Saturday, November 8, 2014

More Tales from the Last Record Store

On the outskirts of Gillette, Wyoming in the 1980s was a record store in a trailer.   It was straight out of a David Lynch movie.   You go into the store and of course you are the only patron.  The owner sits behind a makeshift desk reading a newspaper.  He's obviously happy to see you, but it playing it cool.  You may be the only customer he has seen all day.  Which is not surprising.   In the old adage that success in retail is based on location, this store is about 10 miles south of a small Wyoming town where the only businesses around it are oil supply vendors.  And its not like there was much traffic going by of people shopping.  Rather, most folks like me probably passed the record store on the way to work in the coal mines which were 50 miles out of town (I worked there for two summers), or to the oil fields.  In short, this was the worst location imaginable for a record store.   Unless you were weird about music like me.  Then, the voyage necessary to go to the store took on mythic proportions like some kind of quest.

The name of the store was appropriately called "The Last Record Store."  In 2014 that name might suggest connotations that record stores are dying out and that this store may be one of the few remaining. But in the 1980s, record stores with a decent location were still a going concern.  Kids like me still bought vinyl and cassettes, and waited patiently for the new release of Devo or the Cars to make their way out to Wyoming.  I remember the Last Record store probably stocked more Ramones and Dead Kennedys then another other record store in Wyoming, Montana, and probably the Dakotas thrown in.  You had to go to Denver to find one of those mega record stores.   The Last Record store could have easily been called the "only" record store--or the last stop of any retail business (other than a gas station) for hundreds of miles .

The first record I bought at the Last Record store was the Ramone's "End of the Century."   I think that was their foray into pop which might have been produced by Phil Specter:



I may have bought my Germs and Agent Orange albums there as well.   I remember the owner raising his eyebrows when I asked to order "Tales of Topographic Oceans."  But he obliged.   I never knew his name until I googled it recently and found his obituary:

GILLETTE - Celebration of Life and gathering for Robert "Library Bob" Parkin, 53, will be at 7 p.m. Thursday, June 28, 2007 at the Walker Funeral Home Chapel.
The family requests that you do not wear black but make this a tribute and share a story.
He died on June 14, 2007 at his home in Gillette.
He was born on July 20, 1953, the son of John and Mae (Berkley) Parkin in Wanaque, N.J.
He was raised and educated and graduated high school in Clifton, N.J. After graduating high school, Bob was inducted into the United Sates Army and served a four-year term in Vietnam. After his honorable discharge from the service, he traveled to Colorado and attended Colorado Mountain College in Leadville, where he met the love of his life, Sally Crookston.
They were married on Aug. 16, 1980 in Rock Springs. They moved to Gillette and owned and operated The Last Record Store for numerous years. He then became employed with the Campbell County Public Library maintenance department where he had worked for the last 23 years. He was recently promoted to the Campbell County Court House Maintenance Department as a supervisor.
They were blessed with two sons; John Conner "JC" and Alex Parkin.
Bob was a Little League Coach, a Babe Ruth Baseball manager, an outdoor enthusiast and took his family camping in the Big Horn Mountains every summer. He was also a motorcycle freak and both his sons were raised on dirt bikes. He had a way of making people feel accepted being he was very non judgmental.
He was a great cook and was an instant celebrity among anyone who ever ate at his table. He was a vivid story teller and had a talent for bringing Yankee Stadium, the Nam jungles, or a great blues concert alive to the listeners of his life.
He believed in picking up hitch hikers and buying them dinner, simply on the basis that they seemed to be a little worse off than he was at the time.
He was a magnificently compassionate and loving human being, a wonderful father and friend.
Survivors include his wife and two sons, all of Gillette; his mother, Mae Turneau of New Jersey, his sister, Shirley Parkin of Clifton, N.J., his mother-in-law and her husband of Gillette, Wyoming, and one nephew.
He was preceded in death by his father, John Parkin and his father-in-law.
A memorial has been established and memorials may be sent in care of Walker Funeral Home, 410 Medical Arts Court, Gillette, 82716.

Sunday, November 2, 2014

Come to the Honeycomb Hideout

It was 1983, and freaking cold in Gillette, Wyoming over Christmas break.   I was home having just completed my first semester college finals.   I walked through the snow to the record store that was way out of town in a trailer. It was appropriately called "The Last Record Store."   There were no other record stores for another 180 miles until you came to the mall in Casper.  And the record store there totally sucked. And I thought to myself as I looked up into the cold starry sky that "This must be the place."

I knew what I was looking for and quickly came out with my prize, the Talking Heads Album "Speaking in Tongues".  And I listened to the hell out to that for the next three years or so.   And when I wasn't listening to it, Gerry from across the hall with the much louder stereo was happy to oblige.

Then the album went into storage for many decades.

Then it was 2009 and the album came out of storage at the Homestead.   And we danced and danced to the vinyl like it was 1983 all over again.   And then we were in Bonaroo in Tennessee and after Elvis Costello kicked Beatle Bob off the stage we crept up to where David Byrne was going to sing, and sing he did, all dressed in white like an angel:


And as I looked up into the sweltering summer sky in that field I thought that "This must be the place."

But the world kept rotating despite my best efforts and it was 2014 and now the same album was being played in movie with Sean Penn and David Byrne.   The name of the movie was even called "This must be the place."

Then it became many many years later.   Maybe even several lifetimes.   I was in a church that was like a giant honeycomb. The church was empty save a lone figure at the front of the altar playing a giant organ. I listened to the deep bass notes and recognized the melody with a smile.  And David Byrne smiled at me as he played:

Home is where I want to be
Pick me up and turn me around
I feel numb, burn with a weak heart
Guess I must be having fun

The less we say about it the better
Make it up as we go along
Feet on the ground, head in the sky
It's okay, I know nothing's wrong, nothing

I got plenty of time
You got light in your eyes
And you're standing here beside me
I love the passing of time
Never for money, always for love
Cover up and say goodnight, say goodnight