Notice the original date, Younglings. Some of you weren't even born yet. And that makes me feel terribly old.
This is the re-counting of quite an eventful night when I was living in Poppa Don's recording studio in DeQueen, and had just started working on my PhD. This originally appeared as a MySpace Blog posted November 21, 2008. I may chime in with new insight as you read along (in italics).
November 18, 2008
Or "Smoke on the Water." More like "Smoke Seeping Through Your Air Conditioning Vent."
At 5:30 a.m. you awake to the sound of a Siamese cat (Yes, Renegade Ted) hacking up a lung, not a hairball. And this rubbery burning smell.
What do you do? Here's what I did.
I got up and got dressed. I went upstairs to the bathroom. Could still sort of smell the burny odor but felt no heat. Came back down to the studio.
Was it hazy in here, or were my contacts just smudged? All three cats were crying now, perched on the drum divider, staring at me. I walk outside and look around. Hmm...don't really see anything. Go back in. It's not just haze now, it's billows of smoke filling the room.
Oh, expletive!
What do I grab first? My school books. Mainly because they're not mine. Then the laptop, because all my schoolwork is on it. Instruments. Because they aren't mine either-these guitars belong to the school. Bag of clothes. Then cats.
Priorities, man. Animals are last. Think about it. If I'm having to shove stuff in the car, they can leap out when I open the doors. I can't chase them down the street. I get Ted(not the guitar player, just in case you're confused), then Cash(surprisingly), and then I go for Tango, who skitters away into the closet with the fuse box, which is full of God-knows-what. I'm tossing out cans of paint, bags of ozite, sheaves of insulation. No cat.
Side Note #1: You know all of our cats, and are probably wondering who Tango and Cash are. They were feral kittens we found outside the Dowd Building in the early fall of 2008, where we use to rehearse the band. They stayed with me until this incident and were returned to the loft. Tango was sent to be a mouser at the Dowd Building, but escaped through a broken window. Cash became "Mama Kitty", thanks to Jack Hammer. I'll tell that story some other time.
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| Cash (grey) & Tango (yellow), sitting in my overnight bag, in said studio |
Back to November 18, 2008:
Geez.
I go out...and see flames in one of the windows just next to the studio. I end up running down the street anyway...to the jail that isn't there anymore. I forgot they'd moved. I slip on the wet sidewalk and fall. Brilliant. Like some dumb girl in a horror flick. When the hell did it rain? I debate running two blocks to the empty fire station. A lot of good that would do.
Why am I running around the courthouse anyway, you ask? Why not just dial 911? Well, because there's nothing to dial it on. I only have Internet. And remember where I put the laptop? In the car!
Side Note #2: We'd already shut off the landline to the studio. And this was before I had a cell phone. Ancient technological times, my padawans.
I attempt to flag down Pilgrim's employees during shift change. No one stops. How nice. A nice man in a white pickup pulls up.
"My building's on fire!"
It appears he doesn't have a cell. Just like I don't. (See??) "Oh, I'll call the fire department."
How clever. Poor guy.
I go back in and search for Tango for about a minute. The smoke has gotten so bad I can't breathe. I have to get out. So now I'm worried. I think of a recent house fire in Shreveport where they saved everyone but the family dog, who died of smoke inhalation, a lump of fur lying in the front yard.
Well, dead or alive, I'm getting my new "little kitty buddy" out of that building.
Before the fire department showed, two Pilgrim's workers pull up and start running to the front of the building, asking each other if they have their keys to the restaurant. They don't. So they're obviously connected to Lillie's Pad, restaurant in question. That's their place that's on fire. Uh oh.
The brave(huh) firefighters of DQFD pull up in 3 different trucks, meandering up Third Street to glance up at the flaming window. They hooked up hoses and set up a ladder to take on the inferno. Well, I say "they," more like one guy doing all the work and the others standing around watching. Like road construction workers. And sound crews. It looked like they got the flames out quick and spent the next half hour fanning the smoke out. It poured out every window. I got a little freaked out when a huge cloud formed outside the studio, but a quick glance into the door, propped open to allow venting, assured me there was nothing to fear.
I found it interesting that no one, not one firefighter spoke to me. Well, one did, asking me to park my car in the middle of Third Street, and whatever that other one is, Gilson, I think, to block the traffic. One other fireman waved at me. Gee, that's pleasant. I saw them speaking to the Lillie's Pad crew, now gathered up across the street at the courthouse, but no one came to ask if I was okay, or even who I was. Even when I was brave enough to venture back into the studio to search for Tango again, no one said, "Hey, lady, it's not safe to go back in yet!" I guess they thought I was some homeless person standing by the furniture store just taking in the scene. Yeah, okay, I was wearing a plaid flannel shirt and jeans but I didn't look like a transient. I'd even had time to brush my teeth and comb my hair.
The smoke had cleared somewhat in the studio so I went back in one more time to search for Tango. He was not in that closet. Then the power went out. Swepco had shown up, obviously to inspect the electricity, which I believe is the source of the fire. I had to go back out. Then it immediately came back on, so back in I went. I found the cat huddled behind my TV table. He'd slobbered some, poor baby, which is what some cats do when they're stressed, and his yellow fur was a little gray, but he was alive, and scared to death.
Ah, relief.
I picked him up and took him to the car, and he was welcomed by his "siblings" with open paws.
I hung around until the DQFD started rolling up hoses, which meant the danger was over. I made sure I had what I needed, locked up the studio, and decided to treat myself to breakfast. I had just enough cash for a McGriddles sandwich and a big Coke.
Now what? I considered scrapping going to Nashville and just going home to T-Town. I'm guilty about missing so much class already this semester(rare for me, really), so I decide to go to NV. I'll just finish Wagner and the late Romanticists and cut out early. But I knew I had to meet with the American Fidelity guy. A mandatory thing, grrrr. He'd only be in DQ today. More grrrr. The business office even called griping that I didn't see him the day before. Biggest grrrr of all. Well, y'know, I TEACH during the day? It's my JOB??!!?? I tried to see him Monday but all his appointments were full. The empty slots were during my class time. So I agreed to drive back to DQ to see this guy at 1. I don't even participate in that stuff because I have enough insurance.
Okay, I digress.
From my DeQueen office, I messaged Don with my news. I dressed for class. I packed up what I needed for NV. Suddenly Andrew Day shows up to visit. Oops, don't have time for that. But it was nice of him to stop by. I pulled kittens out from underneath my bookcase, put them in the car. Fished Renegade Ted out from behind my computer monitor, put him in the car. I took them back to the studio until I could come back that afternoon.
Went to NV. Played "Ride of the Valkyries." Skipped the Mahler symphony. Went back to DeQueen. Had to wait for what's-his-name (Grant is his name, very nice man) to get back from lunch. Visited with Sunni for a while. (It's so nice to have someone I can talk about school with, since she's in the same degree program with me at NCU. What a treat.) The American Fidelity guy showed, then I had to wait in line, for crying out loud. Listened to some of our employees talking about how bad they were in high school. (That's setting a real example...). Listened to the insurance spiel, signed my name to indicate he'd seen me. YES! I'm outta here now!
I go to pick up the kitties and take them home. They don't travel well. At least Ted doesn't. He likes to wander around the car and whine. I got to the flats before Ashdown and all three of them came out, sitting on top of the boxes looking at me. Ted decided he wanted to whine some more.
"Do I have to turn on Peter Frampton?" Frampton calms him down, don't know why that is. I didn't turn it on. He did not like the Guns N' Roses, but "Sweet Child of Mine" needed some practice (I have no idea what I meant by that).
Anyway, I finally make it home. Frazzled but functioning. My husband was very happy to see me - smoky smell and all. (I did shower, but it didn't help. I can't imagine what spouses of firefighters have to deal with. I'll ask Heather. No, never mind.) We herded cats into the house and the little ones hid. Cash (aka Mama Kitty) ventured out some time later, but I didn't see Tango for a day. He was hiding behind some boxes we hadn't unpacked yet. He sat in my lap for over an hour the other night, demanding constant petting. Cash allows Don to touch. And if you knew Cash, this is a phenomenal event. Freaky cat, now bonding with Bug, the cantankerous old tom. Animals, animals, animals.
We had band rehearsal. I waited until Ted (now I'm talking about the guitar player) arrived so I wouldn't have to tell the story two more times. Don made an interesting comment: He woke up at about 5:30 that same morning, which he never does, just out of the blue. He remembered thinking, "Something's up." Wild. I think there's a bit of psychic magic in those who are closely tied to one another.
We practiced "My Sharona." Ah, music, rock and roll. Even if it's by a one-hit wonder pseudo-punk early 80s band. I felt much better. Big kiss to my Fender and some of the coolest musician guys in the whole world. My cool musician guy took good care of me that evening, and was thankful I was okay. He even gave Ted the Cat praise for waking me up. Now I have a life-saving kitty story, too. I lived through a really big fire once before, the Cerro Grande that wiped out about a third of Los Alamos. (Again, a big tale for another time.) But we had already evacuated and our duplex was spared. We even got our lost dog back. That was scary then, and even though I got out of the studio and the fire didn't destroy the building, I was still a little freaked out. I also find it interesting that this fire occurred the day after we all got a notice from our new landlord that we were to vacate the building by December 31 so he can begin "extensive renovations."
Hmmmm....
We were planning on moving out anyway, since we'd pretty much moved the studio to Texarkana. But we thought we still had some time. I feel really bad for Lillie, who was about to cook a big Thanksgiving dinner for the homeless and start a soup kitchen. She told me she really had no place to go. She also hadn't heard what really started the blaze. Like I said, it smelled electrical, like blown cables. She's completely out now. The thrift store is still there, something about a contract. Don't know the details there. And someone took my push-button light out of the upstairs bathroom. Bastards. That thing cost nine bucks!
(The building, the entire downstairs portion, is now Stilwell's Restaurant. The studio area was cleared out and is their formal dining room.)
The end of the DeQueen branch of Garth Vader Studios will happen in the next week. Don will come up and take the big items out of the front room, along with the tree stump and the auditorium seats (y'all know where those ended up!). I have removed all the records, and posters of past shows, some that included the Groovetones, from the wall. It's sad as I look at the "sheet music wallpaper" and remember how much work Don put into it. He was so proud of our little studio, and we had some great times there. We really did.
As far as where I will "crash" the days I'm in DeQueen, I have already been taken care of. One of the nicest people on campus has offered to rent me an extra room in her home, which is absolutely beautiful. It looks out over a pond and a gorgeous expanse of land, and it's not too far from where two of my favorite people used to live on Dog Town Road. I can take those walks in the country like I've been wanting to! I doubt I'll be riding the bike to school again-I saw some hills I just don't want to tackle.
Yeah, so I was able to write a blog at the same time I was working on a fifteen page research paper, but that's done now. And I'm just glad I finally had a chance to write something besides distance education essays.
And that's the way it was...in November 2008.
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