Before us, a handful of locals gather around a guitarist. Next thing you know, we five are hustled inside, and the door is locked again. It’s been 15 years, but people tend to remember the roomies. The door opens an inch and two dark eyes peek out. Finally, the lock clanks, the chain rattles. “We have got to check this out,” she orders.Īt the stoop, we hear music, so Denise pounds on the door. Without pausing to consult, Denise whips the car behind the Club. So we do, mournfully, we creep past the bar, noting the blocked-off parking lot and the “Closed” sign barring the entrance.īut from the side window, a light shines. Years later, writing a novel set during Prohibition, I’d name the speakeasy Club 23 and place a character named Mo behind the bar.īut now the Club is to be demolished. “The Stairmaster”: my nickname for a few weeks. I’d fallen down the stairs, sure, but I hadn’t spilled a drop of beer. I landed with a bump, and the tables of drinkers looked down where I sprawled, still holding the pitchers.
DROWNING IN MY ADDICTION LYRICS FULL
Once, carrying two full pitchers down the stairs into the basement rec room, I lost my footing and bounce-skidded to the bottom on my bum. A dark-paneled, ’70s ranch with carpet - carpet, in a bar - the Club was a true dive, but we loved the owner, Mo Hussein, and collected lots of great memories there.
We’ve just learned that Club 23, which had been tied with The Commons for our favorite bar, is scheduled for demolition. It’s late, after the banquet, and we’re driving back to our hotel. We’ve done Boston three times and NYC twice in this manner, as well as weekends in Newport, Rhode Island Frye Island, Maine the Jersey Shore and Martha’s Vineyard. Beth, Denise and Laura drive there, and Carm and I fly, and we split our two plane tickets five ways. Mostly we just pick a city on the East Coast. I felt like I’d unleashed a quartet of unicorns.) Sometimes we choose an ND football game. (Oh my pride, when the roomies came here to Oxford, Mississippi, and closed the bar. In subsequent years we converged on each other’s homes. Other years, Or the weddings of our close guy friends, honorary roomies: Lloyd Adams in New Jersey, Danny Milton in Indianapolis. Even when we were on different journeys, even when we were living with other fabulous ND women, we were becoming: the roomies.Įvery fifth year we meet at Notre Dame for our class of ’93 reunion - that Wild Women’s Weekend is always a given, blocked off months in advance. But looking back now, our fellowship seems as fated as Frodo’s gathering of the Ring. And in fact, during our four years, there were periods when we roomies didn’t room together - I went to the ND London program, for example, and we had different apartments off-campus senior year. We wouldn’t meet our fifth, Laura Heimann (now Laura Hajdukiewicz) for a bit she lived in Pasquerilla West and we had to pull her in. Denise Chabot (now Denise Karkos) lived one flight up. Actually, freshman year, only two of us were roomies: Beth Strom (now Beth Louder) and Carmen Lund (now Carmen Nanni). See what I’m getting at? My roomies are my forest fire.įour of the five of us met during orientation, Pasquerilla East, 1989. I laugh so frequently and so loudly that a usually dormant vein becomes visible, bisecting my brow and splitting both right and left as it nears my hairline, forming a perfect pitchfork. What’s unusual about this vein is that it only appears during a Wild Women’s Weekend. There’s a rare and ugly vein in my forehead named The Devil Vein. Interestingly, this blossom has been found in places where a fire hadn’t previously occurred for 100 years, showing the seeds can remain dormant for long periods until triggered by a blaze.
Its seed requires intense heat to germinate. What’s unusual about this plant is that it only appears after a forest fire. There’s a rare and beautiful purple hollyhock, named Baker’s globe mallow, found in the forests of California and Oregon. Compiling the summer edition brought to mind this reflection by Beth Ann Fennelly ’93 on the “Wild Women’s Weekends” that keep her college friends connected through life’s triumphs and trials, our latest Magazine Classic. Editor’s Note: The University commemorated the 50th anniversary of undergraduate coeducation during Reunion 2022 and our upcoming summer issue tells stories by and about Notre Dame women through the years.
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