Thanks to the explosive growth in Houston during the early Eighties, school at Clear Creek started before 8 AM and with a 45-minute bus ride, this meant I had to be at my stop before 630 AM. Getting up around 5-530 AM wasn’t too new, my previous year attending Strake conditioned me for such exhaustion. I just now had the opportunity to take a brief nap when I got home instead of being stranded on campus for two-three hours. This also meant I was the only person in the house who was awake this early. Most days I don’t even recall anyone else getting out of bed before I left. Either was very stealthy [not likely] or my parents and brother were heavy sleepers.
One morning late October or early November, I was going through my routine to get ready for school. It was a bit after 6 AM and the phone rang. Not wanting anyone to wake up, I answered it quickly. There was a male voice on the other end with an unrecognizable accent asking if he could talk to Steve Maggi. I replied that’s me. The guy then said he was calling from South Africa. Oh, I think you want my dad [he’s Sr., I’m Jr.] As Dad was rushing into the living room, saying he was expecting this call, I was telling him, hey there’s some joker claiming to be in South Africa wanting to speak to you, is this a prank from your puckish co-workers? Dad wasn’t too amused but I had a bus to catch.
Later that evening, I found out it was a recruiter trying to see if my dad was interested in working there. This was before Botha declared the national state of emergency but South Africa already had a pretty bad reputation in 1983. We had just moved to this other side of Houston over the last several months, I know I wasn’t keen on moving yet again, and half way across the world to a country neighboring some hostile Third World dictatorships.
The whole experience was still a great crash course on the nation and its state of affairs. My opinion remained negative over their government yet I was now intrigued…because my knowledge of geography got temporarily suspended. I stupidly thought Australia was closer, thus I could visit there during school breaks. This was rectified in a week by glancing over an atlas; imagine how the Internet would’ve solved this misconception faster. Besides, I had never been to another country which wasn’t attached to America. South Africa was going to be a hell of an adventure so I wanted to go, especially after I learned of my parents’ plans if this job came through. Dad would go while the rest of us returned to Springfield. After attending the infamous party during our month there, I preferred to take my chances in a volatile land.
Alas, it fell through. Dad said the interview was a mixed bag. I think some of the details he was given warned him of how unpleasant the place could be. When you think of cities in South Africa, Johannesburg, Cape Town or Pretoria come to mind. Welkum is where this job was. It’s some coal mining place about the size of Peoria, IL that wasn’t close to anything interesting. If I came along, I’d be living in a compound where all the “foreigners” stayed, never getting to see much of the real Welkum. The recruiter said not to bring the TV neither since state television was boring for American tastes. Never mind the PAL v. NTSC matter.
Not going was for the best. As I mentioned earlier, President Botha declared the infamous state of emergency which demonized the nation even further. Reagan didn’t do much yet I think we’d be forced to come home for our own safety. Thankfully, South Africa didn’t meet the same sorry fate Zimbabwe did as so many “activists” in college hoped for.
Posted by: Steve Maggi
| @ November 6, 2008 8:20:35 PM CST ( 0 comments ) |
October is almost over and I have neglected to explain the banner. It does seem rather dated looking because it should. It's an imitation of an Eighties rock station logo, namely WQFM. I found a memorial page to Milwaukee radio which had some of the bumper stickers scanned and posted.
Twenty years ago, I was smack in the middle of my internship with the troubled and doomed WQFM; the parent company finally pulled the plug in 1996, then moved the call letters to another one of its stations in nowhere PA. What did I do? Not much really but I was given the title of intern-producer for the relatively new morning show.
In September, I had my falling out with John Bryson at WMUR. Over the Summer of 1988, the disaffected faction twisted me around to their viewpoint because I foolishly let them. This resulted in a nasty argument in which I painted myself into a corner [stupid ego]. One of us had to go or the friction for the remainder of the semester would be intolerable; the damage was pretty serious. Bryson was the general manager so it looked bleak for me. My brief, successful time as promotions manager was going to end under an ugly, dark cloud.
Then out of the blue, someone from the disaffected faction told me about the internship with WQFM. [Several of those people worked at the station's research department.] I rushed down to the studio, had a brief meeting with the general manager and had an audition the next morning. What the “audition” entailed was sitting around, writing some news copy and editing a taped conversation with a contest winner [it ran too long]. I landed the gig despite the morning show’s primary guy being sick that day.
For the whole semester, I had to wake up at 4-430 AM every week day, trudge down to the studio at Wisconsin Avenue and Sixth and participate helping out the morning show team of Steven Alan Segal and Susie Austin. Sadly, their morning program wasn’t very interesting but it didn’t worry me, I was working [for free] at a commercial station. The experience would look great on my resume and this gig could lead to bigger things. Besides, I needed something to vindicate my decisions, attitude and whatever to shove in Bryson’s face. [What a waste of energy.]
Working with Susie was always great, especially on the days Steven called in sick or went home early. She usually let me operate the main board during the last hour of the show because most people were at work by 9 AM so there were fewer talking breaks. I wish I got to work with Susie more often though. She had a great voice and was an encouraging presence. I only hope Susie survived all the cuts caused by the Republicans’ 1996 law giving Clear Channel, Emmis and other baronies the right to own everything as they homogenized it.
As for the “star,” Steven, he was a different case. I could tell he was under a lot of pressure to turn WQFM’s fortunes around. Anyone who thinks a morning show is the lynchpin to success is an idiot in my opinion, especially if the content during the rest of the day is crap. And whoever decided to go with Steven was even dumber. I’m confident the executive responsible for hiring him was long gone after the ink on his contract dried. To be fair to him, I didn’t hate the guy, I just didn’t think he was the right person for the job. Steven was a competent DJ with two decades of experience, if his stories panned out to be true. I felt he was a better fit for a wussy “mix” or oldies station. Rock stations are locked into this mindset that shows must be loud, obnoxious and usually staffed with bullies. Whenever he was around, I never got to operate the board yet he wanted my input on trying to write something funny; I felt he was trying to use me there. Oh, I still helped him out most of the time because I wasn’t a complete mercenary. Some of the more interesting things I got to do for the show involved production thankfully: recording a DJ in Brisbane to plug the Midnight Oil show; talking to Jack Sikma when he joined the Bucks; meeting comedian Jay Johnstone [the ventriloquist from Soap]; setting up Steven’s left-channel dirty joke of the day [if you care, ask me via e-mail, it was rather lame]; and my report on the big Metallica concert before Thanksgiving. The latter bit seemed funny at first but I think it just demonstrated how out of touch WQFM was on which direction popular music was going.
Things would wrap up around 1030 AM and I’d head back to Marquette to attend class. This usually resulted in me nodding off, especially in Philosophy 050. Most days, I tried to squeeze a power nap at the main library before my late afternoon-early evening classes to prevent the fatigue. It all feels like a blur looking back now, I barely recall which courses I even took. Oddly, I didn’t drop anything neither and I was loaded with 15 hours. How I managed to pull of a 2.70 GPA was a miracle.
My current self would probably call my younger incarnation a complete dope for doing this. Then again, I was in college, my grandparents and loans already covered the lion’s share of the expenses so getting tickets, records or other trinkets in return was adequate for all the sleep I gave up. The goal was to gain experience to give me an advantage at graduation in a couple years because my long-term goal was to become an actual promotions director, not a DJ, program or music director; I never felt I had the talent in those areas. The sacrifice paid off in my opinion. I was lined up to work in the promotions department next semester when I returned from Christmas break and that gig meant I was only needed in the afternoons.
Defecting to the promotions department was a wise move. During my vacation in San Diego [where my parents lived then], Steven was fired and replaced by an even blander loser duo from Bowling Green. The worst part of it was how he found out…through a mean-spirited morning-show plug on a competitor’s station, the much hated WLZR. I think he saw it coming. Steven received little-to-no support from his co-workers. I even recalled one sales executive openly stating how much she hated him and she had a client who complained over an appearance Steven made. Due to a promise I made to Trip Reed [the boss of San Diego’s 91X], I had to see Steven in person one last time to give a gift from Trip. Bitter was an understatement to describe his mood that afternoon. Looking back, I think he might have been hired to be a scapegoat to fuel some kind of coup because there was a new general manager and program director in place as well. Unlike Steven, these predecessors left for greener pastures.
Would I do it all over again knowing what I know now? Probably, since I will never get back the dozens of hours of sleep I lost and no one imagined the horrible consolidation of radio stations happening in the Eighties. Radio remained profitable, relevant and exciting then. Walkmans, CD players and tape decks in cars were no threat in the pre-Internet [as we know it today] era. It would take a couple more semesters of working in this “business” before I wised up to pursue a different career path. My only regret over this point in time is the lost friendship I had with John Bryson because we never patched things up.
Mike “Bax” Baxendale wrote a pretty good history about his time with WQFM if you’re curious. I also found an e-mail address for Susie through the blog Bax posted in. I think I’ll drop her a line, see if she answers because I want to thank her for good time I had and the advice I should’ve taken sooner.
Posted by: Steve Maggi
| @ October 30, 2008 8:43:13 PM CDT ( 0 comments ) |
My return to Austin was going pretty well by now. I was working at Apple again as a temp, I had been to four concerts with two more on the horizon, I found a coffee shop in Round Rock to hang out at [a story for another time] and best of all, I was making new friends. The sudden move out of Mel’s apartment was five weeks behind me and matters over living in Loree’s house were working out well in my opinion because I was barely there. After work, I usually went to dinner, took in a movie, doodled on my PowerBook or hit the coffee shop. When I was home, I was going to sleep or I kept to my room to read a book.
While at Apple, I did make friends with some fellow temps who sat near me: Darren and Ethan primarily. They also knew a couple others: JoAnna and Garrett. We socialized, gabbed and dined together, time permitting. I found them to be a pretty decent group of people to associate with outside of work yet I stayed a tad distant since I was still trying to regain my bearings on Austin. The Mel debacle made me apprehensive too and I wanted a permanent position which narrowed my focus a bit unnecessarily. Then there were the attempts at meeting women which was filled with numerous stops and starts, like hunting for a new job.
One Friday, Ethan invited me to a party at his place [that’s how it sounded to me]. I thought, why not, all I’d do at the end of my shift was eat dinner and see a movie before going home. Ethan gave me directions to some address in northwest Austin and said he’d be late because he was closing the queue. Garrett would get the festivities started so not to worry if I showed up early.
The drive was interesting. In my previous days in Austin, I never ventured deep into other neighborhoods outside of Hyde Park so I factored in additional time for getting lost. Eventually I arrived at the address Ethan gave me. The house was rather…large. I figured I was at the wrong place but I would stick around, wait for Garrett to appear. My thinking was, if I messed up, I would just go home in 30 minutes, apologize on Monday or something [affordable cell phones have changed this line of thinking]. Then I noticed a cat and I couldn’t resist petting him, especially when he appeared to be friendly. He had white fur with black spots [Bunny] and he seemed cool over me picking him up.
Garrett appeared shortly after my cat sighting. I felt relieved, put the cat down and followed the co-host through the garage to the rest of the house. I jokingly blurted out to Garrett that if this is Ethan’s place, he must be putting in more overtime than I originally thought and maybe I should ask for a raise. Turned out the party was happening in Ethan’s parents’ house because they were out of town and Ethan was living with them temporarily. [Garrett’s explanation was more caustic than what I just wrote.] My stupidity continued quickly as I saw the “same” cat walking through the kitchen yet his fur changed to solid gray [Shadow]. I was more interested in how he got into the house though. Cat door and he is a “different” cat, what are you, an idiot was the gist of Garrett’s follow-up. I used the darkness outside as my defense but I readily admitted to not using my entire brain after 5 PM.
Other guests arrived gradually and when Ethan showed, I think we got going on making fajitas. The best part was the tour; Ethan always loves showing off the secret passage he convinced his parents into installing. What a house too. It’s something you’d only see in magazines or TV shows hosted by Robin Leech. I really enjoyed the party too. A nice affair with plenty of food and drink but more importantly, conversation without loud, jarring music drowning out the attendees’ voices.
The evening grew very late and Ethan generously let some of us spend the night. I fortunately got dibs on the Murphy bed in the library which turned out to be improperly installed. What relief I felt when Ethan told me several days later. I was prepared to pay for it since I thought we broke it; one would think a simple lever-like bed folded out easily without making disturbing, cracking noises.
Going to the party was a smart move. It helped me become better friends with Ethan, Garrett, JoAnna and Darren. We would go on to see more concerts, movies, numerous meals, parties and eventually weddings! Hard to believe such a friendly, after-work party would lead to greater, enjoyable memories and relationships. It certainly vindicated my decision to return to Austin and I owe a big debt of gratitude to Ethan for prying me out of the drab routine I had been following.
Posted by: Steve Maggi
| @ October 23, 2008 8:34:28 PM CDT ( 1 comment ) |
The History Channel's website has a nice little synopsis on Alvin York and the events that made him a hero. Too bad he was played by Gary Cooper in the movie since York used his fame to help the poor unlike the actor, a pseudo-disciple of Ayn Rand; Cooper played the lead in The Fountainhead adaptation.
I remember finding a brochure for the York Foundation during one of my drives through Tennessee. It looked pretty enticing. Why? He's the only American war hero I can immediately name who didn't use his past service record to promote himself into a new sleazy career in politics [take your pick here, both parties are guilty].
Posted by: Steve Maggi
| @ October 8, 2008 11:17:19 AM CDT ( 0 comments ) |
Fortunately, my Saturday was booked with Plan B as well as an unsuccessful meeting via Match.com. A lady named Loree in Round Rock was hoping to rent a couple rooms in a house she recently retook possession of; her ex-husband and children lived in it earlier. We had spoken earlier in the month as part of my search but I had to decline thanks to Mel’s poor fiscal skills. I explained to Loree my dire situation and apologized over backing out before. She was cool about it. The other candidates didn’t seem promising, especially the one with a dog. I paid her in advance to prove I was serious. Loree accepted and I proceeded to evacuate Mel’s den of disaster, needless to say, we never spoke again at Apple or elsewhere.
Living way out on was Round Rock’s northern [maybe northwestern] edge was interesting for the six months I was there. Austin didn’t reach this far yet so you could see the stars more clearly. Loree’s house had more contact with the wildlife of Central Texas too. Deer were a frequent sight. One evening I remember laughing over seeing them crossing the main street with a cat. These deer were thinking, “it smells like a predator, but c’mon, look how small it is!” All cats have a lion-tiger-panther mentality. It was contemplating “if I can take down one of these giant mice, my rep is made for life!” Another night involved my first encounter with a tarantula not kept in a pet store. It was trying to cross the street while I was picking up the mail. I shoo’d it across figuring it was somebody’s pet. Loree explained they did reside in the tall grasses with the scorpions. The bigger brush came after I went to sleep. A snake got in the house, freaking Loree out. She woke me to do something. Maybe I was half-conscious or completely stupid at the time. I corralled it on to rat paper she was using to catch intruding toads, rolled it up into a snake burrito and threw it outside. By the next morning it was all gone. Her neighbor was a biologist, his theory was a possum ate it because anything helpless is considered an easy meal to them.
My interim “office” while in Round Rock.
Today there’s nothing but apartment buildings and strip malls along Parmer Lane to the back entrance of her neighborhood. I’m confident they’ve even widened the road to get to the creek behind her house. Loree and I stayed in touch after I moved out. She was a realtor so I returned the favor of taking me in on short notice by having her involved with the purchase of my current house. Loree gave us the pear tree in the backyard as a gift. It’s in great shape, probably over 20 feet tall.
Posted by: Steve Maggi
| @ September 13, 2008 2:00:00 PM CDT ( 0 comments ) |
Things kicked off on Friday night for me with an anxious, optimistic drive from Peoria [work] to Gurnee ['burb bordering WI]. Why such feelings? Well, Cindy agreed to be my guest to the wedding on my birthday and we hadn't seen each other since 1986. There were a few phone calls and letters before then but getting actual face time was nearly impossible until this. Jose was flying in from Orlando too. I really missed him after he left Milwaukee in 1991. Things were looking up for him in 1993; he had decent gigs working at the Fox and PBS stations. This Silder wedding was definitely morphing into a Marquette-Mashuda reunion on a grand scale. The drive was even more ingrained into my memory because I had just completed WMAG #10 which ends with Paul McCartney’s “A Little Luck.” The mix ended perfectly as this song queued up just as I was parking my car into the restaurant to meet Phil and Cindy. It even ended as I turned off the engine! Definitely a positive omen!
We hung out, met Phil's current girlfriend Jill, had a couple drinks and then retired at Phil's place to get ready for a very busy Saturday. The morning was spent picking up Jose from Midway, clearly the length of Chicago; for my fellow Central Texans think of driving from Temple to Bergstrom and back. Jill and Cindy had never met our friend aka the Hoser, but they were curious to see if our stories about him rang true, mainly his use of the word “dude.” I made a bet that he'd say it within ten words after spotting us. Not bad, he did it in five. Jose was initially bewildered over why we were laughing; possibly at him yet he was a good sport when I explained in the car.
Once we dropped off Jose’s stuff at Phil's pad, we spent the remainder of Saturday in Milwaukee showing the ladies our former home: parts of the Marquette campus, the nicer bars on the East Side and a visit with Nelson. During the reminiscing, Jose started the tradition of coining the catch phrase for this celebration. Once a week, he had a voluntary, overnight shift with public-college radio station that played a PSA starring those crash-test dummies from the TV ads. The gist of this one was a foreign-language lesson parody. If you don’t wear a seat belt, be prepared to learn new phrases such as the inside joke “Oosh! My face!” Certainly a favorite I haven’t remembered until lately and hearing Cindy say it was the funniest.
Sunday was the big celebration on the South Side. With our wedding clothes in my car, we rushed down to the hotel to change. We bumped into Eugene [Paul's dad] in the lobby. I asked him how Paul was doing. "Paul's fine, he busy playing golf right now." Then I must've been brain dead because we dudes left to get some White Castle while the ladies changed. [Possibly the old caveman hunting instinct?] This made us late for the actual wedding. I think we came in during the readings yet still in time for Catholic aerobics [see Judy Tenuta]. Helen and Paul definitely had a real Chicago-Southsider wedding because the priest updated everyone on the result of the Bears’ game during the homily, as expected, they lost.
Actually, we’re sober. The photographer said he couldn’t get us
all into the shot unless we huddled together.
The official ceremonies ended around 10 PM so we could carry on at the hotel. In honor of our days as room- and wingmates, Phil, Jose and I filled our room’s tub with ice to store the beer in a makeshift cooler. Paul thought it was a nice touch to remind him of those times in Tower and Mashuda Hall. We later joined the Silders in room hopping to visit all the friends staying there.
Monday morning was the end and it was sad to say goodbye to everyone. Phil I’d see off and on until I left for Austin. Jose would be next Summer for Nelson’s wedding in Milwaukee and Cindy was 1997 when she came to see me. The [new] Silders I knew I was going to keep seeing as I did a month later in celebration of Helen’s birthday. Their wedding’s long-term effect on me was re-evaluation on why I remained in Central IL because it was making me miserable, especially in the wake of the area being a dating desert in my opinion. I wasn’t in any hurry to get married but I figured I would be on the rebound after Carrie sooner than two years by then. At least the Silders gave me a good blueprint on how I would like my wedding to flow. Oh the movie Bachelor Party is funny, just not if you’re in the Tom Hanks role.
So they’ve been married for 15 years now. According to Wikipedia, the gift for them is either crystal or watches. Who comes up with this crap? Crystal what? Watches are even dumber because most people already have several. If I manage something for them, I’ll have to be inventive like I was on cotton for the Lowrys. No, I will not do something goofy such as giving them a Crystal Gayle CD or a case of Crystal Lite drink mix. Helen did want that Plankton watch from Burger King during the Spongebob movie promotion. I love her to death yet eBay would require a second mortgage to get it.
Congratulations! If you know them, drop them a line. Otherwise, I hope you found the story amusing. I need to see if they’ll get the videotape of the reception digitized. I think there’s two versions. The official one from the photographer and the other shot by Helen’s older sister.
Posted by: Steve Maggi
| @ September 12, 2008 2:00:00 PM CDT ( 0 comments ) |
Yesterday was the traditional last day of Summer…even if the weather doesn't agree in Central Texas [it will remain blistering hot for another month easily] or from the time I lived in North Dakota [it was already chilly, overcast and felt like late October in the Midwest]. I guess we must have a national day we can all mentally agree on despite what everybody sees out their windows.
Around this point in 1983 I started attending public school for the first time since Kindergarten. I was really apprehensive after nine years in private-parochial schools because the Catholic Church loves to make up horror stories about their educational rivals; bathroom muggings, flagrant disregard for the teacher and other questionable, violent claims. Never mind the institutionalized bullying I experienced at Strake from the rich kids or the children of the parish bigshots at St. Agnes and St. Matthew. Brian had completed a year in Sugarland’s middle school relatively unscathed except for his pride at sports and a fist fight he had against an Asian kid. If my younger brother survived without being knifed, I figured my odds were good at Clear Creek.
My past monthly tales covering the move, Springfield and Alicia ended up being distractions from seriously preparing myself over this cultural shock. One good thing was my new school’s size, 3000 students. Our frequent complaint of having to be the new kid again was quickly dismissed because nobody would notice and with such a population…nobody cared! No, the upcoming change didn’t sink in until I was up way too late in my room writing a letter or reading and KLOL was playing Robert Plant’s “In the Mood.” The song still evokes strong memories of that evening whenever I hear it; thanks to Austin lacking a Classic Schlock station, it isn’t often.
Mom probably sensed my concerns so she put a nicer spin on the upcoming change. Before the hurricane-evacuation, she took me to Clear Creek for a quick tour. I met the principal for the Sophomores and I remember him coming off as nice. He was no Father Orlando but at least he wasn’t a jerk like vice principal Father Crabbe [no joke on that name!]. Getting to wear jeans every day and seeing classmates openly smoking were odd concepts in the beginning. Mom sweetened the deal when she bought me a new pair of lace-up Vans. Every time I go to the Vans store at the Round Rock Outlet Mall, they never have anything resembling them, only the pull-ons I had in 1985.
The first day was interesting from start to finish. Last week, I impressed my co-worker Bryant by rattling off my exact class schedule and the name of every teacher but one; I will now go out on a limb with Mr. Nolan for Drafting. I never thought it was a difficult feat, I think he just has selective amnesia, especially when it comes to nuclear power’s numerous accidents.
Back to Clear Creek.
Mentally armed by the epiphany in Springfield and the more laid-back attitude of the campus, I quickly found myself really enjoying high school unlike last year. My grades reflected it too because I was on the verge of getting straight A’s for the first time. CC’s lower grading scale helped too. There were negatives: the 45-minute bus ride [it did create reading time for English]; having to get up at 530 am; I got into a fight with a kid on the bus [this blew over]. Still, all the good things which happened overtook these unpleasantries. Mom and Dad noticed fortunately. Their moratorium on me attending any concerts due to mediocre grades was lifted yet not in time for The Police’s farewell tour. I did get a break on Genesis and Duran Duran.
Overall, my brief stint at Clear Creek was one of the happiest times I had during my teen years. Amazing since it’s a miserable one for many with an IQ over 100. There were so many intangible reasons this period gives me a pleasant feeling. It was as if everything in my life was firing on all cylinders. School work finally clicked, I never struggled with it again because I “got it.” I got along with most kids and all teachers. There were even a couple of girls I wanted to ask out [this was impossible at the all-male Strake]. Arguments at home declined until the D&D incident. We were all happier as a family most of the time, so much it was rather an alien sensation. One thing that helped was my parents being bitten by the video game bug; we all spent many evenings at the arcade in Dobie to feed their Ms. Pac Man, Qix and Q-Bert habits. It really appeared that this do-over on Houston was going to work out. Our new life was going to make us forget Springfield and/or have us wonder why we didn’t leave sooner.
Not to worry, Dad rectified this bright spot in time by the following Spring with our move to India-no-place, thus guaranteeing a return to the crappy high school experience we all know. Then amplifying to the next level of misery with North Dakota in another year.
So in honor of this great memory in an angst-ridden past [standard for all teens], Picayune is dolled up in Clear Creek’s official colors, according to their website. I did it last year for Strake, why not Creek. Before you ask, yes, I have researched the colors for my remaining two high schools ahead of time.
The other legacy of CCHS is my friend Sheila. We met in Mrs. Lacy’s Latin III class back then. We didn’t know each other well, only casually as classmates. Our “reuniting” at Marquette was quite a mathematical oddity. I must’ve been quite a big mouth or something if she remembered me enough to ask questions of my past during the WMUR orientation. I do envy her though. Sheila is technically an alumnus of Clear Creek while I am in spirit.
Meanwhile, I will be spending the rest of the year trying to hunt down a pair of maroon high-top Chucks in honor of the anniversary. I think I’ll shoot for a tour of the campus when I’m in the Houston area as well.
Posted by: Steve Maggi
| @ September 2, 2008 10:46:20 PM CDT ( 0 comments ) |
Our return to Houston to finish out the Summer was short lived. After the stressful yet eye-opening month in Springfield, the tropical depression in the Gulf [of Mexico] had become Hurricane Alicia and it was headed for the Houston-Galveston area. Being a Midwesterner, all I knew was what I had seen on the news and disaster movies…the extreme highlights: flooding, rubble, thousands of people drowning, etc. Naturally, I freaked out since I had this recurring thought of Grandma seeing our corpses lying face down in a cesspool on CNN.
Dad didn't seemed worried. I think his co-workers had told him all about their experiences with Houston's past storms. This didn't assuage me. The region’s last serious hurricane was Carla back in 1961. To me, this meant very few really remembered what to expect after 20 years of near misses such as Danielle.
Mom seemed to share my fear because she convinced my father to let us [Mom, Brian and me] load up the newer car and head farther north where the hurricane would be less dangerous. Dad chose to stay behind in case of looters…I guess. We lived in the suburbs so this was unlikely, even in a city as violent as Houston. Before leaving, I packed up everything in my room, then sealed the boxes with plastic bags and stored them all on shelves that were at least four feet high. I was prepared for the house being flooded. Seems rather ridiculous to do if your life is at stake.
The drive north was tense. It wasn't from everybody's nerves being frayed over the pending disaster; this would be understandable. Sadly, Alicia reinvigorated all the recent friction we were having during the previous month in Springfield. Thus our "evacuation" was a continuation of all the unfinished arguments my mother probably wanted to have the final say about [a trait she denies sharing with her mother]. I personally think most of the fighting was the "normal" parental-teenager stuff everybody lives through with a dose of the usual angst 15 year olds have.
We kept going north on I-45 until we felt were safe enough and/or the strain had reached a tipping point, Madisonville. [For years I always thought it was Madison, like the capital of Wisconsin.] Mom scored a hotel room and we hunkered down anticipating the worst from every angle. Just in time too. When the sun set, the wind really picked up as Alicia made its presence felt 200 miles away. The only two strong memories I had of passing the time were my Traveller books and watching The Exorcist on CBS. Those SciFi novels my dad gave me in May provided some inspiration on trying to piece together a more coherent campaign thanks to Traveller having a rather dry, unimaginative set of rules. Besides, doodling ideas is a frequent habit of gamers, especially the GMs. Meanwhile, I clearly remembered what was on TV vividly because the horror movie provided an unusual catharsis. A flick about someone being possessed by the devil is little comfort during a natural disaster, especially for me. I already disliked the genre, it would only heighten my anxiety. On the other hand, there was nothing else on. But when the girl projectile vomited on the young priest, I was “possessed” with a fit of laughter which lasted a few minutes. I know it made me feel much better, enough to sleep through the bulk of Alicia. Too bad it didn’t have the same effect on Brian and Mom.
With the coast being clear, we returned to Houston. The rain was thick yet it wasn’t anything we hadn’t seen before in Midwestern thunderstorms. We didn’t see any signs of devastation to the city which was a huge relief. The house looked great, it only lost a few shingles. There was no electricity though. This resulted in Brian and me arguing over who got to use the battery-powered FM radio until HL&P restored juice to the neighborhood two days later. The nastier surprise was using the community pool. Either its heater was out or all the rain water Alicia provided made it feel colder than Lake Springfield. Thankfully it remained less polluted.
With it all over, I then used to feel embarrassed about my first and only hurricane experience. Alicia did a slew of damage yet it wasn’t Andrew or Katrina, it was just an amped up thunderstorm. Other than it postponing school a week, it didn’t have any long-term effect on my family. We would’ve been better off staying home like the neighbors did instead of panicking like rubes. When classmates at Clear Creek told their stories in Mrs. Lacy’s Latin class, I felt even dumber. Eventually, this passed and by the time we moved back to the Midwest and eventually North Dakota, I recall Alicia being quite the conversation piece.
Epilogue: Somara’s final days in Houston were during Hurricane Alicia. I think she will post her memories in either the comments or on her own page. Hopefully other past and present residents I personally know will do the same: Sonia, Sheila, Mark B, Tom and Jeremy readily come to mind.
For more details, Wikipedia had an author[s] do a great job on it.
Posted by: Steve Maggi
| @ August 17, 2008 4:15:29 PM CDT ( 0 comments ) |
Knowing how long the drive from Memphis to Austin was [unlike in 1994], I chose to spend the $20 on the entire package: the cars, the planes and the more personal articles. It was really cool to see more than the house because the latter stuff put Elvis and his family into a better context on who they were. The standard sample of how much fan mail he received was rather amazing. I lucked out on getting there after the anniversary of his death so it wasn’t packed or crazy. However, most of the fuss was over his 1968 Comeback Special turning 30.
I’ll save all the details about Graceland for another time, namely when I want to reminisce about 1994 or Somara’s first visit in 1999.
With the tours wrapped up, I sent my obligatory post cards and I can’t recall if I bothered with a friend peanut butter and banana sandwich; they don’t serve it exactly the way Elvis liked it because most people find mayo in it gross. I did buy the special soda mug. The King appears on the side if you pour a cold drink in it.
Then the road had to be heeded as I easily crossed Arkansas and into Texas by early evening. Texarkana to Dallas was the dull stretch I always remembered but I knew I was going to be in Austin before midnight while I driving on I-635 at sunset.
Stupidity, stubbornness and impatience got the best of me in Big D.
I accidently got off I-635 too soon for I-45 South instead of waiting to take the I-35E exit miles later. Originally I thought it wouldn’t be a big deal, there’d be something to take me over. What I should’ve done was turn around, eat the loss of time and gas since the certainty of where the Interstates go would’ve be the prudent thing. Instead, I tried to take the lesser roads West in anticipation of stumbling upon I-35. For some odd reasons, the smaller communities south of Dallas don’t like to post signs telling you how far away the major roads are neither.
Being lost soon became the least of my worries. On the outskirts of Ferris, I hit a 90 degree turn too quickly. Oh, I managed to get my VW Golf oriented in the correct direction but the car’s 2600 pounds [2.4 metric tonnes] of momentum continued to pull right into a ditch. I was very fortunate that I didn’t roll the car. What I was now dealing with was a flat tire and humiliation. Two nice people helped me out so I wasn’t stranded for long. The “fun” pas became driving no faster than 45 mph [72 kph] on my Golf’s donut tire from Ferris all the way to Georgetown. I wasn’t able to call Mel, my future roommate, what happened nor where I was until I fond a pay phone off I-35 and my adrenalin levels were down.
I arrived at the Georgetown apartment around 2-3 AM. Thankfully Mel was nice enough to stay up to let me in despite having work at Apple in the morning. I don’t think I bother to unload my car, I figured it could wait until I had unwound and slept.
The next morning I realized how lucky I was. One tire was immediately destroyed in the accident. Another turned out to be slowly leaking. It just managed to hold out for several hundred miles before giving out in the parking lot. Then my charmed-life theory pulled through. Mel’s place was only a couple blocks from a Lamb’s Tire. My hobbled VW easily made it down there for a day of getting four new tires; two flats and two that were balder than Captain Picard. I had barely been back in Austin for a day and I was already down $400.
Matters were looking up after the new set of tires: I had to sign the final paperwork with Adecco and Apple’s new iMac would be in customers’ hands in the next couple days. Besides, I was back in Austin, where I wanted to be.
Epilogue: Those dents remain in my car and are reminders to drive it through the path of least resistance; meaning, stick to the main roads when in doubt and under the speed limit.
Posted by: Steve Maggi
| @ August 12, 2008 8:59:55 PM CDT ( 0 comments ) |
How could I have forgotten this!
Ten years ago, over this weekend, I began my return to Austin by a circuitous route through the Midwest for a well-deserved pseudo-vacation; I hadn’t really taken any serious time off since my New Year’s festivities with Jose in Orlando. Besides, Steve [my artist friend] invited me to tag along with him to GenCon XXXI because his wife Patti wasn’t using the other badge he received as an exhibitor.
Preparations for the move had already been under way after I received Apple’s offer. Anything I wanted to keep but couldn’t take in the car was put into storage. Everything else was pitched. I didn’t have much thanks to the rushed move from Austin to Raleigh the previous year. Quitting my rotten PSW-Nortel job was oddly satisfying and that’s all I’m going to say about it. The check for two months’ rent was painful; I wanted to break my lease legally and I did receive nearly half of it back when the place was re-leased in the Fall.
The money didn’t matter though. I would be back in Austin in two weeks. Meanwhile, this pseudo-vacation meant seeing friends, eating junk food I couldn’t get in Austin and attending the biggest nerdfest [outside of Star Trek] in the world. When I got to Apple, I knew I would be working practically non-stop for at least the next year so I was going to live it up.
August 1st signified the end of Carolina for me! I loaded up my car in record time and was on I-40 for Nashville by 10 am. What a long, dull drive too. I never thought I would reach the western side by sunset but I made the mountains and saw Knoxville, TN by mid-afternoon. Tennessee was a trying leg as well with all its construction which cost me a couple hours. I grabbed dinner in Nashville at a Waffle House and then turned north to I-65 for Louisville; I didn’t think of taking I-24 to I-57, d’oh! On the upside, Louisville had White Castle, a mandatory stop for a mid-evening snack. India-no-place appeared around Midnight so I took the gamble driving on to Bloomington-Normal because I was relatively close. Instead, it turned into a scary marathon of trying to stay awake on I-74 by the time India-no-place was in the rear-view mirror. Unscathed, I did make it to Grandma’s house in once piece around 330 AM only to see my parents’ car in the driveway, Mom didn’t tell me she visiting.
No one answered the door at all and I couldn’t sleep in my car due it being packed with my belongings. So I wandered around the neighborhood, taking mental notes over what changed in four years. When my mother finally got around to being awake to let me in the house. I took a quick nap and probably got lectured over something. By afternoon, I didn’t care since I knew Steve and Patti would be awake. I quickly accepted their offer to couch surf at their house, plus they’d let me keep my car hidden in their garage.
For the next couple of days, I just slept, ate and relaxed because Steve still had to go to work on Monday and Tuesday. We’d leave for GenCon on Wednesday, more about that later. I was just relieved to be finally out of Carolina and excited over what the future had in store.
Posted by: Steve Maggi
| @ August 2, 2008 10:00:00 PM CDT ( 0 comments ) |
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