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Part I
World Wide Texas Tour Summer 1976
As soon as I got out of bed that Saturday morning and started moving around I could already feel the oncoming heat of the day through the curtains of my bedroom window. I knew there wouldn’t be any reprieve from it until later that afternoon. Summer in Southern California is like that. The air outside won’t move an inch for practically the entire day. Then, just when you think you can’t stand it anymore, the end of the afternoon rolls around and a breeze comes in off the ocean. To be truthful, at that moment I wasn’t concerned with any of that. Right then all I cared about was seeing my favorite rock and roll band sometime later that day. I didn’t know when exactly, but that didn’t matter. The happy realization that the day had finally come was good enough for me. After toast and cereal and a quick shower I put on some tennis shoes, a pair of cut off jeans and a clean t shirt. I was ready
Including me there was six of us heading out on a midsummer pilgrimage to what was being billed across the airwaves and the local print media as a ”Rompin’ Stompin’ Texas sized Barbeque” at Anaheim Stadium featuring ‘That Little ‘ol Band from Texas,’ ZZ Top.
We’d all gone to high school together, each of us having graduated within the past two years. All of us had grown up and still lived in Crestline, a very small California town tucked away in the lower belly of the San Bernardino Mountains.
Our eagerly anticipated journey started out with everyone squeezed together shoulder to shoulder across both the front and rear bench seats of my father’s 1972 Pontiac Tempest. Boy, that car could really move with just the slightest encouragement from an adolescent right foot.
We drove west on Highway 18 zig zagging down the mountain all the way from upper Crestline, elevation 5,000 feet, or what the locals like to call, ‘the top of the hill’ to the base of the mountain and the north end of San Bernardino. Fifteen miles after you start the traffic signal at the foot of the mountain changes everything and Highway 18 turns into Waterman Avenue. I remember the 215 freeway that runs through the center of San Bernardino being mostly deserted that morning.
After connecting with the 91 near Riverside we ended up in Anaheim, practically as far west as you can go without making it to a beach city. At that time Anaheim was home to the California Angels and Disneyland. Kind of a sweet place actually. Still is. The entire trip, including a pit stop for gas and cigarettes, took us no more than an hour and forty five minutes.
We got off at the Katella exit. A gigantic white colored ‘A’ with a halo wrapped around its top greeted us from across the street. Looming in the distance through the early morning Southern California haze I could see Disneyland’s white capped Matterhorn Mountain. It reminded me how excited I always felt anytime I was anywhere near this area. Disneyland and baseball, I’d experienced both with my father way too many times to count. What more could a southern California kid ask for growing up? From the moment the day started I had a real good feeling ZZ would keep up the fine tradition of good times for me in this neck of the woods.
So far getting to where we wanted to go had been easy. That changed as soon as we drove through the parking lot gates. We were approached by a squadron of security guards directing us to the farthest outskirts of the circular lot. Some were regular security but most were off duty cops getting an extra buck. I gave them no grief. I was too happy to give a shit. After parking the Tempest almost a cab ride away we got out and started to make our way towards the entrance.
We could see when we got about a third of the way there that our group as well as everyone else coming in from the other sections of the parking lot were being funneled by security into what would turn out to be an almost endless ribbon of humanity. We were herded, about ten people wide, between lengths of rope that seemed to run forever through a series of rubber tire pylons. This procedure pushed the lengthening mass of teen age flesh into one long stream that quickly pushed itself almost all the way around the gigantic parking lot. From any vantage point above the stadium it all must’ve appeared incredibly strange.
We stayed like that for almost an hour. But after standing there for five or ten minutes not having any idea what was going on everyone, our group included, spread out as much as we could while still keeping ourselves between the ropes. Those of us who had them sat down on folded up blankets and towels. Those who didn’t either remained standing or sat down cross legged on the parking lot’s asphalt surface.
It was only a little past nine o’clock in the morning. The breeze from the nearby beaches was still holding its’ own in the battle against the oncoming midday heat. We broke into some of our provisions. A big bag of Doritos was passed around as well as a huge bottle of coca cola that wasn’t much above room temperature but still tasted great.
Then, without warning, everyone around us started to stand up. Maybe it came from some unknown signal somewhere or maybe it was just a feeling everyone got at the same time. Whatever it was I could feel the excitement growing in the pit of my stomach. My friends and I followed suit stretching our leg muscles as we brushed chips and salt off the front of our shirts and the tops of our blankets. By the time we had everything folded up and put away we were already caught up in the middle of a mass migration forward.
Security asked us to bunch into tighter groups. They were doing their best to maintain some kind of order as they began the slow process of moving thousands of people forward to one destination. There were no arguments or fights in my area. It seemed as if everyone around me felt the same way I did. Let’s get inside and get the party started!
It was slow and it wasn’t easy. We were pushed along like cattle. We moved in sections maybe thirty feet at a time before stopping. Each time we stopped we stayed like that for a minute or two before beginning the entire process all over again. Each time we moved forward there was always someone who felt obligated to let out a loud “mooo.”
When we made it to the gate and finally got inside there was no checking of bags or purses; no pat down or metal detectors. The coolness of the covered concrete concourse brought my breath back and any tiredness I was feeling from lack of sleep or time in the sun was washed away by the anticipation of the upcoming event. I couldn’t wait.
The problem was I had to. We all had to. It was 10:00 am and the first scheduled performer, Point Blank, wasn’t due to take the stage until 3:00 that afternoon.
A lot of people stopped right there. They never made it any further. They walked down the aisles behind home plate as if they were there to attend an Angels/Tigers game. They found a shady overhang from the reserved section above and plopped themselves down on top of a comfortable wooden seat content to be what seemed to me a million miles away from the huge stage area that was set up against the outfield wall.
That wasn’t what my group had in mind. As long as the powers that be let us we were going to keep going forward as far as we could until somebody stopped us. At the bottom of each aisle, leading onto the field, a metal gate was being held open by an usher in a blue suit and a straw hat who couldn’t have looked more out of place if they’d attend the proceedings naked.
In short centerfield out on the other side of second base and directly in front of the stage we spread out our blankets. It was as close as we could get if we wanted to sit some and not have to stand the entire time.
I remember thinking that there sure was a long way to go before we made it to three o’clock. Looking back now I know there must’ve been moments when I got impatient waiting for everything to start. I think I have a tough time remembering any of that now because it ended up being such a great day. Tired? Yes, I remember getting tired. But it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be cured by simply stretching out for a quick siesta on one of the blankets that made up our home base. Our proximity to the ocean helped keep the temperatures down.
What did we do with our time? Besides the occasional herbal break we did what people use to do before everyone had cell phones or net books and laptops. We talked and joked. We people watched. We made fun of each other and the people around us. We made new friends. We smoked a lot of cigarettes to help pass the time. I think that was the day I became a pack a day smoker. It would be another seven years before I was able to break that nasty habit.
Though since then I’ve acquired quite a fondness for most malted beverages at that time the only alcohol I consumed was cheap wine. Tyrolia, Spinatta, or T J Swan---both vintages, Easy Days and Mellow Nights. All of them were best consumed without a glass but none were quite as rot gut as the stuff immortalized during the first song on ZZ’s set list during much of that tour, ‘Thunderbird.’
In my group I was the only one with a taste for the grape. The rest of the guys were beer drinkers or ‘smokers.’ None of us were of drinking age yet so besides the few beers a couple of the guys were able to sneak inside we were pretty much stuck that day with soda or water as our beverage of choice.
I think it was right before Point Blank got everything started that a girl sitting next to us offered me a drink from her jug of water. I accepted and took a swig big enough that I was almost embarrassed by it. All she did was smile. She was by herself and probably at least seven or eight years older than me. Because of an extremely large stash of paraphernalia she’d haphazardly hidden under a corner of her blanket and the very short pair of jean shorts she had on she had a steady stream of one hit visitors around her area throughout much of the afternoon. I don’t remember exactly when but at some point I turned around and she was gone. She’d wandered off, taking her paraphernalia and jug of water with her of course, never to be seen around our side of second base again.
In Southern California during that time and for quite a few years after there was a used car salesman by the name of Cal Worthington who with his ten gallon hat and outlandish stunts ruled the television airwaves. He was tall and thin and wore a black string tie along with an assortment of linen and brushed denim suits. His outlandish financing offers and over the top stunts, such as riding elephants and long legged ostriches between rows and rows of used cars, made him the equivalent of a cartoon character come to life.
Somehow, someone had come up with the brilliant idea that good old Cal should MC the affair. Maybe it was his oversized hat. It might have been the hat mixed in with the cornpone shtick that he was all about. Whatever it was after five hours of sitting, standing, and sweating in the hot summer sun the crowd was in no mood to hear somebody who was in most cases older than our parents try and be cute and funny.
The festivities needed to start. We were tired of canned music. We were tired of talking and not doing anything besides smoking and eating and drinking. Our little stadium gathering needed a kick start in the butt. I doubt Cal even knew who ZZ top was. I’m sure he had no interest in any of it beyond the fact that we were a captive audience of thousands. To him we were nothing more than a huge pool of potential car buyers.
The boos rained down hard from all corners of the stadium as soon as Cal tried to set one cowboy boot down on the stage. He was attempting to introduce ZZ Top manager Bill Ham’s newest rock and roll act Point Blank. We were relentless. He tried to yell over us. That didn’t work. Red faced, Cal took his hat off and waved it angrily in our direction. That not only didn’t work it made everything worse. Water and various other beverages were tossed up on stage. There were peanuts and half eaten hot dogs as well. It wasn’t a pretty site. Cal’s microphone was turned off. I can still see him being led off the stage by security, heels dragging in front of him while his silenced mouth was filled with one censored expletive after another.
Someone came on the PA system and ignoring what had just happened asked us in an excited voice if we were ready to rock. This brought a cheer from the sun drenched masses. After a quick pickup of debris from the stage it was time to get down to business. We didn’t see or hear from Cal the rest of the day.
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Part II in a few days....
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