Rust? Must! Pt. 2
Akron and Kent, Ohio
Back at the Pittsburgh boutique hotel Friday we packed for early departure. Friday night’s sleep went slightly better than Thursday’s. No random 2:00 AM thudding from upstairs but the room next to ours held a raucous 11:00 PM gathering, with loud voices, laughter and a randomly barking dog. I thought of banging on the door connecting our rooms or calling down to the front desk again. Sweet T. was sound asleep and either “solution” ran the risk of waking her, while failing to quell the apparent party. The noise eventually abated but the green glow persisted and I found myself wishing I’d bought those adhesive dots they sell to cover rude LEDs. They’re on every outlet and light switch and why? To help you locate them in the dark? To let you know “This is WORKING!?” Because you can’t buy outlets and switches for a hotel any other way? Hotels must know this is bullshit and I await the invariable How was your stay? survey to inveigh against the Green Glow.
Saturday morning, after another free hotel breakfast, we were on the road to Akron by 8:30. After another stop at Sheetz (their bathrooms ARE clean…) we arrived in The Bomb Shelter parking lot (above) by 10:15. It’s off the beaten path but the huge bombshell out front lets you know where you are. I phoned Kevin, per plan, but he’s not who came out to help me tote my offerings inside. Meet Billy Paycheck Jr., in newsboy cap and flannel shirt-jac, explaining he’s no relation, just adopted Paycheck Jr. as a stage name awhile back. Later, I’d visit him in his “shop” – a hidden space with its own bathroom and shower, halfway through the 24,000 square foot building – and hear about his music career and the bad divorce he weathered. Now Billy grabbed the box holding the star of the day – the Akron Truss Boy – and we carried it gingerly into the building, depositing it in what Billy called “the office.”
Just a few feet into The Bomb Shelter I could tell it was unlike any antiques store I’ve seen. Lovingly curated, with every. last. old. thing. you might ever desire, its closet analog might be the POP Emporium of Popular Culture in Providence, Rhode Island. But this place dwarfs that and just keeps going.
When I went back to the car to get the Halliburton Zero case (still half-full after my visit with Mo at Curated Flame in Pittsburgh), the file box full of old paper, and a blue IKEA bag with military coats, I said to Sweet T. (who told me she’d be staying in the car, thanks), “You HAVE to see this place. And they aren’t open yet, so now’s the time.” Billy let us back in (the door had locked behind us against any early birds – don’t arrive before 11:00 AM!) and Sweet T. went to the vintage clothes straight off. After depositing my other items in the office, Kevin greeted me and we made small talk about the Pittsburgh visit. The Akron Truss Boy was unboxed and set on a table. I noted the cracks in both arms had worsened from the jostling it got on the way, and worried Kevin would back out of the whole deal. He’d initially responded positively to the description and pictures I sent but then began to waver, telling me on the phone It’s not really what we sell here. We’re mostly mid-century modern. To my credit, I went into salesman mode.
“You may be looking at this through the wrong end of the telescope. You don’t SELL this. You keep it in the store and people take selfies with it. It’s just creepy enough to be fascinating. And there’s the Akron connection.”
Kevin said, Okay. Bring it along.
Taking it in now, a young Bomb Shelter worker says Where was the Akron Trust?
“No.” I said. “Akron TRUSS. That’s what they’d give you back in the day if you had a hernia.”
I’m not sure he knew what a hernia is, either.
“Now they’d do an operation.” My extra details weren’t helping.
While pulling the coats out of the IKEA bag and spreading out the rest of my offerings, I interviewed Kevin about the store’s origins. He said he bought the building with the idea of stashing his vintage cars and some other stuff he’d collected, while renting out the rest. And then the MCM vision took over and soon he’d filled every corner. Now he employed a small staff and the place was thronged on the weekends. They also did a brisk online business. I never got around to asking Kevin what he did prior to this (or he told me and I forgot) or what he might’ve paid for the building but figured you don’t need to be enormously wealthy to put an operation like this together in Akron. My mind balked when I thought of what it would’ve taken to buy similar footage in Saugerties, where my store That Cave lived and died.
Kevin suggested I take a look around while he went through the other stuff I’d brought, including the old paper. I wandered through the store shooting video. Over here, vintage women’s clothing; over there, jewelry; then men’s vintage clothes; then the kitchen and housewares area; next is militaria, followed by sports; here are a ton of 1950s/1960s electronics; that corner has gorgeous lighting; around the next corner are bicycles, then furniture, then Kevin’s car collection (including a gorgeous 1967 Citroen) and on and on. The Bomb Shelter and POP Emporium show what a single person’s vision can accomplish, something you’ll never get from a co-op situation.
By the time I arrived back at the office I was proud of myself for not returning with one of the dozen items I would’ve gladly taken home. Another Bomb Shelter employee had pulled a few items out of the old paper file box and Kevin and I haggled over the additional value, after subtracting for the Yashica-mat camera I left back home. We arrived at a price that felt fair to both of us and I asked if he’d throw in an Akron Fire Department jumpsuit I noticed in the men’s vintage clothing area. He gave me the friendly price and I thought This’ll be great for working in the garage. Kevin asked for some ID before he could cut a check. I stuck my hand into my Levi’s trucker jacket pocket where my wallet goes and came back empty. Oh shit. I tried my second location, pants pocket. Nothing. I started doing the macarena, checking every jacket and pants pocket. My brain began screaming YOU’VE LOST YOUR WALLET STUFFED WITH CASH, YOU ASSHOLE. Breaking out in a cold sweat, I told Kevin, “I need to run back out to the car and see if it’s out there.”
Back at the car, where Sweet T. had again deposited herself, I explained the situation and she got out to help me search. What followed was half-a-dozen Did you put it…? and Could have left it…? and Have you looked in…? questions while my stomach dropped at the idea of driving an hour back to Sheetz, where I must’ve dropped the wallet. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Why can’t I get with the whole trucker (biker) wallet thing? A fucking chain, attached to your fucking belt loop, holding the wallet at the other end. But I’m not a back pocket wallet guy. I don’t know how those dudes sit on their wallets while driving or riding but that ain’t me. In desperation I checked my shirt pockets and - goddamnit – there it was. Sheepishly, I turned to Sweet T. and said, “Found it.”
Back inside, Kevin decided to give me cash and I asked for hundreds so I could fold my wallet over and put it where it belonged, in my jacket pocket. He said to let him know if we made it out his way again and I said I would. We shook hands and I took one last picture.
By the time I walked out, the doors had opened to the public, people were streaming in and the parking lot was full. A guy in a pickup truck hovered near us, rolling down his window to excitedly ask “Are you leaving?” as I climbed into our car. Pulling out, I made the same joke I had back in Pittsburgh after returning from Curated Flame. I set it up with a disappointed “I didn’t get X (amount of dollars).” After Sweet T.’s muted response I countered with “I got X-PLUS!” Ha!
We were due at Chris and Beth’s place twenty minutes away but the Sheraton Suites Cuyahoga Falls (a recommendation from an Akron-born friend) messaged we could check in early, so we did. A wedding party was filing in and I made a point of asking for a top floor non-elevator shaft adjacent room. We ended up far from the maddening crowd in a nicely-appointed suite (hence the name) with a kitchenette. Quite the glow up from our noisy boutique hotel room. Dropping our bags and doing a quick toothbrush turnaround, we were on our way to Chris and Beth’s in fifteen minutes.
I’ve known Chris Butler since our Hoboken days on Adams Street a block apart. I probably met him at a party and only later learned he was the guy from The Waitresses who wrote “I Know What Boys Like,” the theme song for the TV show “Square Pegs,” and the current number one new classic Christmas song “Christmas Wrapping.” Chris has done so much more than that but it might be the “mailbox money” he’s most proud of, though tonight we’d have the honor of seeing him sit in with The Numbers Band, legendary Kent, Ohio blues rockers also-rans who kicked future Devo member out for wearing a monkey mask on stage and Chris Butler for skipping rehearsal to attend a Waitresses photo session. In 2005 Chris moved back to his old stomping grounds, landing in Bath after buying Jeffrey Dahmer’s childhood home, where we now arrived.
Chris and Beth came out to greet us, hugs all around, and we soon got the tour of a lovely mid-century modern home (even featured in a 1952 Beacon magazine spread boasting of its sleek design and built-in TV and stereo) that just happened to launch an infamous serial killer’s career. As we shuffled from room to room, marveling at the furnishings and decor (Chris and Beth both have exquisite taste), Chris told us how he came to own the place. He was looking for something on a smaller scale and loved that the house was on a wooded lot with no lawn to care for. He was due to close when a sheepish realtor called (Ohio law says we don’t need to tell you this…) and divulged its secret, worried Chris would back out if he found out later. Chris shrugged, said I don’t believe in ghosts and bought. I asked if he’s had any unwelcome visitors pulling into his driveway and he said he did, especially after the recent miniseries. They ask if they can take a look around and I tell them it’s private property and I call the police. He did loan the house out to his friend Derf Backderf to use during the filming of “My Friend Dahmer.”
House tour done, we gifted Chris and Beth with the Akron Fire Dept. jumpsuit and a vintage India Rubber Tire Co. ashtray (when I asked Kevin at The Bomb Shelter if he wanted it he grinned wide and led me to this…)
Beth had something to do, so Chris took us to lunch at a nearby noodle house. Then we followed his car as he drove to his building on Kenmore Blvd., past the rubber baron mansions and the house where Devo germinated (I called him on the way and he provided narration). Chris and Beth turned the Kenmore spot into a shared studio and workspace and I noted a few other music studios, a world-famous luthier and a well-stocked guitar store close by. Inside the building, I gawked at a tall pile of guitar effects and quizzed Sweet T. on what the yellow electric tape “L” on the guitar amps signified (it’s where you stick the microphone).
Our fourth tour of the day complete, we headed back to the hotel to recharge before meeting Chris in Kent for The Numbers Band show at the Venice Cafe (“Since 1941!”).
But prior to that, another tour…
In addition to his Ohio musical history, Chris is part of another, darker Ohio history: he was a student at Kent State May 4, 1970, when the National Guard fired on a crowd of protesters, killing four. Today, he was going to give us a tour of the site. First, we had to find parking near the Venice, not easy, given that it was “Fake St. Patrick’s Day” and the town was crawling with college students in green. We lucked out when someone left. Then we decided to take a Lyft to the campus so we could hang on to the spot. Five minutes later we were in the parking lot, Chris showing us how he had to duck down behind a car, the glass blowing out all over him, when the firing began. It was beyond eerie to be led through the site, with Chris detailing how the entire incident unfolded and showing us the spot where his friend Jeffrey Miller lay facedown, dead (below). Chris had just loaned him a set of drums, which the FBI dragged its collective feet returning, claiming they were somehow “evidence.”
We got another Lyft back to the Venice Cafe, snagging a table near the stage with Chris, where he tuned up his Danelectro Longhorn bass. I instantly fell in love with everything about the Venice, from the flooring to the original furnishings to the neon to the bar stools to the booths along the back wall.
When I told Sweet T. “I want to transport this entire place to Weehawken.” she nodded in agreement. I introduced myself to Robert Kidney of The Numbers Band and mentioned I wanted to interview him and Chris (Chris had seeded the ground) and it might be best to try it outside so I wouldn’t have copyright issues with whatever the Venice was playing over the sound-system. Using his cane, moving slow, Robert suggested a bench just around the corner. I persuaded a quartet of college kids sucking down pizza slices to let “the olds” cop a squat. They politely got up and dispersed and I stuck my Marantz recorder between Chris and Robert and began asking questions, Chris augmenting.
Five minutes later, the batteries on the Marantz died (in addition to the Yashica-mat camera, I’d left my spares home), a total fucking rookie mistake, and I wasted precious time asking anyone and everyone in the Venice if they had double-AAs. Then I remembered the Voice Record Pro app on my iPhone and pressed it into service. I manage to record a solid 10 minutes with Chris and Robert before they needed to be on stage and the results (plus the band playing Howlin’ Wolf’s “Evil”) can soon be heard on Ken Katkin’s Trash Flow Radio on WAIF-FM in Cincinatti. In the meantime, here’s a video of the band at the Venice:
Sweet T. and I ate, drank, talked and enjoyed two sets by The Numbers Band (they played three), leaving with Chris and Beth around 9:30 PM. We said our goodbyes in the parking lot, promising to return before too much longer, then got our asses back to the Sheraton, watching half an episode of “Neighbors” on HBO before hitting the hay. Eager to get home, the next morning we were up by 6:30 and on the road by 8:00, arriving in Weehawken just after 3:00 PM after an uneventful run on Route 80 all the way.
Seeing the current state of air travel, we may be on Route 80 often: there’s more Rust Belt to explore.
