— Joseph McAuliffe
Indisputedly, my mother was the musical soul of our family. She was renowned for her glamorous rendition of Hello Dolly that she performed all over Syracuse, New York, but also enchanted lounge dwellers with Cole Porter’s Love for Sale. She frequently played Broadway musicals and Judy Garland hits on the hi-fi while working around the house. My father had little interest in music and the only two songs I ever heard him sing were the national anthem and the Notre Dame Fighting Irish song. Watching my mom perform for others sowed a seed in me, that almost came to pass.
I started listening to pop music in 1959 when my parents got me a radio for my birthday. Some of my favorites were Frankie Avalon, Gene Pitney, Duane Eddy, Brenda Lee, Dion and the Belmonts, the Everly Brothers, Buddy Holly and Connie Francis. Everything changed when I was thirteen with the onset of the Beatles, Beach Boys, Bob Dylan and the British Invasion. I attended some concerts in high school — Herb Alpert, the Mamas and Papas, the Association, Neil Diamond, and notably, the Rolling Stones at the War Memorial in October 1965, on their second U.S. tour.
I was transfixed by the power of the Stones’ music and Mick Jagger’s showmanship and awestruck by how their performance elicited adoring shrieks from the girls in the audience. They played for only a half hour and performed I Feel Alright, The Last Time, Get Off My Cloud, and closed the show with their monster hit Satisfaction, which stirred me to leave my seat and rush to the stage in adulation.
I was nineteen in 1969, which was a banner year in the history of rock and roll. That summer, I attended rock music festivals in Newport, Rhode Island; Atlantic City, New Jersey; and the iconic Woodstock in Bethel, New York. These rock festivals nurtured my foray into the counterculture that would lead me on a journey to find answers to the existential questions my generation was seeking. In the fall, I returned to Bowling Green State University not so much as a sophomore liberal arts student, but a stoner rock and roller.
The music and culture of rock and roll loomed large in my life, and through the influence of my guitar playing friend, Bob Weaver, I was, for a short stint, part of the townie bar band called Turmoil. Bob tried hard to teach me guitar, but I could only play a few chords decently. As much as I loved the music, I wasn’t gifted to play it, but Bob persisted because he really wanted me in the band.
The members of Turmoil were excellent musicians, but none had a great voice. So, they tried me out as the lead singer, and I really wasn’t much of an improvement. But I did have two qualities that masked the vocal deficiency, I was passionate and fearless on stage.
With Turmoil, I could passably cover songs like Bob Dylan’s Like a Rolling Stone and Don’t think Twice, Mick Jagger’s Under My Thumb, and John Sebastian’s Darlin Be Home Soon. What seemed to help me was the adrenaline, booze and Bob adjusting the amps to make me sound better. We were a close band because before, during and after we performed, we partied. When on stage, I poured my full-orbed manic personality into the mike no matter if it was to a boisterous Friday night crowd or to the Tuesday night stragglers at the Gigolo Bar on Main Street. For three weeks in October of 1969, Turmoil was a transcendent experience. It began to dawn on me that these three guys could have a future in this industry, but not with me and I told them so. Parting was necessary and bittersweet but worth it, because the three of them built a forty-year career in rock and roll.
Bob had a girlfriend, named Gloria, who was a member of the Phi Mu Sorority. Gloria kept trying to fix me up with her attractive bestie, Koleen Pressler but I demurred because she wasn’t a freak. I’m sure there had to be cool sorority girls somewhere, but not the ones I knew from working as a meal server that fall at the Delta Gamma Sorority House. Their mealtime conversations were not about the issues discussed in the south end of the student union such as the Vietnam War, racial discrimination, gender inequality, or communal living … but new fashions, tea parties and who’s getting a lavalier pin.
In November, Bob, Gloria, and I planned a stoner road trip to Athens, Ohio, to see my favorite band, The Who. Gloria pleaded with me to let Koleen accompany us as my date, but I resisted … “she’s a marijuana virgin.” Two days before the trip, I relented when Gloria assured me that Koleen was willing to get stoned with us. So, on Friday, November 7, the four of us embarked on what would become an “Amazing Journey” to the home of Ohio University. Koleen, to my surprise, was a great time … “this pot is far out” she blurted on her first toke,” and then shocked us with, “I wonder what acid is like?” I could see why she was Gloria’s best friend.
Two hours into this Cheech and Chong ride, we stopped at a traffic light in Lancaster, Ohio, and while looking at the large van next to us, I noticed it was, no kidding, the Who. Was I hallucinating? We were not the least bit cool, as we honked, waved, flashed the ubiquitous peace symbol. They may have been stoned too, because instead of throwing the finger, they waved back, and Keith Moon, their drummer, made silly faces. It was a providential omen of more to come.
We arrived at Ohio University’s Convocation Center and ascended to the last row of the nosebleed section. I was disappointed, but my spaced-out comrades didn’t seem to mind. I asked them to go up front with me because “I love this band… I must be close to the stage.” Bob and Gloria refused; they were too stoned, but my new friend Koleen caught me off guard saying, “I want to be with you.” We all agreed to meet in front of the stage after the show.
Security was a non-issue at most concerts in 1969, so we easily made it to the front row where there was a ten-foot gap between the front row and the stage. We plunked ourselves down lotus style, directly in front of the lead singer Roger Daltrey. They opened with several of their early hits including: I Can See for Miles, Summertime Blues and Shaking All Over, before launching into all the songs from the rock opera album, Tommy. I was in rock and roll heaven.
During the show, Daltrey dropped his tambourine, and wouldn’t you know, it landed in my lap. The guy behind me said, “You should keep it”, but Daltrey was signaling for me to toss it back and smiled when I did. The Who is electrifyingly mesmerizing in concert with Daltrey’s whirling whiplashes of the mike, Peter Townsend’s windmill mastery of the lead guitar, Keith Moon’s wizardly antics on the drums, and John Entwistle’s stoic dominance of the bass. When the over two-hour sensational performance ended, Bob and Gloria made their way to the front, as the arena emptied out. We sat there like zombies, still relishing the show, when a woman emerged from the stage and to our amazement said, “Would you like to meet the band?”
She led us into the locker room and there they were — Daltrey, Townsend, Entwistle and Moon — chugging a bottle of Southern Comfort, which they graciously shared with us. After a few swigs and lauding their performance, I told them that I was the guy who caught the tambourine. “Thanks, man,” said Daltry leading me and Bob over to a makeshift bar. While Entwistle and Moon were chatting up Kolleen and Gloria, I said to Townsend and Daltry, “I really missed seeing your performance at Woodstock. I heard it was fantastic.” “You were there?” said Townsend. “Yes, I had left late Saturday night after the Grateful Dead’s performance, but I heard how you kicked Abbie Hoffman off the stage.” Townsend said, “I don’t give a shit who it is … nobody should mess with me when I’m playing … especially Tommy. I get into a zone… and I’m dangerous when I’m in that zone.”
I didn’t realize it at the time, but Townsend and Daltrey were engaging me, not because they were really interested in me, but so that the world’s greatest bass player, John Entwistle, could make a move on Koleen. After a few minutes, she came up to me and said, “John Entwistle invited me to a party with the band.” I wasn’t that surprised, so I said, “It’s been that kind of night… very cool… what did you tell him?” Her beguiling hazel green eyes widened, and she blurted out, “I told him no… I said I wanted to be with you.”
I was taken aback and humbled by her words. Maybe she was still stoned. Had she relapsed back into being sorority silly or was she really into me? “Are you sure?” I quizzed. She said she meant it and nearly gagged me with her kiss. “Get a room,” chirped Keith Moon. So, on this wondrous night of nights, Koleen chose me, over the rock legend, and did so by uttering the most romantic words that anyone had ever said to me… “I told him I wanted to be with you.”
We said goodbyes to the despondent John Entwistle and drove back that night to Bowling Green. For the next week Koleen and I saw each other every day; we both really wanted to be with each other. And yet, just when the relationship seemed to be blossoming, the sorority sisterhood began dissuading her from being in a relationship with a stoned out failed rocker. They suggested, rather insightfully I must admit, that I was crazy and more immature than Peter Pan. The sisterhood reeled her back in and we drifted back into our own world … so I doubt she ever tried acid.
We would infrequently run into each other on campus, exchange pleasantries and note the oddity of our brief romantic rendezvous. She told me after that: “it was my most fun and memorable relationship ever.” I lost touch with Koleen after graduation, but heard she became a flight attendant and then, in her later years, ran an art shop in Denver. I was saddened to learn that she died five years ago.
I remained good friends with Bob and Gloria and although Turmoil finally found a lead singer, he invited me to sing one more time. At the Gigolo Bar, Bob started the chords to a Rolling Stones classic and called me up on stage and adjusted the amps. But gratefully, I was on key that night and poured my heart out into the words … “You can’t always get what you want… No, you can’t always get what you want … But if you try sometimes, you just might find … You just might find … You get what you need.” Then for the last time, I jumped off the stage.
Yes, I had dreamed of being a rock and roll singer and so earnestly wanted to be part of a band, but the truth is, as Mick sings, you can’t always get what you want. However, by not getting what I wanted, the stoned out Peter Pan eventually grew up to become what he was supposed to be … a pastor and a teacher.
Joseph McAuliffe has been a hippie, a preacher, a fundraiser for the Christian Broadcasting Network and a campaign worker for both Republicans and Democrats. Joseph’s first ministery began when he started a church right on the campus at Bowling Green State University, and it grew to become one of the largest non-denominational churches in northwest Ohio. After fifteen years there he went on to pastor at Tampa Covenant Church in Carrollwood. Joseph’s keen interest in higher education drew him to USF, where he now serves as Manager of Education Programming for OLLI. Joseph holds a Masters Degree in History, and in addition to his work on staff with OLLI he teaches history courses for the OLLI curriculum.
Leave a Reply