Pallas Photo

In August of 1985, I left Michigan for Chicago. I began working for Pallas Photo Labs in the River North district. This was a large, 3 story building which had been a Catholic school in the the early to mid 1900's. I had no experience with the big city. There were a lot of new things here for me. It seemed like almost everyone that worked for Pallas was creative. There were a lot of photographers and musicians. There were lots of discussions about music. I fit right in. After a short while, everyone knew that I played guitar. A few people told me about Mario. He had been on vacation when I started. Everyone said I needed talk to him when he got back.  Mario was also a guitarist and he was a Ted Nugent fanatic.

The day he came back, we talked a little. He told me he had a Gibson Byrdland just like Ted's and we shook hands in the style that all teenagers did in the 70's (where the shakers kind of angle their hands up).

About a year later, I was settled in and used to working at a large commercial lab. While I was on the third floor getting some supplies, I heard someone playing a guitar. I followed the sound to a little office in the front of the building and there was Mario playing the chords to a minor blues. There were about three or four people watching him. He was using a strap and there was even a little distortion pedal plugged in between the guitar and amp. Mario had his eyes closed and was holding his head high. He was really into it. When a natural break in Mario's playing came, Kevin (one of the on-lookers) said to me, "hey, why don't you play something?" Mario handed me the guitar and I played a short version of Jeff Beck's “Jeff's Boogie” with a few of his classic tricks thrown in for good measure. Then, I headed downstairs and back to work.

Later that day, I was on the second floor in film processing, where Kevin worked. He said, "man, you really smoked Mario's ass!" I really didn't know what to say. Thanks?, It was nothing? What do you say?

A few years later, Rich McGuire and I went to see Joe Zawinul at a tiny club just around the corner from Pallas Photo. He had an unbelievable band with several up and coming players. The guitarist was Scott Henderson. He was already an unreal player. In between sets, Scott just kind of stood around. He was just a regular guy wearing a t-shirt. I told Rich that I'd really like to go talk to him, but didn't know what to say. I was awestruck. Rich told me to say, "man, you really smoked Mario's ass!"

$20 Guitar

While driving around on the north end of Royal Oak on a recent Saturday, Amy saw a sign advertising a garage sale. She followed a couple of handwritten signs and found the sale. It was a normal garage sale for the most part. A card table, some chairs, a box of assorted items marked "free", some power tools, candles, VHS tapes, and a guitar. Amy picked up the guitar and looked at it carefully. It had been made in Brazil. The  tag on it read $20. And it even came with a case. The guy having the sale told her that someone had just tuned it - a skinny man with two tone shoes and a  black suit. He had tuned the guitar, played a few chords and was suddenly gone. 

Amy brought the guitar home and I played it for several hours. It was a Classical  guitar with a  knotty looking top. Certainly not the norm. It sounded really nice and full. I couldn't stop playing it.
I played until I fell asleep holding it. While I was sleeping, I had a dream that I was in Rio de Janiero.
I was walking in Ipanema and it was about four in the morning. Someone carrying a guitar was walking toward me. He was wearing a black suit with two tone shoes. We somehow got into a conversation. He spoke almost no English and I wasn't much better with Portuguese. He had just finished a gig playing guitar. I asked him if I could see his guitar, and if he would play something for me. He opened the case. It was the guitar from the garage sale! Not one like it, the actual guitar.
He picked it up and started to play. His playing was unbelievable. His technique was perfect. His sound was so great. This person was the legendary Candinho, the great guitar player. He had been a big part of the original Bossa Nova movement that began in 1956.
He started to play Jobim's Aula de Matematica, a song that he and Sylvia Telles used to do together.  I wanted to try to get those chord changes from his brilliant arrangement, but everything was just happening too fast.

Candinho finally said that he needed to be on his way. We shook hands and he started walking.
He was out of sight in seconds.

The next day, I told Amy about my dream. I asked her exactly where that guitar had been purchased.
She said that she couldn't remember the name of the street. She did say that it was a street she'd never been on before and that it was a dead end. We were both born and raised in Royal Oak. I think we know all of the streets. We have also been going to garage sales in this area for nearly the last ten years. We got in the car to see if we could find the the street and house. She said that it was north of twelve mile, off of Washington. We drove around that area for over an hour. We couldn't find it.

Cemetery

A few years ago, an NPR story caught my attention. I found the subject very interesting. Apparently there are people who own trucks that they have modified to blow a large cloud of thick black exhaust on other cars. They call it coal rolling. Prius drivers are the number one target. Although fascinating, I also found it really disgusting that someone would go to the trouble to do such a thing. For some reason, I gave the idea a lot of thought and began to keep an eye out for a truck coal rolling a Prius. I wondered What a typical coal roller would be like? Are they all men, or do women roll coal too? I told a friend about this phenomenon and he told me he had been the victim of one of these truck drivers. He drives a Prius. I did see a pickup truck with a lot of black exhaust around it one time on the freeway. Maybe he had just done the dirty deed. The truck had a sign advertising electrical work. I wrote the number down, figuring I'd call and complain. I could totally imagine calling that phone number and having the driver answer. Then what? He'd probably laugh at me.

Amy and I drive through the nearby cemetery three or four times a week. It's a popular place and we usually see other people there. People riding bikes, walking dogs, jogging, visiting graves, cleaning up around graves, and other types of activities. it's usually quite peaceful with its dirt roads and forest. We are bird watching and looking for animals. It can be spectacular at times. We've seen a few foxes, a coyote, Blue Heron, and quite a few hawks. sometimes, we just see squirrels and deer. As we were driving through early one evening, we saw a man walking. He looked to be in his early eighties. He wore a sweatshirt, khaki pants, and tennis shoes. He had a kind of sweet but sad smile. When he got closer, we exchanged hellos. He seemed like a nice person. We talked for a few minutes. We introduced ourselves. His name was Gerald. He told us that he lived a few blocks from the cemetery and he came everyday to visit his dear wife who was buried there. She died seven years ago. He had this look on his face. He seemed to be smiling, but sharing his story obviously brought back memories. He was such a nice person and his story just made us feel very happy. We talked some more and we told him about the nice fox that we are always hoping to find again. We said goodbye and that we'd probably see him again sometime. Amy and I were both glowing as we slowly pulled away from him. He was just a little behind the car when Amy looked at me and said, coal roll him!

Tobacco

A guy with thick glasses and a blue wind breaker looked at our tickets, tore part of each one off, gave us the other parts and let us into the inner part of the stadium. It was all concrete, steel beams and cage like inside. Very crowded and noisy. The energy level was high. Definitely a new experience but not a pretty place. More of a gritty city type of place. My Mom and Dad and I walked up a couple ramps and a flight of stairs toward our upper deck seats. Seemed like we walked for a long time and then there it was, the prettiest most finely manicured green grass I had ever seen. Tiger Stadium. There were players everywhere warming up. Detroit Tigers and Minnesota Twins. I loved the uniforms, hats, spikes and those blue stirrup socks. All of it. There was something really spectacular about the way the Tigers' uniforms looked against that grass. The dirt in the batter's box, pitcher's mound and around the bases was also really special. Looking at the field and all that was going on down there, it really didn't even seem real. I remember thinking that I really wanted to be a professional baseball player someday. The thing that really caught my eye however was how cool the players looked with that huge wad of tobacco in their cheeks. All of that chewing and spitting. That was the best. Something to explore as soon as possible.



I played on a softball team for two seasons and then a Little League team for one. Those Little League pitches were thrown a little too fast for me. My Mom asked me if I was afraid of the ball. "NO!" I exclaimed. How could she insult me like that? I was afraid of the ball. My baseball career was over at the end of the season.

Soon after that however, I was able to live out my dream of being a tobacco chewer though. One night I rode my bike up to 7-Eleven and bought a pouch of Beech-Nut leaves. Not knowing exactly how these leaves worked, I did the most obvious thing and stuffed them into my cheek. I rode as I worked on the leaves. I sucked on and chewed them until it just seemed hopeless. I even spit a few times. It was not much fun. I spit them out and kept riding. Then I got a little dizzy. I went home and to bed.



After some word of mouth research, I learned that professional baseball players chewed a type of tobacco called cut plug. I went to G&P Market and found some of that. It was in a thick rectangular chunk and looked like dark brown cork. I cut a piece off with a pocket knife and went to chewing. I walked down 12 mile road, toward Bob Corbin's house. When I got there, I spit it out and we watched The Three Stooges and some Bugs Bunny. I was pretty dizzy the whole time. When I left to go home, I cut some more. I chewed and spit as I walked. At that point I was really dizzy. Almost feeling drunk. It was really hot weather and I went into a cold sweat. I had to spit it out. I threw up a few times when I arrived home at about 4:30 pm and went right to bed for the rest of the night. There is not a whole lot more to tell. I've never really had the urge to try any type of chewing tobacco since then. As a matter of fact, I still get a sick feeling remembering the whole thing.

Cat Shop

Slippery, shiny black beauties sleeping in woven hammocks. Green eyes abide with playfully sharp teeth and small white beards.

Telephone

When I was about seven, I answered the phone. It was my cousin,Jamie. She and my mom were pretty close and talked often. Being an obnoxious kid, I had this thing that I did when someone called for my mom. I would answer, the person on the other end would ask to speak to my mom. Instead of going to get her right away, I would just listen to what was going on on the other end for a few minutes. Usually, it was nothing. Well, that day when Jamie called I got a surprise. As I listened, she said to someone with her, "it's that little yard ape answering the phone again." I was shocked. I went and told my mom that she had a call, I also told her what Jamie had said about me. My mom was upset and gave Jamie a hard time for talking so unkindly about her little yard ape.

Water

To my dad, any person that was slightly unusual or even just a little bit quirky would be written off as an odd duck. I heard this  phrase used often. An odd duck. Cowboy Eddie, locking his bike to a tree was an odd duck. The guy with the two foot beard, brown grocery bag filled with greasy car parts and who wore a parka with the hood up in 93° weather, was an odd duck.

When he spotted a male with very long hair, he would say, "why, he's a pretty thing." He employed so much sarcasm that it was almost unbearable. 

There was strange behavior where water was involved. Dad didn't shower or bathe as much as most people. 

I do recall a time that he made an announcement that he would be taking a bath. After he was finished, it was obvious that he had been smoking a cigar during his bath. That just seemed 

really strange to me.

When I was about fifteen, my family (including my grandma) took a vacation down through Tennessee and Virginia.

There were relatives and family friends in these states. In Lebanon, Tennessee, we stayed with the Purnell family. My mom and Grandma had known Mr. And Mrs. Purnell for many years. These were some of the nicest, most down to earth people you'd ever care to meet. One day, Mrs. Purnell suggested that we all take a drive to Nashville, which was about an hour away. The middle of Summer in Tennessee was really hot and sticky weather. It was a really nice trip and I even got to go to Gruen's Guitar Shop.

When we arrived back in Lebanon, Mrs. Purnell assumed that we would all want to shower before supper (not dinner, supper). She mentioned it several times in fact. It seemed like that was just fine with everyone. Everyone showered fairly quickly. My dad was last. 

It wasn't until a day or two later that my mom told me that dad had taken a fake shower. He just let the water run and splashed around with his hands a little while he sat on the toilet. A fake shower.

Why? I don't know

Much later, when I was in my early thirties, it became known that dad had a bad drinking problem. He had hit bottom and was in bed for several days. It was a really bad period. I took some time off and stayed at the house to help my mom. Dad was really out of it. A few times a day, I would go stand in his doorway and ask him some pretty serious questions about his problem. He never wanted to address any of my questions. It was very frustrating. After my questions, he always said the same thing as he patted the bed next to him, "come here and lay down next to me, Dan." He hadn't had a shower or bath in days and it was obvious. I finally told him that if he would take a shower, I'd lay down next to him and we could talk about some important things. He said he couldn't do it. I asked why. "I don't like to get wet." What kind of an answer is that?

Who says that? The phrase "odd duck" came to mind.