Glimpses of Honululu Blue

Dishes clanged, the smell of cup-a-joe coffee filled the air, and the grayish tones of Coldplay bellowed out of the diner’s meager sound system. Outside the cold sunny winter’s day was kept at bay by a set of large plate glass windows. The usual characters has assembled for their mid-morning Saturday breakfast. Still too early for those recovering from late night drinking binges and all-night dance clubs. Cars streamed by on Woodward Avenue, headed most likely towards a family outing to the Detroit Zoo, or one hip and fashionable afternoon in trendy Royal Oak. Across the boulevard lay a somewhat run-down car wash and auto repair garage.
“More coffee?”
“No …. Well, sure.” The pig-tailed server leaned forward topping up the nondescript coffee cup with the black burnt smelling liquid. “Thanks” came the response from the twenty something man seated at the tiny metal stooled bar area.
“Sure” the waitress replied. It was followed shortly after by a thanks, and a tiny flash of a smile.
“Let me know when you guys are ready.”
“Will do”
Henry was seated beside him, copy of the Free Press stuck firmly in his face. Perusing the work of his peers, he idly fiddled with his teaspoon. The wait for seats in this tiny restaurant had now grown far past its one couch seating area. He spun playfully around on his stool “Hey man, last week for the Silverdome.” He plopped the news paper down in front of his friend. “Last chance to see the Lions before they move back into the city.”
“Great, watch a terrible team lose in a massive personality-less stadium. Top that with a bunch of idiots so shit-faced they actually think they’re watching a pro football team. Ready yet?” He glanced about the five or so tables, finishing his sweep upon the waiting area. “They’re going to start swinging soon if we don’t order in good time.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Henry glanced over the menu, “Personality-less is that even a word?”
“You know what I mean.” He paused for a sip of coffee. “Meant”
“I was thinking we should maybe cover this thing for the magazine.”
“What the game? That’s these guys’ job” Cale gestured to the Free Press.
“No, the tailgate. Last one in the grandest of parking lots. It’s the end of an era. We should be there to witness its departure” Henry signaled to the waitress. Cale raised his eyebrows from behind the menu.
“All set?” The waitress pulled the small notepad from her black apron.
“Yeah, I’ll the Huevos Rancheros del Clark Park.” Henry gingerly proclaimed. He indicated his choice on the menu with his finger. “Says here the Chilles are flown in from Mexico.”
“Uh-huh, you bet.” She confirmed, nodding her head. She scribbled away on the small note pad.
“You better not be lying. Then again, not that I would know the difference.”
She grinned back at him “You’ll just have to trust me, I guess.”
“Better watch, in every statement there is always some kernel of truth.”
“Uh ….” Cale attempted to interrupt. “ I’d like the Biscuits and Gravy.”
“Sure” she replied, suddenly sounding overly professional. She returned to her notepad. She flashed a quick smile towards Henry. “Should only be a couple of minutes.” With that she spun around and headed back into the kitchen.
“Holy crap, you’re quite the little bitch this morning. Fuck, I think I like the hung-over you better.” Henry snapped, somewhat muffled.
“Yeah, yeah.” Obviously unphased by the last comment. “What were you saying about the game tomorrow?”
“Damn do I love those pigtails.” Henry mumbled to himself. He leaned back slightly in his chair, attempting to get another glimpse of the waitress.
“Calm down, man. What about this game?”
Henry regained some composure, and returned his attention to Cale. “ Yeah, Lion’s game …. They stink, true. Hell, you know the probable outcome as well as I do. But here’s the thing, we go to cover the transition. The movement to something new, perhaps something much more grand. Hell, who cares if we can even get into the game.”
“Ok, so we go there, we write this story. Who do we give it to? Lord knows those conservative bastards at Oakland Press aren’t going to want it.”
“Might not get too much for it, but I’m sure one of those local indie papers will be over it. Hell maybe even the Free Press.” Henry emphasized the point by slapping the newspaper in front of them. A few people in the waiting area were startled by the commotion. “Is there really any difference, though? A story is a story is an experience.”
“What time is game time?”
Henry’s attention was quickly returned to the waitress as she re-entered the dining area. “Don’t know, check the paper. It’s right in front of you.”
Cale grabbed the paper and began unfolding it. “She’s only being nice to you because it’s her job.”
Time past as Henry unabashedly starred at their wattress as she made her rounds. “Reminds me of that Neil Young tune “I used to order just to watch her float across the floor.” You know which one I’m talking about right?” She floated towards the table, Cale stared dismayed at the newspaper.
“Breakfast is served.” The waitress placed their meals in front of them. She rolled back coyly on her feet. “How you guy’s doing on coffee?”
Cale wedged his hand over the top of coffee. “I’m ok.”
“You could top me off” Henry replied, offering his cup. “Long day ahead of us touring the Art Institute.” He completed the statement with charming grin. “Been there recently?”
“Not recently, no.” she answered
“You really should go sometime. Their exhibit on the French luminaries is on right now. Really great stuff.”
“Maybe I will, been thinking about going. Just looking for a good reason” With that she wandered off to the next table.
“Christ, I can’t believe you.” Cale opened up, in a muted voice. “The DIA? Art Institute? French Luminaries? Have you ever set foot in that place?”
“Yeah, was there last week with Tim. I’ll tell you I love those artsy college girls. I’m especially digging ones with pigtails at this particular moment.”
“You, at the gallery? Don’t paintings by dead men hung on white walls bore you?
“I must admit it, I do, in general, opt for a good coffee table book and my home stereo. Besides I wasn’t there to actually walk around that place. Lord knows I would have passed out in the Riveras Court. I was there to see one of those independent films.”
“Riveras Court?”
“I figured you above all others would know it. That huge open room with the murals about the auto industry. It’s famous. How long have you lived here? And you don’t know what the Riveras Court is?”
“Ok, ok I get the point. Eat your food.”
“What a waste.” Henry shook his head and picked up his fork. “Anyways, so I’m in this building, the DIA if you will, and I get lost ….”
“Nothing new ….”
“I’m trying to tell a story here ….”
“Alright, Alright. So you’re lost.”
“And I’m wandering around and end up on ….. I think it’s the second floor ….. Right in the middle of the modern art section. You know, bullshit stuff like paint cans stacked on each other and giant wooden electric plugs.”
“Andy Warhol.”
“Yeah, that asshole. Regardless, I managed to find myself in front of Picasso’s stuff.”
“We’ve got a Picasso in Detroit?”
“Yeah, a couple actually. Have you even been to the damned DIA?”
“Of course, many times. Just never realized ….” Cale was clearly attempting to mask his lack of experience.
“Anyways, I walked right into this class from Wayne State on a gallery tour. Didn’t know they were pulling students from such a great gene pool.”
“Must be a little young, though.”
“Listen to you, pissing on a man’s parade. It’s not like I’m some dirty old man. They’re all old enough to be in college.” The waitress approaches, causing Henry to lower his voice. Henry nodded and smiled at her taking a brief pause as he sipped his coffee. “Damn I get wired. Oh, so I freeze right. I’m thinking the only kind of women you see at art exhibits are pigs. You know ones like Thelma from Scooby Doo.”
“Interesting comparison …..”
“Loved that show. It was all about Daphne. That would explain my thing for redheads way back when.”
“So what did you end up saying to them?”
“Actually nothing, I was too stunned by my discovery to actually put voice to any words. Besides I had no idea what I would say to an artsy chick anyway?” A brief pause followed as Henry ate some of his breakfast. “That is precisely why I’m going back today.” Henry placed emphasis on his point using his fork. “They have this audio tour thing there. You walk around and it tells all about the paintings, the artists. Basically everything you need to know to talk to one of these women.”
“So let me get this straight. You are going to the DIA, to learn about something you couldn’t even care about?”
“In fact, some might even say I strongly dislike.”
“To pick-up women that you have nothing in common with?
“Yeah ….. But they are beautiful. Real Daphne’s of our cartoon world.”
“Where you come up with these ideas in beyond me.”
“Untapped market my friend.”
The waitress sauntered by, carrying a couple plates heaped with food. She smiled at Henry. Mouth full of food, he gestured back.
“Ok, what about her?”
“True, she is beautiful. From what I can tell she has a decent personality. But consider this. She works at what is, potentially, my favourite and only decent breakfast joint in Metro Detroit. If I did, say I try to date her, and either of us has a terrible time. That would completely screw up my Saturday and Sunday morning breakfasts. There would be absolutely no way I could step foot in here. Now, if she quit or got fired then it’d be a different issue.”
“Well, she sure seems to be taking a nice notice of you.”
“Can you blame, her?”
Cale rolled his eyes. “Did you ever end up seeing that movie.”
“Well, sort of. The last twenty minutes or so. It was subtitled, German I think. No idea to this very day what it was all about. Damn I love those pigtails.”



Plumes of white smoke wafted above the concrete fields surrounding the black, silver, and white monolith. The Pontiac Silverdome sat below an endlessly blue sky on a typical Michigan winter’s day. The thousands of cars encircling the structure provided the only apparent colour to the early morning. Countless blue, black, and grey flags were lightly tossed about in the light breeze.
“Ok” Henry walked up to the back of the blue late nineties minivan. The lift gate was cranked fully wide open, and the sounds of Bob Seger penetrated the crisp winter air. He began rummaging through the cooler on the ground below the lift gate. “Now you got all the provisions?” Cale came around the side of the van with a case of beer in his bare hands. “Some Bell’s will do the necessary deed?”
“Nice.” Henry lunged forward and grabbed a bottle from its cardboard container. With one quick motion he removed the cap and tossed it aside. “Christ it’s early. I need this in bad way.”
“What took you so long? It’s almost 10:30. You said quarter after nine. Remember prime real estate?”
“Yeah, yeah. My trip to the DIA proved a little too lucrative. We ended up at Union Station. Before I knew it, it was three in the morning and I was sucking down some coney’s at Lafayette.” Henry held his hand up. “Look at that, I’m shaking like an
alchie.” He glanced around his concrete horizons. “Looks like you got the prime real estate factor covered.”
“Lucrative?!”
Henry propped himself onto the tailgate. “Yeah remember the waitress from Toast? She decided to check out the art exhibit after she got off work.”
“You bastard.”
“Merely partially of my doing. I may have implanted the framework for the idea. She came of her own free will. You’re just jealous man. You maybe if you were more friendly ….”
“No lectures.”
“Ok, ok. Just trying to give a couple of pointers.”
“What about the whole “She might be a nice girl, but this is my restaurant …. speech?”
“Don’t worry about that. Maggie’s a great girl.”
“Maggie ….. “
“Stop there. Look, we have a job to do. Did you remember the camera?”
“Yeah, yeah”. Cale disappeared towards the front of the vehicle. Henry pounded by his beer, grabbed a second one, and began rummaging through his pockets. He pulled out a small voice recorder. Cale shuffled and stumbled his way to the tailgate.
“We ready for this?” Henry shoved two more beers into his pockets. He launched himself off the tailgate and landed firmly on the hard grey top. “Let’s go and meet these magnificent bastards.”
“You’re the man with the plan.”
Henry stopped and reached into his inside breast pocket. “Almost forgot,” He extracted two tickets from his jacket. The silver coating sparkled in the high winter sky. “Maggie gave me these. I have some hazy recollection of here winning some karaoke contest last night. Fifteenth row, end zone.”
“Sweet.” Cale showed a clear elevation in mood. He removed his camera from the red Low Alpine bag and began focusing on nearby targets. Henry fumbled with a beer bottle as he stumbled around in front of him. He also produced a small digital recorder from his pocket.
“Almost forgot this bad boy. Now we’re in business.”


The tiny blue football ricocheted off a nearby Ford truck. “Sorry about that. No damage caused. See.” A rather large man in a tight Honolulu blue Lions jersey stomped over to collect his errant souvenir. Henry was now in top form, the shaky shell of himself that had arrived a little over an hour was now fortified by the nectar of multiple malted beverages. “Christ, I think that guy’s actually pretty pissed.” Cale merely shrugged and continued to photograph everything and anything he could find in his viewfinder. “Why don’t you put that thing down and actually have some fun.”
“We’re supposed to be working.” Cale responded rather annoyed. Henry walked up and pushed the camera away from his face.
“Work is only worth our time if we take some enjoyment in our task.” Henry glanced in the bed of a nearby pick-up. Reaching in, he grabbed four cans of beer. He ripped one from its plastic holder and handed it to Cale. “Stroh’s. The all Detroit beer. This fine company has brought decades of delight to our fellow residents.”
Cale hesitated. “You just stole some guy’s beer.”
“Nah, he’s too hammered to remember it anyhow. I’m sure the guy has already loaded up his double barreled drinking helmet and is currently taking a leek in the troughs’ behind section three twelve.” Henry pushed the blue, gold, and red can towards Cale again. Still he hesitated. “Just take it. Trust me, you’ll need it just to get through the team introductions.” Cale finally surrendered. He took the can, popped the tab, and took a minuscule sip from it. They began walking again, uphill towards the southern gate. Henry looked at his mini-recorder, and smacked it against the palm of his hand. “Damn thing’s full. I hope Maggie remembered to bring her mini-disc recorder.” Henry shrugged and nonchalantly placed the recorder back in his pocket. Cale stopped dead, still clutching his beer. A dismayed look crossed his face.
“You brought a woman ….. you brought that waitress to the game. We’re supposed to be working.” Cale’s anger was apparent. It had moved beyond annoyance into almost psychotic jealously. “We’re working here! This is a football game, there’s not suppose to be any women involved.”
Henry casually hammered back his beer and turned to face his compatriot. “Look, technically Maggie brought us. She’s a fantastic girl. And she brought a friend. “ Cale appeared to be stewing all the worse. Henry pulled out another Stroh’s from the plastic ring of cans. “She’s also agreed to help us with the story. We talked about moving into the multi-media realm. Pictures and sound. I saw it once on CBC Windsor. I thought it looked pretty impressive myself.”
“Multi-media !? ‘We thought’?!” The latter comment was exaggerated by air quotations. “I thought we were a team, Henry.”
Henry handed the beer in his grasp to Cale, and popped its tab. “Look, fresh input is a good thing. Maggie did win the tickets, and was kind enough to supply a ticket for you. Drink that beer, the relaxation may seriously help you. We’re celebrating the end of an era here, dammit! Look at the monstrosity” Henry attempted to motion towards the Silverdome through the growing throng of people around them. “We’re slaying the concrete beast and moving forward to a new, and hopefully glorious era for football fans in the Detroit Metropolitan area.” A sudden serious look grabbed hold of Henry’s face, as he extended his index finger accusationally at Cale. “As you know, anything that requires a rebirth needs women. And this day my friend, is a rebirth. We need the Daphne’s of the world to force this new entity into its glorious new existence.”
The speech seemed to do little to force light heartiness into Cale’s wicked disposition. “I can’t believe you. We’re supposed to be working, trying to do something grand here!”
Henry’s disposition began to swing noticeably, a hint of serious annoyance took hold of his countenance. “Look, regardless of what you want there are two beautiful women in that stadium waiting for us. We’re still working, but I’m trying to make this whole experience all the more entertaining and enlightening. The end of an era, should be a time to remember.” He finished with a half turn, and a throwing of his half full beer can onto the crowded pavement. “Join us when you are ready.” He sauntered up to the ramp towards the Silverdome. Cale stood, resiliently amongst the herds moving toward the gates above him. Camera still in hand he watched the masses move, and Henry move with them.



The din of some eighty thousand individuals echoed off the white roof, and bounced towards the artificially green field beneath vivid translucent white lights. Bright but still dingy, the masses had gathered beneath those lights and the concrete outcroppings familiar to the seventies. No sunlight penetrated the field, only the uncomfortable and unnatural glow of those artificial lights. Henry sat smugly in a blue stadium seat, pulling on a large cigar and one arm around the back of Maggie’s seat. Her familiar pigtails had been replaced with a straight flowing auburn hair. She sat fiddling with a small recorder device on her lap. Grand Funk Railroad barraged the interior with their acoustic mélange. “I hope they implode this thing. Remember the old Hudson’s building downtown? That was a fine implosion. I could see this one as quite the spectator event. Imagine that parking lot full of demolition tourists. A tailgate wake! Hell of a way to go!” Henry gleefully hauled away on his cigar. The building was officially non-smoking, but the ushers appeared to ignore his gross violation of rules. Had they bothered him, Henry had developed a lengthy speech detailing his cigar consumption as a tribute to the Lion’s former head coach Wayne Fontes. The man had transformed smoking cigars into picturesque moments. They had become tributes to the on the field victories while he was at the helm of the organization. “Wayne Fontes, there was a man who lose with style and grace.” Henry had proclaimed about fifteen minutes before when he had stoked up the cigar.
“Where’s your friend? Wasn’t he supposed to be here soon?”
“Yeah, I think he went wandering around the tailgates a little longer. Total coverage kind of guy. There’s a lot of cement to photograph. By the way, thanks for the Fontes tribute.” He lifted the cigar from his mouth. “He was the best thing about this place.”
“I remember watching him as kid. Not really a football fan, but that guy was always just so jovial to see at the post game conferences. We must have won a lot of games for him to be so happy.” Maggie had momentarily stopped playing with the sound recorder. Her attention was drawn to the rising plumes of pungent smoke.
“Not really. The man just knew how to take one on the chin. We in turn, loved him for it. It is a game after all. He made losing not so bad, you might even say as fans we even started to enjoy it a little. The man could really put things in perspective. He might have broke even in the win loss columns.”
Maggie took in a deep breath and scanned the stands around her. The drab blue, green, and black interior laid bleached out before her. Her dark brown eyes and tanned skin appear to lie in direct opposition to the interior of this aging structure. A mausoleum to the past, the space before her eyes lay as an illustration of a past that now plagued so many Midwestern American cities. The Silverdome appeared as an industrial dehumanization of the open air freedom and jubilant feel of the tradition in American sports. Perhaps a rebuttal to the free wheeling 1960s and 1970s, this monolith’s days were numbered and a new era to begin where the open air jubilation of Tiger Stadium had ended less than twenty years prior. The return to Detroit, the departure from the suburbs, and the end of this mechanical nightmare. Sunlight and natural colours would be welcome additions to this gathering. “Any fond memories of this place?” she asked, quickly shifting her attention to Henry.
“Can’t really say that I do. Pretty far away from my heart land. Never really cared to follow teams once they moved this far away from the city. Pontiac is definitely no Detroit, and I am definitely no Ponitacite.” Henry paused for a moment. “Is that even what they call themselves?” His thought process was interrupted by Cale’s arrival. Maggie perked up slightly, while Henry remained reclined in his seat, smoking. “Thought you’d never get here.”
“I’m not staying. I’ve had it with this place. Here’s the film I shot.” His words came sharply and cut off Maggie’s attempt to welcome him. He tossed three plastic film containers on Henry’s lap. Henry straightened up, collected the loose film, and rose to his feet. He grabbed Cale by the shirt collar with one hand, using the other to emphasis his points.
“What, you can’t leave. You haven’t witnessed the ritual. The final game in this …. This … monstrosity. It’s a marker for our generation.” Cale was unmoved, an awkward silence followed. “You haven’t met Kay yet.” Henry gestured to the empty seat beside Maggie. “She’s gone to get the beer. She’ll be back soon.”
“No thanks. I have had enough of this ritual.” Cale leveled his gaze on Maggie and wrestled his collar free from Henry’s tenuous grasp. After a momentary and furious pause he stormed down the concrete stairs.
“There’s no change without ritual!” Henry shouted after him. “We’ve got to embrace and burn the past to move forward.” He took a large puff from his cigar and blew it in Cale’s direction. There was no reaction, he disappeared into the concourse area below them.
“What was that about?” Maggie questioned from behind Henry. He regained his composure and tried to slink back into his seat without any more commotion. A few nearby spectators appeared moderately taken by the exchange between the two men. Henry pulled Maggie close and kissed her on the forehead.
“He has little too much anxiety. Don’t take it personally. Man, just never could handle movement of any kind. Things are moving the way they need to.” He finished his statement with an emphatic toke of the cigar.
Kay returned promptly with four beers. Moments later the brilliant stadium lights dimmed, and the game time ritual began one last time in the monolith. For the next two and half hours, those present embraced the end of an era and the birth of a new one. Cale sped away from the assembly alone in his mini-van, retracing the route he had taken only a few hours before.