Squatters In Modesto: George Thorogood, Aug '04 (Part One)

Trying to write a story about George Thorogood without using "Thoroughly Good" is like trying to order the halibut in a restaurant without someone at your table saying, "just for the hell of it". Even if there's an awkward pause, someone's going to say it and everyone will groan or maybe laugh politely. Playing off of Thorogood's name is impossible, so I used it right off the bat. We can move on now. Come with me.

One night this past July, in the dugout between innings of a co-ed softball game, our good friend Tony D had asked if I'd heard anything about George Thorogood coming to Modesto. Ironically, I'd just been cruising around on Pollstar.com, which I do before vacation weeks to see if there are any interesting shows around the state. I'd seen the Modesto date for Thorogood, but couldn't remember the day or date. Tony D thought it was at the end of August on a Saturday night. I told him that Mary and I would go if it was indeed on a Saturday night, but that a midweek show would preclude us from going. Modesto's about an hour and a half away from home here in Fresno and when you get up for work at 3:15am, you have to choose your battles. As we took the field for the top of the third inning, I told him I would look into it.

(My stats for that night, for those of you keeping score: 3 for 4 at the plate including a triple with 2 runs scored, 3 putouts and one assist in the field, and 5 drafts at Me-n-Ed's pizzeria after the game.)

A day or so later, I checked back with Pollstar to find that Thorogood date. As it turned out, it wasn't on a Saturday night, but fell on a Tuesday. Oh well, I thought, turning around in my chair to power down the computer for the night. I spied the calendar I keep on my desk and looked at August for kicks. I realized that Mary and I would be on vacation at the time of that show and had no plans in the middle of the week. In fact, the night of the show, August 24, 2004 would be my 37th birthday. I had never been to a show on my birthday before, so I figured it would be fun. The next day, I called Tony D and told him that if he wanted to go, we were in.

Tony D was aboard immediately. Even after finding out the price of the tickets. I had gone online to the club's website and discovered that they were asking a cool fifty bucks to see Thorogood. But being the rationalizing fool that I am when it comes to the ol' entertainment dollar, I felt that it might just be worth that to see a large act in a small venue.

The venue in Modesto is called The Fat Cat, a really nice place with an art-deco style motif. Its fairly small, has a long bar running the length of the main floor, and a cool lounge upstairs. In the lounge, another beautiful bar is found with overstuffed chairs and couches laid out to relax on. Limited seating is available along the rail of the balcony, but those are usually taken pretty quickly. Mary and I had seen Dread Zeppelin perform there a couple of years ago and were impressed with the place. That night, we'd made the trip back home the same night. It seemed a little silly to get a hotel when we could drive the 90 miles back home.

But for the George Thorogood show, Tony D had another idea. His brother is in sales and his territory is in the Modesto/Stockton area. His company requires him to maintain a residence in the area, but he decided to keep his family in Fresno and commute. So he rented himself a little apartment to keep up appearances. Tony D called him to see if we could crash there after the show and his bro said it would be no problem. The apartment was going to be completely empty of furniture, dishes, towels, or any other conveniences so we'd have to bring in sleeping bags and anything else we'd need for the night. But we didn't care because it was free and it might be fun to sort of camp out indoors. Maybe the best part of the whole deal was that Tony D's brother thought that the place was withing walking distance of the club. Or, as Mary and I call it when we have a hotel near the Fillmore in San Francisco, "stumbling distance".

We bought four tickets; two for Mary and I and two for Tony D, who was thinking that another brother of his would accompany him. But this brother would be on the fence pretty much until the day of the show due to a recent ailment. I figured that we could find somebody to take the ticket, but it might be little tough selling a friend on the idea of heading up to Modesto on a Tuesday night and flopping in a deserted apartment. At worst, we'd be able to sell the ticket to someone hanging around The Fat Cat before the show.

In the days before the show, we made final plans with Tony D. Mary and I would drive up and Tony, along with his guest, could ride along. We'd all bring sleeping bags, some food, most definitely an ice chest filled with cold beer, and the appropriate personal items. The other concern I expressed to Tony D was that his brother's apartment had electricity. Camping out was fine, but roughing it indoors might be a challenge, especially if we staggered back to the place a little tipsy after the show. Finding my way around a vacant apartment with a lantern or flashlight would be a little too Blair Witch Project for me.

As it turned out, Tony D's brother could not make it for the show and we called around for last minute takers. As I feared, nobody we called could make the trip, so it was just the three of us. But that was fine as far as we were concerned. On the afternoon of my birthday, we hit the road after a quick stop for some coffee and pointed the car north on Highway 99 to Modesto.

After some Mad Max driving on the part of Mary, we made the 90 mile trip in what seemed to be a blink. We started seeing signs for Modesto exits and used the directions to the apartment given to Tony D by his brother. I had printed out a map from the internet that would get us to The Fat Cat from 99 and noticed that indeed the apartment looked to be just a few blocks away. So we headed to the club to get our bearings and gauge the walk as we then navigated to the crash pad. Passing The Fat Cat's marquee, we gazed upon the huge tour buses that stood parked like rock and roll monoliths on the narrow downtown street and we could feel the rumble of their engines, running if nothing but to provide precious AC to the band on this muggy August night.

We turned at the next light and headed up to the street named on Tony's notes. Knowing that we were looking for an apartment, I was expecting to see a sprawling complex like those so common in Fresno. But we were on an established residential street with older, but mostly well kept up homes. The addresses on the houses told us we were close as we counted down the numbers to our destination. We stopped in front of a two story house on the corner at the next intersection. The numbers matched. This was it. Not an apartment, but a whole house to ourselves?

We parked and got our bags and ice chest out of the trunk. Heading up the walk, we noticed that it was in fact a duplex, but with four separate residences. Ours was upstairs to the right. The staircase was narrow and the steps were the most shallow I've ever experienced. I wear size 9 shoes and still the entire back half of my foot hung off of each step as I trudged up the stairs. I commented that getting up those steps might be a challenge at 2am. Nervous laughter from Tony D and Mary followed.

Tony D unlocked the door to the place and we entered a small, empty apartment that appeared to be freshly painted white. Some boxes of the brother's work material lay in the middle of the living room's floor. There were no window coverings, but luckily the sun had passed over the heart of the house and it wasn't too warm up there. We tossed our bags on the floor and Tony D and I went to retrieve the ice chest. After another challenging trip up the funhouse stairs, we were all enjoying cold brews. Mary and I pumped up our inflatable mattress and Tony D laid out his padded mat, all of us thinking ahead knowing that we'd probably just want to pass out upon entering the apartment after the show. We sat around for a little while, Tony D sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, Mary leaning on her elbow laying on the air mattress, while I sat on the ice chest. Looking at each other across the indoor encampment, we realized that if anyone were to knock on the door, the scene would certainly paint us as squatters. Then, we raised our cans with a toast to squatters.

After a few beers, it was time to wash up a bit and head on down to the club. It was a short walk and we easily had time for some dinner. Walking next to the entrance to The Fat Cat, we looked around for a prospect to take the fourth ticket. Everyone hanging around had one in hand, so we continued on down the street. Right next door to the club was a new-looking bar and grill and we decided that it would cool to stay close to the venue instead of traipsing all over the downtown area. It was a pretty decent place and the food was really good. It wasn't all that crowded, but picking out the concert goers from the family diners was easy because of the black T-shirt factor.

Tony D excused himself to hit the restroom and a few steps away from the table, the key to the apartment fell from his pocket. He didn't hear it clink on the brushed concrete floor. I just happened to look up and see it happen and I chuckled, as D is known to misplace things from time to time. I pointed it out to Mary. We were going to see if he'd see it on his way back to the table and laugh at him, but before he returned, a waitress noticed the key and started asking patrons if it belonged to them. I stood up and told her it was our friend's. I tucked it in my pocket and I told Mary we should just hang onto it and see if and when Tony D noticed that he'd lost the key. He came back to the table and we continued our conversation. He had no idea about the key. Good ol' Tony D.

Next up, Part Two: The Hair-Raising Tale Of The Gipper vs. The Mullet From Hades