“The secret of genius is to carry the spirit of the child into old age, which means never losing your enthusiasm.”---Aldous Huxley
A couple of weeks before the Leonardo’s 706 dinner celebrating the publication of Marty Jourard’s paean to Gainesville, Music Everywhere, I was discussing important world events with my old pal Chuck LeMasters and his friend and mentor Leonard Weinbaum. Thrilled at the thought of citizens of the sixties and seventies back in town for the dinner, Chuck prodded, “Y’gotta have the BIG reunion, Bill, nobody else can do it. Everybody would come. It’s getting late, some of us can’t hold on much longer.”
I told him I’d think about it. Leonard looked askance. “Why would you ever want to do something like that, Bill? It’s WAY too much trouble. Think of all the time and money it would take. You’d be buried.” Weinbaum had a good point and I knew it. I offered the hint of a smile and reflected on the matter. “Yeah, but it’s the only way all these people will see one another again. The only way I’ll see most of them,” I told him. Leonard nodded and reckoned he understood.
At Marty’s dinner, Chuck was in heaven, excited and renewing acquaintances across the room. In addition to Marty’s crew, old Circus workmates Bob Sturm and Ricky Childs were in attendance. LeMasters hopped around the bistro taking photos of everyone, unusually animated. Later, as the evening waned, he said “This has been great, Bill. I feel like I can die now.” I’m pretty sure he was kidding, but I got his gist. “Don’t die yet,” I told him. “I’m thinking about The Big One.”
The years and places where people spent their adolescence are extremely memorable, more so if they were in the Austins, the Berkeleys or the Gainesvilles of this world. The Dawn of The Age of Aquarius just wasn’t the same in Butte or Roanoke. Sometimes, memories get a little fuzzy and it seems like everyone in’70s G’ville played a musical instrument for free in someone else’s back yard while marijuana smoke swirled over the scene and instant romances dotted the perimeter.
Summertime, and the livin’ was easy. Pretty much the same in the other three seasons as well. Those were the days, my friend, we thought they’d never end, etc. The juices flowed, optimism reigned, anything was possible. We learned something new every day. We fell in and out of love. We were often ecstatic and occasionally destroyed, sometimes ambitious and rarely contritious and we tried real hard to Be Here Now.
We searched for The Way, the Truth and the Light, though it was like catching lightning in a bottle. LSD gave us the Secrets of the Universe but we forgot to write them down. We tried Free Love but got jealous, we tried communes but got frustrated, we tried meditation and got bored. We discovered that we were more and less than we’d thought. We got by, though, with a little help from our friends. Ah, those friends who brightened our days, brought laughter to our nights, smoothed our rough edges! What happened to them, where are they now, those angels and demons, those growers and bakers and candlestick-makers? We’d give anything to see them one more time. Maybe it’s not too late.
Homeward Bound
Home where my thought’s escaping,
Home where my music’s playing,
Home where my love lies waiting silently for me.”---Paul Simon
Therefore (clash of cymbals, please) we at The Flying Pie are pleased to announce the Subterranean Circus Grand Reunion, subhead: “Last Tango In Gainesville” on May 7 and 8 of 2022. Some things are tentative because of uncertainty as to the size of the crowd, but we expect an EVENT of legendary proportions with a massive audience. The invitees include the staff of the Circus and all of its customers, which is pretty much everybody who was in town between 1967 and 1990. No liquor, no children, no evangelists, no security peacocks, please. In one scenario, the affair could be held at two places on consecutive days from noon to 6 p.m., after which the hosting venue would throw an afterparty where you can glug alcohol to your heart’s content. In another, we’d be in a vast open area where liquor would be verboten due to insurance limitations. A few of you might remember where you put your flasks.
Less than famous (but very good) area bands will play music of the era. Sure, you might like someone famous but consider the awful results; thousands of people overfilling the town, jamming the venue and keeping many reunioners out. The acts will be interspersed with local rock relics who are feeling their oats and feel the need to get up on stage. We will encourage musical spontaneity, of course, but ringmaster Montana Thacker will be equipped with a big whip to keep overenthusiastic musicians from playing Eight Miles High for more than three hours.
The notorious Sherry Bianchi will be there in her secret identity of Sherry Snyder to greet any old customers of The Pub who somehow remain living. George Swinford will do the same for ex-barmates of Lillian’s if he lives that long. And we’ll have dozens of mystery guests, of course. It’s a mystery because we have no idea who they’ll be. Maybe Mike Garcia, esteemed president of the Florida Olive Council, will appear to regale us with a few choruses of the filthy Good Ship Venus. Dean Lester Hale could appear with his uke to strum My Little Grass Shack in Kealakekua, Hawaii. Marty Jourard is almost guaranteed to break out the saxophone to belt out Stairway To The Stars. Oh, it’ll be joyful. Leave Aunt Fannie at the nursing home that weekend. She couldn’t handle the doobie toss, let alone the naked septuagenarians playing bongos.
We Get By With A Little Help From Our Friends
On the first day of each month, there will be an advisory on Bill’s Facebook page describing developments about the reunion and providing useful information to likely attendees. Party Central would appreciate your largesse in sharing these little bulletins as well as this column on your social media. Believe it or not, there are people out there in the rainforests of Olympia National Park and the deserts of Nevada who don’t always get the word readily. By announcing our plans a year in advance, we hope to minimize the damage, and word of mouth and FB are powerful tools.
We have scheduled the soiree for early May for several reasons. First, the weather is usually dry and temperatures have yet to reach the stratosphere. Second, there are plenty of hotel rooms available because nothing else is going on in town. Third, air travel is easier in May before the masses take to the air a few weeks later.
We are limiting attendance to those over 50 because of a concern for the size of the crowd. It may be impossible to get sufficient affordable liability insurance to hold the party in an outside venue like Camp McConnell so we will likely opt for an alternative which offers outside facilities. Unfortunately, their grassy annexes are unlikely to be as big as Max Yasgur’s farm. If you are not quite 50, sneak a blotter of acid into the doorman’s palm and you’ll probably get in.
Since staging events like this is not cheap, we will be selling reunion t-shirts to defray part of the expense. They will be lovely and everyone will want one. For those generous folks out there who have offered to send checks to help support the affair, just buy a dozen or so t-shirts instead. Your probation officer would love one.
There will be one or two professional photographers on hand snapping pictures. We know that most of you are true cell phone artists but we thought you might want something nicer. The photogs will get random shots of the party and make themselves available to fill your requests. If you see anything you like, you can purchase it later. We currently have a bloc of rooms reserved for guests on May 6, 7 and 8 at the Holiday Inn at University and 13th for a meager $109 a night. When they’re filled, we’ll get more elsewhere.
Anyone in the government’s Witness Protection Program should know there will be at least one film made of the event. Better to come dressed as Wavy Gravy or Yolanda, Princess of The Light.
That covers all the major stuff. As for the little details, yes, there will be ID stickers with the message, “You won’t believe this, but I was once an honestogod hippie!” Yes, the venue will have food and drinks for sale. And no, security will not hassle you for lighting up. They do not have enough room in the local jails to take care of this crowd. If you have no local dealer, you are allowed to bring one.
Okay, that’s about it. If you think we forgot anything, let us know. Remember, however, that the reason for the season is to celebrate hallowed memories and those who contributed to making them. To hug old friends and blush over ex-lovers. To take one day, or maybe two, and visit one more time with the people we cared for in our youth, remembered for a lifetime and feared we’d never meet again. It’s The Last Tango In Gainesville. Make sure you go out dancing.
That’s all, folks….
bill.killeen094@gmail.com
