Big Pink – 4

March 16, 2010

The second day Big Pink was parked out front; I was inside cleaning her up, down, top to bottom as best as one can. After all little tykes and the likes of all the choir members had no place to sit other than a not so soft padded rug. There was nothing I could do about the seats so I tried to make the sad rug as clean and as comfortable as possible.

I strung a long extension chord from the house to a good sucking vacuum along with its various attachments. The doors were closed. Over the din of the vacuum while whistling Don’t Fence MMe In, I heard more than a few loud bangs. I wondered if Big Pink had ignited herself until looking up and over to the doors. In the split door scenery was an always frowning Mr. O. I wondered if that was his unhappy look or his happy grin that I always mistook for other why’s.

Opening the creaking doors I gave a big smile and a howdy do with words that went something like, “Hiiiiiii Mr. OOOOO. Lovely day isn’t it? How can I help you?” Not smiling of course he asked if I lived there. “Live here? Do you mean within this bus?” I asked. “Nooooooo, not in this thing but in our neighborhood,” was his reply. I smiled.

“Sheesh, Mr. O, I’ve lived here for several years now; don’t you recognise mme from the wanted posters at the post office? Maybe you forget that from time to time I’ve waved to you while you’ve attended to your lovely landscaping duties. Seriously, Mr. O. Yes, I do live here, and have been right next to you for over two years. Several times your son and I have played basketball in your yard,” was the response.

He then asked if this ugly thing was going to be parked there long. I replied with a longer answer but suffice it to say, it didn’t prevent the retired Navy Doc from continuing his frowns from then until I moved away about eight years later. Big Pink was initiated and welcomed into the neighborhood although grudgingly so by the chosen few. I’mm sure Mr. AND Mrs. O began searching for some kind of law that would prevent this kind of a ‘thing’ parked in their castle area.

On the other hand. While living in that same house, there were many jams of all kinds of mmusic. From time to time several other neighbors would compliment on those occasions asking when they would happen again. One particular neighbor said she always sat outside with her husband whenever this happened. Not all the neighbors on that street were uptight or angry at the odd ones out.

Big Pink was scrubbed, rubbed and flub-a dub- dubbed until she sparkled and Shined. The next day, a Sunday was a choir rehearsal in one of the local small spaces between the furniture of someone’s house. Usually at these occasions I was the first to arrive in order to claim enough comfortable space for the drumms and yours truly.

When the choir arrived the rest of the living room was crammed with humanity; including the guitarist Dave, the bassist Clyde and the saxophonist Dennis. We cluttered around the old upright, black piano where the choir mastered everyone else with arms flailing in every bass, alto, soprano and baritone directions. Big mom M led the brood.

During the rehearsal someone raised their hand and asked if anyone in the room owned that cool Big Pink bus parked just outside. Raising sticks I claimed ownership, or owner-bus. When everyone heard this, all at once they ran to the big picture window to take a gander then cheered one big cheer surmising or knowing full well that this was in fact the new transportation to nirvana’s dreamscape and future gigs.

Seriously, I don’t recall nor claim ownership of the last two paragraphs due to memory lapses which I do apologise for but suffice it to say that everything before that did in all truth occur. The Fairfax Street Choir was a great mixture of more talent than Barnum and Bailey could muster to entertain the troops before Custer’s last stand.

Besides having a well respected leader/director, very knowledgeable and mostly patient person at the head of the entire choir, the rest of the gang volunteering all their talents ended up as basically an evenings worth of a more than entertaining review in true form.

Forgive mme if mmy numbers are off here but I think remembering there were at least two very good dancers whose names I’ve forgotten; but their steps, energy and part of ‘The Show,’ I certainly haven’t. They were a great part of the whole concept of the vaudeville review.

The choir also had a few mmusical groups within the group. Like one of the few male lead singers, songwriters who in later years played one of the Fab Four in one of those infamous Broadway type plays. He was one of mmy favourite singers with a red guitar song and a guy whose band I had the opportunity to play for at times. He was great.
Another male choir member, also a fun pianist to play with became a Los Angeles movie mmusic composer. I’ve a few tapes of our off shoot with another female choir member who also played a violin. Her dad was a vocal person/teacher. Her well trained and purely magical voice often made mme smile while jamming with her as well.

The choir like many gospel choirs mostly of the soul persuasion moved and grooved like not many some may experience in many churches; although some quite often. No one stood still on stage or in the audience when we performed; at least in those types of songs that called for those kinds of experiences spiritual or rock and roll.

Everything about the playing part for this drummer at least, was very moving, gospel fun. The four band members were there to move themselves and to help the others groove forever smooth. We were there to support the singers and in turn the singers always projected professionalism, power and charisma to captivate any audience.

On with the show:

The next thing I knew we were getting ready and discussing at the last rehearsal space a previously booked gig which was to take place at the University of California, Davis campus. It was to be an outdoor festival of some sort where another choir was to perform as well as all manner of festival activities for the whole family; food, drinks and fun

One nice summer weather Saturday morning; about eight or nine a.m. I drove Big Pink to the prearranged time and place. The entire choir was gathering for our first away from home gig. Everything needed for the overnight stay was being loaded on and into Big Pink. One more explanation here. By everything I mean everything possible.

Because the choir consisted of young women most of whose husbands or boyfriends weren’t members, their combined children unbeknownst to Big Pink and I were also invited along so to speak. That meant that not only was Big Pink carrying most of the members of the choir but their children as swell. Estimating years later I’d say that besides the choir about a dozen or so more children were part of the load. I’mm talking a few babies or very young children here too.

Reality set in when the tiny tots and their mothers asked mme if they could write things in water colours or chalk on the side of Big Pink. If permission was granted then ‘they said, ‘we’ll all wash it off after the trip.’ Facetiously I looked for crossed fingers behind their backs as well as in a somewhat serious tone asking for confirmation in writing.

As soon as permission was given like the dawn opening of a Sears after Mother’s day sale where 90% off was to take place; everyone ran to get their tool of choice and returned to begin to compose the mural of the day. The name of the choir was written in crooked, irregular and big multi-coloured letters by anyone big enough to hold a brush dripping with water paint. Big fat pieces of chalk were used as well.

Screaming kids began blowing up all kinds of balloons. Mothers began tying strings on to them. Then of course the kids were taught how to tie those to as many places as they could find where Big Pink was concerned. I really wish I had photos of that day; or just one.

I’mm tellin’ ya, Big Pink looked like a circus vehicle without the circus. It was as if Big Pink lost her way out of the Barnum and Bailey daily caravan. Those inside didn’t care one way or the other which direction it was headed. It was beautiful really. Everyone was having fun, scribbling and giggling while trading coloured chalk and brushes.

The kids were going on a dream cruise. The moms were in babysitting heaven and I was the driver. “OK, ALLLLL A BOARRRRRRRRRRD,” was the next little request by the head of the choir. Again I stepped up to the last step, crawled into and fell into the only seat on the bus. Everyone else just piled on in a continual stream of joyful happiness.

I heard more than once from several different sources, mostly those who have been in a bus before; where do we sit? More than one person responded silently by pointing fingers down to the well cleaned rug while others just said, sit down on the floor. That was it.

No one really cared if there were seats or not. Most children ran to stand at the windows before driving off; until the driver warned moms to beware of where their children were in case of quick stops or opened wide enough for young types to slip out. It was a party tour.

They sat in freedom circles of close friends or leaned backs to the walls among all the coolers, bags and boxes of clothes, as well as all the instruments packed before hand. It was a picnic without panic. The food and drinks were soon available upon request by the singing moms who seemed to just be along for the tykes to enjoy the ride.

Big Pink didn’t even grunt or groan with the added weight. Without all her seats bolted in, this mass of humanity and their possessions wasn’t even close to Big Pink’s overload capacity. I slowly pulled out of the station as her engine purred like a new born kitten; except for a few sputters and spurts of exhaust. A little engine of big could, did.

The day before I had paid attention to all the just in cases where Big Pink was concerned; filling up the gas tank, checking the water level, brake and transmission fluids, and added one quart of oil. Luckily before the passengers were to ad their little creative touches, I had also washed every window inside and out. I also vacuumed again just to make sure nothing indigestible was to be swallowed as candy.

The drive began very smoothly. Even with so many diversified passengers in attendance, we were pretty much on schedule. We’re off

To Be Continued: