November 10, 1986, thirty-seven years ago, was a monumental day in my life, even if I did not recognize it at the time. Two things that were, to quote Larry David, “pretty, pretty, pretty good” happened that Monday.

I had seemingly figured out where my life was heading that year. I was twenty-five, almost twenty-six, and it was about time. I was a manager of a prosperous swimming pool and spa store in Stevensville, Michigan, and in my eighth year as an undergraduate student at Indiana University in South Bend. You read that right, eighth year.

Young Cary was ambitious, yet directionless. The most successful thing I had done was being a decent employee at two pool and spa stores. College was there, but I was flying a plane at night without a compass. I sat through classes and absorbed what interested me. I spent more time in the library reading things intriguing than studying. My love life? A series of repressed memories- once again, not knowing who or what I wanted, and a couple of young women painfully saying that they didn’t want me.

About the time my fellow high school grads were nearing their college graduations, I finally found a career path – High School Social Studies Teacher. Retrospectively, I think that worked out pretty well, thank you history professor Dr. Donald Marti for your sound guidance. Back then, we didn’t have things like e-mail, so you often lost track of people as your life advanced.

I woke up that morning in great excitement in my South Bend apartment. About three and a half miles away, at the now Joyce Center on the campus of Notre Dame University, I saw Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band in January of 1981. That was it! Everybody finds the music they like and I did. Sitting around with a bong listening to something muttering “oh wow, that’s awesome” may be for some, but I liked pumping my fist, stamping my foot to the beat, and badly singing along.

Today, finally, the live album is coming out. Yes kids, vinyl. My thoughts were obsessed with driving down Ironwood Drive to the Scottsdale Mall and purchasing the five-vinyl record box set. I attended morning class, skipped the next so I could be at the store when it opened, and there was probably a class I reluctantly sat through afterward.

I parked, I walked rapidly into the now demolished indoor shopping center and forgot about an incident about a decade earlier. My hometown of Michigan City, Indiana, had split into two high schools in 1971. In 1976, as a sophomore, I began that life. That March, our school won our first boys’ basketball sectional, and regionals were played at the aforementioned Notre Dame.

Back then, there were two morning games, an afternoon break, and the championship game that evening. We beat Hobart advancing to the night game. I had my driver’s license about two weeks ago, Olivia Rodrigo, and my parents intelligently told me I wasn’t driving. The logistics of getting there, around, and back are lost to time, but in the afternoon break, we were at Scottsdale Mall, the only one then.

The coolest thing there for an adolescent was what I guess they used to call a confectionary shop “Farrells.” While waiting to get in, they had all kinds of kitschy items and candy for sale. They served ice cream and sundaes and sang to you on your birthday. While in line, we stopped plastic kazoos. The rest is fuzzy, this is almost FIFTY years ago, but I had three to five other friends who bought them, traversed the mall playing the music I can still hear that ended it “Go Big Blue!” for our school and were kicked out of the mall. Ah, memories.

I grabbed the square black box off the record store shelf, and waited in line for the whiny idiot in front of me complaining “It’s how much?” I think I elbowed him out of the way, said I don’t care how much it is, and got it! Walking out to my car, I suddenly remembered “HOLY SHIT!” It’s Registration Day for the second semester, the one that is finally supposed to be my last, I hauled ass to the administration building, and after the pre-electronic registration, I got my classes, which was a huge relief after a bit of anxiety. Thank you to Dr. Robert Clemens of Riley High School for allowing me to student teach.

Back at the apartment, I placed album one, side one, of the forty songs, I would listen to straight through. When the needle hit the vinyl, I heard a chilling acoustic version of Thunder Road and for three hours I drank a few beers, sang along, and was very happy with how MY day went. It all worked out, sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t.

Life…..