(Part VI of my series on a hitchhiking trip from CA to VT and the Bread Loaf Writers' Workshop back in 1982. Chronicled here before I forget it entirely.)
New York City was a blur of late nights and waking to 90 degree/90% humidity afternoons. I slept on Kevin's couch. He went by Kevin Calhoun at the time and had a band called The Neighborhood. I went to several of their practices during my week-long stay.
The Neighborhood had a gig the last night I was to be in town, so I was given a task of handing out free tickets for the show. As I recall, the band got $1 for every freebie used. I handed out hundreds as I walked the streets. For my efforts, I got free drink tickets.
One night while Kevin worked, I decided to splurge and take in a show at the Peppermint Lounge. The Undertones, I think, or maybe Split Enz. Easy to mix up 40 years later but, either way, it was sold out and I stopped into a bar next door. There was hardly anyone in the place, just a lovely, young woman and a drunk guy harassing her. She beseeched me to pretend to be her boyfriend. We kept the charade up till morning. đ±
Tim Carr, A&R guy and so much more, got us into Danceteria for free one night-to-morning. That was wild—and very hazy by now. I'd last seen Tim when he was caddymaster and gave me good loops back in 1975.
A good crowd showed up for The Neighborhood's gig. My effort with the freebies was appreciated. The band was great. I played roadie after the show, loading their gear onto a flatbed truck—no sides, just flat. I spent a terrifying ride back to their practice space trying to keep their gear—and myself—from sliding off while a crazed saxophone player drove like a maniac through whatever neighborhood we were in.
Next stop: a train station to meet a friend of my brother's, Jerry Parker. The drinking started at the station, continued on a train, and I remember waking up on the floor of a Stamford, CT motel. From there we drove to Boston to meet up with Jerry's boss and attend some sort of festival on the street. It turned out to be a contest between Jerry and his boss on who could spend the most money—and who could drink the most. I woke up the next morning on the boss's floor.
Jerry dropped me on a highway destined for Vermont, Boston at my back and NYC already a fuzzy memory. Ahead was a “working scholarship” at Bread Loaf—waiting tables—and finding out what John Gardner thought of my work. Gardner, eminent teacher and author of Grendel, had received three of my stories and we would have an hour-long meeting during the conference.
I waited on a highway that no one seemed to travel. We of the wait staff were required to be there a day early, checking in at 4pm. I began to fear I'd be late. Finally, a car pulled over. A traveling salesman, just beginning his vacation. His son had attended Middlebury College, where Bread Loaf was held. He had fond memories of fishing the streams in the mountains south of Middlebury with his boy. I had the unsuspecting man just where I wanted him.
If I got him waxing nostalgic about the boy and the fishing, I could get him to detour through the mountains and maybe I'd get to the college on time. I had him point out the location of their favorite spot on my map. What kinda fish ya catch? How old was your boy? Gee, that musta been great!
He fell for it. We took a nice ride through the mountains. He pointed out this stream and that cabin. “Heck,” he said finally. “We're not far from Middlebury now. I wouldn't mind taking another look at the campus.”
He knew exactly where I needed to go and dropped my there at 4 o'clock sharp. A fellow waitperson came down off the porch to help with my pack. “Nice of your dad to drive you here,” he said. “Where you from?”
“San Jose,” I said. “Not my dad. Just some stranger.”
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