4 - Evanston: We jeopardize a sacred sorority rite


       Evanston, 1978: Somehow we learned about a fraternity party. As we tried to find it, we found ourselves in sorority row, so we walked up to a door and knocked. 

       A young woman answered and before we could say a thing, she hissed, "Get off the porch! Get off the porch!" We backed away in confusion, not fast enough for the sisters, who kept shouting after us, "Get off the porch! This is the final day of rush week!"

        To this day, Bruce insists the whole "rush week" claim was a bunch of hooey - it was actually their way of saying they had no interest in us whatsoever. 

         In any event, we found the party. The Four M Band - the "Most Magnificent Music Makers" - weren't Otis Day and the Knights, but they had hundreds of enthusiastic Northwestern students dancing to "Shout" and no doubt something from Saturday Night Fever. 

         Now the next part of my 1978 party description is not "2018" politically correct, on oh, say, about five different levels. Let's just say it referenced two ethnic groups, a disability, and delved into other familiar college party themes. But the main point, it was one kicking party!

         Contrast that with 2018. I went into the Whiskey Thief Tavern  It was desultory and I didn't see a single toga. I had a craft cocktail and some roast broccoli. 

         (By the way, I can't recall anything cruciferous in a 1978 restaurant, unless you counted the proprietor.)

         One thing the two visits did have in common was camping north of Evanston. In 1978, we left the party, "Drove until I just couldn't drive anymore. We pulled over to a rest stop and got out the sleeping bags. Beautiful first night's sleep on the road." I kind of did the same last night. I pulled  off the highway north of Chicago, into a local park around 12:30 AM. After Googling "Danny Cunniff Park," "gruesome murders," and "men with stuffed monkeys" without any alarming results, I slept here:

   
      I laid out my mat and sleeping bag and curled up. Looking through the trees at the stars and the harvest moon was a treat. I was about to drift off when the first mosquito whined. I pulled up my hoodie and retreated into the bag, sleeping fitfully. When I did drop off, I dreamt both hands were covered with giant blood-sucked craters.

      Yet I'm glad I slept there. I passed the Hampton Inn, but didn't think about it for more than two seconds. There is something precious about camping air. I think it gives me superpowers. Though I did head straight to Dunkin' for a large coffee before hitting the road.

       TOMORROW: Wis-CAHN-sin, the Memorial Student Union revisited, and Ryan Gosling from Iowa.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

3 - Kirklin, Indiana - 40 years later

Image
Yeah, that's an empty Bud container at the base.           I can't tell you how excited I was to pull into Kirkland, 40 years to the day after my last visit. All I had to go on was a photo and a snippet of dialogue. Let's review:        From September 23, 1978: I approached and asked the name of the town. One man said – “This little quagmire? You call it a town?” Another gave in: “This is Kirklin – population 712, or 714.” A third: “Yeah, if you count the dogs and cats.”        We told them we were headed for California, “The long way.” One replied, “You can’t get there from here.”         I parked my Challenger behind a white Corvette convertible, i n front of antique store (one of at least eight! Last time I was there, that shit was new). A few guys were talking and appeared seasoned enough to possibly identify their fellow Kirklin-ites, and I walked up showing the photo on my tablet. We zoomed in on each face but without much luck, though the gu
Read more

24 - And the moral of the story is ....

Image
The 1978 journey              Boulder , Colorado is “exactly where the plains meet the Rocky Mountains .” Driving east from Nebraska or Kansas , eastern Colorado seems no different, until the Flatirons suddenly pop up just west of Boulder .             In 1978, Boulder was teeming with vitality. The University of Colorado had more than thirty thousand students. The Pearl Street Mall was dedicated the year before as a pedestrian-only downtown, populated daily by musicians, street people, shoppers, tourists, and townies. The Rolling Stones played before 60,000 happy folks at Folsom Field.             And best of all, Mork and Mindy debuted in Boulder , catapulting Robin Williams and Pam Dawber into stardom. [i]             People came from all over to visit Boulder , such as the travelers at the Youth Hostel from Ireland and Australia . Boulder was also a mecca for the burgeoning counter-culture movement of the ‘70s. Here’s a poster I purloin
Read more

1 - The Journey Begins

Image
           In 1978, I graduated from the University of Michigan with no job, no plans, and a 1973 Pontiac Catalina my father got me for graduation. With a 400 2-barrel V8 engine, it managed 13 miles to the gallon. It was artichoke-green, with a black vinyl roof, whitewall tires, and (later) a Presidential Seal I let my brother-in-law attach to the hood.             I immediately drove it to Cincinnati with my friend Mike. He had a six-pack of Heineken and I a jug of homemade Pina Coladas (hey, it was the 70’s). I revved my new car over 100 MPH on I-75, repeatedly. It was sweet, and the freshly installed cassette player was bonus.             In Cincy, we visited my best friend Bruce, and hatched a plan to take my car across America. Mike had a real job lined up, but Bruce was game. After working a few months of double shifts at Ann Arbor’s Campus Inn, in the restaurant “Victors” (no apostrophe, as in “Hail to the –”), I returned to Cincinnati on September 23, 1978, w
Read more