The Beatles

When I was 21, the Beatles played at Cleveland Stadium-- you know, the old one, on the lake, with bleachers. It was August 14, 1966. I still have my ticket.

I didn't go alone. Well-to-do friends invited me, because their kids wanted me to come (during a very brief teaching career, their 13 year old son was one of my students).

They took us first to the air show. Sam was a well-known industrial designer. He wanted to get into the restricted area, and pulled out an accordion-fold case filled with credentials-- flashed it to the guard, letting the sections cascade to the ground. Before the guard could look closely at any of them, Sam snapped it up and put it back in his pocket. His kids and their friends got to clamber around in the planes-- great fun for them! (Hugh Grant did something similar with a Blockbuster card in "Notting Hill," when he was trying to get into a press conference to see Julia Roberts.) I asked Sam what they all were. He laughed and told me that they were his library card, passes for a lot of professional design conferences dating 20 years back, just random stuff. But he knew how to present it with power and charm!

Then, on to the Beatles concert. We were supposed to have first row seats in one of the sections with actual seats, but they had put 2 rows of folding chairs in front of us. No matter, they were great seats.

The Beatles had performed in the US the past two years, but this was to be their last concert tour. They were at the top of their game. They had crazed fans, mostly young kids. The crowd was at fever pitch. Kids started pouring out of the stands onto the field. The aisles were rivers of adolescents making their way down to the low wall that bordered the field. Many hopped over the wall.

Cops were catching little girls by the arms if they tried to get too close, turning them around and heading them back toward the stands. Occasionally they had to drag somebody to the edge of the field.

I felt a heavy weight on my right shoulder. I turned my head to look: it was a foot. A second foot landed on my forearm and the armrest. It was one of those little girls. I had become part of the stairway.

I'd like to think I heard a "Sorry!"... but I can't swear to that.

In the midst of the madness, Paul smiled and waved, and swung into "Yesterday." Cool as an Ohio spring day.

© J M-K  February 2016

The Philosopher

Cleveland's Hessler Road Street Fair was the scene of one of my very favorite stories. We were here decades ago.

The balconies you see on the top level were draped with a huge banner that said, "GOT A QUESTION? ASK A PHILOSOPHER. 50 CENTS."

I told Dale, "I have to do this!" So I entered the building, knocked on each apartment door, asking the same question: "Are you the philosopher?" At each door I received the same reply, and nobody could advise me where I might find that philosopher. I felt a bit like Diogenes must have, in his famous quest for an honest man. 

Finally, on the top floor of the building, I knocked on a door and a girl answered. I asked my question. She replied, "Yeah, I guess so." I held out my money, saying, "I have never before had a chance to support a philosopher." She said, "I can't just take your money. Don't you have a question?" 

I thought for a minute, then said, "I see people walking around down on the street carrying paper cups of beer. Do you know where they got them? Her reply: "At the deli around the corner." We had a deal, and I had my once in a lifetime chance to support a philosopher. 

© J M-K  February 2016

Mt. St Helens

On May 18, 1980, Dale and I went out on our second- story porch in Portland to watch an enormous, grimy cauliflower cloud pushing higher and higher in the sky. Later, we went up to the Rose Gardens in NW Portland to get a better view. Mt. St. Helens was erupting.

News trickled in over the next few days. We didn't own a TV so relied on radio and newspapers. Spirit Lake was buried under tons of debris from the mountain's fury.

We made the 2 1/2 hour drive from Portland several times between our arrival in October 1978 and the huge eruption that destroyed the lake (and made Mt. St. Helens a household name) in  May, 1980. It was a beautiful place, far from civilization, truly pristine.

We had a unique experience on the mountain. On July 4, 1979 we went to Spirit Lake and drove further up the mountain to the timberline, stopping at the parking area where the hiking trail to the summit of Mt. St. Helens began. This parking area later became famous as 'the Turnaround.' The weather had turned unpleasant. The parking lot had always been deserted when we visited, but not this time. We found a wedding in progress-- the bride in hand- embroidered muslin, the groom in embroidered jeans; a minister, and another couple. It was snowing, windy, and quite chilly. Everybody was shivering. We were too. I'm guessing they sped through the ceremony so they could get back in their cars and go someplace warmer.

What made this unique: There could only be one couple in the world who could say that they were married on the Turnaround, in a snowstorm. on the July 4th before the mountain blew her top. And we were almost certainly their only other witnesses.The Turnaround was blasted into the stratosphere in the eruption, and probably settled into the soil in Montana.

I wonder if they are still alive, still together, and what they are telling their grandchildren.

During our pre-eruption visits, we had a favorite place on the road up to Spirit Lake: a rustic restaurant on the Toutle River. A young couple had invested all they had into their little piece of Pacific Northwest paradise. An outdoor deck was cantilevered over the river, which was sparkling and cold as it descended from the mountain. The endless evergreen forest was interrupted here by alders whose leaves danced in the sunlight. The scents of cold water and fir and pine trees and wonderful smells emanating from the little inn... this was heavenly. Inside, we enjoyed fabulous soup and bread and pastries and really good coffee, served on simple tables near the windows. We had little money, but we could afford this small splurge. Our bill was never more than $10 for the two of us. Besides great, simple food, the place held enormous charm for us. At one end, a fire glowed in a big stone fireplace. A pair of musty old overstuffed chairs invited us to linger and page through the old books and National Geographics that filled the two ancient bookshelves flanking the fireplace.

Our last visit there was in October 1979.

Seven months later, the Toutle River became a roaring wall of mud and boulders that carried away everything in its path for miles downstream from the mountain; shipping on the Columbia River, 50 miles away, was threatened for some time afterward.

I hope the young couple got out before the eruption-- as the mountain awakened, most people kept their distance. Sadly, their beautiful little place is probably under tons of mud now, but they may well have rebuilt somewhere else. I certainly hope so.

A few stubborn ones decided to play chicken with the volcano, or discounted its danger. Volcanoes always win those contests. There were only three deaths within the official "Red Zone." All three were in cabins or lodges at Spirit Lake. THE OTHER 54 WERE TECHNICALLY IN AREAS DEEMED SAFE BY THE STATE OF WASHINGTON.

Interestingly, the "Red Zone" boundaries stopped where a huge lumber conglomerate's properties began. The company was actively logging on the morning of the blast. Five of their employees died on the mountain including three men who spoke virtually no English. Two of them lay in the hospital for weeks with horrific burns before they died.

Good business practice. I think you can guess what I think about the State of Washington's placement of those boundaries.

We have been back to the mountain a few times since and have seen how life has returned to what was a wasteland. There is a visitor center and walking trails. They all lack the serene and beautiful wildness that we had loved before May 18, 1980.

On the days following the eruption, the news was full of shock and horror as the news unfolded. The media seemed affronted, even outraged, by the eruption.

Dale, being Dale, said, "It's a volcano! What in the h*** do you expect it to do?"

 © J M-K  February 2016

David's Lost Kitty

Some drama here-- my son's cat went missing and was gone for 4 days. He's a rehomed Siamese that David took in last summer. David was very upset-- couldn't sleep... his other kitty wouldn't eat, kept looking for her buddy. David put up posters all over his neighborhood, and found his cat a few days later. Everybody's relieved. 

But the kitty’s homecoming took some interesting detours.

Here's the story: 

David had been scouring his neighborhood looking for his cat. I made a bunch of calls to rescue agencies; they were all sympathetic and helpful. When I told one woman that David's apartment is right behind Christie's Cabaret (a so called "gentlemen's club"), she said that he should go over there and show the cat's picture and ask them if maybe someone's been feeding him out back.

David walked over to Christie's. He looks tough but really is completely guileless. 

David: "I know this is an odd request, but I live back there (gestures toward his apartment building) and my cat's missing. I wonder if you've seen him or maybe somebody's been giving him food (shows picture on his phone)."

Girl 1: "That's a request I haven't heard before, for sure! No I haven't seen him." (She invites girls 2, 3, and 4 over. All of them are in “business attire.”)

David explains that someone apparently let the cat out accidentally (possibly the woman who cleans the hallways in his building), and he is worried about him because he's declawed and has never been outside.

The comments: "Oh that's so sad!" "He's so pretty!" "No we just go outside to smoke, we feed a cat sometimes but it's a black and white one, kind of scrawny, never seen a Siamese out there." "We'll watch out for him, don't worry." [best yet:] "Honey, you look so sad, let us give you a hug." [hugs from all the girls]

Male customer, jaw dropping in disbelief: "What the hell, all he does is show a picture of his stupid missing cat and he gets all that!"

The girls promise they'll look out for his kitty, and give him a couple of $5 passes. "That'll let you get in for free. Come back and see us!"

I had 20 posters printed. He put them up all over the neighborhood. I'm positive that one went up at Christie's.

David told us this story with a completely straight face. I think after he saw us laughing at his story, he  saw the humor. And of course he's ecstatic that he got his kitty back safely.

 © J M-K  February 2016