Sunday, October 28, 2012

What do Nick Hornby, Uncertainty, Cameron Crow, Curiosity and The School of Rock Have In Common?


The kind and insightful reviews of my book, Embracing the Gray: A Wing, A Prayer, and a Doubter’s Resolve (Wheatmark Press), continue to come in via Amazon.com.  To this point, of over a hundred reviews that have come in, 97% of the reviews have been “Five Stars.”  Here are half a dozen recent entries:

I thoroughly enjoyed the book. Mark's writing is very captivating and easy to read. The stories that he tells of his life are funny, sad, insightful and thought provoking. In a polarized society, I appreciate Mark's honesty that some of life's answers come from struggling with the "gray" and that we can draw closer to God through those experiences.
H.T.

I have known Mark for a few years and have read his blog regularly in that time. I have seen and experienced first hand his own willingness to live his faith in an open, honest way, including not just the good times, but the hard questions and difficult circumstances. If you are looking for happy-go-lucky, pat on the back, feel-good themed book, you may want to pick up one of those fluff books. If, however, you want a book that will affirm your own struggles, is easy to read, and at the same time challenges you to take seriously the concepts of God, spirituality and help you in times where you may feel all alone, I couldn't recommend anything as much as Embracing the Gray. Mark writes from a place of honesty that many of us could learn from; his life has been an example; his words will inspire and challenge.
M.F.

It was difficult to put this book down once I started reading. Mark is such a great storyteller with such incredible picturesque descriptions. The U2 story in particular is one you won't forget. I highly recommend this and look forward to what he does next.  J.R.

Mark is such an amazing writer and communicator that I can still crack up (or tear up) when reading many of his adventures. I couldn't put the book down.

It's great fun to hear all the funny stories and adventures of trips around the world, hanging with rock stars or just the silly things life brings our way. The best part though is the authentic honesty that comes through Mark's spiritual journey as well as his care and thoughtfulness for people and meeting them where they are at.

The Christian walk often brings much doubt and uncertainty, particularly for people who are curious, thoughtful and intelligent. I found it very easy to relate to the various questions Mark has struggled with in his search for spiritual meaning. I wouldn't hesitate to recommend this book to any of my friends, regardless of where they are at in their spiritual journey or even if they don't realize they are on one.
C.S.

The author is brilliant at weaving in common-sense spiritual nuggets throughout his fascinating life story. I am hoping to pass it along to others with the same struggles, which many of us have. Bravo for telling things as they are, not as we want them to be within circles of Christianity. One honest voice & gracious heart can break the mold. Thank you. 
L.G.

Buy it for the U2 story, you will stay for the rest! Mark Hollingsworth is a great storyteller and he has more than his fair share of experiences to make his tales hold your attention. Part Cameron Crowe, part Nick Hornby and with vulnerability and soul-exposing honesty that confirms the authentic heart of the author. The book will be most interesting if you are a Kerry Livgren/Kansas fan, since Mark befriended and chronicled Kerry during his rise to fame. This book should have been required reading for Jack Black's School of Rock class! 
J.G.

I continue to be humbled by these thoughtful words.  And equally excited that the book is connecting with so many others.  If you would like to read more reviews, or write one of your own, or order a copy (now available in Kindle format as well) go to:


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Contact me directly if you would like to purchase a signed copy.   : )


Sunday, October 21, 2012

Sweet Wine


My old friend Will McFarlane told me this one recently…

When I was on staff at a large church in North Carolina a few years back, the hyper-fundamentalist streak ran deep with some of the parishioners.  On a Sunday after our quarterly communion service, one particularly staunch and highly opinionated little ol’ “church lady” was complaining to me about the flavor of the grape juice being a bit too sweet.

As she continued her intense assessment about how this was hardly acceptable, and a real affront to a God-honoring worship service, with a chuckle I interjected something to lighten the mood. “You know, ma’am, Christ himself conducted the very first Eucharist using and drinking wine as the holy substitute.”

“Yes, I know,” she lamented.  “And I think less of Him for it!”

Sunday, October 14, 2012

Enacting the Masque (Another free chapter from "Embracing the Gray")


Each man has a memory
Much more than the eye can see
Yet still others linger deep inside you
Haunting thoughts of pain and joy divide you
Look beyond your eyes
At the dark and moody skies
For they're standing in your way
You must find the light of day

(Kansas, “Apercu,” from Kansas, 1974)

I’ll never forget that warm Indian summer evening, when I would be introduced to something that would ultimately impact my life in many ways. It was sixteen months before my decision to renounce my faith, and I was playing sand volleyball next to one of the dormitories at Wheaton College.  Four stories above us, a student had placed both of his huge Jensen speakers against his window and began blasting some of the most stimulating music I’d heard in a long time.  Asking several in our group if they had any idea who it was, we all became curious. 

When we were finished, I climbed the stairs and sauntered down the hallway to the door of the room where the music was emanating from.  I had to knock several times in order to be heard over the symphonic rock of intricate drum patterns, blistering guitars, crisp keyboard riffs, and soaring vocals.  But what set it apart from other great bands of that time like Yes, Queen, and ELP was the distinctive use of violin as a rock instrument.

When a scruffy faced kid with a shoulder-length mane opened the door, the massive sound was made all the clearer.  So as not to make him feel like I was some goody-two shoes there to complain about his “jungle rhythm heathen rawk,” I extended my hand, and yelled “My name’s Mark.  What on earth is this great music you’re playing?”

“Cool…I’m Rich.  You dig it?!  It’s a band called Kansas.”  He handed me the cover, and I recognized it from the local record store racks.  You see, I frequented Johnny B.Goode, a music and head shop in downtown Wheaton at least once a week to check out new releases.  The proprietor, Don McLeese, went on to eventually become a pretty well known syndicated music journalist for the Chicago Sun Times.  He’d often play hip new stuff, and it helped in my quest to stay on top of all the latest trends. Earlier that spring I had seen this same album in the New Releases Bin, but because of the band’s appearance, of plaid shirts, ripped jeans, and even one of the dudes wearing bib overalls, I presumed they were some sort of country bumpkin git-fiddle band a la Charlie Daniels. Man, was I wrong.

I asked Rich if I could listen for a while, and he eagerly complied by offering me a beanbag chair and lifting the needle to start the record from the beginning.  “Check out the lyrics, too…pretty amazing stuff.”

From the very start
I screamed for the devil to let me be
I called to the heavens to set me free
Today I prayed for the answer and not one
Of your gods in the sky would rescue me


(Kansas, “Journey From Mariabronne,” from Kansas, 1974)

It was breathtaking to hear something that so immediately captured my imagination.  As a kid I had always loved the romantic era of classical music, and then as the rock explosion of the mid-late 60s came along, with my brother’s help, I was swept up into that.  And even though the progressive rock scene started to meld the two with some powerful bands like those mentioned above, there was still something missing.  I was now hearing it, and it was mesmerizing.  Incorporating elements of Hendrix, Deep Purple, Zeppelin, Mahavishnu, and even Leo Kottke with powerful arrangements and orchestrations influenced by the likes of Mahler, Wagner, Debussy, and Tchaikovsky was the perfect blend of power and serenity.  To top it off, the lyrics were at times probing, then confessional. Some angry, others contemplative.  But there was honesty and yearning to it all, and when mixed with the music, it made a delicious feast. 

The next day I promptly bought their first two releases. I tried finding out everything I could about this obscure band from Topeka that was really beginning to make noise across the country. I became especially taken with the songs by guitarist/keyboardist Kerry Livgren.  He seemed the more classically inspired of the composers, and I resonated deeply with much of what he spoke. I couldn’t help but begin praying regularly for such an ardent seeker.

Run a silent path to nowhere, everything is all
You could have a pleasant life if Summer had no Fall
Treat yourself so gently though the task is often hard
Man is not a God it seems, who holds the final card
Close your eyes and feel the darkness, speak and hear the sound,
We only catch a glimpse of all the life that is around,
The man is not alive who knows the value of his soul,
And when our lives are pulled away, there's more to fill the hole
I wonder what you'd think if all the changes didn't come?


(Kansas, “Incommudro,” from Song For America, 1975)

As my misgivings about elements of Christianity were becoming more defined, I found Kerry’s words giving me solace…even giving me strength to keep moving forward in my search for clarity.

A few months later, I was the first at Wheaton to get their third album, entitled Masque.  A French word that means “A disguise of reality created through a theatrical or musical performance.”   So much of what I was struggling with was reflected in the album art, Arcimboldo’s eerie Water. It was a surrealist painting of a native warlord’s head that on closer examination was actually a conglomeration of aquatic creatures and plants writhing about.  This is how I often felt…from a distance I was one who somehow could fit in, but in reality, there was a complex, even squeamish jumble of questions that made me and others feel uneasy.

With glory and passion no longer in fashion
The hero breaks his blade
Cast this shadow long that I may hide my face
And in this cloak of darkness the world I will embrace
In all that I endure, of one thing I am sure
Knowledge and reason change like the season
A jester's promenade


(Kansas, “The Pinnacle,” from Masque, 1975)

So during my junior year, in the six week stretch where my three friends perished, I finally saw Kansas perform twice.  In their first three years of national exposure, Kansas had become known as “the touringest band in the land,” averaging close to 250 concerts per year.  They opened for seemingly anyone and everyone, and they played around Chicagoland alone eleven times that year.  They were also gaining quite the reputation as a band that many did not want to have on the same bill because they regularly blew others off the stage with their force and skill.  For instance, at a recent gig as opener for Rory Gallagher at the infamous Aragon Ballroom, most of the sold out audience left during the Irishman’s set having been so thoroughly entertained by the sextet from the desolate heartland.
Despite a lack of a hit single, each album was selling more than the one before, and Kansas was beginning to garner headline gigs at universities and in major cities.

It was hard to imagine a group being able to pull off the intricate arrangements of their complex epics…but they did so even more convincingly on stage than their albums.  The music was more primal and urgent in person, and with creative lighting and theatrical staging to help interpret the many moods, the concerts were everything I had hoped.  In fact, at the show at College of DuPage, I met up with Doug Pinnick, the lead singer/bassist for an area hard rock outfit I’d gotten to know (and now famous with King’s X). Kansas was also his favorite band, and we were enthralled with what we experienced.
“Man, Kerry Livgren is so far into my head now.  He seems to be writing for me,” declared Doug, who had also experienced deep grief and spiritual anxiety growing up.  And with what I had been going through with my heavy losses, I had to concur.

Sweet child of innocence
Living in the present tense
Father Time will take his toll
Rack your body and steal your soul
What became of all the years?
Are you drowning in your tears?
Who will catch you when you fall?
Who will hear you when you call?


(Kansas, “Child of Innocence,” from Masque, 1975)


The leading monthly music paper in Chitown, The Illinois Entertainer, asked if I would like to become a regular contributor after seeing some of my other rock journalism.  One of the first assignments I requested was to interview Kansas.

The band had just put the finishing touches on their Leftoverture album, and was doing a quick run of dates across the Midwest to help pay some bills before the album would be released a few months later. Kansas’ popularity had grown to beyond cult status in Chicago by that point, and the small Randhurst Ice Arena in suburban Palatine was packed with 4,000 “wheatheads.” 

In a dingy, dripping, rackety locker room (abundant with the stench of sweat-soaked leather padding that hockey players are known for), I met Kerry Livgren for the first time while the Earl Slick Band pounded out senseless drivel to the impatient masses sitting above us.  It remains one of my favorite interviews ever, partially because Kerry was excited to be answering intelligent questions about his band’s music from someone who had done his homework; but also because we really started to hit it off.  In the forty- minute session, we learned we loved many of the same classical composers; knew way more than we would normally admit about detasseling corn; were influenced by many of the same writers, philosophers, and filmmakers; shared in deep-seeded distrust of the music business; could both quote Monty Python ad infinitum; and were both on a quest for truth and meaning that was paramount above all else. 

I felt so comfortable with him that at one point I asked if he were ever open to suggestions for their set.  “Normally not, but you’re more interesting than the average bear, so go ahead.”  I told him that I’d always been fond of Franz Liszt (“me, too” he interjected), and his Hungarian Rhapsody series (“Once again, me as well” he chimed).

“Have you ever thought about adapting one of those pieces somewhere in your set?  They are so fun, Robbie (Steinhardt—the band violinist) could easily pull it off, and I’m sure your crowds would love it.”

Knowing that this was their first gig on this run of dates, and that everything they would be playing that night would be new to me, Kerry sat there amazed.  “Well, as a matter of fact, we ARE playing a bit of one of Liszt’s pieces during the encore.” 

At that point, my photographer, Sam Smith, said, “this is just too strange with you two.” “Yeah,” Kerry concurred, “it’s like we’re two long lost brothers or something.”

We agreed to chat more (Kerry really wanted us to see the cover art from the new album) after the show.  We made our way out into the packed arena, and weaseled our way down to about fifteen feet in front of the stage in the general admission floor “seating.”  I have seen over 2,000 musical performances in my life, and what I was about to experience would be one of the tops on that list.

In following chapters more unfolds about the deepening friendship between Kerry and I, not the least of which was our mutual spiritual search. I continue to be humbled by the response the book is generating.  If you have read it and wish to correspond with me, I always interact with any communiqués.   You can also read many reader reviews (97% are Five Stars) at:

http://www.amazon.com/Embracing-Gray-Doubters-Resolve-ebook/dp/B004L62CN2/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top


Embracing the Gray is still available for a limited time as a 99 cent Kindle download at that same link, or as a free PDF download at my website (donations accepted):

http://markahollingsworth.com/Node




Sunday, October 7, 2012

The Best Closing Prayer


Brennan Manning relays this…

Joseph was an old man dying of cancer in New Jersey.  This gentleman’s daughter has asked the local priest to come and pray with her father at her home where he was in hospice during what might be his last days.  When the priest arrived, he found the man lying in bed with his head propped up on two pillows and an empty chair beside his bed.  The priest assumed that the old fellow had been informed of his visit. “I guess you were expecting me,” the man of the cloth said.

“No, who are you?”

“I’m the new associate at your parish,” the priest replied.  “When I saw the empty chair, I figured you knew I was going to show up.”

“Oh, yeah, the chair,” said the bedridden man.  “Would you mind closing the door?”

Puzzled, the priest shut the door.  “I’ve never told anyone this, not even my daughter,” said the man, “but all my life I have never known how to pray.  At the Sunday Mass I used to hear the pastor talk about prayer, but it always went right over my head.  Finally, I said to him in sheer frustration, ‘I get nothing out of your homilies on prayer.’

“'Here,’ says my pastor reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk. ‘Read this book by Hans Urs von Balthasar.  He’s a Swiss theologian.  It’s the best book on contemplative prayer in the twentieth century.’

“Well, Father,” said the man, “I took the book home and tried to read it. But in the first three pages I had to look up twelve words in the dictionary.  I gave the book back to my pastor, thanked him, and under my breath whispered, ‘for nothin’.’

“I abandoned any attempt at prayer,” he continued, “until one day about four years ago my best friend said to me, ‘Joe, prayer is just a simple matter of having a conversation with Jesus.  Here’s what I suggest.  Sit down on a chair, place an empty chair in front of you, and in faith see Jesus on the chair.  It’s not spooky because he promised, ‘I’ll be with you all days.’  Then just speak to Him and listen in the same way you’re doing with me right now.’

“So, Padre, I tried it and I’ve liked it so much that I do it a couple of hours every day, even now while here at my daughter’s home.  I’m careful, though…if she saw me talking to an empty chair, she’d either have a nervous breakdown or send me off to the funny farm.”

The priest was deeply moved by the story and encouraged the old guy to continue on that journey.  Then he prayed with him, anointed him with oil, and returned to the rectory.

Two nights later the daughter called to tell the priest that her daddy had died that afternoon, finally succumbing to his painful battle.

“Did he die in peace?” he asked.

“Yes, when I left the house around two o’clock he called me over to his bedside, told me one of his corny jokes, and kissed me on the cheek.  When I got back from the store an hour later, I found him dead.” 

“But there was something strange, Father.  In fact, beyond strange, kinda weird.  Apparently just before Daddy died, he leaned over and rested his head on the chair beside the bed.”

Sunday, September 30, 2012

The High Cost of Loving


I believe most who know me would feel that I’m pretty good at handling money.  I’ve never been in deep debt.  I buy my cars pre-owned and with cash.  My home, which I moved into in ‘99, was paid off in less than eight years. I didn’t utilize a single credit card until I was in my mid-thirties, and even now, I pay it off every month.  While running my own business for over a decade, I was able to keep things running fairly smoothly with payroll and other overhead despite the rollercoaster ride that is the music business. I was freakin’ Dave Ramsey before Dave Ramsey existed!

Being able to tithe at least 10% of my earnings to spiritual and social causes that I believe in has been a blessing. Seeking out good advisors has allowed me to parlay various investments in mutual funds into a nice cushion for the future (might as well plan on Social Security not having much left for many of us in our retiring years). Since good health is important to me, I’ve invested in balanced diet, health club memberships, vitamins, and regular physicals and dental check-ups. Ongoing education is a priority as well, and I’ve been able to attend seminars, buy books, periodicals, tapes, CD’s, DVD’s, etc. that have helped feed my mind, broaden my horizons, and inspire me.

According to American standards, I’m pretty much your average schlub.  I think my income level would be a trackable barometer for “the middle class.”  Of course, by the overall world’s graph, I would be in the top 5% of wage earners.  And historical economists calculate that I would be in the top 1/2 of 1% in wealth over the course of mankind’s time on the planet…so I truly have much to be thankful for in comparison with all around me, and all that have gone before.

But there is one area of financial endeavor where I sometimes question my judgment, where I on occasion wonder, “what the heck was I thinking?” This is realm of spending on women.  Now, don’t get me wrong…I like women.  And there have been many that I gladly gave of my resources to please and it brought much enjoyment to our time together. 

It’s just that I’ve been a bit on the introspective side of things lately, and as I was taking emotional inventory of my singleness, I also decided to do some actual counting.  Before you jump to the conclusion that I must be some sort of weirdo who collects his own hair from the shower drain, or retains each burnt-out light bulb he’s ever used, or keeps a chart on every phone call he’s made since junior high school…well, don’t worry.  I am blessed with a pretty good memory, and I also do have all of my notebook calendars that help organize my life from the past several decades.  But I didn’t have to refer to those much—most of what I am about to recount is off the top of my head, and literally only took about an hour of “ciphering.”  It’s not like I have kept some sort of master chart or copious notes in a complex diary or anything of the sort.

Through pondering how many dates I go out on in a given month over the past thirty years, what an average date costs (dinner, the featured event, coffee/desert afterwards, and transportation), and then doing the basic math, I came up with the bulk of the figure.  Of course, there were additional costs that came in for the exceptional relationships.  Things like airline tickets for her to come see me, or me to go see her, or for us to both go to the Caribbean or Las Vegas or Pacific Coast or the Rockies together.  Or paying for rooms at resorts, beachside cabanas, and luxury hotels.  Or more involved costs like parasailing, cross country skiing, swimming with dolphins, snowmobiling, hiring tour guides, camping trips, helicopter rides, horse trails, dinner trains, limousines…you get the picture.

Then there are other items to be added into the Ledger of Love like cards and flowers (this certainly has gone into the thousands), and gifts of all sorts including jewelry, perfume, clothing, purses, paintings, sculptures, furniture, books of poetry, embroidery, decorative scented candles, ceramics, doilies, knick-knacks, brick-a-brack, and sometimes even gave-her-dog-a-bone.

Of course there are infrastructure costs to be considered as well, like long distance phone bills, shipping of goods, duplication of (and framing) of photos, stationary, postcards, stamps, pay phones (those have pretty much disappeared, haven’t they?), overnight delivery shipments, and the like.

So, what’s the bottom line? $63,000 as best I can figure.  That’s considerably more than an average year’s salary during those years.   

And this doesn’t count things like wear and tear on my vehicle, car washes, getting haircuts, colognes, a portion of the health club memberships that is appropriated for trying to become “buff,” investing in clothes to make myself more appealing, home décor, dance classes, ski lessons, and the fees for psychotherapy sessions brought on from all of the above.  Lord knows all of that could add tens of thousands more to the columns.

But $63,000…wow.  That’s more than I’ve spent on anything besides taxes, housing, and donations in my life.  Yes, it’s more than I’ve invested in categories like groceries, transportation, insurance, stock portfolios, and entertainment.  It’s almost double what I have spent on furnishings, clothing, health club memberships and sports combined.  It’s also 50% more than on utilities and phone bills over that span.

And I certainly don’t mean to discount what my counterparts on the female side of the ledger have had to invest.  My guess is my totals are nothing compared to what some single women I know have gone through.  The fashion industry socks it to ladies by charging easily three times as much for clothing, shoes, and accessories.  Hair appointments regularly take at least four times as long as a man’s and are quadruple the cost as well.  Then there’s make-up, dieting, buns of steel DVD’s, plucking, shaving, waxing, tanning, softening, deep cleansing, moisturizing, manicures, pedicures, liposuction, collagen injections, nip/tuck procedures, boob jobs, and on and on it goes. 

Nor would I be at all surprised if large shares of the women I’ve dated have endured subsequent and extensive counseling, which has taken a toll not only on their pocketbooks, but also their psyches.  I wonder if I ought to get a referral fee with area psychotherapists the business I bring their way?

Anyway…all of this causes deep consternation.  As I said earlier, I have fond memories of my dates, and have enjoyed some terrific relationships over the years.  So, it’s not my intent to sound like this has been excruciating for me.  Far from it.  I’m a social being who loves the interaction with a lovely feminine friend.

I suppose it’s just that I look back over all that spending and wonder what the “bottom line” is?  I’m still single, with no obvious prospects.  Thus it has been and most likely will remain. 

When the U.S. population crossed the three hundred million milestone half a decade ago many new demographic studies were released.  A particularly intriguing one showed that now, for the first time in our history, there are more single adults in the U.S. than those that are married or living with someone of the opposite sex.  That’s pretty stunning when you think of it.

We all seem to be circling, looking for a place to land…but are simultaneously seeing so many wrecked marriages and others folks who have been damaged by “committed” relationships gone awry that we are hesitant to join long-term with someone else. It’s odd that we spend copious amounts of time and money trying to be attractive, yet being increasingly reserved about actually entering into a deeper commitment.

Would I be so preoccupied with this spending if I had found the love of my life, and continued to invest in our relationship as we grew in our journey together?  I don’t think so, for I would be seeing it as an ongoing development and expression of our deepening care.  But when that doesn’t exist with a particular someone, the cost starts to feel rather hollow and pointless when put on a cumulative scale.

So…where do I head from here?  Most likely, continuing this cycle to some extent since I’m not sure what the alternative is.  But over the recent couple of years I am certainly trying to think more carefully about how I invest my time and resources if it doesn’t appear that it will lead towards anything meaningful.  Dating just to date seems like an oft-silly luxury, and an obscenely expensive one at that. All the preening that goes along with it (under the guise of looking good for someone else) at its core seems so self-centered.  

We’ve read that where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.  I want to do better at investing more wisely, and as a result, I think my heart might be less bruised in the process.

Of course, none of this can protect one from a broken heart.  That’s a whole other subject for another day.

Monday, September 24, 2012

The Chamber of 32 Doors


Peter Gabriel has been one of my favorite lyricists of the past four decades. His early work as the lead singer of Genesis was already demonstrating his fascination with the spiritual search. This piece from the seminal concept album, The Lamb Lies Down a Broadway, showcases that longing.  “The Chamber of 32 Doors” is the lament of a wayward soul in New York City who is trying to make sense of all those who wish to influence him.

It speaks as powerfully today as when it was penned in 1974…

At the top of the stairs, there's hundreds of people
running around to all the doors
They try to find, find themselves an audience
Their deductions need applause.

The rich man stands in front of me
The poor man behind my back
They believe they can control the game
But the juggler holds another pack.

I need someone to believe in, someone to trust
I need someone to believe in, someone to trust

I'd rather trust a country man than a town man
You can judge by his eyes, take a look if you can
He'll smile through his guard
Survival trains hard
I'd rather trust a man who works with his hands
He looks at you once, you know he understands
Don't need any shield
When you're out in the field.

But down here
I'm so alone with my fear
With everything that I hear
And every single door, that I've walked through
Brings me back, back here again
I've got to find my own way

The priest and the magician
Singing all the chants that they have ever heard
and they're all calling out my name
Even academics, searching printed word

My father to the left of me
My mother to the right
Like everyone else they're pointing
But nowhere feels quite right

And I need someone to believe in, someone to trust
I need someone to believe in, someone to trust

I'd rather trust a man who doesn't shout what he's found
There's no need to sell if you're homeward bound
If I choose a side
He won't take me for a ride

Back inside
This chamber of so many doors
I've nowhere, nowhere to hide
I'd give you all of my dreams, if you'd help me
Find a door
That doesn't lead me back again
- take me away

(“The Chamber of 32 Doors” by Genesis from The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway, 1974)


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mTby-nfFd1I

Sunday, September 16, 2012

The Legend of Snicker


While managing the Dog Ear Records store in the Chicago suburb of Northbrook in the late 70s, it was common to become a baby sitter of sorts for adolescents.  This wealthy bedroom community was miles from the nearest mall, so a trendy strip center like our Plaza Del Prado sufficed as the hangout of choice for tweenies and those not old enough to drive.

Besides the McDonald’s and an ice cream shop, Dog Ear was the most popular “hang” because of our music, playing hip videos, and the game room in the back of the store.  Even though I grew to hate the various sounds of Pacman, Space Invaders, Asteroids, and Donkey Kong, no one couldn’t argue with the fact that the six units we had generated upwards of $2,000 a week in sheer profit.  Back then it was a quarter per play…that meant these kids were playing 8,000 times per week.  So, as one can imagine, there was a lot of foot traffic through our store.

I got to know many of these kids, most of whom were just looking to pass the time.  The majority were spoiled rich brats with way too much coinage on their hands.  But, in order to be a good manager, I would befriend as many as I could while simultaneously making sure they didn’t try to run the joint.

One thirteen-year-old, Mike, was one of those smart-ass punks who had a quick retort for everything.  A workaholic lawyer father, a borderline alcoholic socialite mother, and a couple of anorexic older sisters bent on getting the perfect body shape and tan left Mike with little attention at home, let alone encouragement.  He had a vivid imagination, wicked sense of humor, and a loud mouth.  Imagine a real-life version of Anthony Michael Hall’s  “Farmer Ted the Geek” character from Sixteen Candles.  Many didn’t get Mike, but I liked him.

Among his irritating characteristics was his desire to relay every dirty joke and thought that ran through his mind at P.A. volume.  This was not only embarrassing to some of my sensitive female employees, and of course, the bulk of our clientele…but also to me.  You see, I’m no prude, having heard and even told my share of sordid tales over the years…but this guy possessed perhaps the sickest mind I or anyone else who came in touch with him had ever encountered.

Most managers would’ve permanently banned Mike from their premises due to this verbal diarrhea, but having learned of his tough home situation, I felt I could somehow encourage him.  I think he appreciated the acceptance, and, with time, he learned to keep his foul commentary at a lower volume, if not even cutting it out all together in a rare moment.

One hot September afternoon, Mike was again generally loitering. He had regaled several new bad jokes that involved animal/human husbandry, given thorough descriptions of what he surmised the anatomy of some of his female cohorts would look like if their clothing were sufficiently discarded, and described in thorough details his mother’s feminine hygiene rituals.  I was in my mid-twenties, and this kid made ME blush.

At one point, Mike made a remark about a new banner display I was unpacking, stating “Man, that’s the longest one I’ve ever seen.”  As I was stretching it out on the floor I retorted, “Yeah, that’s what she said last night.”  Mike started to giggle, and within a few seconds it turned into robust guffaws of laughter.  “That’s what SHE said last night…Bwah-ha-ha-ha!” Apparently, he had never heard this all-purpose double entendre before, and it not only tickled his funny bone, it downright put him in fits. 

For the next few hours, nary a statement could be made without him interjecting his new-found favorite quip.  I would be hanging a sign and say, “I think it needs about 3 more inches to the left,” and he would blurt out, “That’s what she said last night!”  Or, when Nick, one of the sales guys, saw me lifting a heavy box and advised, “It’s best to bend your knees when doing that,” Mike shouted out, “That’s what she said!”  He even tried it with situations that only made sense to his warped little mind like when I asked a customer, “Would you like that in a bag?” “That’s what she said!” he would howl.

Like all things with Mike, he didn’t know how to edit himself, and it was bothering my staff and customers.  I pulled him aside, and reasoned with him.  “Mike, I know that can be funny at times, but it has to be used with restraint or it simply isn’t funny when overplayed. Plus, as you could tell when that one woman just glared at me, it’s offensive to those who aren’t as, uh….liberated as you.”

“Here’s an idea,” I continued. “How about we come up with a code word that we can say just loud enough for each other to hear?  It will summarize ‘that’s what she said,’ but won’t offend anyone else. 

“What word should it be?” he asked.

“Hmmm….what do you think of ‘snicker?’ But remember, you gotta say it quietly, almost non-chalantly, so as not to draw attention.  And one more thing, in order for this to be funny between us, you can’t call your own ‘snicker.’  It should only be when you hear someone else say something that fits.  Is it a deal?”

“Deal!”  he chimed. 

Over the next several weeks, various snickers were declared in a very reserved manner.  It became quite fun—our little inside joke.  But eventually, other staff started to catch on, as well as kids in Mike’s circle.
Some of them were so funny we began keeping a list.

  • “I’ve got an extension if you need one.” (when an employee was trying to get to a hard-to-reach area with the vacuum cleaner nozzle)

  • “Oh, terrific, look at it…it’s all caved in.” (uttered when a display unit had gotten crushed by a leaning customer)

  • “You gotta apply WAY more pressure than that for any results” (describing how to press a stapler into wood paneling)

  • “That hose had some kinks in it.” (when a fire truck was summoned to a grease fire at the McDonald’s)

  •  “Oh, no.  Aaagh! It’s gonna melt before I get it up!” (exclaimed when I dropped some ice cubes down the back of Mike’s shirt).

  • “This is the worst…it keeps collapsing when any suction is applied.” (referring to a flimsy straw not properly doing its job on a milkshake)

  • “Would you like me to pump it, or is this self-serve?” (from a gas station attendant)

  • “Be careful how long you leave it in there—it can melt, or even worse, get scorched.” (instruction on our temperamental toaster oven)

  • “It’s spread as far as it’ll go, and it STILL won’t fit!” (holding some shelving apart trying to squeeze an extra box)

  • “I think there were instructions on the side once, but they’ve been worn off from friction” (looking for directions on the outside of a cash register)

  • “This is so huge—I mean, look: my legs barely get on either side of it, and it’s pinning me to the seat.” (ridiculing an overly large steering wheel in a compact car) 

  • “Look at the size of that…how does that fit in your pants?” (questioning the girth of co-worker Bob’s massive wallet) 

  • “See, I can barely wrap my hands around it.” (another comment on the billfold)

  • “I keep pulling out and backing in, but can’t get the hang of this docking.” (a new female UPS driver attempting to make a pick up)

  • “Ohhhh, man…it’s big, hot, and juicy…just looking at it makes my mouth water.” (desiring a fresh McRib sandwich)

  • “That dude’s riding my rear end like there’s no tomorrow.” (complaint about a tailgating driver)

  • “I see a whole lot of movement, but it doesn’t impress.  You may think it feels good, but it’s doing nothing for me.” (critiquing someone’s awkward dance technique)

  • “Even strokes…EVEN strokes!  When you’re all herky jerky like that it doesn’t get the results that I want.” (instructions on applying varnish)

  • “I like THAT one—what is it, about 12 inches long AND covered in leather?!”  (unpacking table top display units)

  • “Limp AND soggy—NOT what I’m in the mood for.” (angst over a lousy piece of pizza)

  • “When I was underneath it earlier, it popped out and nearly poked me in the eye when I opened it up.” (lamenting a new spring-loaded change tray in a cash register)

  • “Be patient, it takes a while to heat up, but when it does…look out!” (another warning about the toaster)

  • “When you slid into me, you tore my legs up, and now I can hardly stand.” (accusation after a softball collision)

  • “I barely touched it and it went off.” (fiddling around with a camera)

  • “I would’ve gotten it in if your hand hadn’t gotten in the way.” (trying to throw something in the trash can)


You get the picture.  Little by little, more folks heard about it.  One could walk around the Plaza and hear “snickers” being declared by various shopkeepers. I was at a convenience store several miles away and heard the attendant say it to a coworker.  Others within the Dog Ear chain of stores across Chicagoland started incorporating it.

As the fall continued, it became common parlance at area high schools (at one student pep rally, the principal addressed the students by saying “thanks for coming” to which several kids yelled out “snicker!” and hundreds roared their approval). I even heard one local radio morning team utilize it. 

A few years later I was in another state on tour with a band and heard some guys on the load-in crew saying it. Some acquaintances in the Pacific Northwest told me that it had come into common usage out there. Another friend told me that friends of his used it in Ontario.

Decades have passed, and many of my friends and associates still employ it with some regularity. One of them refers to it as “The Legend of Snicker.”  I’m not sure of its legendary status…but it sure has been good for some big laughs at oft-inopportune times.

Perhaps you have some funny lines like these you can contribute…