Pre-Occupied with 1985, Part 9 - The Opus

VIDEO: Continued dive into The Writing Tub

The Story Behind the Story Part 1 (From the Dr. Mac Author Blog)

Well, here we are again. I’m filling in space this week because this has now become a ten episode Season. I'm also rambling a bit before I wrap this 1985 thing up.

Some folks will get that italicized word. Just like the folks who’ve already heard this story. If you checked out the video and the link above, then this is more or less old news.

As a kid, I had my head in the clouds a lot. But I was pretty good at hiding it. Or maybe being a bubble-brain living in the dreamworld in my head was squashed down because of this terrible sense of duty and responsibility I was inherently born with. 

(Ever take the MBTI Personality Test? One of these days you might, Younglings. The fake version, the free internet version, AND the pricey real one, that I had to take when I went through the state leadership program. ISTJ every single time. It hasn’t changed AT ALL in almost 20 some-odd years. If you know, you know. Here I’m always thinking I’m pretty hip, but nooo….I’m basically a Vulcan. And I totally married Captain Kirk. Go figure.)

Anyway…

Whenever I found life boring or uninteresting or unadventurous, as it usually is, especially growing up where I did, I would write stories. Where I had cool friends and wore awesome clothes and lived in exotic locations and rode horses and solved mysteries and made movies and starred on TV and modeled and went to the Olympics and won Wimbledon and won roller boogie contests and won lots of money in Vegas and played Madison Square Garden and drove a Porsche and traveled to outer space and had superhuman powers and saved the universe…

I read The Secret Life of Walter Middy in the second grade and could totally relate. There’s a lot of 💩 going on inside this head. There still is. And with all that “metal” floating around in there in June of 1985, I needed to write it down.

As I mentioned in the above Dr. Mac Author Blog post, it started as a short story. I had already had some stories in the Ebony Rose, MHS’s literary magazine (of which I, and Mike French, God rest his sweet soul, were editors our senior year), and I, of course, wanted to write more. You could also win prizes for specific genres so, duh. 

The story got longer…and longer…and longer, until it filled all those notebooks. And beyond. (And then, 21 years later, it was finished.) Needless to say, in the beginning, it didn’t make the cut as an Ebony Rose entry, but my one-act play, based on a band having their worst gig ever, won the prize for Best One-Act Play. Only because it was the only one-act play submitted. I don’t remember if it was even really published in 1986’s issue. And right now, it’s too hot to climb up into the attic to look, in another tub filled with more of my stuff.

I called it The Opus for years because I didn’t know what to call it. Now, though, that I’ve mapped out the remainder of the series, I have each book already named, drawing on song titles. It’s funny how when I finished that first “volume” (which is now two separate books), I was sad, because I thought that was it: That Kookoo musical world, the characters I’d grown to love, and hate, that I’d created were gone, and I thought I couldn’t go back there. 

Well…

The night I typed the last word, in that same room at 210 Gary Drive where I’d started it, a room that is completely empty now and will someday belong to someone else, that place inside my brain was suddenly flooded with more ideas. Those inspiring bands still play! They’re all over social media! They wrote memoirs! They’ve liked my comments on their Facebook posts! Mark Slaughter friended ME on MySpace! I shook Kip Winger’s hand in 2017!!!

Ah…The Opus could go on. #sorrynotsorry 

Pre-Occupied with 1985, Part 8 - The Fan Clubs - Gimme an R!

Hello, Younglings!

More from The Writing Tub! Another integral part of that time.

In 1985, Christine and I pooled our money and joined Helix's fan club. It was really pretty cool and we got newsletters once a month. I wrote to them exclusively about how she and I just loved the band and how I wanted to run off to Canada to become a rock star.

Yeah, that is as dumb as it sounds. (I didn't actually go to Canada until Poppa Don and I were returning from Spain via AirCanada and had to stop in Toronto (at YYZ!!) and change planes. That was in 2019. I visited again in September of that year when I was at a workshop in Detroit and took the bus over to Windsor for about 20 minutes. I was just going to hop into a pub and have a drink but...I was on foot, it started raining, I forgot I wouldn't have phone service over there, so I hightailed it back across the lake as soon as I found the bus station. The border office people were not super-friendly. So I guess that thing about Canadians being friendly is a myth.)

Eh? 

I'll go back sometime when I'm more prepared.

Anyway, Helilx's fan club "person" wrote me back personally, a letter dated July 16, 1986, and it had a wealth of insight for a 17-year-old wanna-be bass-playing superstar.

Feel free to zoom in and read it. "Jackie B" of Promotions said, "Being a musician is a very tough life." She also recommended to have an education to fall back on. Should I study music? 

Well, I kinda already had that one figured out, but I found this piece of advice very interesting.

I finally got to see Helix at Rocklahoma in 2009. I took this letter with me and got in to the Meet & Greet right after their set. Of the original members, Brian Vollmer (lead vocals) was there, (I spoke to him briefly), and Brent Doerner, their former guitar player was with them for that show, though he hadn't played in a while. I'm pretty sure Fritz Hinz (RIP) was drumming. The bassist and the other guitar player were guys I didn't know, but they made a comment about the date on the letter, as in like, "Wow, that's old." 

Everyone autographed it, and it was fun talking to Brent because he was complaining how hot it was. "It was so hot I had to lie down on the floor of the green room, man!" And I'm like, "Dude, it's Pryor, Oklahoma in the middle of July." He was hilarious.

By the way, he reacted to my Ozzy tribute video. He's been a Facebook friend of mine for years and always wishes me a Happy Birthday. Has for several years now. Christine would get such a kick out of that because he was her favorite.

And here is the autographed photo we got direct from the fan club right after we joined, during the Long Way to Heaven days. It's too bad they weren't more popular in the U.S. because they were really a good band. The only big song they had in the States was "Rock You."

That membership only lasted a year, and we didn't renew it after we went to HSU. Interestingly enough, when they released the Back For Another Taste album, they sent me a flyer for it. They obviously still had my address (or Mom & Dad's P.O. Box LOL). That was in 1990. I didn't buy that album until years later when I found a used CD on Amazon. It's not available on streaming so that's a bummer. It was some of their best stuff.

In 1992, guitarist Paul Hackman, my "Number #1 Metal Man" in those early years, died from internal injuries after their touring van ran off the road after a July 4th gig in Vancouver. He was only 38.  

I still follow the band on social media and they stay pretty busy. They're currently working on some re-issues of their earliest albums plus working on new stuff, and still rolling on the road.

So... Gimme an R!!

Pre-Occupied with 1985, Part 7 - The Attitude

Okay, so….this one is little heavy. Spoiler alert!

I had the “ganas”, the music, the wardrobe, the look, an instrument to get started (though not the right one just yet)…hours and hours of MTV, but something else was happening.

I was painfully shy as a kid. I still am, but I’ve learned to push through it, especially since it’s more or less a job requirement not to be. There are days when it’s still way too “people-y” out there for me and I’d rather stay in bed petting a cat.

However, one of the best changes to come out of my heavy metal transformation was the ability to talk to strangers and not sound like a stuttering moron. I didn’t literally have a stutter, but previous to that summer of 1985, the thought of speaking to someone I didn’t know terrified me. Sometimes speaking to people I actually knew terrified me. Some people probably think I still feel this way (and yeah, it pops up on occasion) and others probably think I never felt this way.

(Should we really care what people think? Do they even think about us anyway?)

I’ve always been able to go out on a stage and do “that” stuff. Being in a play, playing in the band and being the drum major, pretending to be a white Tina Turner, lip-syncing Duran Duran songs, blah, blah, blah, but that’s different for me. It may be in front of a large group of people, but there’s a huge invisible safety barrier between performer and audience. It keeps the masses at a distance. It was always the one-on-one I couldn’t stomach. Still can’t to an extent. For me, that’s too much exposure. You can hide vulnerabilities behind lights and costumes. You’re somebody else at that point.

Getting full-throttle into music, though, especially the kind that wasn’t very mainstream at the time, that helped me open up a bit. The more I learned and listened, the more I was able to relate to other people who were also fans. I can remember one particular day I was perusing the Walmart record section and there was this guy, never saw him before or again in my life, but he said something about some obscure metal band (can’t remember what), and I piped up with some comment because I knew who that band was, and some short conversation followed.

I would NEVER have done that prior to that day. 

From that point forward, I had more confidence, felt less like a socially awkward nerd (even though that’s never gone away), but I felt more like I was part of something more…cool? Listen, it was NOT cool to be a nerd in the early 80s. And it was definitely not cool to be a nerd in Southwest Arkansas. It was even less cool to be a girl nerd. (Now, my new interest in being a rock chick bass player came with its own set of contingencies later on, but that’s for a future blog.) So, this was a welcome change for me. Maybe not so much for the parental units, but I felt a little bit more liberated.

Being sixteen is a challenge anyway, and those “demonic” musical choices didn’t help in some ways, because I was also starting to develop that “attitude.” I’d never been rebellious. I followed rules and went to church and made good grades and behaved at school and had never touched an illegal substance. I didn’t date, because, well…I think people thought I was some kind of freak. I didn’t even “drag main” or drive around the old Walmart parking lot or hang out at the Cone-N-Cue because I thought that was kinda lame. When I did, with my new ability to drive the car by myself, I was home long before curfew, listening to my new cassettes, watching videos, or writing or, after Christmas that year, practicing. 

I was just different, I guess. And they say that to be “different” is to fight the hardest battle of your life every day of your life. I don’t remember how I heard that, or where that quote even came from, but it’s somewhat true. And with my new-found identity at that time, I had a lot to learn. 

But that’s what more blog posts are for!

Pre-Occupied with 1985 - Part 6 The Writing Tub

 Taking a first look into "The Writing Tub!"

Pre-Occupied with 1985, Part 5 - The Diet

Meaning...there wasn't one.

I never worried about food. I was blessed with a metabolism that would allow me to eat a five-course meal: appetizer, soup, salad, entree, and dessert then have a snack two hours later. Wash it all down with Coca-Cola and not gain an ounce.

Then I reached age 35 and it all went to sh*t.

But when I was sixteen? Perish the thought.

That summer I would go with Mom to the grocery store, (again when MaddOx was in the old Piggly Wiggly that became Fred's that became James' Foods) and buy Dr. Pepper, Canada Dry Ginger Ale, Shasta Black Cherry Soda, Brown Sugar Cinnamon and Strawberry Pop Tarts, Butterfinger candy bars...and that was my snack menu. I'd also partake of Oreos, Chips Ahoy Chocolate Chip cookies, both a big glass of milk. I also liked this tapioca you could buy in a can. I also used to get these microwaveable French Toast things (mainly when I was in middle school) and Lean Cuisine's Linguine and Clam Sauce (discontinued). Other staples were chocolate covered peanuts (or clusters) and Whoppers Malted Milk Balls. Other discontinued favorites were those Carnation Breakfast Bars (chocolate chip) and Figurines. Those were "healthy" snacks.

Breakfast cereal? Cocoa Puffs, Fruity Pebbles, Rice Chex, Corn Chex, and Cinnamon Life. And sometimes Nature Valley Granola. 

Photo taken 2016. Black Cherry soda is REALLY hard to find.

Also when I was in middle school, I did learn how to cook and bake. As a latchkey kid, who was home by herself all day in the summers, I would bake cakes and cookies (snickerdoodles were my favorite), plus I knew how to fry and scramble eggs, heat up canned soup, make redeye and white gravy, boil pasta (mac and cheese!!), and pop popcorn (in a pot!). I could fry hamburgers and brown ground beef. I could also make quick oats (not instant) and grits. I could chop vegetables. Memaw taught me the baking part, Poppa Bill showed me how to do the other.

Regarding other grocery shopping, there was no Walmart SuperCenter. In 1985, that area was a cow pasture, and remained as such until about 2000.

When Memaw started working at the bank, she would work until 6 p.m. on Fridays, and so we always went out to eat on Fridays. This more or less continued even when we had the shop because it closed at 5:30. We'd normally to the Fish Net out at Potter, or the Holland House. The Limetree was reserved for after church on Sunday. There was no McDonald's in Mena until after I went to Henderson. No pizza delivery, either, even though we've had a Pizza Hut for decades, back when Pizza Hut was an experience. (Poppa Bill wasn't a fan, but he'd eat it.) We had Sonic (which is now Cruizzer's), but that was rare for a supper meal. (I remember Memaw driving off with a tray once.) 

No such thing as Chinese either, but we had Suree's, which was more Thai food when it first opened. Her chicken curry was fantastic. 

Oh, we did have KFC. Remember when they had sandwiches? HAM sandwiches? And those cool little parfait things?

When we'd go to Fonrt Smith or Dallas, well, that was different. At Fort Smith, we once ate at Tomfoolery, and Mrs. Laura's, if we weren't having a Nana McChristian-prepared meal at their house in Greenwood on drill weekends. Homemade mac and cheese!!! And Nana always had huge kosher dill pickles in the fridge, Oreos, again, in her cookie jar, and Munchos potato chips, which I still buy every summer. We'd eat at the mall on those Saturday shopping excursions. Furr's Cafeteria at Phoenix Village. Or Luby's at Central Mall. 

Ah...the early days of Chick-Fil-A. The big pretzels with cheese. And this was before Central Mall had a food court. Those were in the Dallas Malls, where I tried gyros for the first time. Sbarro. I thought pizza by the slice was the smartest idea ever. Great American Cookie Company. Buy 4 get 1 free!

Also in the "big" towns: McDonald's!!! Arby's. A Beef and Cheddar is still a delicacy. I remember sitting at the Arby's on Rogers Avenue after an orthodontist visit and we had just bought The Truly Tasteless Joke Book. Memaw was laughing hysterically and everyone was staring at us.

Unfortunately, I'm currently on a juice cleanse so I probably need to stop talking about being a junk food junkie in my teens.

Not an 80s video, but it still makes sense.

Pre-Occupied With 1985, Part 4 - The Musician

The decision was made. Music it was going to be. No holds barred. I was most likely one of the most focused, if not completely delusional, sixteen-year-old girls wandering around Mena, Arkansas thinking she was going to be the greatest rock musician in the history of the planet.

Well, I did what I could.

I was already an “Outstanding Girl Musician.” 

I won that title at Junior High Band Camp after the 8th grade. I was destined for greatness.

That was playing the saxophone though. I did choose that because that was the closest thing to a “rock and roll” instrument available. I already knew how to play the piano. I could read music and was pretty good at picking things out by ear. In fact, that was why I quit piano. I played it like I heard it, not like it was written on the page. Sandra Curtis, my piano teacher, was having none of that. This would be a tremendous benefit to me later, though I didn’t know it at the time.

I HAD to play bass. Had to. No ifs, ands, or…but all I had was an old Spaulding tennis racket that I “pretended” to play bass with.

Jumping around my room shouting at the devil and running to the hills. It didn’t quite have the same effect. 

But I did have a PLAN.

Robbie had an old guitar in his closet he never learned to play. No brand name on the headstock. It had three strings on it. I went over to his house one afternoon; door wide open, TV on. Nobody home. Such as it was in Mena, Arkansas in the middle of the summer in the 80s. I took the guitar out of the closet, put it in the car, bought strings at WalMart, and took it home. Figured out by guessing how to string it. I called him that night and said, “I have your guitar.”

His reply: “Oh, great. I’m glad somebody’s gonna learn how to play it.”

I sat down that night with a Mel Bay guitar book that was Liz’s and got to work. The first thing I figured out? The opening bars of Dokken’s “Alone Again.” Well, that was easy! I learned some basic chords, a C scale. Some of other easy exercises in the Mel Bay book, which was Book 2 by the way. Moved on and picked out the opening of Judas Priest’s “Electric Eye” and Dio’s “The Last in Line.”

That’s as far as I got as a lead guitarist. I knew that was never meant to be and I didn’t aspire to that. Everyone wanted to be a stupid guitar god. Or a drummer. Or a lead singer (that would come later). I was going to be different. And be the bass player.

Well, just around the corner from Ye Olde Fabric Shoppe was the only other music store in town, and on display in the window was a bright Red Cort Slammer Bass with MY name on it. If I only got one thing for Christmas, that was going to be it. I didn’t care if I got anything else.

It will be mine. Oh, yes, it will be mine.

Pre-Occupied with 1985, Part 3 - The Look

Younglings, allow me to back up once again, and explain why the whole year, and not just the summer, of 1985 was pivotal.

Memaw had worked at First National Bank since 1979. Then all the sudden, she and Mamaw Lee up and bought a fabric store.

Oooo…kay. Didn’t see that coming, but that was another big change in everything that year. 

So, I remember her final days at the bank, when I was allowed to drive the car, a 1984 Pontiac Phoenix, by myself! (The photo is not the actual car - just one I found online. Someday I'll show you what it ended up looking like in the summer of 1990.) I must have gone to run an errand or something. Incidentally I remember being in the break room upstairs and there was an advertisement for some KTel (or other compilation LP) that featured part of the video to Scorpions’ “Still Loving You.” I had yet to hear the whole song but that day would come.

Anyway, we had a fabric store. And I “kinda” had a job there, but didn’t really make a salary. I learned to work the cash register and cut fabric and hunt down notions, but I also finished learning how to sew. I earned my keep by making all of my own clothes as store samples. The cool thing about that was that Appolonia (yes, THAT Appolonia) had her own line of patterns through McCall’s. I made about three of them. (Those are in another blog post…Say Goodbye to the Fabric Store. That’s a pretty interesting post so be sure to check that one out! Please forgive the formatting. For some reason they've changed the ability to edit the text for the photos). 

I made some pretty groovy things up until I went to college. I did try to con Memaw into buying zebra striped spandex in every color, but to no avail. I can also remember one Saturday morning we had American Bandstand on at the store and Giuffria was on there performing (lip-synching) songs from their second album “Silk & Steel” and Memaw said, “I don’t want you in a mess like that.”

Giuffria on Bandstand (I was for sure they'd done "I Must Be Dreaming" but...I must have been dreaming.)

I ignored her, obviously. I mean, Giuffria wasn’t exactly musically frightening. Now if Slayer had been on there…

Speaking of Giuffria, sometime earlier that summer I had bought Prince’s “Around the World in a Day,” decided I wasn’t that fond of it, took it back to WalMart and exchanged it for Giuffria’s first self-titled album. Probably a dumb decision, but oh well. I thought they were Journey at first; David Glen Eisley sounds amazingly like Steve Perry.

So, I had wardrobe options. However, you couldn’t buy ripped-up jeans already ripped-up in those days; you had to create them yourself, and you had to get creative to expedite the process. I had a pair of perfectly boring jeans, and soaked them in water and bleach. Didn’t quite get the results I wanted, so with either that same pair or another one (I preferred Levi’s 501 button-fly at the time), I opted to just pour straight bleach right on them in various spots. Okay, that was cool. The bleach weakened the denim enough to make some rips. I wore them to school one day sometime during my junior year and I sat down in first period journalism…and there went the entire seat of my pants. Luckily I was wearing a shirt I’d made out of some kookoo print that was like a cutaway tuxedo jacket, longer in back than the front, so I was able to make it to the pay phone outside the front of the office to call Memaw to bring me another pair of pants.

Lesson learned. Next…

I wanted to be Nikki Sixx. My hair wasn’t dark enough.

What?

No, it wasn’t black enough. It needed to be blacker.

Memaw, who had been more a beatnik in her college days at Hendrix, was helpful in this sense and introduced me to Clairol semi-permanent hair color. Choose light ash brown, she said, and it will be dark enough. And she was right! This, along with me taking pictures of Jon Bon Jovi and Richie Sambora to the beauty parlors, shag haircuts and body waves in fruitless attempts to achieve BIG ROCKER HAIR, set the stage as it were for the next five or six years. No matter what I did, though, I always ended up looking like Eddie Van Halen. And yes, I had a mullet for a while but that was before 1985. We didn’t call it that, though. It didn’t have a name. 

Well. I had the look. Now I had to learn how to get THE SOUND.