Concerts were well worth the trips

It was 50 years ago this month, the end of March blurring into the first few days of April of 1968.

That was a pretty horrible year when it comes to politics, the Vietnam War, and American history in general. But it was a great year for rock music.

Earlier in the year, Cream had released its first album. Billed as the first “super-group,” Cream lived up to that label. Eric Clapton on guitar, Jack Bruce on bass, and Ginger Baker on drums were making music no one had ever heard before.

And that spring, they were making their first American tour.

This was long before the era when a concert ticket required a home equity loan. It was a pretty simple matter to buy affordable tickets when a hot, new group emerged.

So in short order, my lifelong buddy Klop and I had tickets to see Cream on stage at Clowes auditorium on the Butler University campus. In the sixth row.

Klop was at Ball State at that point, while I was at Earlham. But I was able to borrow the family Ford station wagon, and we headed out. I was — as I recall — home in Jay County on spring break.

At Butler, we stopped in to see Mark Hearn, another Jay County guy. He’d been the lead singer for one of Klop’s garage band groups back in the day, and I’m a longtime friend of Mark’s brother Chris.

Mark was hospitable and showed us around, but he didn’t have much interest in the Cream concert. There were more important things on his agenda.

It was gloomy and cold when we headed into Clowes, but when we came out after an amazing concert — our ears still ringing — we found the station wagon covered with nine inches of snow.

It was a long, sometimes scary trip back home. Interstate 69 was still only about half done, and some folks couldn’t get the hang of it. At one point, while we were headed north on I-69 in heavy snow, we held our breath as a southbound car — on the wrong side of the interstate — went past us in search of an exit.

The snow melted almost as soon as it had fallen.

And before Cream stopped ringing in my ears, it was time for another concert.

This time, it was in Muncie, in one of the 4-H buildings at the Delaware County Fairgrounds. And this time it was Jimi Hendrix.

Four of us headed out from Earlham in my friend Eby’s Mustang, and it was riding a little low as a result.

We met up with Klop at Muncie and were able to once again — within the span of a week — witness a rock music performance of a lifetime.

Yes, Jimi Hendrix played the guitar with his teeth. And, yes, he did spray lighter fluid on his guitar at the end of his act and set it on fire.

What can I say? It was 1968. Within the context of that dreadful year, it all seemed to make sense.

What didn’t make sense was the trip back to Richmond.

As we rounded a curve, with the rear-end of the Mustang hanging a little low, Eby encountered a good-sized rock in the roadway.

As the car went over it, the rock tore a hole in the gas tank.

The fuel gauge quickly sank to E, and we had to rely upon the kindness of nearby homeowners to allow us to phone back to campus for help.

So, driving in a blizzard and being stranded by the roadside, was it all worth it?

You bet. What a week that was.