Todd would arrange the meeting, but not for another year. In the meantime, Mike and Zane were to finish high school, the band was to choose a new name, and they would write more songs—good ones with mature lyrics and catchy tunes. Nothing folksy, cheesy, or meant for teenyboppers. Real rock and roll with lots of guitar riffs, driving beats, and stories that drew people in. Todd suggested they write about the moment they were having. They were standing on the edge of a cliff, and when they leaped, they would either soar through the skies to riches and fame, or they would crash on impact. “Capture what you’re feeling right now and bottle it up. It’ll sell like cold soda on a hot day. And get yourselves a good manager—someone you can trust to book gigs, keep track of your money, and arrange for transportation and lodging. If he’s built like a brick shithouse, all the better. That way he can carry equipment and do security work for you while you’re getting started.”
They were to get as many gigs as they could—dive bars, weddings, bar mitzvahs. “Get in front of as many people as you can. Polish your act. Make it your own, not some third-rate imitation.” Then he gave them one last piece of advice. “Now is also the time to say your vows to each other.”
Zane snorted out a laugh at the idea of making vows to his buddies.
“I’m serious,” Todd told him. “Make promises you’ll keep. Set limits on what you will and won’t do, because once you get out on the road, you’ll need to know that stuff. I’ve seen many a great band call it quits because they started chasing the same woman when there’s no need to do that. There’ll be plenty of girls to go around. Don’t get too big for your britches. Nobody likes a selfish prima donna whoinsists on having all the accolades.” Todd had one last look at each of them. “And for God’s sake, work every bit as hard as you want your bandmates to. It’s like a marriage—each person has to pull his own weight. Be there for each other because this thing you’ve got here…” he said, pointing to each of them, “…is your one shot at greatness.”
AUGUST 1967
ZANE
Todd made good on his promise to set the boys up with Larry White. The date was set for August 7, 1967—a Monday night, when the venue, The Bitter End in New York’s Greenwich Village, would be nearly empty because the entire city will have gone to the Catskills or Coney Island to escape the stifling summer heat. Larry, who was moving to L.A. to take over as president of Full Moon Records, had one hour free, and agreed to show up to check out their band, which had been renamed Cosmic Zoo.
The name was both highly polarizing and hotly debated. Mike, who came up with it, maintained that it suited them perfectly because the word zoo spoke of the chaos that was the band and cosmic hinted at the future, which is where they’d lived in their imaginations their entire lives. Steven said it made them sound like a bunch of caged mental patients. Rusty, who had stayed on with the band, was more diplomatic and said it was fine for now, but people might not take them seriously as artists. Zane, who secretly hated it, wanted to protect Mike’s feelings, suggested they keep their minds open in case somethingthey all agreed on popped up. Kitty said that it didn’t matter what they called themselves if they couldn’t play, so they better shut up about it and get back to practicing already. As usual, Kitty was right.
A lot had happened since that first concert on the McCreights’ driveway. Mike’s mother and Charlie were killed in a single-vehicle collision in the middle of August. She hit a tree on the way home from Boy Scouts after having polished off half a bottle of gin at dinner. Mike refused to talk about it after the funeral. The only time he brought it up was in November, when he told the guys he couldn’t make it to practice that Saturday because his father was getting remarried. His new wife was a secretary on base who swiftly scrubbed the house of any evidence of Donalda and Charlie, replacing their pictures with ‘happy art’ and making it clear it was best if Mike found somewhere else to live as well. “It’s too hard on your father. You remind him of what he lost.”
So, June converted her sewing room into a bedroom suitable for a young man and Mike moved into the McCreights’ house permanently. Other than one time when he bumped into his father in front of the bank, he never saw him again.
Rusty quit college, which nearly put an end to his relationship with his parents. He and Kitty got married in a civil ceremony at the courthouse so she could support him while they waited for their big break. She got full-time hours as a salesclerk in the Sears girls’ clothing department. She did so well, the boss asked her to run the Sears Charm School on Saturday mornings, which brought in enough cash for her and her new husband to go out for a nice steak dinner once a month.
The guys found jobs that allowed them to work day shifts, leaving their evenings free for practices and gigs.Steven’s dad hired him and Rusty to work as laborers for his construction crew. Mike worked in the laundry at the hospital (which was not a great fit for someone with a weak stomach). Zane delivered the newspaper first thing every morning, then went straight to Mr. Magic Car Wash for the seven to three shift where he buffed cars and flirted with lonely housewives.
Their music teacher, Mr. Monds, gave them their first real audience. They played a fifteen-minute set at the back-to-school hot dog and soda lunch. There was no budget to pay them, but Mr. Monds told them to help themselves to a hot dog. It was a disaster. Rusty’s D-string snapped during warm-up, and he had to play without it. Steven’s drumming was too fast and the other guys had trouble keeping up. Somehow, however, a few girls sat up and took notice of them. Unfortunately, it was only a handful of fourteen-year-olds. But Mike and Zane grinned at each other anyway. When their set was over, Mr. Monds made a point of asking when they were planning to go to college.
In December, Dean Wilks, Rusty’s best friend, came home from college after getting expelled for starting a gambling ring in his dorm. Dean started hanging out with the guys in the McCreights’ garage, and it turned out, he had an ear for music and a talent for settling things down when they got a little heated. Dean checked almost all the boxes of a manager as given to them by Todd—he was trustworthy, built like an ox, and didn’t mind going out to get them a few paid performances. (He wasn’t so good at negotiating a decent rate, but the guys all agreed that’s the sort of thing that takes time and experience to perfect.)
By February, they were calling him their manager. By March, he got them a regular gig on Tuesday nights at Pattison’s Rollercade, and much to their surprise and delight,some of the girls from their hot dog lunch show started showing up every week to see them, but even better, they started bringing their older sisters.
So, by August, Cosmic Zoo was as ready as they’d ever be to take their shot. Steven’s mom lent them her station wagon, and the band, along with Dean and Kitty, set off across America with fame and fortune waiting on the opposite coast. They laughed and sang and sweated and argued and slept and had several near misses on the road that they would never tell Steven’s mom about. Steven, Kitty, and Rusty threw out suggestions for the band’s name whenever they passed by something interesting. “How about The Idaho Five?”
“We’re not from Idaho and there are only four of us.”
“It’s got a good ring to it though, right?”
“No.”
What about The Milkshakes? The Falcons? The Young Geezers? No. No. Absolutely not.
They all took turns driving—Zane was the worst at it, Kitty the most reliable, and Mike the fastest. Dean kept careful track of their expenses in a notebook that was originally purchased for calculus homework. They ate gas station food, and budgeted for one diner meal per day, but occasionally let themselves have two. The closer they got to New York, the less Mike ate and the quieter they all got, until finally, on August 7th at three o’clock in the afternoon, they pulled up in front of The Bitter End in near silence. Smoke from a wildfire hung in the sticky, hot, still air, and it felt like the kind of place you hurry to get away from, not the kind of place at which you arrive. It was a different planet altogether, closed in by towering buildings and concrete, and they all felt lost and a little scared, although none of them were about to admit it. The club itself looked smallerfrom the outside than they’d built up in their minds, but within those brick walls, history had been—and would be—made.
“Well, this is it,” Kitty said, pulling the keys from the ignition.
“Yup,” Rusty answered.
“We made it,” Steven added. “Good job, everybody.”
Mike said nothing. Instead, he opened the back, passenger-side door and puked into the gutter.
They were all silent for a few seconds, then he said, “I got that over with. Let’s go wow a music producer.”
“Listen, before we go in there, I want to say something,” Zane said, his heart pounding in a strangely slow, hard way he’d never felt before. “I’ve been thinking about what Todd said. About saying our vows to each other and figuring out what our rules are.”
Steven held up one hand dramatically. “I, Steven Moore, take thee, Zane, Mike, and Rusty, as my lawfully unwedded band. I promise to give it my all every night on stage and show up for rehearsals and recording on time, every time.”
Zane pursed his lips. “Very funny. I’m serious though. This is it. Right now. We have to know who we are before we walk through those doors.”
“Zane’s right. It’s important,” Mike said.
