September 1993 #5
Zane sang the entire chorus before collapsing onto his sleeping bag, laughing like crazy at himself. But Mike wasn’t laughing. Mike was thinking. He sat up and waited for his best friend to quiet down. Then he said, “That’s it, Zane. That’s how guys like us get girls. We start a band.”
1966
Four long years and still no girls. Well, that wasn’t strictly true.
Paula Swartz let Mike put his hand up her sweater in the parking lot after the homecoming dance, which ended abruptly when her father pulled up in his Studebaker.
Zane was hot and heavy with Janice Pendergrass for two whole days (lots of kissing with so much tongue they both had to wipe off their mouths each time).
It ended when Zane’s gum got stuck in Janice’s hair.
Between the sight of that pink viscous substance clinging to her mouse-brown curls and all that face wiping, they were both pretty turned off by the whole ‘making out’ thing.
But other than those rather limited—and disappointing—experiences, having a band hadn’t yielded the throngs of groupies for which the pair longed.
But something strange had happened. They started to play for the love of playing.
Neither of them knew exactly when it changed, (maybe when they each got over the steep hump of learning music that feels impossible until you’re on the downslope).
At some point between freshman and junior year, they discovered music could fill your soul right to the top and neither could imagine doing anything else with their lives.
Mike sang backup and played bass while Zane was the band’s lead vocals and guitar.
They picked up a drummer, Steven Moore, in sophomore year.
Steven was their obvious first choice for two very solid reasons: 1) Mr. Monds had gifted him a pair of drumsticks when he was handing out instruments, and 2) Steven had way better hair than Paul Fullum, the only other drummer they knew.
Paul had what Zane’s mom described as ‘Irish hair,’ meaning it was thick enough to give the impression of being a toupee.
It was also red, whereas Steven had exactly the right amount of dark brown hair to be attractive to the opposite sex.
They called themselves The Milky Way Trio because they were certain to become the biggest band in the entire Milky Way.
All their free time—and there was a lot on account of the lack of girls (despite Steven’s dreamy hair)—was spent practicing and writing songs.
Their first couple hundred originals were laughable imitations of anything in the Billboard Top 40.
They fumbled their way through their Beach Boys phase, writing a cringe-worthy version of ‘California Girls’ called ‘Northwest Dolls.’ They became crooners like Sammy Davis Jr and Dean Martin, which turned out to be worse.
But then in 1965, The Who came out with ‘My Generation,’ and The Rolling Stones released the No.
2 album, with songs like ‘Time is On My Side’ and ‘What a Shame,’ and the boys found their sound.
Rock and roll with some R&B sprinkled in.
They let The Stones guide them to Muddy Waters, Buddy Guy, and Howlin’ Wolf.
From then on, everything they did was loud and raw and so fast they could hardly keep up with themselves.
Much to the chagrin of Phillip McCreight (and the neighbors), June let the boys take over their garage, relegating the family Ford to the carport.
She said she’d rather know where the boys were than have them out gallivanting all over town doing God knows what with God knows who.
(June got word of her son’s dalliance with Janice Pendergrass from Mrs. Pendergrass herself, at church of all places.
Mrs. Pendergrass was quite put out that she’d had to cut Zane’s gum out of her daughter’s beautiful chestnut hair.) So, to hold off her only child’s experimenting with girls as long as possible, June backed the car out of the garage and told Zane it was all his.
Then she went out and bought a lifetime supply of cotton balls for times when the noise got to be too much.
For the last few months, however, Mike was increasingly certain they were about to lose their practice space.
There had been a shift in the mood of the McCreight household, and if there was one thing Mike was attuned to, it was a shifting mood.
In 1963, J.C. Penney had come out with its own brand of stoves, washers, dryers, and dishwashers, which was taking a huge bite out of sales at McCreight’s Reliable Appliances.
Phillip already had to let two salesmen go, both good men with families, and before long, his interest in astronomy was replaced by a taste for cheap scotch.
Mike missed his meandering chats with a man who didn’t see him as a total disappointment, and Mrs. McCreight could tell it bothered him.
Of course she could. She was the world’s best mom.
Occasionally, if the night sky was clear and Mr. McCreight seemed content enough, she’d tell Mike to get the telescope out of the closet.
Then she’d order her husband to get some fresh air rather than rotting away in that old La-Z-Boy.
Sometimes he’d groan about how a man’s home was supposed to be his castle, but he’d go outside to the yard, and they’d pick up where they left off, working their way through the constellations.
But more often than not, Mr. McCreight would tell Mike he was a little tired and to go ahead on his own.
By the spring of 1966, McCreight’s Reliable Appliances closed its doors forever, leaving a gaping hole in Phillip’s sense of identity, and an even bigger hole in his income.
Luckily, June knew how to make the most of what they had, so there was enough saved up to live comfortably, but not what you’d call ‘well,’ for a long time.
With Mr. McCreight home all day desperate to figure out what to do next, their practices became the problem Mike knew it would.
Uptight fathers need quiet, not guitar solos and crashing symbols. He wanted them out.
More than that, Mike knew Mr. McCreight wanted Zane to forget about ‘this whole music malarkey’ and set his mind to college.
He’d also suggested that Mike should get a degree in astrophysics or astronomy.
Whether Mr. McCreight actually believed Mike had what it took to work at NASA, or whether he was simply trying to shift Mike’s focus so his own son would do the same, was anyone’s guess.
But Mike, having grown up the way he did, with parents who were sure he lacked even a wisp of potential, decided it was the latter of the two reasons.
Mrs. McCreight, however, was determined to support their dream, and so the two were at odds about this, along with most other topics under the sun these days.
But then, one evening, the answer to all their prayers arrived via a phone call from June’s brother, James, who lived in New York.
He was coming to Spokane for a holiday and bringing his ‘special friend,’ Todd.
They were renting a cottage on Silver Lake and would love it if the family could come out for a big barbecue and fireworks on the Fourth of July.
Todd was a senior writer for Hit Parader—the most influential rock and roll magazine in the USA.
Todd was a big deal. He’d actually met The Beatles the year before (very nice fellows, surprisingly funny too) and wrote a widely-read article about his time backstage with the quartet. Todd knew talent. Todd had connections.
So, a plan was hatched by the McCreights and delivered to the members of The Milky Way Trio on a Saturday afternoon at the end of May.
They’d put on a short concert for Todd and get his expert opinion on whether the boys had a future in the music industry or not.
Whatever verdict Todd reached, they would all agree to live with.
Both the McCreights’ middle-aged eyes shone with excitement—June’s because she was certain this would be the boys’ big break, and Phillip’s because he would finally get his garage back.
The boys threw themselves into practicing their two best original songs, ‘The Stars in Your Eyes’ (a slow rock ballad about the love of a good woman) and ‘To the Moon’ (an up-tempo tune about beating up a guy who dares to get in the way of you and your good woman).
‘To the Moon’ had hints of punk that caused a particularly pained expression to appear on Mr. McCreight’s face.
When July arrived, the boys all had thickly calloused hands from practicing, and June had upgraded from cotton balls to industrial ear plugs for both herself and Phillip.
The boys buzzed with excitement, unable to sleep a full night, eat a whole meal, or focus on any topic other than their upcoming performance for more than a few seconds.
As planned, the family went to Silver Lake for the day (with Mike, who was one of them now).
But as often happens when one is on the precipice of a life-altering event, something went terribly wrong.
Zane insisted on doing the fireworks show by himself, so he’d have a bigger audience, and wound up burning his hands.
(Freud would have had a lot to say about it.) The burns wouldn’t cause permanent damage, but they would certainly stop him from picking up a guitar for a few weeks, and by then, Todd and James would be gone, taking their one shot at the big time with them.
Steven, who’d spent Independence Day in his grandma’s backyard for a dreadfully boring barbecue (with not even one firecracker in sight), had just gotten home when Mike called to give him the bad news.
His big sister Kitty’s new boyfriend, Rusty Dwyer, happened to be snuggled up on the sofa with Kitty when a disappointed Steven hung up the phone.
Rusty clearly knew the best way to win over his girlfriend’s family was to be good to her little brother, so he offered to play for them.