1979 to 1981
From the age of seven onward, my home life was slightly dysfunctional. Even when things improved externally, (better neighborhood, etc.), there was always a lot of negative energy there. My eldest sibling couldn’t take it and left home when he was sixteen.
Though I wanted to go to college, the desire to get out on my own was stronger. I just couldn’t stand living at home anymore. Among other things, I had partying to do.
I know why a lot of young people are pissed off. They can no longer do what I did right out of high school. I worked a couple different jobs during this two year period, but I managed to maintain several different places with several different roommates. This was the Midwest in the last year of the 70s, rent was relatively cheap. I also managed to have a vehicle, pay insurance and still have plenty of money to party with. This just can’t be done these days, even in the Midwest.
Let me give you a brief primer on partying in the Midwest in the mid to late 70s. Since it‘s cold in the winter time, we’re not exactly cycling and playing volleyball. People throw a lot of house parties…numerous keggers. Some people would even rent out VFW halls, get a couple bands together, have a few kegs of beer and throw a helluva party. We would rock out and get drunker than shit.
During this point in time, I was also hanging with musicians, artists, photographers, copywriters, as well as other artsy-fartsy people. At one point we were trying to put a magazine together. We had the funding, but there were problems on my end. They wanted me to be an entertainment writer, but I was only eighteen years old. Getting into bars with a fake ID is one thing, reviewing them in a glossy rag was an entirely different story.
Before the first issue was even printed, myself, a photographer and a few other people went to an almost exclusively black nightclub that was having a talent show. Since we were “Press”, we were given a good booth and asked to be on the judgment panel. After a few acts, I had a cigarette. My lighter looked exactly like a nickel plated, 32 caliber automatic. I placed it on the table. A big bouncer, (think Mr T archetype here), came up and asked me very politely if I would mind putting it away. He didn’t know it was a lighter. That’s Chicago in 1980.
This particular photographer was basically a successful hippie. He had a degree in photography and actually made some money with it. He had other creative outlets that brought in additional funds. He photographed some of the entertainment scene in the Chicago area and was the “official” photographer of a band we both hung out with.
I was pretty irresponsible in those days. Additionally, I didn’t think it was a good idea to publicly admit to breaking the law, so I left the project. The magazine idea never came to fruition, at least under the name we originally agreed upon. I, of course, continued to party.
An important delineation of the time was the difference between a “bash” and a regular party. A bash was usually a free-for-all; anyone could come. These sometimes had interesting consequences.
I once rented out a house with a guy who was a long haul truck driver. Since he would be gone for long periods of time, I would throw some parties. During one particular multi-day “bash”, things went south. There were a lot of people coming and going. This wasn’t so good. I passed out at my own party, woke up and found all kinds of stuff missing. Some of the things missing belonged to my roommate. I freaked out a little bit, but I had to go to work. I’m in my house after putting in eight hours when an ex-girlfriend, that lived next door, came over. She said that my roommate was back and that he was going to kill me. My roommate was a badass; an ex-paratrooper. If we were going to fight, he was probably going to win. I grabbed what I could, threw it in my car and took off. I moved in with some other friends. My bash throwing days were over.
There is a lot that happened in the two year period between 1979 and 1981. There are some things I just will not write about. Sex is one of them. I started having that at a relatively early age…with girls in case you’re wondering. (A man’s butthole has never appealed to me.) This was the post-hippie, pre-AIDS, disco era. It wasn’t extremely difficult to get laid. Other than that, I’m not going to reveal much in that area. Frankly, it’s none of your business. However, I will continue to recount some of the more amusing tales from that period.
I was once at a house party where everyone decided to leave and go to another soiree. Well, they forgot about me. I was passed out in one of the bedrooms upstairs. This guy’s wife comes home from work to change and meet him at the other shindig. I had not met her yet. I woke up looking at a very nervous lady with a double-barreled shotgun pointing at my head.
I go on a beer run and come back with a keg. I slip on the icy steps and the keg goes rolling. It busts through the front door and ends up in the living room. They were pretty happy about the beer and didn’t say much about the busted up door. They were so grateful, that a few of them offered me some MDA to shoot up. MDA is Ecstasy. In the 70s and early 80s, we snorted it like cocaine. Now, I have never put a needle in my arm, but these people looked like they were having a good time. I got really close to trying it.
During this period I was doing a lot of drinking. Though I tried a few different drugs in high school, that activity tapered off afterwards. I had to be somewhat responsible. I had rent to pay.
There are millions of stories out there that describe the wonders of alcohol. I have a few myself. I’m pretty drunk one day while riding around on a motorcycle. I’m going through unfamiliar territory at approximately eighty miles an hour when the road takes an unexpected turn. I hit a mailbox that was attached to an iron pipe cemented into the ground. The bike obviously ended up in pretty bad shape. I rolled several times and ended up on the other side of the street. Thank God, there was no traffic. I, amazingly enough, didn’t get seriously injured. There are a couple times in my life that I came pretty close to death. That was probably one of them.
I partied with a lot of different people during this two year period. One of them was a girl that would eventually become my friend, my girlfriend and then my wife.
© John Bielecki 2024
