They think that they locked me in here, but it's more like I locked them out.

You encounter people like Phil Hertz all the time at college, the guy who just shows up one day and who sticks around long enough to be considered one of the gang. To the best of my recollection, Phil joined our Octumvirate after meeting Leonard somewhere and then joining us for lunch.

Phil was the fifth to join our group after the two sets of roommates (Morty and myself and Stan and Leonard). Because Stan didn’t make it every day for lunch, the three of us usually came up with some ideas on how to spend some of our free time, such as seeing a movie or playing a round of pool in the student center. We’d always invite Phil but ask if he was okay with the time. Without a doubt Phil usually quipped that the three of us were leading this party and that he only needed to know the time to show up and he’d be there. Eventually Phil came to call us the Triumvirate, which he later expanded to include eight. Namedropping an ancient Roman political alliance was nothing outrageous for who we dubbed “Professor Phil” – if someone could major in General Studies or Useless Trivia then Phil would probably go on and earn a master’s degree.

Another one of his eccentricities was his fondness for wearing hiking boots, appropriately enough since a couple times a month he was living out his weekends in a tent at the nearby state park. I never knew what sparked his interest in this lifestyle but he would usually sneak away from campus on Friday afternoons and not return to Bowman Hall until late Saturday or even early Sunday morning. He claimed the outdoor air invigorated him and that the tranquil atmosphere allowed him the silence he needed to catch up on his class work. None of that ever convinced the rest of us to venture out with him, although, like Stan, he did try to talk us into it. Because we didn’t go with him, lunch on Monday usually featured an anecdote or two about seeing signs of an alligator or discovering some tasty wild flower or fungus. Have no fear, mind you – they were safe to eat. At least according to Phil’s field guide.

The rustic restaurant that he made for himself out in the wild was always happily exchanged for the campus cafeteria. While many students liked to make fun of the food or mock the general blasé of the buffet, Phil had a certain fondness for the food and championed the people who put it together behind the scenes. I can still vividly hear Phil responding when one of the Octumvirate thought out loud about going back and getting a second chicken patty sandwich: “You paid for that sandwich, get back up there and get that sandwich!” Phil followed suit by grabbing a second helping of vegetables, be it carrots, broccoli, maybe mashed potatoes, or even some of that stewed tomato concoction that scared off everyone else. That guy loved him some vegetables.

- - - - - - - - - - - -
Mushroom Boy
(Crow, Heavy Vegetable)
Heavy Vegetable
From the album Frisbie
1995

People locked me in here
'bout a couple years ago.
With a handful of seeds
for the garden I grow
The sun shines on the window
in the basement at the house
They think that they locked me
in here, but it's more like I locked
them out.
It's not so bad.
It's not such a drag.

So I'll be taking care of business coz I know what I'm looking for

When we first met Leonard Davidson and he said he was from Mount Dale we all sort of looked at him strangely. None of us had heard of the city, knew where it was located, or, as Stan later commented, seen a real, living resident from Mount Dale, either. Leonard explained it was very much just a dot on the map in the middle of nowhere in the northern corner of the state. Evidently that vague description was enough for the rest of us because no one really brought it up again.

Leonard was the stereotypical first member of his family to go to college, the type of person who was very excited to be on his own and moving on with his life but also very much undecided as to what he wanted to do. A year before he may have had only a few ideas where life might lead him, now his options were endless (well, not really – there were only about 80 different undergraduate degrees he could opt for). Wisely, Leonard decided to try his hand at some business courses which he said would surely help him down the line in whatever he finally chose as his major.

Of the Octumvirate, Leonard was the only one who ever stopped by the radio station. I had mentioned I did news Tuesday and Thursdays mornings and after one of Leonard’s morning jogs he stopped in to see what it was I did. The semester was midway over at this point so I had grown somewhat familiar in my settings and was able to confidently show him around the studios. Always an inquisitive person, Leonard began asking questions of how things worked and the DJ on duty (either Mike or James) did his best to answer his questions. I actually thought for a second Leonard might actually become a Communication convert but he said later to me that while it looked fun, he really didn’t see anything more than pushing buttons. I never interpreted it as an insult, but I was somewhat surprised at the comment none the less. I recall countering with something along the lines that I do bookwork just like everyone else, but not every major allows a creative outlet like ours. (At this point, Stan probably clamored in something about a recital his music group was having, thereby adding another major that frequently displayed creativity.)

Leonard quickly faded from the Octumvirate during the second semester because of the arrival of Jimmy Wallen, who Stan proudly said was the second real, living resident from Mount Dale that he had ever laid eyes on. Jimmy didn’t seem to get the joke. Alas, Jimmy was a moon-faced kid who seemed completely out of his element. I have since passed through Mount Dale and if it wasn’t for the highway on the east side of town it would have disappeared years ago (there’s a huge grain elevator off the highway that serves as a defacto landmark but there is nothing of any draw to the community). He and Leonard were old friends from high school and the two decided to become roommates during the spring semester; this led to what we called the Great Reassignment that helped to split the Octumvirate. While an okay guy, I always got the impression Jimmy really messed with Leonard’s business. Leonard wanted to get something out of his schooling and I think Jimmy found being at college more interesting than what he needed to do to get anything out of it.

I don’t think Jimmy ever brought Leonard down far enough into any abyss to impact Leonard’s grades or academic standing (whatever that may have been), but I don’t think Jimmy was around for a second year (at least no one seemed to know anything about him if he did). Leonard managed to stay afloat but moved into an apartment for his sophomore year and was seldom seen. We met up again the spring semester of our sophomore year in one of those advanced English literature courses, but by then I could tell he had different interests and was into some other sort of business.

I don’t know what business he ever settled into but I hope he made it.

Cheers, Lenny.

- - - - - - - - - - - -
Business
(Brian May)
Brian May
From the album Another World
1998

Don't judge me mama
Don't tell me that I've done wrong
It's a hard business
It's a hard business to make it on your own

Don't judge me papa
If I can't handle the things in my head
Because it's a hard business
Such a hard business walking on the edge

I got nothing and no-one in my life
So how can I lose again
Got my feet in muddy water
But I'm gonna find that road again
So I'll be taking care of business
Coz I know what I'm looking for
Oh I've been working every hour God gives to man
But I still see the same closed door

I've got nothing but trouble in my life
But I feel I've got a lot to give
Every day I try to build a new world
But I've had no-one to build it with
Oh I've been looking for a woman to share my hopes
But I know I ain't a patch on you
And I've been thinking that a woman's God's gift to man
Are you thinking the same way too

So don't leave me mama
Don't make me go on alone
Because it's a hard business
Yes it's a hard business, oooh

Don't leave me papa
When my belief in myself is gone
Because it's a hard business
Such a hard business

Tell me, it's a hard business
Being on my own

Art of the Big Band

The music hound of the Octumvirate was Stan Barbery. Stan majored in music and, if I recall correctly, was quite proficient in brass instruments; he regularly practiced saxophone, trumpet, trombone, tuba, or something along those lines. His practice usually interfered with our eating schedule, which is why he often joined us for lunch but seldom for dinner because of his commitments over in the Music Building.

Of the eight, Stan and I had one thing in common: music. That is, he performed it and I worked at a radio station that played it. He was also the one person who probably had little in common with a majority of the students who listened to the station because he much more preferred our classical and jazz programming. I remember him telling me that the “college rock” we played at night during my freshman year was okay but no one seemed to know anything worthwhile about it. Therefore, he articulated, it was expendable and did not need as much attention lavished on it as it received. I explained I was just a lowly newsreader three days a week and didn’t have much say in programming decisions – more so, I didn’t really know the people who made the programming decisions. Well, except, Dr. Propel.

Oddly, Stan looked like he would have enjoyed the “college rock” sounds, as he sort of had that neo-skater punk look to him, the long hair over one eye and the occasion to wear gaudy designs and logos on vividly colored shirts and patchwork shorts. I don’t think he really had skateboard with him on campus (granted his causal dress was only about 30% skater punk), but I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was something he had hidden away back at home (wherever that was).

Because of Stan’s musical proficiency, he often took part in numerous campus recitals held each semester. The Octumvirate were often asked (almost requested at one point, really) to attend these recitals so we could see our friend in action. Our lack of attendance wasn’t a reflection on Stan but because we didn’t want to spend two or three hours of our evening fidgeting in our seats when we could be home doing something more productive. The best way we found to get around this was pointing out that Stan took part in seemingly every recital the department held. Since there was at least one recital each week (or so it seemed) we flippantly said that we would attend the next recital in a week or so – preferably when the music was more to our liking. Thankfully most of the recitals occurred in the former Calvin Student Association building on campus so we didn’t have far to go when we eventually pulled together some courage (or interest).

We all saw less of Stan as the school year progressed and by my sophomore year Stan had all but disappeared, lost in the Music Building and Recital Hall with his girlfriend, Bethany. I did run into him shortly before I graduated – he was close to graduating or had only done so recently – and we chatted briefly. He mentioned he had heard me a few times on the radio and I made him laugh when I said that the music he had championed against still garnered airtime.

It probably still does.

- - - - - - - - - - - -
Art Of The Big Band
(Bob Mintzer)
Bob Mintzer Big Band
From the album The Art of the Big Band
1990

Everything's all right, I'll just say goodnight and I'll show myself to the door

As I mentioned a year ago (and my, how time flies: see Watching your river turn into an ocean) my first steps into radio started as a newsreader during what would have been the fall semester of 1994. Not only was I new to radio but I was new to college and new to living with a roommate. As the summer ended and the day in August when I moved into Bowman-Oates Hall crept closer, I worried about how I would like living in that large a building with people I had never met.

Thankfully I had little to worry about because the kid I ended up sharing a room with in room 424 of Bowman Hall was a second-year freshman who turned out to be one of the nicer people I met in college. His name was Morton Broomill, a stocky, clean-cut kid who lived for college football, Beverly Hills 90210, and becoming an elementary school teacher. Mort was an education major and hailed from Tarbert, a small town in Heritz County about 80 minutes away. While there wasn’t much in common between the two of us, we hit it off and he took to introducing me to some of the quirks of living on campus:

• Get in good with your suitemates.
• You’ve got to make an early start to use the building’s laundry service.
• Move your car during the week and you’ll be walking a mile to the last remaining parking space.
• Residence Advisors are students, too.
• The directive from the physical plant that says you must remove all items from your closet and desk so they can spray for insects can be taken for a grain of salt. All they do is take up 30 seconds of your time spraying in front of the closest, under the air conditioner unit, and maybe in the bathroom – and then you’ve got to spend your time putting everything back the way it was.
• Visit the cafeteria early, if possible – the food is fresher.
  

Morty found my major interesting and said that he’d give the college radio station a try in the mornings when he worked-out. I remember thinking it was sort of cool that the University Health & Fitness Center actually played the campus radio station, but then I wondered how much of that had to do with the fact we broadcast those rock-infused morning shows. Would there be an audience a year or so later when we played "the most classical music" during our "parade of all-star dead guys?" Anyway, I doubted Morty would listen regularly outside the UFC because he was more into country music than any of the rock, jazz, and freeform oddities that our station played.

Thanks to my morning shift at the radio station, I too became an early riser and ended up becoming more of a “morning person” throughout most of the rest of college. The station signed on at 6AM and the first newscast was an hour later. It was driven into the heads of the news and sports staff that they were required to be there an hour prior to their shift to prepare for the broadcast, so I needed to arrive as close to six o’clock as possible. “Preparing,” News Director Troy Meadows said, usually meant finding something interesting off the AP wire and rewriting it into a short piece that would fit into a three-to-five minute broadcast.

From the radio station I would then disembark for back-to-back classes between 8 and 11, so I knew when I left the dorm I wouldn’t be coming back until much later. Morty’s first class was also over at 11 and it was decided early on in the semester to meet up for lunch in one of the campus cafeterias. Naturally, this was to avoid the awkward sensation of eating alone, something I think weighed heavily on the mind of every other timid, reluctant freshman. Thankfully, we always had company.

It was a strange mix of kids that gathered at our table: Morty was easily the one who held everything together through his easy-goingness, sociability, and decency; Stan Barbery was Morty’s roommate the previous school year and Stan routinely joined us when his music performance schedule allowed; Leonard Davidson was Stan’s current roommate, a freshman taking business classes but still a bit unsure what he wanted to do in college; and Phil Hertz, who just sort of showed up one day, possibly from knowing Leonard from somewhere. The five of us from Bowman Hall met up with three other guys from Rex Hall – Alan Heathland, Michael Arthur, and Kenny Jones – and by then, yes, eight was enough.

At one point the group became the Octumvirate – the group of “ate.”

After we had finished eating and grown restless from sitting around listening to the noise of the cafeteria and our fellow students, Morty had a way of asking if everyone was ready to leave –

“Shall we?”

“We shall!”

We shall, indeed.

- - - - - - - - - - - -
Friends in Low Places
(DeWayne Blackwell/Earl Bud Lee)
Garth Brooks
From the album No Fences
1990

Blame it all on my roots
I showed up in boots
And ruined your black tie affair
The last one to know
The last one to show
I was the last one
You thought you'd see there
And I saw the surprise
And the fear in his eyes
When I took his glass of champagne
And I toasted you
Said, honey, we may be through
But you'll never hear me complain

'Cause I've got friends in low places
Where the whiskey drowns
And the beer chases my blues away
And I'll be okay
I'm not big on social graces
Think I'll slip on down to the oasis
Oh, I've got friends in low places

Well, I guess I was wrong
I just don't belong
But then, I've been there before
Everything's all right
I'll just say goodnight
And I'll show myself to the door
Hey, I didn't mean
To cause a big scene
Just give me an hour and then
Well, I'll be as high
As that ivory tower
That you're livin' in

'Cause I've got friends in low places
Where the whiskey drowns
And the beer chases my blues away
And I'll be okay
I'm not big on social graces
Think I'll slip on down to the oasis
Oh, I've got friends in low places