Rebel Slaughter

Rebel Slaughter and I met in 1987 at a party somewhere on Harriet Avenue in Minneapolis. Or was it 1988? I get my years confused so often, so let's just say it was 1988. It was the year after I lived in the Coachella Valley in California amidst aging golfers and crystalmeth impaired bikers. My Father, after a year of unemployment, took a job on the wind parks in the middle of a town called Desert Hot Springs, which was outside of Palm Springs. I at first said, "Absolutely not." to the prospect of living in the desert, but then a week before my Mother was going to move there, I relented. Unfortunately, much to my parent's disappointment, I grew tired of the desert, and rather quickly. I made my way back to Minneapolis, and only a mere six months later. I was seventeen. I met Rebel Slaughter about six months after my return to Minneapolis, so yes, indeed, it was 1988 that we met. I had moved on to the wise and ripe old age of eighteen by then.

If you didn't already glean this from his pseudonym, Rebel was a bonafide metal head, and actually happened to be the biggest Rush fan that I ever knew. He was so much of a fan of Rush that every year that they played he would camp out for his tickets, regardless of the weather or whether or not there were any other hindrances. One year that he did this, he implored me to go with him to the concert. He camped out at the ticket outlet and later called me to inform me that he had procured not one, but two second row tickets to see Rush. Rebel Slaughter and his indie-rock loving friend (that's me) would soon be off to see Rush in all their Canadian glory!

His real name was Randy, and he and I quickly became the best of friends. We were pretty much inseparable for many years. In retrospect, he and I were an odd pair, him being a long-haired, full-blooded Chippewa that when born, had been adopted by an adoring German American family from rural Southern Minnesota. Me, well I was pretty much the polar opposite. I was a rebellious, white kid, raised in a typical nuclear family in the suburbs of Minneapolis. There was no metal for me (well, there were some exceptions), but rather indie-rock shows at First Avenue as well as the Uptown Bar. In retrospect, I would say that our common thread was our sense of humor. He was a dark and sarcastic, just like me, so we clicked immediately on that level.

Randy (I never could call him Rebel Slaughter for obvious reasons) lived in the Curfew House. It was cleverly called the Curfew House because, well, because it was on Curfew Avenue, somewhere close to the Minneapolis/St. Paul border off of University Avenue. It was near the "Witches Hat" water tower, if you're familiar with the area. Curfew House was the quintessential party house. Many cases of Leinenkeugel were consumed there, and many noisy band rehearsals took place in the basement. Randy had a myriad of roommates, and a whole slew of animals that lived there at one time or another. At any point, day or night, impromptu parties would develop at the house, lest I forget the actual planned parties. We would have barbecues in the backyard, play midnight whiffle ball in the side parking lot, and I even remember seeing the Northern Lights one evening while visiting casa de Curfew. Many great (if unclear) memories were formed there.

At this point Randy had lived there for years (I've lost track again as to what year it was), and at one point he and I started talking about his real Mother and how he really wanted to find her. I pushed him to do as such, and one fateful day he did find her. She was living on the Red Lake Indian Reservation, which is way up in Northern Minnesota. It's a part of the state that has many beautiful lakes, and acres and acres of forested land. It's densely wooded, bitterly cold in the Winter, deeply mysterious, and one of my favorite parts of the country. It's also a part of the state that has many Indian reservations, mostly stemming from the Chippewa, also known as the Ojibwe nation.

His birth Mother came to visit him in the city, soon after they were reconnected. Shortly after this, she invited him to Red Lake to visit and to meet other family members. I think he was nervous about this, but excited at the same time, which, ultimately I completely understood. This was his first opportunity to reconnect with his actual roots and to see what his life ultimately could have been like. Much like the Rush concert, he once again implored me to go with him on his journey to Red Lake. It would be over July 4th weekend for the annual "Independence Day" pow-wow. How fitting. I agreed, and was actually quite excited about experiencing this new world. How could I not be as such?

To be continued...