I spent a few days with Phil when they lived in that big house in Waterloo. I'm pretty sure it was during that time that Jane was married to Steve. At any rate, I don't remember Brian or Ed being around, so maybe they were off at Iowa Hawkeye brainwash camp or something. Well, it's pretty hard to play guns, wiffle ball, or kill the man with the ball without at least four, so we had to find something that would entertain just the two of us.
The details are fuzzy, so I'll just cut to the chase. We had a crap load of smoke bombs, and chose the raised front entry way of a church on a busy street as a launching platform for said smoke bombs. We found it quite entertaining to lob smoke bombs out into the busy street and observe the reaction of the confused motorists. It was a lot of fun - at least until the cops showed up.
"Lucy, you got some esplainin' to do." Jane wasn't too thrilled to have the police ring the doorbell with her second son and nephew in tow. I guess she was apologetic enough that they decided not to drag us off to the gulag. But that was the start of my rap sheet that grew to include criminal trespassing, underage drinking, and blocking traffic in Oelwein.
On a more sentimental note, Phil took up the gauntlet after Grandpa Birchard died and is the only person that I know that still calls me Marcus Polis. And who will ever forget Phil rockin' "War Pigs" in the studio?!
When I think of Phil, it's smoke bombs and my first run in with the five oh. After that it was really only a matter of time before I was low-ridin' with "F*ck the Police" by NWA boomin' on the stereo system.
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