This story harkens back to late 1999, a time that clings to my memory.
It started with the radio stations playing Prince’s 1999, to the point that most of us didn’t want to hear it ever again.
The years of 1997 to 1999 had been troubling for me. I had found myself in and out of the hospital/physical therapy due to injuries. I had a failed relationship that was hard to shake. I found myself fighting something between a long term depression and a melancholy feeling toward the future.
I felt like the government was slowly poking their noses in everyday life, through the generated paranoia of Y2K. (I had felt that the supposed meltdown was a growing pain that the private world needed to deal with on their own). It drove everyone nuts.
I had heard the murmurs of a live music event that was supposedly coming to our area. This didn’t surprise me, considering I had experienced some smaller shows at a medium sized venue nearby. A few of my friends had talked about it, adding to an avalanche of bs that seemed to grow everyday. I honestly thought that it would have been at the local venue, if not at all. It was a herculean effort to get anything into our town.
I had went on with my life, not paying much attention to further mentions. I had been largely checked out. I had a season of things that kept my time and I was wrestling with further discussions about my future. The smarter among me were polishing off future plans while I was wrestling with the fact that my options were bleak at best. A few of my close friends weren’t even to this point in their lives.
It had been a few months before Y2K when I heard that the live music event had actually made it to fruition. I was also surprised that not only there wasn’t an actual venue, but the town was going to close off several busy streets in our town (often home to protests and vandalism). The organization behind the event was also going to construct a stage for the performances. I had been surprised that it made it this far.
I was lukewarm about the event. I didn’t think that I was going to be able to go and I wasn’t sure if I could get off my carcass to walk the few miles to get there. The thing that changed my mind was my parents. Yes, the people that usually got in the way. They had asked me if I was going and said that they didn’t care if I went. (Noted that I was raised in a relatively strict household). Afterwards, I ended up broaching the subject with my best friend, the usual person I could loop into such an event.
We ended up wandering down to the area. That night, there were already thousands of people in the downtown area that was cordoned off. I ran into a ton of people that obviously had been “pre-gaming”, appropriately brought on by the hard-to-access places where alcohol could actually be purchased. I ran into other minors, specifically Baptists, that had been drinking. (No judgment here). Later in the night, I saw people on top of nearby notable buildings that were heckling and three sheets to the wind. I also saw drunks in some trees, shaking them like a pack of wild monkeys. The kicker? The cops left these people alone if they weren’t endangering themselves.
I was actually sober for this event. I enjoyed talking with people and hanging out with the few people I ran into. The experience was comparative to Lance’s Do Lung Bridge scene from Apocalypse Now. I was watching a change in history. It was somewhat depressing but it was real. The music was a mere side note.
I had ended up going to a party at a nearby rat hole motel, often home to shootings and fights support by police calls. My buddy and I were a little late. There wasn’t any booze left, this didn’t surprise me, considering most of the people there didn’t have a social code telling them to buy any or they didn’t have the connections that I did. The people at the waning party were in good spirits, though. A few were on the cusp of getting it on and a few people had exchanging pleasantries with me.
I wasn’t in high spirits and I had been feeling awful before I went to the music event. But I was surprised that there weren’t that many police reports afterwards. No one hassled the tree drunks and the frat boys on the roof were left alone. I was also surprised to see that none of the minors I knew got busted for booze. The most notable was by buddy, Skeezer. Skeezer was captured being carried by his two friends on the front page of our local newspaper. There was an uproar by a few parents, but the vast majority of the townspeople knew that it could blow over. It was nice to see our local police prioritize their efforts into what mattered.
