Black Water

Regularly referring to myself as a life-long Minnesotan, I overlook the fact that my family lived in Oklahoma for a couple years when I was young. In fact, my public education began while we lived in Tulsa. I started kindergarten the week after we arrived in 1972 and completed first grade shortly before we left in 1974.

We moved back to Minnesota the summer of ’74, just weeks after witnessing a tornado descend onto our neighborhood, plow through our backyard, and continue on to destroy a good portion of Tulsa. But that’s another story.

 

My dad had already been working in Minnesota for several months prior to our move, while the rest of my family stayed back in Tulsa waiting for school to end and our house to sell. During his time in Minnesota, Dad found the perfect place for the family to live.
While our new house was in the process of being built, unfortunately the construction was taking longer than planned. So instead of a new house in Minnesota, we temporarily moved into a nearby apartment.

Our Temporary Home

I loved our apartment – it was way cooler than living in a house. We had an outdoor pool we enjoyed that summer, and there was also an indoor pool for when the cold weather hit. We had a game room with pool tables and even had vending machines. It was like living in a resort.

I remember the pop machine cost 25 cents per can – an amount even a seven year-old could splurge for on occasion. However, one day some shady looking high school boys taught me how to use my skinny arms to reach up into the machine and nab a can for free. From that point on, every time these guys came around they “strongly encouraged” me to perform this trick on their behalf. While at first I enjoyed the attention, after a while I learned it was best to stay away when I thought they might be hanging around.

Our apartment complex, fashionably named, “The Place,” was brand new. We were the first to live in our unit and there were hardly any other tenants in our wing of the building. I could freely roam the halls with no fear of being harassed or getting in trouble.

But the magic of our fun new residence eventually wore off, as our short stay transformed into a long-term event. Planning to be there only a couple months, my family of five spent nine full months together in our inadequately spaced two-bedroom apartment, with half of our belongs stashed away at a storage facility.

Our Living Arrangements

With my parents in the master suite and my older sisters sharing the second bedroom, I had no space to call my own. I fell asleep each night in my parents’ bed and then mysteriously woke up the next morning on our giant floral couch pull-out mattress in the living room. Amazingly, not once did I wake up during the late-night transfer. Or at least I don’t remember it.

Probably feeling sorry for me, my family made one significant concession on my behalf. They allowed me to maintain a bulky eyesore in the corner of our dining room. Shortly after our move, I salvaged two of our well-used moving boxes (each with a giant North American Van Lines logo on the side) and secured them together, creating my own private retreat. The entrance was cut into the smaller of the two boxes – a standard 24-inch moving cube.

As the littlest member of my family, I cleverly created the entrance so that only I could fit through. And just barely, too. This certified my box as a safe and secretive place for me, and me only. Squirming my way through the door and passing through the smaller cube, I gained access to the main area of my retreat – a huge wardrobe box. It was so big, I could almost stand up inside.

My Box

Using the family’s brand new set of El Marko magic markers, I decorated the interior walls of my box to make if feel more like a home. On one side I drew a window with a bright yellow sun shining down on a tree surrounded by green grass. And on the opposite wall I added a color TV, so I could “watch” all my favorite shows. Each Sunday morning I re-stocked my retreat with the prior weeks’ TV Guide, so I always knew what was on at any given time. Apparently I had a rather active imagination.

At that age I never went anywhere without my three best friends, Ted (teddy bear), Dolphin (yes, a dolphin), and Underdog (OK, so I wasn’t very creative with names; I later had a cat named Kitty). Each time I entered my box, I had to shove all three of my friends in first. I would then climb through, myself, and assemble everyone in an orderly fashion. Exiting my box required a similar process – I had to escort everyone else out first before crawling out the door myself.

 

I don’t remember spending a ton of time in my box. But rest assured, when I had the need for some privacy, or felt threatened from any uncomfortable situation or maybe an altercation with my older sisters, I would run to the safety of my box. Kind of like a dog seeking shelter in their kennel. Once recovered, or having my peace of mind restored, I would return back to the regular world.

Sometimes (maybe when there was nothing good on TV?) I quickly became bored and left my box after a short visit. But then other times I came out only after being lured by the smell of food wafting out of the kitchen. My dad had removed the cardboard handles on the wardrobe box, in fear that I might suffocate or strain my eyesight in the darkness.

 

A New Car

While living in our apartment that year, my parents decided it was finally time for the family to have a second car. They eventually decided on a Ford Pinto, and actually let me in on the final choice of model and color (I chose the brown wagon over the swamp-green hatchback). Being so involved in the process made me feel almost like it was my car, even though I was still several years away from a driver’s license.

The day my dad came home with the new car, I sat out on the fence by our apartment entrance for at least an hour before he arrived. I was so excited.

Although it’s not an appropriate word choice if you’re familiar with the Pinto’s reputation, I thought it was the bomb. One of the coolest features it had was an AM/FM radio – still a novelty back then. At that age I was just starting to pay more attention to current music, as opposed to the silly pop songs that kids my age enjoyed. Having FM was a big plus.

 

Saturday Morning Disaster

One of my very favorite things back then was going to work with my dad on Saturday mornings. The chemical company where he worked was housed in a spectacular, 100-plus year-old building on the banks of the Mississippi River, near all the old downtown Minneapolis flour mills. I loved exploring that ancient building. Actually, the entire old and rundown industrial neighborhood where it resided attracted me like a fly to fresh meat.

Inside the office, I had a blast playing with various office equipment (electronic typewriters, staplers, hole punchers, rubber stamps – you name it). And I was especially drawn to the water cooler that made fantastic bubbling sounds as the water was dispensed into cheap cone-shaped paper cups. I never once went thirsty on those visits, and my dad always made me stop at the men’s room before our trip home.

While entertaining myself with the giant bubbles that randomly appeared as the water was dispensed, my goal was to drink enough so that the empty bottle would have to be replaced. I can still feel the sting of that ice cold water hitting my teeth as I watched the water level slowly sinking lower and lower. A triumph on my part would be celebrated by getting to witness my dad quickly and adeptly flip one of those giant glass bottles upside down onto the rubber neck of the cooler. How cool was that?!

 

One fall Saturday morning, I was riding shotgun along with my dad in our Pinto, listening to a popular FM music station while on our way to his office. I was ecstatic – everything was going my way that morning. I remember the exact place on highway 55 where I realized how thrilled I was. I got so excited I could barely contain myself.

Unfortunately, that level of excitement got the best of me and I barfed up my waffle breakfast onto the floor of our brand new car. I felt horrible – both physically and emotionally. But my dad, always looking out for us kids, calmly rubbed my back and told me everything was OK.

I felt better about the situation, but sadly I wouldn’t be able to join him at the office that day. We turned around and headed for home.

The Doobie Brothers

The next few minutes I remember so vividly, with the song Black Water by the Doobie Brothers playing in the background. In my nauseated and sudden tranquil state, I silently listened to the music as we made our way home. I hadn’t heard anything like that song before. It started out with bells, chimes and a violin. It was really mellow, with a feeling or mood that I couldn’t identify. It was a little like the country music we heard while living in Oklahoma, but definitely not the same. These are all things I didn’t understand at the time, but I clearly recall those thoughts in my head that morning. I also didn’t yet know the name of the song, or the artist, but I knew that I liked it.

Back home in our apartment, feeling totally defeated, I immediately rounded up my friends and made my way through the dining room and inside my box. I was devastated to miss out on spending the morning with my dad. It was all I could think about. As I sat there reflecting on my disappointment, I still had that strange new song playing over and over in my head. That memory is still perfectly clear, so many years later.

I eventually dozed, and must have slept the rest of the morning, finally stirring at the sound (or maybe the smell) of lunch being served. I was hungry!

Forty-some Years Later

The summer of 2016 was a big one for Michelle and me. We had almost 20 concerts on the schedule from May through August, including the likes of Paul McCartney, The Who, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Gregg Allman, and Bad Company. Almost all of them in the front row, too.

But there was one special stretch from July into early August where we enjoyed three consecutive shows from three of our favorite artists. We started out with three nights with The Steve Miller Band, then three nights with Peter Frampton, and finally – three shows with Journey.

One of the surprising highlights from that amazing stretch was having the Doobie Brothers perform as an opening band for Journey’s shows. Three nights in a row we sat front and center, directly in front of the band.

Enjoying all those classic Doobies tunes would have been awesome enough, but we also got a lot of attention from the band. Especially after they recognized us when they hit the stage on the third night. We got a lot of smiles, guitar picks, drum sticks and even a drum head. It was an experience we’ll never forget.

 

A Flashback

But the best part for me was when they played the song Black Water. They replicated it flawlessly each night, sounding exactly like the original recorded version…that same version I heard in our Ford Pinto on that memorable Saturday morning in late 1974.

I smiled as I thought back to our apartment life. All the details and the warm childhood memories I described above came back with startling clarity.

And here I was – forty-some years later – enjoying that same cool song, right at the feet of the same guys that created it back then.

Trying to wrap my head around this….an appropriate early 70’s expression came to mind:

“Far-out, Man.”