BUT
HE DIDN'T get the gig. Not a first. Our first choice pitched a shot glass
through a Sacramento Nightclub wall mirror on his first and last night, and
so we called Mike. As it turned out, Mike had a lot in common with us. He
was a classmate of saxman Karl Cheesecake Young at Washington "Fly High
Mighty Eagles" High School in San Francisco, and no less a City Boy than
any of the Family, (original Glass Packs security staff, see Chapter 1, page
2) as many of his classmates had also hung their colleagues by their cuffs
over the Army Street overpass, so his pedigree was impeccable. But first a
haircut and a big blue dollop of "Groom and Clean" every night for
the next two years.
Soon after Mike and Larry joined, we got the call for what would be the first
of three nationally ranked Spring Break parties. Playboy magazine years ago
rated college parties across the country; and among top five annually was
Chico State's Pioneer Week -- Louie Louie Time. They don't hold Pioneer Week
anymore; lets start there. Now that most of us are parents and taxpayers,
that's probably a good thing. But when it was celebrated, Pioneer Week was
an annual State-sponsored, fraternity organized, no cops party that lasted
a full week, and every night was Saturday night, each night a new band, a
new pool full of rum and coca cola, a fresh pig to roast. No shit, it is a
fact that people broke bones at these parties, and not from fighting, -- but
rather from falling off flat bed trucks, doing the funky Gator on asphalt
or being thrown into swimming pools fully clothed. This was dangerous fun,
roof-diving, keg-tossing Double Shot of My Bay's Love fun, and we, and others
more famous than us, supplied the entertainment. Our first year, 1974, we
followed Van Morrison, who performed Tuesday night, and preceded Fleetwood
Mac who would perform on Thursday night.
A mid- May Wednesday evening in Chico in the Spring is heaven. The night air
is warm and smells like honeysuckle. On the ground level of Chico's football
stadium is a stage centered at the 50-yard line abutting against the West
bleachers. The stage faces across the playing field and looks to the East
bleachers. The football stadium holds about 10,000 people. On the night of
the show, the West bleachers behind the stage are empty, the East bleachers
are packed - that's 5000 souls. The Glass Packs hit the stage and there is
a kickoff return for a touchdown howl coming from another 5000 souls standing
in front of the stage on the field, a sea of bodies reelin' and rockin'. These
kids have been going since noon, they can't hear a thing were playing, and
we cant' hear ourselves, but who cares? We're making five grand for the night
and, Look -- there goes Julio flying off the top of the Sound On Stage sound
truck in a classic cannonball tuck - Splat! Right on the roof of the light
mans' van below.
While
it remains a blur to those surviving Glass Packs who were there for the first
one or at the next two Pioneer Week performance which were no different, one
mystical image remains - "Surfer Girl". We came on for an encore
and got the crowd of 10,000 to slow dance. And that why we hired our drummer
Mike Moore -- because when the heat was on, he sang the opening and ending
of that song like an angel.
One
Glass Pack who didn't survive was background singer, road manager and best
friend to all, Johnny Buick, who began his Glass Pack career at age 19 taking
the money and checking fake I.D.'s at the door on Union Street; all the girls
got in. (See Party for Friend link) We last sang "Surfer Girl",
John's favorite song, at his funeral in 1989. We ought to do that song again
in memory of him and Pioneer Week. The two are indelibly linked. The death
of our friend at such a young age (36) left us each more like him. We became
a tighter, kinder group, and learned to seize the day earlier than most.
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