Husky Stadium Will Never Be the Same

Wow, it's been almost 5 months since I have posted on my blog. I should get busy.

This is a letter to the editor that I sent to the Seattle Times. I don't really care if they print it or not. It is just something I felt like writing....

HUSKY STADIUM WILL NEVER BE THE SAME


In a few days, the Washington Huskies will host the Oregon Ducks in newly renovated Husky Stadium. It is going to be a Pac-12 North showdown with conference and national title implications. There will be a lot said in the coming days about how the Ducks have dominated this rivalry over the past 9 seasons and how the Huskies have finally turned the corner and are looking to announce their return to the college football conversation.

Even though I am a Duck fan, and I will obviously root for the Ducks to make this a "10-win-in-a-row" outcome, I can honestly say that I am happy that the Huskies are enjoying this long-overdue success. I know this probably sounds weird, but I really do believe that a strong Washington team, strong Oregon schools, along with the recent success of Stanford, make for a stronger Northwest football landscape not to mention making a stronger case for the Pac-12 on the national scene.

But it isn't success on the football field nor the pomp and circumstance of the new stadium that are the reasons why I am writing today.

I am not trying to stir the pot of a heated rivalry.

No pre-game predictions.

No "what-if" scenarios.
                                                                                                                                                               The real reason that I am writing today is to draw the attention of Husky nation to something that many of you probably don't know: Husky Stadium will never be the same.

Yes, you know that there are new seating options, luxury boxes, a new turf, and athletic facilities. The $280 million renovation looks great, and I for one do not begrudge the University for undertaking this endeavor. It was probably long overdue. What you are probably not aware of is that 2 long-time Husky fans will not be attending  games this season. They are not long-time financial boosters, they're not alumni, and like many fans, they likely faded into the the blur of purple and gold every Saturday, never standing out from any of the thousands of other Husky faithful.

The first of these two is Richard Richmire. I had the honor of meeting Mr. Richmire in 2008 right before the game between the Ducks and the Huskies. At that time I had known his son, Eric Richmire for about 6-7 months as I hired Eric to come and work with me at Fairchild Air Force Base earlier in the year. I ran the Youth Programs section there and at the time, Eric was splitting his time running Youth Sports and the Teen Center on base. Eric was a huge Husky fan, having grown up in Issaquah and attending many games with his Dad.  I don't know how many games in all that they attended over the years, but I do know that his Dad had season tickets and he was a regular.

My office at Fairchild was adorned with Duck paraphernalia and Eric and I had a lot of fun with good natured banter back and forth. We loved to talk about college football and a variety of other sports. The weekend of that game, Eric and I drove from Spokane to Seattle together. We stopped in Ellensburg and I introduced Eric to my Dad and Step-mom. Later that day we continued the drive to Seattle and I dropped him off at his Dad's house in Issaquah. As soon as I met his dad, I knew that this was a person that I would enjoy being around. His laughter and humor were infectious and I could easily see where Eric got his zest for life.

The next day was game day. Eric and His Dad picked me up a few hours before kick-off and we headed to a "secret" parking spot close to the stadium where we enjoyed a small tailgating party prior to heading off to the game. Keep in mind that this was a little bit of an odd site: Me decked out in my Ducks jersey with Eric, his dad, and his dad's girlfriend decked out in U-dub gear. Sharing a meal and beverages, laughing and having a good time, it's not natural! We finished our meal and headed down the sidewalk to the stadium. This was my first time in Husky Stadium and I was pretty excited. I took a few comments from die hard fans on the way to the stadium, but knew enough to just keep my mouth shut and enjoy the day. When we got closer to the stadium, Eric and I had to look for some tickets. His Dad and girlfriend were using the season tickets. It didn't take long to find some decent seats. We parted ways and headed to the stands. At half-time, Eric wanted to go check on his dad. We left our seats and stopped off at the restroom first. Little rubber ducks in the urinal!! Very funny....

Eric said that it would be best if I didn't go with him, that the section that we would go thru could be pretty rough as it was right near the student section. I thought about it for a second and decided that I would take a chance. We navigated our way to a section that was directly behind the Student Section on the North-side. See, Eric's dad was disabled and confined to a wheel chair. His season tickets were in this reserved section. A place for him, and a person who could sit in a folding chair beside them. They were awesome seats with a great view. We said hi, and talked about the fist half highlights a bit. At that point it was still a close game, the outcome could go either way. We said our goodbyes, established a post game meeting point, and Eric and I returned to our seats. In the third quarter the Ducks exploded and by the start of the 4th, the outcome was pretty much decided. After the game we headed back to the car, Eric's dad drove us to an awesome tavern/restaurant near Freemont where we had an early dinner, and watched some games on their big screens before they dropped me off at the place I was staying. The next morning I picked Eric up and we headed back to Spokane. I think it was a long ride for him, and I purposefully discussed everything else but football. That's ok. I had bragging rights for another year.

Over the course of the next couple years, Eric's Dad developed a very aggressive case of brain cancer. Richard had battled cancer earlier in his life and it had gone into remission. Now it was back with a vengeance. The tumors were many, and the options were few. Over the course of several months, Eric assisted his dad with doctor's appointments, treatments, dealing with some doctors in the Seattle area that were simply amazing, and others that seemed not to have a clue. From my understanding, some of what they (the doctors) were seeing and dealing with was new and could possibly be used as case study. At one point, in the early fall of 2011, it seemed like there had been significant progress. The treatments appeared to slow the progress of the tumors, Richard was stronger than ever, and the outlook for the immediate future looked bright.

That fall, the Ducks were back in Husky Stadium to play UW. Eric was planning on attending with his Dad and I picked up 2 tickets from Stub Hub. This year I purposefully got seats in the visitor's section. Not nearly as good a view of the field, but I did feel a little safer in the company of my feathered friends. My wife Tonya attended the  game with me and we enjoyed the evening (other than the bus fiasco trying to get back to our parking lot). Prior to the game, I had texted Eric a couple of times and we made arrangements to meet at halftime. I asked my wife if she wanted to go, and she declined, not wanting to battle the crowds. I made my way down to the student section, braved a couple hecklers, but finally made my way to their seats. I think that being in the company of purple clad fans helped my cause. Richard looked good, his face full of color and enjoying the evening. This was the last game that was being played in Husky stadium this year, and construction would get underway immediately. Eric thanked me for coming down to see his dad. He said that it had meant a lot to both of them. I told him I wouldn't have missed it for the world.

In hind-sight, I wish I would have convinced Tonya to come with me to meet Eric's Dad. I know she would have liked him as much as I did. To the best of my knowledge, that was the last game that Richard attended. In the Spring of 2012 he succumbed to the cancer that literally ate away at his spinal cord and his brain stem.

I only had the pleasure of being in his company on 2 occasions, both of them at Husky stadium. But as I mentioned earlier, I was honored to get the chance to meet him. His outlook on life was always positive and I know he was fighting until the end. I prayed for Richard a lot during that time frame. I don't know if he believed in God, or Heaven. I am not going to sit here and offer up a non-comforting cliche  like "he's in a better place." I just don't know. What I do know though, is that he isn't in any more pain from that crap.

In September of 2012 I left Fairchild AFB and took a job at Spangdahlem Air Base in Germany. I left the Youth Program at Fairchild in the very capable hans of Eric, as the program began a search for the next director. Eric inherited his Dad's season tickets, and although he had to be relocated to a different area of the stadium, I know that he and his new fiancé planned to make it to a few games during the season. In 2012, the Huskies played their home games at Century Link field while Husky Stadium renovations continued. Eric and I shared a few emails back and forth over the next few months. Some were about work, but most were about football.

I came back to Spokane for Christmas and stayed through the new year. I stopped into the Youth Center to visit with Eric and my former staff. They all seemed to be doing great. I was home long enough to see all the bowl games, including the Huskies playing Boise State in Las Vegas, and the Ducks play in the Fiesta Bowl (both on T.V. of course). I shared a couple of texts with Eric during the UW bowl game. Even though he was frustrated at the outcome, I could tell that he was more optimistic about the Huskies future than he had been in recent years.

My vacation time over, I headed back to Germany in early January. A few months went by and in March, my wife came to visit me for a couple weeks. I surprised her with an impromptu visit to Venice. While there, we were staying in contact with our daughter, Ana who was back in Spokane. One day we received a facebook message from her. She said that some woman had called her and said that Mr. Eric had passed away. At first, I thought someone had  made a mistake. My wife thought that it might have been someone from her side of the family, because she has a cousin named Eric. As it turned out, it was Eric Richmire that had passed away.

Needless to say, like many people I was in shock and disbelief. Eric was a very healthy young man, married less than two weeks earlier, and like his father before him, full of life and vigor. I don't know the official cause of death, but I was told that he died from an enlarged heart. Regardless of what it was, it was unfair and it is still hard to believe. I have known people over the years that have passed away, but for many reasons, this one is hard to accept. I still can't seem to grasp the fact that it has happened. I think that as this year's football season is getting underway, it is finally hitting me that there is an emptiness to it all. Eric wasn't a philanthropist, he wasn't some crusader of a cause, I can't even tell you that he was even my best friend. That would be a lie. What I can tell you is that he was a great guy, a good friend, and he enjoyed life to the fullest. He did have a BIG heart and I will miss him.

Husky fans: Your new stadium looks great, your team has started off very well and I wish you luck for the 2013 season. All except one game of course. But keep in mind, this stadium lost two huge supports. It doesn't matter how flashy it looks, how many padded leather chairs there are or how many 4-star recruits the new digs will help attract. The simple truth is that this place will never be the same. Please do me a favor: Don't let those fellow die hards just fade into obscurity and into another blur of purple and gold. That person to your left or right is someone's brother, someone's father, someone's son...and you never know when they'll be seeing their last game.

5@50 "Moonflower & the Meer cats"

I bet if you thought about it, you can remember how your taste in music was developed. I am not referring to the nursery rhymes or other such stuff that you listened to as a young child, but how you began to develop your likes and dislikes of music in general. For example, I am sure that you remember listening to music that your parents listened to, whether it was in the home or in the car. Influenced by friends and other family members, maybe a cousin or an older sibling. Even if it was something that you wouldn't listen to today, I am sure that you would still know the words, the melody, etc., and it could easily transport you back to a time frame of your youth.

When I was younger and hanging out with my friends, my early musical tastes were heavily influenced by what my friends listened to. At first it was the Jackson 5. Everything about them exuded "cool" and we listened to them every chance we could. We’d listen to them on 45’s, on the radio and sometimes on the TV (usually American Bandstand and Soul Train). Then it was Elton John. If I remember correctly, it was Elton's "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" album that we first started listening to. Then it was KISS and everything associated with them. From there it just blossomed into all sorts of stuff. But in the earlier days it was all about that one band or that one performer that we all liked more than any others in the moment. My own personal tastes tended to lean towards anything that was rock & roll and away from everything that was anything but. No easy listening, no adult contemporary, no country, etc., and disco was the enemy, pure and simple.

As our musical tastes began to develop and grow away from any one specific band or performer, one band that started to draw our attention was Santana. Sal was given a copy of "Moonflower" on cassette tape, and he used to play it continuously. This is still one of my favorite albums to this day, and I have owned it myself on album, Cassette, CD, and now on an iPod. Anyway, Sal had this really big boom box, I mean really BIG. It had twin cassette players, a radio, probably 4-6 speakers and it rocked. It probably took 8-10 "D" sized batteries and I remember that when we went outside, he had to be careful not to run the tape player for very long or else it would run the batteries down too quickly. Just imagine the picture of someone walking down the street with this huge boom box sitting on their shoulder and you have a picture of Sal leading the rest of us like the Pied Piper.

One of the places that we used to play was near the basketball courts and tennis courts of Potrero Heights elementary school. Even though the school was right next to our houses, the courts were quite a distance from our street. To get there you had to go through the upper fields and playgrounds, over a fence, and through another ball field and playground. These courts were clear on the other side of the school from where we lived. In fact, it was probably the length of 3-4 football fields away with the school building in between.

Now Sal & Sebastian's mom had this incredibly loud whistle. Not the kind of whistle that you use for sports, or a dog. I mean the kind of natural whistle that you do yourself. This is what she used to get their attention and call them home.  Before long, we all kind of got trained to respond to "The Whistle," like some “pavlovian” experiment. No matter where we were, if that whistle sounded, we knew what it meant: It was time to head home and to do it fast!  Keep in mind that Ronnie and I didn't need to leave wherever it was that we were playing. But, we were the four amigos, so if 2 of us had to go home, the other two would typically follow. Plus, it would not be uncommon for one of our parents to enlist the whistle in an attempt to get us back home too.

So there we were, playing basketball, listening to Santana on Sal's boom box and having a great time. Suddenly Sal & Sebastian stopped what they were doing and turned their heads in the direction of home. "Shhhh!!" They said. "What is it?" we asked. "I think I heard Mom's whistle," he said.

"No way!" I said. "There is no way that you heard your mom's whistle all the way down here while we are playing basketball and cranking Santana on the box."

Sal went over to the boom box and turned it off. "Shhhh!" he said again. We waited, we listened, and sure enough there it was. “The Whistle." Like a bunch of trained Meer cats we bolted upright, turned our heads in the direction of home and just stared. It only lasted for a brief moment, but we immediately sprang into action, gathered all our stuff. Ronnie got his basketball and we helped Sal lift the boom box up onto his shoulder, and away we went. Like I said, we didn't have to leave, but we stuck together. We knew that if the whistle sounded and if they didn’t respond, someone would get in trouble and be grounded. That meant no friends, period. And when something negative happened to one of us it usually affected all of us. 4 Amigos. 4 Musketeers.

4 Meer cats listening to Santana's Moonflower, playing basketball and waiting for the whistle.

4@50 Arroyo Drive Pt 2 "Drains, Driftwood, & The Dog Lady."

So a little more about the neighborhood on Arroyo Drive.

As I mentioned in my last blog, across the street from where we lived on Arroyo Drive was a large hilly area of land that belonged to a cemetery. At the time we were growing up, the cemetery was nowhere near where it is now and it is obvious that it has expanded quite a bit in the last 33 years. I am guessing that more people died, but I could be wrong.

One day, when we were exploring the hills, there was this woman walking through the hills and she had 2 very large German shepherd dogs. She did not say anything to us, but she looked really mean. She had this scowl on her face and she was looking at us like we were doing something wrong and were up to no good. Even though she was probably right, she didn't have to be so mean about it. We saw her on and off throughout the years, and we (dis)affectionately dubbed her "The Dog Lady." It was always the same, she would be walking to or from the 7-11 store that was down the street, always with her dogs, and she would either come down out of the hills, or head back up through the hills. We always thought that she lived beyond the cemetery and was just using the hills as a shortcut to get to the store.

For a while, even long before the development of Astra Drive, there wasn't anything across the street in either direction. In fact, the first development project was  a large apartment complex that was down the street a few blocks. But even before this there was nothing but hills. You could actually walk all the way across the hills up to the fence line of the Pomona freeway and come back home by following the fence line on the backside of the cemetery.

I didn't really realize this as a kid, and it suddenly dawned on me later on as an adult, but Arroyo Drive was/is aptly named. Arroyo in Spanish means "brook" or more accurately a "wash" or dry creek bed that will suddenly fill with water after a significant downpour. Wikipedia says that this would be synonymous to a Wadi in Africa or a Spanish 'rambla.' Let me tell you, there are times in Southern California that when the rain comes down, it comes down in buckets, and Arroyo Drive would experience flash flooding. The area right in front of our house was notorious for flooding since it was the perfect confluence of hills on both sides, a significant rise in elevation if you turned right and drove away from our house, and a slight rise in elevation after you passed by the area that eventually would become Astra Drive. Again, for a visual, you might want to check this out on Google Earth.

Anyway, in my early years when the area flooded the water didn't have anywhere to go. There wasn't a storm drain system (yet), so the water just stayed there until it was absorbed into the ground. For kids this was great fun. We waded through the water, splashed each other, and sometimes made small, makeshift boats and then bombed them with rocks. But the best fun came when we were a little older and we noticed that some people would try to drive through the water. Some of them made it but most of them didn't. Eventually their cars would stall and there we were, eager to lend a helping hand -- for a fee! We would walk up to them and offer our services, usually $5 or $10 bucks would get you pushed clear of the water and off to the side of the road. If someone declined we would politely say ok and then turn and walk away. Most of the time they would give in and call us back, but sometimes there was the occasional person that would make the mistake of opening their car door and then curse as water poured into their vehicle. After a few days the water would recede and then there would be a ton of mud and debris in the street and across the street in the hills.

Eventually the city or county built storm drains to handle the flooding. This probably coincided with the development of the housing areas in the neighborhood. Oak Hills apartment complex had a huge inlet pipe that was directly below the hill that the apartments were on, and this faced the hills that were owned by the cemetery. The pipe was big enough that we could walk into it and explore underground for several hundred yards in about 3 different directions. In hindsight, it was probably stupid to go into those drains, but with a flashlight and a little nerve, it was an adventure.

The area directly across the streets from our house and leading right into the storm drain typically looked like a dry riverbed most of the year. Even though the storm drains helped to reduce the flooding, it didn't stop the accumulation of debris. In fact, a large amount of debris would get caught up on the grate that covered to drain inlet. At least the grate that was there most of the time. :-) 

Surprisingly, a lot of the debris was wood. Sticks, branches, limbs, and a lot of this wood was rather large. I am not sure where it all came from, but it would definitely accumulate in large quantities. We called it driftwood even though there wasn't an ocean closer than 30-40 miles away. Of course we had to do something with the driftwood, but what? Well, what do you usually do with driftwood? You make a Bon Fire!! Somehow, I was always tasked with getting the fuel to light the fires with. Either matches or a lighter from my house, and the gas can that we used for the lawn mower. One time we decided that having a bon fire in the middle of the day was no fun, so we waited until later when the sun went down. It wasn't really dark, but it was dark enough so that the flames were significantly brighter.

So, there we were, Sal, Sebastian, Ronnie and I sitting on driftwood chairs, watching the flames, reveling in our bon-fire making skills and just enjoying the evening. Wouldn't you know it, that's when the fun ended. We started to hear some screaming. No, not screaming. More like yelling. Someone was mad, but I couldn't hear what they were saying. I looked back in the direction of our homes and didn't see a parent. That was good, because they didn't really know what we were up to and frankly they wouldn't have approved.

Then Sal saw it first and pointed. It was definitely the source of the anger and the yelling and I have to be honest here: this was one of the most frightening sights I have ever seen. There, on the other side of the bon fire up on the side of the hill was "The Dog Lady." At first I could barely make her out between the flames. I had to move my head from one side to the next to be sure I was seeing correctly. Sure enough, there she was staring right at us and yelling something indecipherable. She was flanked by both of her dogs and I could swear they were growling and drool was dripping off of the corners of their mouths. The light from the fire illuminated their three faces and shadows were dancing across the hillside all around them. Her shadow and the shadows of her two dogs stretched up the hillside making them look much bigger and ominous then they really were.  It looked evil. Then it dawned on me why I couldn't understand what she was saying. It was German. She was yelling at us in German and she was pissed off. She probably thought we were going to start a massive brush fire and I really can't blame her. She was probably right. I really wasn't thinking it through that far though. I was just terrified. It was like something from a terrible WWII movie and I thought that the evil Nazi dog lady was going to release her dogs at any moment and they would rip us to shreds.

We decided to make a run for it back home, and we took off. Right before we got to our homes we looked back and she was gone. She had disappeared into the darkness of the hills. Either that or she went to get a Slurpee.

We got some buckets of water, returned to the bon fire and put it out. I am pretty sure that was the last bon fire we ever made over there. We continued to see the dog lady every once in a while. She never spoke to us, but always gave us the dirty looks. At one point we never saw her again. One time, when we were exploring in the hills we found a place in one of the gullies that looked like someone had made a little cave. There was garbage all over the area. Empty food containers and tin cans, old clothes and blankets. It looked like someone that had been homeless had lived there. I am not sure if it was her, but there was a good chance that it was. If it was her home, I imagine that she probably kept the dogs for protection as much as intimidating little boys.

3@50: Arroyo Drive, Pt 1 "Astra Lizards & The Old Oak Tree"

My apologies in advance for the length of this one...

In South San Gabriel where I grew up, we lived on Arroyo Drive. As a boy it was an extremely cool place to grow up with adventures abounding in all directions.

The road that our house was on was fairly unique, in that it wasn't a typical tract home neighborhood that you would find in a suburb of Los Angeles. Our road didn't even have a name really. It extended up a small hill and as you drove up the hill there were 4 houses on the left hand side. At the top of the hill was my grandparent's house, but before you reached that house, the pavement of the road ended and gave way to a gravel drive that looped all the way around the back of their house and past another building that housed the business operations of my grandparent's trucking company. If you continued on straight up the hill around the house and the business, you would pass by the house on your left, the gravel road looping around to the left and eventually you would come back around to meet the pavement again.

To the right of the gravel driveway opposite my grandparents’ house was Potrero Heights elementary school. To the rear of my grandparent’s business was a lot where they parked the delivery vans of the company and beyond that was a little green house that my family lived in after we moved to So Cal when my parents divorced. I was a little bit older than 3 when this happened, so 1966ish. If my older siblings or parents read this they will probably correct me on the dates, but what the heck, I was 3!!

To the left of my grandparents’ house and our row of houses was an empty field that belonged to a nursery owner whose business was on the next street up from ours (Hill St.) and ran parallel to Arroyo Drive. For the longest time there was nothing but another empty field to the right of our row of houses too. This empty field butted up next to the property of Potrero Heights elementary where a chain-link fence separated the school's playground from the empty field. This empty field occupied what is now Astra Drive, and the lower portion of Potrero Heights Park. Across the street on Arroyo drive was a seemingly endless playground of rolling hills, gullies, trees and bushes. This was a land that held many an adventure. Beyond that area, heading west, was a cemetery and the cemetery actually owned all of that land up to the edge of arroyo Drive.  If you have Google Earth, you can search this address and see the area that I am talking about - 7959 Arroyo Drive, South San Gabriel California. It still bears resemblance to the way it was back then, with some differences. The cemetery has expanded and destroyed adventures, an apartment complex was built up on the other side of the cemetery (actually this was done way before the cemetery expansion), and then there was the development of Astra Drive.

Astra Drive was a new area of houses that was built up next to our road, and literally wiped out a great area for playing and exploring. I really had this love-hate relationship with the development of Astra Drive. On the one hand it meant the destruction of a great place to play, but it also created some new, if not entirely "legal" forms of adventures. Before the construction of the new housing development, this was our primary area to play when we were growing up. Of course, when I say "we" I am referring to my best friends growing up, Salvador (Sal or "Little" Sal), his brother Sebastian, and Ronnie. There were also times that we would play over here with my sisters. Most often that would have been my sister Jessie, who was the closest in age to me and my friends. All of my sisters were older than me and they typically had more important things to do than run around in dirt fields with their little brother.

In the middle of this field was this huge tree. We all called it the "Old Oak Tree" although I have no idea if it was an oak tree or not. The tree was a source of numerous games and activity. It was great for climbing, there was a tire swing that devolved into simply a rope swing, and its large branches were a good place to take refuge if the tree needed to be defended by attacking "hordes" with wooden swords. Sometimes these wooden swords were the marker stakes that I mentioned in a previous post. Now that I think about it, maybe I was subconsciously trying to delay the inevitable development of my neighborhood by causing the engineers to make multiple trips to the construction sites. Hmmm, I wonder if the cost overruns pissed anyone off.

Anyway, "progress" eventually won out and our land was leveled and razed by bulldozers and men in hardhats. The result was a new set of tract homes set around a cul-de-sac named Astra drive. Without exception, the entire population of families that moved into Astra Drive homes was Asian. We tried to befriend one boy who was our age, and whose house was, sort of, right next to our road. We played a few times, but eventually he never really did play with us anymore. It might have just been a cultural thing, but I don't think his mom liked us very much. When I say that their house was sort of next to ours, what I really mean is that their house, and the houses on either side of theirs, towered over our road. What happened is this: The developers built this cinder block retaining wall right up next to the pavement of our road and in some places, this was at least 6-8 feet high and extended all the way from Arroyo Drive up to the corner of the elementary school property. Initially, they built chain link fences on top of the brick wall and these fences marked the borders of their back yards. The effect was somewhat disturbing as these homes and their yards literally looked down on top of ours. Eventually, some of the families built wooden fences to surround their yards. Maybe they didn't like what they saw on our side of the road!

As a side note, I should mention that by this time, my family and I had moved into the first house on the row. This is the house that opens up onto Arroyo Drive. Ronnie's family lived in the second house, Sal & Sebastian's family lived in the third house. A few years later we swapped houses with Sal & Sebastian in this massive move. So, out of the 5 houses on our "block" we were the only family to live in 3 of them. I guess if you count the time that we lived with my grandparents when we first moved to So Cal, it would be 4 out of 5. That has to be some sort of record, so.....we've got that going for us!

Anyway, there was this weird place in the retaining wall where they built around a telephone pole. The wall was built directly in line with the pole and I guess that they decided it was better to have the wall take a little detour than it was to just move the wall a few feet back. In any case, I am glad that they decided to do it this way, because this little nook provided our entry way into the "illegal" adventures that I mentioned earlier. Now, please keep in mind that when I say "illegal" I am not really referring to any type of activity of behavior that would cause harm to a person, their property, etc. What I am referring to is simple curiosity. The way we looked at it was this: these houses, and by extension, their owners, had encroached on our neighborhood and it was our duty to explore their lands and make sure they were worthy to settle here. Nowadays they would probably call it trespassing. I kind of look at it as developing my education into the scientific method. I hypothesized that there was something interesting in those yards and it was my duty to investigate and try to prove my theory.

One day, while we were playing on our street, the idea of looking into their yards came up. So, with my three amigos keeping watch for parents and other potential sources of fun-killing, I shimmied up between the wall and the telephone pole to get a better look. Now, the yard that I was trying to get a look at belonged to the same family of the boy that I mentioned earlier that we tried to befriend. This was also one of the families that had built a wooden fence to further close off their homes from the view below. They made a fatal flaw in this effort though when they built their new fence inside the border of the chain link fence, and they failed to take the chain link fence down. And, as any real boy knows, a chain link fence is synonymous with a ladder. This provided the perfect pathway to get up and peer over the fence and down into their back yard.

At first, I didn't see anything terribly odd or out of the ordinary and this was somewhat disappointing. Then something caught my eye. Did I see movement? What was that? There at the base of a tree was a plastic bucket. With the light that illuminated the inside of the bucket I could tell that the bucket appeared to be about half full of something, and it was moving! I told my friends and they dared me to go over the fence and see what it was. I deliberated for a while….maybe 10-15 seconds….before I decided that I had to take the dare to save face and impress my friends. I quickly hopped over the fence and as stealthily as possible, made my way over to the tree and peered inside the bucket.

Inside the bucket was an equally wondrous and puzzling site - LIZARDS!!

As near as I could tell they were all alive and in fact they were as surprised to see me as I was of them. Fat ones, Long ones, Skinny ones, Short ones. It looked like they were trying desperately to get out of the bucket and were not having any luck at all. I was totally amazed and for a moment, I completely forgot about my friends. I was intrigued and curious about this bucket of lizards and what it meant. What were they doing with a half-full bucket of reptiles? What could they be using them for? Did it have something to do with the tree?

Suddenly my curiosity was interrupted when one of my friends called my name. "John, what is it?" they asked. I quickly went to the fence and climbed back up far enough to look over the side. "Lizards," I said. "Half a bucket full of lizards and their still alive." They looked at each other (my friends, not the lizards) and without hesitation they said, "Get it!" Crap! I thought. Now I was moving beyond trespassing for the sake of scientific inquiry into the realm of stealing, and to satisfy what? Peer pressure? Boyish curiosity? Nah, it really wasn't anything like that. I remember thinking, or at least maybe just rationalizing my actions to myself, that this really wasn't "stealing" since the lizards don't really belong to them. Lizards should be free to roam around the fields and become the playthings of young boys. They shouldn't have to endure the torture of being stuck inside a plastic bucket awaiting a fate of who-knows-what. I quickly made my way back to the tree, picked up the bucket and made for the fence.

Minutes later we had the bucket down on our street and we were in lizard heaven. Well, for us maybe, but not for the lizards. I doubt that they would have exactly framed their new predicament as heavenly. I mean, let's face it, we were boys and we had a bucket of live lizards, what did you thinks was going to happen? We had things to do and releasing a bunch of free-range lizards wasn't exactly high on the priority list. We dumped the lizards into a box and tossed the plastic bucket back over the fence. After all, we weren't thieves!

We learned something in that moment: Lizards are a little more adept at climbing out of cardboard boxes than they are out of buckets. I wonder it that has to do with the plastic? hmmmm

Anyway, we now had an afternoon of fun and lizard-based experiments to conduct. At this junction, I must say that another disclaimer is in order. While most of our "experiments" were harmless fun (again, for us, not the lizards), I have to admit that we did do some things that were a little heinous. I am sure that by today's standards we would probably be identified as kids that needed to be placed into therapy, but I honestly believe that it was just "normal" boyish curiosity. Heck, by today's standards you would have to go see a psychiatrist if you pulled the wings off of a fly. None of us ever progressed to torturing animals or birds, we never strapped fire-crackers to cats, nothing like that. We didn’t have “adjustment” issues and we all became productive members of society, etc., etc.

Among the "tamer" experiments that we conducted:

Lizard fights. Sort of like cock-fights but with lizards. We built little arena's out of boxes, placed two lizards in there, tried to rile them up a little bit to see if they would fight each other. They didn't.

Lizard races: We got a bunch of 2 X 4's and laid them lengthwise on the ground right next to each other to make lanes. Kind of like the drag races. We would each pick a lizard that we thought was the fastest, placed them at the starting gate and let them go. The races, for the most part worked really well, up until the time a lizard could figure out that it could easily climb over the wood railing and make a run for freedom.

Lizard Circus High Wire: We would see if a lizard could balance itself on a thin stick or a string held aloft by two people. Sometimes they could, sometimes they couldn't.

Lizard Escape: We would place a lizard in a variety of things to see if they could get out on their own. One variation was to place them in a pipe and roll it down the hill to see if the lizard could get out while it was moving. Most of the time they could not.

Lizard G-Force: We would place a lizard in a bucket (our bucket, not the neighbor's because we didn't have permission), tie a rope to the bucket handle and then swing it around really fast. We would let it stop take the lizard out and place it on the ground to see it the lizard got dizzy and disoriented. They did.

I always had the feeling that we were being watched when we were "playing" with these lizards, but every time I looked around, I didn't see anyone. Maybe that’s why the neighbor’s mother didn’t like us and never let him play with us.

In time we tired of these experiments and all indications were that the lizards were tired of it too. So, we took them all over the hills across Arroyo Drive and set them free. At first they really didn't know what to do, but one by one they quickly decided that running was their best option and away they went. Every once in a while we would catch a lizard in those hills and wonder if it was one of the lizards that we liberated from the bucket. We would play with it and eventually we let it go too. 

None of them ever gave any indication that they recognized us.

2@50 - Juke Box Hero

I love live music. I love watching people perform, sing, play instruments, engage the crowd. Large arena's, stadiums, intimate venues, coffee shops, it doesn't matter. I just love it. In fact, I believe that music performed live is the way that music is meant to be heard.

So, it probably goes without saying that I have been to my fair share of concerts. I also have a "bucket-list" of people I want to see live, and on more than one occasion I have kicked myself in the ass for not going to see a performance when I had the chance.

When I was a teenager, the first concert that I went to see was KISS at the L.A. Forum in 1977. It was the Love Gun Tour and Cheap Trick opened up. It was an awesome show. All of the theatrics that KISS was known for; very over-the-top. I went with my friends, Sal & Sebastian. Their mom, Linda, drove us there and if I remember correctly, she even sat with them. I bought my tickets after Sal & Sebastian had bought theirs so we didn't sit together. We were almost exactly across the arena from each other, on the sides. I sat by my lonesome.

Many of the concerts that I have been to are festivals. One, two, even three-day events when you get to see a bunch of great bands play live. Again, as a teenager, I went to Cal-Jam II at the Ontario Motor Speedway in 1978 (Ted Nugent, Aerosmith, Dave Mason, Foreigner, Heart, Santana), The California World Music Festival in 1979 at the L.A. Coliseum (Aerosmith, Van Halen, Eddie Money, Toto, UFO, Cheech & Chong, April Wine, Boomtown Rats), Oregon Jam I in 1982 at Autzen Stadium in Eugene, (Foreigner, Loverboy, Joan Jett, & Blue Oyster Cult), and the US Festival in 1983 at Glen Helen Regional Park in San Bernardino in California. Unfortunately, we only went to the 2nd day of the US Festival. We had tickets for the 3rd day but never went back That day featured Quiet Riot, Motley Crue, Ozzy Osbourne, Judas Priest, Triumph, Scorpions, and Van Halen . My US Festival experience might make for a good story someday too.

Anyway, 2 of the most memorable concert experiences that I have had involved my sister Susie. First, she took me to the Cal Jam II concert in '78. It was a truly remarkable moment in my life. Fans, including the two of us, showed up on site the night before to wait in line. That's what you do at concerts when it is “festival” seating and you race everyone to get as close to the front as possible. Rowdy fans decided that they had waited long enough and somewhere in the middle of the night they broke down the fence and stormed into the center of the racetrack and sprinted for the stage. I remember running with my sister, hurdling over abandoned sleeping bags and blankets, dodging discarded ice chests, food, beer and liquor bottles. I was 15 years old and just mesmerized by everything. Heck, this was our Woodstock.

The second time a concert experience involved Susie was actually the first time, if that makes sense. It was late 1977 and the rock band Queen was touring in support of their album, "News of the World." This was the album that had the mega-hit(s) "We Will Rock You/We are the Champions," and "Sheer Heart Attack." The band was on a sold-out tour of North America and their last show was going to be at the L.A. Forum on December 22,, 1977.

A friend of mine from high school named Kelly approached me at school a few days before the concert and told me that he had an extra ticket because somebody had backed out, and he said I could go if I wanted. Of course I wanted to go. This was going to be huge. In retrospect, historically, this would have been the perfect time to see Queen live. Wikipedia shows some stats about this tour and the setlist alone has 31 songs (26 to start, and 5 more over 2 encores). NOBODY plays 31 songs these days. NOBODY!!

Kelly said that I could have the ticket for free which was good because I didn't have any money. So, we set up a meeting point at the coffee shop across the street from the Forum. I think it was a Denny's. My sister drove me into Los Angeles and we pulled up to the Denny's. We waited there for a while as more and more people filed past on their way to the arena. It was getting closer and closer to the 8:00pm start of the show. And Queen was the type of band that didn't tour with an opening act. The conventional wisdom back then was that bands toured with an opening act to "warm-up" the crowd and get them ready for the headliner. Queen didn't need a warm-up band.

I told my sister to go ahead and drop me off and I would wait for Kelly to show up. She was reluctant to go, but I convinced her that I would be ok. she said that she would be back at about 11:30 Here's me, standing on the sidewalk next to the bus stop, next to Denny's waiting for a friend to show up with a ticket to see Queen. Minutes were racing by and my anxiety level was getting higher by the second. Then it started to drizzle rain, just lightly, not a heavy downpour, but enough to make my t-shirt start clinging to my skin. When I couldn't stand it anymore, I went across the street and headed over to the Forum, and went to the main entrance to see if Kelly was anywhere to be seen. The din of the crowd inside was starting to grow and the last of the stragglers were starting to rush inside to find their seats.

Then, without warning, the crowd let our this huge roar from inside the arena. It was starting. All of a sudden the bass drum resounded with that familiar two-beat kick-off to "We Will Rock You" and the crowd answered back in unison with single clap. This rhythm continued in a sequential pattern and the arena was literally rocking and I could feel the vibration outside. The rain started coming down a little harder now. Not much more, but it was noticeable.

"Kelly! Where are you?" I screamed inside my head, but no one answered.

I walked around the arena, hoping to see something or someone familiar but it never happened. By now the band was in their 3rd or 4th song and I was beginning to realize that it wasn't going to happen. I walked back to Denny's, looked around and didn't see anyone I knew. I waited for a while, pacing back and forth, cursing myself for telling my sister to go ahead and leave. I walked back to the arena and didn't see anyone there either. Now the security guards were starting to look at me funny, so I headed back to Denny's to wait it out for my sister to come and get me. I didn't have any money so I couldn't even go inside the Denny's to get something to eat or drink. So here's me, sitting on the bus stop bench for 2 1/2 hours watching busses come and go and never getting to see Queen.

My sister did show up. Right when she said she would be there. She was the only thing about that night that really came through for me. Later, after Christmas break was over and we were back in school, Kelly came up to me and said, "What happened?" I asked him the same thing. he said that he was there and that he waited, but when it started raining, he didn't want to wait in the rain anymore so he went inside Denny's and then when I didn't show up, he went to the arena. I never could tell if he was lying or not. I don't know if he would have done something like that, but it was possible.

A few years later, the band Foreigner came out with a song called Juke Box Hero, and to this day I cannot listen to that song without remembering that night.

"Standing in the Rain
With his head hung low
He couldn't get a ticket
It was a sold out show
Put his ear to the wall
and like a distant scream
he heard one guitar
just blew him away...."

Of course that’s where the parallel ends. I never bought a beat-up six string. I never really learned to play. I never did get to see Queen live. Of course, lead singer Freddie Mercury died several years ago from HIV/AIDS so seeing the "real" Queen will never happen. They have appeared with Bad Company frontman Paul Rodgers a few times and I think they have even toured with George Michael. While it wouldn't be the same, given the chance I would probably go to see them anyway, even if it meant standing out in the rain. I think I'll make sure I buy my own ticket though.