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ONE CAN NOT LIVE ON PEANUT BUTTER AND WINE ALONE: ADVENTURES AT A CANCELED ROCK FESTIVAL copyright 1996-2006 Robb Strycharz part 15 SATURDAY, JULY 11, 1970 continued IT’S CHEAPER THAN GRAPE JELLY! It remains an indication of our advanced stage of starvation that we did not first stop at a package store. We kept our eyes on the prize and the prize was any store that sold food. Downtown we found a supermarket. Actually, there was nothing "super" about it... despite the “SUPER” sign that hung above it. The sign appeared as a 1940’s attempt to appear modern. The Famous Food Fair proclaimed itself to be “self-service”... though we could not think of any alternative. It was similar to an old ‘40’s-era A&P in Chicopee center... only smaller. That A&P was a first generation "supermarket" and was so obsolete it had already closed years before. The second-generation supermarkets, with their bigger parking lots, were popping up in our town as early as the mid-50’s. But then, in comparison to Podink, Chicopee was a rather vibrant city. While Podink was a tiny isolated town in a dying tourist region, Chicopee was in the heart of a fairly industrialized region. One didn’t have to look far to be reminded of that fact. By day black smoke was frequently seen billowing from the giant stack at the nearby Uniroyal plant. At night one could often hear the incessant pounding from Moore Drop Forge. Giant 19th-century mills dominated the skyline of the city’s two main business districts. We may have detested the rather dynamic manufacturing economy at the time. Most of us never wanted to work in a factory. But here in Podink was the sociological evidence of what happened when an area was economically stagnant. The rundown Podink seemed to be lost in a mid-50's timewarp. Podink had another characteristic that created as much amusement as culture shock. There lived there an interesting ethic mix of Blacks and orthodox Jews. Once in the Famous Food Fair we scattered to buy whatever each of us thought we might need. As I wandered the isles I was fascinated by the odd regional food brands. What I really found fascinating was the abundance, if not the predominance, of kosher foods. In Chicopee the main ethnic mix was Polish and French... and there was no shortage of Polish foods in the stores. In so many ways Chicopee was a sickeningly white bread working class town. At times it was easy to fall into the trap that the whole county was that way. One would be as hard pressed to find a Jewish name in our high school yearbook as a black or Hispanic face. Do I exaggerate? Actually, there was not one black student in our entire senior class... maybe even our entire school! As we made the rounds, learning the locations of types of various foods in the isles, we'd occasionally bump into each other, consult briefly about some common items, like milk, we might need then drift off again on our own. Hmmm, bread was a good place to start, oh... and, of course, peanut butter.... maybe some cherry preserve or grape jelly. At that point I bumped into Greg. He looked at my armload of stuff and snickered on seeing the jar of peanut butter. "Guess we do need to stock up on stuff after last night's munchies." He chuckled. "Charlzo, I already got this stuff, can you get some grape jelly or something for the peanut butter sandwiches?" In retrospect, it's a question I'll never ask Greg again. Five minutes later I finished up and I bumped into Greg again at the checkout stand. He was gushing with pride over some great discovery he'd found. "Hey Charlzo, check this out." Greg held out a jar of textured, dark brown slime.... Musselman's Pure Apple Butter. “What is that stuff? I never heard of apple butter." I asked. Greg just grinned. "This stuff's cheaper than grape jelly." "Ya, but what is it?" I asked again. "I don't know, it sounds good. Look how much you get!" Greg answered enthusiastically pointing to the weight. The jar contained 28 oz. Quizzically, I looked over at Davy who had overheard the exchange. He just shrugged. "Don't ask me.” He took the jar and looked at the ingredients. “The stuff looks... well, it sounds pretty harmless. What the hell. Smoke enough dope and anything will taste good. Har! " And so the deed that was to go down in Circus history... was done. Directly across the street was our second stop: a small package store. The ancient red and white circular sign read “ Retail Liquor Store”. We confidently strolled in, despite our very real fears that we might not get served. As we made our choice from the selection of fine wines we again gathered at the register. The old guy, probably the owner, squinted and checked us out, then began to ring up the bottles of Ripple and Bali Hai. Wahoo! As happily as he took our money, we were happy to give it. Hell, not only didn't he bother to check IDs, but Davy and Billy weren't even 18 yet! We left the store in absolute elation. Within seconds we were already breaking open the bottles. We were determined to get a taste of our new found freedom: the Freedom to Brownbag. Wasn't Amerika great! But, as the new freedom went, we were mere fledglings. We soon accosted by an experienced practitioner of the ancient art. "Hey, you there..." We turned to see who the gravely voice belonged to. Since Davy was closest, the old drunk directed his question directly to him. "So, ya mind if I have just a slug? You know, share the wealth and all that." The normally assertive Davy must have been in shock because he passed the old guy his bottle! It was one thing to pass the bottle between us. But this guy had one foot and half a desiccated brain in the gutter. He could have been the twin of Jethro Tull’s Aqualung. Up the street it was my turn to be accosted... this time by a young man sporting a beard and a yamaca. He was selling candles. “Are you Jewish?’ he asked? Back at the Bus we settled in for a pariah's feast. I got busy making a couple peanut butter sandwiches, ones that could have been graced with the tangy purple sweetness of pure grape jelly, but noooo. Instead, we were faced with the option of a dreadfully dry sandwich or one contaminated with the cinnamon-flavored apple slop Greg bought. There was no other way to describe the stuff. Maybe neccesity was the mother of invention and someone found a use for just the bruised parts of fallen apples. "Good God, Conliffe ... what is this stuff?" Davy sputtered after his first bite. He took back the jar to read the label more carefully. "Man, you bought 2 pounds of this shit?" "No", said Greg defensively. "It's only 28 ounces!" As the group turned up its collective nose we had to wonder what had been on Greg's mind. Greg looked a rather dejected; his big discovery was a dud. "But, it sounded good, and it's a lot cheaper than grape jelly." And now we all knew why. As we chowed down our late breakfast a communication breakdown led to the opening of all of the three cartons of milk we bought... and we had no cooler. A previous communications breakdown at the food store led to the purchase of the three cartons.
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