WILTING WILDFLOWER?

I assure you, this a true and accurate story:

I went to see Grand Funk Railroad awhile back. They were playing with several big name bands of the seventies at the Richardson Wildflower Festival. As is common at my age, I'd been experiencing heart burn earlier in the day. Fortunately, another effect of aging is having the wisdom through experience to pack all the necessities for such an outing, so I was carrying a pack of Rolaids in my left pants pocket.

Now, you've got to understand that I'd seen Grand Funk only once before, in 1969, at the Texas Pop Festival; my hippie days, I sometimes call them, though I don't know when that description ever failed to describe me since the sixties.

GFR, as their most avid fans refer to them, was about half way through their set. I'd really been impressed. They still had it. They put on a show that one would more likely expect from a more current act rather than an "oldies" act.

My wife had made the seemingly endless trip to the restroom, and was missing the show or at least getting it from a less than prime vantage point. Finally, she appeared from amongst the screaming masses, a corny dog in each hand. I didn't hesitate to devour one. I'd worked up an appetite sweating through the earlier part of the festival.

It wasn't long, in fact, Grand Funk was still on stage, when I began to have a reoccurrence of heartburn. Ah, the foresight would now pay off. I reached down and felt my thigh and the lump where my pocket would be. The Rolaids were ready to do their stuff. I pulled the roll out and was pealing one of those wonderful little tablets off when I began laughing out loud. My wife and friends inquired, but it took a moment to gain my composure enough to explain, "Last time I saw Grand Funk, I was at a festival, and I was taking acid. This time I'm seeing them at a festival, but I'm taking antacid!" Another sign of my age.

Richard Hayner