Path: newsgate.duke.edu!zombie.ncsc.mil!nntp.coast.net!news.kei.com!newsfeed.internetmci.com!uwm.edu!math.ohio-state.edu!newsfeed.acns.nwu.edu!news.cc.uic.edu!Pillbox From: Pillbox@uic.edu (Rob Keogh) Newsgroups: rec.games.bolo Subject: They Might Know Russel Mast Date: Mon, 15 Jul 1996 12:57:51 -0500 Organization: The University of Illinois at Chicago Lines: 311 Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Host: slip4b-07.dialin.uic.edu X-Newsreader: Yet Another NewsWatcher 2.2.0b7 Preface - This comes from Russel Mast extablished literary genius (tm). And accounts for several horrendous emtional scars. enjoy..... February, 1991. My folks come to visit me at University of Chicago. It's my senior year. (My "4th year" in campus argot.) I am the Vice President of Student Government; I ran on a campaign of silly nonsense and oddball jokes. I know lots of people there. On a Sunday morning, my folks and I walk across campus. It's essentially deserted, there were maybe 12 other people in sight between Cobb Hall and Hutch Commons. (About one "short block" in Chicago dialect, 6 minutes strolling leisurely.) Every single person we saw either waved and shouted hi, or came up and chatted briefly. It was a 15 minute stroll, counting chats. I explain that this is pretty typical for me. My mom says "You should print up T-shirts." April, 1991. I print up T-shirts. My mom fronts the money, and helps with that artwork, along with my girlfriend and another friend. They cost $5.55 apiece, and I sell them for $6 each. I sell 100 in the first 6 days, and then another 120 or so over the next couple months. A few people "didn't get it", and thought it was a ploy for attention, or that I thought I thought people should consider it a privelege to know me. The T-shirts say "I Know Russell Mast", not "I Love Russell Mast" or even "I Like Him Okay, I guess". Most people "get it but don't think it's funny". Enough people think it's funny, though. Like most weeks, I get front page coverage at the Maroon, the school newspaper. They played it like I was trying to make money at it. Go figure. They say "University of Chicago, 1991" and have a depiction of my face on them, in the middle of the University Seal where the Phoenix goes. Summer, 1992 (or was it fall? maybe 1993? I think it was 1993. Whatever.) They Might Be Giants plays a concert in Nashville, their second ever. (Apparently, 12 people showed up to their first one, so they didn't come back for awhile. They are much better received the second time.) The afternoon before the show, they played an acoustic show, just John and John, the core of the band, at a local record store. I contemplate giving them each one of the T-shirts. I scrounge around and find the last two T-shirts, including the one on my girlfriend's back. (She's a big fan, and didn't mind.) I take them to the record store, but leave them in the car. I chicken out, essentially, figuring it's a little too weird, it hasn't been 1991 in a long time, we're in Nashville, and they seemed really tired at the show. I wonder "what if" for years. The crowd at the record store vehemently request they play "James K. Polk", a rather obscure song of theirs about a native son of Nashville, tucked away on the b-side of some single. (The song, not the son.) They claim they don't know how to play it. The crowd is mystified. Believe it or not, President Polk is still a pretty big name down there. Fall, 1995. The activities dweebs from my class call me begging for help with the 5th year reunion coming up in the spring. (I'm sure they wouldn't use the word "beg", nor perhaps "dweeb", but you get the picture.) I consent, and try to help as best I can. Somewhere, I get the idea of reprinting the t-shirts, selling them above cost, and donating the proceeds. This seemed to go over pretty well, and I assumed that I could get some official support in peddling these things, so I have the printers churn out another 100. Well, to make a long story short, I'm alone in selling these, and I just don't see as many people as often, and fewer of them "get it", so I have quite a few of these left for quite a long time. Saturday, May 18. 1996. Still selling the shirts, albeit slowly. Nearly recovered my expenses, but not quite. Earlier this week, my good buddy Paul Pomerleau secured me and mine a pair of tickets to see They Might Be Giants at Hutch Court. Yeeha. It occurs to me to bring a couple T-shirts. I become a man with a mission. I must meet John and John and present them with shirts. So, at the show, I contact several vaguely official looking people, none of whom are really interested in giving me the time of day. One says she'll go ask so-and-so, who'd know, and told me to "wait right here". A half hour later, I got bored and walked off. This girl was some 2nd year or something, and I didn't even give her my name to give to so-and-so, because she ran off to quick. I'll bet so-and-so knew me. Maybe. I manage to find this guy Tom who I know, and he said he could try to talk to some people who might be able to let me in. Not exactly uplifting, but at least he seems to "get it", or at least thinks he should appear to get it since so many other people seem to. He said he'd try to find me later. Okay. I talk with the guy selling T-shirts for TMBG. He says that he will definately see them after the show, but that no way can he leave his station during the show. He could bring it to them with a note, but he wasn't too confident that they'd call me or anything. He did say something like "You could try to catch them as they come in, they'll probably be coming from that way", and he points to the area between Ryerson and the Zoology building. So, I sit down and watch an opening band, play a little hackey sack, and hang out. I look over at the area he indicated, and noticed that a bunch of students were lined up along the ad hoc fence that was put up for the show. They were watching the opening act from behind, for free. Then it occured to me, no way would they come from that way. How would they get through? That's a bad angle, too, coming from the center of campus and all that. I thought, well, this guy must not be from here, he must be with the band. But, I'm from here, I should know where they'd be coming from. I thought, if I were a band, and I was scheduled to play in about an hour and a half, where would I be? Backstage. Well, of course, the stage set up on campus was very close to the building where the main campus auditorium was. And I've been backstage there. In fact, when Public Enemy played on campus back in 89, I recall having seen them leaving the building and climbing into their (long, white) limo. From a service entrance to Mandell Hall, right around where backstage is. So, I decide to head backstage, around the outside, carrying two T-shirts. The way that they have campus cordoned off, with all the Courtside entrances to the Reynold's Club closed, I have to walk about 2 blocks, around the outside of these buildings, to get to this service entrance. As I'm walking, I'm thinking, "yeah, that's where they have to be. No one really -knows- about that entrance, and it's such a long walk for fans." I get a little nervous. By the time I get to the door, I'm nearly shaking. I come up to where I think it is. There is a loading dock, where a truck could back in, and next to it, an unmarked brown door, not unlike so many other brown doors around, including one about a half block north. But I'm pretty sure this is the one. I walk up to it. There is a handle to pull, but no place for a key or latch to open or anything of the sort. So I give a gentle tug. The door opens. I step in. I'm on a landing on a staircase. In front of me, up about 5 steps, is the stage, the back of the stage. It's dark. I look to the my right and I can see the interior of Mandel Hall, the rest of stage, the seating. And, in the same direction, but downward, under stage, down about 8 stairs or so, is a carpeted room. The lights are on, I hear talking, and the smell of food wafts up. I'm not sure what the food was, maybe some beef barbecue. I walk down. It's a rather large room, curving out following the contour of the stage above it. There is a long, padded bench along the curved portion. An Asian student, probably a second-year, is sitting there, wearing the MAB t-shirt and ID card that mark him as being in the inner circle.. He looks vaguely familiar, like maybe I had talked to him already that day. I'm walking quietly, and he doesn't look up. Across from him, there is a spread of food, under metal covers, with little sterno cans keeping them warm. Typical nice catering kind of set-up. On one door, nearer to me, is a little laser-printed sign designating the room as being the dressing room for one of the opening acts. I'm there, well, very near there. I walk in, and turn to the guy, and say "I need to bring these to John and John". He looks blankly. I say "Of They Might Be Giants". (For those not into TMBG, well, John and John essentialy -are- them, and they often refer to themselves as "John and John". So, this guy pretty obviously is not a big fan.) He says "Oh, yeah, theirs is the one around the corner there, and he points me over to the other end of the room. I walk over there. There is a large, black security guard sitting in a chair, looking bored, but very professional, at the other end of the short hallway. Maybe 10' long. To my left is the door the other guy was talking about. Sure enough, a little laser-printed sign "They Might Be Giants Dressing Room" and some other stuff. But, just below the sign is a permanently fixed sign which says "WOMEN" on it. I'm thinking "these are funny guys, this might be a joke". To the right (my right) of the security guy is an open door, and I can see a mirror with a counter in front of it and incandescent lights ringing. Looks like a dressing room. I approach cautiously, "Uh, I'm bringing this to John and John, of They Might Be Giants" (not wanting to know if he recognizes their first names). I'm sort of cocking my head, like I think they're in the room to his left. He's like "uh, yeah, isn't that there room right there" and starts standing up. I indicate, or attempt to, that I didn't want to just barge in there unannounced, and he comes up and reads the sign. He says "hold on" and knocks on the door. It's clear somewhere along the way that these people don't think I'm a fan, they must think I'm a delivery guy or something. Wearing shorts, a t-shirt, and a big bandana on my head, with long hair and a big beard. I look like a delivery guy? This won't last. From inside, I hear someone shout "What the HELL is it?!?!" and several people chuckle. Some guy, I think also Asian (I can't quite recall), but older, probably not a student, gets the door. I say "I'm here to bring this to John and John" and he reaches his hand out and says "Okay, thanks" and I say, well, I have to meet them, see, and open the shirts and say "it doesn't really make sense unless I meet them". He seems sort of game-but-not-authorized, and says "well, we have to check with Steve first" and Steve appears behind him "Oh, Steve, here, this guy, well, " and I show him the shirts and say that I'd like to give them these as a gift but I have to meet them. Steve sort of rolls his eyes. In his looks, he reminds me of Eric Zylstra. Somewhat tall, lanky, with curly dark hair, glasses, and a rather dignified posture. He seems very businesslike and busy, as though he has a lot of the responsibility for seeing that things go right and doesn't have any time to fuck around. At the same time, he seems nice. He cuts off my explanation, having seen enough to know what I'm on about, and says "Okay, I'll check, but I can't guarantee anything", very firmly. At this point, I'm really nervous. The security guy decided not to sit down after knocking, and is thinking this is a good idea. I try to be very conciliatory with Steve. Like "I'm not trying to, uh, you know" Hell, I didn't even know. I didn't want to interrupt anything or barge in one anyone or anything. Steve's firmness was sort of telling me, like "don't come running in after me" and I'm doing what I can with posture and tone to say "oh, I'd never do that". He seems suspicious, but goes in and say "Wait here." I say "yeah, I can wait, I'm good at waiting." Around this time, the first Asian guy comes up, having realized that I'm not supposed to be there. He demands "Who are you?" I open the shirts to show him. He clearly wasn't around back then, and hasn't heard of me, but it's obvious that I'm not trying to pretend to be anyone else. He demands, almost in the same breath "How did you get in here?" and I'm sort of babbling "Well, uh, the door, I walked in, it's not locked, I just pulled the handle and stepped forward" and he cuts me off, obviously satisfied that no one he's supposed to be in charge of granted me unauthorized access. He asks "What are you doing here" I'm like "I'm waiting to see John and John, I'm hoping to give them these" and he raises his hand to knock on the door. I say "Steve's already in there, asking them" Upon hearing Steve's name, he says "Oh, Steve's taking care of this", in a 'why didn't you say so?' tone of voice. I'm like, "Yeah, Steve's taking care of everything for me." He relaxes and goes to sit down, still a bit miffed that I got in there. The security guard decides he's gonna stay good and close to me. (Again, very professional about the whole thing, though.) About a million years go buy, probably more like 2 minutes or so, and the door opens. Steve is holding it open, and motions towards me and says something like "that's the guy" and John Flansberg walks out. I'm like "Hi, I brought these for you guys, um, I'm, uh," and open the shirt, and then close it, pass it to my left hand, and reach out to shake John's hand, and tell him who I am. He's got something in his hand, which he passes to his left. It's a very wet handshake. We both wipe our hands off, and he explains that he's been holding an ice cube. There's an ice cube in a paper towel in his hand. Anyway, we both wipe our hands on our shirts, and shake again. It's hot as hell, he has a show soon and I'm on a commando raid, and we're sweating like farmboys. The second shake was as greasy as the first. We give up on that. He says "I'm John" and I'm like, yeah, I know, and try to mumble something about "I was going to give you guys these in Nashville, but I ran out of shirts, and, well, um, here, this is a gift from me, and, uh, uh, well, there's one for you and one for the other John, even though he doesn't technically know me, it's okay, y'know" and John is smiling this really broad friendly smile. I have to open and close my eyes a few times to make sure it's him. He's a little shorter in person, and wasn't clean-shaven, and, well, just right there in person. But it was definately him. From his smile, it seemed like he really liked me, appreciated the gesture a lot and so forth, and he thanked me very sincerely. And I thanked him, and didn't really explain. I mean, I really do thank these guys for their music, it's very special and so forth. He open the shirts and reads it again, smiling still, thanks me again. And I say, okay, well, enjoy. And he tells me to enjoy the show, and I say "See you later". I forget what he said. And he walks back in. During our little chat, which was less than 30 seconds or so, Steve had reopened the door, but didn't seem to be rushing things. He says goodbye to me and seems like he's got stuff to attend to. Later in the show, I see him all over the place. Checking the heights of the mic stands, making sure this and that piece of equipment are plugged in and the studio monitors are at a good angle, and all these things are in place, and later in the lighting booth checking stuff there, and so forth. John Flansberg is an immensely friendly guy, though, and I think he could tell that I'm basically friendly, too. I think we'd get along. I think he appreciated me reaching out across time and space to make a small, strange gift of myself. The security guard says "Okay, let's go" and motions me towards a door behind him, up a half flight of stairs. That's where most people come and go, I take it. I'm like "Well, I, uh, came in that way, well, uh, YEAH, time to go" and just do whatever he tells me. He doesn't seem to be losing his patience at all, but he's not someone I care to cross. A very large man, and a well-trained professional. So I walk out into the sun, and I'm on campus, on the other side of Mandel. And I ask the guard, as I'm leaving, "How do I get back to the show" and he sort of points towards where the concert is and seems totally incredulous, I think he even said "back the way you came" but that's NOT the way I came. Whatever, he has his sitting to attend to, so I just wander out. I'm looking physically confused, like Harold Lloyd might if he didn't know which way to turn. I'm behind the stage, on a patch of lawn which is fenced off from all the rest of campus. To my north is stage, and some fences seperating the crowd from this area. There are buildings on all sides, and fences between each of them. And two cops, real cops, in the middle of the whole deal. And I notice three student-looking peolpe leaving near the fence between Ryerson and Eckhardt. I walk up to them, still looking all over the place "Uh, can i get out there" and they say "Yeah, right there. I sort of had to push a bit of fence aside by hand. (It's that wooden slatted fence that rolls up for easy storage, and there's a little space between the end of the roll and the building.) And I'm free. About a block walk around some other buildings to get back in. I come back to my friends, showing my empty hands. They're pleased. I'm shaking just a little bit, more nervous from the sneaking around than from meeting a rock star. They ask me "Are they going to wear them?" I said "Flansberg might, I don't think Linnel will wear his, but that's okay. Hell, I don't care if neither of them do, I met John Flansberg, and he's a REALLY nice guy." As it turns out, Flansberg DID wear the t-shirt on stage, which was totally cool. Several people there who looked familiar but didn't seem to recognize me suddenly did and they came up to me and said "Hey, that's incredible, how'd he get that" and I told them "I walked backstage and gave it to him". And then I tried to sell them one of the spares which I had with me. No, thanks. Diane Westerfield did buy one for herself, before I had even gotten backstage. After she saw Flansberg wearing his, she put hers on over her other shirt. It was a great concert, too. I'm looking forward to their next album, they played several selections from it. I have a couple of pictures of him in the shirt, and you can kind of read it. If I had had a camera, there were several great moments where you could see the entire thing, when he'd put his guitar down and all that, but it's cool enough for me to know that he'll ever wear it. Oh well. It was a very cool day. Man, this is LONG. I hope it's a fun read. Took me a long time to right, and no I didn't write it all in one sitting. I'm not -that- crazy. Yet. -Russell Mast This was posted because Pretender mentioned at the Bolofest that he had seen the They Might Be Giants concert and mentioned that they were wearing one of Russ's T-Shirts.... small world ain't it.... ********************************************************************* "The Jinmoti of Bozlen Two kill the Rob Keogh hereditary ritualassassins of the Pins new Yearking's immeadiate family by Pillbox@uic.edu drowning them in the tears of the rkeogh@drugs.bsd.uchicago.edu Continental Empathaur in its Sadness Season." Iain M Banks, Consider Phlebas Gentile or Jew O you who turn the wheel and look to windward, Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you. T. S. Eliot 'The Waste Land', IV *********************************************************************