This is a confessional of my own stupidity. A story that proves I have guardian angels (or several) watching over my spirit. There’s a real good chance, after these events, my guardian angel put in for a transfer.
It was summer 1998 set in the heart or maybe pancreas of Minneapolis. I’d been following this band called Happy Apple for a couple of years. Hadn’t missed a single performance, handed out CD’s, and was generally inspired by what they were creating. They were a 3-piece group lead by a Juliard-drop out drummer (the rumor was because they didn’t let him wear shorts), a fretless electronic bassist, and a sax player. The sounds they were making were tremendous, but it was their stage presence as performers that won me over. On this particular night they were going to open before the movie-in-the-park.
Minneapolis, as in any city, had its pockets of shady territories. Today Steven’s Square Park is a rather gentrified area but back in 98’ it was borderline. I went early to get a good seat around 6pm for the show to start at 7pm; I’d never really been to the park before, keeping my distance for reasons of staying out of trouble.
As I approached the park which was a long city block surrounded by historic brownstone apartment buildings I looked for signs for music and movies in the park, or at a minimum the band setting up for the show. But there was nothing - no amps being unloaded, projection screens, or people milling about. I figured I had the wrong place so I drove around looking for the music.
After fifteen minutes of driving in circles, investigating houses and apartments clearly not finding an alternate for the venue I decided to ask a guy on the corner. I pulled up and rolled down my window.
“Hey, you know where the music’s at?”
“What?” He shouted over the street traffic.
I repeated, “you know where the music’s at?” He walked over to the passenger window and reached in, unlocked the door and popped in. It all happened so quickly I didn’t have a chance to protest. I wasn’t prepared for personal directions.
“Um, you know where the band is playing?”
“I’ll take you, drive,” he commanded. I was not in the turning lane so I had to go straight through the intersection to a dead-end street.
“No No, man. Don’t go into this street,” he looked back over his shoulder and out the window checking if anyone was watching, or the wrath of some terrible demon. I didn’t ask, I just immediately turned the car around. At this point I knew I was in serious trouble, I didn’t know the streets, and this guy was shady, and in my car. I did what he told me though and headed back toward the Steven’s Square Park. As we approached the park I saw a sign that read ‘Music and Movie in the park beginning at 8pm’ (where the hell was that sign 20 minutes ago?). I was right all along just had the incorrect time. Now it was a matter of getting rid of this guy without getting murdered.
He told me to pull up to the park near the basketball courts. There were several guys playing a rather intense game of shirts and skins. My tour guide waved through my window and made eye contact with one of the ballers. The game was stopped and two of the skins came over and popped into my cherry red Ford Explorer. This would be about the time that anyone reading this would wonder how naive and ignorant I was, but in the moment, everything happened very quickly and I was really trying to keep my cool.
“What’s up?” The baller sitting directly behind me asked.
“Okay man what you want?” My tour guide and personal drug delivery guy asked.
“Oh boy guys, I think there’s a serious misunderstanding,” you have to imagine me stating this with a full William H. Macy accent from Fargo.
“What? I thought you wanted a hook-up?”
“No. Sorry, I was looking for the music. You know, the band in the park?” As I stated it out loud, I could get why he thought I was looking for drugs. My tour guide sighed and dropped his head.
“So, you want it or not?” Baller asked.
“No thanks,” I replied.
“Shit,” his partner stated, the one sitting behind my tour guide. I realized I was wasting these guys’ time. Maybe I could make it up to them. I had a jug of Carlo Rossi stashed under the passenger seat. I reached down and said, “you guys want some wine?” As I pulled it out and lifted it as high as my review mirror, I turned and noticed a police car had pulled up to my blind spot.
“Whoa, 5.0 man put the wine down,” the second baller exclaimed. I stashed the booze back down below the seat. We just sat there silent, no one spoke, and none of us moved. The moment lasted for an eternity, I just watched through the passenger side mirror. The police didn’t move or get out. I assumed he was running my plates trying to determine why a white, young, Saint Pauler was doing in the hood with a truck full of locals in a bright red cherry Ford Explorer. And whatever the police were wondering, I was wondering the same exact thing.
There was a good chance that a fuse was about to be lit and shit was about to explode. We continued to sit in silence. I assumed we all four were praying, although my prayers might have sounded a little bit different than the other three, but nonetheless for a moment in time - we all wanted the same thing.
After another minute or two the police car pulled away. Once it was a half block down the street the two ballers jumped out of the car without saying a word and bailed.
“Drive man, let’s go,” my tour guide stated. I drove a couple of blocks when he chimed in again, “take me to Franklin.” I drove him the eight blocks to Franklin. He asked me en route whether I wanted to drive him around later making several stops. I respectfully declined the invitation. After he departed, I drove a couple of blocks and pulled over and just stopped and closed my eyes to thank my lucky stars, and all of my angels. There were about five ways that could have gone differently and I still wasn’t sure how none of them didn’t happen. As I stated previously, several guardian angels facilitated some kind of spiritual corporate takeover.
I parked about two blocks from the park, grabbed my jug of wine, and entered the park. As I soberly came through the grassy path I passed a man who whispered, “I bet you feel better huh?” With a big goofy smile on his face.
I nodded, “you bet man!” Of course he assumed I got my fix, my hook-up, but in reality I got a heavy dose of good luck.
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