xtcian

no place to go and all night to get there

6/10/07

The year was 1980, quite possibly the most emotionally-forgotten year in American history, and it was Field Day at Benjamin Franklin Junior High School in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. I was in eighth grade, and Field Day meant that most classes were cancelled in order to make each classroom into a special learning center for some bizarre career.

This meant there was a room for sculptors with a potting wheel, there was a guy who could weld pieces of metal together, a room showing how they made Gasohol (an early Iowa-based attempt at car gas made with corn) and the most popular room featured a dude who could make lasers move to music - which, of course, would be seen later that summer accompanying "Dark Side of the Moon."

Lots of kids were assigned to the various rooms - there had to be at least fifty - and what was mine? Why, HAM RADIO of course! I got permission from the orchestra teacher to take over the rehearsal space, and a bunch of guys from the local Ham club came over to set up shop behind the glockenspiel and the timpanis.

For my part, Brad Harris and I were up early in the morning, around 6am, to string a dipole from the rehearsal room to the basketball courts outside, about seventy feet away. It was early spring, and thus about forty below zero at that time of morning, but we got the two wires connected, and during the test, the antenna seemed to receive and send signals normally.

I was pretty psyched about Field Day because I had no friends anyway, and it meant getting to do my hobby instead of going to goddamn class. I must have seemed nonchalant enough, because the whole amateur radio thing interested Stephanie Pachinsky, the cutest girl in the second violin section. By 1980 standards, she was awesome: Polish, huge glasses and a smile that would light up every time somebody cranked "Too Much Time on My Hands" by Styx, which seemed like every other lunch period.

I casually told her I talked to some guys in Central America with an antenna made of thin copper wire and about 40 watts of electricity. Something about "Central America" during that cold Iowa April seemed to hit the right place. When I showed her a card someone had sent me from a place called Snug Harbor, she was in - she just loved the sound of it. Snug Harbor. Unbelievably, she said she'd hang in the Ham Radio room during Field Day.

This was exciting, but it put added pressure on how well our radio worked, so when Field Day came, I was praying we'd get somebody well outside of Iowa, maybe outside of North America, somewhere sultry and warm, where the beaches glittered with white sand. When we fired up the Yaesu transceiver, the Ham Radio Club guys immediately frowned like those dudes on "Deadliest Catch" when one of their crab pots gets tangled in the propeller.

Hours went by, somebody busted out a soldering gun, and I could see Stephanie Pachinsky's attention span begin to drift away. After all, there was laser rock going on just a few rooms down the hall, and there was a rumor some guy was handing out helium balloons for everybody to suck on.

By 2pm, they got the radio working... but nobody was on the airwaves. We hunted all the way up and down the 10, 20, 40 and 80 meter bands, but some freak of nature, like sunspots or atmospheric skip, kept us from hearing anybody. At 3:20, the bell rang, and the day was over. I looked behind me, but Stephanie had long since bailed. While I was outside, dismantling and coiling shitloads of wire, I saw her with about 10 friends, all going in the direction of the Dairy Queen.

It was the only time I'd ever turned on a ham radio and not heard another soul. I thought that was just about the biggest pile of unfair bullshit I'd ever known. I still saw Stephanie every day after that - orchestra lasts forever - but somehow, I knew a window had opened and closed.

A few weeks later, we had "challenges," where any member of the orchestra can challenge the person sitting next to them for their spot. You both go behind a huge cardboard divider, and play the same piece. The entire string section casts a blind vote for the "best" player, and that person wins the challenge. If you're good, you can keep challenging other violinists and moving up until you're concertmaster. Think of it like musical "Highlander".

I challenged four people and won all of them, making me head of the 2nd violin section. Somebody challenged Stephanie, and when I heard her play the violin, I was stunned: she played the whole Bach B-minor Orchestral Suite in B-frickin'-major. I suddenly realized she was why we had sounded like shit for so long.

That's when the crush ended. She was stunningly pretty, but I can't deal with a chick who plays out of tune.