Thursday July 11, 2019

Jack’s and John’s. 
Part 1

     The family split up with my wife, and our daughter Janel, going to Red Cliff’s Pow Wow Grand Entry on Friday July 5th in Red Cliff, Wisconsin, and our son John and I going to Superior, Wisconsin for his gig with Shantily Clad and The Low Hanging Fruit, the band with which he’s been playing lead guitar the past few years. 
     http://redcliff-nsn.gov/
     https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C8f-yk3HUYQ

The two brothers danced competitively for the opportunity to represent Red Cliff at pow wows across the state. Both won their respective classes. Their mother couldn't have been prouder.

     
Committed to the engagement in Superior, three months before the pow wow, he was unaware of the Grand Entry that had been planned for that evening, an event in which most of his family normally participates; fortunately, grandma and I were there for support on all fronts.
 
     I volunteered to drive my 1998 Subaru wagon, an oldie-but-a-goodie Legacy Outback with less than 88,000 miles on it. It was just big enough to hold the two of us, plus two guitars, a pedal board, an assortment of cables, an amplifier--and two five gallon plastic carboyles for spring water that we would refill in Cornucopia on the trip home. https://cornucopiawisconsin.net/
 
     John was elated as he is the principle driver for his family and also drives schoolbus at the Early Childhood Center where he is employed, so being the passenger--even with an old guy at the wheel--would be a treat for a change. He could relax and just look out the window.
 
     We took Wisconsin State Trunk Highway 13, part of the Lake Superior Byway, about 76 miles west from Red Cliff to to Superior, via US 2/53. It’s a pleasant change from busy US 2 & 53 with cars and trucks going 65-80 mph. No. 13 is a well-marked ‘Blue Highway’ with lots of tight curves and steep hills through woodlands, past hayfields and scenic views of Lake Superior that not everyone knows about and those who do, fondly remember. Motorcyclists love it; people driving or pulling huge campers, not so much. (Their loss, our gain.) I thought it was a little longer route but according to Google, the distance from Superior to Red Cliff, via US 2 & 13, is about 85 miles, nine miles more.
 
     Adding to the enjoyment is the possibility of seeing alive, not dead, North American wildlife along the roadsides. In addition to two deer that we saw during daylight hours on the way to Superior, a bobcat ran across the road in front of us on our way home, an extremely rare occurrence.
 
     John and I have good conversations, and often laugh as we share stories with one another. He and I met during the time I was attending college in Thief River Falls, Minnesota where I met his mother. He’s taught me much about the Ojibwe culture, which comes in handy when we visit Red Cliff, an Ojibwe reservation in northwestern Wisconsin, where he lives with his wife and children. 
     
      His input supplements my effort of reading as much as I can about the Anishinaabe people. As a consequence, I’m more familiar with the Ojibwe now, than I am my own Euro-American ancestry, something I think about as I watch them embracing their culture during pow wows and community events. Listening to Ojibwemowin over the loudspeakers, even though I recognize few words or phrases, interests me far more than hearing Swedish or Norwegian/Scottish or Irish spoken.
 
     Arriving in Superior, John guided me off US 2/US 53 past the University of Wisconsin/Superior Campus and through areas of town I had never driven. I started noting landmarks and such, until I remembered the GPS I had packed under the drivers seat.
 
      ”See Jack’s there?” John said, pointing to my left.
     ‘Barely,’ I thought, seeing a rather obscure neon sign on a nondescript brick building.
      “Turn here,” John said. “Drive around the back.”
 
     Remembering John had said they were going to play outdoors, I had expected a large open area with a stage for the band, but instead saw an old residential back alley replete with several funky-looking two-story houses, built only about six feet apart and in varying stages of neglect,  The alley was trashy and overgrown. Behind one was an old delivery van of sorts that appeared as though it had rooted there, its now- translucent windshield obscured by years of dirt and leaf debris. 
 
     The alley was access to Jack’s customer parking to the side and back of the building. There was no big open lot so I was a little bit confused as to where they were going to play ‘outdoors’ until we parked the car and walked to an adjoining patio opening in a wall, where it all became clear what ‘we’re playing outdoors' at Jack’s really meant.
 

Looks 3D. Not 3D

      Jaw-dropping, eye-popping, absolutely stunning, commercial artwork along the patio walls immediately captured my attention. I walked around the outdoors bar, separate from the main building, in amazement. Few people were at the bar at the time and so that allowed me to freely capture what I was seeing without a lot of obstruction. I didn’t ask permission, figuring they would probably would stop me as soon as I brought my camera through the door; I couldn’t imagine that no one else had taken dozens of pictures of the place by then on their iPhones.
 

          Research told me the work was done in August of 2018, by Brian Olson Studios of Duluth, whom readers can find more information about using these links:
https://www.duluthnewstribune.com/news/2245348-whats-business
https://www.fox21online.com/2018/08/20/new-murals-unveiled-in-northland/
 
     And Jack’s Place, this link among many others:
https://www.tripadvisor.com/Attraction_Review-g60320-d5837292-Reviews-Jack_s_Place-Superior_Wisconsin.html
 
     John said this was the first time he had arrived earlier than the other members of the band, so he had time to show me around before they started setting up for their 7:00 pm opening. We walked into the older part of the pub where a long old wooden bar reflected neon beer signs that hung above it and a handful of customers visited over their glasses and bottles. Several brands of draught beer greeted us; we chose Bent Paddle Black, the excellent dark beer we met in a Roseau pub on Super Bowl Sunday a couple years ago.
 
      About 6:35 pm, the other members of Shantily Clad and The Low Hanging Fruit came in carrying equipment; drums, lights, guitars, amps, and other cases containing cables and such. A few people had come into the bar and were laughing and talking, ordering their drinks, finding a table and chairs or sitting at the bar anticipating the band starting. 
     
     Several seemed like regulars as they knew one another. I had parked myself and my camera at a front table, getting out my little notebook and pen for when inspiration struck because I planned to highlight this event at this bar, because it wasn’t just any bar--not with all this tremendous artwork around me. I knew I’d likely be there four or five hours and I might as well employ my faculties of observation and imagination than just sit there drinking beer and eating pizza. The fact I knew the people in the band, especially John, created a situation that as a writer, I just couldn’t ignore. The characters of this story had too much potential to just let slip through my fingers. I figured I’d just have to try.
 
     One of the things I had forgotten was the power of pen and paper in a public place. A dozen people could be tapping away on their iPhones and no one would notice, but try pulling out a notebook and begin writing something in it as you observe something and it’s like moths to a flame; someone will ask you what you’re doing, as was the case at Jack’s after I had been there awhile. 




It was one of the owners sitting at the bar, Karen Geegan. She saw me writing there and, not knowing me, wondered what it was I was doing. She was nice about it. "Just being curious," she said, pulling out a chair opposite me. I explained I was a writer from Minnesota, and had published a small circulation magazine for 24 years. I said I also blogged on a weekly basis and planned to make the evening at their establishment, my next story--if that was okay. It was.

I understood after talking to Karen's husband, Ronnie, that his father had started Jack’s in the late 1930s, after Prohibition. Ronnie had expanded the business, adding the ‘outside’ bar in recent years. featuring live music as often as possible. Karen said numbers were down a little the weekend after the 4th, because of all the festivities for the holiday elsewhere in the city and nearby Duluth, but thought it would become packed there as the evening came on as it was Shantily Clad’s fourth time at Jack’s.

 

Bass player John Flynn, drummer James, Shannon, songstress, John Helms, lead guitar

     By this time, the band had started. I had put my digital camera on the table and started videoing their sets, writing things down as they came to me, scribbling away in my little 4”x5” notebook I carried. I had been talking to a woman trying to hear each other speak as the band played only a few feet away. She said enjoyed coming to Jack's during the summer listening to the bands and the music; she loved to dance. She asked me. “Do you dance?” 
 
     “Well, it depends who you ask,” I may have said. “My wife loves to dance and had she been here now, we’d be out there dancing for sure. I’m not the best, but I have good rhythm. I just lose my feet now and then. She’s very good. I’d feel strange dancing when she cannot, so I’ll likely sit the evening out.”
 
   

 
    



Stay tuned for Part 2: Next week.