1982

by Jian Ghomeshi

  “Hey, Jila! What’s up?”

  My sister had dutifully replied, “Hi, Mitch. Just getting my brother.” Then my sister looked away and started smoking a cigarette.

  Jila told me about all of this later. She explained that she had not been impressed with Mitch’s insistence upon “dangling from the window and displaying his naked torso.” She said the “naked torso” part with enough sarcasm that I could tell she was not seduced by such a sight. Jila was really good at sarcasm. Things didn’t look too positive after that for a Mitch and Jila romance.

  Still, whether wearing nothing on his torso or sporting his brown leather jacket, Toke’s older brother became an important influence on us in learning about rock music and life. Toke was a regular source of information for me, but Mitch was the ultimate source. Mitch always had CHUM FM on in the house. Unlike 1050 CHUM, which just played the pop hits, CHUM FM had emerged as the more mature and cutting-edge progressive rock station in the late ’70s. By 1982, I would discover CFNY, the New Wave and new music station. But until then, CHUM FM was a training ground.

  Mitch particularly liked his hard rock. Because of Mitch, Toke knew lots of AC/DC lyrics. AC/DC were the massively successful Australian rock band that featured anthemic songs, loud power chords, screaming vocals, and a diminutive energizer-bunny guitarist dressed as a schoolboy. Of course, you already know AC/DC. Explaining who AC/DC were is like explaining what bread is. They became one of the biggestselling bands of all time. AC/DC were the declared favourite of older rock guys in the late ’70s, along with bands like Zeppelin and the Who. Toke would often slowly repeat AC/DC lyrics as if he were dictating to a child. Toke didn’t sing. And Toke was already turning into a bit of a tough guy like his brother. Only sissies really sang. The fact that I sang would become a dividing line between us eventually, but for the most part in the early ’80s I didn’t sing very much in front of Toke, and definitely not in the presence of Mitch. Mitch had told Toke to always be proud and never let people tease him. Toke puffed out his chest when he walked and carried his Afro-laden head high. I think Mitch had taught him to do that, too.

  Toke didn’t have lots of friends beyond me, but early on he had gained some notoriety in being a renegade who would do crazy things. Toke would do these things in exchange for money. We had a group of kids who hung out on my street, including Pete Hickey, Randy Jones, Little Charles, and Toke. Back in 1978, the summer before Grade 6, Toke had declared that he would swallow anything if we collectively gave him fifty cents. His first challenge was to eat a raw egg. At the appointed time, we gathered in front of my house and watched while Toke broke a raw egg into a mug and then purposefully put the mug up to his mouth and quickly swallowed the contents. We gave Toke his fifty cents and he went home with his chest puffed out. The rest of us discussed how Toke was a real crazy daredevil.

  The following week, Toke ate a pink pencil eraser for fifty cents. It was important for Toke to up the ante each time. Soon, word got out that if we could put together one dollar, doubling the purse, Toke was going to eat a “live guppy.” Now, when I say “word got out,” I mean Toke announced this with his right index finger in the air to anyone who would listen. “Hallo, everyone. I’m going to eat a live guppy. Dat’s what I’m going to do. I will eat a live guppy on Wednesday afternoon for a dollar!”

  I wasn’t sure about the supposed importance of Toke’s guppy victim being “live.” It seemed like less of a shocking trick than swallowing a dead guppy. But I suppose Toke meant that the guppy would be uncooked and still squirming and therefore less than savoury. As rumours spread of Toke’s intention to eat a live guppy, a group of kids once again gathered on the street in front of my house on the appointed Wednesday afternoon. Pete Hickey and Randy Jones were there, as well as me, Toke, and Davey Franklin. Toke showed up with some fanfare and a sandwich bag containing water and a guppy swimming in it. He made sure to collect his dollar first. We all pulled coins out of our pockets until it added up to the dollar we’d promised. Then Toke dramatically picked the guppy out of the bag, held it high over his head, and dropped it into his mouth and swallowed. Toke made a big production of swallowing the guppy. He made sure to make a loud gulp sound for our benefit. He then opened his mouth wide as evidence that the “live guppy” was well into his body. After he made it clear that he’d really swallowed the live guppy, Toke tried to make himself throw up. But he didn’t. Still, there was no doubt Toke put some thought into these performances.

  Here is a short list of items Toke swallowed for money in the summer before Grade 6:

  raw egg

  pink pencil eraser

  small bag of dirt

  sheet of paper

  live guppy

  After each feat of public swallowing, Toke would put his right finger in the air and sing-speak the lyrics to the AC/DC song “Dirty Deeds.” This was a song that actually dated back to the mid-’70s, but it continued to be Toke’s anthem. Toke had become a fan of AC/DC’s lead singer, Bon Scott, who was still alive at the time. Toke would say, “I like dat guy, Bon Scott … ee’s great.” After eating the live guppy, Toke engaged in his standard ritual and went right into song. Again, when I say “song,” I mean he would do the slow-speak Toke version of singing that included elongating the end of the word that came at the conclusion of each phrase. “Dirty deeds … done dirt cheeeap. Dirty deeds … done dirt cheeeap.”

  Sometimes I wondered if it would be a good idea for me to eat things the way Toke did—all daredevil like. I wouldn’t do it for money, but I might do it to be liked. That would probably get me some attention and make me tough. Maybe then Dana Verner wouldn’t have broken up with me. Like I told you, we kissed in Grade 5. Twice. I think. But then Dana Verner broke up with me. I wondered if it would make a difference if I was tougher. Maybe John Cusack was tougher when he was a kid. But I’m not sure he ate live guppies. And I’m not convinced Dana Verner would have stayed with me if I ate live guppies, either. Years later, by Grade 9, I had a good sense that eating live guppies was for kids. I knew that Wendy was too cool to be impressed by such foolishness. And Bowie probably didn’t care about kids that could swallow a pink eraser.

  Toke and I saw movies together and spent countless after-school hours playing road hockey or trading hockey cards. But as Toke and I grew older, we had less in common. I was in the school musical in Grade 8, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, and that really wasn’t Toke’s bag. I was gradually getting into artsy girls and theatre and New Wave, and that was all very different from what Toke was interested in. Toke didn’t really seem to understand Bowie. And Bowie was rapidly becoming my idol. If Toke didn’t also become a fan of David Bowie, we were in serious trouble. CHUM FM was playing Bowie and songs like “Under Pressure” in 1981, but Bowie was probably too theatrical and androgynous for Toke. And though Bowie was respected, he wasn’t hard rock. By Grade 9, Toke and I would end up in different high schools. I transferred to Thornlea SS, the “arts” high school my sister was attending. Toke went to Thornhill SS. He called it the “rocker” school.

  Still, Toke and I remained very close until we were both fifteen. At the end of Grade 8, Toke and I had both gotten our Adidas bags. We didn’t actually buy them together, but we had much to celebrate when we shared our cool acquisitions. We spent a bunch of time that summer walking around with our new Adidas bags and getting Lolas from the Mac’s Milk on the corner with the lady my father called “the good Chinese woman” behind the counter. A Lola was a giant triangle of coloured ice with sugar. It came in flavours like cherry red or blue. We were never sure what flavour blue was. One time, Toke suggested that he would consume an entire Lola in one gulp if I gave him five dollars. Toke continued to think of dares that might make an impression. I didn’t agree to give him the five dollars. That was a lot of money for us. You could get an album at Sam the Record Man on Yonge Street downtown for $2.99 if you got yourself in the 6 a.m. lineup on Saturday mornings. But also, the Lola just looked very large and potentiall
y dangerous.

  THE MOST COMMON ACTIVITY in our part of Thornhill from ages eight to fourteen was playing road hockey. I had gotten a net, and we usually had enough kids to form two teams. Our suburban street was relatively quiet, and most drivers knew that as they rounded the corner onto our road on any given afternoon there was probably some hockey going on, and so they gave us enough time to scream “Car!” and clear the way for passage. If other kids weren’t around, Toke and I would just take shots. That would involve one guy playing net and the other guy shooting a tennis ball at him. In contrast to my less-than-spectacular on-ice performance in the winter leagues, I was a pretty good road hockey player. I was fast and I had a quick snap shot. I had scored seven goals in one road hockey game, although Little Charles claimed that I was at an advantage because he had a cast on and could only hold his stick with one hand.

  Toke was a bit slower than the other players and was sometimes relegated to playing in net with his big green duffle coat and his Habs toque. One of the older kids on the street, Rick Bolton, was a junior hockey player with a chip on his shoulder and would play rough with us. He lived across the street a few houses down from me. Rick was a pretty nice guy overall, but not when he played hockey. He had lost a couple of fingers in his left hand, and he had to hold the top of his hockey stick with his elbow against his chest. Sometimes, when we played road hockey, Rick seemed to use younger kids as a way to get his frustrations out.

  One cold day in the fall of 1982, around dusk, Rick summoned us from across the street to take shots with him. That really meant Toke and me taking turns in net while Rick took shots at us. Rick seemed to be having a harsh day, and he started shooting really hard at Toke. It didn’t seem like Rick was trying to score, but rather that he wanted to target Toke and hurt him. Rick laughed each time he hit Toke, and I stood by helplessly as I saw the tension escalate. When Toke made the mistake of calling him a “weasel!” out loud, Rick Bolton took a blistering slapshot from the middle of his driveway and hit Toke directly in the face. Toke fell to the ground and started rolling around, holding his head. I had never seen him so vulnerable. I ran to see if Toke was okay, but he said nothing. He got to his feet and pulled up the hood of his green duffle coat and started running away in the direction of his house. I tore across the street to tell my mother that Toke had been hurt. Rick Bolton just laughed and continued to take shots at the net on his driveway.

  About ten minutes after the slapshot incident, my mother, sister, and I saw Toke and his brother, Mitch, approaching. They were walking along the street in the direction of our house. As they came to our door, I opened it, with my mother standing next to me. Toke kept his head down, but we could see a red mark on his cheek.

  Mitch Toker spoke directly to me. “Who did this to my brother?” Mitch had a stern look on his face, but this time I could tell his anger was not directed at me.

  I looked at my mother and then across the street at Rick Bolton, who was watching events unfold from his driveway with his stick still in hand.

  “Um … well … he did it.” I pointed across the street at Rick. I imagined I would become known as a rat for telling on Rick. He had been prominent in Scouts as one of the older leaders and would probably never speak to me again. I worried that Rick Bolton would have me kicked out of Scouts Canada in revenge. But Toke had been my best friend. And even if he didn’t understand Bowie, I needed to defend him.

  Mitch was looking directly into my eyes. “That’s what Ron said. Are you sure it was him?”

  I nodded.

  Mitch thanked me and turned to my mother. He said, “Hello, Mrs. Ghomeshi. I’m very sorry about this.” It was all so civilized. I realized that Mitch was not always wild and crazy if he didn’t need to be.

  Toke and his older brother then walked across the street directly towards Rick Bolton. Mitch was wearing his dark brown leather jacket, the kind I figured John Travolta wore in Saturday Night Fever. Mitch said nothing as he walked up to Rick. Then Mitch Toker took Rick Bolton by the head and slammed his knee into his face. Rick crumpled to the ground. Mitch then put his arm around Toke and they began to walk away. Mitch was still looking back at Rick. He said, “Hey, asshole, don’t you ever fucking touch my brother again.” Toke was now looking at me. I was standing on the porch with my mother and sister watching the event transpire. Toke nodded as if to express some kind of solidarity. He said nothing. It was one of the last times we would hang out, but in that moment I knew that nothing would ever entirely shake our connection. We never really needed Dixie cups. We shared a history and a growing language of rock music. And besides, our passions would always remain united in our devotion to the band Rush.

  7

  “SUBDIVISIONS” – RUSH

  Before Toke and I went our separate ways in the fall of 1982, we spent a large portion of the summer on an unplanned musical pilgrimage. Bowie wasn’t my only musical obsession in Grade 9. I swear. I had other rock heroes, ones that were closer to home, too. They even turned up in Thornhill. And we waited for them. And we hung out with them. Well, sort of.

  Okay, I suppose I shouldn’t overstate things. Bowie was the real obsession. And by the early 1980s, I wanted to be like Bowie. That’s a fact. You know this by now. You know that I was striving to be New Wave. Or maybe even glam rock. Or at least I was aiming to be introspective and brooding and have a working knowledge of synthesizers and dyed hair.

  It was my goal to adopt the fashions and attitude that would make me a young Persian-Canadian Bowie. Don’t laugh. When I first encountered Wendy in Grade 9, I instantly saw where all my aspirations were leading me. She began to consume my thoughts and further confirm my interests. As you’re aware, not only did I revere Bowie, I knew that if I were more like Bowie, there was likely a greater chance Wendy would be interested in me. It was pretty much a win-win, you know? In retrospect, perhaps it was strange that I liked Wendy because she reminded me of Bowie. It was circular. It was like the Clash wearing T-shirts with the Clash on them. And yes, maybe I was overly obsessed with Bowie. That’s what you’ve already concluded at this point anyway. But if it seems like it was all Bowie all the time, it wasn’t. I loved music. And my musical interests were by no means monolithic.

  In 1982, I went to see the rock band Journey play at Maple Leaf Gardens. You may know Journey, because these days they’re considered “classic rock.” That means they get played on “classic rock” radio stations every hour or so. It’s like a rule or something. “Classic rock” basically means music that is played incessantly on repeat without people being allowed to get sick of it. It means something like that. But the only problem with “classic rock” is that people do get sick of it. Except for the Boomers. They love “classic rock.” And now Journey are “classic rock.”

  You may also know of Journey because everyone loves the song “Don’t Stop Believin’.” If you’re at a bar or in a sports stadium or on a cruise ship, everyone will sing along to “Don’t Stop Believin’.” People today love the song “Don’t Stop Believin’,” even though it wasn’t really a huge hit when it was first released in ’81. Years later, everyone started to like it so much that it was used as the soundtrack for the final minutes of one of the best TV shows in history, The Sopranos. So, you probably know that song for sure. But back in 1982, Journey weren’t “classic rock.” They were just rock. They weren’t old yet. When you’re very popular and you get old, you get called “classic.” And if you’re a band, your music then gets played incessantly, the way you wish it might’ve gotten played in the first place. When I was fourteen, Journey were very different from Bowie. But I still liked them a lot.

  I had gone to see Journey with John Ruttle and Valerie Tiberius and another girl named Jinjee. John Ruttle was my good friend, and he had gotten the tickets and arranged things. He was in Grade 10, so he was in charge. Valerie Tiberius was a very cute brunette girl who was in Grade 9 like me. She was smart and had excellent dimples and she wore skirts. John Ruttle wanted to ask Valerie Tiberius t
o go to the Journey concert, but he didn’t want her to feel like it was too much of a date. He wanted her to think it wasn’t a date, even though he wanted it to be a date. You see, if it felt too much like a date, she might say no. I learned that this was often the case with girls. They wanted to be taken out, but if it seemed like it was a date, it might create too much pressure and “expectations.” So, you had to figure out how to take a girl on a date in a way that wasn’t like a date, even though they ultimately wanted to go on a date. I knew girls liked dates in the end, because that’s what happened in romantic comedy movies.

  John Ruttle asked me if I would come along to the Journey concert to help give the outing a non-date veneer. I agreed. He also asked Valerie if her close friend Jinjee would like to come. Jinjee accepted, and so now she was paired with me. John Ruttle was already fifteen, a year older than me, so he got to make decisions like this. He was also good at determining who was paired with whom. Besides, he had sprung for the Journey tickets, so I wasn’t going to complain. I didn’t seem to have too much in common with Valerie’s friend Jinjee. But I really liked her name. Jinjee. It was the kind of name you wanted to repeat as much as you could when you were talking to the person who had that name.

  “Hey, Jinjee. Would you like more popcorn, Jinjee? Okay, Jinjee. I’ll grab some for us, Jinjee.”

  Like that.

  So I agreed to go to the Journey concert with Jinjee, along with John Ruttle and Valerie Tiberius, who were not on a date. Mind you, it’s not like I wasn’t excited to see Journey anyway. I appreciated watching Steve Smith on the drums and hearing Steve Perry’s soaring vocals on songs like “Don’t Stop Believin’” and “Open Arms” and “Who’s Crying Now.” Journey had released their hit album Escape the previous year. They had originally been more of a progressive hard rock band, but now they were embracing a more pop sensibility. This meant that as they became huge in ’82, some rockers were abandoning them as sellouts. But we didn’t know that. Besides, we were some of the youngest kids at the concert. We sat in the blue end-section of Maple Leaf Gardens. John Ruttle said he had “pulled some strings” to get us the tickets. This meant his dad helped. Mr. Ruttle was a TV executive, so he probably had a hand in getting us good seats. I bought a Journey Escape T-shirt with long sleeves after the show. Jinjee didn’t want the Escape T-shirt with long sleeves.