I’m a college student in an arena full of fresh-faced tweens and teens, all hopped up on free candy and wholesome vibes, and we’re awaiting an appearance by one of rock’s most beloved good-time bands – the Prefab Four! So why in heaven’s name am I leaning over a guardrail, screaming the names of the Seven Deadly Sins into the din?
First things first. My friend Sam and I were just looking for a little mindless diversion on that November Sunday – privileged with the rare use of an automobile and searching the Chicago Tribune’s weekend section for someplace to drive it. When we saw the listing, buried in minuscule type, it seemed too good to be true – a concert at the Rosemont Horizon featuring the reunited Monkees, the pretty dude from Herman’s Hermits, and a couple other ’60s has-beens, and tickets were only $10! The 5 p.m. start time seemed a bit suspicious – did the Monkees need to play Early-Bird Specials for their geezer fans? – but nonetheless we piled into Sam’s borrowed lime-green Oldsmobile and headed west.
It wasn’t until we reached Chicagoland’s premier concert arena that we began to realize what we were in for. As we drove into the parking lot just before 6 p.m. (having figured even the Monkees were too rock ‘n’ roll to take the stage at 5), the electronic marquee scrolled through a list of upcoming concerts and DePaul basketball games, then finally flashed the phrase, “Tonight – Monkees CYO Event.”
“Motherf**k!!” Sam yelled. Oblivious, I asked him what could have provoked such a response. His hands tugging despairingly at his white-boy afro, he replied: “Catholic. Youth. Organization.”
Now, I grew up in a small town in the South – the type where bitter people (mostly Protestants) cling to their guns and religion. So while I grew up a heathen, at least relatively speaking (my family were Unitarians, and we only occasionally practiced that), until I went to college in the Big City I had little experience with the phenomenon known as the Lapsed Catholic. I quickly learned, however, that the Formerly Faithful can be divided into two groups: those who are merely dismissive of the dogmas of their youths, and those who are downright angry. Sam was the angry type … so much so that his back would stiffen at the first mention of religion, and the slightest disagreement over the merits of belief would send him into an apoplexy of cursing and red-faced denunciation. (This trait somehow never completely ruined his friendship with his roommate, who shortly after graduation decided to enter the priesthood. Swear to God.) (more…)
This week I received word that an old high school classmate, Steve Zella, is missing after a kayak accident in the Texas community where he works and lives with his wife and two children. Steve and I were not best friends; in fact, we didn’t even run in the same circle of people. Still, in the short time that I knew him he was always the sweetest, nicest guy you could meet. A good soul, you might say. The randomness of his accident and the fact that he has two young children who are missing him has saddened me greatly these past three days. It has definitely given me pause to reflect on the important things in life.
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