“I just think we’re a lot like them, not that we should be
them, play all their tunes or anything…” I was explaining my theory of how the
high school garage band I was infamous for, Flight, was something like one of
my favorite bands of the period, Led Zeppelin, “You are the drummer, I play
Bass, Gino is guitar and Rich sings…Like Bonham, Jones, Page and Plant…that
kind of arrangement.”
“But I
thought you wanted to be like The Beatles?” Scotty reasoned, “You play the same
guitars as Paul McCartney does, you’re always go one about them…Led Zep, it’s
just so…heavy.”
“I think
I sing better than Robert Plant too.” Rich injected as he and Gino sat across
from Scotty and me while we rode the Metra train from Arlington Park into
Chicago. It was a chilly but bright Saturday, the 9th day of April
in 1977 and next to Scotty, I was the youngest one on the train and I was only
15! Both Gino and Rich, seniors at Buffalo Grove High School, were 17 but
Scotty was still in the 8th grade and only 14 years old, yet we were
a band and we called ourselves Flight. This was our one and only grand
adventure together we were going to see Led Zeppelin at The Chicago Stadium, it
was an epic event back in the day, they were at the height of their career and
to four wanna be rock stars like us, this was a trip to Mecca! Rich, the lead
singer and an arrogant, snobby sort of wealthier kid, was some kind of star
choir boy at the local church and he was more Gino’s friend who could sing than
a member of the band to me, “I’m just saying, the guy screeches, he’s not a
vocal genius.”
“Jimmy
Page is a genius!” Gino beamed, Page was his hero, above all other players,
Jimmy Page was who Gino wanted to be most like, this was his dream, “I can’t
wait, we’re in the front section, to the right, about 10 rows back, perfect to
see Page!”
“How do
we get from the train station to the stadium?” Scotty asked as we finally
pulled into the station, the steel and glass city scape scraping the skies
another shade darker as show time grew closer and the moments grew near, “I’ve
never been to Chicago alone.”
“You’re
not alone…” I patted my friend on the back as we stood up to get off the train,
“We’ll grab a cab upstairs and be at the stadium in minutes!”
The
Chicago Stadium, the original building, not the “United Center” that Michael
Jordon and The Chicago Bulls Dynasty built, but the old, crumbling building
erected in 1929, the one that used to be the world’s largest indoor stadium,
was located at 1800 West Madison Street, a 10 minute cab ride from Union
Station’s front doors. The four of us piled into an old style cab, the kind
that used to populate the streets of American cities, the old Checker cab a big
over-sized vehicle and zoomed to the stadium in no time at all.
The Chicago Stadium, where I had seen Paul McCartney &
Wings the year before, seemed like a familiar place to me and since I was the
veteran concert goer, I led the way from the crowded curbside outside the
stadium towards the front doors. The other followed in single file, Scotty
directly behind me and Gino taking up the rear, we marched towards the open
doors with our four tickets in hand. As we got to the front of the line, like a
parent on a field trip, I turned to the others and explained that if we get
separated, we should meet after the show, right here and handed everyone their
tickets. I asked if everyone had money, they did, I scooted closer to the
ticket taker and could already smell that familiar aroma of marijuana in the
air. I turned to my friends, “This is going to completely blow your minds!”
“Where’s
our seats?” Scotty looked at his ticket as we took two more steps closer, “Is
it close to the concession stands?”
“We’re
on the main floor, in the first section on the right…” Gino repeated, “We’re on
Page’s side of the stage…far out!”
“Yeah,
we’re close to the exit, near the bathrooms and concessions stands…” I said as
I stepped up to the ticket taker, a friendly Andy Frain usher wearing a bright
red coat and matching cap. I handed her my ticket and she ripped it without
even looking at it, handing it back to me, I smiled, “Thank you!”
“So
where are the seats for tomorrow night?” Gino asked as he looked around the
cavernous stadium. Gino and I, along with my kid brother and my cool Uncle Duke
had seats in the first balcony, on the other side of the stage, looking down on
John Paul Jones. I pointed to the area, Gino nodded, “Excellent seats too…man,
you really scored this time!”
“I score
every time.” I passed the last of the joint to my friend, “What’s the plan with
Rich?”
“Rich?”
Gino hissed as he sucked the little roach until it fizzled, “I got another
guy…” holding his breath, his eyes roll back a second before he hacked a
laughing cough, “Andy! His name…” Gino choked and chuckled, “Andy and he
fucking rocks! This is good weed, man…wow!”
 |
| d'Philip with Rich in Flight, 1977... |
“I got
it from Todd.” I smiled, thinking about Todd and how I invited him to come with
Gino and me to this show. Todd was in the band, he started the band with Gino
and me. We were originally a four piece band, like The Beatles. Todd was
Lennon, I was McCartney and Gino was George…but in January, a few months early,
when Gino’s father became manager of our band, he set down some rules for the
group
 |
| Scotty, Gino and d'Philip in Flight, 1977... |
 |
| Scotty behind his drums in Flight, 1977... |
 |
| The original Flight with Todd (behind Gino), 1976 |
“Man,
d’Philip…” Gino
 |
| d'Philip with his Rickenbaker, 1977... |
“A Rick?
Really?” we were talking about a Rickenbacker 2001 bass guitar, a blond colored
one, just like Paul McCartney was playing in Wings, a $1,000 instrument to
replace my cheap violin shaped Hofner knock-off bass (like the one Paul played
in The Beatles) that I bought for $50 in a garage sale. This was a big step up,
both as an instrument and as a player, this was a real axe, a professional
brand instrument. I nodded and looked up at Gino, “I’ll call you in the
morning.”
“How’s
old Todd doing?” Gino asked as we continued making small talk before the show,
“He still working at that factory?”
“Nope.”
I didn’t like talking about Todd with Gino, “He’s got a better job and a new
guitar.”
“Yeah?”
Gino didn’t really care as he stood up to try and get a better look at the
stage set-up, “What kind?”
“Alverez?”
I said and changed the subject, “When I saw Wings last year, we were sitting
way up there…” I pointed across the stadium to the back side and Gino followed
my finger, “It was far, but a great view and it sounded fucking incredible!”
“I bet…”
Gino continued to gaze around the arena as it continued filling up more
quickly, “It’s going to get loud in here tonight, look at those speaker
columns!”
“Yeah,
man…it’s going to be, wow…” I was still thinking about Todd, about how I wish
he was here with us, about what a waste of a ticket it was to sell one to Rich
when, on cue, Rich and Scotty returned to the seats, squeezing past me to sit
down between Gino and I, smiling I said, “Find what you’re looking for?”
“Man,
there are some hot chicks here!” Rich gushed, “I mean totally foxy ladies!”
“These
pretzels are good.” Scotty mumble with a mouthful of junk food, “Really good.”
.jpg)
.jpg)
“What?”
I could barely break eye contact with the cute chick as Gino tugged my arm,
“What are you talking about?” I looked at the stage and from where I stood, I
could see some stage hand roadie guy handing Jimmy Page a towel. Page wiped his
face, he was sweating and swaggered without his confident sway as they played
“No Quarter” and I agreed with Gino, “Yeah, he’s off tonight, right?”
“I
wonder why?” Gino asked as we jammed with band, Scotty was still in his own
little world and Rich looked like he was bored by it all. I glanced back at the
cute chick a few times and every time I did, she and I made eye contact. Gino
was whistling as Led Zep finished the song, Plant said something but we
couldn’t hear what he said, Gino turned to me, “What did he say? This is the
last song?”
“Last song?”
I looked at my wrist as if I had a watch, but I didn’t. I looked behind us,
looking for the cute chick but she was gone. I saw some man make an angry,
pissed off face and as the band launched into a final song, I turned to Gino,
“Ten Years Gone?”
“What
you mean the temperature is wrong?”
“No, Ten
Years Gone, the fucking song!” I pointed at the band, this was one of their
closing songs, I knew because they had been talking about it on the radio, I
said, “Why is the show so short?”
“I know,
this isn’t right.” The song continued for it’s typical 8 to 10 minutes of
jamming riffs and clever drum fills with soaring vocals and pumping bass but it
just didn’t feel right. When they were done, when the song was over, the band
just left the stage. There was no encore, despite the cheers and even before we
could hold our lighters up in praise, the house lights came on and there was
some kind of announcement coming from the stadium sound system. “What’s going
on?” Gino had a look of panic and anger in his eyes, “This is fucked up, wait,
what’s going on?”
“We have
to leave.” Rick said flatly and stood up, pushing past Scotty he said, “Let’s
go, before there’s no taxi cabs left.”
“This is
bullshit, I paid fucking ten dollars for this ticket, but I only got half a show?”
I stopped a guy who was wearing a watch as he was walking by us, “Hey buddy,
what time is it?”
“It’s
only 9:25…” the guy rolled his eyes and shrugged, “It was just over an hour
long.”
“An
hour?” I was getting upset, but instead of just following with the crowd, I sat
back down and pulled out a third joint, I looked at Gino, “I’m going to sit
here and wait for the cattle to pass…” I lit the tip of the rice paper and it
flamed like flash paper for a second, I smiled, “You want to join me?”
“Yeah,
that’s a good idea.” Gino sat down next to me, pulling his feet up on the
seats, I handed him the joint, “I think Page is sick or something.”
“You
guys want to wait up with us?” I turned to Rich and Scotty but they were
already at the end of the aisle. Rich was leading and Scotty was looking back
at me, he shrugged before I turned back to Gino as he handed me the quickly
burning doobie, “Rich is an ass and Scotty is a flake, if you and your dad are
serious about this band, they both have to go…soon.”
“I am, Rich
is gone, I got this guy Andy Kapinicolous…” Gino shook his head while I sucked
on the joint hard, like I was Tommy Chong, I listened, “He just uses Kapin,
Andy Kapin…but he’s a pro, he’s in a band now but he’s quitting this weekend…he
plays guitar too, he’s got the moves, he gets it, he’s in…”
“So when
is Rich out?” I asked and handed the already roach sized joint, “What about
Scotty?”
“Rich is
out this week, as soon as Andy is in for sure.” Gino took a short toke on the
roach and as he handed it back to me, it
slipped between our fingertips and we both laughed, “Shit!”
“Hey
fellas! You gotta go!” an Andy Frain usher was walking up the aisle towards us,
we took our feet off the seats and started to stand up as the friendly, darkly,
oldly usher approached us, “Time to go, thank you for coming tonight.”
“Man,
why was the show so short?” I asked the man as we walked in front of him, “I
know the other nights it was almost 3 hours long, right?”
“Somebody
was sick…” the kindly man weakly smiled as we got to the end the row and headed
towards the exits, “The guitar player was sick, that’s what I heard.”
“No
shit?” I shook the old usher’s hand, “Thanks man.”
“Have a
good night gentlemen.” The usher went towards the stage to clear out more
people while Gino and walked in silence towards the exits and outside. Along
the way Gino stopped at a concession stand to buy some merchandise, being a
wealthy kid had it’s perks. I stood off to the side, near the doors and made
small talk with some guy from Michigan. The guy had drove for six hours from
Saginaw, only to have this happen, the show cut short. I told him what the
usher said, about Page being ill but that didn’t make this guy feel better. He
swore, never again, he was never coming to Chicago again. I agreed as Gino
finally finished up and we went outside looking for our two friends. It was a
very breezy evening, early April cold winds and we lost in a mass sea of dazed
and confused people. Gino was practically walking on my heels as I scooted
through the scene towards the outside curbs and then, before we could cross the
street, a cop on a horse rode up in front of us, “Whoa there!” the cop yelled,
“You can’t go there, it’s not safe.”
“We said
to meet in front, right?” I asked, I turned around a few times to get my bearings,
Gino was silent, “The front is over there, we came out the south side…” I
started walking along the side of the building, huddling close against the cold
wind that started to sprinkle cold misty disappointment in our young faces. The
front of the building was still a madhouse, swarming people, smelly swarming
people ducking out of the cold misty that started to rain and crushing towards
the front doors even as others were being pushed outside by the Andy Frain
usher army inside. I climbed on top of a newsbox looking for Rick or Scotty,
calling out their names. Gino spotted me, looking at ground level through the
passing sea of people and faces. I started to slip, the newsbox was wet and my
glasses were too spotted to see clearly, I called down to Gino, “I don’t see
them, let’s get over there.”
“What if
they left?” Gino asked as we snaked between people walking in an opposite flow,
we got to the very spot we said we’d meet and we were still alone, just Gino
and me, “Did they leave us?”
“Maybe.”
I said, but inside I believed they did leave already, I shrugged, “We’ll wait
here until the crowd is thin, if they’re not here then, well…we’ll see, right?”
Gino and
I hung around that area in front of the ticket box for about a half hour before
another horse with a cop on it came up and told us to giddy-up and get going.
Rich and Scotty were not to be found, but even worse, there were no taxi cabs
either. I walked to the corner of Madison and Damen streets and read the CTA
bus sign, I suggested we wait for the next bus east to Union Station but Gino
didn’t want to stay still, he said he felt like a sitting a duck. Then I
realized, we were the only white faces, the only white kids left and it was a
long way from home.
“Hey
Scotty!” Gino yelled and ran towards the center of the big station house, I saw
Scotty running from a far corner and way behind him, stepping slowly from the
shadows, was Rich, he looked pissed. Gino started to tell Scotty about our
adventure, “Man, we walked all the way here!”
“You’re
lucky you made it alive.” Rick said with a snarky tone, “We missed the last
train.”
“Yeah,
Rich said we should go…” Scotty hugged Gino like a brother soldier, “But I
didn’t want to leave you guys behind.”
“We’re
alright.” I smiled and then asked, “So, what’s the plan?”
“The
plan?!?” Rich exploded, “The plan? What the hell Chalmers…you think you can
plan for shit like this…why didn’t you guys leave with us, when we left? This
is your fault!”
“Nobody’s
Fault But Mine!” I quote Led Zeppelin, but I was the only one who got the joke,
“The next train is in six hours, we can just wait.”
“Wait?”
Rich’s fists were clenched as he paced back and forth, he wanted to hit me, I
could see the violence in his eyes, he wanted to leave me have it but instead
he barked, “I’m not going to wait!”
“Okay!”
I mimicked him, sort of barking a response, “What will you do? What will you
do?”
“Fuck
you, asshole!” Rich spit on the floor in front of me and I laughed as he
snorted, turned away towards the doors, muttering loudly, “Come on Scotty,
Gino…you can come.”
“Where
are you going?” Gino asked as Scotty started to follow Rich, “Scotty?”
“Home.”
Scotty smiled, “Rich’s dad is paying for a taxi to take us home.”
“Cool…”
Gino nodded and started to follow them, “You coming d’Philip?”
“Not
him!” Rich yelled and pointed at me as he held the door open for the others,
“Only you two, let’s go, now!”
“You
can’t leave him here…” Gino started to reason with Rich as he continued walking
towards the door, “He’ll be alone.”
I
couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation because Gino walked outside with
Rich and Scotty while I stood still, in the middle of this huge train station,
alone. I watched them for a minute, I could only see their legs and then, after
a few minutes, I couldn’t see their legs anymore. Nobody came back in and
eventually I wandered to a comfortable bench in the far side of the station. I
was soaking wet, every layer of clothing was drenched but I stripped down to my
bare chest long enough to squeeze the water from my concert shirt. I draped the
new shirt on the back of the bench and slipped my thick, heavy soaked jean
jacket back on and sat there alone for hours. I drifted off a time or two,
nodding asleep only to jerk myself awake with the awareness that I was alone in
a dangerous place. I stayed in the same spot, half curled up, my glasses off
and my hair dried with a wild busy mane. I knew it was getting close to morning
when more people started coming through the station. There were workers first,
ticket agents and engineers, people who opened the coffee and donut shops and
news stands. I got a burst of energy and grabbed my still damp concert shirt,
bought myself a daily Tribune and cup of coffee then went to look at the train
schedule board; I was just in time, the train to Arlington Park was leaving in
ten minutes on Track 5A, across the station, on the other side! I went dashing
through the crowd, which now had ballooned into throngs of pastel dressed families
and people off to church for Easter Sunday. Me in my shirtless jean jacket wild
hair warrior with a coffee cup in one hand and a damp Led Zeppelin concert
t-shirt in the other went sprinting through the station with barely a moment to
spare before jumping on the first train back home, the train jerked loose and
started to slowly roll away.
On the
ride home I read how Jimmy Page had fallen ill to food poisoning which is why
the show was cut so short. The same article said the band promised to make up
at Sunday night’s final Chicago show. I folded the paper to that article and
dozed off for the remaining 30 minute ride back to Arlington Park and when I
got off the train, the skies had cleared and the sun was shining. The walk from
the train station to our townhouse was long, but I didn’t mind. I pulled my
concert shirt back on, flipped my still damp jean jacket collar up against the
still breezy April morning and marched home quickly. I came inside, it was
quarter of eight, my mother was up. I walked into the kitchen, she was sitting
there, silent, smoking and sipping black coffee, she glanced up at me sharply. I
knew why she was pissed, I knew I should have called her but I had no other
excuse to offer except that Gino and Rich ditched me and I didn’t want to wake
her up in the middle of the night. That was the truth, but it felt like a lie
because I knew it was not the right thing to do, why didn’t I just call my mom?
Mom was happy I was safe and I asked her, “Gino is a really selfish guy, isn’t
he?”
“Well,
look at his father…” mom kissed my forehead, “You just be a better man than
your father, okay? I’m going to take a shower and I promised Aunt Marge I’d
take her to church.”
“Okay…”
I sat at the table for a moment, still wearing my damp clothes and sort of
spacing out when there was a light knock tapping sound on the sliding glass
door behind me. I turned to see Todd, still in his robe, holding a cup of
coffee and smoking and smiling, I opened the door, “Hey man, good morning! What
are you doing up this early?”
“Maureen’s
family is picking me up for church…” Todd rolled his eyes and then, in a an
excited tone, he asked, “So how was the show?”
“It
sucked man…” I stepped outside and then shook my head, “Well, Jimmy Page got
sick…”
“On
stage?!”
“No, not
literally…” I laughed, “The show rocked, but it was cut short.”
“You
just getting home?” Todd noticed my new Led Zeppelin concert shirt, “Did you
stay at Gino’s or something?”
“No, man…it’s
fucked up.” I told Todd the story, the whole story about all the bull shit all
night long and although I could have go on talking more, he had some place to
be, I concluded, “So how late are you going to be with Maureen’s family?”
“I
should be home about 4 or so…” Todd grinned, “Why?”
“Want
Gino’s ticket?”
“Hell
yeah!”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
 |
| www.dphilipchalmers.net |
The
above excerpt is from a chapter NOT INCLUDED in my book “My BiPolar Reality;
How Life Goes On…” because it was both a rather large chapter as well as it may
have merit on it’s own in another collection of stories I’m considering called “My
Life In The Rock and Roll Gutter” which would be a combination of stories about
the great concerts and music I grew up with and my own experience playing a
couple of garage bands during the mid 1970’s…so it’s a taste of something yet
to come as well as something that once was a part of my current story. The relevance
of BiPolar in this particular story is demonstrated in the actions and
decisions I was making at that formative time in my life. I was already
starting to alienate people by my actions, I was putting myself at risk and I
was endangering the lives of others, but it didn’t seem to matter very much to
me. That’s one of the dangers of BiPolar, you fool yourself into believing you’re
indestructible, you become fearless and that somehow both attracts other people
into your cyclone of emotional drama and damages them in the end. It does make
for an exciting life, leaping from adventure to adventure is addictive too. But
I was so lucky I didn’t die, so many times I was closer to death than I can
imagine. Living on the edge is a thrill, but it’s danger which makes it worth
the risk…the ultimate all or nothing game.
In my
experiences since those wild youthful days, throughout the 20 years of having
BiPolar but not being diagnosed or treated as well as the almost 20 years of
treatment and eventual recovery, I have managed to hold onto part of that
intrepid spirit, the fearless pioneer, the wayward warrior on an exploration
spree because it is truly a part of who I am, who I believe I am; “We are what
we think.” says Buddha and methinks there’s truth in that idea. I was once so
broken, so destroyed and shell of a human that many people would have rather
ended their lives than lived through the pain and suffering I’ve endured…and
yes, I have experienced the very worse emotional pains imaginable, but if not
for that wayward warrior inside of me, without the courage of that fearless
pioneer, without the blind faith of my intrepid spirit, I never would have made
it back from that brink either. BiPolar brings forth the opportunity to
completely live on the edge, sometimes the edge is exciting and thrilling and
fun but sometimes, the edge is sharp, crumbling under your feet and falling
into an endless black abyss. It takes some help and a fuck ton of self-determination
and practice to remain balanced.
It’s been a great family weekend for us here in The San
Joaquin Valley and this week is off to a very busy start as I get ready to hit
the road this month. I am looking forward to getting back to San Francisco and
San Jose again, then towards the end of the month is infamous “420 Festival” in
Golden Gate Park, on Hippie Hill (naturally); last year my wife and I attended
this event, it was quite a scene! There’s a few other things in motion, but I
hesitate mentioning them just yet, so instead I’m going to simply end this week’s
blog article with a most Grateful expression of joy! I sincerely thank you for
taking the time to read, subscribe, re-share and comment on my blogs and
remember, take care, be well and stay safe!
Peace,
d’Philip
06 April 2015
The San Joaquin Valley
Republic of California
Earth
