We first heard tale of Anacortes, Washington when Krista Forsyth moved to Olympia in 1981 to attend The Evergreen State College. She grew up in Anacortes, and her stories about the place, its fishing boats, teenage hi-jinx and farmstead folderol were spare but intriguing. You mean, they just catch fish? Then it turns out Anacortes is located on the island Fidalgo, one of the San Juan Islands. Here things start to veer toward Pippi Longstocking territory.

In the spring of 1982 Krista’s Anacortes pal Bret Lunsford, one of the fish-catching people who had spent the winter in Tucson, AZ, returned to the Pacific Northwest for another season on his uncle Roy’s fishing boat. Bret drove a bunch of us Olympians to Vancouver, B.C. in his mother’s station wagon to see The Jam. Along the way we met his brother, Jonn, too. I’ve lived in small town and rural Washington for a bit of my life and these fellows were not typical. They did not try to punch us.

Together all these things indicated Anacortes, Washington might be a different kind of place.

My first visit to Anacortes, Washington and its music scene, July 2, 1982, was preceded by six years of careful study in preparation for the journey. Punk rock has always been a story of local scenes, whether the location was London, England or New York, New York, or Anacortes, Washington. The focus is on the people and the places, and the music. Always the music. Each local scene is a unique mixture of nature/nurture, the people involved at the time and the physical environment in which they interact. Who are the people and what is their cultural & creative background, what kind of spaces do they inhabit in which they express themselves? It’s about being in the right place at the right time, as reflected in the history of rock’n’roll - - - Memphis, TN., Florence, AL., Detroit, MI., and Lubbock, TX. - - - distinctive mixtures of nature/nurture. Any place is the right place. The right time is right now.

In 1982, at nineteen years old I’d attended four years of punk rock shows in Portland, Oregon, New York, NY, Seattle, WA, Vancouver, B.C. and Washington, DC. Oh, and Olympia, Washington. Keeping track of local scenes was a hobby I’d developed along with other Olympia peeps involved in underground music - - - as a resident of Olympia I was quite involved in our local scene. We had a community radio station around which many punk rock nerds coalesced. There were also local record stores, local fanzines and half a dzn local bands. One thing we did not have though, was local live music shows. Olympia was not on the map for touring artists, and anyway there was no venue for bands to play. Most of the local punk shows that had occurred in the Olympia area up to this point had taken place at The Evergreen State College, which was located seven miles Northwest of town. Not super convenient, but it was something. Olympia bands occasionally played local bars, but there weren’t many that hosted original rock’n’roll music. Two Olympia venues that catered to jazz, folk and bluegrass experimented with hosting local original rock bands, with limited success (and limited enthusiasm on the part of the venues and their clientele). Both of these venues, because of Washington’s draconian liquor laws, enforced a 21 and older age limit on these events, which precluded my attendance.

Liquor laws in the ‘70s varied widely state to state. In some states the drinking age was 18; various states allowed minors to attend performances in venues licensed to serve alcohol. The enforcement of existing laws varied widely so in some places the actual law was not relevant. Though it quickly became clear when punk rock music started to rear its ugly head that enforcement of liquor laws was done on a selective basis. The end result of all this was no punk shows for me in Washington.

A little more background here to further set the stage. Underground music scenes in the ‘70s were not teen strongholds. In the United States teens did not “get” or care for punk music; it was the teenage revolution that never happened. Punk was music by 20 somethings and older, people who had grown up searching for something different from mainstream rock and had already embraced non-conformist artists like Roxy Music, Grateful Dead, The Stooges, Big Star, Nico, Modern Lovers, MC5, The Tubes, Soft Machine, The Velvet Underground, Kraftwerk. Other folks reached back into rock’n’roll’s recent past and embraced the more rebellious nature of anti-heroes like Rolling Stones, Gene Vincent, Shangri-Las or more obscure figures the Godz, Standells, 13^th Floor Elevators, Nick Drake. Still other people were not interested in rock’n’roll at all, saw music as a form of expression that found purity outside of traditional song forms. As punk developed in the mid-’70s it became a crossroads for all these divergent musical interests to form alliances, or as we say, “scenes,” centered on local bands and artists making original music. Teens were not a major source of the folks populating these scenes.

It was this combination of no venues wanting punk bands and no teenagers wanting punk music that led to a scarcity of punk music shows accessible to teenagers in most cities; certainly in small towns like Olympia and Anacortes.

In the summer of 1982, Black Flag were touring through the NW. Sam Hendricks (one of the Olympia types who’d accompanied Bret and Krista to see The Jam) and I decided to hitch hike to Vancouver, B.C. to see them, then hitch back to Seattle the next day to catch them again. Krista suggested we leave a day early and stopover on our way north in Anacortes, Washington, where she was living for the summer. She mentioned there was going to be a local show that night we may want to attend. Huh. It was unclear if this local show was a special event, or just another Friday night in Anacortes.

Sam and I were lucky that day. We caught a ride north within twenty minutes of putting our thumbs out, from a couple driving all the way to Mt. Vernon, Washington, which is where we diverge from the Interstate and head west towards Anacortes. Not only that, they were meeting someone who they thought may be able to give us a lift into Anacortes. Wahoo. Our ride dropped us off right at Krista’s house. We were ready to rock’n’roll.

Krista and her hometown friends were all meeting up at the house of one particular high school pal. These were not people one would identify as punk rockers by sight. They looked like any other women in a small town in Washington a year out of high school, getting ready for a Friday night with their friends. The only diff was they were getting ready to go out and see a local show. A local band. A local punk band: some fellows with whom they attended high school had a band playing that night, The Spoiled.

While we’re at the house preparing for the evening the women talked about the typical night out in Anacortes for teens, which involved driving up and down Commercial Avenue, the main street in town. This activity was referred to as “dragging The Gut.” One had to be careful if consuming alcohol, which they called “tipping” (as in tipping beer into your mouth) while dragging The Gut because there were several police cars, many unmarked, also “dragging The Gut” on the lookout for illegal activity (by teens). It was easy to spot the police cars though, even if unmarked, because police cars have square headlights. Thus their adage “don’t tip if you see square headlights.” Good advice. Eventually we all piled into somebody’s parents’ automobile, which looked exactly like someone’s parents’ automobile, and headed to the show. On the way a slight detour was made down and up Commercial Ave. so Sam and I could say we dragged The Gut.

The show was at the Summit Park Grange Hall, located a couple miles outside of town. Some enterprising teen or maybe the band themselves (or a combination of the above) had rented the hall and arranged the show and there was already an impressive crowd in attendance. It appeared to be comprised entirely of teenagers, a remarkable achievement. Not a single “adult” in sight, not even a representative of the Summit Park Grange Hall staff. Bret met us outside the grange hall and took us into the show. The fellow working the door was our own age, someone recruited to collect the nominal entrance fee, a cheerful fellow wearing a way-loosened tie. He and Bret compared notes about the evening’s attendance thus far. We were immediately separated from the women who had accompanied us as they met other friends and wandered in different directions. Bret introduced us to some of his pals, including his best friend from high school days, Erik Papritz.

As mentioned previously, in the ‘70s there was a real dearth of teen punk rockers. Now we’re in the early ‘80s and teen attitudes had changed. First of all, they had actually heard of punk, which in the ‘70s, no one had. The second difference is punk no longer seemed evil or wrong. Popular bands like Devo, The Clash and Blondie made punk seem fun. So more kids were identifying as “punk,” and the ones who didn’t weren’t automatically against the idea.

The show had already started when we arrived. The band on stage were the main attraction, The Spoiled. The first thing a punk rocker wants to do when they become a punk rocker is start a punk rock band. If the only punks around are you and your friend, that might not be enough to form a band. You may have to resort to recruiting some non-punks to fill out your sound. Band photogs from the era reflect this: two punks dressed like punks with two non-punks dressed not like punks. Very common scenario. In a place like Anacortes, one might expect this situation to play out accordingly. Not true with The Spoiled. They didn’t look like punks. They also didn’t look not like punks. It was a time when, other than the obligatory Ramones-style black leather motorcycle jacket, most punks had not yet adopted a uniform. There was still a large element of self-expression through dressing up or down. That’s what we had with The Spoiled. Each member had their own look, their own personality, like The Monkees or Banana Splits. You had your random military uniform garb, some sharpie written on jackets, a loud tie mixed in with a-guy-working-at-the-mill style, plus a lot of hacked-off attitude letting everyone know they were ready for any confrontation that presented itself. But none did. There was no heckling, people were either digging the music, in the corner with their friends or doing other things young folks are known to do (like drinking alcohol and smoking cigarettes). This left The Spoiled to do their Spoiled thing, which was good, loud and seemed to be a mixture of original songs plus assorted new wave and punk covers by the likes of The Clash, etc.

There was definitely a self-consciousness at a lot of local shows I’d previously attended, everyone looking over their shoulder to check and see if they were being properly punk or new wave enough, which seems inconsistent with the basic idea of being punk (or new wave), which was to express your individuality. I’d been to shows in D.C., New York and Seattle where this self-consciousness effected both the artists and the audience. Not so here at the Summit Park Grange Hall. Some people were dancing. Not slam dancing, dancing to the music. It was neat. I was very impressed with the whole scene. It was way beyond cool. I had not been to a show that felt this natural and fun. Even the choice of the Summit Park Grange Hall was inspired. In Seattle there was a short-lived punk club called The Bird which briefly occupied the Odd Fellows Hall on Pine Street, Capital Hill. This was the ideal venue, an old wooden hall with a smallish stage and comfortable feel. Summit Park Grange Hall was like that. The fact that it was out of town was not dissimilar to The Evergreen State College being way out of town, the difference being a lack of institutional vibe. Plus, this far away from The Gut, perhaps the police would not bother to harass the kids.

Wrong. Sheriff deputies showed up and wandered through the hall. They spotted some kids drinking (or claimed they did) and immediately attempted to shut down the whole event. Well now, The Spoiled were in the middle of their set, mid-song. The Spoiled ignored the deputies and kept right on playing. The sheriff deputies made repeated requests for the band to stop. They kept on, I mean it seemed reasonable for them to at least finish their song. The sheriff’s deputies cut the power to the whole building. This did not stop lead singer Bryan, who kept on singing and playing his guitar in the dark until the Sheriff Deputies got up, push him off stage and drag him out the door. This show just kept getting better.

Deputies were wandering through the hall with flashlights telling folks to go home. Bret and I were sitting on the floor leaning against the wall discussing the awesomeness of the evening when a deputy walked over and asked Bret what was in the tequila bottle he was holding. “Water.” “Give it to me.” Examines the contents. Gives the bottle back to Bret and instructs us to leave the building.

Outside the grange hall there were a lot of teens milling around. Bryan is handcuffed in the back of a sheriff’s car. A deputy was shouting at the assembled mass that the show was over, everyone had to leave immediately. Bret’s friend Erik Papritz got out in front of the deputy and said, “Nobody move. They can’t make us leave, we rented this hall for the whole evening.” The sheriff’s deputy got a hold of Erik and suddenly he was in the back of the car, too. At that, everyone did leave, the show did appear to be over. Definitely one of the best punk shows I’ve ever seen.

Oh yeah, the next night the Black Flag show in Vancouver, B.C. was alright. I dunt remember much about it.