The Summer of '76

Stevie "Guitar" Miller. You'd hear Arthur P. say it all the time. "Stevie "Guitar" Miller on the RIF...........BABY!" I wondered if there was a parallel universe where Steve Miller played some really great guitar. Maybe there were earlier albums that I was unaware of where he really played. If so, they never played anything from those.

Whether Steve Miller was or was not a great guitar player is beside the point. His album (in this case, 8 track), "Fly Like An Eagle" was the soundtrack of the Summer of 1976 for myself and any one else that ever cruised the neighborhoods of Royal Oak with Nick La Puma in his car.

Nick La Puma was about a year older than I was as were my cousin Steve, Nick Giachetti and Terry Lampman. Nick had recently begun driving and had been given an early 70's dark blue Chrysler Newport by his Grandmother.

We spent a whole lot of time driving around in that car and I can only remember Steve Miller's "Fly Like An Eagle" coming out of its speakers There was never a real destination. Just driving. I do remember one time that Nick's Grandmother (who was Greek Orthodox) really wanted him to attend a tent revival. He didn't want to go. His Mom pressured him to go and wouldn't let up. Finally, Nick agreed to go but brought cousin Steve, Nick Giachetti, Terry and myself along to help make things a little more fun. My parents didn't want me to go. I went anyway. We took the Chrysler of course. This tent revival was a mob scene in the parking lot of the old Troy Hilton. We figured that we could get in and out real quick, Grandmother would be happy and my parents wouldn't even know that I had been there. That's not what happened. We were totally blocked in by cars. No way out. Guys were speaking in tongues, handling poisonous snakes, suddenly, the blind could see and the lame could walk. It was like nothing we had ever seen before. After a while, we grew bored of all the miracles and decided to go swimming in the hotel pool in our underwear. We didn't get out for several hours. Grandmother was proud of Nick and my Mom and Dad were really upset with me.

We also played Putt-Putt miniature golf several times that summer. That was a real great place with a bootleg Dairy Queen connected to it. It's now an office plaza. Steve and I even brought our own golf club and balls and played in the off season.

The Summer of 76 was between middle school and high school for me. I was a little anxious. There would be a lot of new people. It would be a whole new world.

By August, things had become too hot and just plain boring. We were just driving down any streets and hoping for some kind of excitement. One day as we drove north on Wilson Avenue, two girls playing Frisbee moved from the middle of the street to the west side to make way for the Chrysler to pass. Nick slowed the car down. I knew one of the girls. The other girl I had never seen before. She had long, dark brown hair,a great tan and the a beautiful face. She wore cut-off jean shorts and a tight pink shirt. She appeared to not be wearing a bra and had fantastic breasts. I remember wondering if she would be in high school in September. She was something else. I had all kinds of crazy thoughts go through my mind all in a split second. That second of bliss came crashing to a halt when Nick, in his trademark macaroni and cheese voice said "nice titties!" right out loud to my dream girl. She just stared at him with a look of disgust, still looking totally sexy though. I wondered if I hid my face fast enough, would she not notice that I was in the car. I was going to need to find her as soon as school started. I am not exaggerating when I say that she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. And yes, nice titties. The most beautiful I had ever seen. Then, it was over and we were turning right onto Gardenia and off to more boredom.

The summer of 1976 for us was finalized the day before school began. It was a very gray, cold and rainy day. Cousin Steve, Nick Giachetti, Terry Lampman and myself decided we had to do something fun on that day. We drove to Stoney Creek which was a beach that also rented little sail boats. Since it wasn't beach weather, we decided to rent two sail boats. Steve and Terry were both experienced sailors, Nick and myself were not. So, it only made sense that the experienced shared a boat leaving Nick and I to sail out into the middle of the lake and get stuck there for what seemed like hours. We had no idea what to do. A guy in a boat with a motor on it was heading in our direction and Nick wondered out loud if maybe he would give us a ride or tow us back to shore.
The guy looked like he was coming to help. He got closer and closer and just passed us like nothing. When it was clear that he wasn't going to save us, Nick yelled, "hey give us a ride, ya son of a fucker!"
We finally caught a nice breeze that brought us in. We left Stoney Creek wet and cold and drove home in cousin Steve's green Nova. A bad last day of summer to say the least.

The highlight of my summer though was the girl on Wilson Avenue. I can still see her in her pink shirt,cut-offs and those pretty brown legs. I don't think you understand, I see her like it was yesterday afternoon. What a face! And, in Nick Lapuma's own words, nice titties!

Cows

Cow tipping has never happened. It's a fact. Cow tipping is an urban legend. If it had ever been done, there would be videos of it on YouTube. There are videos of everything on YouTube. So, next time someone says that they or someone they know have cow tipped, cut them off.


One time while driving out in the country up north in Michigan, I saw a bunch of black and white cows grazing on a big grassy hillside. I had some black and white infra-red film in my camera so I pulled over to shoot some pictures of these cows. I got as close as possible. There was a fence that consisted of only two thin wires that were about two feet apart and strung onto some green vertical spikes that were stuck into the ground. The cows were too far away to really get anything good. As I stood there trying to figure out what to do about this, the cows magically came over to see what I was doing. They came right up to the fence. I knelt down and began to shoot. We were face to face and it looked great through the lens. I got real close. So close that I could feel the hair on the back of my hand gently brush the top wire of the fence. Feeling that wire made me want to steady the camera by resting my hands on it. I wondered if it was an electric fence and looked around to see if there were any signs posted. No signs. I figured that it was not an electric fence.



I rested my hands and got a very strong jolt of electricity which threw me on my ass. The first thing I remember thinking after the initial shock (pun intended) was, at least I didn't drop my Nikon F2-AS. When I got back up to resume shooting, the cows had run away. The commotion had scared them.

From time to time I think about the electric fence. I don't know why. I wouldn't ever want it to happen again but for some reason, I'm glad it happened. I would recommend it to most people.



Here's a story I've heard more than once from totally unrelated people.

After smoking a lot of pot and or hash, some people took a really long strand of a girl's hair and put it on a fly. Like a leash. They then flew the fly all around the room. In some versions of this story, the fly is high also. This was done by exhaling the smoke into a glass and putting it upside down on a table with the fly inside. He then had no choice but to get real high. Then, it was easier to put the "hair leash" on him. This story is completely made up. You would need the hands of a surgeon to tie hair around a fly's body or neck(if flies even have necks).



If you love milk, half and half, heavy cream, butter, steak, hamburgers, leather jackets or shoes,
next time you see a pasture of cows, throw them some change and thank them for all they've given you. Cow tipping.

Love

To Mother

Love is a beautiful thing. Love starts as a small seed. When the seed is planted in some one's heart, the love seed grows and grows. One day it is no longer a seed but a tree filled with enough love for every thing or animal. Everybody has a seed. Even the burglar and killers and other people like that have seeds. But nobody will help them to plant their seeds. Often branches of the love tree break off but they are replaced most of the time. If everybody grew their seeds, there would be enough love for five worlds. But unfortunately that is not so. Even so, the world will always be filled with trees and breaking branches and falling leaves, but "Love" will always be a beautiful thing.

THE END



This story was written by my dear friend of 30+ years, Tinkerbell Wilson. She wrote this on Easter, April 22, 1973. She was 9 and 11/12 years old and already filled with much wisdom.

Magic Bus

In Copacabana I bought a Milton Nascimento compilation CD. The next day I took a bus from Rio de Janiero to Angra dos Reis where I spent three days. It wasn't until the bus ride back to Rio de Janeiro that I discovered Travessia. This song is from Milton's 1967 album of the same name. Travessia means journey or crossing. It is interesting how a song can "find" you. I'm sure I had heard it while I was in Angra dos Reis. But it didn't really strike me until the ride back. I listened over and over. I didn't understand the Portuguese lyrics but loved everything about this song. Milton Nascimento had written the music, Fernando Brant the lyrics and the arrangement was by Luiz Eca. The way he arranged the strings and horns is what really got to me.

This is what got me hooked on Milton Nascimento. Now I've heard most of what he has done and was fortunate enough to see him in Chicago with The Jobim Trio in 2008.

There is something about that bus ride from Angra to Rio. There was another significant bus trip in my life. My friend Bob and I had flown to Los Angeles in 1981. We only had enough money to take a bus home. The complete details of this bus trip will have to be told in another story.
I will never forget waking up at about 4:30 AM and looking down the aisle of that bus out the front window at one of the most beautiful sunrises I've ever seen. I am pretty sure that the driver and myself were the only people awake for this. The feeling that I had comes back to me quite often. There was no soundtrack for that moment.
I piece things together sometimes and I have a good imagination. I spend a lot of time driving lately. This is when I remember these things. The sound of Milton Nascimento sometimes places me back on either of these buses. It comforts me to be back on there with him providing the soundtrack.

Por Favor

These kids are a lot like homeless adults you would find in any city in the U.S.

Take a walk through the square in Cusco and you will see them all the time.

If a small cute kid with a dirty face comes up to you to beg for money and you indulge him or her, you've made a big mistake. As soon as you show any sign of interest, six or eight more will be on you. No matter how much you refuse to give them anything, they will keep begging. They say, "amigo, por favor" in the saddest voices. They hold their hands out and tug at your clothing and if you have anything sticking out of your pockets, they may try to take it. It goes on and on. "Amigo, por favor, amigo, por favor." You say no and try to get away and they follow you. It won't stop until you go to a place where they are not allowed. I walk, they beg. The intensity builds. Then I reach the hotel and open the big, heavy door and walk inside. Just as the door is about to close and the kids are sure they won't be getting anything, I hear, "fuck your mother!"

I really like those kids.

Cats And Amps

A small female Bengal cat got out of the house one day and got pregnant. A few weeks after the kittens were born, Gaby came out of her Step Mother and Father's house carrying a woven basket with five of the most adorable kittens you've ever seen. They were all crying and it was real high. There was no getting out of adopting one of these. Gaby picked an all black male. When we were coming up with names, she didn't like any of the ones we (the adults) suggested. You know, names like, Deepak, Wes Montgomery, Martin, Dewey, Jimi, Erastus H. Sipperley and Topo Gigio. Just normal run of the mill cat names. She liked Jangle. So, that was it. But we just called him Django. And that's how we spelled it. So Gaby never knew that her Jangle was really Django Reinhardt, legendary French gypsy guitarist.
Django was real smart and lovable. Always sweet and curious (most kitties are though, right). He would scratch through a bag of cat food or kitty litter and spill everything all over the floor. I finally started keeping these bags in a closet under the basement steps. The closet door was old and falling apart. He used to scratch strips of wood from the door and moulding, trying to get at those bags. He never got in. When he got to be about a year and a half old, he got really sick one day. He just laid around all day. He was taken to the veterinarian the next day and they said that his kidneys were failing. He had to be put to sleep. When I came home from work, there was a feeling the same as if a human had died. That night, I went down to the closet and picked up all of Django's strips of wood and put them in a Ziplock bag. I attached the bag to the back of my music stand with a clothespin (where it remained for years) and cried just as hard as I would have for any human.

Very soon, Gaby wanted another. A friend of a friend gave her a little Tortoise shell kitten. She was named Issa. Issa was also a very sweet kitty. The fourteen year old Tabby, Willie took a liking to her. He would groom her every day. She would just lay there and enjoy it. Then, they would wrestle. All in fun but, it sounded like they were killing each other.

Issa grew, but never got too big. She loved to be around while I was building guitar amps in the basement. I always liked to be working in the early hours of the morning. The routine was always the same, I would listen to WNUR (which played very interesting music at 3 am) and build these cool amps, with Issa always within arms reach. She mostly just laid around, but every now and then, she would meow just to let me know she was there. Or, she would walk across the bench over all the resistors and capacitors and I would have to grab her before she got burned by the soldering iron. It was also really nice to take a break and pet her for a while. These are very comforting memories. I'm considering borrowing someones cat to help with my next project.