Two things happened in the late ’70s: I learned to drive and boomboxes came out. With purchase of a car and a boombox, this meant I could now control my music wherever I went. My brother Lee is a year and a half older than me. So when he got his car I asked what 8-track player he was going to put in. He told me he was going to go with a cassette player.

A cassette player? “It’s kinda like a reel to reel,” he said.

Prior to this, I had decided to focus on collecting vinyl, we called them albums back then. But I had, by then, collected ten or so 8-tracks. I found out that you could record on 8-tracks. My friend Todd Combs had once recorded a Blue Oyster Cult concert from the radio for me. As intriguing as recording my own music was, neither Dave nor I (nor John or Jim) had an 8-track player that could record.

Then I purchased ‘Mr. Radio’. Mr. Radio was a boombox. Purchased from Radioshack, it was not what one would call a ‘state-of-the-art’ electronic device. It was a Realistic model 14-805 and it did play and record cassettes. And it was definitely portable. This worked well with my plan to purchase a cassette player for when I got my car, which turned out to be sooner than I thought – a 1972 Ford Galaxy. Gone would be the days of having to borrow Aunt Joyce’s Dodge Polara.

The purchase of ‘Mr. Radio’ introduced me to the world of cassettes. Cassettes had been around for years – in fact, before 8-tracks. My mom had a cassette recorder we would use to record ourselves and laugh at how funny we sounded. As I mentioned in another article, 8 tracks were developed by the auto industry. Cassette tapes started much earlier.

Quick history lesson: Magnetic tape was invented in 1935 but after World War II, from technology obtained from the Germans, the company Ampex popularized reel-to-reel for dication. By 1958 RCA developed the ‘RCA Tape‘ putting the reels of a reel-to-reel in a plastic case. While they introduced prerecorded music back then, it failed. Phillips took the next step and shrank the cassette case to a ‘compact cassette,’ what we call cassettes now. Transistors allowed the players to get smaller and cheaper. So by the early 70s, many households were getting cassette recorders – as my mom did. The popularity of 8 tracks pushed the quality improvements for cassettes.

Technically, prerecorded cassettes came out in 1966 with just 49 titles, like Nina Simone’s Wild is the Wind, Eartha Kitt’s Love for Sale and Johnny Mathis’s The Shadow of Your Smile. They assumed people could play them on their portable cassette recorders but the quality was terrible – compared to their home Hi-Fi systems. And there were no players for cars then. If you wanted to bring your music with you, the only choice was 8 tracks. Why did it sound so bad? a speed. Professional reel-to-reel’s used a speed of 15 inches/second. For cassettes to compete with the album’s 30-minute sides, Phillips could only hold so much tape so their speed was only 2 inches/second. Here’s a history of magnetic tapes if you would like to know more (probably more than you wanted to know…):

No one wanted crappy music so Phillips literally gave Sony the technology hoping they could sell crappy music. They couldn’t. Luckily Ray Dolby figured out how to improve tape recordings in general with his Dolby Noise Reduction system. Increased magnetic particles also helped to increase the overall quality. So while Ford pushed 8 track players, European and Japanese cars pushed cassettes. As cassette quality increased, their already-known recording capabilities made them a natural choice for people to copy their albums. Also, as hip hop started in the inner city, this recording capability gave the format an inner-city boost as impromptu DJ parties were recorded and passed around.

In 1980 I was happy with Mr. Radio. While I was ‘all in’ on Steve Dahl’s Anti-Disco antics on the Loop a year earlier and still listened to the Loop throughout the day. With Mr. Radio at the side of my bed, I would have Mr. Radio record the album the Loop, and many other radio stations, would play in its entirety, conveniently only interrupting between side one and side two allowing me to flip my cassette tape. I loved my albums and 8 tracks. While the price was right on my pirated albums from the Loop, they weren’t great. Sometimes the end of the album would be cut off because the first side was shorter than the second. I didn’t mind paying for my music, I just need more new music. This led me to a critical problem with Mr. Radio and me – I had no cassettes of the music I really wanted.

Luckily for me, Laurie’s was going to help me solve that with a midnight sale. So Todd Combs and I made plans to take advantage of Laurie’s midnight offer. Luckily the sale was planned during our winter finals. Technically, after our finals, what they called ‘teacher institute days’ at the end of the week. So outside of the pressure of studying for a test that could make up 25% of your grade. Timing was perfect.  I just needed to borrow Aunt Joyce’s Polara to get there. Surely she could understand how much money I would be saving and I had not gotten many albums since my birthday since I had been saving my money for my cassette player. And I was only going to get 2 or 3 tapes, or 4 or 5, (or 6 or 7). I believe the actual words I said were “two or three tapes.”

Once I was able to secure transportation Todd and I could make our plans. Todd was actually Dave and Jim’s age and lived on the corner of Berkley and Carol lanes a few houses away. Besides telling me terrible jokes in junior high he was a great source of music and books. In high school, he recommended Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas introducing me to Hunter S. Thompson after I told him I enjoyed the Doonesbury comic strip. He also recommended Anne Rice’s Interview With The Vampire to get me off my Stephen King kick. He was a big Rolling Stone advocate – the magazine, not the band.

Todd and I finalized our plans for the Midnight Record Run. Earlier that week we had final exams that lined up with the adjusted bus schedules. So after being dropped off on a cold January afternoon, we talked about what albums we were interested in. This is when he first told me about Pink Floyd. He said they put all these weird sounds on their albums. He went on to explain that at one point you hear them tuning a radio and then the next song would start up. He said it was on the Wish You Were Here album. I needed to get this. Dark Side of the Moon was also on the list, as Todd pointed out, it had been on the charts for almost 500 weeks, ever since it had been released (technically 473 weeks at that time).

We planned on leaving at 11:30. We figured if we got there a little early we could just hang out until they opened. Kids today may not understand we had to preplan things like this. I couldn’t ring the doorbell at 11:30 at night during the week. I couldn’t text Todd to tell him I was leaving or was there. If I wasn’t there or Todd didn’t come out at 11:30 we just waited. We needed contingency plans.

When we pulled into the Common’s parking lot we saw Laurie’s was already full of people. It turned out the police didn’t want a bunch of kids hanging outside the record store just before midnight. It wasn’t a good look for Deerfield. So Laurie’s just started the sale early.

Laurie’s wasn’t a large store, it had 3 sets of record bins, while cassettes lined the outside rim of the store in the back. It was crowded. Todd and I were constantly bumping into people as we looked to see how much we could save. I automatically made my way to the albums out of habit. I looked up the pricing sign to get the specifics on my savings. It looked like I was going to save $2 on everything I bought – sweet!

I needed to make my way to the cassette bins. I was already planning on getting Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon and Wish You Were Here tapes. Getting two albums from the same group at the same time was unheard of for me but I had to hear the tuning of the radio song transition. The cassettes were all kept in plastic cages in an attempt to make them harder to steal. It felt weird ‘clacking’ through the cassettes. There weren’t as many to go through as in the album bins. Luckily they had plenty of Dark Sides of the Moon tapes and they also had a couple of Wish You Were Here tapes.

Todd was looking for his own tapes on the other end of the bins. That was pretty typical went I would go to a record store with a friend. While we may start out looking for music together a fellow music fan would inevitably get lost in their own quest. I was perfectly fine with that. I, on the other hand, could spend way longer than most people just looking at albums so it wasn’t unusual for my friend to beg me to buy what I was going to buy so we could leave.

I was always interested in new music. Actually, it might be better to say ‘fresh music’. To me, an album had more appeal if it was weeks old as opposed to months old. I wandered over to the front of the store to see what they were promoting tonight. They had Gary Numan’s The Pleasure Principle on display. Some guy in a suit (Gary?) sitting behind a desk staring at a red pyramid on the desk. “Featuring the hit single ‘Cars.'” the sticker on the album said. I loved that song! I grabbed one of the conveniently placed cassette tapes (in its plastic cage) and added it to my growing collection.

There were more people coming into the store so I made my way to the back of the store by the cassettes where Todd was. There were still lots of people here. Someone announced that the sale had ‘officially’ started and they would be closing in one hour. Plenty of time.

When I caught up to Todd he didn’t have any tapes in his hands.

“Not getting anything?” I asked.

“Still looking,” he replied. A perfectly fine answer. I wandered back to the beginning of the cassette bins.

I flipped through my old favorites, The Beach Boys. They had really let me down with their ‘Love You’ album. But I should have known better when Aunt Joyce mentioned that she had heard Wally Phillips on WGN say it was a great album. It wasn’t. So I had passed on their ‘M.I.U.’ and ‘L.A.’ albums. Was I outgrowing my first band? maybe. I flipped back the copies of ‘Endless Summer’ and ‘Spirit Of America’. Nope, no Beach Boys tonight.

I wandered back to the wall display. I really am a sucker for promos. Tom Petty – he did “Here Come My Girl, right? I thought to myself. Again I picked up the conveniently placed cassette. One, two, three, four – maybe one more, ignoring the fact I had told Aunt Joyce ‘two or three’.

For Christmas, I had gotten Lynyrd Skynyrd’s ‘Gold and Platinum’ collection – on 8-track for Christmas. I was disappointed that it was on 8-track. Apparently, Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack had not gotten my memo that I was only getting albums and cassettes now. Hmm, maybe that memo was only in my head. Actually, it was a great album – I was just disappointed in the format. It was currently in Dave’s portable 8-track player in the basement on the cardboard table I had set up to paint my Dungeon and Dragon lead figures. It was a great collection.

I remembered the news report of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s plane crash a couple of years ago. I was hanging on the door jam of the enclosed porch while Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack were watching the news. They had called out to me to see if I knew the band. I told them I did but I didn’t have any of their music.

Months later I read an article that the new album ‘Street Survivor‘ was being pulled and re-released. The cover pictured the band members on the cover in flames and the re-release was going to remove the flames in honor of the members that died. Wow, to have one of those original covers – it would be like getting the upside-down airplane stamp or The Beatles ‘butcher cover’ of the ‘Yesterday and Today‘ album.

(As fate played out, my future college roommate, Jay Seiler worked at a record store when the ‘Street Survivors’ album with the flames had been pulled. In fact, it was a prized possession of his when we roomed together. What I didn’t know was he had purchased two copies, the second he presented to me as a wedding present. While Desi did not quite appreciate the old record, I was shocked and honored to receive it.)

I found the Lynyrd Skynyrd section in the cassettes. They had plenty of copies of ‘Gold & Platinum’ and for a second I thought about replacing the 8-track version with a cassette version but I could just hear Uncle Jack yelling at me for such a dumb purchase and waste of money. Funny how your parents worm their way into your head. I put the cassette I was holding back into the bin. Hmm, ‘One More For The Road’, oh – ‘One More From The Road’, they had struck ‘For’ and added ‘From’. There were a few tracks from ‘Gold & Platinum that were taken from this album. I compared the two albums and there were a number of tracks that were not on ‘Gold & Platinum’ and these were live versions of the songs. Done – I slipped the cassette holders around my fingers.

Five cassettes should be good. but just in case it wasn’t, I wandered back to Pink Floyd and wondered about their Animals album. I remembered seeing the album in the Deerfield Record Shop when it was still open. It was an interesting cover but I couldn’t get 3 albums from the same group.

“You should get this,” Todd said handing me a caged tape. Where the hell did he come from? It was actually two cassettes and Lauries had taped two cages together to keep the tape safe (yea, safe from walking away).

“Yessongs? Who’s that?” I asked.

“It’s Yes, they put ‘yes’ in front of all their albums’ names,” Todd explained. “It’s actually a triple album but only a double tape. It’s got all their greatest hits on it.”

Wow, I thought. I could get a triple album for just the cost of a two cassettes. Keep in mind I did not actually look at the price of the album to compare it to the cassette. Besides, look at that artwork. This HAD to be great music.

As I added the sixth (and seventh) cassettes to my quarry of cassettes I noticed Todd didn’t have any cassettes or albums.

“Aren’t you getting anything?” I asked.

“Actually,” he said, “I don’t have any money. I just came along for the ride and to look around.”

It took a few seconds for this to register. Todd had left his house at 11:30 to come to downtown Deerfield to go Midnight Record sale – but came with no money. This made absolutely no sense. So he stayed up late to get out of the house to hang with a friend? Ok, that actually checks out, he’s a kid in high school.

Well, I guess we were done. Wait, I couldn’t leave yet. I had not looked through all the records yet. There must be something I was missing. Queen had a new album coming out. On the way home from snowmobiling a few weeks ago I heard a new Queen song – what was it called?

That’s how I said it – “when I was snowmobiling” – like it was something I did all the time. In the winter I snowmobile on our lake and then I jaunt down to the Caribbean to play on my sailboat. That’s what all of us rich people do.

The reality was Uncle Jack, was a purchasing agent for Allis-Chalmers. It seemed like people would always be giving him things or offering the family something to do. This winter someone had offered to take us boys snowmobiling. And so we dressed in our warmest clothes and Uncle Jack drove us all out to Fox Lake to meet him.

We would occasionally see snowmobilers on Lake Eleanor behind us. I think John or Jim knew some kids that had snowmobiles but I had never been on one before. Uncle Jack’s friend gave us instructions on the throttle and brakes and set us loose on the Fox River with a number of other snowmobilers. He only had two or three machines so we had to take turns going up and down the river. While the speed made me nervous I wasn’t too afraid. After going up and down the river a few times I would turn the snowmobile over to someone else.

As fun, as it was, it wasn’t like I was going to go out to get a snowmobile for myself – like Dave & Jim. By the next winter, both Dave & Jim had their own snowmobiles they could take out on Lake Eleanor. The key difference here was Jim actually saved up the money to buy a snowmobile, Dave needed to borrow $500 from me to purchase his. The family folklore is that Dave never did pay me back, or did he? The answer depended on who you talked to.

What I remember most on that day was the trip home. Somewhere between Fox Lake and Deerfield, the radio station we were listening to played Queen’s new single, “Crazy Little Thing Called Love.” The strumming guitar with the handclaps immediately pulled me in. It had a 50’s sound, like something from ‘Happy Days’.

The first Queen album I purchased was Jazz and I loved it. Unfortunately, it didn’t do well on the charts. Outside of the double single for ‘Bicycle Race’ and ‘Fat Bottomed Girls’ nothing else seemed to connect with people. As much as people now like ‘Don’t Stop Me Now,’ they didn’t then – it peaked at 86 on Billboard. When they released ‘Live Killers‘ I bought that too. But as much as I loved the version of ’39’ included, the rest of the album was okay.

Surely the new Queen album would have gotten Front-Store-Billing, right? Right – “and don’t call me Shirley.” I rechecked the ‘Q’s, which were basically Queen’s cassettes. There was nothing I didn’t recognize.

One of the guys that worked there was playing the dual role of cop and clerk. “Excuse me,” I asked, “is there a new Queen album out?”

“Sorry,” he said, “you gotta wait until spring for that one. It gonna be fantastic!”

Well, I guess I was done. Six albums – cassettes – were enough. I made my way to the only register in the store. There were two people in front of me. Todd tapped me on the shoulder and said he would meet me outside. For Todd, he was done with the Midnight Sale experience. That was OK, I was getting six new albums.

After dropping Todd off has his house I finally got home at about one in the morning. I arrived home to a locked door and the light above the sink on. With the rest of the house dark, this was an indication that I was the last one home. As the last one home, I was to lock the door and turn out the light above the sink.

Before I turned out the light I needed to unwrap my cassettes. This was a first for me. Everything was so small! There were no liner notes for the Pink Floyd cassettes which was disappointing. In fact, there was nothing really nothing in any of the cassettes. Apparently, everything was so small it wasn’t worth putting lyrics in. The fact that I could now bring my music with me – via Mr. Radio. It was a small price to pay.

I had already decided to begin with Yes, my complete impulse buy. I had no idea who Yes was. A live triple album! A few minutes later I was fumbling around in the dark plugging my headphones into Mr. Radio. Hitting the play button I heard the tape hiss turn into applause as the album started. It was quiet and somewhat familiar. Was this an orchestra? As the band started I thought, “What did Todd have me buy?” It turned out they started their shows with a recording of ‘Firebird Suite’. After the three-minute intro, the band actually kicked in with ‘Siberian Khatru’ – I have been a fan ever since. Todd did good, again.

As the snow melted giving way to Spring, a new opportunity presented itself. John had purchased his own car, a ’76 Monte Carlo. It was a long stretch of curves so fitting for the seventies before Detroit reacted to the energy crisis. Uncle Jack’s connection who had a Waukegan scrap metal company where he had gotten the Polara for Aunt Joyce from now had a new car available – a ’72 Ford Galaxy.

For the price of the transmission repair bill – $800 – I could have my own car. It was in pretty good shape except for some rust on the rear fender on the driver’s side. Dave and Jim were eager to work on cars now that they were getting their driver’s licenses. While not exactly a car I would have picked, like a ’68 Mustang, it did keep most of my savings intact. It was a huge step towards independence.

I could now come home from school and get to Franks in time for my shift. I could drive myself to Waconda for my guitar lessons. Maybe I could even drive to school. There were a lot more opportunities for this seventeen-year-old.

Almost immediately I was checking out new car stereos at K-Mart and Venture. After purchasing the car I still had over $1,200 dollars so I could get the best that K-Mart or Venture could offer. Eventually, I found cassette player, a graphic equalizer and new 3-way speakers.

With some persistence and research, I found my radio cassette player. It was a Spark-O-Matic CV-139m or maybe it was a Kraco. I found someone selling one on eBay. They only had it listed as a ‘vintage mobile audio system’ but I remember the thin selector buttons; specifically the ‘st/metal’ button. I never really understood what that was for. But I definitely know the equalizer was a Spark-O-Matic because I found a YouTube video of it. It’s amazing what people put on the internet.

I remember the morning putting everything together. I was home alone so I had the driveway to myself. The speakers were simply just replacing what came with the Galaxy so I didn’t have to run speaker wire. The cassette player was also pretty straightforward using the existing speaker wire and antennae hookup. It was understanding how to hook up the equalizer with all its outputs. I also had to figure out how to mount this underneath the dash. I do remember the front had, what I now realize was a cheesy ‘wave’ to display the EQ. While the cassette/radio player was simple the equalizer was causing some frustration.

This is probably why I cut the shit out of my left ring finger when the phone rang. I was hanging upside down trying to figure things out when I heard the phone ring. I was expecting a call from Greg or Jeff and in my rush to get to the phone my finger caught the edge of the equalizer.

It wasn’t Greg or Jeff but I do remember being shocked at the amount of blood running from my finger when I answered the phone because the person on the phone had to repeat who they wanted. Once I attended to my wound and followed the blood trail back outside I looked to see what was so sharp to cause such a wicked cut. It was just the back edge of the equalizer. Luckily kids heal quickly but I remember wondering if this was deep enough to need stitches. Didn’t matter, I had an equalizer I still needed to finish installing and I would have a scar to remind me of when I installed my first car stereo.

Eventually, I figured everything out. The Galaxy was now equipped with a radio with cassette player and equalizer and new speakers – and it sounded great. My call from Greg or Jeff did come and I remember telling whoever it was that I was done and I would be right over so they could check it out.

To the detriment of the neighbors on Chris Court, I could now blast my cassettes from my car. Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack warned me of the potential for hearing loss. So like sneaking albums into, I learned to turn the volume down before getting on Chris Court. And I no longer needed to sneak albums into the house, I was now purchasing cassettes and they would remain in the cars – neatly stacked in a new cassette holder.

Later that month I finally purchased Queen’s ‘The Game‘, scratching that itch that started hearing ‘Crazy Little Thing Called Love’ on the way home from snowmobiling. While I probably could have just gone downtown to Laurie’s that was too close. After all, I had a car and looking to get out of the house before supper.

Informing Aunt Joyce I would be right back I pulled out of the driveway. These spur-of-the-moment buying trips were never good ideas for me. I was on my way to Sound Warehouse on Dundee and Sanders. These were the moments Uncle Jack would say my money “was burning a hole in my pocket”. I had been hearing Queen’s latest single ‘The Game’ and knew the album had finally been released.

I was a ‘regular customer’ at Laurie’s. In fact,  I was actually recognizing some of the employees themselves. Thanks to my new car, my ‘regular record stores’ were expanding. But at Sound Warehouse I wasn’t familiar enough to receive a ‘recognition’ head nod.

‘The Game’ was a featured release at the front of the store so I immediately picked up the cassette displayed with the vinyl. Also displayed was Rolling Stone’s new album ‘Emotional Rescue.’ I had not purchased any Rolling Stones albums yet and their last album ‘Some Girls’ was supposed to be very good. So I put ‘Emotional Rescue’ on my mental shortlist.

After 45 minutes I realized an hour no longer qualified for being ‘right back.’ It was amazing how lost I could get flipping through albums in a record store. I think most music enthusiasts have album covers memorized. While I was buying cassettes I would flip through albums like a catalog and then check to see if they had the album in its cassette form. With my time expired I decided on ‘The Game’, ‘Emotional Rescue’ and The Beach Boys’ ‘Keepin’ The Summer Alive,’ their last album.

In the Galaxie, I unwrapped ‘The Game’ and popped it into the player while I was in the parking lot. Eventually, the tape hiss was drowned out by Freddie telling me how to play the game. ‘The Game’ was the first track on the album. I carefully listened as Freddie told me I had to “know the rules” when I realized I had to actually start driving. I pulled out on Dundee and waited for my green arrow to get onto Sanders Road.

There is a quirk about Sanders Road. It goes both under and over Interstate 294 (over south toward Willow, over toward Lake Cook). But as one crosses into Lake County, the name changes to Saunder Road. It’s not a misprint. Apparently, Northbrook and Deerfield could not agree on the name. According to Deerfield’s History Society, in the 1830’s it was unnamed but later was named after a “Cook County man.” This would imply Northbrook is wrong. The bottom line is no one really knows – and apparently doesn’t care.

But seventeen-year-old me, while waiting for my green arrow, was assaulted by John Deacon’s bass. “What was this?” I thought picking up the cassette case – ‘Dragon Attack.’ A beep from behind told me I had gotten my green arrow. As I headed up Sanders Road Freddie started telling me more stuff but nothing in particular. Brian May had joined in by this time but by the time I turned on to Deerfield Road Roger had drummed out an intro to John’s solo. These guys were jamming. By the time I was crossing over 94 Brian was ripping a fantastic guitar solo. Holy shit!

My new cassette player had a great feature that would allow me to ‘auto rewind’. It was a prelude to the skip feature of cd’s but since these were cassettes it took a while for the player to find the blank spot on the tape to begin playing again. I found out that this feature did not work with live albums or continuous albums like The Wall where there was no silence between the tracks. This feature would get me into trouble in a few months.

I sat in the driveway amongst everyone else cars, and rewound ‘Dragon Attack’ for a fourth time when Dave swung out of the back door, “You coming in for supper?”

After supper, I would get through the rest of the tape on Mr. Radio. As much as I also liked ‘Another One Bites The Dust,’ it couldn’t compare to ‘Dragon Attack.’ In the following days and weeks, I would play ‘Dragon Attack’ for my friends. When I was working in the yards at Franks and playing the tape on Mr. Radio I was constantly pointing out ‘Dragon Attack’ to anyone that would listen. But when the tape played through to ‘Another One Bites The Dust’ that is what really caught their ears.

The album – well, cassette, was great. While ‘Need Your Loving Tonight’ was not as strong as any of the other tracks on side one but it was still a decent song. Side 1 ended with ‘Crazy Little Thing Called Love’ which brought back to that ride home from snowmobiling.

Side 2 was not nearly as strong. Side 2 opened with ‘Rock It (Prime Jive)’ which started slow but kicked in nicely with little keyboard flourishes which were indicative of the coming New Wave. When ‘Don’t Try Suicide’ came on it was a little off-putting. While I thought they were a little trite with the subject but soon became a favorite of mine. ‘Sail Away Sweet Sister’ was a softer song than ‘Rock It’ but had a better melody. And ‘Coming Soon’ had a strong beginning but never really gained much traction. The tape closed with ‘Save Me’, a worthy ballad though it may suffer from being ‘typical Queen’ with their trademark choir chorus.

‘Emotional Rescue’ turned out not to be as good as ‘Some Girls.’ And I soon realized I was not impressing my friends by cranking The Beach Boys’ ‘Keepin’ The Summer Alive’ when I pulled up. While I would purchase a few more pre-recorded cassettes they would turn out to be more of a fad for me that was shorter than 8-tracks.

While I embraced their portability I still preferred vinyl over cassettes. It wasn’t just because vinyl provided higher sound quality. Dave and my stereo was not capable of discerning whether albums or 8-tracks had better sound. We could not add a cassette player to our stereo – like John and Jim’s could. Frankly, I enjoyed the merchandising of vinyl. The potential for lyrics was vital. Even if cassettes included lyrics the point of cassettes was mobility. While I was sitting outside listening to music, I wasn’t listening and following the lyrics like I was when I was sitting on my bed.

Eventually, I would view vinyl as my ‘library’ and, like so many others, would spend hours, if not days, creating playlists, or as we called them back then – mixed tapes. When the Walkman hit I would record my records onto cassettes just for the sake of mobility. I would view the cassette as disposal media but for now, they gave me a new way to share my music with my friends. While my mixed tapes were still years away cassettes were an important part of my view of music and the albums I connected with.

So what is a ‘Christmas Drive Playlist’? Simply put – it is a playlist of Christmas music to accompany you on a drive during the holiday season. However, over my thirty-some years of making these ‘playlists’, I’ve developed certain rules. “Jeez – John,” (or Waba if you prefer) “can’t you just make a playlist of Christmas songs?” Well of course I can – but at some point, EVERYBODY gets tired of ‘Step Into Christmas’.

So how did these ‘rules’ start? When I started making playlists professionally; well, maybe not professionally, but it started when my girlfriend, and eventual wife, made a Christmas cassette of Christmas pop music for our friends in ’86.

Working at a record store introduced me to a new level of pop Christmas music. Through various albums and 45’s, I created a master cassette tape complete with an introduction by Desi and me. From there we made 37 copies for our friends and family adding a personal message to each person at the end of each tape. When done they were wrapped and mailed out.

Thirteen years later we repeated this by creating a cd. Enlisting the help of my brothers, Lee as a graphic artist and Dave’s access to a color printer, we created a cd case. Now with 3 kids, Naomi being born that October, we added an intro with all contributing except, of course, Naomi. With the intro and a new list of songs, 30 plus CDs were burned, packaged and mailed out.

The ‘Christmas Drive’ was my attempt to have Christmas music during our drives during the holidays but most importantly for our drive up North to the Daments. With Desi in Healthcare, scheduling Christmas with her family always had some level of logistical gymnastics. Working with Desi’s schedule I always pledged to get us where we needed to be regardless of time or hour. If it meant leaving Neshkoro at 11 that night and getting home at 2 am, I had my Christmas Drive music to accompany me, and my 4 sleeping passengers.

It is through these circumstances I developed my ‘rules’ for creating a Christmas Drive playlist. The last rule comes from a tradition I developed – the yearly purchase of two Christmas albums before the holidays. These ‘rules’ help me plan a playlist I can enjoy and share with others that have thought and design, and hopefully, some level of repeatability and yet still allows discovery for new music – after making playlists for thirty-some years.

The Rules:

1. Overall theme
2. No repeats
3. Build in blocks
4. One seasonal non-Christmas song
5. One non-seasonal song
6. Run 2 and a half to 3 hours 
7. Song from each purchased album

Explanation of Rules:

Overall theme: This seems obvious but I see many playlists were people just pull in a various artist album that becomes their ‘theme’. That’s not a theme, that’s a marketing plan. I have made playlists with the following themes: Female vocalist, heavy metal, sad songs, old songs. And while I work towards a theme, it is the first rule I break because I think any playlist needs to have variety and thus surprises. And this doesn’t always work. My sister Hope found my playlist last year while entertaining guests for the holidays. It didn’t take too long to discover that last year’s playlist’s theme was heavy metal. After traversing a few of the blocks they switched to something more traditional.

No repeats: You cannot put the same song the playlist – no matter how different it is done. Yes, Dio’s version of ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’ is very different from Ray Conniff’s version. Ray Conniff has plenty of Christmas songs, pick another one. It is these decisions that put the ‘fun’ into creating a playlist. You can always add Ray Conniff’s version next year.

Build in blocks: Years ago radio stations when from ‘Two for Tuesday’ to ‘Block Party Weekend’. The concept here is a theme within a theme. So while your playlist theme may be heavy metal, it doesn’t mean you can’t find a way to work in some traditional songs to add to the variety.

One seasonal non-Christmas song: This is to remind me we are not all Christians but we all love the holidays. When I moved to Deerfield in ’75 it was the first time I hung around Jewish families. Pop Hanukkah songs are no different than pop Christmas songs. It feeds that music discovery I look for and certain push on others to strive for.

One non-seasonal song: This is, initially, ‘hiding something in the picture’. The point isn’t to put ‘Highway to Hell’ after ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’ (though you could with Dio’s version). Look for something more subtle, for example, last year’s heavy metal theme led me to include Scorpion’s ‘Lady Starlight’.

Run 2 and a half to 3 hours: No reason except my in-laws are 2 hours and 45 minutes driveway to driveway. I believe there is an ancient document that states a ‘road trip’ must be a minimum of 2 hours.

Song from each purchased album: I’m sure I am one of the few people you know who still purchase music. This is just a blatant attempt to justify my purchases. Every year while we rearrange the furniture and decorate I pull out all my Christmas cd’s and play through all of them in some weird random shuffle – beginning, and ending, with that year’s new purchases. Yes, I know there’s something wrong with me – I just don’t want to change it.

This year I will be trying something new. I will be sharing this year’s Christmas Drive playlist publically and building it online – changing and rearranging it until its final form the week of Christmas. Follow this year’s Christmas Drive playlist or check out past playlists.

Past Christmas Drive Playlists

I listened to music whenever I could. The only exception was in the morning when I listened to The Loop with Steve Dahl. The Loop, or Steve Dahl, was that ‘other friend’ we all talked about at school. While I would have to fight to stay up and watch ‘Saturday Night Live’, mornings I could listen to any station I wanted and it was easy to convince Dave. So when I got to school, I would be up to date on Steve Dahl, and his sidekick Gerry Meiers, latest antics to discuss them with my friends.

Listening to The Loop was classic for a teen living in the late seventies; well, a guy, in Chicago or the surrounding suburbs. What I didn’t know was Steve Dahl started in March 1979. This was after he was let go from WDUI (one of the iterations of WLS-FM in the 70’s) who had switched from an AOR format to all disco. Needless to say, Steve Dahl was no fan of dIsco. When he started at The Loop, he started a morning routine of ‘blowing-up’ a disco record on the air. Of course, this was all sound effects but for those of us looking to revolt against the Bee Gees and Donna Summer, it was a call to arms.

My family was very typical. I would say we were a Gallup family but no one ever asked for our opinions. We just ended up liking what most Americans liked. Though we didn’t have many choices as we do now. There were the 3 national tv stations, 6 if you counted WGN, FOX and PBS. We typically watched the most popular show on each. Music – top 40, which in the late ’70s meant disco. When Elvis died the greatest hits 8-track was purchased and we listened to Elvis when there was nothing on the radio. Leisure suits were the new trend so we each had a Leisure suit (anything that did not include a tie).

But as we each got our own cars, jobs and friends, we were breaking out of the Gallup family, at least I was. When Steve Dahl started blowing up Disco records on the air, I was all in. Well, I wasn’t ALL in. I was in enough to buy a Loop shirt and to put Loop stickers on my notebooks – like a lot of other kids. The Loop logo was iconic. Simple black and white letters in a ‘painted’ font.

I didn’t know what a font was back then but I did appreciate them without knowing what they were. The geeky/nerdy side of me collected Monster, Starlog and other magazines. I created cardboard boxes to store the magazines in. For the box lids, I carefully traced out the magazines’ titles in two different sized fonts. I thought it looked cool. The bottom line was I thought the Loop logo was cool also. There was a rumor that someone had covered their car completely in Loop stickers. I don’t remember seeing it but it sounded cool too, though possibly a tad bit redneck.

When I say I wasn’t “all in”, I never actually joined Steve Dahl’s Insane Coho Lips club. Steve’s anti-disco army (a clear takeoff of the Kiss Army fan club). While I was a member in spirit, I didn’t want to actually part with $5 – that could have been converted into an album.

Disco really was running out of control. We had already suffered through Saturday Night Fever who brought the Bee Gees up as their glittering warriors. Next to them was the Village People, Donna Summer, Chic, Chaka Khan and Taste of Honey. Even before Ted Nugent, Foreigner and Queen could get through, they would have to battle Barry Manilow, Gino Vannelli and Toto. An army was definitely needed. While Grease seemed to support the troops you really couldn’t tell whose side they were on. Between Travolta and Newton-John, they were just a distraction. We ran them off with the Blue Brothers but they were repulsed with Sgt Peppers Lonely Hearts Club musical. Who’s side was Aerosmith on? Everyone started looking at Queen. Dammit, Freddie! There were really just too many of them. Steve saw this. He was the right man for the job. And he sure hated Disco.

But it wasn’t just Steve Dahl and Gerry Meiers fighting. His army was growing each day. While we talked about his latest disco destructions at school, Steve had also formed a band: Steve Dahl with Garry Meier and Teenage Radiation. They did parodies of current hits. Their first song was a call to arms on the anti-disco front, “Do You Think I’m Disco” over Rod Stewart’s ” Do You Think I’m Sexy” (there were a number of questionable rock ‘n’ roll members who had been flirting with the enemy).

Now we listened in the morning to see what disco album Steve and Gerry would blow-up and catch “Do You Think I’m Disco.” Steve Dahl with Garry Meier and Teenage Radiation actually released their parody as a single peaking at #58 on the Billboard charts. At one time, Steve was out so Gerry Meier played a bunch of their songs that morning. I was able to catch them on a cassette tape. Over the years I lost the tape but recollected the songs from videos on Youtube. Going through the songs was really like a cross between childhood memories and Chicago history lesson:

“Do You Think I’m Disco” (based on Rod Stewart’s “Do You Think I’m Sexy”, a call to arms for the Insane Coho Lips Army)

“Skylab” (based on the Rolling Stones’ “Shattered”, the Spacelab ‘Skyfall’ was to fall and NASA had no idea where is was going to land)

“Oh Wally” (based on Barry Manilow’s “Mandy”, Steve and Gerry would mock Wally Phillips’ radio show, who Aunt Joyce listed to in the morning, and this parody was born)

“Another Kid in the Crawl” (based on Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in the Wall”, dangerously mocked the John Wayne Gacy murders and we loved it)

“Ayatollah” (based on The Knack’s “My Sharona”, during the Iranian Hostage Crisis, it was so popular it peaked over #20 on the WLS charts so they were even playing it)

“RTA” (based on AC/DC’s “TNT”, mocked the problems of the Chicago public transportation system under Mayor Jane Byrne)

“Falklands” (based on J. Geils Band’s “Freeze Frame”, about the British invasion of the Falkland Islands off the coast of Argentina)

“Crew Cut Hero” (based on Foreigner’s “Juke Box Hero”, about a plumber with a crew cut, yea – it was the end of the classic parodies)

With army recruits joining by the dozens each day, Steve Dahl was ready to strike disco with a fatal blow: Disco Demolition Night. The Loop worked with the Chicago White Sox on a promotion for the doubleheader against the Detroit Tigers. The actual promo was to get into the game for 98¢. The Whites Sox were hoping for an extra 5,000 fans to take advantage of hype Steve Dahl and Gerry Meier was creating around the anti-disco movement. And it was a movement. Other anti-disco event had occurred out west. This was going to top them all.

So on July 12, 1979, it was obvious the promotion was a success. Thousands of fans brought their disco records to the demolition. But it wasn’t just a few thousand, attendance was estimated over 50,000. They really didn’t know how many because fans kept sneaking into the game. The issue was it wasn’t the game they came there to see. Between the games, Steve Dahl was going blow up all the collected disco records. When the moment finally arrived, Steve Dahl was driven around Comiskey Park’s field in an army jeep and wearing his army jacket and helmet to 50,000 and more rock-starved, disco-hating fans. Any doubt he had that no one would show was squashed. It was out of control. The Disco-Haters had already been throwing their extra records or anything else they could find onto the field. While the White Sox lost to the Tigers, no one seemed to have cared.

After circling the field, a wet Steve Dahl (he had been blessed a number times by his adoring fans) was brought to the center of the field where the bin of disco records hooked with explosives was set up in the outfield. Steve was surrounded by radio and baseball elites as he addressed his fans. Finally, through his mic, he gave his ‘Leap for Mankind’ pronouncement:

“This is now officially the world’s largest anti-disco rally! Now listen—we took all the disco records you brought tonight, we got ’em in a giant box, and we’re gonna blow ’em up reeal goood.”

OK, it didn’t actually go that smoothly. There was a mixture of Loop and White Sox entourage around Steve at the time. An obviously unchoreographed send-off was given. Eventually, the crowd was treated to some sparks and smoke that headed to a box in front of the Disco Bin. There was a series of smallish explosions until finally, BOOM! Vinyl and smoke were spewed across the outfield.

While security was watching the exits to keep people from getting in, no one was watching the field. And on to the field they came. It was like a dam breaking. First one, then seven, then fifty, a hundred. Estimates on the number of ‘field crashers’ ranged from 2,000 to 7,000. Poor Harry Carey tried to reason with the kids to get off the field – like that would work. The White Sox owner Bill Veeck took the mic after Steve Dahl blew up his records and tried to reason these vagrants but for them, the party was just starting. This is why they had come to Disco Demolition.

Unfortunately the fans on the field was only part of the White Sox’s problem. It turned out there was now a bit of a crater in center field where the box of Disco records had been. The burning records had seemed to have spread to a batting cage that was pulled onto the field. People were stealing second base – literally. An impromptu ump was calling anti-disco fans safe or out as they slid into home plate. They were dancing on the pitching mound, actually more hopping around on it than dancing.

Eventually, someone told security to forget about the gates and keeping people out, they had real problems inside. It took the Chicago Riot Police to finally get the field cleared. But the damage had already been done – both physically and metaphorically. The hole in the outfield would need to be repaired and the umpires had decided that the second game of the doubleheader could not be played so the White Sox had to forfeit. Way to go, guys, you screwed it up for everyone.

I had been called into the porch where the TV was by Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack to see that portion of the news. I was in awe of what had happened. Like Steve Dahl, I didn’t really think much would from the promo. I liked the Disco Demolition theme but wasn’t really into baseball, particularly the White Sox. (I was a Cub fan. If you could claim that by watching ½ or ¾ of a game. I just wasn’t into baseball.) I got the sense that Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack was trying to point out the follies of Rock ‘n’ Roll. If anything they reinforced it.

The next morning Dave and I had The Loop on as we got ready for school. Steve Dahl and Garry Meier were recapping the events from the night before. Apparently, after Steve blew up the Disco records he made his way back to their seats. “I was getting ready for the next game and then all these people started coming out onto the field,” he said.

It was quite the buzz at school as well but I didn’t know anyone that had actually gone to the game. Or anyone that had actually watched the game on TV. Apparently there were not alot of White Sox fans in Deerfield High School back then. More likely, I didn’t hang out with a bunch of White Sox fans. But if anything was going to put Steve Dahl front and center with high school kids, it was a riot. That’s what they started to call it.

The fact that this was a national news story was exciting but over time there was a seriousness about that actually happened. Now its been forty years since that night. The White Sox actually celebrated the 40th anniversary of Disco Demolition. There has been a number of articles written about how the anti-disco movement was against blacks or gays. I know from my own perspective, I didn’t see Disco as ‘gay music’. I was so far removed from the gay community at the time I didn’t really understand that there were actually gay students in Deerfield High School. Sure there were queers and faggots all over the place but a quarter of them were my friends. I’m sure I was one of them. Racial? I wasn’t into  R&B, or Black Music as we called it. I liked Earth, Wind and Fire. I remember buying Michael Jackson’s ‘Off The Wall’ album and hiding it between other albums because I was embarrassed to buy a ‘black album’.

But I never saw Disco as black music. Disco was the Bee Gees and the Village People, and Rod Stewart’s ‘Do You Think I’m Sexy’. To say to be anti-disco to be anti-black wouldn’t have made sense to me. Maybe if you connected the dots I could see that person’s perspective but the anti-disco movement was an anti-popular music movement. My family liked disco, therefore, I was anti-disco. Over time and from what I’ve read, it sounds like people connected the dots for Steve Dahl. At the time, he lost a job due to disco as a music format. It didn’t represent people or a culture. Virtually blowing up disco records was fun and we could all laugh about it and convince ourselves that rock or punk was better music.

As always, some people will ruin it for everyone else. There will be that ‘guy’ who thinks that only gay people like disco or actual racists who front anti-disco to cover their hatred. But that voice can echo and end up in places it shouldn’t be. In minds that don’t understand. So while it starts out all in fun it ended up echoing in darker chambers. I get it. But I didn’t get it when I was in high school.

These stories started from a playlist I made about songs that were important to me. The first song as based on a question: “What is the first ‘pop’ song you remember hearing, and recognized it as a song you hear over and over. So not songs, hymns or your parents’ records but a song you picked out and recognized when it was played on the radio. Where did this music come from?

After Thomas Edison invented the phonograph in 1877, only the rich could really afford this luxury item. It would take almost 50 years for records to crossover to the poor. Why would the poor by a record player when they could buy a radio and get music for free? Sounds a lot like streaming, eh? At first records were for the rich – so it was classical music and jazz. If you throw a singer in front of the orchestra, you have ‘Big Band’. Ken Burns’ Country Music series showed ‘Hillbilly music’ as the opposite end of classical music. ‘Hillbilly music’ gain the attention of record companies as they competed for records sales. It turned out people will basically buy any kind of music.

So this is my perspective on how we got to disco. When Elvis stole the rhythm & blues from black culture, he basically splintered Country music and popularized Rock ‘n’ Rock. R & B is regulated to blacks, whites are split on Rock ‘n’ Roll and Country. Once the money machine is rolling in the US, England joins in with the British Invasion and the Beatles knock out Elvis from the top spot. All this is driven by the youth with business pulling the strings and raking in the dough.

It is important to realize in the 50’s that with the baby boomers, for the first time youth are marketed to. Businesses found that teenagers are great at diverting money from their ampul parents – movies, hangouts, Rock ‘n’ Roll. Youth realized with this market pull comes power. More money, more power – and more awareness. When Vietnam breaks out Youth find their voice. This fractures the family system. Parents are challenged but the disenfranchised Youth are poor. As Youth explores their voice they realize they do not need money to be heard. But some do, and Love is free.

The hippie movement is seen through the Beatles. Both Rock ‘n’ Roll and R & B become experimental. The one-time Beatles-Challengers, The Beach Boys lose their muse with Brian Wilson. But despite the ‘Free Love’ and the poor Youth the bands are making an incredible amount of money. After the Beatles breakup, the money comes rolling in: The Rolling Stones, Led Zepplin, The Who, Crosby, Still & Nash. A few family acts make some significate money: The Osmonds, The Jackson 5.

So now comes my theory: What if the record business made their own groups? or one better yet, their own type of music and sold it to the Youth? This way they would be in front of the artist. It took the excess of Rock ‘n’ Roll and the movement of R&B to put the pieces together. It could have been the beginning of guerilla marketing campaigns when a director took a band showing their new dance moves to back his movie to start a dance movement.  One could say it was a failed experiment or the beginning of next-level marketing.

There is no way to say ‘Saturday Night Fever’ was a failure. The movie launched a few careers, The Bee Gees being one of them. Bob Dylan said ‘There’s no success like failure and failure is no success at all’. The manufactured beats were creative and packaged in glamor. Which bore a completely opposite reaction – punk – gritty, real and offensive. Whatever Disco was, Punk was the opposite. And by contrast, the house lights were turned on and the disco ball’s twinkle dimmed. We could see a way out.

So when I was able to hang out with my friends, I wanted to be cool. We thought it was cool not to like current pop music, Disco. So it was an easy move to Steve Dahl’s Disco Demolition. But high school boys are more talk than action, so when it got out of control in Cominsky, everybody wanted things to settle down. Steve Dahl continued to blow up disco records on the air but I think he was starting to look for an exit. Not to leave The Loop but I think he wanted to get out of the anti-disco business. Steve Dahl was a talented morning DJ – he was funny and he got us kids to look at Chicago a different way. We became more aware of what was going on beyond our families, friends and school. He made our world a little bigger and a little more relevant. But it was mostly about the music.

The AOR radio format throws out the 45 vinyl format. AOR – Album Oriented Rock was born out of the FCC killing the simulcast of their the FM stations on their AM station counterparts. The radio stations needed a cheap way to play different music. So they let the DJ’s play whatever they wanted. So they could play folk to hard rock, jazz to gospel as long as there were people listening. The point was they did not have to just play the singles anymore. As this style developed, instead of giving a DJ a box of 45’s to play, there were given a list of songs from albums that they could choose from.

So stations began programming songs that were not just singles. So when ‘Fear of Music’ was released in August of ’79, The Loop immediately started playing ‘Life During Wartime’ and they weren’t alone. Record companies did not always release singles from new albums. Now they were letting the AOR DJ’s find the singles for them. “Life During Wartime” resonated with music fans across the country. So it was selected as their first single off their ‘Fear of Music’ album and released that September. It fit into my covert view of Anti-Disco perfectly.

But when I first listened to the album I was taken back by how strange it was. Until this point, I had been listening to The Beatles, Blue Oyster Cult and Fleetwood Mac. None of the other songs were like “Life During Wartime” and yet they were. The second single, “I Zimbra” which starts the album was in another language. WTF? The next song “Mind” while in English, did not fall in line with the music I was used to. Prophetically David Byrne was telling me “I need something to change your mind”. I enjoyed the guitar moments but there was all this other ‘stuff’ in the music. “Paper” brought jarring rhythms. “Cities” actually sounded like “Life During Wartimes”, as a remake. After “Life During Wartime” the first side ended with “Memories Can’t Wait” a psychotic trip into the band. It was years before I would try pot but this song gave me the taste of it. I was almost afraid to flip the album over, but I did.

The second side did nothing to persuade me to the Talking Head cause, “Air”, “Animals”, “Electric Guitar” and “Drugs” were all experiments in playing their instruments. The sole exception was “Heaven” which was the most traditional of their songs. Years later “Life During Wartime” would end up consistently on mixed tapes but in one sense they were successful, I was afraid of their music and did not buy their following album “Remain In Light”. It would not be until the college buzz, both figuratively and literally, would have me revisit them with “Speaking In Tongues” and reacquaint myself with “Fear Of Music” and purchase “Remain In Light”. It was hard to change what I was used to listening to then but this challenge would eventually get me to discover that people are like music, if you don’t like someone you may not be listening to them the right way.

Talking Heads’ ‘Fear of Music’ was not an album I would play all the time. It would take years for me to get comfortable with this new music. I was learning how to listen to music. Learning how to take responsibility as a listener. To listen to what was good, even if it didn’t sound like the other songs I knew. It was a lesson I would repeat over and over again. I had spent typically $5 on about an hour worth of music. There were so many people that helped to put these songs together, I owed it to myself to see the best in it. I didn’t have time for dancing, or lovely dovey. There was no party, it was no disco – I was just fooling around.

At sixteen going on seventeen, I was outside Deerfield Courts waiting for my girlfriend in Aunt Joyce’s Purple Polaris when Tom Petty’s “Here Comes My Girl” came on. It was the perfect song. I had been waiting so long to finally have a girlfriend. 

It was only a few months ago on that magical February night in her uncle’s basement. She had invited me and a few of my friends over after finals had settled down. By the time I had gotten there the only space available was on the couch next to her. Despite my awkwardness, I sat there anyway. I knew something was happening when our legs touched and she didn’t pull away. We all sat around talking and laughing about the kids we had been meeting in high school, our finals and how our high school teachers weren’t as much fun as the middle school teachers, with some exceptions. She was laughing at my jokes and wasn’t moving away when I put hands down or when we had to squish together to make room for someone else. We ended up in our own conversation so deeply that when there was finally a lull we realized everyone had left – I was still sitting right next to her, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. 

For the first time, I really looked at her. I noticed how her smile pushed up the corner of her eyes. Yet her eyes appeared happy even if she wasn’t smiling. How the single bulb in her uncle’s basement reflected back so beautifully off her pupil. And how her iris broke up the brown with flakes of blue, or was it green, in the most memorizing way. I noticed her smile had dropped and at the same time, I noticed I was leaning towards. What was really surprising was she wasn’t pulling away. In fact, I think she was actually turning her head. In a second it didn’t matter because our lips touched and then our tongues introduced themselves to each other. 

“Is there anyone down here” a voice from upstairs yelled. 

We immediately sat up, struggling a bit because we didn’t realize how far we had reclined. As we got up and acknowledge we were there, we joined the others upstairs. It was on the way up when she grabbed my hand that I knew  I had a girlfriend. 

The problem was – none of that was true. Actually, I was sitting in Aunt Joyce’s Purple Polaras outside Deerfield Courts. And when Tom Petty’s “Here Comes My Girl” came on the radio it wasn’t my girlfriend that was coming. It was my stupid brother, Dave. What a loser I was. Had I been listening to the ‘Damn the  Torpedoes’ cassette tape that I would eventually buy, the next song would have been “Even The Losers”. This would have only made things worse because the chorus was “Even the losers get lucky sometimes”. That – was certainly wasn’t true – sixteen and no girlfriends in sight. The fact was it was still my brother coming through doors from Deerfield Courts. 

‘Damn The Torpedoes’ was Tom Petty’s breakthrough album. We didn’t know he was from Florida because he didn’t sound ‘southern’. He and the Heartbreakers had that edgy sound that drew us in but it was his songs that kept us: “Don’t Do Me Like That”, “Here Comes My Girl” and “Refugee” were great songs but so were “Even the Losers”, “Century City” and “What Are You Doin’ in My Life?”  I bought the cassette version of ‘Damn The Torpedoes’ for my car. Why I bought it on cassette is a different story.  But for now, I was listening to The Loop or WMET. It didn’t matter. Tom Petty and The Heart Breakers were everywhere in 1979. 

Now, calling Dave ‘My stupid brother’ was not a reflection so much on him but my frustration that despite the fact I was able to drive and being a junior in high school, I did not have a girlfriend. The reason I was picking up Dave was that we both worked in the same outdoor mall. Dave had taken my old job at Deerfield Courts. I had gotten that job from Steve Olson who had moved up to string tennis rackets. So what position is lower than stringing tennis rackets at a tennis court? A Towel Boy. I started at $1.95 an hour. I was not sixteen yet so minimum wage did not apply. During the week, if I worked, I would need to take a different bus after school and walk to the little outdoor mall behind the bigger Deerbrook Mall. I think it was called Lake Cook Plaza but no one really knew the name anyways. Usually, people just called it ‘the-mall-behind-Deerbrook-Mall’.

The main store we would go to was Frank’s Nursery and Crafts. Many times when we were done with our junior high bowling league at Brunswick, we would wander over there. John and I would look at the house plants. I would get supplies for my sand art or macrame. So, while I worked at Deerfield Courts and waiting to be picked up, I would hang out at Frank’s Nursery. The manager at the time, Kevin Taupin, saw me and one evening informed me they were looking for a stockboy and asked if I wanted to fill out an application. First work lesson – it is always easier to get a job if you have a job. I ‘passed’ my towel boy job on to Dave. So when we worked the same nights, after I had gotten my driver’s license, the family would drop the Polaris off so I could drive us both home. 

One particular night, this plan did not work out so smoothly. Since Dave and Jim were now in Drivers Ed, Dave had driven with Aunt Joyce to drop off the Polaris. Uncle Jack probably followed to bring them both home. When they dropped the car off, Dave had found me in the store to give me the car keys. I was very proud of the fact that I would be able to drive myself home – instead of having to be picked up like a little kid.

After the store closed and we finished cleaning up, Mr. Taupin told us we were free to go. With keys in hand, I approached my Purple Chariot and relished my burst of independence. I started the Polara and she roared freedom and smelled like abandonment (or was that oil?). I shifted the Polara into reverse and backed out of the parking space, but after shifting into drive the Polara would not go forward. My mind blinked, I put Polara back in park and again into drive but she didn’t move. What the hell? I tried reverse again and she went rolled backward – drive, nothing. I was having my first ‘Car Problem’ – shit. I was flustered and a little panicked. The knock on the window startled me. It was Mr. Turpin. 

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

“Yea, the car won’t go forward,” I replied. 

Mr. Turpin knew I was a new driver and asked if he could try. I got out and watched as he got in. 

“It will go backward but it won’t go forward,” I explained. 

I felt somewhat vindicated when he had the same results. He could not go forward after putting the Polara into drive. Then he got serious. Warning me to watch out, he closed the car door and changed the gear back to park. Stepping back a few feet he tried and reverse and rolled back a few feet shifted gears and sat there. Changing gears again, moving back a few more feet and stopping again. Finally, the door opened and he said he would open the store up again so I could call home for a ride.

Once inside on the office phone, I called home and explained the situation. I don’t remember who I talked to but after explaining Mr. Tupin had also tried without success they agreed to rescue me. The strange part to everyone was the car was fine before they dropped it off. 

When Aunt Joyce and Dave arrived. Dave jumped out to try since he was the one that had ‘broken’ the Polara. As he got in he asked, “Did you take the parking brake off?”

“Parking brake?” I asked.

The Polara was an automatic. I had not driven anything but an automatic. I had never put the parking brake on. To be clear, the Polara’s parking brake pedal was a 3rd pedal all the way to the left. I didn’t even know how to take the parking brake off. Dave reached down and pulled the release. He put the car into gear and it rolled forward. 

Who the hell puts the parking brake on with a car with an automatic transmission?

My brother does. Everyone was relieved there was nothing wrong with the Purple Beast. I tell this story whenever someone brings up parking brakes. 

Another time, after Dave had gotten his driver’s license, I was now getting a ride home from Dave. We were still using Aunt Joyce’s Purple Polara. I had gone inside Deerfield Courts to catch up with the night manager who I knew from when I worked there. We walked out together as the manager closed up. Dave and I walked to Aunt Joyce’s car. Since Dave had driven there, it was my turn to drive. 

As we pulling out of the parking lot Dave followed behind the manager. He ran through the Stop sign that was posted in front of the ‘mall road’ that led through the mall to Lake Cook Road. 

“He blew through that stop sign!” I remarked.

“It’s OK,” Dave said. “It has a white border.” The manager would occasionally drop Dave off at Franks if I wasn’t done yet. Apparently he never stops at this particular Stop sign. Dave simply gave the same explanation was that Stops signs with white borders were optional. 

I had only been driving a year more than Dave but I had never heard this before. I thought this would have been discussed in Drivers Ed or one of my friends would have said something. Something didn’t seem right.

When we got to the Stop sign before the stoplights on Lake Cook I realized why I had never heard about the optional white-bordered Stop signs.

“You idiot,” I said. “All Stops signs have white borders!” The manager had given Dave his first lesson in ‘plausible deniability’. While confident in my conclusion we still checked the Stop sign on Lake Eleanor Drive to Carol on the way home to be sure that it too had a white border. It did. 

Cars were definitely Dave’s ‘thing’. I didn’t appreciate to what level until a year later when we were coming home in my own car. As Dave and I were heading North on Wilmot Road when Dave said, “I wonder where Aunt Joyce is going?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“She just pulled off of Berkeley”

“Way up there?” we were at least a 1/2 mile away and it as dark out. “How do you know it’s Aunt Joyce?”

Well, I don’t know if its Aunt Joyce, but it is the Polara,” he stated.

“How can you tell?”

“By the headlights”

“How can you tell by the headlights?”

“Well, the directions signals on the bottom outside of the headlight…” and my ears glazed over as Dave explained in detail how the Polara lighting and directional lights were arranged. I was only half listening as we met the Southbound car and sure enough, it was the Polara, and from what I could see of the driver in the dark, probably Aunt Joyce. 

After that, I never argued with Dave again about cars. OK, that’s not true, there was one late-night conversation we had about if someone running low on gas should you drive faster or slower to get to the gas station. Dave insisted that you should drive faster while I was trying to make the point of fuel efficiency. So I was more than happy to argue with Dave about car logic but not about car details. He was at a different level when it came to that.

Like many brothers, over the years Dave and I had our share of nighttime conversations and daytime fights. While Dave was always faster than me due to my weight, but Lord help him if I did catch him. There were many tears shed in those fights, mostly by Dave. Dave was typically the family member that Mom and Dad would have to ‘worry’ about; and not just because I would be punching him. 

There was the one time in the Red House he jumped out of a second-story window on to the driveway below to get away from Hope. Or the time he took Hope’s bike, that was too big for him after being warned to leave it alone, only to take it anyways. Of course, he wiped out. He wiped out so badly, he knocked himself out. I still remember a gaggle of neighborhood kids carrying Dave’s unconscious body down the sidewalk to our house only to be scooped up by Dad who carried him inside. Dad laid him out on the bathroom countertop while Dr. Mom checked him out. He eventually came to and outside of a large bump on the head he was fine. No actual doctors were used in the resolution of this story. That’s my brother for you. 

Unfortunately, that was not the case the night Dave and I went to bed in the Gray House and had our pillow fight. The pillow fight itself was actually pretty short. To be fair, I did start it. After a couple of whacks with my pillow, Dave retaliated with his own. With a nice overhead swing, I was jarred out of my playful mood with a sharp pain to the back of my head. I put my hand up to my head and my fingers found a new hole. I ran downstairs screaming. By the time I got to the kitchen where Mom was the blood was dripping down my neck. 

Mom got a cold washcloth and Dad got the car ready to take me to the hospital for my stitches. It turned out Dave had been playing with a flashlight the night before. Since he wasn’t supposed to play with flashlights anymore he had hidden it in his pillow. When I returned from the hospital Dave showed me the dent I put in the flashlight. That got me to laugh. I could tell he felt bad for what had happened. 

Dave and I were the only ones in our family that stayed together after our parents died, both falling under Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack’s care. This makes Dave the only person I have grown up with my entire life. With my parents, Dave and I would fight like brothers, consistently. Lee and I got along despite being a year and a half apart, two school grades. We really didn’t fight regularly. Maybe Dave and I fought because we were too close in age.

But after our parents died, the fight in Dave and I just kind of – went. We were scared little boys, at 11 and 12 years old. In light of our circumstance, we had landed with Comanecian grace but at the time I thought we were crumpled spirits. It would take me years to understand the blessing and good fortune we had actually received.

My rejection of our good fortune was probably best illustrated in one of our first rituals when we moved in with the Beckmans. As we would go to bed Aunt Joyce would tug John and Jim in. We would hear their ‘good nights’ and their laughter through our wall.

Our door would open and Aunt Joyce would ask, “Are you ready for bed?”

Aunt Joyce would go to Dave’s bed first and tickle him followed by a good night kiss. When my turn came I would pull the sheets over my head so she couldn’t kiss me but she would still be able to tickle me which I would still laugh and giggle. It would become a game to us – her attempts to kiss me good night. 

It wouldn’t take more than a high school psychology student to figure out I was resisting her as a replacement for my Mom. Dave on the other hand fully appreciated her intervention. I think this is where  Dave and I diverged our relationship with the Beckmans. While John and I got along, for the most part, the next couple of years were classic junior high adjustments for both of us. We were at new schools with unique situations. And despite being the same age, we did not go to the same junior high school. John was getting some of his learning disabilities addressed. I was facing a new school without Hope and Lee to break new ground for me. 

Dave, on the other hand, paired up with Jim who was an ‘old hand’ at Woodland Elementary. He introduced Dave to his friends, and probably most importantly, he explained why his cousin was now living with him. Jim and Dave did a lot more hanging out together and with their friends. John and I hung out together as well but we didn’t share friends and school. 

There was one story Aunt Joyce shared with me many years later. Woodland School had parents’ night so they gathered at the school one evening to get updates from Dave and Jim’s teacher. As typical on a parents’ night, the teacher had arranged the room to show off what her students had been working on the past few months.

One of the works were short essays or stories by each student on what they had done over the summer. Like all the other parents Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack searched for Dave and Jim’s essay. When they found Dave’s there were taken aback that he had written about his mom dying and moving in with Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack. Aunt Joyce thought Dave’s essay shared too much and spoke to the teacher on why she would display this. The teacher assured Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack that the entire class agreed that Dave’s essay should be displayed. So on the wall, it remained.

I did not share such public discussions about the death of my parents. The closest I would come would be reading a short story in my high school creative writing class about an orphaned kid moving in with an old man. It was our first assignment. I had written it assuming only the teacher would read it or maybe a couple of other students in my class. I was embarrassed about being called on to read my story aloud to the class. And I am pretty sure it was obvious to all in the room who the little boy in the story was.

As we got into high school, I found it interesting that Dave would not refer to Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack as his aunt and uncle to his friends. He would refer to them as ‘his folks’ thus avoiding the discussion with the person on why he was not living with his parents. I, on the other hand, would just refer to them and ‘my aunt and uncle’. On occasion, the person I was telling this to would ask, “Where are your parents?” I would simply tell them “they died”. Sometimes that was enough. Sometimes they would continue to ask, “How did they die?” My response would typically go something like “Well, my parents were going through a divorce and my Dad didn’t like it so he shot my Mom and then he shot himself.”

This was typically received with dropped jaws, apologies and various other sympathetic gestures. After a while, I got used these reactions. Sometimes I would get emotional despite my efforts to hold it in. Sometimes I was more detached or more ‘as-matter-of-fact’. Depending on the situation, sometimes I would tell them the ‘whole story’. Many times I would include my conclusion that a person in an abusive situation was worse off than what I had gone through. My situation, as bad as it was, would never get worse. But the abused soul was always being pounded down like a hammer on a nail. Or I would go into everyone’s worst moment is their own. For some people, their worse moment is a scratch on their Cadillac. We all have our worse moments but it isn’t a contest. It would be a teachable moment in empathy.

While I would shun people’s sympathy, Dave would embrace it. The first summer we moved in with Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack we got to spend a week in Lutherdale. Lutherdale is a Bible Camp in Elkhorn Wisconsin where we would spend a week enjoying the lake and hanging out with each other. They were peaceful weeks just Mom and us kids. So it strange being there without Hope, Lee and Dawn. It was also the first time John and Jim were away from their parents. It didn’t really go too well for them.

Camp counselors were the twenty-somethings, or younger, there to watch the younger kids that showed up for camp. Since we were there during Family Week they were more available that week. I believe Dave and I were their hard-luck case having lost our parents that winter. Dave connected with one particular counselor, I believe his name was John. He was part of a singing group and Dave’s inspiration to get into singing. He still has their album which he signed. I have to admit, I was impressed to know someone who had made an actual record. It is their version of ‘Pass It On’ that I remember so well from Lutherdale.

This friendship, while it may have ended when we left camp that week, stayed with Dave for the rest of his life. In junior high, he joined choir, which continued into high school. John,  Jim or I did not appreciate being dragged back to school to see all his performances but we all had to support Dave in his singing career – according to Aunt Joyce.  She even got him voice lessons as well. His singing career continued at Valparaiso. And while singing in school wasn’t exactly a ‘career’, he did sing solos in our church choir and sang at weddings and funerals and some of those were paid gigs. 

In Deerfield High School all the halls are designated with a letter. The music department was given ‘M’ for their short hallway. Off the ‘M’ hall, there were a couple of rooms they had for their band and choir classes, a few practice rooms, and the music teacher’s office. So the slang term that developed for people in choir or band was ‘M-hallers’. Its implied meaning ranged anywhere from ‘being gay’ to ‘being a dork’. It was a way to put someone down that didn’t conform to your high school values. So Dave was an ‘M-haller’. The problem is when the group embraces a derogatory term, that term loses its power – like ‘Cheese Head’. (Full disclosure: in high school I did take a music class, Beginning Guitar. So I too, was an ‘M-haller’ at one time.)

Dave never really embrace being an ‘M-haller’. I had always hoped he would find some friends to sing in a band with. We sang together often enough with our own music in our bedroom so I knew he could sing. But when he sang solo’s I always thought he sounded deeper and nasally. Normally when we sang in our bedroom we sang at least an octave or two higher. I always preferred the higher parts and loved the high pitched singers like Steve Perry, Geddy Lee and Jon Anderson. But Dave never joined a band so I would have to keep my friends from teasing him too much. While I never preferred his ‘professional’ singing voice but he does have a gift and continues to sing today.

Dave’s first job was inherited from me, but after a couple of other jobs, he ended up working at his friend Steve Petersen’s dad’s company – R-Columbia in Highland Park. Dave, Steve, Ted Horist and a couple of other friends would assemble headphones that Steve’s dad would sell across the country. Dave would proudly point out that their headphones were used by the NFL coaches on the sidelines back then.

One day while Dave and his friends worked at R-Columbia they notice a lot of extra activity across the street at the Porsche dealer. Turns out it was a film crew who was working on the ‘Risky Business’ movie. You can see R-Columbia at the end of this clip after the scene when they open the Porsche’s door. It is the building on the left through the window as Tom Cruise and his friends are sitting in the chairs against the window. One of Dave’s ‘Brushes with Greatness’.

All four of us boys had our own group of friends and by high school, we all had pretty different circles of friends. On rare occasions, we would cross each other’s path. For example, one evening Greg, Jeff and I decided we were going to paint the fence by Deerfield High School. This wasn’t a school project, we weren’t painting to cover up the existing graffiti, we were going to add our names to it. Today you would call it ‘tagging’. The gray privacy fence was famously scrawled with graffiti. Thinking back its amazing that the Village of Deerfield let the graffiti stay as long as they did. 

Greg, Jeff and I had the brilliant idea that spray paint would take too long so we were going to use a pump canister we had ‘acquired’ from Franks to apply our paint faster. So under the shadow of darkness one evening, we parked our car at the corner of Chestnut and Telegraph. It’s actually more of a bend than a corner. From there we only had to cut through a shrubbish lot, cross over the railroad tracks and go a block north to where to graffiti was closer to the high school to be noticed. 

With our paint-filled pump spray ready, we made our way as far north as we could before crossing railroad track and Waukegan road to the fence. Greg insisted on painting the fence while Jeff and I played lookout. He pumped the canister and started painting his masterpiece. 

“It’s not working!” he hissed. 

I tried to grab the canister of paint but Greg insisted he could get it to work. Cars were passing us on Waukegan Road as the three of us tried to figure out why the paint was not coming from the nozzle. After a few more feudal pumps to try to build up enough pressure we had to concede failure. Luckily Jeff was still playing lookout and then he yelled.

“Cops!”

Sure enough, brakes lights from Deerfield’s Finest as they were passing us and our fence canvas. Lucky for us there was a break in the evening traffic and we were able to sprint across the road to the railroad tracks. We did not see anyone get out of the cop car when we dared a glance having made to the other side of Waukegan Road. By the time we got to the top hill onto the railroad tracks, the cop car had to continued North. Apparently satisfied with scaring us off instead of chasing us down. 

We went down the other side of the hill so we couldn’t be seen from the road. Our nervous laughter betraying our actual fear. Soon we fell back into our high school bravado and fantasies of what we could have done. We took turns blaming Greg, the paint and the canister. Greg was having none of that. The reality was we were stupid high school kids thinking we could pour paint into sprayer made to spray water and expecting it to work. Eventually, we found our way on the trail through the bushes to get back back to our car. As we got closer we heard voices. The bravado was again lost. 

We could barely make out the shadowy forms that were first betrayed by their muffled dialogue. A light, or rather a flame appeared amongst the figures. Suddenly I realized who it was – Dave and his friends. He had been talking about his friends burning their term papers. And his friend Ted lived just a couple blocks from there. 

“It’s Dave!” I whispered to Greg and Jeff. 

All fear gone, Greg yelled out in his father’s voice, “What are you kids doing!?”

The shadows stood up and took off running south on Telegraph towards Ted’s house. Jeff growled, I yelled as we came out from our own shadows to chase them but they were already gone. As we made our way back to our car I realized scaring my brother and his friends made up a little for our failures as graffiti artists. 

While Dave and I got along, outside of music, we had pretty different interests. While John and I paired up on plants and fishing, Dave and Jim paired on mechanical things. With the lake behind us, a few people would snowmobile there in the winter when it got cold enough. Jim got a snowmobile first and eventually so did Dave, by borrowing $500 from me (family lore still questions whether that loan was never actually paid back). Dave and Jim would also tinker with their car engines and do bodywork on their cars. Dave and Jim would rather get their hands oily than dirty from the garden or potting soil like John and I. 

Without our parents, the task of teaching us to drive fell to Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack. From when we first moved in Uncle Jack would let John or Jim, and eventually, Dave and I seat next to him and steer the car around ‘The Circle’. The block that made up our street – Chris Court, Carol Lane, Hickory Knoll Road and Montgomery Drive was referred to as ‘The Circle’. Normally we would have called ‘going around the block’ but that would imply there were multiple blocks and there wasn’t in this case. So ‘The Circle’ is where we would steer the car while Uncle Jack worked the pedals. We would walk Mimi, the Beckman’s miniature poodle and eventually Daquari, Maxine and Luke. When we were trying to be healthy Aunt Joyce would have us jog around The Circle. Steering the car around The Circle would be a privilege and would most likely occur on Sunday after church or Saturday if we were all together running errands.

I was always more comfortable with Aunt Joyce when I was learning to drive. I could probably count on one hand the number of times I had driven with Uncle Jack. He could be a harsh critic. And I was not a confident driver. The worse case was driving with my driving instructor and ‘losing it’ on a left turn onto Deerfield Road from Sanders Road forcing the instructor to use his ‘second brake’. Outside of that and ever since, I’ve loved driving – especially when I could bring my music with.

I had taken my driver’s ed course earlier than most of my peers since I was one of the oldest in my class – second semester my sophomore year. It was a weird time in Illinois Driver’s Ed historically. We were taught to brake with our left foot. I know! crazy right? The logic at the time was then drivers would be used to using their left foot when driving. For those of you who don’t drive stick, you use your left foot to work the clutch. Currently, only 2% of cars sold have a manual transmission in the US. Only 18% of drivers know how to drive stick. ‘Left Foot Braking‘, as its called, is still around as a ‘safety concept’ but it only survived few years in Illinois Driver’s Ed. 

When I finally got my ‘blue slip’ (for you kids reading this, a blue slip is your certificate of completion so you get your driver’s license) none of my friends could drive. Without any pressure to drive, I put off getting my license. First, it was because the lines were too long. I remember being in Deerbrook Mall where the DMV was when the ‘blue slips’ had been sent out, there was a line from the DMZ office to the General Cinema on the opposite side. But eventually, I would go passing on my first attempt. I was definitely more comfortable driving by myself. 

Now that I had a license, the next step was to get a car. One of the many lessons Uncle Jack taught us was saving. “Deposit your whole check into your account and only keep out what you need,” he would say. The many trips to Deerfield Savings Saturday morning I remember Uncle Jack hovering over me as I filled out my deposit slip and critical of much my ‘Less Cash’ was. “Do you need that much?” he would ask. I’ll admit I didn’t save as much without his accompaniment. But his tutelage had paid off. By the time I got my driver’s license. I had saved two thousand dollars. 

My favorite car has always been a Ford Mustang. Keep in mind I’m not into cars. But a ’64 Mustang was always my ideal car. A guy on Wilmot Road very close to us was selling a black and white Mustang Cobra II. It had a black stripe down the middle, black quarter window louvers, stick, hatchback. It was beautiful. And it was two thousand dollars. 

“Absolutely not,” Uncle Jack said.

I was crushed. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t buy the car with MY money? But Uncle Jack had spoken and I was afraid of him enough that I would not defy him. Later that summer we had a rare Zilligen get together and my cousin Mike was selling an orange ’72 Mustang Mach 1. When I asked him how much it was he said:

“I would never sell it to you. You’d kill yourself.”

It seemed like I would never get a car. I guess I was going to have to borrow Aunt Joyce’s Polara until I moved out. Luckily this was not to be the case. So this is how we went from being a one-car family to six cars by the beginning of the ’80’s we filled the Beckman driveway.

So shortly after Dave and I moved in, Uncle Jack, through his work connections with a scrapyard in Waukegan, purchased a car for Aunt Joyce – a Dodge Polara. For some reason, we always called in a  ‘Polaris’. Up until a few years ago, Dave pointed out we’ve been mispronouncing the car’s name – for 30 years. The Dodge Polara was purple – some would argue plum. Prince would say it was not purple. It was the car John and I started driving in the evening and on the weekends when we first got our licenses.

I was the first of us to work a ‘regular’ part-time job – at the Deerfield Courts. Not to be outdone, John got a job at County Diary in Wheeling. He was making $2.50 to my $1.95. Unfortunately, Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack would have to take John to and from his job while I would take the bus after school and get picked up or ride my bike. When I started working at Franks I could drive and Aunt Joyce or Uncle Jack would sometimes drop off the purple beast. I assumed they did the same for John. 

John was the first to get his own car, a ’76 Monte Carlo – a classic long hood coupe. It was a beautiful car. My first car was once again acquired through Uncle Jack’s connections from the scrap yard. They had received a ’72 Ford Galaxy – a four-door ‘boat’ that needed transmission work. By paying for the transmission bill, the car was mine. Gone were my days of taking the bus to school or my bike to work. As Dave and Jim got their licenses, Jim purchased a Vega from the Parsons down the street. Dave basically took over the purple beast and Aunt Joyce purchased a Buick LeSabre from our cousin Alan. 

Each family member now had a car. This meant we would have to coordinate our schedules to arrange the cars in the correct order. There would be quite a few evenings Uncle Jack would assign who was to go where in the driveway so our mornings – and his – went smoothly. Uncle Jack would typically be at the end of the drive since he left first. One of us boys would follow with one lucky driver to be in the garage with Aunt Joyce since she typically left after us. 

Once we had our assignments, those who were not in order, which was most of us, would pirouette out of the driveway on to the road or across the street into the Todd’s driveway returning to the driveway in our assigned positions. This way things worked smoothly in the morning – for Uncle Jack.  

We all enjoyed the new freedom our cars brought us. During my freshman year, I took an intro to guitar class. And through this, I eventually got an electric guitar. Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack encouraged my purchase of a solid body ash Ibanez electric guitar. It was from a music store in Wauconda that had taken over an old bank. Their gimmick was keeping all their expensive guitars in the old safe in the basement. With the purchase of the guitar and amp entitled me to 10 free guitar lessons. 

Over the next two years, I would continue to take guitar lessons there. And when I got my own car I drove myself to Wauconda. In my mind, I was becoming a rock star in our basement but the reality was my guitar lessons had devolved from learning to playing guitar to learning out to play specific songs. 

One trip to my guitar lesson my friend Steve Olson accompanied me to check out the music store while I took my lesson. On the way, I had found my normal route was under construction so it forced a detour on a road I wasn’t familiar with. After the lesson, I took what I thought was the detour on the way back. Unfortunately, it was a gravel road and the first right turn I took too fast and started fishtailing and ended up hitting a tree in a ditch. 

Steve and I were ok. I was better than Steve whose head had hit frame between the windshield and car door window. We had to walk to a nearby house to call home. Uncle Jack came out to pick Steve and I up. I watched as my Ford Galaxy was towed off, eventually, to the junkyard from which it came. My freedom had been neutered to being a passenger dependant on friends and family to get where I wanted to go or to borrow someone else’s car. I would be without a car for the next 4 years.

Dave’s accident was of his own making. Actually, it was not an accident like my poor Galaxy, Dave’s accident was one of age and youth. One day leaving DHS, while he was driving his Purple Polara, he punched the accelerator on Waukegan road and found the limits of the Polara’s crankshaft. Like Sean Penn in Fast Times in Rosemount High, Dave thought he could rebuild the Polara’s engine. After a month of the Polera’s engine parts occupying the garage, Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack brought in an expert – our cousin Danny Brumm. He with Jim and Dave was finally able to get the Polarea back together again. While it did run I don’t think it was ever the same but Dave was able to sell it and picked up John’s old Monte Carlo. 

Thinking back to those high school days, Dave, Jim, John and I had found much of ourselves through our cars. Well, not through our cars, but from the freedom our cars provided. While our birthdays were all within 15 months of each other, we all had our own paths. Jim worked various jobs – Ace Hardware, True Value, McDonald’s and eventually ended up at Jewel, the coveted employer in Deerfield due to its higher pay. John eventually left Country Dairy when his emergency dog group and volunteer time at Deerfield Animal Hospital turned into his dream job at the Deerfield Animal Hospital. I had gotten my ‘dream job’ at Frank’s Nursery and Craft. As I mentioned earlier, Dave ended up working with his friends at R-Columbia electronics. 

In the middle of high school, our lives consisted of school, work and hanging out. Hanging out consisted of one of your friends or more and a place. Hanging out at the lowest level involved someone’s home. You could start there but you would have to, eventually, ‘go somewhere’ because your home wasn’t ‘anyway’. So I could ‘hang out’ at Greg’s house. Or we could hang out at Jeff’s work. Or hang out at the mall. But our favorite hangout was the arcade.

I remember seeing Space Invaders for the first time. It was at Strike ‘n’ Spare bowling alley where Aunt Joyce and Grandma bowled. In junior high these ‘video games’ sat next to the two or three pinball machines – which was next to the jukebox. By the time we got to high school, video games were showing up in restaurants and movie theaters. On a visit to Lakehurst Mall, we found Aladdin’s Castle had open up on the second floor near a magic shop we used to frequent. Aladdin’s Castle seemed almost like a place where parents could drop their kids off while they shop – which they did. But it was too clean, bright, convenient to hang out with your friends. And Lakehurst Mall was 25 minutes away. We needed something closer, something cooler. Then Peacock showed up. 

Peacock ice cream opened up in 1979 on Skokie Boulevard down the road from the Eden theaters. They had 2 coolers of ice cream but the owner’s real genius was lining the outside wall with arcade games. It seemed each time we went there were more games. Soon one of the ice cream coolers was gone, then the other. The games were put back to back and there was a maze through all the machines. One night a new room appeared. Parking was tough. There would be people hanging around outside. The inside was dark and lite with the screen glow and neon. There were a couple of change machines. It could be the middle of January and it would still be warm in there.

Being in high school at the time I was, as the commercial would say, nose-blind to the odors. All the prepubescent sweat must have made that place reek but I never noticed. Peacocks became our ‘hangout’ until another arcade opened in Wheeling (who’s name was lost to the ages).  Eventually, the games were brought to our homes by Atari, or in our case Mattel’s Intellivision. But the games at the arcades were only half the reason we hung out there. It was our clubhouse, or at least where we would start or end our evenings. 

But in all honesty, I kinda lost track of my family when I was in high school. My friends were becoming more important to me. I avoided Dave, Jim and John in high school, I tolerated Dave a little more than John and Jim but I was trying to find my own way. They knew my vulnerabilities. I would be ’embarrassed’ when my friends would come by and they would have to interact with Dave, Jim or John – or, heaven forbid, Aunt Joyce or Uncle Jack. Part of it was your typical teenager stuff – your parents are embarrassing. 

Once my friends starting feeling comfortable with my family, it would not take much for them to unleash their biting sarcasm on Dave, Jim or John. There is a classic lyric by Joe Jackson – “Don’t call me a faggot unless you are a friend.” I’ve always loved the sentiment behind Joe’s lyric. Back in those days, it was nothing to call each gay or fags. But once you went outside of our circles the words became unacceptable. Like the word ‘nigger’ in the black culture – “Don’t call me a faggot unless you are a friend.”

My friends would occasionally go ‘outside of our circle’ with Dave, Jim and John. I would have to call them out and rein them in but that was not always possible. The bottom line was sometimes my friends could be jerks, and I was not always the best at calling them out for being jerks. But I was always more protective of Dave. 

Not that John and Jim didn’t deserve protection, but Dave was special. He was my true brother. And while time would melt that definition between all four of us it would both erode and yet enhance that definition between Lee and me. But there has always been a special bond between me and Dave.

We are the only two who remained together after our parents died. Growing up, Dave didn’t always make the best choices, like jumping out of the second-story windows or riding a bike that was way too big for him. After we moved in with the Beckmans, Dave didn’t do as many ‘dumb’ things. But everything moved slower. I think it was the pain we carried unspoken between ourselves that slowed us down. But as we got used to the weight we realized we were growing up. Life was returning to both of us. Our late-night conversations were happening less. Partially because we were out with our friends or working, partially because we were growing apart. This wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, we were growing up. We weren’t as scared as we had been before and we were confiding in our friends more. 

As the years when by, Tom Petty was right I would eventually have my first girlfriend and I would watch her walk across the room or hall to me. And there would be college, and more friends and more girlfriends. Eventually, there would be a wife and children. But as the years would roll by there would always be Dave. And there was only Dave. The only person I could say I grew up my entire life with. That may not seem like much to some people but over time I’ve realized how special our relationship is – because of what we went through. Maybe two siblings who have moved around a few times would understand this. The loss of our relationships with Hope, Lee and Dawn haunted both of us. As bad as things had been for all of us, somehow Dave and I were given each other. Having each other gave a hidden strength we didn’t acknowledge or understand ourselves. And as joyful as our sibling reunions would be, the goodbyes would again renew our loss. And for Dave and I, the goodbyes would be painted with a weird coat of guilt. Why were we so lucky?

I’m sure it was because Dave and I are only a year and 25 days apart in age. Uncle Jack once told me he and Aunt Joyce were trying to get all three of us boys but the Brumm family thought that would be too much of a burden for them. As grateful as I to be placed with Dave, I believe the real blessing was being placed with the Beckmans. And while I wasn’t aware of my good fortune growing up, I look back and see many times I squandered this. This unappreciative child may be the oldest clique. I am but one of the millions who under-appreciate what life has given them: a loving family, committed siblings and loving parents. Too many people take these blessings for granted. Mine are just more obvious due to my circumstances.

Early into marriage Desi and I had an apartment in Wheeling. When Cindy and Dave got married, they moved into a townhouse in Palatine. But we didn’t hang out together. I was hanging out with my friends, and the bars, and working. When they bought a house somewhere else Palatine, we bought a house in Lindenhurst way up north. A year or so after that Cindy and Dave also bought a house in Lindenhurst, about a mile away. 

Now we would drop by each other’s houses on the weekend. There were many days we would ride together to work. In the early ’90s our offices were about a half-mile apart. I changed jobs and that ended that. But 6 months later so did Dave. Once again, our work and homes were a mile apart from each other. Our occasional morning commuters could continue. We would regularly call each other with ‘traffic alerts’ and then our conversations would continue onto various issues we were dealing with our new families. We would occasionally walk through our business problems too. 

I remember one particular commuter home that started with me alerting Dave to a traffic problem on 83 and he should avoid it. Having caught him on 53 he changed his route home as duly warned. Our conversation turned to issues he was dealing with at work. And almost to prove his point, he said he had to take an incoming call – it was work. 

I remember hanging up and wondering how much better taking our ‘Midlothian’ route would be since I was stuck in the parking lot that used to be Route 83. Thinking about Dave’s problem I realized he was no longer the stupid kid that would ride bikes that were too big for him, or jumped out of second-story windows. I was proud of the fact that he was a husband, a father and a respected employee. I know he’s a better son to Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack than I am. 

I was brought back from my mind wandering by a Tom Petty song on the radio. I was reminded of that evening waiting for Dave outside of Deerfield Courts when Tom was singing ‘Here Comes My Girl’ but I was lamenting at what a loser I was because it wasn’t my girl coming through the doors but my stupid brother. But now when I play that memory of Dave coming through the doors of Deerfields Courts he’s not my stupid brother, he is the only soul that knows me and my entire story. I feel so lucky to have him as a brother and a friend. We have gone through a lot together – more than most people, but I believe we turned out OK.

Girls are overrated anyway   😉

 

 

 

 

 

 

Renegade by Styx

Miracles by Jefferson Starship
It was another Sunday after church running errands at Deerbrook Mall. It was just after Christmas, in fact – it was after my birthday. While Aunt Joyce and Uncle walked around Venture, Dave, Jim, John and I would go into the mall. My favorite places in the mall were Musicland and Waldenbooks. But this particular afternoon I was camped out at Musicland.

John and I were now in high school and I was beginning to get serious about music. While we were only a freshman, between my brother Dave and my cousins, we had collected a fair amount of 45’s. Last year we had started getting Albums and 8-tracks. For our birthdays, my brother Lee had given me the ‘blue’ Beatles Greatest Hits and Dave the ‘red’ Beatles Greatest Hits. By now between Dave and I, had 10 or 11 albums and almost a hundred 45’s.

My cousin Keith would eventually give me Wild Cherry’s album, the one with “Play That Funky Music.” He gave John Ted Nugent’s ‘Free For All’. I always thought he had given us the wrong albums. John was much more into Disco than I was. I would eventually go on to join Steve Dahl’s Insane Coho Lips Anti-Disco group. But Keith probably remembered John had Kiss albums – the ‘Originals, “Destroyer” and “Rock ‘n’ Roll Over” – which I had borrowed from him for a couple of weeks. Until we got into a fight and he demanded I returned his albums. I didn’t want them anyways. There were a bunch of losers, in their make-up and cool larger-than-life stage outfits. Yea, who needed Kiss. I had just gone back to my Beach Boys – though I was beginning to think maybe the Beach Boys weren’t as cool as I thought they were.

My musical tastes were beginning to open up. Last Christmas Lee had gotten me Blue Oyster Cult’s Specter album. They created the interest to get into Kiss in the first place. John had actually gone on a date – with a girl – to a Kiss concert. I was drawing their faces in junior high. The fight between John and I killed my interest in Kiss, they were stupid anyways. When Blue Oyster Cult released ‘Some Enchanted Evening’ that summer, Kiss was just a kid’s band. Ignore the fact that they were topping the charts and doing TV specials. The fact remained, my musical tastes were expanding. 

While that particular day we were still doing our after-church trips to Deerbrook Mall, we were not doing them as frequently. Our family routines were beginning to change. For example, one big change was that Turnstyle had gone out of business and a new department store named Venture had moved in. We were also allowed to roam the mall for the next hour has long as we met Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack back at checkouts at the prescribed time. 

As we entered the mall from Venture, Musicland was our first stop. While all of us entered pass the red-bricked walls of the store, I was always a sucker for the featured albums on the endcaps of the record bins. Dave, Jim and John quickly looked at those then moved further into the store to look at the musical instruments and stereo equipment. After reviewing the end caps for sale items I would begin at the beginning of the alphabet begin looking at the various albums in the record bin. I would typically start by flipping through all The Beach Boys albums – they sure had a lot of albums.

However, that day was a little different. It was mid-January and I had gotten clearance from The Tower – Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack – to spend money on an album. The money had come by way of birthday cards – most likely Grandma, Grandma Zilligen and Aunt Ida. So I wasn’t just looking – I was purchasing. I could almost smell the smoke from the twenty dollars in my wallet. There were so many bands I knew nothing about. There were so many albums I knew nothing about. I was just beginning to learn how much music there was to discover. The scent of ash, soot and burnt polyester was strong. 

In the late ’70s, the Disco Rage was beginning to shows signs of dissent (or the Disco Inferno was beginning to cool). There was also the release of Grease – spurred on by America’s infatuation with ‘Happy Days’, the old days, the 50’s. So there was this weird conflict of new, modern dance music with oldies from when rock n roll started. The death of Elvis Presley in ’77 also didn’t hurt. So when Elvis died, my family embraced his music. So the whole family was into the Elvis Greatest Hit 8 track that Uncle Jack had bought for the station wagon. I found his music old and boring. On the other side, I was not into new dance disco sound. But to be perfectly honest, I merely feigned my opposition to Elvis’ music. This fulfilled my need to be a rebellious teenager. 

This feeling would best be captured in Bruce Springsteen’s lyric from ‘Growin’ Up’: “when they said, Sit down, I stood up”. So I stood up. I would not be listening to Elvis just because the King had died. I would not join others under the Disco ball. I was not going along with what everyone else was doing. When Lee gave me Blue Oyster Cult’s ‘Spectre’ album I found a much edgier sound. I also enjoyed Uncle Jack’s grimace or Aunt Joyce’s crossed eyebrows when I played the album. I always thought their tolerance for my volume was lower when I was playing ‘Spectres’ than the others’ most acceptable Elvis or pop songs. It was the same reaction John got for his Kiss albums. Of course, I could play my Beach Boys without the Volume Police being on patrol. 

At this point, I had decided not to get any more 8 track tapes. Lee had talked about a new format – the cassette tape – that was better than 8 tracks. It was like a mini reel-to-reel. It’s not that cassette tapes were new – I remember Mom had one we could record on. In fact, I would set up a cassette recorder in our bedroom New Year’s Eve to record the WLS Top 100 Songs of the year. I would warn everyone not to enter the room because I did not want them to disturb the sensitive recording studio I had set up. My ‘studio’ consisted of flipping my AM radio on top of the cassette recorder. Ah, those cherished recordings that despite spending hours to record them, I never actually listened to them. 

Cassettes had moved into prerecord music and entered the automobile market. This spelled the end of the 8 track tape. But adding a cassette player/recorder to our home system was not an option for Dave and I. The stereo Grandma had gotten us had a builtin 8 track player. John and Jim’s stereo had a separate 8 track player so they could get a cassette player to attach to their stereo. David and I were stuck on 8 tracks until we got a new stereo. So I was switching to vinyl. 

That Sunday morning, as I wandered around Musicland, I struggled with trying to figure out what I wanted. I had already collected a number of Beach Boys tapes so I wasn’t really interested in another one of their albums. I wanted something new like Blue Oyster Cult. I was still learning about music and who sang what songs. Dave had gotten Fleetwood Mac ‘Rumor’ album on 8 track. It was a great album. I remember first hearing parts of the album in high school when we had gym class and the pom-pom squad was practicing a routine to ‘Don’t Stop’. And when they were done practicing they let the album continue through to ‘Go Your Own Way’ and ‘Songbird’. 

But while I liked Fleetwood Mac, Dave had ‘Rumors’, it wouldn’t make sense for me to buy a Fleetwood Mac album – Dave had already ‘claimed’ that band. I liked Steve Miller but I wasn’t sure about the other songs. I continued flipping through the albums but I was beginning to feel I was running out of time. Dave, Jim and John had long continued on to other stores. I was reviewing the albums Musicland had chosen to market to casual mall patrons for the 3rd or 4th time.

“Hey Trike,” Dave called from the mall. “We’ve got to meet Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack in Venture.”

The final moments were now at hand. A decision was needed. I picked up Styx’s Pieces of Eight, which was on my ‘For Sure’ list. Once again I was drawn to the shiny gold cover of the Jefferson Starship ‘Gold’ album. You could actually feel the raised letter of the album. With “Pieces of Eight” already in my hands, it was easy for the kid working at the store to talk me into the shiny new album with the raised lettering.

“That’s their greatest hits, ” he said.

Sold! I just needed an excuse. Time was short and my window was closing. I’m pretty sure a blister forming on my rear right cheek through my wallet. I grabbed the album from the holder and brought both up to the store counter. While I knew the total was going to be a little over $12 dollars, I still continued to misjudge how much the tax would be.

Shoving the change in my pocket, I grabbed my bagged albums and raced from the store into the mall which was just outside of Venture. Passing the checkout counters set up for the Venture partons that were going into the mall, ignoring any potential glances that may have been given on my potential risk of shoplifting with an open Musicland bag.

By the time I made it to the regular checkout counters, John, Jim and Dave were neatly stacked behind Aunt Joyce while Uncle Jack did not look happy.

“Did you forget your watch?” he sarcastically asked as he countered out his bills to the cashier for Aunt Joyce’s purchases.

“No…,” I started.

But Aunt Joyce asked if we were ready with the bagged purchases into the shopping cart thus saving me from further questions. We all escorted Aunt Joyce to the station wagon. We piled into the station wagon, John and I opting for the back seat.

That is the rear-facing back seat of the station wagon. This was well before any seat belt laws. While the station wagon had seat belts they were all neatly tucked away and unreachable. We never feared for our lives. John was complaining that he (and I) were too big to be sitting in the back seat. The current process was ‘taking turns’. Those who sat in the ‘way back’, as the rear-facing seat was referred to, on the way there (where ever we were going) would get to sit in the regular back seats on the way back. But this wasn’t fair for those two stop trips – such as our mall trips after church. John was voicing his displeasure in this system.

When we got home, we would get out of our Sunday clothes and get into our ‘play clothes’ which consisted of jeans and a t-shirt. Sunday dinner was typically our bigger meal, like supper. Ever since Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack had the porch enclosed and insulated we had a kitchen table added so we could all sit around the table together. The fact was John was right, we were getting too big. As ‘us boys’ were continued to grow and we could no longer fit two boys to a bench around the old kitchen table.

This particular meal was longer then I wanted. As soon as appropriate I asked to be excused. This was the rule at our meals. We would say grace, have our meal and  we would need to ask if we could ‘be excused’ from the table. This would give Aunt Joyce or Uncle Jack a chance to check our plates for food that could be sent to the African Children. All through the entire meal, I couldn’t wait to get to my bedroom so I could listen to my new purchases. With permission granted from Uncle Jack, I brought my dishes to the sink and stole away to my bedroom.

Both albums were gatefold which meant after the plastic was removed the album would open to reveal additional album artwork. One side would contain the album, the other side would typically be glued shut. The Styx album revealed the band members bust as Easter Island heads. I pulled the album out and saw the band included the lyrics on the liner sleeve. Including the lyrics would become an important feature to me. I removed our stereo’s dust cover and set up my first listen to side one of Styx’s ‘Pieces of Eight’. Dropping the tonearm on the groove of side one I stretched out on my bed with the inner sleeve in hand.

Looking over the sleeve, an announcer began to ask for my attention. It was Dennis DeYoung beginning “Great White Hope”. I followed all the lyrics to “I’m Ok”. I knew “Sing for the Day”, which I only thought was only OK. Waiting for “The Message” to finish I was eagerly anticipating “Lords of the Ring” having read “The Hobbit” and halfway through “The Fellowship of the Ring”. During “The Message” I skimmed the lyrics and saw no mention of Frodo, Gollum or any characters from Lord of the Rings. “Lords of the Ring” concluded and I swing my legs off the bed to flip the album.

I was looking forward to “Blue Collar Man,” John already had the 45 and was another reason I wanted this album. I tipped the volume knob ever so slightly up to give our single speaker boxes as much help as possible but not draw the attention of the Volume Police. Keyboards rattled the speakers on their shelves. During the second chorus, Aunt Joyce’s head popped through the door.

“Trike!” she yelled above Dennis DeYoung’s keyboard, “Turn it down!”

I immediately grabbed the volume and turned it noticeably lower. I swore that I would always be told to lower my music before John had to. But as while I was wallowing about my unjustice, I was missing Dennis explain what it was to be a blue-collar man.

I spent “Queen of Spades” going back and forth on how unfair I was being treated by Aunt Joyce and how lucky I was to be living with them. At sixteen years old – the sour grapes were winning. I eventually returned to the liner sleeve and the lyrics of “Queen of Spades.” When “Renegade” started with its acapella beginning, I was entranced. When the entire band kicked in behind Tommy Shaw’s yell I got chills. The jig was up and I that emotional high I wanted to repeat over and over. That discovery of a new song that I could connect to. But it wasn’t just the shivers down my spine. That was just part of it.

The other part was when John began knocking on my door. “Who is that?” he asked. He had heard the song on the radio. I proudly turned over the Pieces of Eight album and we stood listening to Tommy Shaw, Dennis DeYoung and the rest of the band finish the song.

“Can I borrow this?” John asked.

“When I’m finished,” I replied. Jeez, I thought, let me finish the album.

“Yea, Yea, Yea,” John replied waving off the album cover. “Yea, when you’re done.”

The album finished the finale “Pieces of Eight” and then the forgettable “Aku-Aku”. I brought the album over to John’s room. The emotional connection to ‘Renegade’ was key but having the song that connected with other people also became important. I returned to my room for my next album.

Jefferson Starship’s “Gold” did not have the same impact as “Pieces of Eight”. While the gatefold cover revealed their past albums the songs were not as exciting. Through “Miracles” I thought I remembered hearing it on the radio in the car with my parents. Or it may have been wishful thinking. The songs were polished and they were all good; not as uneven as “Pieces of Eight”. But you would expect that from a greatest hits album.

I was curious about what was on the other albums: “Dragon Fly”, “Red Octopus”, “Spitfire” (l loved the cover with the dragon) and “Earth”. I was intrigued with raised ‘punch printed’ album cover of “Gold”. I kept running my fingers over the raised letters and ridges of the front cover. The inner sleeve did not provide any lyrics, just a bland generic paper sleeve. The next 47 minutes and 38 seconds I got to know Jefferson Starship. As I listened I grew more curious about their past albums, a curiosity I would never explore. But I did become a fan which would be reinforced with their next album release “Freedom at Point Zero”.

This binge of album purchases set me up for a lifetime hobby. One that would take me to dozens of record stores in the Chicagoland area. It set me up on how I would purchase records in the future. My album collection would grow based on my quest for a song or artist that other people would eventually come to be impressed with. And like the general public, when that song or artist became too popular sometimes my interest would wane. I would also continue to be a sucker for gimmickry album covers and marketing strategies, always curious about what the music on the vinyl inside sounded like.

I would so begin to purchase multiple albums at the same time. Spending $20 on records would turn into $40 and $50 at a time bring home 4, 5 or 7 albums at a time. Eventually, Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack would tell me I couldn’t spend all my money on records. So I would have to sneak my new purchases into the house. Occasionally they would notice my growing record collection and I would have to go months without my new hobby.

Collecting albums became a lifetime and a defining trait of myself. I don’t think it would be going too far to say it a defining part of who I am as a person. Music became a connecting point for me to others. My best friends, who would later be defined at Greg and Jeff, would also have strong music interests. I knew people who when they talked about me would know music was a big part of my life. Obsessive? probably but I still understood music was only one part of many that make me who I was and who I would become.

Collecting albums was a critical part of my music interest. While I would like to say that actual music was more important, both aspects actually went hand in hand. Having knowledge was key but I had a long way to go in that department. My sources would be my friends, the radio, the record stores I would visit, the occasional magazine and the library. One of my favorite sources were the music charts. While many radio stations had their own charts, the king of the charts was the Billboard. While this didn’t actually provide any musical knowledge this was how I would determine where to begin my exploration. This gave my music tastes a very pop-orientation though I was very willing to experiment. I also never had a ‘rebel’ attitude – liking something because other people didn’t like it – despite my initial aversion to Elvis and Disco. I was looking for an understanding of my life in the music l was listening to as I laid on my bed. Lyrics were very important. To me, “lyrics could save a song.” While I loved melodies and especially the hooks, simple lyrics or cool concepts with a simple melody would win me over every time.

The real problem with my new album collecting hobby was money. Us boys made money by delivering newspapers. I don’t remember the name of the newspaper, but it was a weekly newspaper that we delivered on Thursday. Initially, we could only take this job as long as we didn’t need to collect any money from the customers. However, within a few months, we were required to collect money for subscriptions. This actually turned out to be fortunatus.  As we went from house to house we found out a lot of people who didn’t want the paper we were delivering in the first place. In fact, they were very clear that we were NOT to leave any more papers on their doorsteps. We ended up dropping about 80% of our deliveries. This made our routes much easier. The newspaper, however, still dropped off the same amount of papers each week. These extra papers would build up in the garage. So every few weeks, Uncle Jack and a couple of us boys would sell the papers to a scrap yard.

These Saturday morning trips to the scrap yard began a fond routine with Uncle Jack. I had already realized Uncle Jack didn’t take the shortest routes to where he was going. He could have taken to the tollway and the whole trip would have taken 15 minutes. But that would have cost 25 cents each way. Years later I would realize he could have taken Waukegan road, the main road that took one North, to save the 25 cents but he didn’t take that route either.

Prior to those morning drives, ‘the boys’ would daisy-chain handing bundles of papers to each other filling up the back of the station wagon. There were typically so many we would have to put the back seats down to fit them all. Many times we would do this the night before and the station wagon would be backed in ready for its early departure. We would typically leave between 7 to 8 am. Being an early riser so I would almost always accompany Uncle Jack on these morning runs.

The route to the scrapyard was comfortable – peaceful, quiet. It was as close to a country drive as you could do in the Northern suburbs of Chicago. From Wilmot Road, Uncle Jack would turn left on to Duffy Lane, a quiet road with regular houses on bigger lots. We would typically not see another car that early in the morning. When Duffy would dead end, he would take a right onto Riverwoods Road.

As the ride with Uncle Jack continued the houses got more expensive and moved up in their lots. These houses looked more like our houses around the lake where we lived. When we crossed Route 22 (this is the road that took us to my brother Lee’s house in Lake Zurich) we were starting to get out of our ‘normal’ routes though we could still be going to Hawthorn, the mall in Vernon Hills. But these mornings Uncle Jack continued straight on Riverwoods Road instead of taking a left on Everett Road. From here we were on less-traveled roads. I would rarely ever take this route even when I could drive. Uncle Jack only took this route when we were dropping off the papers at the scrap yard. 

The houses now all but disappeared into their lots leaving the people that lived in them an idle curiosity. The avoided tollway appeared on our right and the early morning truck drivers would break our morning calm. The drive was calm. There wasn’t a lot of talking, just the radio. I would typically have my nose into one of my books. When Riverwoods Road steered us more eastward, we lost sight and sound of the tollway and back to our radio. Soon we would have to stop at Route 60 at stop signs that would eventually be changed to stoplights and continue our journey north.

Once on the other side of Route 60, the lots now just changed to plain fields with no houses at all. But the fields eventually gave way to big mowed lawns of expensive homes of fancy subdivisions. Out of nowhere, we were suddenly flying over the tollway on a bridge. A field and a church gave way to more fields. After a few company buildings and a railroad, the homes were gone for good which meant we were coming into ‘town’ and we were almost at the scrap yard. At the stop sign, we now took a right and there were only business buildings on Route 176.

It was a quarter-mile drive, just before the railroad tracks, when we arrived at Rondout Iron & Metal. It was an oily dirty junkyard. It didn’t smell like a dump, it smelled mechanical. The station wagon would waddle through the uneven gravel to the scale by the office. We would be weighed and then motioned onward to the loading dock. I and whoever was with would run to the back and open the station wagon’s back door. There would be one or two young men on the loading dock who we would toss the newspaper bundles to. I say toss but sometimes we would struggle through it seemed each trip it would get easier. Once the station wagon was unloaded we would be weighed again. Uncle Jack would then pull off the scale go inside to collect our money. The early morning sun would try but it never dried the oil and mud of the junkyard. The station wagon would waddle out of the yard as Uncle Jack navigated the potholes to take us home, the sun a little higher, the shadows a little shorter.

Uncle Jack loved to take these routes. GPS’s call them alternate routes. Google Maps call them scenic routes. In a few years, I would learn that Supertramp called them ‘The Long Way Home’. He would take them through Riverwoods when we would go to Wheeling. Or through Lake Forest when he would come back from his Saturday Morning banking trips. If we went with on his banking trip, we would marvel at all the big expensive houses he would pass as he drove through Lake Forest. Sometimes he would comment about Mr. So-So who works at Blah Blah Important Company lives on this street and I would imagine butlers and maids scurrying around large rooms and big backyard patios. Over the years I would wonder why they would need such big houses. And those displays of wealth would leave a bad taste in my mouth, or rather a canker sore. I believe it was Krokus who said ‘Eat the Rich.’

Years later through a few series of friends of friends, I would DJ a small private party in one of those houses. They did not have butlers or maids but they did have people serving their catered food. I set up in a corner of their living room – pass their life-sized cabbage patch dolls that would be seated in the hallway to the kitchen area. Above their large fireplace, they proudly displayed the largest spin-art I’d ever seen. I did not hold the same of affection or respect for the signs wealth that my friends did, particularly Ralf. While Uncle Jack would sometimes fall into the racial profile of Jews and money, he had a strong respect for money and the people who accumulated it.

When we finally arrived home from our trip to the scrapyard, or sometime it would happen after Uncle Jack did his Saturday morning banking, we would gather around the kitchen table. Ceremoniously Uncle Jack would display the total take from the scrapyard paper money, show his division by four, include our allowance and neatly lay out the bills and coins into four equal piles. We would greedily swipe the bills and coins into our hands and scurry back to our bedrooms like bridge trolls. But we would dutifully drop our pennies in our pennies jugs. I drop any nickels I had in the jar I used to collect my nickels in. I miss those young huddled morning ceremonies and I think Uncle Jack enjoyed the attention from his four little bridge trolls. But more than anything I miss those long scenic drives the Northern Chicago suburbs with Uncle Jack. Uncle Jack would continue his drives without us and would spontaneously show up at our homes to drop off food items or little things for the grandkids. I know he loved stopping by but I also suspected he loved taking the long way home. Its a trait he’s passed to me when I can afford the time.

So from delivering the wanted papers and selling the unwanted papers each of us would make about $10 a week. They say to get a job you have to have a job. This would be true in high school because soon I would be getting a new job – a regular job at Deerfield Tennis Courts where I could make that is 2 nights! So my first real job I was making $1.95 an hour.

But like any kid – my ‘wants’ were always more than my budget. And now my ‘wants’ were in the form of flat black vinyl discs. I would buy what I could get into the house, and if I got caught, I would be banned from future purchases. This meant I would just have to be very careful when I brought albums into the house the next time. While getting the albums to my bedroom could be tough, what albums I should actually purchase was getting tougher. There were so many choices. These two albums, Styx’s ‘Pieces of Eight’ and Jefferson Starship’s ‘Gold’ represented two key ways I would make my purchase decisions.

First, album covers would always be part of my decision-making process (and eventually cd’s). The embossed, raised printing of the Jefferson Starship album was a big factor in that purchase. I was subject to gimmicks and cool artwork when it came to my album purchases. So over the next months, I would purchase Meatloaf’s ‘Bat Out of Hell’, Molly Hatchet and Gamma’s debut albums simply because of their covers. I had no idea how the music sounded. And while I knew AC/DC did that “Highway to Hell” song, it was subtle inclusion the devil tail drawn in on the cover that sealed that purchase.

And while the cover was important, many times just the fact that it was a new release was just as important. This led to the purchase of Queen’s ‘Jazz’, Eric Clapton’s ‘Backless’, Bad Company’s ‘Desolation Angels’, Cheap Trick’s ‘At Budokan’, Jethro Tull’s ‘Stormwatch’ and The Eagle’s ‘The Long Run’.

But I was collecting – so when one of ‘my bands’ released new album, that was a required purchase. When Blue Oyster Cult (BOC) released ‘Mirrors’, that was an easy decision. Lee had given me BOC’s ‘Specters’ a few years ago, then I picked up their ‘Some Enchanted Evening’ album on an 8 track. I was collecting Blue Oyster Cult. I had decided to purchase everything on vinyl, no more 8 tracks. So when Styx’s released ‘Cornerstone’, I bought it. When Jefferson Starship released ‘Freedom Point Zero’, I bought it.

I also viewed each of ‘us boys’ as ‘collecting’ bands or artists. So I couldn’t buy someone else’s band. So Dave was buying Fleetwood Mac’s albums so I couldn’t buy ‘Rumours’ or ‘Tusk’. John was collecting ELO so I couldn’t buy ‘Discovery’, even though Dave had ‘Out of the Blue’. Jim never really collected albums, he never really got past 45’s. There was literally a whole world of music waiting to be explored – as long as I didn’t start collecting someone else’s band.

To find my music I relied on my friends, mainly Greg and Jeff, along with a neighbor friend Todd Combs. In high school, I had switched radio stations from WLS to The Loop led by morning DJ Steve Dahl. And of course my local record stores. I would soon outgrow the Deerfield Record Shop (sorry, Lenny!) and switch to Laurie’s which had opened up in the Deerfield Commons. These recommendations included Rush’s ‘Permanent Waves’, J. Geils Band’s ‘Love Stinks’, UFO’s “No Place To Run”, Bob Seger’s “Against The Wind”, Journey’s “Departure” and Genesis’ “Duke”.

Over the next several years, I would average 30 to 40 albums purchases a year. While I would continue to succumb to the allure of great artwork and would crave the latest releases, I was also learning about key albums and artists I had missed. Not too unlike the charts I was following of albums I would mentally rank the classic bands and artists. Led Zepplin, The Who, Pink Floyd, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, that list would forever be growing.

Lee had given Dave and I the two Beatles Greatest Hits albums, The Red and The Blue albums as they were known as. For my Beatles collection, this would suffice for the time being. But as I would reach out to a particular artist, I would need to decide to purchase the greatest hits or a ‘classic album’ of their catalog. For example, I had been integrated by the fact that “Stairway to Heaven” by Led Zeppelin had never been released as a single. So one of my first ventures into the past was the purchase of Led Zeppelin’s “IV” (or ZoSo, Runes, Fourth as it would be called). Originally released in 1971, it seemed strange to listen to such old music like the Beach Boys but Led Zeppelin was still cool.

I knew by this age that what I told my friends I was listening to mattered. I was too socially unstable to get away with telling them I still liked the Beach Boys. Journey, AC/DC, Genesis and Rush ruled the schools now. While I still purchased Beach Boys’ albums I would not share this fact with my friends. It would be years before we all matured enough to allow each of us to go outside the imaginary peer boundaries we had set up for ourselves and each other.

I began to search and explore all the music I was exposed to. And with the demands of school, family, friends and work I had to decide how to spend my listening time. I would soon be driving so control over the radio would offer more time – when friends were not in the car. A boombox would allow me to bring my music with me but would present other problems. Until I got my own car and installed a cassette player I would have The Loop 98.7 to guide me at the end of the seventies and into the next decade.

And while my friends and family would guide my musical tastes, I would eventually outpace them in my musical knowledge and thirst for more. But for now, we were turning each other on to the music. We were discovering the music of the late seventies, though from our skewed youthful perspectives.

Disco was beginning to die, punk was being discovered, the keyboards for New Wave were only then being set up, Heavy Metal was retooling and Southern Rock had seen its high noon. We would not have the anthems of war or protests, so our view of past music was more romantic and naive. Our view of older music was based on what our radio stations and older siblings played for us. Resources were finite, time was finite and I had to choose between discovery and depth. I would make choices based on album covers and many times what the latest releases were. I devoted a lot of money to music – always to toward the media and less on the equipment or concerts. A hobby was born that would shape my next forty years.

Ah – Zilligen Christmas! After 40 years it is still a peak of the holiday season for me. The fact that we had Zilligen Christmas wasn’t so great. After our parents died I no longer lived with my brother Lee and my sisters. Dave and I were the exceptions. However, the Brumm families we were now living with made a point of getting us together as often as possible.

For four or five years in high school the Beckmans, who Dave and I lived with, would spend a week with the Steins, who Dawn lived with. This week was spent at Twin Pines Resort just outside of Ludington Michigan. The Beckmans and Steins each rented a cottage for the week which allowed Dave and me to spend a week with our sister. There were also a number of Columbus Day weekends when the Beckman and Steins would gather together again at Twin Pines to snag salmon that would run in the State Park a few miles away.

Different Brumm families would also host Fourth of July parties, or Memorial Day or Labor Day weekend parties. And we would also see each at the annual Brumm Picnic. And for each of us, there would soon be graduation and confirmation parties. Despite their best efforts, there were still some holidays we would still miss sharing together: with Easter, Halloween and Thanksgiving we would take up our new families’ traditions.

Christmas was another story.  Like many families, getting together for Christmas can be difficult, particularly the families with members who are hours away. Many times this would result in a second or third Christmas when arrangements could be made to gather with the ones you love. My mom’s family had also been split up when my grandmother passed away when they were children. Their effort to gather together during Christmas became the Brumm Christmas Party. The Brumm siblings and their spouses would gather at one of their homes to celebrate Christmas. When I was younger, this would result in a gift from my godparents the next morning. My godparents just happened to be Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack, who Dave and I now lived with.

With this history in my mom’s past, it is not surprising that the same arrangements were made for us. So that first year after our parent had died, during our Christmas Break, we all gathered at Aunt Bernice and Uncle Ray’s house. It was just us Zilligens – and Aunt Bernice. I don’t remember Uncle Ray being there. While he was a custodian at Hersey High School in Wheeling, he was likely working while the kids were on break.

Each of us were dropped off by the aunt or uncle of the families we were now living with. This was so different than the year earlier. My family’s Christmas tradition was to go our Grandma and Grandpa Brumm’s house on Christmas Eve. Our Dad would feign some illness and have to stay behind. When we returned, Dad would remark how Santa had come by evidence of all the Christmas presents under the tree.

In the last Christmas with my parents, they were going through a divorce. Mom had a restraining order on Dad so there was no one to put out the Christmas presents that year. So that Christmas Eve, when it was time to put the presents under the tree, Mom decided Dawn was old enough to know that there was no Santa Claus. The fact was Dawn had known for a couple of years already. She was part of the Lookout Team while Dave and I jumped into window wells of our neighbor’s house to spy their basement to see if we could see our presents we thought our parents were hiding there. Yea, Dawn knows all about Santa Claus.

So last year on Christmas Eve Mom decided that we would put our own presents under the tree. Mom wasn’t hiding the presents as she had in the past. They were simply stacked on the top shelf of the closet in her bedroom. They were all wrapped in newspaper. It was a clear sign that there wasn’t a lot of money to be spent, particularly on Christmas wrapping paper. One by one we each walked from Mom’s closet and put the presents under the tree. Then we all pretended not to care about opening them. It was hard without Dad being around but never estimate the power of shiny new things to distract a child.

Some time that late afternoon or early evening Mom gave us permission to open our presents. I honestly don’t remember much of that last Christmas with my Mom. Outside of putting the presents out and them being wrapped in newspaper. It was a quiet evening of gift-giving and sharing time with our mom and each other, now overshadowed as our last Christmas together.

So a year later we now gathered at Aunt Bernice and Uncle Ray’s house to begin a new tradition. We put the gifts we had gotten for each other around Aunt Bernice’s Christmas tree in their family room. Aunt Bernice had made us lunch and we sat her table talked about our new schools, new bedrooms and scooped about the cousins we were now living with.

Once we finished lunch, it was time for the ‘Main Event’ – the present opening. While I was very excited to get new gifts I was also excited to see how my brother and sisters would like what I had gotten them. It was an unmistakable sign of maturity I did not appreciate at the time. Lee’s gifts to us were all identical. Four wrapped squares two-foot or so by a foot and a half. We all knew they were paintings. Lee had painted each of us a picture on a cardboard canvas with a reddish wooden frame. I receive a blue Triceratops (which is currently hanging in Nate and Noah’s bedroom). Dave received a collie. Each of our paintings hung over our beds while we lived at Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack’s house. Lee painted Dawn a panda and Hope a poodle, probably after our family dog Jamie she took with when she moved in with Aunt Bev and Uncle Dick.

I remembered Hope had gotten me the Stephen King paperback ‘box set’ so I could continue reading my ghost stories. It contained his first three novels – ‘Carrie’, ‘Salem’s Lot’ and ‘The Shining’. I remember this because when her daughters were in junior high I threatened Hope that I would get my nieces Stephen King novels for Christmas. But Hope said they were too young for Stephan King. The view from adult-to-child is so different than child-to-child.

I don’t remember what Dawn had gotten me (sorry Dawn!). Dave and I did not exchange gifts since we were living together. This did not stop us from trying to convince Aunt Joyce we should still get each other presents. She was not persuaded. After all, we were not the ones paying for the gifts.

As the excitement of new gifts faded, Aunt Bernice introduced us to a new game which has become an essential part of the Zilligen Christmas tradition – ‘Take Away Bunko’. First, she had us organize our presents that we had just received from each other. She then instructed us to sit in a circle in the middle of her living room. She left then returned carrying a large plastic bag. She overturned the bag and out tumbled neatly wrapped Christmas presents. She left again this time returning with a pie tin with a pair of dice in them.

“Now,” she explained, “Dawn will start because she is the youngest. She will roll the dice. If she gets doubles, she gets to pick a present from the pile.”

Unfortunately, when Dawn rolled the dice she didn’t get doubles.

“Now pass the pan to Lee and he gets to roll. You keep rolling the dice until all the presents are gone.”

So we excitedly rolled the dice each hoping for a double. The pressure mounted as the pile of presents got smaller. Each double rolled was getting more and more important. Aunt Bernice laughed and yell with us as until the last present was taken. Dave was clearly disappointed because he didn’t any presents. I, on the other hand, had done quite well. We all looked to Aunt Bernice like dogs who were balancing treats on their noses – except for Dave who looked close to tears.

“Now,” Aunt Bernice instructions continued, “you keep rolling the dice and when you get doubles, you get to steal a present from someone else!”

Dave’s eyes lit with vindication.

Setting her bread timer on the end table next to us she said, “I’m going to set the timer for 5 minutes. So you can keep rolling until the timer goes off.”

Dave still had a chance to get some presents. What I didn’t realize was I was likely to lose my newly won presents. Now as we rolled the dice the excited yells turned to shrills of delight and groans of agony.  Dave would eventually get a present and would go onto a string of doubles accumulating a nice pile of presents. My pile, on the other hand, had grown dangerously low.

The five of us continued to roll the dice with each double drawing more and more excitement. Aunt Bernice would come back and forth from the kitchen checking on our progress. We grew desperate as the timer entered the last minute. Aunt Bernice stayed in the living room as the final minute slipped away.

“Hurry!” yelled those of us who were close to the roller. “Times almost up! Hurry!!”

“Ding!” the timer announced.

“That’s it!” Aunt Bernice announced. She inspected to make sure each of us had at least one present. “OK, you can open your presents.”

Eagerly we ripped the wrapping paper from our Bunko spoils. Each was filled with Christmas chocolate, candy cane, lifesaver or other treats. Then Aunt Bernice pulled out a garbage bag to clean up the spent gift wrappings. While I don’t know this is how our first Take Away Bunko game actually played out, you can get a sense of how we play our traditional Christmas game.

Thus began ‘Bunko’ at Zilligen Christmas. Like taking over the hosting Zilligen Christmas, we took over contributing to Take Away Bunko. Now each family brings 20-40 gifts. With the 25-28 participates we typically have 4 to 6 pie pans of dice going around. As our families had children they would begin next to their parents until they were old enough to play on their own. To this day we remind Danielle about crying when I stole a present from her during the stealing phase when she was 4 years old.

A few new traditions have developed from Take Away Bunko. Such as the bombardment of others with wads of Christmas paper during clean up. Or the ‘Prized Present’ that is constantly stolen during the stealing stage. Typically larger presents garner this favor but sometimes it’s just a feel or a sound. Such presents can be stolen from the ‘winner’ as they make their way back to their seats. Also at the end are the grand trading sessions. It is amazing the trinkets a guy can get for a scented candle from one of the girls. Or what a kid will trade an adult for a few chocolate kisses. Guests are welcomed to participate in Take Away Bunko. There are always plenty of gifts to be won.

In the beginning, we bought gifts for each other, with the except of Dave and I. However, the reality was Dave and I were not the ones buying the presents for Hope, Lee and Dawn. While we were picking them out, Aunt Joyce and Uncle Jack were picking up the tab in the beginning. Eventually, we would draw names for Christmas gifts – as we do today. I would love to know who had who in those original gift drawings.

Zilligen Christmas evolved as we stepped into adulthood. In the beginning, we would gather at Aunt Bernice and Uncle Ray’s house but eventually, we would have Zilligen Christmas at different homes. I imagine it was a bit awkward for our cousins, particularly the ones we were each growing up with.

One year, when Hope was in college, she brought her boyfriend with her. We had heard she was dating this guy – ‘Dave’ who she met in college. In fact, I first met Dave Reis when my cousin Keith Stein, who Dawn grew up with, and I went down to Northern Illinois University for an Outlaw and UFO concert back in 1981. A couple of years later when Dave and Hope married in 1983, they bought a house in Palatine on Slade Avenue close to Uncle Dick’s hardware store in downtown Palatine. Zilligen Christmas had found a new location that following December, along with the latest addition to Zilligen Christmas with the birth of Stephanie that September.

While Zilligen Christmas was for us Zilligens, at some point, as Hope showed us, we would begin to bring our boyfriends or girlfriends. Soon after Dave Reis started coming. Dave and Hope got engaged in 1983 so Dave was added to the drawing. From there each boyfriend or girlfriend was added to the drawing after the couples were engaged. Desi Dament in 1986, Cindy Gookin in 1987 and Mike Rogers in 1990.

As Dave and Hope filled in their family, the rest of us learned what it meant to be aunts and uncles around birthdays and Christmas. Sharing in the excitement of Christmas through the eyes of children, for us without kids, was magical. We did not have the responsibility of being full-time parents. We were not the first aunts and uncles to ‘wind them up and leave’ but we were perfecting it.

As the Zilligen clan continued to grow we were finding it harder each year to find a time during the holidays we could get together. The addition of boyfriends and girlfriends/husbands and wives was juggling the schedules with newfound obligations to our in-laws. While the desire to get together won out every year it was decidedly getting harder each year to coordinate the schedules. We decided to solve our scheduling issue by designating New Years Day for Zilligen Christmas. This worked great the first year but not so well the following year. In 1990 we had to reschedule Zilligen Christmas because Dave had to take Hope to the hospital to have their 3rd daughter, Danielle. While Danielle disrupted the 15th Zilligen Christmas, we now had a permanent solution to our dessert dilemma – Birthday cake.

Now that we had a date, we began the rotation of houses. As each couple bought a house, we shifted Zilligen Christmas that house. This began with Cindy and Dave’s townhouse in 1990, followed by our house in 1991. Lee’s and Dawn & Mike’s houses were also added to the rotation. The Host House would provide the main meal, while everyone else provide the side dishes. During Lee’s second rotation he decided on Chinese for the dinner menu. It was his dream come true.

By this time Zilligen Christmas had swelled to 18 or 19 people, adults and children. A few things happened around during this time. Dave Zilligen became the Master of the Names. One Christmas he produced ping pong balls each with the name of a Zilligen on them. This was much easier than the annual scramble for scraps of paper by the hostess each Christmas. Since Dave became the Master of Names, Cindy became the Scribe of Names. Of course, the names were drawn from a Santa’s hat.

It was also decided, now that Dave and Hope’s family was getting older, the Zilligen cousins would join the adult drawing and no longer receive gifts from all the aunts and uncles. This began when you turned 13. Another rule remerged as well, the Reis’ names were removed from the Santa hat and added after all the Reis’ had drawn their names. This prevented them from drawing themselves. Cindy and Desi also decided not to get gifts for each other’s kids and save those gifts for Christmas with the Beckman Christmas where we were raised.

As Stephanie and the other Reis girls got older, they began to bring their boyfriends to Zilligen Christmas. Like the original Zilligens, it was decided that while boyfriends did not participate in the Name Drawing, this changed with fiancees. The uncles would love to remind the Reis girls’ boyfriends about this rule by announcing, “There’s still time to get into the drawing!” With an open palm, they would laugh and politely decline the uncles’ offers. When it was official, Dave would announce the addition of their ping pong ball to the Santa hat before the drawing and another round of congratulations would be given to the new couple.

We also realized the Zilligen clan had outgrown Lee’s humble dwellings, so in 2000, Dave and Hope took Lee’s rotation as the host house for Zilligen Christmas. This established the rotation of Host Houses we have today. The other addition in 2000 was establishing the Zilligen Christmas Christmas list online. A few years earlier I had obtained the zilligen.com domain. Owning the domain turned web development into a hobby. Nothing I would make a living at but something to keep me current in internet technologies. You can view the rotation of names and host houses from 2000 to date. It has become my responsibility to update this list every year. It is interesting to look at the list to see who had who in the past.

When other families discuss drawing names for Christmas is discussed, I have Zilligen Christmas to drawn upon regarding rules and potential issues families could run into. It would be great to say we had no other tragedies after our parents however this is not the case. We lost Dawn’s husband Mike to lung cancer in 2007. I remember a conversation with Dawn a few months prior to Christmas that she was to take Bob’s name, and since I had Mike, I would take Steve, who was Dawn’s pick that year. That fixed the drawing for 2007. Zilligens, if nothing else, are practical.

With the divorce of Danielle and Alex, we lost another name. That was tough since they lived within walking distance to the Rogers and Dawn’s family had grown close to Alex. There are few scenarios our family has not gone through that we have not worked out.

Hope made a comment on Facebook a few years ago on the 40th Zilligen Christmas – forty years. Forty years ago our parents died splitting our family into four parts. From the original five to twenty-seven of us. I think Mom would be very proud of us.

So if you haven’t already figured it out already, the ‘Godzilla’ song came from a Christmas gift. After our first Zilligen Christmas, Lee went back to more traditional gifts rather than paint us a picture each year. By our third Christmas, Lee got me Blue Oyster Cult’s ‘Specter’ album. I recognized the group as the band that had done ‘(Don’t Fear) The Reaper’. Besides the AOR hit of ‘Godzilla’ it also had the minor hit ‘Goin’ Through The Motions’. Blue Oyster Cult was markedly different than my current band – The Beach Boys. It was the beginning of me collecting albums.

This led to the purchase of their follow-up album ‘Some Enchanted Night’. It was a single live album that ended up being Blue Oyster Cult’s biggest selling album. Of course, I had purchased my copy on 8-track. I was excited by the heavier more aggressive sounds. While Blue Oyster Cult was a far cry from the Beach Boys, my musical tastes would continue to evolve and they would only represent a part of the type of music I would be what I would be buying in 3 years.

That evening when Dave and I got home from Zilligen Christmas I put the ‘Specter’ album with the stack of 6 or 7 8-tracks that Dave and I had collected so far. It was great seeing our Hope, Lee and Dawn again. Lee had opened me up to a new type of music. It was one of the first albums we had, everything else was an 8-track tape. I was awakened to the idea of collecting albums, like collecting my pop cans. But the music – there was so much out there. I didn’t know this at the time but I was going to learn. Music would become my way of understanding my human experience, and understanding what I was going through.

A bit of an epilogue on my story about Zilligen Christmas. Many years later while Dave and Hope were raising their family on Slade, we all met one spring day at their home. Hope had received a couple of boxes that were from our gray house. She thought we should open them together.

In the unpacking, we ‘oo’ed and ‘ah’ed over the various items we recognized from our childhoods. The clear and red glass ‘candy holder’, as we called it. Various dishes and glasses that sparked poignant childhood memories for all of us. As we continued to uncover forgotten household items of our past, we began reading the old 1975 newspaper that everything was wrapped in. It was fascinating. Now that we were all on our own we couldn’t believe the price of rent, TV’s, cars, etc.  back then.

As our discoveries were ending, the biggest treasure was found at the bottom of one of the boxes. A small cartridge of undeveloped film. Hope had the film developed not knowing if anything would still be saved from the old cartridge.

It turned out to be from Mom’s camera. There were pictures of Dawn’s birthday party, Aunt Kathy and Uncle Dale’s dogs we had watched and our last Christmas together.