almost okay

Perfect weather, cheap beer and the best Polish food this side of Warsaw made Hamtramck the place to be this past Labor Day weekend. The firefighters bravely served up the Blue and various local eateries dished up enough pierogi, kielbasa and kapusta to kill Hannibal's army. Luckily my stomach is impervious to the stuff and I put down a great drinking base at Stan's booth, which seemed to be the cheapest eats on the strip.

In addition to the lure of sausages and suds, a variety of musical acts old and new took to the stage to entertain the crowd. Polka bands from all over the Midwest played favorites while silver-haired red-and-white clad couples competed in furious dance competitions. Headliners on the main stage included Rare Earth on Friday night, ? and the Mysterians on Saturday and perennial local faves The Polish Muslims on Sunday. The Muslims drew more fans than all the other shows combined, partied right along with their drunken audience, tossing White Castles into the crowd and dishing out their patented parody songs until the sun had set on another beautiful late summer day here in Detroit.

I made the trip into Hamtramck Saturday afternoon planning on just eating and grabbing a few beers before heading downtown to the Jazz Festival, maybe sticking around for a few minutes of ? and the Mysterians. I didn't even expect to like them enough to stay until they got to '96 Tears', but guess what, folks? ? put on a fantastic, tight set. He shimmied like a go-go dancer while singing Stones songs, James Brown songs and his own songs with equal verve and elan, decked out to the nines in purple satin pants, purple cowboy hat, frilly orange bolero and sunglasses (which I later found out he's never seen without). Before I knew it, it was ten o'clock. I'd put away four beers, they'd played for an hour-and-a-half and the audience was bobbing and singing along to '96 Tears'. It didn't take much persuasion to bring ? out for an encore, either. The dude seemed to be having the time of his life. “He looks pretty good for his age,” I said to one potato-nosed guy standing next to me. “I mean he's gotta be what, sixty, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Potato Nose. “I shaw him at a danshe when I wazh in highshcool in nineensixshtyhate, annieannie looksh jush like he did back then.”

They did three more tunes, including a brief reprise of 'Tears', and then all hell broke loose.

Just as they hit the last note, there was a rush of people running by from up the street like rats leaving a sinking ship, and two Hamtramck black and whites raced through the crowd, engines roaring, sirens wailing and flashers tossing spooky blue and red light over what was left of the audience. I was standing next to Greasy and he said: “Bet somebody got cut.” After just a moment or two of mayhem, the street was empty except for a few curious onlookers. The cops had pulled up in the parking lot beside the bank and across the alley from the Port-A-Johns, about thirty yards from where we were watching the show. Within seconds an ambulance arrived on the scene confirming that somebody was indeed down. I looked around and saw that the place was deserted. ? had packed up his Mysterians and was long gone, too. I hightailed it back to my truck which was parked about five blocks away over on McKay, walked swiftly along down the black streets over cracked and heaving sidewalks, all the while listening for anything out of the ordinary that might lead to me getting cut, too. I even put my keys in my fist as I walked in case I had to punch a hole in somebody's cheek to defend myself.

The next day I found out that it wasn't a stabbing. Shots were fired - nine to fifteen of them according to the police, but being so close to the stage I had heard none of them. The report stated that at least one gunman pulled the trigger after somebody refused to give up an expensive pair of Cartier sunglasses, estimated to be worth $1200. The would-be victims returned fire, and each of them got hit in the leg while their assailant got away. After reading it I felt lucky to have made it out of there without being hit myself.

To me, it seems an odd thing to get shot over... sunglasses. I still can't help but wonder who the fuck needs a pair that cost over a grand - Cartier or otherwise? The guy with the sunglasses and ? were probably the only folks in the entire crowd still wearing them at ten o'clock that night, and I'll bet dollars to paczki that ? didn't pay that much for his pair.

I guess you gotta laugh at the whole thing, right? Either that or cry, cry cry cry...