soon after my visit to the artist’s home, I was taking apart those five monsters, breaking out the acrylic paints I’d had since art school, and repainting. And I don’t think I did too badly.

More reissues were released and I picked up several of them. Of the ones I worked on, I started out doing them the right way. From the start. Those turned pretty darn OK, too.

Below are pictures (not the best quality) of the models I’ve completed. The first five are part of the Luminators reissues and they look much better painted.

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Look closely at Dracula’s right knee. You can see where the cape broke when I was taking it apart to repaint. This and the next four were the models I repainted after seeing Chris Mars’ collection.

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It was clear to me that this was the Monster from The Bride of Frankenstein, so I “muddied” it up a bit to match the look in the movie.

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A later version of the Wolf Man was more accurate to the movie versions by Lon Chaney Jr., but this one is still an awesome pose. I love the skull!

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It’s been suggested that this Phantom is based on James Cagney’s portrayal of the character as part of the Lon Chaney biopic Man of a Thousand Faces (1957).

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Cagney or…

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…Chaney? I think it might be based on Cagney.

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This is not Boris Karloff’s Mummy. It’s Lon Chaney Jr’s from The Mummy’s Tomb (1942) and The Mummy’s Ghost (1944).

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This is the first of the non-Luminators reissues I worked on.

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Other modelers have Ann facing away from Kong. I think, judging by the look on her face, it makes more sense to have her looking at her giant simian captor.

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Sorry about the poor focus of Rodan’s face. This broke as I was trying to get the picture. The overall design makes it prone to breaking this way, besides when put together Rodan’s face is positioned so far down it’s barely visible.

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Ghidorah is just a damn cool monster!

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And finally! The King of All Monsters!

Packing Peanuts!

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Another Example Of The Weirdness Of The 1970s

The 1970s was a weird decade. Well, I suppose every decade has its weirdness, but the ’70s definitely had its own special vibe. The fashions were pretty tacky. Even the most straight-laced looks just seemed slightly askew. Wide lapels, bell bottoms, platform shoes, ponchos, and everyone seemed to have long hair. Everyone except Telly Savales, that is.

And there were all those catch phrases pulled from popular television series. “Sit on it!” “Kiss my grits!” “Up your nose with a rubber hose!” “Dyn-O-Mite!” “Nanoo nanoo!” “Who loves you, baby?”

So many catch phrases.

There were mood rings. You could own a pet rock. You could track your bio-rhythms, while you read your daily horoscopes, which were so very important in the ’70s. (Of course, you know bio-rhythms and astrology are just a bunch of nonsense, right?)

It was also possible for a comedian to make a good living on just one joke. Remember Raymond J Johnson Jr? Mr. Johnson was a character played by Bill Sulga and he made a career out of telling people they didn’t have to call him Johnson. “You can call me Ray. Or you can call me Jay. Or you can call me Johnny…”

Now that’s comedy!

There was another person who gained world fame in that weird decade by using his one joke that consisted of essentially physically assaulting people. He was a comedian from England who, in the early ’60s, started working as a lighting technician in Australian television production. He soon made his way to performing characters on camera and became popular with fans. In 1970, he began co-hosting a children’s show and soon after came his “partner” in comedy – Emu.

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The man was Rod Hull. He began working with an unusual looking bird that was simply called Emu. Emus are large flightless birds found in Australia and are quite similar to ostriches. The feathered friend was a puppet made to look as though Hull was carrying it, while he operated its neck and head.

Emu had a foul (pun!) temper and it didn’t take much to set him off. Emu would savagely attack people, creating what has been called a kind of gleeful havoc. I mean that bird would really go after people. Often times, Hull, Emu, and the victim would end up in a heap on the floor. Emu’s attacks were startling and looked quite violent while, Hull, acting as a kind of wildlife expert, would appear to be futilely attempting to control the angry bird.

And it worked. People thought it was hilarious. Including those who were on the receiving end of the attack. And that was the key, I think. If those who were attacked reacted badly, Hull might have found himself in court or with a broken arm, which actor/comedian Billy Connolly did seriously threaten to do once and, thus, avoided being attacked. However, most victims played along. Some even had fun with it.

In 1974, Hull took this act to Saturday morning kids’ programming in America. He was a regular on the Hudson Brothers Razzle Dazzle Show. That’s where I first saw Hull and his maniac bird. And the routine was funny. And it’s really just one joke!

Hull was able to keep getting laughs from that one joke into the 1980s. I just saw, and this is what prompted me to write on this topic, Rod Hull and Emu’s appearance on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson from 1983. I gotta tell ya, Hull was fearless. He was told, by the production staff, to go easy on Johnny and to not go after Richard Pryor, who was also a guest on the show. But Hull (and Emu) understood the comedy is not in going easy. An attack is funny. An all out assault that puts Carson face down on his desk and Pryor on his back on the couch is hilarious! And to their credit, both victims were laughing through the whole bit. Click here to see what I’m talking about. And you can read an excellent behind the scenes account of that Tonight Show appearance here.

Yep. A lot of weird stuff occurred in the ’70s. And I’m kinda glad it did.

Packing Peanuts!

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Mars Ain’t The Kind Of Place For St. Paul Kids

The legendary Minneapolis nightclub First Avenue & 7th Street Entry might just be the best nightclub in the world. Well, I can’t say that for sure, because I haven’t been to many other nightclubs and I haven’t been to First Avenue for a couple years now. And I’m not certain about how the club was before I started frequenting it in the mid-80s, but from what I’ve learned from my elders, it was a pretty damn cool place when it opened in 1970 as The Depot right on through its name changes (Uncle Sam’s then Sam’s finally First Avenue) and to today.

I do know its better than at least one nightclub in New York City. Actually, maybe I don’t. I’ll try to make that clear in a moment.

It was the early 90s when two friends of mine (John and David) and I went on a road trip out East. A week-long, whirlwind trip driving through several states and in and out of Canada. We didn’t stay very long in any one place. We were on the move. We had plenty to see.

The main plan was to go to a record store in Lowell, MA. It was called RRRecords and it was David’s choice of destination. But, along the way there and back, we figured we might as well check out a couple other places of interest. Toronto, Niagara Falls, Boston, the Atlantic coast, and New York City made the secondary list of destinations. We ended up scratching Boston off the list to extend our time in NYC.

Our visit to NYC was the longest stay in any of our points of interest. We spent a day and a half in the Big Apple. The first evening, we shuttled in from Newark, NJ, where we had our motel room, to catch a few sites and reconnoiter for our planned full day assault the following day. That evening we had a couple beers at a bar called Downtown Beruit, had a slice or two of authentic NY-style pizza, and went up to the observation deck of the Empire State Building.

The plan for the next day was to go into town in the morning and spend the entire day seeing as many of the sites as we could. We rode the subway, walked through Central Park, laid on benches at the base of the World Trade Center, visited the Guggenheim gift store (the museum was closed), and valiantly searched for public restrooms. You’d think a city that size would have more public restrooms. 800 million people and only one restroom for public use. (That’s professional hyperbole, folks.)

The plan for the evening was to find a nightclub and stay until closing (5am) and then find some other place to hang out until the first shuttle brought us back to Newark.

John was the main planner of the trip, so he busied himself scouring the free weekly papers for an interesting club at which to spend the night. He found one that touted itself as consisting of five or six stories of dance floors, each offering different genres of danceable tunes. Sounded cool to us.

We worked our way over to the part of town where this club was situated and along the way we stopped in several of the excellent specialty shops New York had to offer. And in these shops were stacks and stacks of cards and flyers for nightclubs, all offering some special deal if you brought that card with you: Free cover or a free drink, something like that. The clubs were just begging for our business. The club John had found was right in there begging along with the rest of them.

So, we got to this multi-floored haven of entertainment, but it wasn’t quite opening time yet. Just along side the club was an empty lot, so the three of us sat there, our backs leaning against the building. In the corner of the lot, about 30 feet from where we sat was a sizable pile of rubble. It was a pile of bricks, busted up cinder blocks, broken bottles, cans, twisted rebar, and a few tires. There was something else about that rubble pile: It was crawling with rats. Quite a few.

Occasionally, a rat would skitter its way along the base of the wall in our direction. We’d toss a few rocks or broken bottles or bricks, whatever was handy, in its direction and that would send it scurrying back to the pile. It was kinda fun. I don’t think we actually hit any of the critters, but we did get one to jump pretty high.

The three of us had made it a point to do our best to not look like tourists on this trip. We didn’t even bring cameras. We wanted to blend in. However, John and I each had a shopping bag containing items we had purchased that day. We figured we’d just check them in at the coat check once we got in this magical club.

But the wheels in John’s head were turning and he hit upon an idea that would keep us not looking like tourists and save us a couple bucks.

“Jim,” he said.

“Yeah, John,” I replied.

“No one in their right mind would think of approaching that rubble pile covered in rats, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, wouldn’t that make it the perfect place to hide these bags. There’s no food in them, so the rats wouldn’t be interested and we wouldn’t have to pay the coat check.”

“John, I think you have something there.”

And that’s what we did. We threw rocks at the pile and scared off the rats. We then dropped our bags into the center of an old tire and quickly retreated, letting the rats guard our goods. We then went around to the front door as opening time was upon us.

Several bouncers came out and set up barricades to keep an open area at the front and help direct the customers into the club. The doors opened. No one was allowed in. The three of us weren’t the only ones waiting and more people began to gather. No one was allowed in.

Two “club kids” sauntered up to the doors and in they went. The crowd continued to gather and wait as a few more “club kids” arrived and were ushered right in.

The bouncers just stood and acted as though we weren’t even there.

And still we waited.

There were far more people waiting outside than had been allowed into the club. There were plenty of paying customers waiting to get in and spend their money, but still we waited. It was getting ridiculous.

Remember, this was the early 90s. The Disco hey days of Studio 54 were long gone, but the bouncers picking the “right” people to go in attitude was still in play. “Hey! You guys are begging for business! We have your free cover offers! Let us in!”

I’m not sure how long we put up with this, but eventually John and David turned to me and said, “Screw these guys! If we leave now we can catch the last shuttle back to Newark. Should we go?”

“Yep. Screw these guys.”

John and I retrieved our stuff from the rats’ nest. John made me grab my own bag, even though he got to the pile first and could easily have grabbed it himself. Thanks, John.

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Under the eyeballs is where we sat with the rats.

I haven’t mentioned the name of the club, because over the years my certainty of the name has faded. I had thought it was called Mars, but I wasn’t sure. However, it turns out my memory is correct.

Last month, a friend of mine spotted a short video biography of musician/DJ Moby. In it Moby takes viewers on a tour on NYC and shows what had become of some of his favorite places. One of those places was a nightclub which, in 1989, was where he got his first job as a DJ. It was called… Mars! In the video, you can see the wall we sat by waiting for the club to open. You can’t see the rats, though.

I was able to find a Facebook group page populated by people who either worked or hung out at Mars. The picture I’ve posted of the club from those days comes from that page and seeing it confirmed that that was the club. I recognize the “medallions” on the doors.

Before I sign off, I do have a question for those Mars bouncers.

Do you know what the bouncers at First Avenue & 7th Street Entry do with the gathered crowd waiting to get in when the club opens its doors?

They let the people in.

Packing Peanuts!

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My Favorite Band?

Over the last couple of days, on the Facebook, people have been posting lists of ten musical artists they have seen in concert, with one entry being a lie. Those willing to participate were challenged to guess which of the ten their Facebook friend hadn’t seen. In my enthusiasm, I posted two lists.

List one:
Let’s Active
Reverend Horton Heat
Johnny Thunders
Liz Phair
Buzzcocks
The Screaming Blue Messiahs
Pretenders
Rush
The Guess Who
Hunters & Collectors

List two:
The Fleshtones
The Screaming Tribesmen
David Byrne
Stereolab
Jefferson Starship
Kansas
Pete Townshend
Duran Duran
Husker Du
Skinny Puppy

A lot of folks hopped on and had some fun with this latest social media meme. A few cynics lashed out. And a special few made rather clever and funny parody lists. My favorite was a list of ten chemicals – “one of them is a lye.” Get it?

My first list reminded me of a night from the summer of 1984. I went with a group of high school buds, all Class of ’83, to The Cabooze to see The Guess Who. It turned out to be a night of inebriated over-enjoyment of that middle-of-the-road, classic rock band from Canada.

The Cabooze is an interesting and intimate live music club in Minneapolis. It’s not as famous as the legendary First Avenue & 7th Street Entry, but it is a good place to watch a band play. The layout of the venue is unconventional. It’s long and narrow, much like a caboose. Cabooze. Get it? Its stage was not much more that four feet high and it isn’t very deep, so larger bands tend to get rather cramped in when they perform.

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Galactic performing before a packed house at The Cabooze 4/11/07. Photo by Cory Funk.

But the audience can get right up there. Right up close. Very intimate.

Well, that summer night not only offered the finest of classic rock from the Great White North, it was also two-for-one beer night. For some reason, the fellows I was with would give me their free beers. Now, I won’t say I got hammered, but I was a little lit up by the time the band took the stage.

This being the summer of ’84, I had been through my first year of art school. Halfway through that year, I had embraced the punk/post punk/Mod/Gothic music scene and I had begun to dress and wear my hair unconventionally. I was breaking away from my high school identity and stretching out to express and explore my weirdness.

I had also started going to concerts at which slam dancing (I hate the term moshing) was likely to happen. And I enjoyed getting into the pit and flailing around. In my drunkenness, I brought a little of that enjoyment to the floor in front of the stage as The Guess Who played hit after hit. Now, I wasn’t exactly being violent. It’s just that, in my enthusiasm for hearing those familiar tunes, I began to be less considerate of the folks around me and I bumped into them as I danced around.

Before my friends could settle me down, two dudes, not bouncers, who were there to enjoy the show gently took me aside. They were actually pretty cool about it. As I recall, they told me they appreciated the fact I was really enjoying the show, but I was getting out of hand and being a bit of a jerk to those around me. Honestly, I hadn’t even thought about it. I wasn’t trying to be a jerk, but in my buzzed state I hadn’t noticed that’s exactly what I was.

I apologized to the fellows and I settled down. Everyone was then able to enjoy the show. And I didn’t get beat up.

As the band’s set was coming to an end they played their song Share The Land. At the end of the song, most of the instrumentation dropped away and they harmonized the line “shake your hand, share the land.” While they did so the band members reached out to shake hands with the fans.

Two guesses as to who the two dudes were who climbed over my back and the backs of others in front of me to get their hands shook. Yep. They were my two advisors on public etiquette. How ironic.

From that night and for years after, my friend John, who was one of the people before whom I had drunkenly over-enthused myself, took to referring to The Guess Who as my favorite band.

Well, they were that night.

Oh! The two musical artists I haven’t seen in concert are Liz Phair and Pete Townshend.

Packing Peanuts!

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