A Place Nobody Ever Heard Of

from Yeah, What Else?

 

“Ohmygawd!” Danny came barging into my room clutching a copy of the Minneapolis Tribune. “Did you see this? Johnny Cash is going to be at the St. Paul Auditorium tomorrow night. Johnny Cash!”

“Oh yeah?” I replied. That’s about all the enthusiasm I could muster. I liked Johnny Cash well enough. I was just not a big fan of country music. Now if he’d said Miles Davis or Dave Brubeck, then I’d have responded with an Ohmygawd of my own.

“Oh, man, it’s tomorrow night,” Danny continued. “I’ve got to find a way to get there. Where the heck is the St. Paul Auditorium anyway?”

“I think it’s in St. Paul,” I cracked. I couldn’t resist the set-up. “You know, Orville has a car. Maybe you can talk him into going.”

Danny brightened at that prospect and hurried off to find Orville.

It was late March 1962 and I was in Minneapolis to attend Gale Institute, a trade school that promised to train me for “…a high-paying job in the airline industry.” I had completed the correspondence portion of the Gale program over a period of several months and was just beginning the four-week residence course. There were four of us living at Mrs. Olsen’s boardinghouse, just around the corner from the school in the Hennepin-Lake district. It was a large two-story home with a couple of bedrooms upstairs that we shared, and it had a full basement that had been converted into a kitchen. There we could store all the staples of bachelor survival: frozen dinners, peanut butter and jelly, milk, and the essential bag of Oreo cookies.

My housemates were an eclectic bunch. Jerry, my roommate, was from Waverly, Iowa, and was simply a great guy, full of mischief and laughter. I swear I could have picked him up out of his family’s farm in Iowa, set him down in the neighborhood where I grew up, and he would fit right in.

Danny was from Waterloo, Iowa, and though he was a good guy, we didn’t quite click. Maybe it was because (with apologies to Donnie and Marie) he was a little bit country and I was a little bit jazz. More likely it was because he enjoyed taking shots at my hometown. He’d never heard of Vallejo, California, and he was sure nobody else ever heard of it either. I told him all about our rich heritage and our contributions to the U.S. Navy via Mare Island Naval Shipyard. And I pointed out that Waterloo wasn’t exactly The Big Apple. None of that slowed him down a bit. Needless to say, I was glad that Jerry was my roommate.

Orville, Danny’s roommate, was from somewhere in Ohio. I’m not sure he ever told us where. He was older than the rest of us, mid-twenties I believe, and painfully shy. It was hard to get a word out of him. We’d prod him and needle him a little, trying to get him to loosen up, but it was no use. We couldn’t get him to react. Oh, once in a while he’d furrow his brow when something caused him concern, but most of the time he just smiled a very benign smile.

I had arrived at the Twin Cities airport on a Sunday night in the middle of a blizzard, lucky the flight was not diverted to Chicago or Milwaukee. I took a shuttle to downtown Minneapolis where I had a reservation at a hotel that turned out to be one step up from a flophouse. From my room on one of the upper floors, I looked out the window at the driving snow that was blanketing the city and wondered what in the hell I was doing there.

Actually, it was Part 2 of a four-part plan that went something like this: (1) marry my high school sweetheart; (2) finish the Gale Institute training; (3) land that high-paying job with an airline, preferably somewhere in Northern California; and (4) live happily ever after. Part 1 was completed and my bride of just two short months was waiting for me back in Vallejo. Looking out the window of my room, I don’t think I’ve ever been so lonely. And that was day one!

The next morning, I found my way to the school, and from there to Mrs. Olsen’s house, and once I met Jerry, things started to look up. It was hard not to smile when he was around.

So, the three of us—Danny, Jerry, and I—went to work on Orville, trying to convince him that we should find our way to the St. Paul Auditorium to see Johnny Cash. Jerry liked Johnny’s music, so it was easy to get him onboard. I pitched in because an adventure in the wilds of St. Paul was preferable to sitting around the house feeling homesick. As it turned out, Orville was a pushover. He agreed to come along and provide the transportation in his four-door Chevy Corvair.

Mrs. Olsen gave us directions and we lit out for the St. Paul Auditorium with plenty of time to spare. It was bitter cold that Friday night, with snow piled in three-foot high drifts along the streets. But the snow ploughs had done their job and the pavement was clear and dry. The directions were good and true and we found the auditorium with no trouble. It was a very large brick structure, built to house a variety of events, from concerts and plays, to basketball and hockey, to the Ice Capades and the occasional tractor pull. On this particular night, it was set up as a dance hall, with tables and chairs arranged all around the outer edge of the dance floor and a bandstand set up on one side.

As we came in, many couples were on the floor, dancing to recorded music. I would guess the crowd was no more than two hundred and fifty people. We found a spot close to the bandstand and waited for Johnny’s show to begin. Finally, the announcer came to the microphone, made a few public service announcements, and then said, “And now…please welcome…Johnny Cash and the Tennessee Three!”

Johnny and his band mates bounded onto the stage and launched into their first number. I was shocked to see how thin and gaunt he looked. I attributed it to the rigors of life on the road. Later, of course, we’d learn that Johnny was in the middle of a very dark period in his life, when he was addicted to prescription drugs—uppers and downers—and to alcohol. He looked very nervous and jumpy, and he seemed unhappy with the sound system. Still, the band plunged on and I had the sense that they were giving us the best they had to give despite the cavernous room, the iffy sound system, and the small crowd.

The set rolled on, and though I don’t remember all the numbers they played, I do remember “I Guess Things Happen That Way,” which is a terrific song. Throughout the set, Johnny would periodically cup his right ear with his hand. It seemed an odd gesture and I wondered if there was a purpose, or if it was just an affectation. At one point, he paused to introduce the band. The only name I caught was that of the drummer, “Fluke” Holland. Johnny said he was the drummer on the legendary recording of “Blue Suede Shoes.” That drew a respectful round of applause from the crowd. After about forty-five minutes, Johnny said that they were taking a break and would be back soon for the second set.

During the break, Jerry and Orville headed off in search of a cold drink. Danny and I started to join them when suddenly, Danny yelped, “Hey, there’s Luther Perkins!” Standing off to the side of the bandstand, smoking a cigarette, was the thin, laid-back guy I recognized as the electric guitar player. Danny grabbed my arm and we hurried over to say hello.

Danny could barely contain himself, gushing to Luther that he was a great fan of their music and generally acting the way most of us would when standing face to face with one of our heroes. Luther was very friendly and accommodating, as though he welcomed this impromptu meeting. I asked him why Johnny kept cupping his right ear. He said that in a huge space like this one, the sound tends to get lost. Cupping his ear allowed him to hear his voice and judge how he was coming across.

We chatted a little longer and then he said, “Where are you guys from?”

Danny jumped right in. “My name is Danny and I’m from Waterloo, Iowa. And Charlie here is from a place nobody ever heard of—Vallejo, California.”

“Vallejo?” Luther said. “Oh, we’ve played there many times, at the Dream Bowl out on Highway 29.”

I looked at Danny and saw his jaw drop about three inches and I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Luther finished his cigarette, shook our hands, thanked us for coming out, then headed off to regroup for the second set. I think Danny was still in shock and I managed to slip in a few zingers about a place nobody ever heard of. It was good fun.

We stayed through the second set, watching the Tennessee Three and their star giving it their level best. The song I remember from that set was “The Rebel…Johnny Yuma.” After Johnny said thank you and goodnight, we headed back out into the cold for the long drive back to Mrs. Olsen’s.

On the way home, Danny held forth on all things Johnny Cash. How Luther Perkins is credited with creating their distinctive “boom chicka boom” sound. How Luther and Marshall Grant, the bass player, were originally the Tennessee Two. Then W.S. “Fluke” Holland joined the band and they became the Tennessee Three. And the recording of “Blue Suede Shoes” that Fluke played on was the Carl Perkins original, before Elvis covered it. And Carl Perkins, who wrote “Blue Suede Shoes,” was no relation to Luther, though some people think they are brothers. And on and on…

We took Danny’s word for all of this, and at the end of the day, I knew more about country music than I really wanted to know. Of course, there were many things that were unknowable on that cold night in late March, a night when the Minnesota winter held on tight and refused to give way to spring. I could not know, for instance, that at the end of the Gale program, I would accept a job with Northwest Airlines and ask my bride to pack everything we owned and move to Minnesota. I couldn’t know we would live there for three years and our two beautiful daughters would be born there, or that we would meet wonderful people who would become our dearest friends. And I couldn’t know happily ever after was not in the cards for us. All of that was in the future.

At that moment, riding home through the bleak streets of the Twin Cities, I was happy and even exhilarated. I felt somehow I’d scored a victory for my hometown. Thanks to a major assist from Luther Perkins, it was Vallejo 1, Waterloo 0.

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