Song lyrics particularly shape Macks life. Ordinary conversation nearly always calls to mind some lyric, whether from a childhood nursery rhyme to Sympathy for the Devil. He particularly enjoyed that song if only for the fact there are so many covers of the original Rolling Stones version. Janes Addiction and Guns ‘n Roses are two that come to mind. Mack wondered how the word ‘blitzkrieg’ had made it into the lyrics of a rock song. It didn’t stop the Ramones from “Blitzkrieg Bop” however.
There are many songs that bring Kathryn Campbell to his mind’s eye. Mack and Kathryns “our song” is Perfect Day, the mundane lyrics lead to a shaman-like journey into an existential world, leading many to wonder what the hell Mack’s thinking when he preaches the brilliance of Lou Reeds’ lyrics, the passion lying between the lines, often leading to passion between the sheets.
Franki Valli’s “Can’t Take my Eyes off of You”, “You are so Beautiful” from Joe Cocker are others that come to mind. “Lay Lady Lay” is one of Dylan’s classics, and Kathryn likes it. Life in lyrics. It returns her to her New York years. Mack can’t help but wonder how life may have been different had he been in New York for the years Kathryn lived there. He was grateful for the days he WAS there when they had their serendipitous meeting at Shea How often does a band’s score strike us as meaningful, maybe life changing? Is the intention to change the course of lives, or are they simply trying to score easy money? Mack’s idealism would have him believe the former, without being naive enough to ignore the reality of real life. It reminded him of Ray Manzareks’ classless exploitation of Jim Morrison “still alive” theory to promote the remaining Doors after Morrisons death. He loved The Doors, but lost respect for Manzarek and his band mates for furthering such a falsehood.
Words that lend themselves to some sort of philosophical higher surety are balanced by the pure silliness of Jim Stafford, Dr. Hook, and others that seem to ‘get’ the world of music and certainly don’t take themselves too seriously. Does anyone think Black Betty approaches the beauty and storytelling of American Pie?
Mack Roman and Kathryn Campbell shared a passion for music that rivaled their passion for each other. Music tied the friendship of the couple with Paul, Sarah and Ray. Their commonalities also included travel, literature and spiritualism. Religious foundations had escaped them all in one form or another since adolescence. Mack was recovering Catholic, as was Ray. Paul had been involved with his family in a large Lutheran church in Rockford, and Sarah attended 3rdPresbyterian church as a child and teenager. Sarah was poetically inclined, Paul had entered journalism as a vocation, and Mack believed he could and would write music. Music was the glue that kept them friends through the years, though none except Paul played an instrument or even sang. Paul was a bit of a piano prodigy, but as an adult played only to impress his cadre of women. Rays large family of 14 could have started their own choir, sadly though, none was vocally gifted. All correctly agreed the 70s were the salad years of music, and time has done nothing to change their mind.
Mack and Kathryns most relevant passion was saved for themselves. The love they shared was not so much a matter of nurturing, small talk and the usual accoutrements one would associate with a flowering relationship. Theirs was more a matter of fact, an undeniable truth, and their responsibility to it was to be its guardian, make sure lifes’ traps didn’t interfere with the truthful nature of love. They were merely along for a beautiful, joyful ride.
Ray Baecher and Sarah O’Neill found themselves reunited at age 17 while high school seniors. Sarah, with an unfortunate history of muscle spasms, one day in the summer of ’77 made an appointment to see Dr. Samuel Baecher D.C. to relieve an awful muscle pull in her neck. Arriving at the office for her 10 a.m. appointment, Dr. Baechers son Ray was at the office, begging his father for the money he would need to apply to an Air Traffic Controller Academy in Oklahoma. A moment of awkward silence ensued as Sarah stood at the reception desk as Dr. Baecher approached with Ray. “Sarah?” Ray said. Sarah responded equally tongue-tied, “Ray!” Dr. Sam Baecher espied the two of them over the top of his bifocals, and smiled slightly. “Ray, why don’t you wait here while I adjust Sarah.” Ray thought that to be a great idea, and sat down with a waiting room copy of Sports Illustrated.
Ray and Sarah caught up while strolling on the Rock River bike path the next day. They had lost touch since Rays family had moved to the east side after 8th grade at Roosevelt. Ray went to East High, while Sarah and most of the rest of his friends had gone to either West or Boylan, the catholic high school in Rockford. Ray hadn’t had any interest in following his father into medicine, and was eager to blaze his own career trail. Airplanes fascinated him, but unlike others with similar dreams, decided to pursue the dream, not of being a pilot, but a controller. The idea of directing traffic for these lumbering behemoths somehow struck him as interesting, so he had investigated different ways to enter the field. Dr. Baecher wasn’t all that interested in much financial assistance for Ray. Despite his medical background, his yearly earnings didn’t go far feeding a family of 14. Ray would have to find his own way, and began working for a large, local machine tool company after high school. Sarah had found her love and Ray had found his. After raising enough money working at the factory, along with government assistance, Ray and Judy rode the wave of love to Oklahoma City, Oklahoma and the FAA Air Traffic Control Academy.
Sarah O’Neill joyfully became Mrs. Sarah Baecher at a beautiful summer outdoor wedding in Rockford on June 26, 1978. Ray had taken little time asking Sarah to be his forever, and the ceremony had an air of inevitability to it. After agreeing to take each other for richer or poorer, they were decidedly poorer in the midst of Rays controller training. After a short honeymoon at Lake Geneva Wisconsin, the newlyweds made their way back to Oklahoma City. Sarah worked minimum wage type jobs to help them get by during the rest of Rays training, her sights set on a more bucolic setting that would await them when Ray got his assignment after completing the academy. Sarah became homesick after a few months and longed for her friends Mack and Paul, not to mention the rest of her family. Ray, Sarah, Mack and Paul were great together in school, but as is often the case, lost track of each other after graduation. College, work, and the military all intervened to sidetrack the friends, depending on future technology to reunite them in the future. Sarah excelled in school and was a bit of a gossip. She was the “mystery” behind “Miss Mystery” for The Roughrider, Roosevelts’ school newspaper. She dreamed of becoming a mystery writer, or perhaps going into nursing. She exuded compassion and was quick to come to the aid of any who were in need. She was a first-class friend. Helpful to a fault, she often selflessly came to others aid while ignoring her own needs. But most of all, Sarah loved Ray Baecher, and her contentment at times fell secondarily to life as she imagined it with Ray. She never became a nurse, other than the mothering care she provided to their four children. And writing mysteries? Well; that would remain a dream until her adult responsibilities to her family were fulfilled. In the period bracketing the 1980’s and 90’s, many other women became business and community leaders, politicians and other vocations previously reserved for men. Sarah though, was content raising her beautiful family, respecting other womens’ ventures into foreign territory, while blazing her own trail through remarkable obstacles, ignoring past demons that would have paralyzed weaker women, until arriving at her age of reconciliation. Grown children, her own mother stricken with onset of Alzheimer’s disease and Raymond retiring from his Air Traffic Controller gig left her listing at age 50. Raymond had become distant since retiring, no longer engaged with the constant high stress occupation of landing airplanes at O’Hare airport. He had begun his decompression after 25 years of high traffic and near misses. He knew what went on at the airport, and had long ago decided he would never take a flight to or from there knowing what he knew. Behind the scenes, while interesting to civilians, was chilling for Raymond. They had decided long ago to limit their travel to the home- like RV they had purchased, and would remain grounded, thank you very much.
Not long after Ray retired, Sarah turned to Facebook to keep her days livelier; that is when she wasn’t taking care of her mom, or tending to her childrens’ more adult needs. She had acquired a formidable list of friends, mostly from playing the games like Farmville where more friends meant greater success with the game. As she became tech savvy, she began encountering voices from the past, reminders of when she was far more innocent and child-like. The link to high school seemed ever real, girlish laughter reentered her life.
Sarah enjoyed jazzing up the travelogues she posted. Realizing the stories she shared would not necessarily be interesting to her friends, she borrowed a page from Miss Mystery and embellished slightly to appeal to the masses. For example, a trip to the Badlands of South Dakota might include a venture through the Upper Midwest, including a stop at the Mall of America in Bloomington, Minnesota preceded by sightseeing the Mississippi River along the river highways north from Illinois through Wisconsin, into Minnesota, when in fact the trip actually only involved a non-stop drive from Rockford to Mount Rushmore.
Sarahs’ Facebook agenda, however, for the most part, was keeping in contact with old and new friends. She relished the idea of maintaining relationships with high school friends when life seemed far more innocent and simple. Often all that was necessary to start a thread among friends was to post the opening line from a familiar song. Mack typically started, writing “Well I just got into town about an hour ago”. Sarah or one of the hundreds of friends she had enlisted followed with, “Took a look around see which way the wind blow”. Pauls’ contribution was characteristically cynical, not necessarily in a negative way. His remarks were light hearted and completed the dynamic for the group. And on it went, until L.A. Woman by The Doors had rewritten itself online, and friends were connected for another day. This type of interaction became an obligatory portion of Sarahs’ day. Ray participated, though not to the extent of the other friends expansive and sometimes long-winded input. Sarahs’ ‘status’ on Facebook often included observations similar to “I’ve checked in here 3 times in the last half hour, but no, I’m not addicted to Facebook. Lol.”
Paul Wojciechowski regurgitated another story for class. When would the monotony end? How many times could he be expected to churn out pages of drivel to satisfy Professor Rose. Paul was driven, but the mindless stories never met the high expectations he had set for himself. It was enough to satisfy Rose, but he was a hack when held to the lofty bar Paul had set for himself. Paul had already received 4 offers of employment from papers in the midwest, but that wasn’t the goal. He wanted to write for a big city newspaper, preferably a city with a warmer climate than the chilling weather he had grown up with, and continued to suffer with here in Carbondale. He had interned for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch the past 2 summers, and that was the climate Paul enjoyed. Stifling, sticky humid heat, when the air could be felt adhering to the skin like mud to a crawling snake. Thank God for the party scene here at SIU, he at least was able to drink away the dismal thought of cold that encompassed him, physically and emotionally. Mack came down to visit every now and then to disrupt the monotony, always arriving with beer and a bag of weed. Mack’s sister Olive was also a student here, so between the two of them, Paul was able to keep school friendships fresh and alive. Mack would be here this weekend; he had a couple of days off work. Paul made sure his homework was up to speed so he would be current come Monday.
Paul pored over the offers he had received; Effingham was just up I-57 from Carbondale. Rockford also sent an appeal, but Paul had no desire to begin his career at home. He feared if he went back home, he would never leave again, he was too smart for that. Peoria was interesting, but the offer that appealed to him was from the Quad City Times. The Moline area had a bit more of a cosmopolitan feel, to it. It felt like a good career starting point. Paul decided to call the managing editor after class and accept the offer. Maybe he’d be stuck writing obituaries at first, but he was comfortable with his decision. He had spoken with his professors and the dean, and they had positive feedback. Plus it was close enough to home, he could easily return if he wanted, and the two hour drive from Rockford would be easier for Mack than 6 hours to Carbondale.
Paul moved on from the Quad Cities, grateful for the experience derived from this first stop in his newspaper career. His distinguished tenure at the Times afforded him several job opportunities at a variety of papers, and Paul settled on the St. Petersburg Times in St. Petersburg Florida. The Times had accrued a long list of awards, including the Pulitzer Prize, and he was honored to be approached by them. He felt he was establishing himself as a force to be reckoned with in the world of journalism.
Paul advanced to the position of state news editor at the Times, acquiring leadership skill that would serve him well in the future. He missed his friends at home, but knowing he was only a 2 hour plane trip back to Chicago eased his trepidation.
Paul, between career meanderings, managed to find himself a woman. Debbie Swanberg was a girlfriend from college he had kept up with since leaving Carbondale. He had several other girlfriends since high school, but didn’t really see any point to pursuing any of those trysts further than what he already had. Debbie was more of the type of woman he felt he could marry, more receptive to relocating with him to the various cities he would certainly be hired in as he moved his way up the newspaper business pecking order. He hadn’t necessarily given a lot of thought to having a family per se, with kids and all, but he certainly wasn’t opposed to the idea. So Paul and Debbie said their I Do’s in a stately Lutheran church in Naperville, Illinois on August 24, 1983, just prior to the reception which would become the one of the most memorable in the history of the Western Suburbs. Paul always could throw a party. Drugs were plentiful and the booze flowed freely as the guests danced and sexed the night away. Police would inevitably be involved, unfortunately, not the last time innocent friends from the 70s in Rockford would be involved with cops, drugs and various other forms of hedonism.