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Tarn Magnuson |
Cars at the Valley Studio |
| We were billeted in the Wyoming Valley, south of Spring Green and miles and miles from Madison. During the day, mime and ballet and other assorted movement classes filled up our time. But come the weekend it was vehicular transportation that occupied our minds. Who had a car or truck? Was it gassed up? And could they be convinced a trip to Madison was the ideal way to spend a Saturday? I have many memories of cars from my Studio days. There was the Studio touring bus, admittedly not a car, but the best way to transport the most people (the bus, alas, lost to politics). There was Doobie Potter’s vintage 50’s convertible (Chevy or Olds? I can’t recall), which was perfect for a prom queen candidate making an entrance up the long driveway to the Valley Studio (that was the year the dining room toaster was crowned as the winner and the three best dressed students at the prom ceremony wore nothing at all, to Miss Sally’s surprise). There was Meg Partridge’s VW mini-bus, which spent most weekends fixed in place while Meg stripped and rebuilt its engine (carefully following the official VW manual). There was Robyn Ander’s car, with which she made demon-speed runs to Iowa (usually on her own). And there was Joe Daly’s step-van (better for transporting boxes than people, brought to the Studio by Karen Flahrety and sold to Joe). |
| Personally, there are three vehicular memories which stand out the most: |
| My coldest memory is of a snowy winter night’s drive I took through the Wisconsin countryside, in a car with no glass for the backseat, driver-side window (which is where I was sitting). Not that seat location really mattered, as the car had no heat what-so-ever. But I was the one dealing with the driving snow. We were also being followed by car lights, which our driver was sure belonged to a state police cruiser. He needed to make a right turn, but the car had no right turn signal, only a left. Fearful of getting a ticket, and deaf to our pleas that he chance the turn with a hand signal, so we could seek the warmth and shelter of our final destination, the driver chose to make three mile-long country road lefts to achieve the desired right. I do not believe the driver, whose identity is lost in the mists of time, ever had another passenger for the remainder of the winter. |
| My most expensive memory is of the night Jonathan was arrested. He was on the way back from Madison, driving through Black Earth, made famous by its speed trap. Let’s admit it, more than likely, Jonathan was speeding. But that’s where his trouble just began. For, after being pulled over by the fine-happy police, he aroused their suspicions when he tried to change places with front-seat passenger Craig Silvey. Jonathan, it turns out, did not possess a valid driver’s license. This meant the very youthful looking mime had no proof of age. So, erring on the side of caution, he was sent back to Madison and their juvenile detention facility. The ticketed car was allowed to continue on to the Wyoming Valley. The Studio became a blaze of lights as one and all were roused from sleep in an effort to raise the money to bail out Jonathan. This, at a time when the minimum wage was $1.60 an hour, and most of the students were church-mouse poor. From out of nowhere, John Aden popped up wearing a “Free Jonathan” button. (It might have been an altered “Free John Sinclaire” button.) Eventually, we reached the bottom of our pockets and sprang Jonathan from jail. |
| My favorite car memory is when I joined John and Doobie as guest artists for a week at Northland College, in Ashland, Wisconsin. This town lay to the far north, on the shore of Lake Superior. It was divided in half by a small river, over which ran a solitary bridge. Toward the end our week, we decided to hit the town for an evening of wining and dining, and capped the night off with a bad movie. Driving back to our dormrooms at Northland, we searched in vain for the lone bridge across the river. We knew it had to be there. John suffered the backseat driving of Doobie and myself (well, mostly Doobie) for as long as he could and then made a command decision. He took what he thought was the correct left turn, only, after a slight bump and a change in road conditions, to discover it was an abandoned and unused driveway. Suddenly, there we were, cruising through the back yards of an Ashland neighborhood, dodging small bushes, flower beds and swing sets. Doobie helped out by cracking up in gleeful laughter. And even while searching for a way out, John was swearing me to secrecy. No one back at the Studio was to know this had ever happened. (I believe the thirty-year rule applies in this matter.) Eventually, we found a real road again, and the bridge, and our beds for the night. All in all, a most satisfying road trip. |