GOT
ANY DRUGS?
or
Mykel's 45th
Beloit Reunion
by
Mykel Board
I
hate it when things go right... especially before an out of town
trip...Smooth packing, not forgetting anything.... quick subway
connections... sailing through security... plane on time... Waiting
seat next to a working socket.... beautiful passenger sitting next to
you in the waiting area... thrilled that you speak the exotic
oriental language... and you're going to Chicago... 私もそこに行くよ!
セックスコンベンションのために。
あなたは滞在する場所が必要ですか?
Those
perfect leavings use up my entire stash of trip good luck... leaving
nothing but broken mirrors, black cats, and inside opened umbrellas
for the rest of the journey.
I
write this from Gate 37 at the American Airlines terminal at Kennedy
Airport in New York. From the way things have been going so far, this
will be a great trip. An unclaimed backpack sits ominously alone by
the window. I reported it an hour ago... no one has come to look at
it. That's the least of my problems.
But
let's begin at the beginning... this morning? Last month? 45 years
ago? 72 years ago? 5777 years ago? Okay, forget that. Let's jump
around like an avant garde novel.
1972:
I graduate from Columbia College in Chicago. I've only been there a
year and a half, but that's where my BA is from.
1991
It's the SPEW festival of fanzines in Chicago. I'm there as an
observer, trading my just budding underground notoriosity for some
free zines and beer where I can find it. What a crew. I meet Larry
Bob, Dennis Cooper, the editors of a bunch of zines, including the
best sex journal BATTERIES NOT INCLUDED. (He asks me to write for
him.)
Then, there's this guy, somewhat shlubbish, somewhat
just over the edge... on my side of that edge. He hands me a folded
zine, xeroxed... so DIY-looking it reads itself. COPS HATE POETRY is
the name.
“Hi,”
he says, “I hear you're Mykel Board. My name is Charles.” We
shake hands.
1968
I travel from the riots at the Chicago Democratic Convention to my
first year at Beloit College... a small mid-Western liberal arts
college that has yet to see the likes of me... or the dozens of
others fresh-from-Lincoln-Park warriors. Though I wanted to go to
NYU, my father said NO!
“If
you go to school in New York,” he said, “you'll think the whole
world is New York... you'll have no idea what the real world... or
even America is really like.”
So
I go to Beloit.
I
spend three years there... including a 6 month “working experience”
term in London, where I write for an Anarchist newspaper. I return to
New York in 1971, quit Beloit and move on to Columbia College in
Chicago.
2016
I get the notice in the mail... Time for your 45th
College Reunion. It's a big one, Mykel. If
you knew how few times in my life I've heard It's a
big one, Mykel You'd know
how enthusiastic I was in reading it. Even though I didn't graduate
from Beloit I feel closer to it because I made more friends there and
it was so isolated from urban America during my time there...except
for the occasional riot in Madison. Plus, I can fly to Chicago, see
Sid Yiddish who used to be Charles Bernstein, who I met all those
years ago at the Spew fest and who I've stayed in touch with,
traveled with, adventured with through the 25 years since.
2017
January or so. Arrangements are made. The plan: Visit Sid on Thursday
June 8... He meets me at the airport around 7 and we go out Thursday
evening. I rent a car on Friday. Drive to Beloit... Couch-surf there
then go back to Chicago for a day the next week. Smooth as an
Oriental's leg. Yeah, right.
2017
Thursday June 8 10:30PM: I now sit at the WORLD
OF BEER
in Evanston IL. I'm drinking a Sweetwarder Hash Session beer that
that one of the Beer Citizen reviewers says has “definite notes of
week.” It's not as good as my first beer here, the Ale Asylum
Madtown Nut Brown (misspelled Adtown Nut Brown on the menu)... but
it'll do. I arrived at 9:30. Sid's last text was he'll be here at 11.
June
7 earlier today: Packed, just leaving home... I check the gas on the
stove... all burners off. I rap my knuckles on the wall. The pain
will insure that I checked. I pick up my bags, struggle to turn
around in the narrow hallway. Then go out the door, locking the door
behind me , this time biting the middle nuckle of my right hand to
remember the action.
I go down to the street. Cross the
street. Still feeling the pain of the stove and door lock.... FUCK!!!
I forgot the folder full of stuff I had for the library. Old papers,
threats of expulsion.. clippings of condemnation from the dean...
Should
I get the folder.. or just go to the airport... I still have time and
I do want to bring that stuff.... Damn... I turn around and go
back.... Crossing the street... up the agonizingly slow elevator
unlocking my apartment door... suddenly overcome with the ferocious
stench of natural gas.
I
check my stove again. One of the burners is on... unlit and leaking
gas into the apartment. I must have brushed against it when I picked
up my bags. If hadn't gone back... who knows?
Gas
turned off I go look for the folder for the archives. I find it. It
is empty.
|
Sid's Mom |
|
2017
January-Feb: I'm in Arizona visiting Sid's parents with him. He's
become a part of my family over the years and met my parents shortly
before they died.. He's friends with my sister, my cousins, their
kids... one of the family. Now it's my turn.
Sid is a big guy but his
parents are not. They small... fragile... look to be in their
mid-80s. Dad walks with a cane... Mom seems in better health with a
loving sense of humor. Her Spanish isn't bad either, though I was
forced to go to Walmart to help her shop. She made a cake for Sid's
and my birthday... close on the monthly calendar... about a decade on
the yearly one.
It's
nice to meet mom, I've been sending her my duplicate quarters for
years.. and she knitted me a TUKE with my name on it. During this
trip... I bought her a couple books to put the quarters in.
2017
Earlier today. I'm pissed off... I have TWO American Airlines
frequent flier PLATINUM credit cards. That's supposed to be me group
one booking on their flights. My Delta Goldcard gets me that... and
Platinum is hoitier and toidier than gold! When I print my boarding
pass from home, it comes out with the stamp GROUP FIVE.
At
the airport I walk to the PRIORITY line that says its for ELITE
PASSANGERS there are six attractive check-in girls servicing the
fast-moving line. According to the sign, PRIORITY Includes first
class, business class, and Platinum card holders. I show my drivers
license and Platinum card to one of the two guards making sure only
the priority-worthy can get on the end of that line.
“Sorry,
sir,” says the male guard. (I HATE being called SIR! It always
means trouble.) “You have an ordinary Platinum card. The priority
line is for Platinum SELECT members.”
“I just have an easy
question,” I tell him.” I need to speak to someone about the
boarding group.”
“You
can just go to that line next door,” he tells me. “No problem.”
(I
HATE being told NO PROBLEM. Of course it's no problem for you,
asshole. But it's a fuckin' problem for me.)
I
move to the other line-- three people in front of me, including a
lady with a small dog. . One unattractive woman at one check in
counter. She's talking with a family showing their passports. She's
laughing. They're laughing. They talk some more. The line grows
behind me. 5 minutes in one place on line is a century. 10 minutes is
an eternity. 15 minutes later they're still talking. The line has
grown to half a dozen... a dozen... a dozen and a half. The man at
the counter thanks the woman, the little kid... who has been passing
in front of his parents like he was on line grabs his little
suitcase... they're off.
“Next,”
she says.
This
goes on for the next person... another 15 minutes. Then the woman
with the dog. 45 minutes for 3 people.
The
guy behind me looks like Ron Jeremy without the mustache.
“Next,”
she says.
One
person before me, another woman comes to an empty counter. In 10
minutes I reach her.
“I
know it's not your fault,” I tell her, “but there has been only
one person here for the past hour.”
I
show her my credit card and drivers license to prove who I am. Then,
I explain my group 5 problem.
“The
groups go up to 9,” she tells me. “Five isn't so bad.”
She
pushes some buttons and prints me out a boarding pass. Boarding group
5.
Then
I walk through the gate toward SECURITY. If there's anything I hate
it's SECURITY. More than people who stand on the escalator walk side.
More than subway riders pushing into the car before everyone gets
out. More that drivers going the speed limit in the left lane...
that's how much I hate airport SECURITY!!!
This
time I'm prepared. I've only got a backpack and a small computer bag.
In the computer bag is a folded trader Joe's shopping bag. I take it
out... open it up... take off my boots (they always set off the metal
alarm) and put them in the bag. Then I take off my belt... empty my
pockets... wallet... keys...cough drops... ying-yang hankie... spare
change... comb.. dump it all in the shopping bag.
Then
I take out the computer.... the one I'm using now... a gift from
Jody... a Eiiiiiiii... made it Taiwan. I put it in the shopping bag.
Hah! I'm ready. I reach in the bag, pull out my wallet take the
drivers licence out (ID, don't you know)... grab the just printed
boarding pass (GROUP FIVE) and head for the security gate.
“Excuse
me Sir,” says a very butch-looking colored girl at the gate. “You
can't go through security with three bags. It's against regulations.”
I
don't hit her.
She
looks at my boarding pass.
“And Sir!” she continues...
(if she says it again I WILL hit her)... “You have priority
boarding. You don't have to take your computer out or empty your
pockets. You can leave you shoes on and just go through that short
line over there.”
I
don't cry.
They
make me take off my shoes when I get to the gate... the metal sets
off the alarm.
EARLY
JUNE: Message from Sid. His Mom just died. She's been in and out of
the hospital... had a pacemaker... “called to say good-bye”...
all very sad. I was lucky enough to meet the fine woman on a trip to
Arizona last year. She made a dual birthday cake for Sid and me. Now
tragedy hits... and here memorial service? You guessed it... the day
of my arrival... just too late for me to attend, but close enough
that Sid has to be there when I arrive.
So,
I just have to go to World of Beers... drink... and wait until he
shows up.
He
shows up... things go... and here's a picture of us at the Diner the
next day... with the waitress.
MONDAY
JUNE 12: Back in Evanston returning the car. The Beloit weekend was
over. Of course, it went well. So well, in fact, that I could stay on
campus free... (a friend who didn't show up for his room). One night
with a spectacular couch surfer.... and a trip to the great Rock
County Beer Company in Janesville.
The
highlight of the trip was on campus. I'm walking with Arthur Thexton
and Jim Long... back to the dorms we're staying in... through the
campus familiar to us from 45 years ago. Some girls are sitting on
the wall by THE COMMONS. Their nametags say CLASS OF '07. This is
their 10th reunion. They come over to us...
talk to us... small talk. Then:
“We've got a little bit of
money... you know where we can get some weed?”
YES!
YES! YES! We're a John Holme's penis length more than double their
ages... and they're asking us for drugs! WE'VE STILL GOT IT!! We
still look like we could bring them drugs... or something equally
alternative. YES! YES! YES! I may be old, but they still ask me for drugs!!
HOOOOEEEEY!
JUNE 12: 3:32PM: Now I'm waiting at Portillo's
Hot Dogs in Evanston. Ten miles away from the car rental place. Sid
has been taken to lunch, so I have to wait until he returns. I sit at
this old-style-order-at-the-counter-but-not-fast-food place, having
just finished my giant chili dog... eaten with the first coke I've
had this year. I'll wait until the food moves south a bit...
finishing this blog... and giving Sid time to finish his lunch.
Too
not be continued now... but with new adventures soon!
if you want to read more of my writing (more political, more controversial, grosser) check out mykelsblog.blogspot.com