The Bar Rules

By Degan Knight

Title: “Mormon Bar Rules or Political Mayhem”
Completed on 7/23/2013 a complete 171000 word novel
Based on A True Story (Adult Political Thriller)
This is my unbelievable true story, the story of Degan Knight. I am a native Salt Laker, and heck my great, great, great grandfather was born in Salt Lake City when it was still a territory. I am from the old school Mormons. This novel is how I rose to the heights of the Salt Lake City Church (Mormon) socialite community. How the son of major Salt Lake City politician failed overdose on heroin and cocaine in my basement of my house, forever changing my life. How I was physically beaten strangled and scapegoated almost to death by his father and his attorney gang of super-criminals for what I know. My story involves attempted suicide, drugs, corrupt legal system, Mayor, Lawyers, betrayal, aggravated assaults, attempted murder, padded court rooms, political cover up’s, 911 system, whining, ranting, invisible guns, sex, date rape drug, prostitution, incarceration, friends, cyber-streaking, farting, dog, chess, Ted Bundy, Abu Ghraib prison, drunkenness, evil spirits, devil, golf, spice, health care, skull and bones, philosophy, ect and a Bar. And a whole lot of crazy psychopathic sociopathic characters.
This is a true story, and you will laugh, you will cry, and you will defiantly learn something in this ultimate hart warming story of survival against a corrupt Mormon government and all odds.
This is one crazy fun true ride.
Names changed, of course to protect my ass.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Degan Knight
• Release date: Mar 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310335761

Degan Knight

About the Author Degan KnightDegan Knight (Pen Name): Born in Salt Lake City Utah in May of 1965, was born liberal and raised mostly hippy in the Salt Lake Valley, with the echoes of the original Mormon Church’s heritage running through his blood by his Father’s deep Mormon Heritage. Degan Knight is the direct descendent of Vinson Knight the first and controversial Bishop of the LDS Church. Surprisingly, Degan was raised Roman Catholic by his Mother and considered a long shot with a marginal chance to succeed in the Salt Lake Valley. Degan was borne with the fearless crusading hart in a struggling middle class family. Mr. Knight was borne the middle child, placed amongst and within the struggles of a non-Mormon family. Mr. Knight stood openly opposed to any prevalent religious oppression, especially in the Salt Lake Valley. Mr. Knight was allowed to observe over his life time, and more recently a five year stretch into an upper class Social Club (Bar) the greasy underbelly of the Mormon people that inhabit Salt Lake City. Mr. Knight was allowed to witness the Attorneys and Politicians that do the “church honest” dirty business that keep a crusade like control over the factious valley.Mr. Knight is a 25 year health care provider, a scientist at hart with a B.S. in Cardiovascular Interventional Radiology from Weber State University in Ogden Utah. An A.S. in Radiology from Merritt College, Oakland Ca. Degan did not intend to be a writer but fell into a story that was just too good to ignore.Mr. Knight was a Excellent student whom has taken classes in Speech, English Composition, and Creative Writing. Mr. Knight has written a Bachelors thesis on Bio-Degradable Hepatic Biliary Stents for the Common Bile duct in 2000. BORING.Mr. Knight’s first major literary work is: "Mormon Bar Rules of Political Mayhem" 07/24/2013.These are the same group of people that put the Romney's on the map. .

Book preview

Mormon Bar Rules or Political Mayhem

Published by Degan Knight at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 David Knight Burnett

A little reminder to the readers, this is about an attempted homicide by strangulation/battery case, there has been no satisfaction in a court room or resolution to this case at this time.

This is the second time I have started this book, and it has been a pain in the proverbial ass. It has been a long and argues process, met with extreme difficulties and challenges along the way. This journey is a long and hard battle, a struggle within me, and the surrounding circumstances that exist in my life today, but I have persevered and completed this first novel. Because of this story, my life, and how these events have unfolded is currently in danger.

First a little bit about politics, and the way things are politically aligned in the land of Zion, which to me is Assault Lake City Utah, and the surrounding metropolitan areas. The valley is mostly Republican in politics, and SLC Church in religion. But I have found that in the valley there is no difference in the two, thus sadly concluding there is definitely no separation of church and state to be found anywhere in this valley.

There are a lot of unseen forces that cannot be mentioned against me, and as I am writing this book, those forces have made my life extremely difficult. These unseen forces possibly would like it if my life would fall into circumstances that would lead to my premature death. This book is the real thing. I have chosen to change the names. This is the true story of how things are handled by the political goons that inhabit the SLC Church, and alive and well in my little part of Assault Lake City Utah.

Opening: I always disliked books that left the development of key characters to your imagination; So, I thought that I would take the liberty to give you a little bit of a back bone, a substrate which to grow your own imagination on.

Characters or Criminals: You decide

Steve Swineson: (Stinky Steve or Son of Swine), and all Jack SLC Church member, an over competitive public exhibitionist jock attorney that is still stuck in the past, just like a field goal post in his high school grid iron. Stinky is still reveling in the memory of his past glory days as a high school running back, frozen like time motionless in his cleats, playing an invisible football game in his head from around the year 1982, but most of all, a complete angry and drunk. Stinky was the type of drunk that would not have liked the fact that I had witnessed him rough up his future wife in the parking lot at Green Street social club, but his claim-to-fame was when he won a law suit against his former employer, the Children’s Miracle network, and won a large settlement. Steve did his under graduate work at Georgetown University, and went on to get his law degree at University of Utah.

Ted Bundy: Not actually in this book but more of this book. Stinky Steve’s, and Rob Rotten invisible spiritual mentor and role model, a future template to base their lives on and what I believe they have to look forward to becoming if not stopped. Ted graduated from University of Utah law Just like Stinky Steve and some of the other attorneys in this book. Some of the people in this story where acquaintances or friends with Ted Bundy from his past dealing in Utah. A little more information on Ted and some of his grizzly doings around the Assault Lake Valley in the 70’s, as you might know Theodore is the most famous lawyer to graduate from the University of Utah. A serial killer rapist, kidnapper and necrophiliac who killed 30 to 35 people, and the only way he was caught, was because one of his victims lived. Theodore assaulted and murdered numerous young women from the 1970’s and more than a decade of denials, he confessed shortly before his execution to 30 homicides committed in seven states. The true total remains unknown, and could be much higher. Bundy was regarded as a handsome charming and charismatic, the perfect lawyer. And he was eventually baptized into the SLC church.

Lynn Swineson (Stinky Wife) A 24 year old Assault Lake City Socialite and drunken loud mouth, a want-to-be fashion statement who was newly married to Steve S, in a ceremony performed by Rob Rotten of all things. Lynn is Steve’s linty little arm candy, and unknown to Steve, an undercover gold digger. But most interesting and directly relevant to this case is the fact that Steve and Lynn had this little comedic phrase that they would rehearse during our many drinking sessions at Green Street. While sitting together at the bar both of them in unison would say a simultaneous say a haunting phrase and he had a gun over, and over again. Then the two of them would start laughing sarcastically across the bar at Green Street. Lindsay would be three quarters drunk, bob her head like a bobble doll, roll back her eyes up in her forehead, look unfocused at me and say and he had a gun then more laughter and then a shot of Jamison. I believe that she is involved with this gang of drunken super criminals as a type of professional witness, possibly witnessing multiple crimes that where committed by Stinky Steve and Rotten Robby thus collaborating all their criminal actions with the phrase and he had a gun. Lindsay was part of the SLC Church attorney crime mob that was present at Green Street Social Club in Assault Lake City. She was one of several witnesses to my attempted murder.

Steve Goonehausen. Attorney and want to be dead-head hippy .If you did not know a dead- head is they are someone who like the grateful dead rock band from the sixties and seventies. Steve Goonehausen, liked to smoke pot, and drink beer, but what he most liked is to pretend that he was a liberal, an x-hippy, a solicitor of prostitute, a shyster, and pseudo guitar aficionados. The best thing about Steve Goonhausen is that he probably knew Ted Bundy during the 1970’s personally. I went to concerts with Steve Goonhausen, and housed one of his young clients and sex partners in the basement in my house on Ramona Ave, that is until Alyx Rotten , son of Rotten Robby moved in and had this book causing medical incident.

Rob Rotten: Old and angry drunk SLC Church politician, with a bad attitude, and a worse alcohol problem. Rob Rotten was employed by the mayor of Assault Lake City, Peter Corruption. Rob Rotten is a one-time social buddy of Gloves Romney, and a want to be crew member of Gloves during the Assault Lake Olympic bid and subsequent Olympic scandal. Robby Rotten son, Alyx Rotten was the 21 year old that had a medical incident in my basement on Ramona Ave. Because needing to blame someone for the medical Incident Rob committed a crime of aggravated assault, or attempted murder against me when I reentered the group. Rob Rotten a likeable and charismatic sociopath politician businessman with an alcoholic disposition that led him in the direction of cruelty. A son of an oral surgeon, with a large right foot which he used to break my necks and jaws during his attack on me at trolley square. He is 6’6 tall and about 245 lbs. And did I mention that big nasty right foot that he used to crack skulls with. I believe that he is a goon for Peter Corruption and does most of Pets dirty" work. Rob, is a clean cut and well-manicured sociopathic socialite with a propensity towards alcohol and drugs abuse, all while giving the appearance of being church honest politician let me assure you that he was not. Robs is very well dressed, and kept his emotions under check until the proper time, and did I mention that he is a SLC Church return Missionary.

Alyx Rotten: First and foremost is Rotten Rob’s son. Alyx is 21 years old and a habitual IV drug user. The thing is, Alyx was manipulative and was always trying to take his own life for the needed attention from his father Robby or just for financial gain. Uses any and all excuses to maintain his status quo as the State of Utah tax funded drug addict. Alyx Rented the basement apartment on Ramona Ave. Alyx is tall and 6’6"verry skinny with curly dark brown hair and about 165 lbs. He is a vary spoiled rich kid, and the son of a Utah politician, and grandson of a local successful oral surgeon. He had an overdose on heroin and cocaine in my basement on Ramona Ave. I know that Alyx J. had been in and out of various drug and alcohol treatment centers throughout the Assault Lake Valley. Alyx was just another spoiled rich kid from SLC.

Manila Aguido,( Step Father) borne in the Philippines, cruel and possibly murdering Step Father, who says that he is from the ruling class in the Philippians, people and his thought process and perception of life is that of someone who was raised in the third world. Manila has been In the United States for about 23 years now, and his manipulation of the family and most of my entire mother is by far the worst thing ever. He thinks that the U.S. is just like the Philippians. (He unintentionally destroyed the first book by loosening the screws on my hard drive while making a repair on my laptop). Over time the air was allowed to leak into the hard drive, and it failed destroying all my files. He then took interest in installing my new hard drive with his software so he could monitor my computer. He is an anti-white Asian supremacist and blatant raciest. The first time we met, he assaulted me kicking and punching me using martial arts style. There were no charges brought against him, and I don’t know why. I don’t think that he is on my side when he wants to be part of my political assault case against Rotten Rob and Stinky Steve. He states that his father was an attorney in the Philippines, and worked for the Aquino family. Further questioning his connection with reality. He can empathize to Robby and Steve more than he could ever relate or empathize with me. He looked at me like a piece of white trash. I guess that is what I am to him. In his mind he could not figure out how some on that was borne in a country with so many opportunities could not make it. This is really about him filling sorry for himself. My mother buys right into his shit.

Mary Agudo (Mother) I do not understand her treatment and general nonbelief of the statements I make. She allows a desperate murdering man to come into her life, and blow false promises up her ass, and spiritually brain wash her. She lets this man have his disciplinary way with me on the premises that it is making me more mature. She advises me to stop the case against Robby and Stinky filling that having a skull fracture is all part of the maturation process. I feel that the case has a worthwhile message, and that she is not the picture of normality based on her upbringing in Carbon Utah. She sees me as an unintelligent child without a worthwhile cause, or someone that should just simply grow up. She always wanted to be involved in my life in a superior way, never as an equal. When I asked for sincere help she would extend her help, but not in the way that I had asked, only in the way she thought I needed it. Whenever I ask her for something, there has to be a long debate on whether it is truly needed or not. She is a 68 year old Full time Employee of Permanente in Oakland California. She is my mother and I love her because I have only one.

Herman Diaz (German Alcoholic Boss that helped mastermind the incident at Green Street in trolley square) an ancillary health care provider that runs a corrupt Mobil X-Ray Company that is currently under investigation, and has previously been charged and found guilty of Medicaid fraud. Hermany is part of the good old boy network that gathered at Green Street in Trolley Square. He assisted in the fabrication of a story about patient abuse to get me fired, and spread this story around the town which politically destroying me. And on the patient abuse charges they were determined unfounded and the State of Utah dropped the case without filing them. Although I was exonerated for the charges the stench of the allegations where to follow me throughout my medical career.

Donald Christianson, Hermans Diaz BYU graduate brown nosier and SLC Church back up man, and fabricator of the patient abuse charges. The thing about Donald is, Donald at his prior job he was charged and convicted of gross elderly patient neglect. The last thing that he said to me after he terminated me for alleged patient abuse charge was, it happened to me. Did I mention that Donald had been married five times, and my nick name for him was Lord of the Rings. He appeared more like a used car salesman, than a convicted felonious neglecter of elderly patient care.

I have been badly beaten, suffering a fractured neck, jaw and deep abrasions on my face from this altercation. I intend to and am going to continue standing up for myself and will not be physically beaten again. I have lost everything in my house, automobiles and dog. Why is it that in the United States of America, one person valued more highly, and another is that person just a peace of refuse? And why does most everyone want me to quit this case? Why is there no one supporting me and my right not to be feloniously assaulted in public? And why are these sociopaths more important than the Constitution of the United States of America? I was miss lead to believe, not only the rich and privileged have rights, but I have them as well. Why are these violent thugs more important than me, someone who has given his whole life to that of helping others? Who are these elite people? Why cannot I get my rights defended, and fill safe in the country that I was born? This book will dive into the seedy slums of the SLC Church in Assault Lake City, you will see how the back washing of the political justice in this town has a deviated perception on the truth. I will divulge information that the SLC Church has a slimy drug infested underbelly that deals with secret societies and unlawful handshake agreements. And a police force that has a money talks strangle hold on this town, and all that live in this the land of Zion.

Right now I am having a very difficult time writing this book because as you can imagine there are allot of things taking place in my life. I have recently graduated from a University and am very pleased that I have a degree. What is so strange is that no one else in my family is excited that I graduated.

I am pursuing a case against Rob Rotten and Steven Swineson for aggravated assault or would like to even make this a attempted homicide case. This has been of great difficulties against a powerful church attorney and leaders. This is a hard thing to do, when it would cause a great disturbance in the SLC Church and community. There are a group of powerful people out there that want me to stop this case, and that in itself keeps me going. With a presidential candidate from the SLC Church trying to make a bid for election, things are a little bit sticky, or what you might call heavy around me. I will mention it now, and throughout this book that there is possibly someone trying to harm me, and with so many reputations and much to lose, can you blame them?

Mormon Bar Rules or Political Mayhem

All of which I am about to tell you is what I will call truth, the names have been changed to obviously protect my ass.

Bang! The crash of something falling, it sounds pushing abruptly through the old hard wood floors on 724 Ramona. Awakening, I said to myself did someone fall? Rolling over to glance at my alarm clock which said 3:27 AM no, then another rattling crash, what could be going on with those good SLC Church Boys downstairs anyway! Another Crash! That was the sound of something glass stopping abruptly as it made contact with the cement floor. Then the sounds of someone exaggerated laughing. Someone spoke through a course cough, dude! That was expensive then another higher pitched voice spoke though his laugh. That.. That is some good shit bro! more laughter but now what are we going to use as an apparatus? Another brief pause, and then some sounds of shuffling while a third person out of know where trembling voice could be heard thank god, you did not break it all over the cheese, .you dick-head then the third person with a lisp yah you fucking douche bag, what did you do that for? I don’t know, it just happened fuck-tard Well hear take another hit from my rig, it’s been cleaned thanks bro. The sound of something being stretched then slapping abruptly against a smooth surface. Bro-bra… my foot is fucked concerned, another voice replied yah those veins are kissed you better get that looked at then another pause don’t step on my glass, that rig over there is good to go then the first higher pitched voice That was great fun last night dude.. Yah! She had no idea… Did you see the look on her faces? Then the three laughing uncomfortable No She was all jacked up, did you look at her No-Bro then more crazy laughter. Did you see the way she staggered away? Fuck yes I did, and that dip shit forgot to put her pants on more uncontrollable laughing.

Chapter one The Bar

I have been a regular in a lot of bars in my life, from California to Utah. I have poured myself out of, and into allot and drinking establishments in my day, but I have never been so deeply involved in anything like this a SLC Church drinking establishment. A SLC Church drinking establishment has to play, and did play by its own deviated and unspoken rules. This was strange place and had its own church approved language. I don’t know how to describe it, but the conversations in the SLC Church bar include such words as brother, elder, ward, bishop, mission, steak house, tiding, etc. I guess it would be similar to what goes on in a Catholic bar in Ireland or something, but this is something entirely different, it was just a little bit more involved than that. As you enter the bar you hear conversations among the patrons, about what, and where they went on their SLC Church missions. I guess this is a normal conversation? Drunken conversations, on where there kids are going off to school, and who they were dating, you know like normal bar folk conversations, but just a little different. The conversations might be pertaining to just about anything in their daily life, but there was something hiding under the surface. The fact that they knew that the SLC Church way was abstinence, and the guilt could be felt rather than heard in the SLC Church members. But if you are really quiet, you can hear the twisted heartbeat of the city pulsing through these conversations, and the underlying sickness of the people that inhabit this city. You might hear about the assault that took place in Pioneer Park by a drug fiend. Continuing you might hear about the demented mob of unemployed drug dealers that hang out in Pioneer Park, and how they were the cause of all the problems in the City. But, then in the same breath you could hear holey things like what garments to wear on a date, and what drinks to buy a church member. You could hear things about who got married in the SLC Church temple and the fifteen minute time slot they were allocated and what gifts they needed to make it real. I don’t know what it is, or maybe I have not had the inclination of the fact that this bar was loaded with some of the most powerful twisted drunken SLC Church members in the state of Utah. There where snot sticky rich kids form prominent SLC Church families, oozing with factious greatness. The rich kids that grew up with tarnished silver spoons for their mouth, and a tiny little one around there neck on a chain that is used for snorting cocaine in their tiny noses. These are the same sticky SLC Church rich kids that grew up with heron needles in their veins, that where eventually found on their way into trendy rehabs on multiple occasions. These are the SLC Church kids who use rehab for fashion statements, accessorized with chips and 12 step programs for their work in addiction. And where does all this mayhem come from anyway?

It is a fact that they do not produce, grow or manufacture cocaine or heroin in the land of Zion. The not so big secret is that they procure it form the Mexican cooks that work in the sweaty hot kitchens, and in dark hid away gathering places not unlike Green Street. Yes, there is allot, I mean a lot of drugs in the golden tanned children, and the intoxicated adults that are form the SLC Church. I can understand it coming from the aspect of the stress their families are under, to be so church perfect and church pure. These perfect kids are on all kinds of prescriptions for victimization, depression, anxiety, or some other thing that they will not mention in their sacred ward houses. For some perverse reason, people are people and being told that they could not do something naturally made them little rebels want to do it even more. And the bar was the place that was the connection to the Mexican cooks that supply the drugs that led to the addiction that went to the street, thus making this book possible. I would like to think that the above mentioned goodies where acquired in a roundabout way, for me and my entertainment and for the creation of this book, just a joke.

Like all un-forgiven groups of people, they all want to be loved and accepted by the people in our perfect community. And having an addiction was a sure way to be an outcast in the above ground, SLC Church community. And in this a glossy community, it was the big deal to belong in the cool kids that had sex, and partied like Osmond purple socked rock stars, in the popular Technicolor drug culture. To be somehow rebellious in the SLC Church religion, like any religion I imagine, was to be in the cool kid in the hip crowd. I believe that it is only natural and normal for the Kids of the valley to rebel against the perceived backwards, older and more social inept conservative church members. We will get into that much later in the book, this chapter is about the SLC Church Bar or Green Street.

You could have taken the bar seen right out of some set of characters from a cliché movie about bar patrons, only in a hypothetical SLC Church Hollywood twist of course. On one hand, you have the Lawyers that where cheating with multiple partners, and on their 5th wife, elbows planted deep in the crock of the bar. You have the broken down crutched of a lost cowboy politician, who was weaning their children into the bar for social gain, and would use John Wayne as a style for his role module. You have the SLC Church professional socialite that was using the bar as his Church, instead of going to Church, where he belongs. And you have a pilferer of business men, that where trying to make useless pseudo social connections with some cheap talk over an overpriced cocktail. You have the broken and busted down lawyers that where once big time social advocates for the rights of others, who are now so addicted to their alcoholic ways they can barely remember their simple names. In this bar you have the outcast that is frowned on by the local SLC Church folks, only keeping his secrets hidden away to be used later for political reasons. You have the false bully wise guys, who are the ones that remove the outcast from the bar, if not by force, by using other unmentionable means. You have the love struck patrons that cannot get a date with the beautiful bar tenders. You have the once important patent inventors, waiting to swallow the next big thing. But most of all, you have a murder of want to bee’s that where using the bar as a way to alleviate the overwhelming, but somehow deeply enjoyable oppression of the SLC Churches blindingly obvious oppression on the inhabitance of this valley.

The bar that I am talking about, and is the focal point of this book is called Green Street Bar and tavern in Assault Lake City Utah. It is quaintly located in the North West corner of old Trolley Square and is full of want to bee’s, and the up and coming socialites that are there to have a good time. Or, the beat down, down beats, that are looking for someone to feast upon to gain social position in this stagnant climate of monetary growth. A room full of douche bags. The building consist of red brick and old glass windows that where built in the first part of the twentieth century. As the name implies, this building was the old trolley station for the now extinct trolley cars that use to run up and down 700 East. These are the same type of trolley cars that where now in the famous City of San Francisco. The original plans where to lure business away from the west coast and into the Assault lake valley by the use of modern transportation.

And ultimately what matters is not what you know, but like any bar I have been in, it is who you know. Or better still, if you can make people think that you are important and then use this to establish political contacts in the valley. Or you can network by making friends with a regular at the bar, you know political bull shit. There is so much of this attitude of convincing others that you are important, and that you are important for them to know. It is a long process, first like in any other bar patrons, dress to the hilt. It would not be uncommon to see someone in a five dollar T-Shirt having a cocktail with someone in a five thousand dollar sports coat. My advice is this, go to the bar you are interested in and look how the people dress, and imitate them. Needless to say this bar is a great cross section of the people that inhabit the Assault lake Valley and as you are watching them, it is for sure that they are watching you, so you better fit in or you are out.

To describe the bar physically, one should start with the thick old yellow patina oak bar itself. It is about twenty five to thirty feet long with a heavy warn brass rail around the front side. The north end of the bar is one of the most interesting places in the establishment. It has one of the most unusual phenomenon’s, that it is always infested with a swarm of small gnats or fruit flies. Tiny little irritating bastards, you know the ones that you might see swarming around you during outdoor summer time activities. But the big difference is, it could be twenty degrees below zero outside, and the gnats would be swarming like they were on a club med vacation in the Bahamas. It was not uncommon to see both patrons as well as the insects drowning there sorrows in the wetness of beer. We use to count on the gnats to be there, and have little bets on how many would survive the night with all the physical activity around the bar. Sometimes we would have little gnat racing events, and all of us would imagine them doing little loop de loops around imaginary race tracks, using glasses and bottles to outline the course. Then one would fly unnoticed into someone’s drink, doing an imitation Mark Spits or Michel Phelps, and no one would tell that person that they had a swimming event in there glass. The end of the race was when you could watch that unknowing person drink them down to their chemical grave. And the last one swimming was the winner. The bar has about twenty five bar stools that all but a few do not wobble and need to be reupholstered. This and the fact of the uneven floor added to the charm of the old place, giving the drunken patrons an excuse to be out of balance at the bar.

You could not escape the smell. It had the smell all of its own, that of stale beer and old gastric juices left over from the puke of the crowd that night, or even weeks before. The floor in the old place was linoleum and Pergo that had come up in strategic places, curling up from all the old stale drinks that had found their way southward instead of north. The floor was fake oak, type that curled up like a pill bug that had been left to die in the hot sun. The carpet back and behind from where the Pergo is appeared to be at one time forest green, but was well dimmed in sight of all of the chewed gum, vomit, spilled drinks and blood that had been attached by the neglect of time. This mottled expression of the stain patterns was that of spots on a Dalmatian, random at best. There was an immense fireplace on the east wall, it was powered by gas and in the summer was seldom on. I had spent many of cold January days staying warm in front of that pit, smoking cigarettes and being grateful for the warmth. There was a second bar up stairs, and cement and rod-iron staircase that led towards the disco.

Upstairs there was a Disco that was used late at night to keep the younger crowd happy and spending their parents money. I only went up there to take a leak when the downstairs bathroom was backed up, overflowing or broken. There were several game tables like pool and foosball that where available for the patrons that needed to challenge each other to those types of manly things. Me, I was always trying to stay downstairs manning the fort, this was to protect my golden stool and place at the bar. There was an outside portion of the bar, that was called what you would expect it to be the patio. The patio was the place where the smokers would go to hang out and legally toke on their cigars and cigarettes, to getaway and have conversations. I myself did not smoke but do enjoy the smell on occasion. There was a pool room downstairs where there were three pool tables, a loud juke box, and a golf video game. Over the three booths on the west side of the down stairs pool table area in the down stairs pool room, there was a glass atrium that would let the sun in during the fall and winter evenings. There was a dart board as well as a Punching machine, you know the type. The ones that have a punching bag hanging down like a single dangling burgundy red testicle, and they reward you points for whoever punches it the hardest. It brings tears to my eyes thinking about it. Needless to say this was often the area where drunken fights would break out. These fights would often close the bar for a night or two until one of the spin doctor’s patrons, a lawyer would get together with the million dollar owner to re-open the bar. They had a political arrangement with the Mayor of Assault Lake and all of the taxes from sale of liquor would be a nice way to keep the bar open, and other unmentionable kickbacks, perks and just good old basic bribery. This is the way business works in this town, as I am it sure it does in yours.

The patio on the west side of Green Street was often open in the summer months and I have spent a few wonderful evenings watching the sun go down on the west end of the valley lightly intoxicated under the romance of its twilight glow. It was on the west side of the old brick building and during the chilly nights they would place propane powered heaters at strategic locations to brake the freezing cool of Assault Lake City nights. Once again, when I would have a buzz on, I would like to boast that I was born about one mile from this place, and absolutely loved every part of the Assault Lake Valley, like only someone born in this valley could. I felt from my core that this was my town and I loved everything about it. I would be willing to wager, that you probably have a familiar feeling when you are in the place where you where borne. I don’t think that I am alone in saying that there is something special about the place where a person is borne, and when you add a little bit of the liquid libations that where readily available, people can become down right quite proud. I would go on to say that I would have become almost fatally territorial.

Trolley Square

In the eastern side of the parking lot that surrounded Trolley Square was the well eliminated marquee of the mall. It was a water tower that stood about fore stories high that said in old fashion lettering Trolley Square on the flat black backed tank with gold letters painted. Underneath this tank, the supporting rod iron and black steel tube tower was projected upwards like the flying saucers in that H. G. Wells movie, War of the Worlds. A single twisted helical spiral stair case, whose layer upon layer of flat black paint was in badly need of a fresh coat. This stair case having only one use and that was to lead upwards to the unused and open bottom hatched door floor of the antique water tank.

When I was a young musically enthused teenager, I would often spend my alone time listening to artists like Elton John, Aerosmith and Kiss, on the popular local FM radio station. There was a disc Jockey, whose name I cannot remember at this time, a local radio station that would physically lock himself in the old tower for several weeks at a time. This was all for a little publicity for a good cause and to raise a little money for the Muscular Dystrophy Association, or the March of Dimes, or whoever they could get. I always related to the isolation of the Dj’s to that of my personal isolation, because there where many of times that I would listen to my 8 track Stereo and dream about music in the hot July Assault Lake City sun. Some-times the Dj’s would allow you to climb up in the tower for a small donation, and a quick visit. Perhaps even give you a treat for your effort. Or, if you said something on the air like KRSP rocks SLC they would often give you a prize. It was rather neat to be allowed in the tower where the DJ’s would be broadcasting, and I did not understand all the tangle wires of this temporary broadcasting station but enjoyed it nun the less. Often you could get you voice on the air as well, when the DJ’s would do live broadcasting from the tank. Dj’s would do a sarcastic crowd pleasing interview with the people that would come up in the top of the tank. They would ask the visitors to the water tank stupid questions like where you were from, tell them you name, and give a personal hello to a special someone on the air. I always wanted to do a sarcastic shout-out, that would go something like this, Yah Man I would like to say a big hi to all my friends, especially Richard Nibbler and, I. Seymour Butts, now your keep rocking in SLC… Yah! KRSP rocks!. Then bail down the spiral staircase to the safety of the crowd. I would always follow this radio stations to the best of my ability. That is for a fourteen year old, which was not old enough to drive. If I could visit the radio station on my bike I would do my best to show up for some free goodies. These where unique times in the late 70’s, and it was really jogging my memory of exactly what had happened. They do not allow people in the tower much these days, and I believe like everything else that this is because of the insurance issues with the age of the old and rusty water tower.

One other time that comes to mind is during the late 70’s when streaking (Running Naked) was all the hit. Striking was a national craze on the radio stations and the TV news stations in the valley where always talking about where the latest streaker was sighted. There once was a streaker that ran through Trolley Square parking lot, under this water tower, and disappearing into a car’s in the east parking lot. All the while with the SLC police department in hot pursuit. I cannot validate this incident personally, but I was listening to the radio station live or at the time it was happening, and all of a sudden the radio station Dj’s and the one that was broadcasting form the tower said that they had spotted a streaker running through Trolley Square. Boogi-dere, boggie-dere. And to this day, I could never tell if this was a publicity stunt for the radio station to generate revenue for March of Dimes, or in fact a real event. Either way, it was a great conversation piece around the town, streaker or not, it was a fun time to break up the hot dry summer days in the Assault Lake Valley.

All this nakedness made me remember a song The streak By Ray Stevens, this was very popular song at the time and it was all the hit of the town. The whole thing was up the establishment and a lot of perverted fun for all of us Non SLC Church members to poke fun and laugh about. There were other times that the streakers where spotted around SLC, and several had the audacity to streak around the sacred SLC Church Temple grounds. True Story. I heard that the streakers where tackled, shackled, and arrested for their behavior. Then thrown into the Assault Lake County Jail, and charged with public nudity or something similar to that. I bet this really pissed of the conservative current profit of the SLC Church off his throne. I can just imagine the butt puckered church leader hearing about this type of behavior on their sacred temple ground. Please stop all the nudity, for the sake of the children, or some other morality correct thing to say like that. Sacrilege! What would congregation of old lady’s say?

As this book unfolds my next memory of Trolley Square that jumps to mind is when I was about 17 years old, a high school student, and an innocent protected male. I worked as a bus boy in the Vary Old Spaghetti Factory which was up the antique stairs and around the south west corner of Trolley Square. This was a great let’s say, an advantageous job for a high school student to have. But at the same time, I am sure that I was restless and unsatisfied about it, you know what that was, and it was just me. I can remember all the cool people that I worked with, and some of them became very famous, but as I think about it now, I cannot recollect what they were famous for. But most of all, this was the time that I used to do what every growing young man would do, scope out the University of Utah College girls. Like I have stated, I was an innocent little boy all the way through Taylorsville High School, and when I started to go to the U, and buy the way, the U is what the hip and cool people call the University of Utah. The U and if you did not go to the U you were not shit in the valley, and guess what else I discovered at the U, the blinding toxicity of woman. Woman who would get moist in there britches when there were in the presence of a pre-med major (which I was), and future I doctor (which I was). I could not have wanted there poison even more. That the thing with women’s poisons. Once I was injected with the venom, I was on, like a light switch and at 19 I could have closed or melted down a reactor. As I have stated I was a big pre-med student, 19 years old, semi cute and the very good SLC Church members mother who’d would have wanted there lovely daughter to marry a successful future Doctor, and this is the game that I was to pray upon.

I was happening for the first time in my miserable life, needless to say, I wanted it, I wanted all of it. From the late nights alcohol mixed in a big gulp fests, to the sex in the frozen cold car in the parking lot of Kmart January morning. It was a prolific and confusing time in my life. I did not juggle girls well, and I had an overbearing mother’s voice in the back of my head, throwing in all of her fears, down on me. I will tell you this much, I did not get much studying done, but I was lying to them, all of them, and having a good time while doing it.

About this time in my life, another significant and profound event was taking place. It is when I noticed that my hair was starting to ever so slowly fall out, or should I say, just not growing back after it had fallen out. What the fuck, me losing my hair, what, what the, what a cruel trick to play on me, just when everything was going so good in my life. If it has not happened to you , you don’t know how bad this is, and especially you woman reader have no idea of how bad it can get when you are losing your hair. I have heard it said that to explain to a woman what it is like for a man to start losing his hair is hard to comprehend. The only way that a woman could relate is to explain to them that it would be like telling them that their breasts where falling off vary vary slowly. But all the good SLC Church girls did not care, as long as I was pre-med and at the U they did not give a shit about my hair. They could run out and tell all their presumptuous LDS friends that I was as Pre-Med student at the U, all was well on the home front, and the good part about it was I was getting laid on a regular basis. On the inside I was devastated buy my hair loss and my self-esteem were visually plummeting daily. I was only 19 years old, shallow and failing academically at life. Mostly because all of my self-worth was being placed on my appearances, and what I could do to please others, mostly my mother. Deep down inside I was a frightened loser peace of shit with a poor future. I would not want to face this fact of life, and I found myself isolating and choosing to be around peers that where struggling with their college identity, just like me. It was like I was having a panicle event, a crossroad and it sucked, like all forced change does. But like I keep saying, I was having a good time, and I was getting laid, and as long as I played the student game, I was good.

I do not have to tell you that I was without a doubt doing miserably in school. I was only 19 years old and the fact that I had taken College Algebra, Anatomy and Chemistry in my first quarter is about the stupidest and asinine thing the a college freshmen could do. It was just as stupid as showing up for the tryouts for the NFL Oakland Raiders at 139 and one half lbs in a pink leotard that said boy toy me taped to my backside. Or exactly like showing up at the U with a sign on my back that said, Mr. Professor, could you please stick your large educated foot up my ass, and then in small print Why you are there, could you one legged hop over and show me the correct way to do the three legged man walk over to the academic probation office?

The local Granit School Districts do not prepare all of the students to go to college. Granit only selects the very smart few, which had the families and politics to back them up to go to the U. Needless to say, most of my friends were and are very successful construction workers, not college grads. They became things like plumbers, electricians, and coal miners. Most got married right out of high school and did not attend the U. But some despite all that lack of education most of them became very successful. But once again, I cannot think of what they become famous fore. I had a head full of fear that was implanted at birth buy my mother, that kept saying to me, If I did not achieve a degree in college, you were never going to amount to anything.

I remember the 80’s Gnarly

Let’s talk about the MOD 80’s. Not the Big hair 80’s but the underground new vow hippy 80’s. We were the anti-cold war children of the 60’s, strivings for freedom, self-expression, and new romantic 80’s. The Anti-Ronald Regan anti-Leonid Brezniev, the scared out of our shit mind about an all-out nuclear war 80’s. Experimenting like our parents from the 60’s, with psychedelic drugs 80’s, but running from the fear of the new plague of this generation of HIV and AIDS, 80’s. Most of the people that I knew, who were after all free thinking like me at this time, we use to want to relocate or move to some place other than where they were, and naturally, everything seemed to be happening in where else, Western Europe.

Most of us new hippies had found out voices early, we were dissatisfied with the U.S. in general and especially dissatisfied with the factious SLC Church policies prevalent in Assault Lake City. The romance beckoning us the new bohemian, to be in the flashy, progressive and advanced social club’s seen. To seek the booming culture growth in Germany or England during this time. In the hidden unspoken belly of the clubs, there was a now a new drug named ecstasy surfacing in the underground clubs of Assault Lake City, and from what I was told around the world. Ecstasy was the new love drug that was just hitting the World club seen, and soon to be called the Rave seen. This is my time, and I loved the whole un-comfortableness of the 80’s, and I was by no means alone in my feelings and perceptions of what was going on in the New World Order.

I was begrudgingly at one time by a circle of friends called Mr. 80’s, by my piers or some times Pokie, or even Howdy Duty, because of my constant oblivious smile. We would and at one time or another dress up like hip musical performer, listened to bands like the Thompson Twins, Wall of Voo-Do, Oingo Boingo, Culture Club, The Clash, INXS, Madonna, Depeche Mode, Thomas Dolby, Squeeze, Frankie goes to Hollywood. Ect. All the 80’s top dance and club 100’s, I would dress in one style one night, then buy a whole new wardrobe and style for the next night of clubbing. I would do my best to never be the same person twice; I guess that is what they call identity confused, but to me, I just like a change, and together with the sound of the latest club music bouncing in my head, everything was good in SLC.

I did not like having a label, and god, I would do my best to never label you, but I was what most of you would call a MOD, PREPPY, or a HIPPY But most of all in some sort of a late teenage, early adult in an uncomfortable and in an identity crisis. A MOD is short for modern, which is really the leftover modern remembrance of peace loving Hippie of the 60’s. This was an amazing and colorful time to be a socialite and club hoper in Assault Lake City. The whole lot of us clubbers and Jack SLC Church members could get a bunch of booze, drugs or whatever was available and jump into a car and go with reckless abandonment, on the night out dancing. I think that most of us 19 to 29 years old would be able to relate. In the club seen I was all about being anti-Ronald Regan, and the fear of HIV had just raped thought the world dance club seen. It was our version of the Black Death from the dark ages, and we all new someone who knew someone that was infected with this new disease. Some of the times we could not help ourselves, us socialites where all looking suspiciously at each other trying to figure out who had HIV, who was going to get HIV, and how to stay out of becoming HIV infected. We would all get dressed up and go out anyway, neglecting our responsibilities, fucking it up, this is what salt lake young adults did. I would do all of this while trying to go to the U. I was 19 and having to pass classes. So, now Let’s get back to the story.. of the bar.

First but, in no way number one, where The Bar Tenders.

The female bar tenders came mostly in a limited shapes and size, but most of all they had to be Cute. Cute but not to pretty, if you wanted to make it here at Green Street, you had to be Minnie Mouse cute. Cute, fake,