The Laws of Gravity

by Lisa Ann Gallagher

  Flip and I loitered by the swingset, laughing and watching the kids around us in the park get wasted. I hung with him until Sandy came to drive me home to No Bev.

  In early July, No Bev acquired a Pepsi machine. I forget if the machine was stolen or whether someone had found the machine during a ram, abandoned. The contraption never worked -- at least we never loaded any sodas in to check. Dave liked to sit on top of the vending machine during parties, surveying the scene like a bemused overlord.

  The thriving Detroit alt-rock scene in the mid-Eighties consisted of a diverse bunch of bands. Every night of the week you could find dozens of acts to catch. There were the mainstream acts: Rhythm Corps (Detroit’s version of U2), Bittersweet Alley, Bootsy X & the Love Masters, Crossed Wire and the Orange Roughies. Psychedelic bands like the Hysteric Narcotics. Speed metallers Ugly but Proud. Glam rockers Brat and Murder Style. Hard-core punks Negative Approach, CroMags, Son of Sam and Heresy. Cowpunks Goober and the Peas. The industrial-synth band Spahn Ranch. Then there was a whole slew of musical groups influenced by 1950’s bad monster movies. Elvis Hitler. Snakeout. 3-D Invisibles. Destroy all Monsters. There were dozens of such creature-feature inspired bands. My high school mate Peggy was the drummer for The Gories and I met many other musicians through our Gravity bands.

  I spent nights at the bar, days lounging at home and weekends partying. We had water balloon fights all summer long. I remember Jen screaming at us about the water bill. Stacks of bottles and cans grew in the kitchen, precariously teetering, the smell of sour old beer emanating. I had wild, wasted dreams of tiny Vernors’ gnomes climbing up the beverage piles, like Houses of the Holy. July 1st we loaded the bottles and cans into Nancy’s Chrysler convertible and we drove to the liquor mart. Michigan has a ten-cent deposit on all cans and bottles and we cashed in nearly three hundred dollars worth of returnables. We would use that fund each month to pay our utility bills.

  Never Really Been…

  The No Bev scene was riddled with widespread sexual escapades and innuendos. Several “couples” were already no longer together – some hooking up with new partners. Flip broke up with Nancy. Eric and Karen dissolved. Lynda and David, over. Kevin was having sex with practically everyone, behind Nicole’s back. Jen and Tony would end their dalliance soon. Ian and Terese were still going strong, however.

  In addition to the social lingo, Gravity had certain words shared about sex. “Boning” was having sex. “Snatch” was their universal word for vagina. I was unnerved, that first month or two, hearing people talk about “snatch”, “bone-fest”, “gnome shacks” and “hot beef injections” in my presence. Unbeknownst to my new friends, I was an eighteen year old virgin and acutely embarrassed by this. My sexual history was not a topic I was comfortable with and I was inordinately shy of men, even fearful of sex. I had fooled around a couple of times in my late teens, but nothing really serious thus far.

  My friends drank heavily and I too began to drink socially. Many used casual drugs although I never felt the urge to do more than dabble. Sex was everywhere – but I was scared to pieces. I had men hanging out in my bedroom, flirting with me -- good looking guys – everywhere! I wanted to belong in the worst way and I was afraid – of all things – my virginity would cause my pals to look down on me. So, I lied. Told everyone I’d lost my cherry at sixteen with some fictional high school boyfriend.

  As June began to turn toward July, the person I was spending the most time with was Suzie. Suzie was one of the few African-Americans in Gravity. I remember going to the Ann Arbor art fair with her in late June. Suzie dated Tom, a musician who worked at Sam’s Jams. Suzie was sassy and confident and by contrast, I was self-conscious and inhibited. We talked about dating and I listened to her advice. “Go for it, Lisa” she instigated. “You have nothing to lose.”

  I was getting to know Nancy and Jen and Tony, but spent equal time with many other members of Gravity. Often, people would come to No Bev and hang out specifically with me. Some were intrigued and charmed by me, or so I was led to believe. “That smart little No Bev chick with the red hair and magnificent Gnome Shacks.” Both Precious and Kevin’s girlfriend Nicole had been very kind to me. I don’t think Jen cared much for me being hospitable to Precious, but I couldn’t be rude to someone who had been nothing but gracious and welcoming, and was in my home nearly as often as I was. Precious had even bought me a gift – a black lace garter belt. We were talking about lingerie one day and she asked if I’d ever worn a garter. She told me she enjoyed wearing something under her clothing that made her feel sexy but nobody else was aware of. Of course, I wanted everyone to think I was sexually experienced, so I hoped that feeling sexy would evolve into being sexy.

  To my knowledge, my friends were all straight. One of my roommates later confided that she once had a brief and uncomfortable threesome that included another female, but otherwise same-sex couplings, if they occurred, were kept secret. Yet, I frequently saw Patrick and Tony kiss one another. The kiss was open-mouthed, but the gesture didn’t appear blatantly sexual. I assumed the kiss was a lingering private joke. I don’t know if they ever took their bond in a sexual direction or if either was bisexual. I know they both enjoyed sex with women very much. Neither was secretly gay and hiding it, I feel certain. Ironically, perhaps, Patrick used to refer to gay men as “mankissers.”

  One afternoon in early July, Patrick was at No Bev. He was wearing skinny jeans that he had bleached in spots, like tie-dye. Suddenly, in the hall, he pulled his pants down in front of me and my roommates. He wore no underwear. He turned away, rearranging something and turned to us. “Look, I’m a girl!” he cried gleefully. He had tucked his penis between his legs and did, indeed, appear female.

  Patrick was mellow and slightly moody but with a puckish sense of humor. He often blurted out these funny movie quotes, then kicked his legs up as he sat on the couch, chuckling to himself. “Plasma! Dog plasma!” Other than Terese and my roommates, I hung out often with Kevin, Patrick, Eric and David that summer. David had thinning brown hair that he wore in a mullet. He was perplexed over his hair loss and thought if he brushed his hair often he could reinvigorate his receeding hairline. So he carried a hairbrush everywhere he went. He christened the brush “Excalibur” and held the handle like a mighty sword.

  Tony’s little sister Donna visited in late June. She in high school. Donna was tan, sweet and effervescent. We became buddies the first day we met. Teschendorf had a bizarre history of hitting on the younger sisters of some of the core Gravity members so when he began seeing Donna, Tony wasn’t pleased. The relationship didn’t go far – I think the most they did was make out at a picnic, but the look on Tony’s face when they returned home was venomous. Teschendorf was ten years her senior, after all.

  Quinn had a party at his parents’ house in Rochester early in July. The bash reminded me of the party in “Sixteen Candles.” Nancy and Jen got locked in the downstairs bathroom for an hour. Flip wandered around, flirting with everyone. Patrick was obsessed with the Agent Orange record on the turntable and kept replaying their version of “Somebody to Love.” Couples made out, asprawl on the carpeted stairs. I sat on the itchy rec room sofa with Katy and Suzie, drinking from a gallon jug of wine. I felt like nothing could crash our endless party.

  Last Days of Rome…

  The Colors practiced nightly at a commercial storage space. Located north of Oakland Mall and along the I-75 corridor in a business district, the space was the ideal location to make a lot of noise in the evenings without disturbing the peace. Late in June, Nancy and Jen had gone to Colors practice and returned home very late; perhaps three or four a.m. They claimed, the next day, they had been playing softball and hide-and-seek with the boys. Patrick had invited me several times to come to practice. I hadn’t yet done so but news of their frolics piqued my curiosity.

  I had the chance to see the Colors perform for the first time, around July 1st. They were booked at the Blind Pig in Ann Arbor. An historic club near the U of M campus,
the Blind Pig had been an actual speakeasy during Prohibition. In the early Seventies it was converted to a disco and live music venue.

  I remember two things clearly from that night. The last song of the set was a cover of AC/DC’s “Jailbreak” and Scott was the vocalist for that one song. Scott was tall – about 6’2” I believe – with attractive, broad features, blond hair and light eyes. I heard stories about Scott challenging others that he could “drink them under the table” and he would pound an entire pint of Jack Daniels to prove his point. That night, playing his Rickenbacker and singing “I ain’t spending my life here – I ain’t living alone” his amp started to crackle and short out. Facing the audience, singing and playing, he bashed backwards into the amp over and over, his hair a cloud in his face. He crashed back into the amp, persistently, until the crackling dissipated.

  There was one other thing: Jen and Nancy’s dancing. Jen and Nance had a series of little dance maneuvers they performed to lyrics of several Colors songs. To the song “Slow Traffic” they would mimic turning a steering wheel as Charlie sang “Slow traffic…” and then cross their hands back and forth to “…No problem.” They had similar movements to some of The Mangos songs as well. Their dances were cute, I thought, but I noticed people looking and laughing or shaking their heads. I don’t think the girls looked silly, but that the dances implied a sense of ownership. Groupie behavior. A blatant claim on “their boys” to onlookers, particularly other females. “Look at us -- we know all the songs so well we can act them out!” I know they were territorial with all of our guys but especially the Colors. I would prove no different than my roommates. In time, I too, was steering that wheel and dancing with the green-eyed monster.

  Scott and Dan were best buddies and high school mates. Scott was good-looking, witty and rebellious. From a broken home with two younger sisters, he sought freedom. Dan, by comparison, was our Pete Townsend. He was a guitar virtuoso, brilliant lyricist and -- no joke -- probably a genius. Dan had reddish-brown hair, a large nose and kind, but sharp brown eyes. Dan worked at a local convenience store – same place my mom bought her weekly Lotto tickets. Scott and Dan were dating hair stylists, Susie and Lisa. Nancy once caustically referred to them as a couple of “New Wave Bitches.”

  Charlie, Dan’s older brother, had joined The Colors by default. Another singer, Jeff (who lived at the Teschendorf house) had briefly been their original lead. A law student at U of D, Charlie was slightly stocky, with soft brown curly hair and the same eyes as his younger brother. Charlie and Dan were often in some serious, knock-down, drag-out fights as well. Dan and Charlie were our Ray and Dave Davies. They were bright and brutal and splendidly.

  Dan, Scott and Charlie sometimes berated Patrick in front of others. Patrick had a pretty strong sense of self-confidence so I don’t think he was embarrassed by their bullying, but the ribbing was uncomfortable to observe. Patrick had a heavy-handed drumming style, using thick drumsticks comparable to Bonham from Led Zeppelin. He would hold his mouth open during drum rolls in an ecstatic, distracted way that we would all mimic at live shows, amused. He was working that summer at Pier One and drove a funky green Volaré station wagon. I can’t forget a friend of Katy’s, someone who ran off with an older guy that summer, clutching a bottle of cheap vodka and muttering how Patrick was “dripping with sex.”

  Record executives had been spotted for months at local pubs. The buzz was that they were in Detroit to check out The Colors. With their flamboyant stage presence, strong pop lyrics and tremendous rhythm section, they were being courted by several record companies. Everyone wondered who would sign them and I could sense among some of the other musicians, particularly the guys in Alien Nation, a real envy toward The Colors. The Colors were the sexiest, best looking, hardest-rocking and most-followed band locally. They were the next big thing in the Motor City. You could feel it.

  A few nights after the Ann Arbor gig, I was at No Bev with my roommates. Suddenly, the front door swung open and Scott entered, flanked by two girls – Tracy and Laura – an arm around each of them. He wore a white towel wrapped like a turban around his head, black jeans and black leather boots with Cuban heels.

  The three had gone pool-hopping at motels along the I-75 and all three were soaking wet. Scott had commandeered the Hilton’s piano with a speed version of “Great Balls of Fire” and the three were subsequently chased down the hall and out the door by the hotel manager.

  Tracy was good pals with Heidi, both followers of The Mangos. Tracy and Heidi had reputations as groupies, derogatorily referred to as “The Holland Tunnel” (Tracy) and “The Grand Canyon” (Heidi). Laura was a beautiful blonde with Susan Sarandon eyes. Her father was a pastor and Laura and her sister Elizabeth (equally as stunning as her big sis) hung out frequently at local shows. Elizabeth had dated Gordie, from Just Born.

  Scott, Tracy and Laura came that night for alcohol. We had a case of beer in the fridge and Jen and Tony told Scott to take whatever they needed. They each grabbed a can. Scott wanted to leave money for the beer. Jen refused -- the cash wasn’t necessary. Scott insisted and laid three dollars on the kitchen counter. Jen told him to put his money away. Scott headed for the door. Jen insisted he take back the money. It was funny – fighting about three beers and three bucks – like an outlandish Buster Keaton routine. Every time Scott would go to leave, Jen would call him back and every time Jen would give him back the money, he’d slap the bills down again and race for the door. Eventually, he won and the money sat on the counter, like a superfluous fealty.

  Monday afternoon, a week later, Jen and I were out grocery shopping. When we returned to the house, Tony was sitting in the living room chair, a dental mold on his lap overfilled with spent Marlboro Reds. Patrick was sitting across from him on the couch, his knees pulled up to his chin. As Jen and I stepped into the kitchen to unload the food, Tony and Patrick wordlessly got up and left No Bev.

  When Tony returned a half hour later, he explained that he had driven Patrick home -- in Patrick’s car. Tony looked very grim. “You better sit down” he said, to both Jen and I. Jen took the easy chair. I sat on the floor, facing Tony, who collapsed on the couch.

  “Dan and Scott were in a car accident on their way to New York yesterday. Dan’s hurt pretty bad and Scott is dead.” Tony informed us, hollowly, grieved.

  We sat there, stunned. After several seconds, Jen began to cry softly. “What happened?” we asked.

  Apparently, the two were traveling to the New Music Convention in New York City. They hoped to meet with agents about signing a record deal. Dan had driven out of Detroit overnight and then, when he got tired, pulled over and switched seats with Scott. Scott had been taking uppers or speed for a few days and when they wore off several hours later, he fell asleep at the wheel.

  His obituary reads: “Life apparently was on the upbeat for the Detroit rock quartet The Colors. Publicity material for the group’s first album, Vivid Colors, was on the way to New York when their van went nearly 200 feet down an embankment and struck a tree along I-80 near Hazelton, PA, about 6am Sunday. The driver and bass guitarist, Scott S., 20, of Troy was killed and his passenger Dan M., the lead guitar, severely injured. Police did not reach the scene until they were notified by a trucker who spotted the wreckage about noon, some six hours later. The Colors played various lounges and Wayne State University and University of Detroit functions, and were enthusiastic about their chances with their first album. M.’s brother, Charles, also of Royal Oak, was the singer and Pat P. of Madison Heights was the drummer. Mr. S was a 1984 graduate of Bishop Foley High School and had attended the Center for Creative Studies in Detroit. He was assistant manager of Your Attic storage firm in Troy and also worked at the Dalton Book Store in the Oakland Mall.” Detroit Free Press, July 1986.

  Tony had gotten a call from Patrick’s mom, who had been notified by Dan’s parents and she was looking for her son, believing him at No Bev that afternoon. Patrick would show up within the hour. Meanwhile, Ian and Terese had stoppe
d by No Bev before Patrick and learned the news. When Patrick would arrive, Ian and Terese sat in stony silence before departing, without a word to him. Patrick, he later told me, was shocked by their behavior and knew by their solemnity that something was amiss as Ian and Terese were always so lively, funny and friendly.

  Tony told us what he knew, and we learned more throughout the following days. Both Dan and Scott were thrown from the van as the vehicle crashed. A truck driver spotted the wreckage hours later and called for help. The police found Scott’s body first, about fifty feet from the van. He had bled to death, after attempting to use his own belt as a tourniquet. Dan was found several hours later and miles from the crash site. He was dehydrated and incoherent, wandering about and mumbling that he “lost his bike” and his brother “was a lawyer.”

  We sat there, stunned, tearful. What a terrible loss. Scott was beautiful, talented and so fucking young.

  Tony then had to tell Eric, who came by. I remember Tony lighting a cigarette and handing it to Eric, who did not smoke. Nonetheless, Eric took that Marlboro and smoked it down to the filter. I felt awful for Tony. It’s terrible to be the messenger. You feel you’ve obliterated someone’s heart with your words.

  Dan’s father flew east to Pennsylvania to bring his injured son home. There were serious concerns that Dan had suffered brain injury. Meanwhile, Scott’s mother made arrangements to have her boy’s body shipped home, for cremation.

  The viewing was at the Sawyer-Fuller Funeral home in Berkley on Wednesday. Soberly, my roommates and I met our shell-shocked friends there. Dan arrived mid-viewing straight from the airport and was embraced fiercely by his girlfriend, Lisa. He looked awkward and ill-at-ease in a gray suit that didn’t fit.