Don’t Believe A Word I Say with Bob Segarini

The Wack and Roll Circus Hits the Road - Part 7

When you’re young, you can believe in pretty much anything. It starts with Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy, and escalates during your childhood to include Unicorns, Leprechauns, Peter Pan, Alice’s White Rabbit, Brave Little Toasters, Princes and Princesses, and ‘Happily Ever After’. When you hit double-digits, you tend to believe in scoring the winning touchdown, hitting the game winning home run, scoring the winning goal, being the most popular boy or girl in school, being Homecoming King or Queen and getting a pony, (or a Corvette), for Christmas. After that, you can dream of being a rock star, a billionaire, a star athlete, President or Prime Minister…anything is possible. You have a belief system, and your inner child can carry those dreams, that optimism and hope, for the rest of your life…but life can be cruel, and sometimes, reality can change an optimistic child into a sour, untrusting, and pessimistic adult.

People who grow up to be insular and distant, hurt too many times to be trusting, who expect you to fail, to let them down, and who somehow always seem to end up in charge of dreamers, and inadvertently damaging their belief systems as well. For every new idea, there is a nay-sayer, for every creative person, there is a doubter, for every person blessed with vision, there is a person wearing blinders, all because it turned out that Santa didn’t bring what they asked for, their dad couldn’t beat up the other dads, their mom wasn’t the prettiest mom, they struck out with the bases loaded, and the pony or Corvette never came…or they were just born that way, and nothing ever changed.

Still, most of us are capable of believing in the unbelievable. That mom and dad won’t divorce, that we will find our Soul Mate, and that it is possible to get that job, that promotion, stay healthy…and live happily ever after.

So here we are, a bus full of dreamers, stranded by the side of the road in -30 degree Fahrenheit weather, the wind picking up and the roads covered with ice. The GU-11 sits dark and silent, the engine blown, and the nearest town miles and miles away. We are getting dizzy trying to stay warm by lighting cans of Sterno, the fumes dragging us deeper into a bottomless chasm of depression. Every negative word we had ever heard coming back to haunt us, make us doubt ourselves, our quest for stardom, and the formerly good idea of making this trip, our inner children gasping for breath, our hope fading, and our asses freezing off in the middle of nowhere.

And then…just when the gloom was becoming impenetrable, Melanie Bishop shouted excitedly, “I think I see a light!” I looked up. I saw a million snow covered trees. I did not see a light. I told Mel as much.

“No! Seriously…I saw a light, through the trees…there!” she said, pointing into the Currier and Ives landscape we were destined to die in. “It’s the Sterno”, someone offered, “she’s hallucinating.” “I am NOT!” Mel shouted, starting to get pissed, “There’s a fucking light out there!” “C’mon Paula, I’ve got to pee.”

And so, while the rest of us tried to figure out what to do, Mel and Pete and their inner children walked into the forest, denying the negative, ignoring the hopelessness, and sure there was a pony, a touchdown, and a happily ever after, somewhere nearby…

Leanne Lockwood and the Miracle of Trout Creek…

From Ernie Earnshaw’s Journal…January 16^th 1972 To quote a poem where the author’s name escapes me, “My ganglia, danglia.” Raw nerve endings. Norm goes to puke. I should have gone to the fights with Randy. Then I’d have a reason for my rank feeling. 12:5 Underway. Lotta snow, lotta wind. 13:00 Noticed funny oily smell. It persists. We stop. 13:20 Inspection reveals oil flying everywhere and dripping and landing on the engine. Diagnoses: seized piston/or a burnt piston. In short (no pun intended) a burnt engine. The ultimate indignity. What a trip! “Goddamnit” say Norm. 13:30 B1RD departs to phone for AAA tow and try to rent a car. The GU-11 will go back to Hurley and hopefully we can go on to Montreal in our giant rent-a-car, (fingers are crossed), and the world waits breathlessly for word of the Wacks. 13:47:30 Everyone’s trying. Now begins the long wait for rescue. Hysteria, (friendly), is setting in. Bob is thankful. For what, I’m not sure, but there are worse alternatives, which I won’t go into now. We’re somewhere on Michigan 28 between Bruce Crossing and Trout Creek. In Michigan. 13:57:30 B1RD is back with word. Help is on the way.

Bob: “Ya gotta realize this is serious”

(All laugh.) The tow truck is about one hour (?) away. This is indelibly etched into my mind for at least a couple of days. Every quote could go in here but that’s (Bob – “This is a catastroclone!”) This is the case I call #6694 (The Hurley Incident.) 14:09 Bob is hot, figuratively speaking, that is. Hot point. We’re gonna all marry each other. 14:15 Everyone is bananas!! Scream, howl, yelp, yelp, yelp, yelp.

Mel: “I need a finger!”

Ern: “There’s a brown coat around my toothpick.”

Bob: “Does that mean it’s gonna rain?”

Mike: “My faith in human nature…”

Pete: “…is just starting now!”

14:30 A concerned citizen stopped to ask if we needed help, which led to the above exchange. We’re trying to listen to the Super Bowl, but it’s tough. Mainly ‘cause it ain’t started. 14:38 We just ruined the Nat’l Anthem. The game is on. Gawd it’s crazy.

We’re playing show and tell. Mike is showing his knife and everything else but the kitchen sink contraption.

15:10 Still waiting, reliving in glorious color hindsight, Norm’s fight. B1RD still not back and still no tow truck.

Norm: “Where’s Erick Fromme?”

Ern: “Chicago, I think.”

15:15 General Trochim is here with bad news. No rent a car one way. We is up shit’s creek. We made it to within 250 miles of the Canadian border. It looks like we go back to Hurley. More info later. BUMMER!!!!!

It was either the Sterno, or the Wackers’ absurdist sense of humour that got us through the worst part of our latest crapfest. It was just so fucked up you had to laugh, or succumb to the ‘Gloomy Gus’ syndrome and just give up. No way would we do that. We were the 5 Crazy Assholes, Goddammit, and we would either walk away from this latest setback victorious, or take all the Quaaludes and die humping various parts of the interior of the Gull and dozing off for good.

Each new piece of information makes our dilemma worse, yet so unbelievably ridiculous, the tense atmosphere in the GU-11 becomes lighter and gives way to a serious case of the sillies, sprinkled with the kind of glib repartee usually associated with David Niven and George Sanders, and later, George Clooney and Brad Pitt in one of their little comedy movies, akin to the shared, nervous reaction to finding yourself being forced to watch a Three’s Company marathon, or trapped in a ditched airplane in the Andes, full of hungry soccer players.

From Melanie’s Journal…January 16^th,1972 We’re all in the van breathing the Sterno fumes and losing our minds. Paula and I got out to pee and to do so we walked a little way off the road into some bushes. Several yards into the woods we did see a light! It was the porch light in front of a little white house. We decided to go back and tell the guys that we were going to walk to the house and see if we could get help. When the van door opened the strength of the toxic fumes was intense. I knew then that we all had to get out of the van or we would die. So Paula and I headed off. I remember we crossed a frozen creek on a little bridge…

There we are, stranded in the middle of nowhere, miles from the nearest town, and hours from any kind of rescue. It is Super Bowl Sunday, with probably nothing open anywhere, very little traffic because most people had their butts parked in front of a TV either at home or in a bar, to watch Miami and Dallas go at it in New Orleans, and at the very most, the best we could hope for was to get a tow back to Hurley, and lose not only another day, but possibly, the Montreal booking as well.

All we could do was sit in that freezing, useless piece of German engineering, and wait.

There was an excited knock on the passenger side window.

Mel and Paula.

We slid open the door.

‘We saw a house! Maybe phone! Going to check it out! Told you so! Light! House! Little bridge! Gonna check it out!” They’re giddy, babbling like brooks. Before anybody can say anything, they turn and, knee deep in snow, start trudging back the way they came. Five minutes after they disappear into the woods for a second time, Norm says, “Aw, fuck. We’d better go find them”, and off we went. Norm does not look well at all.

I forget who it was, probably Steve and Tim, who stayed behind to wait for the tow truck. They would look for us later if we didn’t come back.

I have thought about this, off and on, for years. There was absolutely no way anyone could have predicted what awaited us in the little white house in the woods.

From Melanie’s Journal…January 16^th, 1972

We got to the door and we could see a little old lady rolling cigarettes at a kitchen table. She opened the door and invited us in her house. It was WARM, something delicious smelling was cooking in the oven. There was coffee brewing as if she had been expecting a van load of freezing hippies from California. We explained our situation and she said sure you all could come in. Her husband (imaginary I think) was out of town. I think Cheryl and the guys got worried about us and came to see where we were, just about the time we were going back to get them…

When we knocked on the door it was Mel that swung it open. “We were just coming to get you!” she bubbled, a grin stretching across the whole of her little face. It was the biggest smile I’d seen in ages. We marched into the cozy, warm and inviting room, which seemed much larger than it appeared to be from outside. A kitchen, living room, and dining area all in an open concept, (the first I think, I’d ever seen), and decorated like a Norman Rockwell painting of Grandma’s house, circa 1955. The Super Bowl was on the television in the corner, which was surrounded by enough sofas and chairs to accommodate all of us.

Weird.

It got weirder…

The stove was covered with pots and pans simmering away. There was something in the oven. The dining room table was set for 11 people, all of our party, and the old woman, who introduced herself to us as Leanne Lockwood. There was enough food to feed everyone.

Later, we would discover that the upstairs contained exactly enough beds for three couples, and four singles, not counting Ms. Lockwood, whose bedroom was off the kitchen.

I would lay awake most of the night, waiting for Rod Serling…

From Ernie’s Journal…January 16^th, 1972 Ernie…16:35 The ladies (Pete and Mel) went to wee-wee and lo, we find ourselves drinking hot coffee in the home of Leanne Lockwood in Trout Creek, Mich. What a fine, fine fluke. The Sterno and cold down on the road was getting way, way beyond. Leanne has two fine kitty cats in the yard, no less. The things happening to us on this cruise are unbelievable. Even now, I have severe brain lock while digging this comfort, I ain’t gonna write no more for now. I’m gonna watch the Super Bowl. Yesterday it was -40? here. Today about -20?.

17:50 I’m going for the car. SHIT!

Paula… 21:45 Bob called the rent-a-car place and Ernie and those guys were there, and on their way back here. Mrs. Lockwood fed us all and brought out some fudge and other sweets. Incredible woman. Randy had a temp of 103? a while back, but it’s normal now. Mel called Dr. Morgan to ask about Randy’s head. He doubted that he had a concussion and said no Q’s for him or any other dose. Ernie, you’re going to have to get the rest of what happened when you were gone, cause I was too spaced out and didn’t write stuff down and don’t want to interrupt everyone now, they’re watching a movie.

This whole trip has been so full of flip-flop extremes. Crazy Trout Creek people – hospitable, trusting people. Melanie and I were completely blown away by Mrs. Lockwood’s trust. (Us Californians aren’t used to that). Freezing cold car, warm roomy beds! Melanie brought candy bars and soda pop – homemade stew, spaghetti and various sweets. Either things are the shits or their just “Hunky-Dory”. I say “What gives???”

Ernie…22:27 Back at the Lockwoods after a power run to Houghton in the B1RD. Rented a ’72 Chevy Bel Air and came on back. Good to know my age is good for something besides slow recovery from vigourous excersize. The trip was fairly uneventful. Just another piece of dirty business that’s part of my job as SKY FARNHAM, Brigidier Colonel. 22:49 Getting underway for Marquette to rendezvous with Kootch and Steve. THANK YOU MRS. LOCKWOOD.

Over the years several of us have tried to find Leanne Lockwood, or her family, to thank her for her incredible kindness. We had so much to thank her for. The comfort we so desperately needed, the help she offered in reducing Norm’s fever and allowing him to get enough rest to recover from his ordeal in Hurley.

How, in the vastness of the rural area we were traversing, could we have found this haven? The odds against it must have been enormous. Then there were the overwhelming coincidences. Why was she preparing such a large meal? Why was the table set for 11 people when she was clearly there alone, and no one ever dropped by or called her while we were there? How was it possible that the right amount of beds would be available, all made and waiting, as though she were expecting us?

Since that night we have tried many times to locate the little white house, and the woman who came to our rescue these many years ago. We have never succeeded.

I believe it was Mel that called Trout Creek earlier this year with inquiries about Leanne, and the Lockwood family, only to be told that there was no record of anyone by that name having ever lived in the area.

My inner child tends to believe that…

Next: The closest call of all.

Continued next Wednesday in The Rock Files…

That’s enough for now. Email me at segarini@fyimusic.ca with your comments, complaints, and thoughts…and remember…don’t believe a word I say.

Bob “The Iceman” Segarini was in the bands The Family Tree, Roxy, The Wackers, The Dudes, The Segarini Band, and Cats and Dogs, and nominated for a Juno for production in 1978. He also hosted “Late Great Movies” on CITY TV, was a producer of Much Music, and an on-air personality on CHUM FM, Q107, SIRIUS Sat/Rad’s Iceberg 95, (now 85), and now provides content for radiothatdoesntsuck.com with RadioZombie, The Iceage, and PsychShack. Along with the love of his life, Jade (Pie) Dunlop, (who hosts and writes “I’ve Heard That Song Before” on RTDS), continues to write, make music, and record.