Christmas 1985, Inside Out had their first official gig. The Mystery Lounge was inside the Falcon Bowling Lanes on Detroit’s far east side. Inside Out and Brat (a glam-rock quartet similar to the New York Dolls) were playing with Just Born, bands that Lynda met through her new singer and bassist, Karen. Karen was a brash, ballsy blonde who boasted that Madonna had been her babysitter as a child. Karen set Lynda up with the guitarist for Just Born. I tagged along with Terese for the show, drinking Sloe Gin Fizzes at the bar and then working the coatroom on this crazy, blizzardy night. My helper was a skinny guy, around my age, with dark curly hair. Finnigan kept trying to make out with me in the coatroom. Between ducking his advances and listening to the bands, Lynda introduced me to Patrick, drummer for the local group The Colors. Patrick was super cute, with tousled dark hair and big blue eyes and we discussed interviewing his band for the next issue of the ‘zine. The Colors were being touted as the next big thing in Detroit rock circles. But my lack of a ride ultimately dashed my interview plans with them that winter.
Explosion! #1 was published that January and sold at local record shops. I soon began work on the second edition. Explosion! #2 was focused on more rootsy bands, like Lone Justice and X. I interviewed Mike Peters from the Alarm after a local show. There was a great essay from my pal Lisa in Chicago entitled “Why I Love John Cougar.” Explosion! #2 was released in May 1986. My third issue would be inspired by the Ska movement, Apartheid and Detroit’s rock-soul history.
I felt unhappy at home, neglected and constrained. I worked about ten hours a week at Sanders, a local ice cream parlor. When my mother told me to plan to move out after graduation, I agreed it would be best but wasn’t sure how I would find an apartment.
Inside Out had a show that spring in Kalamazoo, opening for Just Born and Samhain. Chrissie had quit and a new drummer, Cathy, had recently joined the band. Terese had also quit the band during a dispute with Karen at a recording session, so Inside Out were again (and would remain) a threesome. Lynda invited me to come out to Kalamazoo to see the show. She and her boyfriend David picked me up on a Friday afternoon and we drove west to Berkley (near Royal Oak) to pick up a few more people.
This was my introduction to the “No Bev” house. We were greeted by Jennifer, a petite girl with a brunette shag. We waited with Jen for her roommate Nancy to get home from school. Nancy arrived about thirty minutes later, with Just Born singer Toni in tow. My first impression of Nancy was that she was very plain looking – in fact, she strongly resembled Janis Joplin. Once she finished getting ready, the six of us headed out.
During the three hour drive from Berkley to Kalamazoo, Jen and I chatted. Jen worked in retail and was almost twenty years old. Nancy was twenty-one and studying Dental Hygiene at the University of Detroit. They mentioned that their third roommate had recently gotten engaged and was moving out during the upcoming summer and they were on the hunt for another roommate.
We found a couple hotel rooms not far from the club then headed over with the bands. Inside Out and Just Born were opening for Samhain. Samhain was the group Glenn Danzig fronted between the Misfits and Danzig. I was not then, nor am I now, a Danzig fan but had a great time that evening, listening to my friends and then partying back at the hotel.
During the drive home the next morning Jennifer and I discussed again the extra room they were renting. I took a quick peek at the bedroom when we dropped the girls off and took down their phone number. Before I knew it, it was the start of May and No Bev was the only place I could think to move to. I called Jen and arranged to move in after graduation.
Graduation Day was scheduled for June 6th. On May 30th I was informed by my guidance counselor that I would not graduate with my class. Baffled, I asked “Why not?” My first period teacher, Mr. Schmidt (American History) claimed I had been late to class more than twenty occasions that semester. Every few tardies were equivalent to an absence and I had enough unexcused “absences” that I had failed the class and therefore failed my senior year of High School. I had butted heads often enough with Mr. Schmidt. I knew he didn’t care for me but I was shocked that he would lie on my attendance record.
I wasn’t a great student that year, admittedly. I was resentful at having been moved. I felt depressed and I was occasionally late, but not two dozen times. What bothered me most was that my guidance counselor and the vice principal both knew I had told the truth when I pled my case, but would not offer any assistance to get me to my graduation. Nor did my family ever defend my honor.
I didn’t have a job, a driver’s license or a diploma on the afternoon of Friday, June 6th, 1986. But while my classmates at South Lake High School walked up the aisle to accept their diplomas, I spent that afternoon boxing up my hipster clothes, my notebooks and my record collection. I wasn’t thinking about the graduation ceremony I was missing. I thought about the exciting changes ahead of me. When my stepfather arrived home from work that evening, he would drive me to the No Bev house and my new life.
New Rose…
We pulled into the driveway at 2713 Tyler Avenue. The house was a small bungalow on a suburban street, facing east. The house had yellow siding. Astroturf carpeted the front porch. I stepped inside the living room of my new home, carrying a milk carton full of records. A large picture window faced the front lawn, vertical blinds shifting with the breeze of the air conditioner. A floral couch in garish yellows and oranges sat against the south wall, a matching chair and ottoman nearby. White alginate dental impressions sat on the coffee table, filled with cigarette butts and ashes. The kitchen lay to the west of the living room, Mountain Dew bottles and Foster beer cans stacked against the north wall of the kitchen, near the rear sliding glass door.
My bedroom was at the rear of the house, with two doorways leading in – the first from the main hallway and the other from the landing between the kitchen and basement stairway. My bedroom was small – approximately ten feet by twelve feet. In the center of the room the tan carpet had a dark stain. Some months earlier someone left a bottle of black hair dye sitting too long and the bottle exploded in the bedroom. A black mark in my room, before I even settled in.
Jennifer and Tony opened the door and welcomed me to No Bev. Tony, the singer of Alien Nation, rented a room in the basement. Jen’s dad owned the house and allowed his daughter and two female roommates to live there. He would have hit the roof if he knew that Tony, who dated and then dumped his daughter during high school, was secretly shacking up in the house. Tony was my height with shoulder-length blond hair and a sharp Italian nose.
Dave and Lynda came by, with Terese and her new boyfriend Ian. Ian was the drummer for The Mangos. I hugged my girlfriends, pleased that they had come to welcome me to my new home. My stepdad helped carry in my belongings, then departed. I dropped my stuff in the bedroom, including my mom’s parting gift: her phone number (778-6153) cross-stitched in a heart-shaped frame. Mixed messages.
Nancy arrived later, with goodies from Sanders, where she was an assistant manager. I worked at the East Pointe Sanders a few months before and hoped I might get hired at her shop. Nancy brought chicken salad, bread, ice cream and Sanders hot fudge. Lynda and Dave left shortly and the rest of us sat around eating and chatting.
Terese and Ian departed and Nancy headed for bed around midnight. Jennifer, Tony and I went downstairs with the remnants of the ice cream. The basement, unfinished, showed the clear signs of frequent partying. More dental impression ashtrays, empty Mountain Dew bottles. A sheet hung from the north wall, covered in spray paint including the phrases “Catnip Harvest” and “When Sex is Outlawed, only Outlaws will have Sex” scrawled bright with green, blue and orange. Tony’s bed was tucked into a tiny alcove under the stairs, the sheets perpetually stained with streaks of white. Tony and his girlfriend fucked on that bed all summer and the blue sheets were never washed. A corkboard was positioned on the east wall, dozens of photographs tacked to it. I walked over to look at them, drawn in by the sense of comradery and outrageousness they
captured. When I finally went to bed late that evening, my eyes stared up at the ceiling in the darkness, my mind racing.
Home of the Brave…
I woke late the next morning to the roar of the stereo. I staggered out of bed, my hair in mad, sleep-induced coils. I stumbled to the living room to see who had set such a disturbing alarm for me. A boy sat in front of the stereo, his back to me. The Germs GI blared from the speakers, rattling the windows and blinds.
I shouted “Hey!” several times before the boy turned around. I recognized Patrick – the drummer I met six months earlier at the Mystery Lounge. “Whoa!” he exclaimed, eyeing me in my disheveled hair, t-shirt and underpants, my arms akimbo. He turned the volume down. “Sorry – I didn’t realize anyone was here…”
I excused myself, put on some shorts and came out again to the living room, where Patrick was switching discs to play Aerosmith’s Toys in the Attic.
“Are you the new girl?”
“Yeah. I just moved in last night.”
“Ah… I heard Jen and Nancy were getting another roommate.”
This was what I quickly came to expect of my No Bev life. People would show up at random times, in various stages of sobriety and stonedom at the No Bev house. The morning, the afternoon, the middle of the night. People I knew both well and not at all would use the house as their crash pad, their party, their hook-up spot. I’ve been awakened at two a.m. by four men crawling into my bed. I’ve been interrupted during showers so that someone could relieve a belly full of beer. I’ve risen on many mornings to people asleep on the couch, or the porch, even the floor of my room. Nobody ever knocked and we never locked the door. Our home was open to everyone we knew.
The record collection was Tony’s, and it was phenomenal. Every major release you can name from the late-Sixties to the mid-Eighties, Tony had it on vinyl. The Beatles. Iggy. The Buzzcocks. Zeppelin. MC5. Velvet Underground. Alice Cooper. The Stones.
Patrick stayed a while, randomly changing records, then left with a “See ya later.” Jennifer arrived home an hour later, with Nancy’s younger sister Sandy in tow. Sandy was a cute blonde the same age as me. I had spent the past hour wandering around the house. Scanning the cupboards, record collection, the mighty towers of empty beer bottles in the kitchen. Trying to figure out why a plastic snowman stood in the basement on a warm June day.
The three of us had lunch together and I asked Jen, “So, why does everyone call this the No Bev House?”
I heard several variations of this story that summer. “No Bev” or “No Beverage” was the original name of The Mangos. Or a reference to a day the past winter when there was nothing to drink at the house or nothing but drinks, maybe. Or “No Bev” was a different house altogether. From a reliable source I learned that “N. Beverage” was suggested as the name to list the household by in the white pages. That summer, I was rather baffled. It was just the No Bev house and I had become the newest No Bev girl. That, too, carried a meaning that would evolve and change.
The quick history of No Bev: Jennifer and Nancy knew one another casually in high school, but through friendships with the members of Alien Nation later became good friends. Both were living at home and attending college, but possibly looking to move out. Jennifer’s father heard of his daughter’s intentions and decided to kill two birds with one stone by purchasing an investment property in Berkley that the girls could share. They moved in around late fall of 1985, along with another friend of Nancy’s. No Bev quickly became a natural hangout for Alien Nation and then, the extended group of people around the band. The girls threw a New Year’s party that winter with dozens of attendees from the burgeoning Gravity Scene, and soon friends began dropping by, unexpectedly. The friendliness of the No Bev girls cemented the house as the go-to place for parties and hangouts and friendship. The third roommate had gotten engaged recently, moving out – and opening the door to a new No Bev girl.
My new companions also had a shared slang. They called themselves “Gravity” because they claimed that Gravity was the only law they would obey. They said “Big Way!” when something was cool and “No Way!” when something was not (way before “Wayne’s World” introduced the expression). When they were drunk, they were “peaking”. If a group of people were going out on the town, they were “on the ram”. It took weeks to sort out what everyone around me was talking about.
Example: guys started complimenting me on my “Spectacular Gnome Shacks.” I learned that they were talking ‘bout my breasts.
Since 1866, Vernor’s ginger ale has been a staple of the Detroit area. I have been drinking it since I was a toddler. My mom used to give it to me when I had an upset stomach. During summers, we would float a scoop of vanilla ice cream in a frosty mug of Vernors and at Christmastime, we would warm up a mug and stick a candy cane in it. Vernor’s is the oldest bottled ginger ale in the world, and is stored in oak barrels for a few years, giving it that distinctive soothing taste. Vernor’s came be found throughout the Midwest and you can also buy it at specialty beverage marts.
The Vernors mascot is a pert little gnome and Eric from The Mangos coined the term “Gnome Shacks” after he saw a mural depicting the Vernors’ gnome standing beside a troll house that looked like … a boob. This is how things would start. A random, obscure reference and Gravity would spread it like wildfire. Or herpes.
“Gnome Shacks” was just one example of the Gravity Lingo immersed in our culture. In retrospect, I feel like the language was somehow designed to exclude other people. Talking above their heads, as much as it was about bonding all of us together. But, before the month of June had ended, I found myself peppering my own language with “Big Way” and “You get to” like everyone else around me.
I was also warned about something known as “The Gravity Grapevine.” I learned that this group was very incestuous and talked a lot of smack. Much was shared and much discussed, including speculation about the most recent No Bev girl.
My three roommates had all attended Wylie E. Groves High School in neighboring Beverly Hills, Michigan. Nancy graduated in ’83, three years before. Jen and Tony graduated in ’84. Kevin from Alien Nation and Nancy’s sister Sandy were both in the ’86 graduating class. Dave from Just Born was also a Groves alumna. All of these people had been part of a prolific Drama department during the early Eighties which had once included famed director Sam Raimi (then known for the “Evil Dead” films).
Jen and Tony dated during high school, but when his family moved him East to New York State, they broke up. He returned within a year to finish at Groves High, but he and Jen didn’t get back together. They did remain friends and when he and Kevin started the band Alien Nation, she was a supporter of the band, frequently attending shows. Tony then began dating a girl named Jenny, who was a year younger than me. Jenny, an attractive brunette, was sweet and friendly and rather daft. I learned confidentially, early that summer, that Jen and Tony were having a casual affair. (In her bed, however. Jen was as revolted by Tony’s bedsheets as the rest of us).
Nancy was twenty-one and, like me, the eldest of three sisters. Sandy and Patti were also part of the collective Gravity group. Nancy worked at Sanders and attended Dental Hygiene programs at the University of Detroit. Petite and freckled with light brown hair streaked with premature gray; Nancy was something of a catalyst within Gravity. She possessed a magnetism that drew others to her. She was at times motherly and affectionate, stoic and unselfconscious. Nancy was not beautiful but within weeks of knowing her I thought she was adorable. She was dating Flip, bassist for The Mangos, despite a nearly three year age difference.
Jennifer had turned twenty a month before my move-in. Jen had a younger sister, Wendy, and both were cute as buttons. Dark hair, dark eyes, freckles. Jen’s nickname was “Bug.” She was petite and clever with a convivial laugh, but slightly guarded. Jen was attending Oakland University and worked at a clothing store near campus. Jen ruled the roost and dictated the rules for those who lived and partied at No Bev.
On Saturday, my second night in occupancy, more revellers came to party. Flip was there. I met him a few months before, along with Eric (who dated Karen) at an Inside Out practice. Flip was a heavyset guy with short, curly brown hair and a tender, playful demeanor. Flip would deliver the craziest pick-up lines on us girls but in such a disarming manner. You couldn’t help but feel flattered when he put his arm around your shoulders and crooned, “Heaven must be missing an angel if you’re down here” or “I was looking for a four-leaf clover and then I found you.” Flip also had a stunt of lighting his farts on fire. He was attending Oakland University, studying Political Science. He was kind, colorful and brotherly.
Kevin came with his girlfriend, Nicole. Kevin was the guitarist for Alien Nation and Gravity’s version of Keith Richards. Hard drinking, hard partying – Kevin loved the blues, was a talented songwriter and introduced me to some great books that summer including Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice. Kevin was thin and lithe, with curly dark blond hair and a maculate complexion. Kevin and Tony had been best buddies since high school and fancied themselves the Lennon-McCartney of the Detroit punk rock scene. Nicole was a gentle and lovely Chaldean young woman.
The Laws of Gravity Page 2