Roland's Quest: A Modern-Day Spiritual Journey

In the corner of the café, Roland Jarrell sips his cappuccino, a morning ritual. His gray, virile presence anchors this spot, where he commands a view of all the activity surrounding him. The worker bees rushing in, grabbing their morning coffee fix. The laptop crowd, busily working away oblivious to the world around them. And the leisure class, including him, settling in for a long, unhurried morning. Now he watches a woman across the room leafing through some papers. She’s the kind of businesswoman who seems almost asexual to him, and through many years of observing, he believes he can see beneath the outer shell of such a woman to an intense sensuality. In the past he’d have felt comfortable walking across the room, introducing himself. But not today. With his new understanding, he knows that she is God, just as he is God.

1970 - Graduating from College

Chapter 1 - College Life

Spring Break was coming too soon this year. In previous years, this would be the most exciting time of the year for Roland, a time to break free from the campus grind, to head out on the road with his buds, free of cares, free of responsibilities. He played there with his bandmates in the Battle of the Bands the last two years, placing third at last year’s Break, creating lifelong memories. But this year was not like the others – this was senior year with graduation only a few weeks away, and this year especially, the campus and the world were in turmoil, the war impacting everything. He felt like Spring Break was just in the way of his completing a very important transition in his life, the end of a lifetime of schooling.

In a short time he would be out in the world of work, starting what he hoped would be a long, satisfying career. His time at this place had been wonderful, freeing, empowering, a mix of fun and pain and hard work as he grew from a kid to a man here. In recent months, though, he could feel a change as he looked ahead, the fun part fading as he focused more on the final work of graduating. His friends were feeling it too – the parties were shorter, the talk was less of campus life and more of where to next.

Since his junior high days, Roland wanted to be an electrical engineer, tinkering with radios and other electronics from an early age. In his time here, he maintained a singular focus toward achieving that goal, and though mathematics and physics were a challenge for him, the more practical electronics and lab work had been a breeze allowing him to finish with a B+ average. Last summer he worked in a co-op program at a local engineering firm, gaining experience that added to his resume, and right after the Break, he would have on-campus interviews with several companies.

Roland had responsibilities that went beyond school and the life after school he was preparing for, responsibilities to the close friends he had made in the last four years. When he wasn’t focused on his schoolwork, he played guitar in a rock band called French Curve with his friends, Doug, Tony, and Tom. Though he had played in a band in high school, this music was much more sophisticated and challenging, and his guitar work had reached a truly professional level. Fans at the local clubs loved their mix of wild driving rock with some clever jazz thrown in.

At times there was talk among the guys about trying to do something more professional with their music, the dream of hitting it big in rock and roll always on their minds, but during the last six months the dream had begun to fade, and though nothing was said about it, everyone seemed focused on getting to the end of school. They knew they would all end up spread around the country, the magic of what they created fading away with time.

Roland was busy packing for the trip when Tom Clark rushed in, Hey, Rock, aren’t you done with that yet? I’ve been ready to go for three days.

Roland’s friends had nicknamed him Rockin’ Roland, which, because of his chiseled good looks, had evolved simply into Rock. It was not a name he particularly liked, since he didn’t see himself as a Rock Hudson type, but he accepted it as one of those things friends do to each other, a combination of affection and ribbing.

Roland shot back, Well, some of us have to study, you know.

Tom was the goof-off among Roland’s friends, the one true hippie, with dark, shoulder-length hair, a scruffy beard, and zany behavior. He had changed his major several times since coming to college, but it appeared he would manage to pull off an applied math degree, though Roland wondered what he would do with it since smoking dope and listening to Zeppelin were his true passions. Roland couldn’t imagine how he would hold down a long-term job, but he was always fun to be around, keeping everyone loose, and they loved him for it.

Tom’s friends called him Beat, not just for the obvious reason he was a drummer. When he first arrived, guys called him Dick, for Dick Clark, which always pissed him off, until someone commented he had a good beat and was easy to dance to, and from then on he was Beat.

Don’t worry, we have two days ‘til we hit the road, Roland said. I’ll be ready when the time comes.

You’d better be, Tom said. Say, I’ve got to go get something to eat. You want to come?

Nah, Roland said, I have to finish packing and then I’m going down to the lab to work on my project.

You’re working too damn hard, man, said Tom, as he headed out the door.

Just hard enough, Beat, said Roland. Just hard enough.

Along with the pressures of schoolwork, Roland was also affected by the state of the world around him – the war, civil rights, student unrest, all impacting his day-to-day activities, his plans for the future. A high school friend of his, Jake Willows, had been killed in Vietnam. Jake had joined the Marines straight out of high school, and with a strong sense of honor, duty, and commitment to his country, left for Vietnam, with the intention, he once told Roland, of killing some gooks. Roland was repulsed by what he heard, but in these times such statements didn’t seem so unusual. Six months after arriving in Nam, Jake was killed in an ambush, and when Roland went home for the funeral, he was torn up about it, feeling death so near.

Roland’s political views had evolved during his college days. Having grown up in a primarily white, middle-class suburb, his views had closely followed those of his parents and his friends. In simple terms, those views were that the United States is always right, protestors are just malcontents, and the proper role for him in society was to get a degree, get a good corporate job, have a family, and live happily ever after. Through his high school years, he never questioned any of this, but when he came to college, he met people with different backgrounds and from different cultures, and he met people who had strong opinions that shook up some of his simple notions.

He began to see that maybe Vietnam wasn’t such a simple ‘the U.S. is right’ situation. He learned that sometimes people aren’t given rights unless they fight for them. And maybe, just maybe, the path laid out for him wouldn’t be as simple as he thought. After Jake died, he realized the gravity of what was going on in Vietnam, and as time passed, he knew he couldn’t support the war anymore. This led to serious soul-searching, a re-examination of what his life was for, and though he continued along his chosen path, he no longer felt the same comfort and surety. One thing he knew was the military was not for him, and all his friends felt the same way.

Last December, the Selective Service held its first draft lottery for everyone born up through 1950. With trepidation, Roland’s friends had gathered around the TV to watch the numbers chosen, the tension in the room like a heavy weight pressing on everyone. Their futures, maybe even their lives, depended on which number popped up for which date. They had heard, based on previous drafts, any number above 200 would be safe, which meant the odds were about 55-45 against them. Sitting on the edge of his chair, with his throat dry and thick, Roland watched the dates approach his March 3rd birthday. And then it was announced – number 267. The sense of relief was overwhelming as he jumped out of his chair, and suddenly saw his future open up before him, the dread lifting away.

The guys all congratulated him, especially Tom, who genuinely cared for Roland, but when Tom’s turn came, he wasn’t as lucky; his birthday of April 4th was chosen number 81. He slowly sank back into his chair looking stunned. His future was already uncertain, due to his disinterest in work in general, but now a new uncertainty was upon him, leaving him uncharacteristically quiet. A few days later he talked to Roland about it.

I’ll probably head for Canada, he said, with a sense of apprehension. It’s going to kill my family.

I’m really sorry, man, Roland said. I wish there were something I could do. For now the decision was a few months away and Roland would try his best to help him through it.

Amazingly the other three friends in the room had numbers over the magic 200. At first they didn’t want to celebrate because of Tom, but his solution to any problem was a good party, so they carried on late into the night.

Roland lived in a three-story building where each floor was a three-bedroom apartment with a common living room, bathroom, and kitchen. The house was four blocks off campus in the old part of town in a neighborhood of mostly student housing. He lived on the top floor with Freddie Hill and Doug Walker. Freddie was from the South, the first Southerner Roland had ever known, and the guys called him Dixie. He was smart and clever, but it was hard for all these Northeasterners to take him seriously when he talked, though he sometimes used this to his advantage, ‘aw-shucksing’ his way out of a bind when he needed to.

Freddie was tall and thin, with perfectly combed blond hair and always a twinkle in his eye, and Roland loved being around him. There was an unspoken bond between them, like they were meant to share everything, and despite living separate lives, each made sure that if one was invited somewhere, the other must be invited as well. People might have thought they were brothers if they hadn’t sounded so completely different.

Doug was quieter and more reserved, short and stocky, always wearing plaid flannel shirts and jeans. He came from a working class family, the first in his family to go to college, making it here on a scholarship. He wasn’t as sharp as Roland and Freddie when it came to schoolwork, so more of his time was spent studying and preparing. Often Roland and Freddie would go to a party or to get something to eat, but Doug would stay behind working, feeling a great sense of responsibility to his family.

Doug played bass in the band, and though bass players in many bands aren’t the most gifted musicians, Doug was an exception. His contribution to the sound and creative direction of the group was crucial, the one area where Doug would allow himself to commit time away from school. It provided the counterbalance to his dry, quiet demeanor.

The last member of Roland’s inner circle was Tony Berretti, who was 100% Italian, with a medium build, dark complexion and hair, and a suave air about him. Despite fancying himself a tough-guy, all his friends knew it was just an act. He was daring, though, and at parties, he would do whatever crazy thing was called for, often surprising everyone with something so outrageous they would cringe. He could drink more than most, and was a ready source for some weed or acid if you were so inclined. Despite all this, he was never really out of control, as if every wild act was carefully thought out.

Tony played keyboard in the band and was the lead singer, and though his keyboard playing wasn’t very inspired, his singing was powerful. He had a high, raspy voice that could drive a song forward on its own, which when combined with harmonies from Roland and Doug, produced a very sweet sound. Tony also wrote the words for most of their songs, and anyone who read those words knew there was a soft heart beneath his tough exterior. Girls seemed to know there was something there since he attracted an endless stream of girlfriends, some Roland thought were total knockouts. Tony would only date them for a while, before moving on to the next. His life always fascinated Roland.

For Roland, girls were more of an enigma. Despite being shy in high school, he had a few steady girlfriends, but they always broke up with him after a short time, and he never quite understood why. He was just on the edge of the popular group, pretty good at sports, but never making any varsity teams. He would hang out at dances and private parties with some of the popular guys, but didn’t feel like he fit in with them; nor did he fit in with the popular girls, who liked him as a friend and the fact he was smart, but didn’t see him as dating material.

He had one sexual experience in high school, when his friends had dared him to ask out Jeannie, who had a reputation as one of the ‘easy’ girls. He knew her from some of his classes, so he worked up the nerve to ask her out, and to his great surprise she said yes immediately. He was really anxious about the date, wondering what it would be like, but amazingly it lived up to the hype. After going to a movie, they went out to one of the remote areas to park and did it in the backseat. The whole experience gave Roland a new sense of confidence, but since his shy reputation had already been firmly established, it didn’t make much practical difference to his high school life. When he arrived at college, though, he made a commitment to express that confidence more.

His first girlfriend here was Janet Williams, whom he met during freshman year at a fraternity dance. Janet was a short, perky brunette, and Roland thought she was cute but not really pretty, the kind of girl your mother thought you should date. That first night they danced for a while and then for the rest of the evening sat outside and talked. Roland felt comfortable enough to end the night with a passionate kiss. Over the next several weeks they dated several times, eventually becoming steady, but since Janet was a country girl, a bit old-fashioned, it was four months before they slept together.

From the start he didn’t feel a great deal of passion for her. It was comfortable, convenient, and fun at times, but she wasn’t a great party girl, preferring quiet evenings together. This certainly didn’t fit in with the lifestyle of him and his friends, and after several months he began to realize she was much more serious about things than he was. When he finally decided he wanted to move on, he didn’t know how to tell her. She kept after him, but eventually realizing he was withdrawing, she angrily confronted him. At first he tried to defend himself, but ultimately returned the anger. She left and they didn’t speak to each other again.

The whole experience left him feeling unsettled. It had been a fun friendship, including the sex, of course, but he felt he should have seen how serious she was and tried to talk to her about it early on, rather than being hurtful toward her. He vowed to try to do better with future relationships, but for now he decided to move on, throwing himself into his studies and his partying.

By junior year, Roland had physically changed, having grown a couple of inches taller since arriving at college, now a broad-shouldered young man with a strong jaw line and angular features. He felt he was the same person inside, but realized others looked at him differently, especially girls. He started dating the better-looking, more popular girls, his confidence growing as he did. In November of his junior year, he was at a frat party and exchanged glances across the room with a tall, pretty blond. He worked up the nerve to walk across the room and talk to her, and whether it was just the party mood or genuine attraction, they clicked right away. Her name was Beth Freeman.

Beth was sophisticated, beautiful, just a bit unreachable, the kind of girl your mother would warn you about. They started dating and in no time he was totally infatuated, so much so that his schoolwork began to suffer. He started having fantasies of them living together, having a long future together, but unfortunately for him, Beth didn’t see things the same way. She liked being out in public with the good-looking Roland, and she liked his wit and intelligence, but she never saw him as more than a short-term relationship. Within a few months things got strained as he became more possessive of her, until she finally told him it was over. He was crushed.

His life started falling apart, and though he managed to get through his schoolwork, his grades began to drop. The other guys did their best to cheer him up, trying to introduce him to other girls, but he wasn’t interested. It was a long road, but by the beginning of senior year, he started coming out of his funk. He began dating some again, but was still wary with girls, afraid he could easily misread the situation and be hurt again.

Now with senior year coming to a close, Roland wondered how this part of his life would play out. Freddie had a serious girlfriend, Barbara Corey, whom he was thinking about marrying after graduation. Roland had assumed when he finished school he would have a partner to share the next stage of his life, but for now he was so focused on finishing this school year, he didn’t dwell on it too much.

Roland headed out to the lab to finish up some work on his project before the break. The lab was in the old Franklin science building, and as he entered the front door, he was hit by that old building smell, a musty, dusty smell of history. He went up to his lab on the second floor and found Freddie there working on his project.

What’re you doing here? Roland said, as he entered the room.

Same thing you are, man. Trying to catch up before the break, Freddie replied.

Roland was happy to have Freddie there since it could be lonely in the lab at times, and they started talking about their plans for the break. Freddie was going home with Barbara to stay at her parents’ house for a few days. Roland ribbed him about being on his best behavior, while Freddie shot back he would certainly be better behaved than the band members would, which Roland couldn’t argue with.

They soon both got down to work. Roland’s senior project involved the development of electronic test equipment using the new integrated circuits (ICs) that had been developed in the last decade. He had built radios in high school, including a ham radio outfit that worked as well as some commercial equipment. These radios were all built with vacuum tubes, but when he came to college he embraced transistor technology, eventually starting to experiment with ICs. For his project he was using the chips to build a signal generator, and his advisor, Dr. Lindley, was excited about what he was doing, knowing he was pushing the technology to its limits.

As it turned out, the project was more difficult than he had hoped, discovering the IC chips were more fragile than he imagined, and he managed to fry a bunch of them. The supporting circuitry for the chips was also complex and delicate, all of this resulting in a longer ramp-up than he had planned. He was convinced it was achievable, and today after some long effort, he was really excited to get the first sine waves out of his signal generator.

As a clear tone sounded out through a speaker, Freddie called from across the room, Hey, Rock, is that a recording of your new band?

Roland replied, Yeah, we’re going to call it ‘The One-Note Wonders.’

Freddie laughed as they continued on with their work, until they eventually called it quits and went down to the student union for some dinner. The union always had decent food, unlike the dorm cafeterias, where they ate when they were freshmen. The food here was inexpensive, the beer was on tap, and tonight it would be the usual hamburger, mashed potatoes, and a beer for Roland, as he and Freddie talked about school coming to an end and what life would be like after graduation. After a second beer they headed home to the apartment and crashed.

The next morning Roland woke up early and left for his Diff E class, which was his last pure math class, one in which he was determined to get a good grade. He worked hard in the class, wanting to finish out his senior year on a high note, and he knew tomorrow he would be able to forget about it as he rode out of town with his pals. After class today he would put in a couple more hours in the lab, before finishing his packing this evening.

He also needed to confirm a couple of job interviews for when he came back from the break. During the month following the break, he had four scheduled, and though he was still undecided about his career, he knew as an EE, he had many choices, and this choice was critical in setting the pattern for the rest of his life.

He had narrowed the choices into several categories:

Large computer companies – IBM, Sperry, Burroughs

Smaller computer companies – DEC, Data General, Wang, Control Data

IC chip manufacturers – Texas Instruments, Fairchild, Intel

Government – NASA, DOD

Government contractors – Lockheed, Boeing, Northrop, Grumman

Each category had its pros and cons, and within the categories, each company was unique. He knew he was interested in the new world of ICs and how to use them to design products, which put the computer companies near the top of the list. He had met a couple of guys who worked for IBM, and found them straight-laced and square, and he doubted he would fit into that environment, which was probably true for all the large computer companies.

His new political beliefs made it hard for him to consider the DOD or the defense contractors, since the idea of making the weapons of war wasn’t something he could rationalize away. NASA was a serious consideration for him with the space program going strong and recent reports about the next generation of space vehicles, but he wondered whether the bureaucracy of a government job might be stifling, since he saw himself as a creative person, one who wouldn’t want to get bogged down in rules, procedures, and regulations.

He was looking at all these possibilities, knowing even though he could always change jobs in the future, this first choice could profoundly shape his life. As he walked across campus, he saw Tom.

Hey, Beat, Roland called, You ready for the big trip?

Tom replied, I am so ready. Want to leave today?

Wish I could, man, Roland said. Just a few things to finish up. We’ll pack up the car tonight and get out early. Tony’s coming over with his stuff.

Great, Tom called back, I’m itching to get moving.

Roland went on to class, afterward finishing up his work in the lab. He made his calls in the afternoon and by dinnertime, the schoolwork was behind him. He was now completely focused on getting everybody and everything packed into his car, the ’63 Pontiac Bonneville his Dad got him a couple of years ago, a real monster, great for piling in lots of people and gear. It ran like a charm on last year’s trip to Spring Break, so before dinner he went out, gassed it up and checked the oil. They were looking at 25 hours of driving, and being crazy college students, would drive straight through, taking turns at the wheel, sleeping when they could. It had been a blast last year and now Roland was getting into the excitement of it.

Around 6:00 Tony showed up with his keyboard and duffel bag, and they all jumped into the car and headed for the burger joint. In that big Bonneville, they were a cruising machine, with all eyes on them as they pulled into the drive-in. Freddie came along to hang out with them before he headed off on his vacation, and they had fun ribbing him about going home with his girl, while they were going to party on the beach. For Roland, though, there was a twinge of envy that Freddie had something he really wanted – a serious girlfriend – but he played along, talking about all the craziness from last year.

After dinner they packed up the car, had a few beers and headed for bed. Roland got ready, crawled into bed and turned out the light, looking up at the ceiling, listening to the sounds outside, thinking how incredible his life had been. He had so much fun these last few years, with such a wonderful sense of freedom, and though he knew the fun would continue tomorrow, maybe for the next few weeks, he wondered if he would ever feel this way again. Perhaps this was the end of his freedom and the beginning of responsibility, and though he knew he could handle whatever came along, there was a touch of sadness this might be his last great fling. He finally drifted off as the night around him quieted down.

I was in the Great Mountains where there was a University. These were the incredibly high mountains where the knowledge originated, and there were people I knew going to school here. There were jokes made about some of them being perpetual students. I had to leave for a while, so I started up the long passageways into the higher mountains. I knew it would be colder there, but the sense of power and mystery was almost overwhelming. I detoured a bit from the path and headed toward the mountain city. I ducked under a gate with a young woman, and could then see the city, which was a beautiful arrangement of tall buildings along the mountain peaks. I found a sign for the Landset Library of Ancient Teachings. I decided I didn't want to go there right now but knew there were many such places within the city. I traveled on.

‘Wow!’ Roland thought, as he pulled himself awake. ‘That was intense.’ He lay in bed reliving the dream, floating above the dream, lifted off the bed a little, not here and not there. He thought he remembered something like this before, something from his childhood, something warm and rich and soothing. He couldn’t quite place what it was, but he knew he had been there at another time. As he continued to relive the dream, it began to fade a little and soon he was more here than there.

All of a sudden, Tom burst into the room. Yippee! he shouted.

Roland sat up like he had been spring-loaded on the bed. What’re you shouting about, man? You about scared me shitless.

Come on, Rock, Tom replied. This is road trip day. We’ve got to get going. The world’s waiting for us out there. There’s beach and chicks and beer and we’re in this crummy apartment. Get your ass moving.

Ok, Ok, I’m moving, Roland said.

Roland dragged himself out of bed, his head feeling all cottony inside, as he went to the bathroom and got dressed in his usual gray chinos and button-up check shirt. Going through this normal morning routine, the memory of his dream began to fade, as he was focused on the practical world now, pulling together all the little details that would get them out the door and on the road.

Out in the living room, Tom was jumping around like a little kid, unable to control himself, while Doug was doing his best to calm him down and keep him focused on getting ready to go. Freddie was sleeping in, so they left him alone, and soon Tony showed up looking like Mr. Cool. Roland walked into the room and looked at Tom and Tony, cracking up at the incredible contrast between them. He felt like a wrangler herding these guys together, heading them all in their appointed direction.

Ok, on the count of three, Roland shouted, we’re out the door.

Immediately Tom yelled, Shotgun!

Everybody groaned, Roland counted, and they raced for the car.

Almost everything they had, including keyboard, guitars, and luggage fit into the trunk, with the exception of Tony’s green duffle bag which they propped up in the middle seat in the back. Tony and Doug jumped in the back, arm to arm with the duffle bag. Tom got shotgun and Roland slid behind the wheel, already feeling that wonderful sensation of commanding a vehicle on a long journey.

They headed off through town, out onto the highway, and even though it was still cool this morning, rolled down all the windows to get the full experience of that 60 mph wind, the wind of freedom, the wind of no responsibility. They settled back in their seats, watching the country flow by, in one of those moments where the past fell away and there was only this present and the immediate future of the party to come.

After about an hour, Tom yelled, Hey, my friend in the middle back there is getting hungry.

Roland, playing along, yelled back, What friend is that?

My friend, Hans. They all totally cracked up.

It seems that being science majors, they had all taken German during sophomore year. Most scientific journals were written in English, German, or Russian, and it was thought anyone who had a scientific bent would need to know German or Russian, so one of these languages was a requirement. This was true even though none of them, nor anyone they ever met, had actually read a German or Russian journal in its native language. Throughout their sophomore year, they would call each other Wolfgang, Fritz, or Hans, but within a year or so they had all forgotten most of what they had learned.

So now Tom started, Ich bin Hans. Hans ist hungrig. They all tried to match his broken German as best they could, but couldn’t stop laughing.

Roland spotted a roadside café and pulled the big Bonneville up to the front, and as they piled out Tom grabbed the duffle bag to bring in. They sat down in a booth, with the duffle between Tom and Tony, and as the waitress came up to them, Tom leaned behind the duffle and said, Ich bin Hans. Hans vants Belgian vaffles. The waitress rolled her eyes, as the other guys were losing it. She said to no one in particular, Is he for real?

Roland looked up at her, Absolutely not.

They eventually got their breakfasts and piled back into the car, Hans included. As they drove off, Tom was yelling out the window, Ich bin Hans. Hans ist nicht hungrig. over and over again, as the people around stared at him, thinking, ‘Who’s that crazy German hippie?’

A few miles down the road, Tony pulled out a joint, lit it, and passed it around. For everyone but Tom, alcohol was the main recreational drug, but marijuana was accepted as an everyday alternative. Other than a few really straight-laced friends of theirs, everyone they knew smoked at one time or another. They all knew it was illegal, so they tried to be discreet about it, but being illegal didn’t make it wrong.

In a few hours they would be crossing into Virginia, deeper into the South. They knew drugs weren’t treated the same way in the South as they were up North, so they finished off the joints before they crossed that line. For the week ahead, Tony had hidden some grass deep under the backseat along with a few tabs of acid. Only if the cops decided to completely strip the car, which was unlikely, would they find their stash. For now they merrily enjoyed their collective high as they rolled down the road, singing as loud as they could.

The convivial mood continued when a few hours later they stopped for lunch. As they walked out of the restaurant, Tom yelled again, Shotgun!

Tony said, Hey, man, I’d like to sit up front for a while.

Tom shot back, Yeah, but you didn’t call it.

Tony stared at him, Sometimes you’re such an asshole.

Tom replied, Yeah, well, fuck you!

Immediately Roland jumped in, Knock it off, guys! Look, Beat, this is my car and I’m driving, so let’s take turns up front. Tony gets it for now.

Tom glared at Roland as he sank into the backseat. The altercation left Roland feeling very parental, not a feeling he enjoyed.

As they headed off, everyone was quiet for an hour or so, when the jovial atmosphere slowly returned, and they were back to joking around, ribbing each other in a playful way. The weather got warmer by the hour as they crossed from early spring to late spring to summer, roaring on southward. The rest of the trip was uneventful as Roland drove for about twelve hours, passing the duties to Doug who drove the next six. By this time they were all feeling exhausted, so Tony had a short nap and picked up the driving duties the rest of the way, as the other three got a few hours sleep.

Chapter 2 - Spring Break

It was a warm, humid Saturday morning as they rolled into town, all awake now as they breathed in the ocean air. After a long Northern winter, it was easy to forget what a summer day feels like. The town was almost completely empty, since the stores were closed and the party people were all crashing in their motels. The only ones on the road were new arrivals like them, who had driven overnight from somewhere. Nothing had really changed since last year, and as they pulled up to their motel, it felt like coming home.

When they first came here two years ago, they rented one room for the four guys, but this turned out to be totally insane, so they decided last year two rooms were required. Roland and Tony shared one and Doug and Tom the other. Roland knew Tony would need the room to himself a fair amount, as there would likely be a parade of women going in and out, but Roland accepted this as part of having Tony around.

They checked in, unloaded the car, and took a few minutes to get settled in. Roland was feeling wasted after only three fitful hours of sleep, and tonight was the big Bash at the Beach which was the kickoff for the week. The Battle of the Bands wasn’t until Tuesday, so they had a few nights to party before they had to get serious.

Hey, guys, I’ve got to get some sleep if I’m going to party tonight, Roland said.

Tony piped in, Yeah, me, too. I didn’t really sleep at all in the car.

They decided to get something to eat first, and afterward Tony and Roland went back to their rooms to crash, as Tom and Doug, who had gotten more sleep, went off to explore the town.

Roland woke up mid-afternoon as the noise level around had grown dramatically. When he looked out the window of his room, he saw college students everywhere, as if they had magically crawled out of the walls of the buildings, running around in every direction like ants at work, all scantily clad. Roland was fascinated watching them, wondering where they were all going and how they might be connected.

Roland woke up Tony, and the two of them headed downstairs to find Doug and Tom in their room.

Hey, guys, we have one mission to accomplish before we go party, Roland said. We’ve got to get some booze.

Tom jumped in, I’m ready. Let’s go.

The four of them took off for the local liquor store, and just getting there was crazy, as people were whooping it up, screaming and running around everywhere, with so many great bodies on display. At the store they bought a couple bottles of Wild Turkey bourbon, some Coke, and several six-packs of Pabst Blue Ribbon, along with a cheap ice chest and some ice to keep it all nice and cold. They hauled it back to Doug and Tom’s room to start in on the beer.

The Southern heat was intense as they left their motel to walk the three blocks to the beach. They were dressed in swim trunks and flip-flops with all except Tony wearing college t-shirts. Tony, being Tony, wore a cool button-up shirt, something to set him apart. There was a sea of young people walking along with them.

The Bash was put on by several of the beachfront hotels. At the boardwalk, a stage was set up where bands would play well into the night with an MC running the Best Bikini Contest and other important events. Big floodlights shone out on the beach, illuminating all the crazy dancing and cavorting. Alcohol was technically prohibited on