My friend Daniel Horne used to coordinate the Artists Of the Rustbelt events in and around Youngstown, Ohio. The Womacks and I played a handful of these events, and we always enjoyed the communal feeling between the artists involved. From metal sculptors to painters, musicians to jewelry makers, there was an obvious support system of creatives in the area, and it was cool to be part of that once a year.
But there was one year in particular when Tony Schaffer and I were scheduled to play a duo set, and never made it. We were in my old white cargo van, en route to the festival, when it overheated somewhere near 224 and I-76. I got it off the highway and to the first house on the first back road we coasted to. The mailbox said "Byers".
Old man Byers was a rough one. Probably 6' 3" and 250 pounds, you could tell that he'd been a manual laborer all his life. A man in his mid to late sixties, Byers met us halfway up the driveway to his split level home. A tractor sat in the side yard, though it looked like it hadn't run in a decade. "Smells like you blew a hose" he said as he waved at the air beneath his crooked nose. "It may finally be the head gasket" I replied. "My father in law's on his way with the car hauler". Old man Byers just nodded and motioned us toward the house. "Might as well get out of the heat then".
We followed him into the breezeway and up two stairs into the kitchen. His wife had already pulled out two chairs and poured two glasses of water. She must've seen us through the window and known we'd been in the summer sun for the past hour. We sat down, introduced ourselves and thanked them for their hospitality. Tony was wearing a Star Wars t-shirt, and the woman explained to us how she had bought "every toy they made" in the 1980's. The family picture beside the table told me that their son was right around my age. I wondered if she'd saved UPC codes for the free Admiral Akbar action figure. He wasn't available in stores, and you actually had to mail in the barcodes to get the toy.
As I pondered the very sharp and angular elbows on that particular action figure, old man Byers told us how they didn't get much traffic out this way, and that he hadn't seen anybody our age since Fearless Fenwick. I wasn't aware of anybody by that name, but you don't get a name like that unless you're legend. And of course Mr. Byers was about to lay that legend on us over tap water and the last few swigs of coffee in my cup.
Fearless Fenwick was a track star from Akron University. One night he attended a party near 224 and I-76, where someone slipped some LSD into his drink. Young Fenwick had never even tried cigarettes. His limit was one mixed drink (vodka only) per month, and he was known for his strict diet and incessant exercise. It only took about thirty minutes for the acid to kick in, and Fenwick's gut instinct was to run. His friends found a shirt and a pair of running shoes on the lawn leading to a cornfield and 224. Old man Byers found way more than that.
It seems the Byers family had gone out that evening to celebrate their forty years of matrimony. Ma, pa, and baby boy. All you can eat buffet and milkshakes. Meanwhile, Fearless Fenwick had run all the way to their split-level home and helped himself to some frozen Banquet chicken in the freezer. And then he helped himself to a shower. And then he helped himself to old man Byers' bathrobe (complete with an embroidered B). The kid was about to help himself to that tractor in the side yard when the Byers family returned home. Before they could question him, Fearless Fenwick had shed the bathrobe and was running full speed and naked toward the cornfield. He still had the Byers' gas can under his arm when he disappeared.
The newspapers wrote that Fenwick had been arrested the next day in Akron, still naked as the day he was born, and still clutching that gas can. He lost his track scholarship and left the university shortly after. Old man Byers saved the newspaper clipping which he pulled from a drawer beneath the microwave. The article never called him by the moniker of "Fearless" so I'm guessing that was a nickname bestowed upon him by the old man.
Right about that time my father-in-law pulled up to the drive with his car hauler. We thanked the old couple again and loaded up into the truck. Frozen Banquet chicken never sounded so good.
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