by Keller // David & Keller
I met David in 1993 on the first day of my illustrious college career. By chance, we were put together as suitemates in Benedict Hall, a co-ed dorm at Sewanee. Basically, we shared a bathroom. The classic Jack-n-Jill. David’s actual roommate, Porter, was a childhood friend of David’s and is a great friend of both ours today. That diploma is a lot more than a piece of paper, folks.
Sewanee, though, didn’t take for David, so he left after a year to attend this university (UofSC) in the fall of ’94. However, we managed to make the most of our two semesters together. Not in the classroom, of course. We concocted get-rich-quick schemes and new reasons to skip class almost daily. One of our greatest accomplishments was stealing cable from the dorm’s common room. This was the '90s, so television was a luxury. Each dorm had one. Our dorm was about to have two.
For an early cable-stealing scouting mission, we explored Benedict’s attic to determine where best to splice and run the cable. We ended up running about 75 yards of it alongside some old intercom wiring, which camouflaged it extremely well. It was a wiring job that could have gotten us a job at Spectrum. Some of our best work, no doubt.
During that recon mission, though, we encountered the RA as we descended the attic steps. I came down from the ceiling first, likely looking both dumb and guilty. David was on his way down when the RA asked sternly, “What are you guys doing?” Without hesitation, David responded, “Just walking around.” David didn’t engage the RA any more than that, and we quickly made our way back to the site of our future entertainment den. After all, we were just two guys taking an evening stroll in the dark and dusty attic, sir. Plausible.
A few weeks later, we were called in front of the school’s Honor Council. I played dumb and guilty again and, not to brag or anything, but I fucking nailed it. David did the talking. I think we ended up being put on double secret probation. The story – David’s response to the RA in particular — reminds me of a story that’s been getting a lot of press lately. You can’t believe it, so you really just have to laugh. That’s what the past three months have been for me: searching for some emotion other than frustration, gloom or anger. I guess I’ll take what I can get.
Sadly, ballads about stealing cable and ditties about lame excuses are in short supply. So, you know, those themes aren’t going to work. And, anyway, today is June 6, which is the anniversary of D Day. That's probably a richer vein to explore.
The first time I remember hearing about D Day was while watching Stand By Me. Corey Feldman’s dad, if you recall, “stormed the beaches at Normandy.” That tidbit was elicited by the junkman, Chopper’s owner, after he told Feldman through the junkyard fence that his dad was in the “nuthouse in Togus,” which I discovered is a reference to the VA hospital in Maine. There’s a very good chance Feldman’s dad was suffering from PTSD, but I don’t think Rob Reiner explored that. Maybe Stephen King did, but I never read the short story.
For years, certainly enough years to be embarrassing, I associated Normandy and D Day with Stand By Me. It was not for lack of opportunities. My maternal grandfather was in the 29th Infantry, which came ashore in France as part of that early wave in June of 1944, but I never asked and he never talked about it. He never mentioned Feldman’s father either. I’m sure, too, that one of those classes I skipped at Sewanee would have taught me plenty, but professional bowling doesn’t watch it itself. Thankfully, years later, Spielberg taught me a little more about D Day. And then Ken Burns added to that. If you’re sensing a theme here, tell me in a video what you think it is.
At any rate, I was going to play a bunch of songs about war, but they all started to sound alike. A lot of folk. A lot of men. And, gosh, they all seemed to be saying the same thing. For some strange reason, you cannot find many songs celebrating war.
Five bucks says you immediately thought about Edwin Starr’s "War," but then sang the next line of it to yourself and lazily agreed with me. If I'm wrong, David will Venmo you.
But D Day — and, honestly, these past few days — got me thinking about Bob Dylan. He writes songs about war. He writes protest songs. He’s been around long enough to go through a dozen phases, so his songs don’t all sound the same. Plus, his songs have been covered possibly more than the Beatles’ have. And we love covers. So why not do a Dylan Covers show? I thought you’d never ask.