One time, a very long time ago, I was working as a security guard for the ferry company operating between Liverpool, England and Dublin, Ireland. The job was for six months, and began in late October. Late October is when the weather on the North Sea takes a turn for the worse, and with each crossing the seas got rougher and rougher, and the wind quartered around to the northwest. Each shift consisted of thirty-minute stints spent in a different part of the great ship. Thirty minutes spent in the hold with the rail cars and automobiles making the crossing. Thirty minutes walking the passenger decks, and the last thirty minutes spent out on the deck watching the ten-to-fifteen-foot swell hammer the bow. There was then a thirty-minute period where, we drank hot tea in the saloon, dried our wet clothes the best we could and cleaned and oiled our weapons in preparation for our turn down in the keel again.
There was a terrorist organization, the Bader-Meinhof gang, that had pledged to interrupt shipping and commerce on the seas of Europe and we were hired to prevent that. The ship debarked Liverpool, late in the evening to make the crossing and was scheduled to arrive the next morning in Dublin. We then went to bed and prepared for the return crossing the next evening. We spent our shifts, heavily armed and on high alert as the secular bombings continued in Dublin, and Belfast, Ireland. The first two of the shifts were routine and with the exception of the heavy roll of the ship; nothing special. The shift up on deck was something entirely different.
The first thing you did when you got out on the forecastle, was attach to the safety ropes lashed there. This was necessary so that you didn’t get washed overboard when the waves crashed against the ship. Because the ship was bottom heavy due to the heavy payload in the hold, instead of riding the waves, it wallowed through them, and plowed directly into the oncoming waves. Standing at the forecastle afforded a open view of the front of the ship and the open deck but also exposed you to the open elements of the weather. I would stand and look forward into the darkness of the night as it got darker and darker with approach of the next great wave. The entire ship would shudder when it struck and everything in my vision would turn white as the wave crashed into the air.
Immediately, I would duck down behind the railing and take a deep breath as tons of water rained down from above, washing across the deck and smashing into the forecastle and pilot house above. As the water rained down on me, my footing would fail and I would be washed around the corner and down the walkway until the safety ropes pulled me up short and I would hang onto the rope waiting for the water to pass. Before the next wave would strike I would have to jump back onto my feet and get back in position before the next wave arrived. The novelty of the experience faded quickly, and the deck shift became a time of scant reflection and icy survival. By late November, the entire crew was ready for a break of any kind.
The money was good, but we never had an opportunity to spend any of it. Twelve hours on, twelve hours off where we slept like the dead. The wonderful Irish girls, and the cockney girls of Liverpool were safe. We were always too tired to go out after our crossings, and we fell into bed within minutes of arriving back at our rooms. My crew and I convinced P&O shipping that as Americans we celebrated Thanksgiving with vigor and we needed some time off for it. As a result, we had a four day weekend coming up at the beginning December and looked for something special to do, and to definitely get away from the smell of the sea, and the cold damp of Liverpool. As a result, Tom Butler found a rock concert to attend and managed to snag six tickets to see Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention in Montreux, Switzerland. We booked flights on BOAC and got out of town for the weekend. Naturally, we risked taking our many ‘mind altering’ substances with us for the weekend.
Taking the late flight, we arrived in Geneva early Saturday morning December 4th and caught the bus to Montreux a city on the shore of Lake Geneva but a few hour ride by bus. Even so, we arrived shortly after lunchtime and the concert was not scheduled to begin until six or seven that evening. The concert venue was a casino on the edge of the lake and a very pretty spot. Unlike the weather in Ireland and western England, the weather in Switzerland was just cold and there was almost a foot of snow on the ground. The fellows who were inclined decided that it was a good time for them to drop the acid tabs that they had brought with them, so that they would be ‘tripping’ by the time the concert started. For us others, we were content to smoke our hashish, and share with the locals as they gathered in the park near the casino.
By the time that darkness had fallen, the ‘trippers’ were no longer useful for rational discussion. Their eyes were dilated to the point of not having irises anymore. The hash smokers were in a mellow state of mind and we had prime spots right at the front door of the casino, poised for the rush to seating for a general admission concert. While we waited for the doors to open, the start time of the concert came and went. A large crowd had gathered in anticipation but there was no movement from within the glass lined hallways of the venue. As the time passed the crowd pressed in upon us and soon we were against the glass of the doors and the acid takers were close to freaking out from the crush of bodies. It was only then that they decided to unlock the doors but there was one problem. The doors opened outward, and upon seeing the security team move to unlock the doors the crowd pressed forward crushing us against the doors and making it impossible for them to open.
Slowly, and with extreme effort we were able to pry the door past us. Quickly, we hooked arms together as we were swept into the lobby/foyer and then down a long corrider. The crowd behind us provided all the effort, and we were hard tasked to just keep our feet underneath us. If we had stumbled or fallen we would have easily been trampled. Down the corrider and then into the concert hall, down the main aisle and smashed against the stage as the crowd continued to rush into the room. Slowly, the pressure dissipated and we were able to draw complete breaths. But by the time we were released from being smashed against the stage, we were only able to find our seats in the fifth or sixth row. Which after the stampede experience seemed okay with me.
Once we were seated and had a chance to look around it was a nice place. It had a great vaulted ceiling with dark varnished tongue and groove paneling supported by great arching beams that climbed the walls and met at the peak of the ceiling. The stage was small, and empty. Even though it had been scheduled to start at a certain time, very little setup had occurred as yet. Roadies scurried about laying out wiring and setting speakers, but there was no evidence that the music would start anytime soon.
There were printed leaflets on every seat when we sat down that showed the upcoming concerts and events for the casino. Unfortunately, they were useless for us because they were printed in French and German, but the printing was nice just the same and I recognized one of the pictures and pointed out to the other guys that Deep Purple was playing here tomorrow night. Hopefully, we could get tickets for it if we stayed in town overnight.
Eventually, watching the stage crew go through their set up and sound checks lost its interest and the crowd became restive. I took the flyer I couldn’t read and folded it into a paper airplane and launched it into the air. Within seconds the air was filled with paper airplanes of every possible design. It was literally snowing airplanes throughout the coliseum.
“Watch! Someone’s going to light one on fire! Bob Ryan shouted.
He was tripping and paranoid, but he was right. Within a few moments one of the paper airplanes soared through the air trailing a long smoke trail. It was followed by another, then another.
A security guard stepped out onto the stage and yelled into the microphone. All airplanes stopped. He informed us in three different languages we must stop or they would clear the concert hall. Silence ensued for at least twenty seconds, and then a great flare rocketed up out of the crowd throwing sparks as it shot to the ceiling and lodged into the beautiful wood work and immediately set it ablaze. Within seconds the fire spread across the thickly varnished paneling as heavy dense smoke began to descend into the crowd below. Not surprisingly; panic ensued.
People rushed for the doors. Pushing and stumbling, climbing over each other to escape the flames. Pandemonium had arrived completely. Ryan, Butler and LeMaster in their heightened awareness sat down, content to watch the flames as they spread. I pulled them to their feet and told them to get ready we had to rush the door. The screams of the people and the panic everywhere was hard to ignore. I had seen a possible escape at the back of the stage and was planning on steering everyone across the stage and out that way. That was when Frank Zappa stepped out on the stage and up to the microphone.
“People relax! People, People, People calm down. We’re all going to be okay. Just be careful! Help your friends. We can all get out, don’t worry. Relax. We’re going to be okay.”
I looked around. He had actually gotten people’s attention. The level of panic lessened.
“That’s good people. Let’s help each other. Let’s all get out of here together. It’s going to be alright!”
As he continued to speak, the fire had spread to the great beams of the ceiling and the heat was tremendous, but Zappa stood at the microphone and spoke calmly.
“Help a friend. Help them out. Relax people. We’re going to be okay.”
We raced for the door at the back of the stage and I dragged the boys with me. We escaped out into the cold winter night, as we could hear the sirens of the first fire trucks coming from town. Wading through the deep snow we made our way downhill to the lake shore and turned to watch. Within minutes the flames broke through the roof and the building was soon fully involved. Throughout the night as we stood in the subzero temperature, we were heated by the flames as the casino burned to the ground in front of us.
We learned later that Frank Zappa received numerous awards including the Croix de Guirre for his bravery in helping everyone escape with no loss of life. Deep Purple was not able to perform the next night as a result of the fire, but they wrote a song about it later, it was called ‘Smoke on the Water’.
I was there and I showed up for work on Monday night in Dublin.
