Randallion

Randy Brown is not black; he is pretty brown.

I first met Randy (340 Club: March 1981-August 1981) sometime in the mid-70s. One night, in early March 1978, I invited him to a 340 bash and he took me up on it. It was a crowded classic and Randy was on the second floor quaffing beers and making out with an atractive blonde near the top of the front stairs. Randy, as he is when his sights are on a young lady, was oblivious to everything else. Unfortunately for Randy everything else at the time was the girl's boyfriend steaming down at the other end of the hall waiting in line for the bathroom.

Meanwhile swirling around Randy and all of us was one of the greatest 340 bashes of all-time. It was rare that any of the parties stood out. They all were great but this one stood out because of a couple memorable events. Among them was a girl getting hit with a beer mug. (I'll need help from Phil on details. Randy sez Biker Bob Koenig, our neighbor at 338, struck his girlfiend. I don't have that detail but will await a consensus opinion). The 340 was packed in all three downstairs rooms. The second floor hallway was full of partyers.

After relieving himself the irate boyfriend solicited assistance from 4 or 5 other friends and the group approached the illicit pair - Randy & the blonde - breaking their lip lock and, after a quick "I'll be right back" deleivered to his girlfriend, the boyfriend and his buddies proceeded to pick Randy up and carry him down the stairs over their heads and then out the front door whereupon they gave him a toss into a snow bank.

The party continued unabated although with much commotion after the beer mug struck the young lady. I remember loud talk but in my mind it was more protestations of "I'm ok" and do not want to go for treatment rather than hostilities. In any case the party just grew louder and larger.

Randy picked himself up; dusted himself off, and proceeded back into the 340 and straight to the kitchen for a beer. Well, as soon as the drunken posse saw him they gathered their strength back up (i.e . five on one) and proceeded to carry him again, beer & all, on their shoulders and once again tossed him out into the snow.

Only this time Randy found himself, unspilt beer in hand, positioned between the 340 and a couple of Lancaster's finest. Having sane thoughts, Randy simply turned, beer in hand, and walked down King Street homeward bound.

The gendarmes, having been called to the house by complaining neighbor, entered the house and assisted the injured woman, warned us to keep the noise down, delivered a few obligatory winks, and departed. I'm certain the party continued, albeit a little quieter, long into the night.

Randy & I have been friends ever since.