"The Ragged Edge" unedited (ann arbor art show)

As the summer got underway, festivals sprang up. Dan and I decided to accept an invitation to play at the Ann Arbor Art Festival with the guys from the band “Werkshop”, however lame they really were. On the day of the show, I made an executive decision to keep Danny on the sober side by helping him drink the booze he had bought that morning, which meant he’d only be half as drunk as he would have been, had I not intervened. It really worked pretty well until we were in Ann Arbor. After getting Danny set up, I took it upon myself to buy another fifth of Burnett’s Gin for the three of us.

By the time the guys from Werkshop arrived, we had drawn a crowd and I was photographing everything I could. The need for a second fifth had already come, which I had fulfilled, and I’m sure we had consumed by then, at least for the most part. Werkshop was upset because we upstaged them by getting there when we were suppose to but we didn’t know they were that upset yet, so I helped them unload and carry their gear. Just a short time after the band was playing a set there was a muffled spat, where they complained about Danny being too loud. The jealousy of the moment found a way to the surface.

In a band, it’s always about volumes, to start with. I imagine they knew Dan was drunk, and I am sure my being drunk added to the deficiency of Diplomatic skills at hand but we had been there for hours and were ready to move on anyway, so we packed up and tried to leave. That was when we met the police officer that got involved. Of course, the cop was not trying to spend the next few hours trying to stay in our way, and was more than happy to accept our stating that we were leaving to meet up with our driver, since Mike from Werkshop was the snitch trying to alert them that we were driving somewhere after we’d been drinking. If ol’ Mikey had known to what extent we had drank that morning, he may have fainted. Well, we were so drunk that we had to let the girl drive- once we finally found the Jeep. One of the last things I remember was Dan asking her if she could drive, and if she could navigate us back to Grand Rapids. The other thing I recall is Werkshop Mike calling to ask if I had his keys after we had been on the road for some time. The keys were in my pocket, little did I realize. We stopped at the first truck stop we could find and I took them in, placing the little guitar figurine in the clerk’s hand. “Someone may come looking for these. You might want to put them in the lost and found box.” Then we got back on the road.

It was pitch black when I awoke to the woman saying that we were almost out of gas. Dan jumped up from his seat yelling, “We should have been home by now. Where are we?” A road sign came into view that said West Branch. “Gimme the map. Where’s West Branch? The Michigan map revealed that we were traveling North when we were supposed to have been heading South. She drove the wrong way. We were as far from going the right way as a tank of gas could get us. There should have been a quarter tank of fuel left when we got home. Why would a person continue driving while unclear if they were going the right way? Why not stop and ask someone to be certain? The answers to those questions would never be answered, however superfluous they were at that moment.

Dan yelled at her to get out of the truck, switching seats so he could drive, while cussing for several minutes. He put the truck into gear, and then it happened. Less than one minute later the bubble lit up on a West Branch County Sheriff’s car. The three of us were put under arrest and the cop went through the Jeep, finding our band equipment and my briefcase that he insisted on opening but couldn’t. There was nothing in it but my Harmonicas and notebooks, where I think he expected to find drugs, at least. The truck was impounded and we all went to the station, where they let the woman go, putting her on a Greyhound bus to take her back “home”.

Dan got another DUI but due to them misspelling his name, it was his FIRST ONE. We had to laugh about that. If he had gone to jail for a while, as one does for multiple DUI’s, it would have altered how everything afterwards that pertained to my life, would have played out. So, instead of Dan DeRuiter getting a DUI, Dan ReRuter got one.  Myself, I was arrested for false information to a police officer when I told them I was Bill Clinton, and that I never inhale. The real torture came when I realized they were holding me until I could see the judge.

The problem with that was I was finally going to be able to see my kids due to the fact that they were in Grand Rapids while their mother was visiting for the holidays- Independence Day, I think. We were finally to have time together for the first time since they were taken out of state. Their grandmother was arranging the visit. Other than music and art, the kids were the only concerns I had.

Danny’s mom would bail him out of jail in a phone call, and come up to get him in a few days. So, he’s put up in a motel and I am in jail. When she got there they came and got me out of jail, and then we went off to find the truck. What an ordeal that was! We searched and searched for this place, having been given misinformation to begin with. When we finally found the place, over an hour and a half later, it would become clear that we weren’t suppose to find it at all. It was hidden. This particular place was way, way out of town, out in the boo-oo-oonies! The only reason we found it was out of sheer determination and the fact that the stuff in it meant that much. As an artists and musicians, the equipment is half of the whole world.

The Jeep Wagoneer was loaded with odd’s and ends: Danny’s Fender Stratocaster Electric Guitar, the amplifier, effects processors and pedals, keyboard and stands, P.A. speakers, patch cords and cables, not to mention THE COWBELL.

The place had no signs and no visible mailbox. A dense wall of forestry, mostly evergreens, concealed it very well. Once we got an idea where the driveway was, it led us in a ways, much like a moonshine operation was going on. Even Dan’s mom, Eleanor, said that they were up to no good as we came upon the gated entrance.

When the gate opened Dan got out to talk to the guy that approached, while I stayed with his mom in the car. About twenty minutes later Danny came back to tell us they were moving vehicles so he could get it out. The Jeep was all the way in the back of the property, buried behind almost forty other vehicles. We knew what time it was here. Thank God Danny’s mom came to help us.

They were hoping to lay claim to the contents of the truck in a matter of days that would easily add up to way more than the truck was worth or that we could put together. They under estimated our determination, and our geographical and navigation skills. That, and we were just too hard-pressed for cash, since we had no other option.

Danny led the way out, driving Nancy, the Jeep, while I rode with Eleanor in her sporty little red Chrysler. Once we got to the gas station to fill up the tank, we were feeling more like we had recovered. The problem we had now was that the store had no alcohol.

I really felt bad about Eleanor driving back by herself but my own smoking habit and Danny’s insistence were controlling the situation. Danny listened to my story about my needing to get back for court in a couple weeks, promising to bring me back for a court appointment that I never made it back for. It wasn’t a secret to me, that I wouldn’t make it back, and it didn’t surprise me either.

Before we made it home I had a thought run through my mind. This was more of a voice with a message than a thought. The voice told me to put on my seatbelt because something was about to happen involving a wheel. My thoughts were then focused on loosing a wheel, picturing the lug nuts on the hub. One of them was broken off on a couple of the tires. After I fastened my seatbelt, a loud rumbling grinding sound came from the rear end of the truck. My brain replayed the previous thoughts, the fastening of the seatbelt with my right hand, the startling noise…  The truck didn’t feel like a wheel fell off, so when Dan pulled over to investigate the noise. We had no idea what we would find. Well, being mechanically inclined, and in disbelief that I knew before it happened, I jumped right out and poked my head under the chassis. “What the hell is that?” I asked. “It’s the spare tire bracket. See if we have something to rig it back up with,” he said.

Luckily for us the county had been out earlier that day, placing the wire coat hangers on the roadsides for people to find for miscellaneous vehicle cobbling. The winds created by the passing big-rigs rocked the Wagoneer as Danny and I mended the dangling spare tire bracket back up to the underbody. Moments later we were back on North bound 131 and coming up onto the Burton street overpass and exit. Dan lit another cigarette and offered me the pack. As I lit one, my thoughts went back to my intuition of loosing a wheel. “Wasn’t there a spare tire mounted on it?” I asked, curious why we didn’t pick up the spare too. “The spare is on the truck,” Dan said. “You mean we have been adventuring the stateside without a spare tire?” I asked. Dan said, “ It wouldn’t matter, we haven’t got a jack to put it on with anyway.” Well, I suppose that made sense, if anything made sense about any of what had happened all week. That was probably the bulk of it. And so, it’s just another day in the life, being a starving artist.

We got off of the highway and pulled into a party store parking lot, where Dan got us a bottle and a pack of Marlboro reds. While waiting, I made a mental note about trusting my instincts or at least considering them, especially in light of the spiritual encounters I had experienced in the past… and continued to have in the future.