by Eric Shoars
“And our parents didn’t think anything of it,” Todd finishes.
“I loved floating down the river at Halverson Park,” Laurel adds. “Since it was only a few miles from home, Mom and Dad would let me camp with my girlfriends. So many summers, so many memories.”
“As kids you couldn’t keep us inside in the summer,” I toss in. “It was a punishment to make us come inside. Kids today think making them go outside is punishment.”
“Careful, grandpa,” Julie teases, “you’re about to yell at those kids to get off our lawn.”
My eyes narrow at her. She chuckles.
“You know one phrase you don’t hear anymore,” Todd opens, pausing for a second to take a swig of his beer, ‘summer reruns’.”
“Oh man,” I begin my reply, “kids today have no idea what it’s like to have only two opportunities to see a television episode – when it originally airs and summer rerun.”
“Yeah, or waiting to hear a song on the radio and running to your cassette recorder to tape it so you could make a cassette of your favorite songs,” Lori opines. “Today you just download your favorite songs to your phone or listen to the channel of your choice on Spotify or Pandora. I like doing that but you know what it is? You never have to wait for anything. Nothing is special. If you want it, you just go get it. A lot of things just get taken for granted.” She sighs.
“Yeah,” I start with a knowing nod, “delayed gratification is now found only in the Smithsonian Institution.” There is a moment of reflection before I add, “But, man, I love Amazon Prime.”
“Truth!” Todd validates as do four others. “None of that ‘allow four to six weeks for shipping’ crap we had to endure as kids. Two days. Bam! Done.”
“And the internet!” Lori exclaims adding another perk of modern society. “Best shopping mall ever!” She accentuates with a fist pump.
“Okay, okay,” Laurel pumps the brakes to insert a topic change. “As long as we’re being nostalgic, since we’re now a band, my question is; what is your best concert memory?” Before any of us can respond she continues, “I’ll go first. Corey Hart, Austin, Minnesota, August 30th, 1984.”
“Corey Hart played in Austin?” Julie asks to make sure she heard correctly. I nod as Laurel fills in the details.
“Oh yeah. He was so cute. Remember Sunglasses At Night? Great live song. Riverside Arena was going nuts. Sixteen years-old with a bunch of friends rockin’ out on a summer night. God, that was extraordinary.” Looking over at Todd, Laurel asks, “Todd, how ‘bout you?”
Todd responds without hesitation, “December 18, 1984. KISS. Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Same as with you, Laurel, 16-years-old, head bangin’ with my buds. We managed to score tickets about 20 feet from the stage...Gene Simmons up close spitting fire...” Todd leans back, looks to the sky, and basks in the memory. “Seen them in concert almost every year since. Even with the replacement members.”
Eyes turn to me. “That’s easy. Joan Jett and The Blackhearts, February 8, 1989, Mayo Civic Center, Rochester, Minnesota. I was not yet 21. First time I got to see her live. I was ten feet from the stage. It was phenomenal,” I answer with a wistful tone. “You know how you can go to concerts and it sounds nothing like the album because the band can’t recreate the sound live that they did in the studio?”
“Oh yeah,” comes back at me in unison even from Seth who pauses to flip a burger so he can answer with the rest of our group.
“Not Joan Jett. Nope. I spent moments listening with my eyes closed and it sounded exactly like I was in my room listening to her albums growing up. Loved it. I saw her again a few years ago up at Treasure Island Casino. Same thing. In fact, I told Julie and the friends we went with that they should close their eyes and listen.”
“We did,” Julie inserts. “Sounds exactly the same. Great performer.”
“Hang on a sec,” Laurel jumps in. “Why didn’t you go see Joan Jett when she played the Surf Ballroom back in 1983? That’s like 35 minutes from where we lived.”
A sigh starts my reply. “Mom and Dad wouldn’t let me. I was 15 and there were no adults I knew who would take me – they certainly weren’t going to. Lawrence Welk was their jam. They were afraid of the drug culture back then and that something bad would happen to me.”
“Oh, that sucks,” Lorelei sympathizes. “Your favorite artist is half an hour from you at the height of her popularity and you’re not allowed to go. You must have been devastated.”
I nod. “Sure was. I understood. I wasn’t mad or anything but, man, I was so disappointed. I managed to get my hands on the concert poster. I have it framed at home.”
“True story,” my wife confirms.
“What about you?” I ask Lorelei, “What’s your favorite concert memory?”
“June 7, 2008. Sex Pistols in Vegas. Eight shades of hellacious.”
Seth’s metal spatula hits the deck with a thud-clang. Todd nearly chokes on his swig of Bud. All of our eyes widen as we look at Lorelei in shock. Of all the things she could have said, I’m not sure any would have been more surprising than this.
“What?” She looks back at us surprised by our surprise. “This girl’s got a whole lot of rebel inside her and sometimes that rebel just needs to cut loose. A few girlfriends and I went to Vegas for some fun and we thought ‘what the heck, Sex Pistols’. Let’s just say there was a lot of rebellion that night...that trip.”
“Girlfriend, I want to party with you,” Julie admires reaching over to high five Lori. A loud smack emanates from the two women’s hands as they meet in mid-air.
Seth changes our course before the nostalgia train can get further down the tracks. “Burgers and brats are up,” Seth announces. Laurel hangs back while the rest of us can get up, grab our paper plates, and head over to the grill. Lorelei, Julie, and Laurel take brats from Seth while Todd and I get burgers.
We then each go through the line at the table to adorn our meats with our choice of condiments and veggies. I load my burger with red onions, pickles, and mustard. Seth puts the remaining burgers and brats on a ceramic plate and puts it on the table in case anyone wants seconds. He takes a burger, loads it accordingly, and takes his place near his wife.
Julie prays before we eat. It is a prayer of gratitude. We indeed have much to be grateful for. After a group “Amen” there is a small space where Lorelei inserts, “Ladies, remember, brat to mouth.”
What follows is a domino-effect wave of shock. Seth almost drops his plate, catching it in the proverbial nick; Todd chokes on his last gulp of air; I almost brain myself on the siding of the house, lurching backward in what is about to become one big-ass belly laugh; Julie’s left hand covers her mouth as she gasps while Laurel’s eyes bulge and she exclaims, “Lori, oh my goodness!”
Lorelei shrugs admiring her mischievousness. We all explode in side-splitting howls.
“You are my kinda gal,” Todd says raising his bottle of Budweiser in salute.
It’s times like this that remind me why I started down this path in the first place. All the work, all the effort, all the struggle, all the years. Worth. Every. Moment. We haven’t even hit the stage yet and I feel like this has been a success for no other reason than I got my childhood friends back and for feeling part of something bigger than myself.
Once the laughing fit has subsided and we begin our meal, Laurel starts the evening’s conversation. “We’re set on the first three songs. Practice next Saturday we run through 1986, Everything Changed, All Those Ones and Zeroes, Innovation Generation, and It’s Our Time Now.” The rest of us have food in our mouths so there is a mumble of agreement.
“Eric, I think we need a warm up gig,” Laurel adds. “Jumping in to three performances isn’t in our best interest. Having a performance before a friendly crowd would be a safe place not to be perfect.”
Chewing on my burger allows me to mentally chew on Laurel’s suggestion. I
t has merit, no doubt. Once I’ve swallowed the latest bite I reply, “I don’t disagree with you but that’s one more venue, one more city to figure out. More logistics. You’ve given this some thought. What are you thinking?”
“A family and friends show,” Laurel responds. “We invite a friendly audience and put on a free show for them. It allows us a real-world environment experience, allows us to gauge the impact of our songs, and allows us to get feedback from people who will be honest but not brutal.”
“That,” Lorelei says nodding, “is a fabulous idea.”
“Seconded,” Todd ratifies with a countenance that would imply we’re using some parliamentary procedure. “But that is a lot to pull together in a short amount of time if we want to book one performance a month July, August, September. We haven’t even played all the songs as a group yet and now we’re talking another show...” Todd’s voice trails off and we’re left to consider the words he left hanging in the air.
Out of the blue, Seth blurts, “Bacon! Crap! I meant to wrap the burgers in bacon!”
“Bacon,” comes out under my breath. “That’s it.”
Julie furrows her brow at me. “You’re concerned about your burger not having bacon?”
“No, no,” I wave Julie off. “That’s the answer.”
Five brows furrow in my direction. “Not following,” Lorelei says speaking for the group.
“Six degrees of separation. Kevin Bacon. Don’t you see it?” I ask in desperation.
“Lay it out, Eric, so we can follow,” Laurel directs.
My mind is open wide and it sees the puzzle pieces that were there all the time but I didn’t recognize them for what they were. This whole thing has been about my ability to bring things together but it doesn’t have to be. Images, names, possibilities come into focus.
“Here’s the deal. It’s about our relationships,” I begin. “Our family and friends show should be at the Surf Ballroom in Clear Lake. Historic. Iconic. It’s the perfect place to kick off a reunion tour. I know people who can make that happen.”
“I like where you’re headed,” Todd says. “Keep going.”
“Beyond inviting those we know we can speed up the process by contacting our old classmate Sara...”
“...and she organizes an impromptu class reunion,” Laurel finishes my sentence. “Genius.”
“It is a great idea but who is Sara?” Lorelei asks.
“Sara came to our school not long after you moved,” I bring Lori up to speed.
“Is she that redhead who was always into stats?” Todd asks.
I nod quickly. “Yes. Sara is also adept at organizing anything including all of our class reunions to date.”
I go on to explain that Sara holds all the contact information for our class and she is friends with everyone on Facebook. She’d be able to pull this impromptu class get together fast. Not all of our classmates still live within 100 miles but some are close enough to give us a decent crowd when combined with those friends and family we invite.
“Relationships are how we book the venues we need and get promotional support necessary in each city. We leverage relationships to help us get an ‘in’ to the decision makers and media folks. The friends and family show can be used as a springboard to create buzz and help get us booked. Julie can video the show and the girls can upload parts of the concert on YouTube and other social media,” I conclude.
“That’s not a horrible idea,” Todd complements me with his left hand. “Makes sense.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Lorelei agrees.
“My friends,” Laurel makes it unanimous, “we have ourselves a plan. Let’s wrap the Onions in bacon.”
The six of us grab our drinks, raise them in the air, and exclaim as one, “Bacon!”
CHAPTER FIVE
Come On, Get Onions
June 30, 2018
“ONIONS...ONIONS...ONIONS!”
The Surf Ballroom is jumping as the crowd chants for us moments before our first performance. I’m able to see a sliver of the crowd through the tiny space from where the stage curtain falls short of reaching the stage wall. A horde of butterflies does supersonic laps around my stomach. It feels like the rollercoaster is riding me and I’m about to send my lunch back the way it came. I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous. This is the dream, man. Forty years since the four of us gathered on an elementary playground; a child’s dream has become an adult reality.
We’re just minutes from hitting the stage and making our official debut here at the legendary Surf Ballroom in Clear Lake, Iowa. For most bands their debut is in some third-rate, hole-in-the-wall dive bar where the patrons are too drunk to know their ass from a hole in the ground. But not Onions At A Crime Scene. No, we’re making our first appearance at the Place Where the Music Died. The place that featured the last performances of Buddy Holly, J.P. “The Big Bopper” Richardson, and Richie Valens before their ill-fated flight on February 3rd, 1959. Laurel, Lorelei, Todd, and me are about to play on the same stage they did.
My buddy Mark Skaar was instrumental in getting the Onions booked here as he and the booking agent for the Surf Ballroom are good friends. Mark and I go way back to my on-air personality days when we worked together at the same radio station. My radio career began during high school at a small-town radio station about 45 miles from the Surf Ballroom.
Mark’s love of music kept him happily behind the microphone while my path in the radio industry took a turn to sales and marketing. Mark is the morning personality at a local classic rock station about 10 miles from Clear Lake. Mark’s been able to meet many of the famous bands who have played here in the past 20 years – including KISS – and has been emcee for many of those shows.
I’d reached out to Mark and gave him the Reader’s Digest version of the Onions story and he needed zero arm twisting to help us get booked at the Surf. Mark was kind enough to interview me on his morning radio show to give us a little love over the airwaves. Our YouTube views and website traffic spiked immediately after the interview. Gotta love the power of radio. Let’s face it, radio was the first social media.
Laurel worked on filling the Surf Ballroom while I worked on securing the venue. Laurel through Sara made this event one part class reunion, one part family reunion, one part kick-ass celebration through our six degrees of separation strategy and execution. Laurel, Lorelei, Todd, and I – plus Seth and Julie – went on a full-court press to invite friends and family through personal invites via email and social media direct messages. We were purposeful in our invites to family and friends we believed would come out to support and celebrate.
“Some crowd, huh?” Lorelei asks me. The sudden question while I was firmly in my head nearly sends me into the rafters.
“Jumpy much?” Lori teases amused by the fact her simple question gave me such a start. “Little preoccupied?”
“Yeah, just a little,” I tell her. “The goal has always been to get us here but it’s been all objectives and tasks and connecting dots...all logistics and execution. This? This is pure emotion, pure performance...so outside my comfort zone.” My thumb gestures toward the curtain and the crowd on the other side of it. “You’re telling me you’re not anxious?”
A smile of unadulterated joy lights up her face. “Are you kidding? I’m riding a wave of adrenaline and endorphins, baby. No nerves. Just excitement.”
“I’m not an envious person by nature, L, but I am a little jealous.” No smile lights my face only a fleeting look of melancholy.
“You put so much pressure on yourself, Eric. This band has been resting on your shoulders this entire time and look at where we are. We’re about to take the stage. It’s happening! Relax and embrace the good.” She throws a hug on me and gives me an extra squeeze before releasing the embrace. Her words and hug have the intended of effect of calming my nerves.
“Have you seen how
many people are here?” Todd asks abruptly ending the moment Lori and I are having. “This place is packed. The fire marshal is here and says we’re at capacity. One more person and we’ll exceed code. How sweet is that?” Todd is as jubilant as Lori. The butterflies in my stomach throttle up once more.
Packing this place is done on two levels. Level one is filling the booths that form a horseshoe along the sides and back of the ballroom. The booths are as they were in the 1950s with a maximum of four people to a booth. Level two is filling the dance floor and is a standing-room only proposition. It’s not unusual for the Surf to be packed but it’s not something I had anticipated to be the case for us.
“I have,” Lorelei answers, “but Eric hasn’t,” she says. “Too nervous to look.”
“Hey, did anybody get the license plate of the bus Lori just threw me under?” I mock my keyboardist. “No, I haven’t taken a look. I want to hang back till that curtain parts to take in the crowd.”
“Wuss,” Todd sends a shot over my bow. “What are you afraid of...the people might disappear if you look at them?”
“Not at all. Trying not to psych myself out before we debut.” Deep breath as I realize that if I keep time by my heartbeat our performance will be over in about 15 minutes.
“Why are the people disappearing?” Laurel asks entering the conversation midway.
“Eric thinks if he takes a look at all the people here before we start playing they’ll evaporate,” Todd brings Laurel up to speed.
“Hey,” I protest, “you said that, not me. I’m just over here trying not to lose my shit, okay? Is it okay with you that I’m nervous?”
Laurel smiles enjoying the playful bickering among bandmates. “It’s fine. Nerves are no big deal. We should all be a little nervous or something’s wrong.” Then, turning to Todd, “The crowd is phenomenal. Only ten minutes till show time.”
Deep breath. And another. And another. The energy level ramping up makes it appear the assembled heard Laurel and are suddenly getting louder with their chanting and whooping. I take a quick glance to the stage hidden by the curtain. The equipment hasn’t moved. Our instruments, monitors, cables, and microphones are exactly where they need to be and haven’t moved since we finished sound check 90 minutes ago.