The Cult of Bachelorhood

My on-and-off life as a bachelor existed at several Lancaster county sites, one of which was a short stint at the 340 West King Street residence. Before "The Club", I had digs on East Orange St. (1968-69) and later (just around the corner) on 33 North Lime (early 70's)It was on North Lime that a cult of bachelorhood first emerged at which several Lancaster Catholic alum notables partied such as Tim Getzloff, Dave Harnish, Pete Ricker, Bob Novochek (RIP), and Butchie Binder. Jethro Tull, Traffic, the Who, and others were enjoyed with quarts-upon-quarts of good ole F & S (Furman and Schmidt). What were they? Three quarts for $1.25?

Some years later in the late 70's when I lived out in the country outside Mount Joy, after finding my belongings out on the porch one summer, another divorcee took me in for a couple months out in Penryn, only to realize he preferred the solitary life and so suggested I find another place to "winter". Then, just in the nick of time, Mr. Tim (Getzloff) announced that the former Occupant of the second floor, first room on the right, had stripped a gear and his room was now vacant. In moved DaveP for the winter. It is because I only stayed there for a season that many 340 Club alum don't recognize my name.

This short stay at the Club nevertheless scorched several memories on my brain"
1) The still smoldering matress in the alley below my room when I moved in.
2) A Christmas sleep-over with my 3-year old daughter Ligeia, while a holiday party ensued below.
3) The introduction to the scary side of urban bachelor culture to well-bred young ladies.
4) The always occupied ,first floor, front room, which served as TV and living room.
5) The darkest, most toxic kitchen I've ever seen.
6) A total absence of memory of the bathroom.
7) The sound of Tee making "gaming noises" hour after hour in the top floor headquarters.

After leaving The 340 Club in the Spring, I found other digs out in the northern Lancaster County countryside and lived there for about 10-12 years, serving once a gain as a refuge for another host of buddies. Many close calls, but "trouble" was avoided. Looking back on it now, I'm still amazed.

Today, decades and several lives later, I'm back living in rural Lancaster County, finally happily married and still teaching English after almost 40 years. But, every time I drive down West King into the city, I make a silent, mental genuflection---Eyes, right! But, dare I look? Is it still there? Does it look the same? What ghosts haunt those rooms? Is the kitchen still toxic? When I take friends and family on driving-around tours of Lancaster, I think that 340 must strike them most, give them pause. What they think I cannot say. But, I never leave out this drive-by.

Many people see adult bachelorhood as arrested development, an extended adolescence, a self-indulgence, a failure of sorts, or worse. (I remember when the nuns called it a "vocation". What ever happened to that view? Do nuns still say that?) But, call it what you want. A cult, an aternative lifestyle, men-in-groups, am unconscious choice, a state of mind, Hotel California. No, it's not always depraved or not always ennnobling; it's almost always a bit of both.

Zappa said that nostalgia is a waste of the mind, but I think he just didn't live long enough to realize that it isn't.

The Last Pile (ver 1.1)

When my mother died on August 29, 1989 I was living with Phil. I was 38 and had lived in the Delta House since leaving home in September 1974. I did it backwards; I graduated from college and then moved into the frat house. Whether the address was 328 or 340 West King Street, 72 Howard Avenue (the Outpost of Humanity), briefly back home, back to 340 and 338 West King Street, and finally, surprisingly the longest consistent address, 48 Seymour Street, directly connected to a tavern, with my consummate roomie, Phil. The total was 15 years of sleep deprivation, fast foods, pretty ladies, cold pizza, beer, rock ‘n roll, little if any responsibility, chasing both the dream and the nightmare. Suddenly, with two phone calls my life changed forever. My sister called me one morning at work to tell me my mom had suffered a fatal heart attack in Pittsburgh while visiting her sister, my Aunt. An ex-girl friend called the following week to let me know that she was pregnant with my child. It was time to leave the frat house.

I was alive; I had not overdosed, nor died in a fiery crash, nor lost my job, nor had my body betrayed me (yet), no warrants had been served on me, I beat my DUI (after all, I was an innocent man), I had avoided the altar despite knowing more than a few well qualified young ladies. All of these happy circumstances were but for the grace of God or fate and most certainly not due to any personal course of action. However, there are two specific escapes of which I am more grateful for than others – I never became a smoker. Clearly I had demonstrated myself as a weak glutton who followed his desires more than common sense or duty. I probably lit less than a dozen cigarettes in those years and never finished a single one of them. Given that both parents and my only sibling smoked like chimneys (Lucky Strikes in my parent’s case) I thank the Lord daily for this happenstance. The other habit that gratefully I never took up was recreational drugs. I truly remember buying a young woman a dime bag in the early 70s for her birthday but have absolutely no recollection of ever purchasing so much as a single narcotic pill or tab after that gift. Consequently, when the mad days on West King Street were in full effect I was usually oblivious to drug use and in my own beer induced stupor. Having said that, I never turned down a joint, a hit, a pill or a line. My participation was limited by the code of the lost boys that every now and then it was your turn to buy, share or chip in.

That having been said I present my version of The Last Pile:

Late one, Friday (or Saturday), at Zangari South (after the 340 daze, likely around 1986) probably just before 1:00 a.m. I was drinking my Pabst at the bar with Coach, and other 340 Clubbers, street hockey players, b-girls, and junkies. Typically, I’d be drinking beer as if prohibition started the next day with an eye on the door desiring #134 to walk through the door. Coach, meanwhile, would be sitting there likely down the bar after having taken a berating from me for his far left politics. Others, Jeff Hull, the Future’s Bright would be down at the other end of the bar having taken a similar berating for their right wing views. I did a lot of berating and another thing that I escaped during my tenure in the Animal House was a good ass whipping. Lord knows, I deserved a few but I digress. Coach, by his own admission, was in possession of an 8-ball, was desperately looking for a place to party in private. Now, I must interject the bartender into the picture – Phil. Unlike my stance which was my drug of choice was the nectar of the Gods; Phil had evolved into pretty much an anti-drug stance based in part on some very negative familial experience. If Coach waited till the bar closed he knew that my roomie, the bartender, and my roommate (i.e. the homeowner’s son), would frown upon someone laying out lines in his home. So, Coach asked me if I wanted to go next door (to my & Phil’s house) and party. [NOTE: Coach tells it that I invited him over to watch a movie. Obviously, one of us is wrong... That’s why this is my version.] I saw the situation for what it was and grabbed a six pack and Coach & I went to my home which was next door and, contrary to PLCB regulations, could be accessed through the interior of the bar.

As coach states, he “thought this would also be a great place to get away from a few of my eager friends who wanted to party and with my party goods. I (Coach) just got an eight ball which usually last me to early dawn … I dumped the eight ball onto the mirror which was about 5 or 6 inches in length and laid out two lines the length of the mirror.” Here is where Coach and I again differ. In my mind at this point he did one of the lines, offered me the other, left the mirror and went to the bathroom. I simply took him up on the invitation and inhaled one of the lines on the reflecting surface. I then grabbed a Pabst and returned my attention to the “movie.” Meanwhile, coach comes bouncing down the stairs vibrant and ready to go and sits down in front of the mirror. Again, I turn the story back to Coach: “I looked at the mirror and saw only the one line left! Tee did the entire pile i.e. the eight ball! I glared at Tee and said, WTF?” I looked at Coach, not realizing what I had done, and said: “what’s wrong Coach, you told me to do a line”? I had mistakenly scarfed up poor Coach’s supplies for the night in one breath. Until reading Coach’s description I never fully grasped his lack of belief in my version. It was simply a mistake, quite hilarious to me and to Phil whenever he found out about it.

Coach and I both concur that he didn’t stick around “movie” or not. Phil came home at 2 and we likely had a couple of beers and called it a night. For obvious reasons Coach never turned me on again.

There, but for the grace of God …

The last Pile

One evening as Zangari bar was closing, Tee invited me over to where Phil and he were living on Seymore St, to watch a movie. I don’t remember what it was, but we both were eager to watch this which was to start around 1:30 am. I thought this would also be a great place to get away from a few of my eager friends who wanted to party and with my party goods. What better place then Phil and Tee’s place, as neither party with drugs. I just got an eight ball which usually last me to early dawn, so I thought I would watch the movie, and then go meet a friend for some early morning fun and partying. I dumped the eight ball onto the mirror which was about 5 or 6 inches in length and laid out two lines the length of the mirror, and took one and offered the mirror to Tee. Too my surprise, he took it, did it and then handed me the mirror back. I looked at the mirror and saw only the one line left! Tee did the entire pile i.e. the eight ball! I glared at Tee and said, WTF? Tee looked at me so surprised and said “what’s wrong Coach, wasn’t I suppose to do the pile”? At first I thought he was bull shitting me and I was pissed. He told me that he mistakenly took it, not knowing which to take. I didn’t believe him but as then as I thought about him not doing drugs, I calmed down and accepted his defense. I don’t recall any of the conversation after that and after my 2 lines were gone, I started to feel tired, looked at my empty mirror, and got up to head home (I never did see the end of the movie). Tee who still seemed un-affected by the eighth said, “Coach, why are you leaving, the movie is just getting interesting”. I sighed, and went home to crash. I don’t recall a Sat evening that I crashed this “early”, during all of my partying years. To the very end of my party days, I never handed a mirror to Tee or any other non drugie. Hmmm, I wonder why :)

The 3rd Day of 340

Phil joined myself, Sil and Jimmy Shay in October 1975 and simultaneously I grew up just a little by gaining full-time employment. I have worked a full-time job ever since.

Soon it was back to three when Jimmy moved on with his girlfriend if my memory is working. If you were on West King Street from 1974-84, on an average day 2.64 of the three of us where there. I'm a numbers man I can't help it.

Throughout 1976, the Bicentennial, it was the three of us and it was an eventful year full of common interests and events - Olympics, All-Star, APBA Convention, Lenny Lane, a Presidential election, as well as the Bi-Centennial itself.

We expanded back to 4 in January when Chris Joyce moved in. Chris' tenure began a wild period - not blaming Chris just describing the atmosphere - at the 340 Club. Chris was there for a single semester but clearly his impact is still felt.

Tim Getzloff, a 328 Club veteran, returned in May 1977 paving the way for the Club, after Chris departure, to take in a marriage refugee Dave Petkosh that October. Mr. Petkosh, a school teacher and young parent (albeit older than Phil who became the second oldest in 340 history), moved into 340 seeking respit and, I like to think, found some during his short stay. He was gone in early 1978. Presently, Dave is feverishly trying, even as I type, to master the Blogger technology ladder in order to post. It will be worth the wait.

Dave's departure, perhaps a testimony to his rationality, once again put some strain on the household. The next two guys in knew no boundaries. Up till now, with arguably an exception or two, the residents of 340 were largely a sanctuary for middle/upper middle class, Catholic, college or some college, beer swillers, just finding their footing with that other gender type of guys. Enter a pair of Crazees - first Mitch Herr; followed closely by the late Gilt. According to my records/memory, Kenny's entrance was the last straw for Sil. It was nothing personal between them; the madness was simply too much. I certainly couldn't handle Mitch & Kenny but my reaction was not to abandon ship but rather to push the pedal. So Sil was not dealing with those two crazies but three. Phil usually a rock of stability also couldn't help being drug along with the vibrations coming from the adjacent rooms. It was now when the landlord finally had enough and issued a few pontificating epistles.

Kenny fouled out after just a couple of months. He remained an active member of course but no longer occupied a bed or had to feel guilty about not paying rent. Mitch, also committed his 5th foul as reported by Phil earlier in this Blog. Both of them were gone by autumn.

In between there departures I was gone ... as a firt time homeowner on the fault line between the Bloody 7th and the Gentry. A fault line that has not moved a whit in the thirty years since my move. Jimmy Shay was my first roomie. The amazing Ron Botzum next; and the randallion cat, the lizard king, the one and only Randy Brown was my next roommate in a small, 1 1/2 story home, that became known as The Outpost of Humanity.

That left Tim & Phil. A friend of mine and street hockey teammate of Phil's Dean Staherski signed on the Titanic for the maiden voyage but ... it was interrupted. As Phil has reported earlier; first Tim, then Dean and finally Phil - the Birdman of 340 - had to leave the trash and varmint friendly 340. Before '78 came to an end, Mr. Kratzert was looking for new tenants and West King Street was devoid of us for the first time in over four years.

Poet Laureate

This poem purports to have been written around Phil’s birthday (“it was Kookie’s birthday”) and given that Chris’ principal time at 340 was 1977; I place the evening described as July 7, 1977. I believe Sil was the sober Mexican peasant. Mitch was Mitch. I am the Walrus and apparently I musta wormed. I believe this was the evening that I wore a Dashiki and, for some reason, destroyed it on the dance floor. In any case, I present the following poem from the Poet Laureate of the 340 Club:

 

B.P. – “the cheapest way to get your motor running”

By Christopher E. Joyce

 

Last week there came to town an event,

Called the Bonnie Parker Band,

They came and put upon all Lancaster,

The spell of Rock’s command.

 

Sweet Bonnie is all rocks queen glitter

She’d scream and jump and shout.

And make you listen to her songs

And get your ya ya’s out.

 

The music was that of precision so

Crisp and loud and clear.

And I felt no alcohol confusion

Drinking water instead of beer

 

Mitch was drunk and it was Kookie’s

Birthday the atmosphere was pleasant

And in the midst of all this mania

Danced a sober Mexican peasant

 

When Bonnie’s old and out of rock

When her instruments all rust,

She’ll remember of all things that night,

She danced with the walrus

 

Everyone who was there would gladly

go back for more.

Rumor has it in Ocean City,

That there’s a lady ashore.

 

Where Are They Know: Batman & Robin

You are looking at structures directly across from the 328 Club. On the left is Gary's Pro Shop, 331 West King Street. If you need golf bags, clubs, balls or even instruction; that would be the place to go. Bowling stuff also. I suspect pool cues and the like. Gary loved us. He never said much but he loved us nonetheless. to the right of 331 is a duplex 329-327. I never really knew much about 327. An old gentlemanly guy named Alfred lived there. Quiet. Kept to himself, a butler type. However, as nondescript as 329 looked, and it was nodescripter then than now, behind that door lie the Bat Cave. Of course, it was the lair of a pair known as Batman (real name unknown, could of been Bruce Wayne but I really don't know. We called him Butch when he was not scampering across roof tops making West King Street safe for democracy) and Robin (Wes Blessing, contrary to what you thought you knew in those old DC comix). I think Wes was a Vietnam vet. Both of them had left over half of their brain cells at previous addresses so they fit right in. They rocked. They were fixtures on their porch. Drinking and trying to score some contraband. On a good night they came to the 340 and graced us with their presence.

I looked up Wes Blessing in the Lancaster phone book. A nice young lady answered and said I had the wrong number. I didn't disturb her world any more than that. IF ANYONE KNOWS THE WHEREABOUTS OF BATMAN & ROBIN. BUTCH & WES. PLEASE BRING THEM TO THE KNIGHTS ON JUNE 7TH.

The 2nd Day of 340

It is early August, 1975; our lease with Mr. Martin at 328 is up at the end of the month. Woe is us. Us is Sil, City L and me. One day as we lay around (NOTE: similar scene later depicted in National Lampoon’s Animal House for which we got no royalties) in comes Sil breathless and excited. He opened up the paper to the want ads and there it was.

Home, for rent

five bdr, bth, LR, DR, K, yard

$250 monthly

340 West King Street, Lancaster

I called the landlord, G.H. Kratzert, the very next day and the rest, as they say, was history. City L went his own way but later returned to the most sought after address in Lancaster. Sil & I were joined by Jimmy Shay, a paver with Sil and the three of us continued the noble experience in habitation that would take the name of the new address.

Where Are They Now: Kenny

Kenny Giltner: 340 Club I May 1979-July 1978

Kenny is in the next stage. Whether he is enjoying his eternal reward or a two year old repeating Earth 201 I dunno. Clearly he is in the next stage. Hopefully he is aware of us and the reunion but more likely we are of little consequence.

His departure from this world was premature and self induced. He is pictured here with Coach in happier times.

Curator's Corner

This is the 38 from 338 which was removed by me upon the final evacuation from West King Street in June 1984. Not sure if I lost the other three ... I think I might have either broke it or failed to remove it from the door.

It will be part of the archival exhibit at the reunion on June 7th.

Remember When

As we enter the homestretch, just 11 days until the 340 Re-Union,I will deviate from "structure" and present a picture from the past. The year is 1970, I worked as a camp counselor at a location right before the late Martic Forge Hotel, run by the Lancaster Jewish Community Center, known as Camp Taemoh,which is "At Home" spelled backwards.


As most people know I always wear some type of cap, mostly to protect me from the elements or more correctly to hide the fact that I have lost most of my hair. This is proof that I was not always afflicted with male pattern baldness as the pic below depicts a full head of hair although signs of a receeding hairline can be seen.


The young camp attendee is Nathan Pease,fraternal twin of Jeremy, these two were my favorites during that summer. Notice the Peace Button on my shirt, I guess I wasn't always a Conservative Republican. My "charges" were an all male group of 5 and 6 year old kids. Keeping them occupied during the dog days of summer was quite a chore. Once I decided to have a scavenger hunt so I made list of things I wanted the kids to collect the night before work. When I presented the papers the next day I was informed,to my chagrin, by one of them. "We can't read yet", so I had to hastily draw the appropiate objects.
We had field trips to both the Philly Zoo and Hershey Park and after a series of lectures by my superiors on keeping the kids from being separated from the group, I borrowed my mother's clothes line and made a series of knots,spaced apart, and made each child grab hold of one with me in the lead and my Junior Counselor at the rear.
We didn't lose a kid unlike my fellow counselors who had older child groups.
This age of innocence picture precedes the West King Street days by only a few years.

I love LA, I love LA

Bonnie Parker at CBGBs ... mid 80s

No, this is not about me in la la land, but a trip to see Bonnie Parker band at CBGB’s, NY, NY with several 340 inhabitants. This story was previously mentioned, but I have a few notes to add to this unforgettable trip. Kenny was the driver with the van. Phil, Tee, one of Tee’s “sisters”(not sure which number) and one other(I forgot; drugs are b..a..d)

I only remember certain events so if you’re looking for an orderly, coherent story, well, skip to another blog. I remember as we headed into the big apple, Tee asking the sister he brought to appease him and/or all of us (I’m not sure). I remember her saying no, and the next that I recall, Tee kicked her out of the van on 42nd street (where else!). Kenny stops in middle of the city at a red light, stands outside the van near the pedestrian crossing and pees. I don’t recall anyone even caring that walked by, hey, its NY.

We arrive at the CBGB’s which I hadn’t visited for about a year and walking in I noticed a few changes. On the left side of the entrance were the tables and most at the tables were gay, smoking the herb and no one was drinking. On the right side was the bar, and I noticed we could have our choice of seats, there was no one at the bar nor did I see anyone in the club drinking!. We sat down at the bar but there was no bartender for about 15 minutes. During our wait, a huge bull dyke covered with black leather and spikes coming out of every joint of her body walked up to Kenny and wanted to take him outside and beat the crap out of him! Kenny laughed and refused but she continued to harass him until she got bored.

After a few drinks, Phil asked me to escort him to the bathroom, which was down stairs. We walked past the small “stage” or platform, and went down this corridor which consisted of several small rooms with torn curtains and a broken chair in each room. Each room was occupied and each person had a belt or strap around their arm as they prepared for their next fix. As you go down the stairs, you notice there are two bathrooms of which both doors were broken off their hinges and lying on the floor. It didn’t seem to matter which room to use, but Phil selected the “men’s” room, I guess as I didn’t see a sign. Phil didn’t make it to the urinal before a tall, thin long hair young man started rapping to Phil with more then a casual friendliness and interest and saying hey ho, let’s go! Ok he didn’t say that but it was…Joey Ramone and I swear he was hitting on Phil! I laughed as Phil seemed to move a lot quicker heading up the stairs and back to the bar.

Finally I noticed Bonnie Parker walking toward us but didn’t seem as if she recognized us. Since we came to see her, and we were all avid fans of the band, I expected a better reception. After all she party at the 340 and we knew her for several years. As she approached us, I noticed she seemed to be more zoned out then normal, in fact, she didn’t know who we were at first when we said hi to her. I guess she may have been coming from one of the smaller rooms in the back!

I guess they played well, I don’t remember as I was kinda zoned out and only remember we were headed down the middle of the street for Mc Donald’s around 3am and Phil was singing, yes singing, and LOUDLY, the song “I love LA”. When I told him we may get killed singing that in NY, I and noted I was not packing a heater. Phil swore at me and said that he couldn’t believe that I would come to NY without proper protection.

I recall a minor disagreement over sleeping arrangements inside the van, but I was too wasted to remember or care at that time. Perhaps, one of you can add what the tiff was about. I know Tee either left the van or Phil threw him out!

Around 5am, we woke as there was a lot of noise around the van. I think they were either going to tow the van away since we parked in a no parking zone or maybe it was the garbage truck trying to dump us in. We took off trying to find our way back to the ferry. I remember later, we were in this line of traffic and not moving for some time. Phil saw a guy walking by the van and asked the New Yorker for “directions”. Phil said do you know what road we get on to get to the ferry? In a typical New York congenial response, he said; your in the line for the ferry, you fking asehole! I love NY….

12 Days of 340

On the 1st day of 340 ...

September 21, 1974 - the 328 Club is founded by Tim, Tee, Dan, Sil and City L. Harold T.F. Martin, landlord.

Where are they now: Jose

Jose de Jesus was a refugee from the Outpost of Humanity who followed to the second coming of the 340. He was a great sports fan, Bonnie Parker fan, and hound dog. One time, on a whim, me an Jose took off after the work day to go to a bar - in Manhattan - and returned to make it to work the next day. Jose was a fixture at all weekend events, parties and sporting extravaganzas.

Last time I saw him he had settled into family life with a career and all. I'd love to find him over the next 12 days.

Meanwhile, readers, lurkers, posters and 340 Club members - 1) if you have a suggestion for a Where Are They Now post (or anything else for that matter) please send a comment to the blog or an e-mail to me or Phil., and; 2) if you see Jose please let him know about the bash.

Trivia: 100-103

There will be some trivia questions posed at the reunion in June. To help you prep for such an event from time to time questions will be posed here in the Blog so you can revive some old memories and rev up your response time. To that end here are a few questions:

THIS WEEK'S QUESTIONS:
100) What was the name of City L’s (and my) friend who used to work with him at K & W Tire Company?

101) What fire company did Kenny Giltner used to hang out at before finding it more fun at the 340 Club?

102) In what fashion did Kenny sit down on a couch? CLUE: it is a four letter word

103) At what bar did I have a short-lived stint as a bartender in the 328 Club days?

Last Week’s Questions:
97) How many West King Street "residents" tended bar at Zangari's South? 4 or 5 (Phil, Sil, Dan, Dean and, perhaps, an occasional guest appearance by R.E.)

98) At 340 II what type of sports equipment was permanently set up in the dining room? a ping pong table

99) What 340 member had the sobriquet of "Wong Lee”? Steve Graybill

You’re traveling to another dimension; your next stop is the Kennyzone:

One morning Kenny and I started to get “ready” for an AC/DC concert in Phil. The group was to come on at 7pm with a warm up band, which I don’t remember. We drank and party all day waiting for 5 pm to start our drive to Phila. By the time 5 pm came, I must say we were ‘ready’. When we got to the Spectrum parking lot, I noticed it was 8;30 pm! AC/DC had started well over an hour ago, and neither of us knew what happen to the time. We walked inside the spectrum and of course there was almost no one in the hallways and the concert doors were shut. Kenny had brought a mirror for added partying. The mirror, not just any mirror, Kenny took it off the hinges from his bathroom medicine cabinet; you know the ones about a foot and a half long and a foot wide. Other then the ushers, the two of us walked down this empty hallway, with Kenny carrying this huge mirror under his arm! We entered the concert and Angus Young was jamming from one end of the stage to the other with his famous strut. The band was playing “problem child”, hmmm. We had no idea where were our seats were but we did find two seats right up front and sat down. Kenny started to dump some “Lady” onto the mirror to help us enjoy the remainder of the concert. The lights were off except for the lights on stage and Kenny was complaining he couldn’t see to get our Lady ready. I tried to hold matches but for the partying Kenny was preparing, we didn’t have enough matches in the entire arena. Along came two people with food and drinks and said you guys are in our seats. Kenny said sure, just need a minute and asked them if they had a light. Their party spirit did not seem as congenial as ours and they left for the usher. When the young usher approached us and said you must leave, Kenny immediately said sure, move that flashlight over the mirror here, so I can see. The usher did so while Kenny performed two lines from one end to the other end of the mirror, for each of us. After we finished, the usher showed us where our seats were. At the end of the “second” song, all the lights went on and the band said good night! After the encore, we strolled to the parking lot realizing we seemed to have missed most of the concert and of course had no idea where we parked. We got home just in time for last call! For weeks, Kenny and I tried to recall what we did or went that it took us over 3 hours to get there and over 6 hours to get home. Of course, now I know, we were in the Kennyzone.

Where are they now? Coach

Don Kuhns aka "Coach" frequent guest of 340 club

Moved to Anaheim, CA in 2000. Worked as rocket scientist for Boeing on the Delta IV rocket, Program manager for Power Systems at L-3 Comm on the USS Virgina nuclear submarine and now with Hamilton Sundstrand, as program manager, working on rockets and space launch platforms for various space instrumentation. I continue to keep in touch with various friends and member of the 340 club and also what is happening to my home town, Lancaster.

The above was submitted by the Coach of the Year himself. Subsequently he sent a two word slogan that I will repeat here. I was and always will be a Democrat. Coach was too but, more so than I, he was a liberal Democrat. Praise the Lord he still is. The slogan:

GO OBAMA

Where Are the 340 pets? Champ

In a word dead but that is like saying its 2008 as pets do not have long life spans. They are in our life like angels to provide temporal comfort.

Here is a litany of the 340 Club menagerie:

Champ - I first met Officer Longacre when he stopped me and Neal Mitten when we were in search of food after a long all-nighter on the eve of a Catholic High-Manheim Township scrimmage in August 1973. I ran a stop sign somewhere in the vicinity of the old APBA Game Company on Eastman Avenue. Turns out the Manor Township line must stretch that close to the City and Terry Longacre pulled me over. I forget whether I got a ticket; obviously I remember that I did not get a DUI and Neal and I - after a stop at Duncan Donuts - made it to the scrimmage. A few months later - or pehaps dropping his name saved me from the ticket - Timmy Bucher, Class f '69 LCHS, joined the Township police force. He and Terry got to be friends and when Terry had a dog he couldn't keep; him & Timmy saw that it got to a good home - the 328 Club. At the 328, Champ had a nice back yard to shit in, five fellas to play with, very loving neighbors that never could never quite finish their steak dinners, and a wide set of stairs to scamper up and down. While the officers gave Champ to me; in truth he was as much City L's. Champs favorite things to do at 328 were to eat, to play with Dan around the heating grille, to romp, to lean on people, and to play with his fleas. Champ had a lot of tiny pets and one of the most endearing sites was after the move to 340, perhaps on the day of the move, he, Sil and City L were leaning out of 340 windows laughing as they watched old Harold leave the 328 scratching like a madman. He had the place fumigated a couple of days later.

After we left 328 Champ spent a little time at 340 but he mostly lived at my parents house with his girlfriend Shitdog (aka Candy). I would go out and walk him from time to time but not like City L (aka Tim). Tim remained loyal and loving to Champ for the rest of the dog's life. My parents had Champ put to sleep later in his life when he had pretty much tore his backside up playing with his pet fleas.

Hoppity Hooper - hopefully his (hers?) story will appear later when Sil tells it. Hoppity is pictured above on Sil's bed at 328. Or it might be Dan's bed cuz he took the picture.

Scarlet - ditto for City L. Although I have some Scarlet dtories.

Sylvester - ditto for John & Sue. And some Sylvester stories so if I don't here from Sil, Slick, John or Sue I will fill in the blanks.

Up on the Roof Top

As Phil mentioned earlier, when Mr. Kratzert asked us to move from 340 to 338 in April 2003 I took the shortest route between the two structures – I went over the North Pole; over the roof.

In 1979 when I left 340 I to the Outpost of Humanity I was forced to use a vehicle. As I recall I had a small Chevy Chevette at the time. However, as Phil alluded too we had so few pieces of furniture I think it took me two or three trips in my car packed with clothes, records, books, APBA supplies, and stuff. It is likely that Jimmy Shay – my old and new roomie – borrowed a truck and we might have made one trip with a lamp, a chest of drawers, and maybe a chair. There was no bed; we all existed with mattresses on the floor. My signature maneuver in this first move was to toss, throw, and drop all my unbreakables (mostly clothes) out of the 3rd floor window and on to the West King Street sidewalk. I would then go down and collect them and put them in my car. I’m certain even Mrs. Garman had to be amused.

Well, as we left our beloved keystone address (328-340-340-338, get it?) I needed to once again have a signature maneuver. Tossing stuff out the window only to drag them back up to the third floor of the neighboring and attached structure made no sense. However it certainly gave me the insight as to what needed to be done. The way, clearly, was out the rear window of the 340 over the 52 inches of roof and into the back window of the 338.

By 1983 I maybe had two chests of drawers but still no box spring. I remember taking very little down and up the steps. Almost everything went out the window. In this way, Phil, Sil, John & Sue had a clearer path to move.

Although we had no way of knowing it at the time, particularly since Phil & I were negotiating with Mr. Kratzert to purchase the 338, the five of us had only 9 months together remaining and even the longest tenured residents of West King Street – Sil & I – were within 15 months of closing down the Club forever. Perhaps I shouldn’t say forever; the Third Coming has a nice ring to it.

Inventory (of future artifacts)

2008 340 Club Membership Cards (149, less ticket sales ... would love to sell out)

340 Club Keg Man Buttons (1, but more are being manufactured even as we speak and will be given to all who attend the 340 Club reunion)

"I survived the 340 Club in 1978 and 2008" Button (1, but more will be available for $3 each)

Souvenier Program (under development)

PowerPoint Presentation (under development)

Artifact Exhibit (the curator is hard at work)

80 45 RPM Records are being assembled by Greil Marcus, with Randy, Phil & I.

Is Sil in Europe on assignment?