I found about a show that was there from two of the artists, Mary Harman, and Charley Lysogorski. Mary was dropping off pieces for the ISDH '91 at LFC, and then she was going down to Gallery 1134 to drop off pieces.  Charley called from Ann Arbor to tell me that he was in it too, and we arranged to have dinner after the opening. 

So I called up the usual bunch of friends and students to arrange a rendezvous there, even Steve (Laser)Smith since it would be fun to see him in the hallowed halls of the Chicago Museum of Holography since the doors had been opened by the Nancy Gorglione show.  After all, I had been anointed the peacemaker for the holographic wars in town by Rudy Guzik, the director of the local chapter of SPIE.  It could have been nice if we all went out for dinner together.

When I got to the ranch to pick up Georgette, she was upset because one of her earrings had broken.  She felt that something bad was in the air, and it was a night of the full moon.  I myself told her that if Lysogorski would rather go out to eat with Loren and that bunch instead of going out with us that would be fine, since I was tired and had an upset stomach and a headache to boot.  But we got there late, at about 7:30, so that we wouldn't be there an uncomfortably long time.

We followed Alan Frohlichstein to the door, who was arguing with his wife or girlfriend.  We got in to see that the crowd was small, but were greeted by Steve Moore who had been there for a while.  Rick Bruck was there too, arriving a few minutes before us.  But no sign of Matt Schreiber, but he could have been easily distracted.

I saw Loren in one of the dark corners of the gallery as we walked in, but didn't see her after that, figuring it would be best to avoid any confrontations.  So we checked out the show, which had in addition to the other two artists mentioned above were some classic Rudie Berkhouts, a few new Mike Medoras, and some Bob Connollys, one of which, "Post‑War Centaur", was cracked.  It actually was not a bad show, kind of what I was looking for 12‑13 years ago when I first got into the business.

Talking to Steve Moore there, he said when he had arrived at about quarter to seven and that cops were leaving as he stepped into the place.  We were trying to figure out why, like maybe some art critics had taken a swing at each other but the Connolly piece took it on the chin in a heated debate over its merits or something.  Maybe they were just the guys on the beat checking in for their pay‑offs.

When we decided to leave, Loren appeared at the entrance, and started talking to us, saying that she heard that I was teaching at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, and we had a somewhat rational conversation, introducing her to Georgette and blowing her cover if she ever tried to take classes there, as she has threatened to do, but not with my money.  Loren thought that she had never met her, but was reminded that they did meet at Nancy Gorglione's show, which Loren thought was two or three years ago but was only eight months beforehand.  And I even complimented her on how nice the place looked, and in general thought that well, maybe a leopard could change its spots. 

Bob seemed to come out of nowhere, conspicuously absent all this time.  But it figured that he would hide and wait until it's all over just to turn all the lights off on anybody that wanted that one last look.  He even sheepishly said hi to me, the guy who I've been waiting to give the finger to for all these years.  I did, only the finger was behind the back.  Plus I had previously given him the business when he was ogling Georgette.  So the five of us took off to an Italian restaurant, and we had an enjoyable dinner, the best time I had in a long time.  We sat at a table for six, and I jokingly said that the empty chair belonged to the Lasersmith, and that set the tone for the evening, everybody joking about him.  But I was so surprised by Loren's behavior, and I told those guys that maybe she was turning over a new leaf.

But the chair really belonged to Matt Schreiber, my trusty grad student, but he couldn't make it because he was involved in the

Here is what happened, according to Matt: he got there at about six or so, and was going to wait for everybody else.  He had brought a friend, one of the students from Columbia College he had met when he was living in the Herman Crown Center, a kind of generic dorm for students of the two schools above and Roosevelt University.  So they were playing with one of those "snap bracelets", a piece of spring metal coated with plastic and decorated with embossed gratings, so that when you slap your wrist with it wraps around the arm.  Being of an inquisitive nature, they wanted to find out what happens when it is dropped on the floor; will it wrap, or bounce?

While they were running this experiment of Newtonian importance, they were sighted by Bob, who blew a gasket.  "Are you kids gonna buy that?" he bellowed.  At first they thought they he was just play yelling at them, as who could really get upset over the dropping of a fifty-cent trinket?

Well, Bob could.  All that piss and vinegar built up inside of him just had to boil out, and when Matt patted Bob on the shoulder, telling him, “It’s all right buddy!” he exploded, and he physically ejected Matt and his friend, kicking them in their asses all the way down the stairs and out the door.  But that wasn't enough; the guys thought, well, OK, we're out of here, we won't go in again, we'll just wait for Ed outside, but it was not over, as Bob got into an old-fashioned fighting chubby, and then proceeded to throw the first punch.  Since Matt Schreiber is just five foot four, Bob had the advantage over him, but with the help of his friend, they got Bob down on the ground, telling him to chill out.  Matt spat in his face, and they broke it up.  They got to their car, and as they were leaving the scene they got pulled over by the cops.

They were taken to the station, where they met Bob.  He wanted to press charges, and so did they.  The cops were going to let them all go, but then I guess Loren showed up and backed up Bob's story, and Matt and his friend got booked!  Fingerprints, mug shots, the works!  Plus a place to sleep, courtesy of the Chicago Police Department!  Turns out it was Jan Pels, an instructor for the basic holography classes, who went to the cop shop and lied that the boys were being nuisances.

Matt had felt bad vibes about going to the opening, even before he left from the school.  He had heard horror stories from myself and Larry Lieberman, whom he had worked for, and he felt like some disaster was about to befall him.  He had never been there before, but the insane karma of the joint got him, a totally innocent person.  And his friend, not even connected with holography at all, a person Matt had met here in Chicago, now has an arrest record for the stupidest reason in the world.  Case was tossed out, but they still had to cough up some lawyer’s fees.