No. 232 – Avalon

Performer: Roxy Music

Songwriter: Bryan Ferry

Original Release: Avalon

Year: 1982

Definitive Version: None.

When I began to work in the Medill library in spring 1987 as my new work-study gig, Mike, the head librarian, and I hit it off right away. I knew Mike from him just being around, running errands. He wasn’t a student at the time, and I don’t recall whether he had been or was trying to be, but he might as well have been for as much as he was seen around Fisk Hall.

Mike and I got along so well that he let me continue to work in the library—drawing a paycheck—after I formally left the school to take my internship at YMCA of the USA in the summer of 1987. At least, he did until someone put the kibosh on it.

But the biggest thing Mike did for me was give me an opportunity to get out of Engelhart Hall. My crew more or less went our separate ways following the end of Boot Camp, so I didn’t feel any need to stick around. I had loved living off-campus at Wabash, but I wasn’t allowed to at Northwestern.

However, because my class schedule forced me to skip a quarter, I had to officially withdraw from Northwestern for the summer. That loophole made it so I could leave Engelhart Hall, and I jumped at the opportunity when Mike said he had a back bedroom he and his live-in girlfriend, Andrea, were looking to rent out. Considering the savings, Dad had no problem with me making the switch.

Mike and I got along fine, and I really got along with Andrea’s daughter, Renee, who was my back-of-the-apartment neighbor. Andrea, however, was a different issue.

It started out OK enough. I was given full access to the apartment—the kitchen, which was next to my bedroom, the home gym in the basement, the huge TV room up front. The TV room is where Mike and Andrea had their stereo and copy of Avalon, which I taped, along with a few other songs that summer. Although they moved some things to the side of one shelf, even the fridge was fair game. It was great, just like at Wabash.

But problems started to creep up. I was too loud when I was in the TV room, not just the volume on the TV being up too high, but my occasional commentary while watching. One night Mike came out to tell me to keep it down during Miami Vice, that Andrea was complaining to him about it. Keep in mind that this was at 9 p.m. on a Friday night when no one had said they were going to bed early. No problem; I don’t want to be a nuisance.

Then I found out the hard way that when someone says “help yourself” to things in the fridge, that might really mean, “keep it to a minimum.” I was going home for Labor Day weekend, just before I restarted school at Northwestern, and I was spooning some macaroni salad Andrea made—a massive bowl of it.

She saw me and snapped, screaming at me about being too loud, taking too much food, generally being a nuisance. I promptly spooned the mac salad back in the bowl and left.

When I got back, Mike and I had a chat. He made it clear that Andrea was having a lot of problems with me, as though I needed to have that pointed out. Perhaps I was obtuse or chose not to recognize the extent of the problems, but I really had no idea I had been such a problem tenant up until that blowup.

I apologized profusely and offered to move out on the spot. No, actually, I said I WOULD move out as soon as I found a new place. Mike, undoubtedly not wanting to find a new tenant on such short notice before the start of school, said no … I didn’t have to do that. Just be cool, he said. I’ll take care of Andrea. She can overreact sometimes. No kidding.

I didn’t move out, and the fall quarter passed without further incident, although I’m not sure Andrea and I said anything more to each other than was absolutely necessary. Fortunately, between schoolwork and my budding relationship with Jessica, I wasn’t home much anyway. When I was, I stayed in my room with the door closed and my radio tuned to Steve and Garry.

Before I left, we all had a dinner together, and it was fine. By then, Mike and I were OK again, but obviously, it was a great relief to Andrea that I was leaving. It was to me, too.

A year later, when I went back to Northwestern seeking advice on how to get out of New Buffalo, I saw Mike again and saw that he had a new girlfriend. I felt vindicated in some small way. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one in the apartment who had rubbed Andrea the wrong way.