Pompadour and Circumstance.

I always liked the TV commercials for K-Tel’s Slim Whitman albums. So much so that I paid homage on Halloween of 1982 by dressing up as him.

I wore a red satin shirt emblazoned with a glittery guitar and musical notes on the back along with white polyester slacks and cowboy boots. My hair was swooped into a pompadour and sprayed black—jet black with the added flourish of a pencil thin mustache. The resemblance was as uncanny—especially since I’m an Irishman. My yodeling skills put the whole thing right over the top.

That night, John, Russ and I went to a party up by the university. I didn’t know a soul there except for the two friends who dragged me there. Being an introvert, I headed straight for the drink table. Well, it wasn’t so much a drink table as it was a metal trash can full of “jungle juice.” I ladled some into a cup and downed it. It wasn’t bad so I had another. Before long I was pretty buzzed and struck up a conversation with a girl dressed as The Sphinx. I casually asked her to show me her boobs and she did. I went back for more punch.

Midnight was approaching and John and Russ wanted to see “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” at The Blue Mouse. We left the party and piled into John’s Toyota pickup truck. Once at the theatre, I decided that I was too wasted to watch the movie and that I just wanted to sleep. They bought their tickets and I climbed into the bed of the truck. The Toyota was lined with a carpet of astroturf which worked well as a blanket since a light dusting of snow had begun to fall.

I vaguely remember the laughter and chatter of Halloween revelers walking up the sidewalk. One voice said “Hey! That guy looks like Slim Whitman!” He began to yodel. Good Night, Ireeeeene..... Then everything went black—jet black.