D. Scott Campbell hits the big 4-0!!!

Aaron "Air" Abbott's Early Recollections of The Squirrelmeister

I first was introduced to D. Scott Campbell via a mutual friend, Norman Morrison. At the time, Norm was in his late David Bowie Meets Jesus Christ Meets Edgar Winters period -- long bleach blonde hair, scarves (two silken ones), a long overcoat, and what could only be called tennis shoes. Norm came from the same home town as me, Randy, and Gus, all of whom were living incestuously in Hubbard Hall, and Norm had heard that Randy was looking for a new roommate since his last one, a Lebanese guy, had declared intifadah on Randy, even before it was fashionable. So Norm brought D. Scott Campbell over to spec out the scene.

I was immediately struck by the likeness to Kenny Loggins. I really didn't know exactly what Kenny Loggins looked like, other than the few short glimpses on V66, but to me, everyone had to look like a rock star, and Scott had the shoulder length blow dried look going, accompanying the long black overcoat, scarf, and tightly cropped Kenny Loggins beard, so that was that. Appearances established.

Things went well after the introductions. It was clear that Randy and Scott simply must be roommates, and thusly they took occupancy of a usually quite warm and stuffy room on the second floor of Hubbard, on the sunnyside. God it stunk in there sometimes. But it had its good points. Nerf hoops were not really necessary. The wall lamps, with shades properly adjusted, provided ample similarities to real basketball hoops just like real college kids would use. The orange foam ball was tossed for incredible bank shots, no netters, one extra special "trick shot" of which I forget the humorous name, and the occasional crashing dunk. Scott would often be found reclining on that left-side "cot", reading the Globe and stroking his well-cropped beard just before a game would break out (this is the kind of fun college kids could have before cell phones and the internet). He would attempt to seem uninterested, but would never be able to resist, especially if there was studying to avoid. Of course, being an English major, there was no studying required anyway.

The Nissan Sentra Wagon with the Vanity Plates

Much later, there came the Skwrlmobile, and one particularly entertaining set of memories. We were traveling to Boston to see Tristan Park perform at a show. It was Squirrel, Randy, Gus, and me, all packed expectantly in the gray contraption, which before then, had provided literally months of uniterupted, reliable service. We were on Route 95, approaching the green arch bridge in Salisbury when the car began to die. At first it was something like running out of gas, but by the time Scott was pulling over in the breakdown lane, different sorts of sounds were coming from the front, indicating something far more sinister. Despite numerous determined efforts to restart -- nothing; wouldn't even turn over. Eventually, a tow truck removed the wreck and our good friend Russ came to pick us all up and bring us back.

The next day, I went with Squirrel down to the garage, where a burly mechanic walked us over to the car to demonstrate his instictive diagnosis. Engine Seizure. We protested. "Let's put some oil in it and try again." So we did. The moment of truth arrived - the turn of the key, the excited start of the motor -- "It's gonna be fine!", and then the chugging, clacking, final coup de grāce -- the sudden BANG and a shower of shrapnel spraying below to the cruel hard asphalt. The burly mechanic took the liberty of a comic, knowing pause, and said, "Well, that's that, then," and turned and walked back to the garage. This is what happens to a car driven with no oil, apparently.

The followup experience included one great telephone exchange between Squirrel and an auto parts store. He calls up this shop, and says in these exact words, "I'm looking for a part. It's a big part. It's an engine." I recall vividly that the cost of the replacement part cost $1300.

It was reported that Tristan Park played their best show ever.

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