I remember when $10.50 for a ticket was excessive. Now $20 is a steal for a cheap seat.
You never forget your first rock concert…and probably the next few since they’re all new, exciting, non-routine experiences. Then they all blur together after 10. Before my family moved away to Houston Brian and I finally attended ours…Rick Springfield. People snickered even then so it doesn’t bother me. I think he does some slick Power Pop.
My second concert was more memorable not just for who I saw on this day 25 years ago but for whom I went with, my high school principal Father Orlando. Originally, my friend Gene was supposed to go. He chose to see the Kinks and Def Leppard the week before instead and his grades couldn’t handle one more show before finals. I struck out with some girl I met earlier through my parents; such a smooth operator at 14! I was coming to the decision of eating the cost and staying home because it would be too humiliating to go with a parent. Then Gene told me about Father Orlando. Our principal was a huge Rush fan; he had seen them three times, keep in mind how easily 14-year olds are impressed; he liked contemporary rock music unlike any priest I ever met and I did recall him driving the Magic Bus to the Who farewell at the Astrodome. I thought it was worth the risk. I wasn’t a popular kid so my standing couldn’t get any lower for this and it was better than the alternatives.
Father Orlando said sure, he would drive and cover the parking in exchange for the ticket. Mom and Dad were cool with the arrangement.
On the day of the show, I only learned about his reputation for tardiness from other classmates so I was rather antsy when he showed up. Then he wanted to know what kind of music this was. I figured he already knew but I said New Wave. He didn’t seem too thrilled yet he was a sport as the night wore on.
When we arrived, the opening act INXS was blasting out the joint. They were loud to the point of deafening. I thought they were pretty good and KLOL was playing their hit “The One Thing” while MTV aired the video “Don’t Change” on a regular basis. We managed to catch the last half of their set and it was great, enough to put their current album on my “to buy” list.
We received better seats on the floor thanks to the usher’s poor vision. He put us in row 20 when the ticket “clearly” shows 28. Father Orlando figured, why not, when the real holders appeared, we’ll move. I just didn’t expect him to be the one advocating the ones in the 19th row. Keep in mind, I was 14. I didn’t think Catholic priests were saints or infallible, I assumed they just “did the right thing” more often. Luckily, those people never showed.
Between acts, the evening turned into a low-rate John Hughes flick. A rather attractive woman (or girl, I couldn’t tell her age) with a very open V-cut shirt walked up the aisle. Then she recognized the people in front of us so she stopped to talk to them for what felt like an eternity in my hormone-fueled brain. I remember Father Orlando groaning an “oh no,” but after she moved on, he ribbed me with “good thing I’m here, you can confess now.” The antics of the 18th row didn’t stop with their visitor. They managed to smuggle in a mini-bong for later use during the show; I’ve never understood why anyone smokes weed at Adam Ant, he isn’t Pink Floyd, the Grateful Dead or some other drawn-out jamming crap to get stoned to.
As for Adam Ant. He was even better live than his album. His seven-piece band first took the stage to the theme from Rocky with much pomp and circumstance. Once they were in their positions, Adam jumped out to kick off with something from Friend or Foe, I don’t remember what exactly. I know I grew to like “Stand and Deliver” more based upon the show: during the bridge, the road crew created a thick dry-ice fog that made the band on visible as silhouettes on stage.
The drive back wasn’t as uncomfortable as I feared. Father Orlando said he liked it better than he anticipated yet he wouldn’t want buy any records. I was more panicked over the concert shirt. The front was fine, one of his poses from the “Goody Two Shoes” video. The back had a big red heart with a sword going through it vertically and a banner flagging it with the phrase “Pure Sex.” My parents were going to freak out! Instead, they only laughed at it like Father Orlando did. Mom later told me she understood the UK expression; someone who is “pure sex” is 100% (or the ideal) of his/her gender, ergo Adam Ant is all man and ladies tremble when he appears. She wouldn’t let me wear it in public though.
Before Father Orlando dropped me off, we stopped for a late dinner at the Godfather’s Pizza in front of Strake. We had a cool conversation. It was like hanging out with a favorite uncle, not the principal. I knew it would surprise my parents since all my past interactions with the principal meant I was in trouble; my life from fourth through eighth grade. The evening had become a success in my teenage mind which made the knowledge about transferring to another high school much harder to accept (Mom and Dad had dropped the moving bomb on me earlier in the Spring.) Not since I heard Father Havey use a swear word had I seen a priest demonstrate to me how “regular” they could be. If you’ve never endured life through parochial or private Catholic schools, it’s hard to relate or explain. I was definitely going to miss Father Orlando amongst others next Fall.
After the move to the Gulf Freeway corridor of Houston, I didn’t keep in touch with anyone from Strake once the school year at Clear Creek got rolling. I did receive a birthday card from Father Orlando. Being a typical, callous teenager, I never replied which was odd since I was an enormous letter writer with friends from Springfield. When I attended Marquette, some of the Jesuits knew the others at Strake but they only knew Orlando for his resemblance to Bob Denver. At University Towers, if a prospective student originated from Houston, I checked for Strake. Only one guy was graduating from there circa 1995. I asked him if he knew Father Orlando. He replied, yeah, he was now teaching Math. I thought, cool, good for him. Maybe I’ll get off my butt and write him a letter. Obviously I didn’t because other matters, namely chasing women, pre-occupied my mind which made me a poor pen pal.
Last year I discovered that a co-worker named Mark was a Strake graduate. He was a junior during my freshman days and I remember him being the joker on SJET that read announcements during homeroom. We exchanged stories about people we knew, etc. I mentioned my Adam Ant evening with Father Orlando and wondered if he had an idea on his whereabouts. Mark had ugly news about him. Rumor had it Father Orlando had been kicked out of the priesthood over…you guessed it…pedophilia. Allegedly it happened during a ski trip in 1985 which Mark attended as well. He was skeptical of the accusation because it was made by a non-student and someone from Strake was with Orlando practically all the time to refute this. I did some digging around and there he was on the site Bishop-Accountability.org with links to the April 2002 newspaper articles covering his dismissal from a Jesuit high school in Tampa; over the same 1985 incident. Part of me doubts it is true due to the Adam Ant concert events. Plus it’s difficult to refute an ugly accusation the media loves to pounce on, even when no further claims have cropped up.
Sorry if this story ends on a downer. I overcame my disappointment over (former) Father Orlando a while ago. I just think the whole event is a darkly funny rebuttal to my parents who thought authority figures were trustworthy, especially in the Church. Meanwhile they went nuclear over another friend I had at Strake named Brent who was expelled over the accusation of drug dealing. To this day, I think he was framed because drugs never appeared once during the weekend I spent at his house nor did I ever see him sell them. The only thing Brent is guilty of was teaching me how to play Traveller and we all know what “sorry” end that led to.
