Cadillac Kisses

Get Ace away from the Color Guard, please. (Because the past was terrible and I went to high school in the past, my beloved Lancer marching band’s Color Guard were known universally and with a smirk every time as Flaggots. This went along with the musicians, who were Band Fags. Teachers called us that. The administration called us that. Those were our names. Some things get better, Younger Enthusiast. Also, drunken men dressed as science-fiction clowns are rarely allowed to paw at students today, at least not at sanctioned events. So, that’s two wins for 2018.)

And KISS’ visit to Cadillac, Michigan, on 10/9/75 was sanctioned as hell. Look at this bullshit:

That’s the mayor’s wife Gene’s strangling. You have officially been given the red carpet treatment when the mayor lets you strangle his wife. KISS was welcomed to town as though they were astronauts or conquering generals, rather than what they were: four hairy men from the outer boroughs whose first three albums had sold poorly. It is a tale of publicity and synchronicity.

The Cadillac Viking’s football team’s coach, fellow named Jim Neff, didn’t know what was wrong with the boys. Same squad as last year, mostly, but we were undefeated last year and dropped the first three games this year. Jim Neff didn’t know what was wrong with his boys, but he knew about something that’ll cure all your ills. Jim called it Rock n Roll. (Everyone else did, too.) Coach Neff dragged his record player into the locker room, cranked up that old Victrola, and played Hotter Than Hell real loud.

And it worked. Boys started winning games. Coach, already a card-carrying soldier in the KISS Army, wrote the band a letter. (For the Younger Enthusiast: a letter. An according-to-Hoyle letter: paper, ink, envelope, stamp.) Not too many days later, Coach received a phone call from Paul and Gene congratulating him on the wins and thanking him for the letter and all that nice-nice. The call was from Paul and Gene and not Ace and Peter, because Paul and Gene were sitting in a hotel room going through fan mail while Ace and Peter were hacking up hotel rooms with swords and throwing groupies off of fire escapes. Paul and Gene make the Coach promise to keep them updated on the team’s record; he does, and the Vikings win out the season. When the band plays nearby in the spring, they send over a bunch of tickets for the seniors, and in the fall of ’75, Coach Neff stuck with what worked: Rock n Rolling all day, Picking up your GODDAMNED ASSIGNMENT, FIFTY-FOUR! You’re wandering around out there like you’re a turd trying to escape the toilet bowl!

Hey! Hey. Hey, hey. Having a flashback?

I did not enjoy high school football.

You quit after two weeks to take piano lessons.

It was my Vietnam. Can I get back to the minutiae, please?

If you must.

KISS was touring the Alive! album in the fall of ’75 and up in Coach Neff’s turf; he calls and says, “Maybe Gene or one of the guys could come down and say a few words to the team.” And KISS said, “No, fuck that: we’re KISS. We don’t ‘come down and say a few words.’ We bring all the Marshall Stacks in the world to your podunk berg and then we blow shit up until the Spanish Club is dead.” And Coach replied, “That sounds totally awesome except for the Spanish Club part. I can tell you right now that it’s gonna be a non-starter with the Board of Education.” So KISS said, “We’ll work out the details.”

They did. KISS brought their whole show to Cadillac and installed it in the high school gym and–ah, this guy tells the story better than me.

My point is–

You didn’t have a point. You wanted to show cool photos of KISS and you started writing but got bored with the story and ripcorded out of it.

My point is that I hate you.

I have been hated by better and for worse.

Yuh-huh. But check this out:

Ace is just wearing a windbreaker, man. The past: janky.

And we end on this:

Is that Swaggie Maggie?

I think so!

Swaggie Maggie! Did you get ahold of the Time Sheath and use it to participate in a minor Rock Event?

“I was trying to sneak into Phish!”

That’s a good reason, but I’m still mad.

Get away from Gene Simmons, Maggie.

“There are cute boys here.”

GET AWAY FROM GENE SIMMONS.