Zane’s father, Phillip, was easy to be around. He had a relaxed air about him, often teasing the boys, and occasionally throwing a football around with them in the backyard. He didn’t even get annoyed and call them butterfingerswhen they failed to catch the ball. Phillip was the owner of a thriving appliance store (McCreight’s Reliable Appliances), and like any successful man, he came home content with his place in the world.
He introduced Mike to astronomy, hauling his telescope out one night during the Lyrids meteor shower and letting Mike have the first look through the lens. Zane got bored and went back inside to readArchiecomics, but Mike stayed outside with him for a full hour while Phillip pointed out various constellations and planets. He said something that gave Mike hope for the first time in his young life. “Whatever I’m going through, no matter how bad, I can look up at the stars and know that there’s a whole universe out there, filled with possibilities for each of us. We don’t have to stay stuck, Michael. We can always move forward or move on.”
Two months later, Mike slept over on a Friday night. The boys watched an episode ofThe Twilight Zoneon which an Air Force pilot from 1917 goes missing into a strange cloud, only to reappear forty-two years later. Mike, without thinking about it, muttered, “I wish my dad would fly into that cloud.”
“I wish he would too.”
They were both silent for a minute, then Zane said something that caused tears to spring into Mike’s eyes. “You’re part of our family now. You’re the brother I don’t have. And I promise you, none of us will ever hurt you like that.”
From that point on, Zane’s house felt like Mike’s real home—a reprieve from his father’s rage and from trying to prop up his mother, who had what she called ‘the blues’ again. On the days when he did have to go home, he’d put on her favorite Everly Brothers album. As soon as ‘All I Have to Do is Dream’ came on, it would rouse her from her boozyafternoon nap. It was risky. He never knew what version of her he’d get. Some days, she swore under her breath while she stumbled to the bathroom, calling over her shoulder for him to ‘shut off that racket.’ On other days, she’d pretend nothing was wrong. She’d smooth out her hair and ask him how school was, then pour herself a drink while saying, “I did so much housework today, I wore myself out,” even though it only took a quick glance around to see it wasn’t true. The worst days, though, were the ones when she’d smile, teary-eyed, and hug him too much while she said she was sorry. He’d tell her it was okay and that he understood, which he already did to a certain extent. He was too young to know how awful it was to live a life that wasn’t meant for you, but hedidknow how he felt soothed after a big, long glug of vodka that went straight to his head.
After her sloppy apology, she’d set to work making something for supper—macaroni and cheese if she was up for it, or fun little Spam sandwiches with the crusts cut off and toothpicks sticking out of the tops. She’d sing along while she prepared their dinner, swaying to the music, and while they ate, she’d recite a poem or a meaningful passage from a novel she’d studied in school. It amazed him that she could remember all those words in the right order after all those years. “I was really something, Mike. I could’ve been a professor,” she’d say, even though she’d told him that a thousand times already.
He would nod and smile at her. “You bet you could’ve, Mom.”
His young heart would squeeze so hard it felt like it was in danger of bursting and he would wish to God that there was something he could do to fix this sad woman. Deep in his bones, he knew it was his father’s fault. When Mike climbed into his bed (with Charlie already asleep on theother side of the small room), he’d pray his father would be killed soon. A plane crash, a nuclear bomb mishap (although that might take out the entire town), or maybe a car accident on the drive home. Mike knew his mom would get better if his dad never came home again. But his dad kept coming home, and his mom kept drinking, and Mike spent more and more nights at Zane’s.
One evening in the late spring, they had a camp-out in Zane’s backyard. They lay in the small canvas tent on top of their sleeping bags, trying to figure out how they could find a couple of girls to go steady with them. The situation was getting desperate. Their freshmen year was nearly over and neither of them had even kissed a girl, let alone copped a feel. It was getting downright embarrassing. “The problem is they only want jocks.”
Zane turned on his side to face his friend. “Maybe we could train super hard all summer and come back to school in the fall ready to play something.”
Mike stayed on his back and looked over at Zane. “Like what?”
“Football?”
“Nah, we’re both too small.”
“Swimming?”
“Can you swim?”
“A little. You?”
“Doggie paddle, but I don’t like it when my hands get all wrinkly like raisins.”
“Hmph. What about tennis… or track?”
“Girls don’t care about tennis. Track, though…”
They lay there quietly, each reliving the recent track meet, at which they both came in near the bottom of the pack. Then Zane said, “All right, forget that. What else do girls like?”
“Elvis,” Mike said. “But I don’t think we can turn ourselves into The King.”
“Especially you with that buzz cut.” Zane stood up in the middle of the tent, hunched over while he moved his hips around. Putting on his best Elvis voice (which wasn’t even close to the real deal), he said, “But maybe I could.” Then he started singing ‘Hound Dog,’ which sounded a whole lot better.
Zane sang the entire chorus before collapsing onto his sleeping bag, laughing like crazy at himself. But Mike wasn’t laughing. Mike was thinking. He sat up and waited for his best friend to quiet down. Then he said, “That’s it, Zane. That’s how guys like us get girls. We start a band.”
1966
Four long years and still no girls. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. Paula Swartz let Mike put his hand up her sweater in the parking lot after the homecoming dance, which ended abruptly when her father pulled up in his Studebaker. Zane was hot and heavy with Janice Pendergrass for two whole days (lots of kissing with so much tongue they both had to wipe off their mouths each time). It ended when Zane’s gum got stuck in Janice’s hair. Between the sight of that pink viscous substance clinging to her mouse-brown curls and all that face wiping, they were both pretty turned off by the whole ‘making out’ thing. But other than those rather limited—and disappointing—experiences, having a band hadn’t yielded the throngs of groupies for which the pair longed.
But something strange had happened. They started toplay for the love of playing. Neither of them knew exactly when it changed, (maybe when they each got over the steep hump of learning music that feels impossible until you’re on the downslope). At some point between freshman and junior year, they discovered music could fill your soul right to the top and neither could imagine doing anything else with their lives.
Mike sang backup and played bass while Zane was the band’s lead vocals and guitar. They picked up a drummer, Steven Moore, in sophomore year. Steven was their obvious first choice for two very solid reasons: 1) Mr. Monds had gifted him a pair of drumsticks when he was handing out instruments, and 2) Steven had way better hair than Paul Fullum, the only other drummer they knew. Paul had what Zane’s mom described as ‘Irish hair,’ meaning it was thick enough to give the impression of being a toupee. It was also red, whereas Steven had exactly the right amount of dark brown hair to be attractive to the opposite sex.
They called themselves The Milky Way Trio because they were certain to become the biggest band in the entire Milky Way. All their free time—and there was a lot on account of the lack of girls (despite Steven’s dreamy hair)—was spent practicing and writing songs. Their first couple hundred originals were laughable imitations of anything in the Billboard Top 40.
They fumbled their way through their Beach Boys phase, writing a cringe-worthy version of ‘California Girls’ called ‘Northwest Dolls.’ They became crooners like Sammy Davis Jr and Dean Martin, which turned out to be worse. But then in 1965, The Who came out with ‘My Generation,’ and The Rolling Stones released theNo. 2album, with songs like ‘Time is On My Side’ and ‘What a Shame,’ and the boys found their sound. Rock and roll with some R&B sprinkledin. They let The Stones guide them to Muddy Waters, Buddy Guy, and Howlin’ Wolf. From then on, everything they did was loud and raw and so fast they could hardly keep up with themselves.
