The Blind Pig of the summer of '88

Brunch with Becks is an ongoing weekend series where I wax poetic on tales from my life starting with the 9 Truths. Yes, I too can’t comprehend that all these odd occurrences have happened to me.

It was the summer after my freshman year of college and only a few weeks since I was discharged from the hospital after spinal surgery. My high school friends and I were all reunited from our time away at college and started to hang out in the garage of one of the gang.

We didn’t call it a garage, though. It was The Barn. We cleared it out and added a couch, that’s really all college kids need.

The Barn was a few hundred feet from my friends house, far enough that his parents didn’t really know what was going on inside the unassuming building. I’m sure they thought it was just our clubhouse.

I don’t remember whose idea it was but a bar was built. Then the keg was procured. That was the tricky part; we were all still underage.

At some point we decided to have a party and then the entrepreneurial spirit kicked in, “Why not charge people to come to the party?” Not everyone has a Barn, right?

This was over 20 years ago so my memory isn’t spot on. We charged either $3 or $5 for admission to the party with the added bonus of beer.

The girls who brought their Bartles & Jaymes Wine Coolers had to pay too. It wasn’t just the beer; we were supplying atmosphere and a place to drink. Everyone had to pay.

Usually 3 or 4 of us chipped in to buy the keg and those that did split the profits. On a good night I’d make around $80. Yes, I made that money for throwing a party.

I only lived about a mile down the road but I’d sleep on the couch at The Barn on party nights. The next morning I’d pick up all the red plastic cups and whatever returnable’s people brought with them. The empties were just bonus money.

Sometimes I’d walk down to Gilbert Lake and take a swim in lieu of a shower. I’d head home around midday. Then we would start to plan the next party.

This went on for a good portion of the summer. One night was crazier than the rest; a neighbor’s fence was broken by one of the revelers. The cops came and the end was near.  

Our antics had stayed under the radar for long enough. The broken fence was our demise.

There wasn’t a police bust or raid—no fanfare or fireworks—just a simple “no” from someone else’s mom and dad.

And like all great blind pigs, we were shut down.

Photo Credit: Dottie Mae

Comments

[Harry]

There were so many Blind Pigs in Detroit back in the 90's, probably still are.

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