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Dare The DevilChapter 11 - Opening Night
And now my little tale begins, the previous having been a necessary background to what will be the commencement of my narrative proper. We all have grand milestones in our lives; wedding day, the second divorce, death of grandparents, rare and special events that form the primary buttresses upon which the tapestry of our life hangs. An now, safely distanced from the events described herein by over a quarter century, and having securely found myself in middle age, I can yet relay that the night I took my baby brother to the Blue Oyster Cult concert at the Long Beach Sports Arena in December 1975 stands as one of a handful of absolutely watershed moments in my life. The year before, almost to the very day, I gave my heart to Jesus. Tonight, I would take it back and give it to Satan. I felt for Bob. Or at least I should have, if I hadn’t been so utterly self-absorbed. Being the youngest, the move from Pittsburgh and all the unrest in our house seemed to hit him hardest. I certainly was no model of stability, but I at least had a few year’s additional growth and experience to help secure me in the midst of the confusion. And by the grace of God and my generous parents, through the accelerated academics of Shady Side Academy I had essentially completed my education before I decided to begin obliterating brain cells with drugs. Sorry, Bob. As being 3 years my junior he had no such fortune. A more sensitive, loving human would never have spent the night doing drugs with his 14 year old brother. But as I said at the outset, there is no hero in this story. Those of you who are looking for the stereotypical “Christian Testimony Story” wherein after a few mistakes the redeemed sees the light and lives happily ever after would be well served to stop reading now. No such happy ending here. Sorry. And one of the casualties along the way was my gifted and bright brother Bob, who’s big brother took him to a Satanic rock concert and did drugs with him. Sorry, Bob. Blue Oyster Cult was one of the Dark Lord bands, like Black Sabbath and the Rolling Stones and Kiss that, whether for image or real, made millions of dollars touting its “Devoted to Satan” image. Occult symbols, vague pledges to The Evil One in their lyrics, backward masking that contained odd incantations, that type of thing. The usual. So when bro Bob wanted to know if I’d drive us to see Blue Oyster Cult, a more devout Christian would have emphatically said “No!” But, hey, I still had my Shield of Faith (or so I thought), and was very intrigued with the whole power / mystery / occult thing, and besides, I only had 6 years to live anyway, so what the Hell? And Hell it was. During the second opening band I felt a hand on the front of my face forcefully close my eyes, and another hand physically shove my head down until my chin was pressed hard against my chest. One of those sensations which remains with you basically forever. And then and there, in the middle of the Long Beach Arena, with Kansas playing some of their progressive rock, The Voice began talking to me. Yes, that Voice, of the light in Irvine, of the warning, of Peter’s odd spells. THE Voice. And its message was oh, so simple, but oh so life changing. “You…can…be…like…Peter.” I. Me. Sam the Pittsburgh geek, star of nothing and nowhere. I could have The Power. I could command The Voice. I could be special. The lights came on. Time for an immediate test. Brother Bob, 14, stoned, just trying to enjoy the concert. “Hey, Bob, wanna try something?” “Sure.” “Here, just close your eyes.” Done. “OK.” “Now, think for a moment about….” And I began to weave a little spell, “do a Peter” on my baby brother, who I should be helping with his homework. I did not at that time even know what I was saying….It was as though I was on auto-pilot, The Voice speaking through me. It’s not as though I had a plan here…It was like an energy flowing through me, as I acted like a conductor of an electricity I neither controlled nor understood. About 30 seconds into “it”, whatever it was or was going to be, Bob stood up, threw open his eyes and said, “Hey, man, knock it off. That mind game stuff is too much. Forget it. You’re messing me up.” I was dumbfounded. Evidently something was happening. “It”, whatever “it” was, worked, or would have worked if Bob hadn’t had the good sense to shake it off. Actually, I was too stunned to say or do much at that point. The Voice. Here. Now. No Peter. ME being Peter. The thing was, I didn’t even know who Peter was or what he was, let alone what he did to me, and yet here The Voice was telling me I could be just like that, able to do what he did. And it seemed to be telling the truth. Halfway through the Blue oyster Cult’s set the hand on the back of my head pushed my chin to my chest again. Evidently I needed some simple, straight talk. “The best drugs…. “A life without problems or pain…. “Powers that mortals can’t begin to understand… “Communion with Me… “And girls….lots of girls….beautiful girls….just like Peter…. “The coming new world needs you…We need you… “All you have to do is do what you are told…” I have read in many cultures stories about humans encountering the Devil. And the tradition is that when the Devil talks to the targeted human, according to some ancient pact he is required to give “full disclosure,” that the victim might be shown to have volunteered completely, and not been fooled. Odd how that myth repeats itself through the centuries, across the continents and cultures. And odd, most odd, how, when I finally “came to”, when the hold on my head was released and I could open my eyes, Blue Oyster Cult had all the lights off except for the stroboscopes, and the pounding drums and guitar and bass created a demonic backdrop to the singer who screamed over and over…. “And the joke’s on you….. “AND the joke’s on you….. “And THE joke’s on you….. “And the JOKE’S on you….. “And the joke’s ON you….. “And the joke’s on YOU….. I had been warned. Full disclosure had been made. “Where do I sign?” I was ready to make the deal. Power! The lights came on, and somehow I drove home. “Great concert.” Yeah. Right. Cool. We didn’t say much else. |
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