“Catch The Wind” - Donovan
Those who lived on campus were either members of a fraternity, a sorority or Gamma Delta Iota, better known as God-Damn Independents or dorm rats. They, of course, go to participate in affairs like homecoming in the fall, Winter Weekend and Spring Weekend. But, unless they were lucky enough to be invited, they didn’t have the added entertainment of fraternity parties, Greek competitions among the fraternities and sororities, fundraisers for charity and to offset expenses. It was believed that those doomed to be dorm rats didn’t have the same rich college experience that was enjoyed by the brothers and sisters of the Greek organizations.
The brothers kept a tight rein on behavior such as beer and alcohol in the house, which was strictly against the rules. They also kept an eye on the creeping pot problem that went on in the dorms but had still not hit the house by the fall of 1969. That wasn’t to say that off-site parties held in local halls and hotels were dry. The Ohio liquor law allowed 3.2 beer to be sold or served to 18 year olds. There didn’t seem to be any restrictions against the brothers bringing liquor to a hotel while attending a party on the premises. That rule was never actually verified, and as a backup, the chapter never used the same hotel twice and always paid the rental bill in advance.
The fall of 1969 had brought new entertainment to Kent. During the week students protested on campus and sometimes marched downtown for an afternoon of anti-war speeches. In contrast, housewives wearing their proper Sears coats while their kids played along the street’s curb with their toy cars carried handwritten signs that proclaimed “Moratorium? Or – Aid”, “Comfort the Enemy” and “What a glorious day for our communist enemies!”
Jeff spent most of his days at The Kent State Campus Theater. He was stoked with productions like Death of a Salesman, Once More on The Merry-Go-Round, Much Ado About Nothing and even lesser-known creations like The Caucasians Chalk Circle. His devotion was pure, but he encouraged his brothers to attend with such tempting reasons as attending theater made them appear more mature and sophisticated when they were trying to impress a girl or that it fulfilled class credit requirements for the ever popular Theater Appreciation course. He tried to convince them that the credit hours would be as much fun as if it was bowling or golf.
Jeff had an advantage as student enthusiasm for wasting an afternoon at a Kent State Golden Flashes football game dwindled quickly every fall. With due respect to Ted McCoy and his running skills, no one wanted to watch the team struggle for one or two wins for another season.
Jeff enjoyed Friday afternoons as the traffic flowed mainly west along Route 59 heading to Akron or Cleveland and to Canton along Route 43. By around eight every Friday evening, the traffic pattern switched as young people flowed into Kent along the same routes. It was estimated that of the 20,000 students on campus during the week that about half of them would leave the town of Kent for the weekend and an equal amount of people would flow in. It was a weekend party destination. Rock bands sought gigs in the dozens of bars around the town, door ID checkers were under-staffed to handle the crowds and, as if on cue, the last of the war protesters, who had mocked the ROTC drills on the Commons all week, evaporated and were not to be seen again until Monday.
Frank skipped down the front stairs. “Alfonso? I’ll stop back tomorrow around 3 and pick you up. OK?”
“1500 hours,” Alfonso answered back.
“What the . . . yeah, 1500 hours, amigo,” Frank said as he waved to the gathering in the living room and headed out the back door to the parking lot and his Mustang.
“What’s tomorrow, Alfonso?” Larry asked.
“Frank asked if I wanted to go home with him tomorrow night. It sounded like a good time.”
“It’ll be different,” Barry said with a smile.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t worry. Everyone has come back alive,” Kevin chimed in.
“What are you and Donna doing this weekend?” Barry asked.
“I’m taking her to see Donovan tomorrow night. She doesn’t know yet, but I’m sure she’ll be excited. I’m trying to get back with her.”
“Good luck . . . isn’t this the second time she’s dumped you this quarter?” Cliff offered.
“What are you, the chapter historian?”
“As a matter of fact, I am. I can also take pictures if you want to preserve the moment. I’ll make several copies so you can use them the next dozen times you two break up.”
“Well, it’s the third time, not the second.” Kevin said, then realized he had only validated Cliff’s skepticism.
“Good God, man, it’s only October.”
Ted and Fred rushed down the stairs and stopped to gaze at the assembled brothers in the living room.
“I’m off to the game, gentlemen,” Ted declared. “Are any of you going?”
The brothers shifted uncomfortably and almost simultaneously offered their excuses.
“I’m going to Willoughby,” Fred said.
“I’ve got a date,” Kevin added.
“I’m going to Frank’s,” Alfonso spoke up.
“I’ve got to study. You guys drive safe,” Barry stated as he waved them off. Ted and Fred left through the kitchen door to the parking lot.
“So Kevin, want to come with us tonight then?” asked Barry.
“Sure . . . where to?”
“We’re going to head over to Chicken Manor for dinner, then the Fifth Quarter. Hef knows the owner, so we can get in. The Measles are playing with Joe Walsh on lead,” Barry offered.
“Chicken Manor and Joe Walsh. How could I pass that up?” Kevin asked.
Chicken Manor was located east of the University on Main Street. The students across the campus ate there for one reason . . . quantity. Fried chicken, French fries, corn and dessert for about five dollars. Even the biggest eater was satisfied. There was always a wait, but the Fifth Quarter didn’t open until 7 and tonight their seats were guaranteed.
Barry led the charge to the Fifth Quarter. The line stretched north to Main Street and he had to park his VW Bug about three blocks away. He, Kevin, Alfonso and Hef walked north along South Water Street and crossed over to the west side near the front door, dodging the cars and trucks being piloted without flight rules by a mixture of high school students, college students from as many as twenty different schools and universities within an hour’s drive of Kent and a few of what could only be described as farm vehicles. Kent was surrounded by Amish farms on three sides, but no one ever saw young clean-shaven men or girls in long dresses on rumspringa in Kent.
This rite of passage was when Amish youth reached the age of sixteen, they were offered the opportunity to try out the ways of the modern world. Reports were rare, but it was believed it was all about sex, parties and fast cars. In spite of its many parties and music venues, Kent wasn’t one of the Amish destinations. But they did drive through on their way to somewhere more sophisticated.
The Fifth Quarter was a one story building with a plain block and brick front wall and with the door at the south end. A large, tattooed ex-Marine carefully examined the ID of every visitor prior to allowing them to enter and pay the cover charge of $2.
Within the first four years of opening, Joe Shannon, the owner jumpstarted the Fifth Quarter by booking acts like Paul Revere and the Raiders, Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs, and Lou Cristy. It was a large bar by Kent standards, a former Ruttan Ford dealership in downtown Kent and employed over twenty people. Officially, the capacity was 600 but with added seating for the more well-known groups, 900 were routinely packed in. Lines were often four abreast, stretching for a couple of blocks and on an average weekend evening as many as 1,000 kids would cycle through. Growth was immediate, and it soon became the largest Budweiser customer in Ohio.
“Hef, you first,” Barry said as he pushed Cliff to the front of the line. Cliff held his camera in his right hand and his ID in his left.
“You can’t take that camera in here,” the bouncer growled.
“My name is Cliff Baker . . . Joe asked that I come by this weekend and get some new publicity shots. These guys are with me,” he stated motioning his head back to the other three brothers.
“Who?”
“Joe . . . the owner . . . your boss,” Cliff responded.
“Oh. Go ahead, I guess.” The bouncer frowned, but he motioned them into the club.
Cliff spoke briefly with the ticket person at the front door and waved everyone inside the nightclub without paying. He quickly took his camera and placed it into the camera bag that was slung over his left shoulder.
“I thought you were here to take pictures?” Barry asked as he caught up with Cliff.
“Can’t you smell that?”
“Smells like beer. It’s a bar. There’s going to be beer in a bar.” Barry looked at him as if he was crazy.
“And piss,” Kevin offered as he stepped around a wet spot of questionable origin on the floor.
“Exactly.” Cliff zipped the bag shut. “I don’t want this crap all over my lenses.”
Inside the old Ford showroom with its low white perforated tile panel ceiling, there were over a hundred tables on both sides of the room. Immediately inside the door was a large rectangular bar that could seat about twenty-five people. In the center of the far wall on the other side of the bar was a stage that stood only about a foot off the floor and was large enough to host a band with up to eight members. The wood floor of the nightclub had been varnished at one time, but had long ago been dulled by thousands of shoes that had moved to the music.
“Let’s grab a couple of tables near the dance floor in case I get lucky,” Kevin suggested and led the way toward the other side of the room.
“What about Donna?” Barry asked.
Nervously, Kevin glanced around. “Is she here?”
Alfonso looked around. “I don’t see her . . . you want me to tell her where you’re at if I do?”
“Geez, who’s been training you?” Kevin asked. “If you see her, tell only me . . . got it?”
Alfonso looked confused. “Si, Amigo. Got it.”
Kevin took a seat so that he had a good view of the women’s room, the dance floor and the front door. “I’ve got all the bases covered.”
Alfonso pulled out the stool next to Kevin and started to sit down.
“Whoa, Amigo. Sit over there.” Kevin pointed to a stool opposite him at the table.
“Barry, you sit over here,” Kevin said as he motioned to the seat where Alfonso had originally tried to sit.
Barry sat down next to Kevin. “What was that all about?”
“Every guy knows you don’t put the best looking guys next to each other. It makes the others look bad.”
“You mean Alfonso sucks all the air out of your ego,” Barry explained in terms Kevin could understand.
Everyone else ignored Kevin’s grand plan and chose their own seats.
“Hey guys . . . what’s up?” the thin girl with long, wildly curly red hair asked as she set her tray on their table. She was speaking to all of them, but staring at Alfonso.
“Hello.” Alfonso returned her look. “What’s your name?”
“Gloria,” she answered with a broad smile.
“How’s your plan working for you, Kevin?” Barry asked half smiling.
“Shut up,” Kevin responded bitterly. “This bums me out. This isn’t the first time this has happened.”
“I’ll be right back as soon as I get Alfonso his pitcher,” Gloria said as she walked away from the table, her hips swaying as she glanced over her shoulder to make sure Alfonso was still watching.
He was.
“Earth to little brother! Alfonso . . . you have a responsibility here,” Kevin insisted as he stared across the table at him. “Just because some girl comes by and undresses you with her eyes, you still have three more girls to get lined up tonight. Count ‘em.” Kevin motioned to Cliff, Barry and himself. “We brothers have to look out for each other.”
“I have to find women for all of you?” Alfonso seemed overwhelmed by that responsibility.
“Yes, you do. And rule number uno, amigo. Stay away from groups of girls. There’s always one girl who’s hot and the other ones are scags. And the pretty one won’t go with you if her friends aren’t taken care of . . . got it?”
Alfonso turned to Barry and Cliff. “How you say we need to ditch Kevin?”
“Very funny . . . see if I help you again.” Kevin snorted.
“Barry, want to go with me to get some pictures of the band?” Cliff nodded toward the stage where the band members were talking with some girls.
Barry smiled and followed Cliff over to the band. Cliff flashed his press pass, and the band was more than willing to cooperate as he directed them to pose individually with their instruments, then as a group. This band, as well as most of the others he had photographed, was just starting out. No one knew if they would go on to make it big or if this would be their glory days.
As Cliff took photos, Barry noticed a very cute chick dressed in tight black pants and a tight ribbed black top. In sharp contrast, her pale ash blond hair hung long and straight over her left shoulder, covering her breast. As Barry stared, the girl glanced in his direction and upon noticing his grin, she smiled back and nodded. He took that as an invitation, and he walked over to her.
“What are you doing?” Barry asked.
“Just hangin’ around with my girlfriends. A couple of them date some of the band, so I thought I’d take a break and come down for a while. What’s up with you? Are you a photographer like your friend?” She nodded toward Cliff who was still taking photographs.
“No, he’s one of my fraternity brothers. He does freelance photo work, and he wanted to meet the band. We all tagged along,” Barry spoke as he studied her eyes that were a fascinating shade of crystal blue.
“Which fraternity?” she shouted as the volume of the pre-recorded music grew louder as the crowd increased in size and got noisier.
“Phi Psi Kappa. We’re the one out . . .,” before Barry could complete his answer, the girl grabbed his arm.
“On West Main Street. Doesn’t it feel like nowhere being out there all alone?”
Barry smiled. “You live out there too?”
“Alpha Phi,” she answered.
“I didn’t think you girls stooped to this level . . . you know, come downtown stag. Your boyfriend know where you’re at?” Barry teased.
“If I had one, he probably wouldn’t let me come. If I told him where I was,” she said coyly. “Where does your girlfriend think you are tonight?”
“If I had one, she’d be here with me, and I wouldn’t be hanging out with a guy, carrying his camera bag.” Barry responded, not missing a lick. “By the way, what’s your name?”
“Wanda Blair . . . what’s yours?”
“Well you have a choice . . . the guys call me Sticks, but my real name is Barry Smith.”
“Sticks? Don’t take this wrong, but you’re not . . .” Wanda’s voice trailed off.
“Skinny? No shit . . . it’s a nickname the guys gave me when the spoon fell into the pot, and I grabbed a stick of wood to stir some tomato sauce for a Newman Center spaghetti dinner we hosted last year for charity.”
Susan laughed. “I hope it was clean.”
“So do I. Of course, we’re probably lucky we didn’t get tetanus or something. There was a nail sticking out of the board, and we didn’t have a hammer.” Barry shook his head. “You know, the funny thing is that I’m a health science major.” With that said, they both broke up laughing.
“What do you do with a health science degree?”
“Hopefully, change the world,” Barry answered, only half joking. “My grandfather died from some sort of bacteria in his well water. And there are so many bad things in the public water system. I want to work for a major municipality to improve the quality of the water supply.”
“That’s an honorable, but gigantic goal.” She nodded her approval.
“Yeah, well, I’ve got the rest of my life to get it done.”
“Hey man, what’s going down . . . who’s your friend?” Cliff asked as he walked up and nodded toward the beautiful blonde.
“This is Wanda. She’s an Alpha Phi,” Barry stated with authority.
“Cool . . ., I’m Cliff Black, one of Barry’s brothers. You with the Measles?” He motioned toward the band members who were busy tuning their instruments.
“No, just with some sisters who are with the band. My roommate has a crush on the lead guitarist, Joe Walsh? Have you heard him play? He’s way too good for this group. Hey, you guys want to sit at our table over here?” Wanda asked.
Barry and Cliff usually did not ditch their brothers when they went out socially. The unwritten rule was like the U.S. Marines . . . leave no man behind . . . unless, of course, the man leaving might get lucky. Wanda and Barry had hit it off, and Cliff observed that there were a couple more loose girls hanging out at the band’s table to the right of the stage. They exchanged a glance and nodded. Kevin and Alfonso would have to be on their own. Alfonso would fare just fine. Kevin was another matter entirely. But not their problem.
“Groovy, we’re in,” Barry said. Wanda waved them over to the reserved tables and Cliff took a seat with the best view so he could continue to take pictures the rest of the night. Barry sat down next to Wanda and within a couple of minutes the other Alpha Phi sisters had congregated around the table forming what must have looked like a protective barrier to thwart any unwanted or uninvited dance requests which was common place at the Fifth Quarter. For Cliff and Barry, they were safe within the protected female cocoon. Whether or not Wanda would dance with Barry or anyone would dance with Cliff were questions that would be asked and answered as the evening wore on. No one would even consider dancing until the band had started their second set. That was usually enough time for the men and women to size up the crowd and to internally identify where they stood, so as not to accept or reject someone who was significantly more or less attractive than someone else who might come into their line of vision. It was a complicated ritual.
The pre-recorded music suddenly stopped, the stage lights turned up, and The Measles stepped up to the microphones. They opened with one of their own hits, "I Find I Think of You." The song had become a local favorite and the crowd applauded its approval.
Barry looked at Wanda and was very glad he had agreed to tag along tonight.