JANUARY 11–17, 2017 I VOLUME 41 I NUMBER 2
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The Final Flight of
MARTIN MCNALLY
The hijacker left St. Louis with a fortune. It all slipped from his grasp somewhere over Indiana BY DANNY WICENTOWSKI
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“Even before I moved to St. Louis, everyone I met from St. Louis was just obsessed with it. They would talk it up all the time: How great St. Louis was. I really wasn’t that pumped when I got here. I thought they just might be talking it up like a weird Napoleon complex.
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“But now I think they were right. I think it’s cool that Budweiser runs the town and you can drink literally everywhere. Everybody’s got all this pride for the Cardinals and the Blues. It’s got an interesting history, and I’ve liked all the parts of the city I’ve lived in.” —Jessica Beustring, photographed with peter ricks at ikea on January 8
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TABLE OF CONTENTS FEATURE
10.
The Final Flight Of Martin McNally The hijacker left St. Louis with a fortune. It all slipped from his grasp somewhere over Indiana Written by
DANNY WICENTOWSKI
Cover by
KELLY GLUECK
NEWS
CULTURE
DINING
MUSIC
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21
30
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The Lede
Calendar
Your friend or neighbor, captured on camera
Seven days worth of great stuff to see and do
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Reprieve for a College Kid One of Jay Nixon’s final acts as governor was an unusual commutation: one granted to a small-time pot dealer still serving his sentence
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A Buffer Zone in St. Louis
Film
In Paterson, Jim Jarmusch explores the poetry of every day life in New Jersey’s third largest city
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Stage
Paul Friswold sees an explosive new production of All My Sons
Alderwoman Christine Ingrassia attempts to give Planned Parenthood patients and staff a safe space in the Central West End
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Some Pig
For the Record
The new barbecue joint inside Super’s Bungalow, the Stellar Hog, is as good as its name promises
Music Record Shop readies itself for a new location in the .ZACK building at Grand Center
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Homespun
Side Dish
Samantha Mitchell of Farmtruk found passion in the kitchen and freedom on the road
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First Looks
Sarah Fenske checks out the modern street food at Crave, while Emily McCarter is feeling healthy at Rock Hill’s I Love Juice Bar
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Other People Other Songs
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Out Every Night
The best concerts in St. Louis every night of the week
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This Just In
This week’s new concert announcements
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NEWS
Young Pot Dealer Gets a Last-Minute Reprieve Written by
DANNY WICENTOWSKI
A
s he exits the governor’s office, Jay Nixon could claim to be the most merciful chief executive in the state’s recent history. In the past three decades, no Missouri governor has issued more pardons than Nixon’s 106. Yet Nixon commuted the sentences of just four people doing actual time in prison — and two of them were death row inmates spared execution to remain in prison for life. Any legacy of mercy, then, rests almost solely his decision to commute the lengthy sentences given to two convicted pot dealers. The first you may have heard of: Jeff Mizanskey, a small-time dealer sentenced to life in prison in 1994. Nixon granted Mizanskey a parole hearing in 2015; one month later, Mizanskey walked free. And on Friday, when Nixon announced the final clemencies of his governorship — eighteen pardons and one commutation — the second man was on the list. Jordan Nichols’ case for clemency received no backing from drug law reformers. No petitions circulated to support his case for freedom. But in 2015, the young black college student had begun serving a fifteen-year sentence for selling less than a half-ounce of marijuana. “Most people would not be in prison for this crime,” says Kay Parish, Nichols’ attorney. “He was a college student who basically smoked a little bit of marijuana. It’s very easy to go from smoking a little bit to selling a little bit.” Parish isn’t just artfully downplaying her client’s record: Nichols, a Michigan native enrolled in Missouri Valley College, was arrested in 2012 after selling just $80 worth of pot to a police informant over the course of four separate buys. Nichols’ weed was packaged inside the ripped-off corners of small plastic bags, meaning he was selling his stash one gram at a time. According to a probable cause report, Nichols had previously been busted for a DWI and possession of up to 35 grams Continued on pg 9
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Police say protests at the Central West End’s Planned Parenthood clinic recently turned ugly. | COURTESY OF PLANNED PARENTHOOD
Bill Would Buffer St. Louis Clinic
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ays after a longtime prolife activist was arrested for allegedly threatening a worker at the state’s lone abortion clinic, a St. Louis alderwoman says she will introduce legislation to create a buffer zone between protesters and patients. Christine Ingrassia, the alderwoman for the city’s sixth ward, says she plans to introduce legislation this week modeled on a law in Colorado, which was upheld by the U.S. Supreme Court in 2014. The court struck down a 35foot buffer in Massachusetts, but left intact one in Colorado that was about one-fourth of its size.
JANUARY 11-17, 2017
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Ingrassia says she hopes to enshrine in city ordinances an eight-foot zone around the entrance and those spots within 100 feet of the doorway. “We do believe they have a right to protest,” she says. “But we need to find a way to balance that right with the comfort and safety of those people who use the clinic.” NARAL Pro-Choice Missouri has staffed volunteer “escorts” at the clinic for decades. Recently, harassment of escorts, staff and prospective patients has escalated, says its executive director, Alison Dreith, with protesters reaching into cars or trying to direct patrons to alternate “crisis pregnancy” centers. “These acts of violence have been on the rise,” she says. She believes Ingrassia’s plan could make a difference. Ingrassia says she will also
introduce legislation to enshrine in local ordinances a version of the federal Freedom of Access to Clinic Entrances Act, or FACE, which was signed into law by President Bill Clinton in 1994. The law, which makes it a crime to intimidate patients or staff, would give local police a tool to investigate threats or actions at the clinic — one that’s currently only available to the FBI. Having to call in the feds, Ingrassia says, “is not an expedient way to address a local problem.” Ingrassia’s proposals won’t be the only abortion-related bills the Board of Aldermen will consider this winter. Fifteenth Ward Alderwoman Megan Ellyia Green is sponsoring a measure to add pregnancy and reproductive health decisions to the city’s anti-discrimination ordinance. —Sarah Fenske
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Jordan Nichols, currently serving fifteen years in prison, celebrates his high school graduation with his mother and stepfather. | COURTESY OF THE NICHOLS FAMILY
PARDON Continued from pg 8 of marijuana in a nearby county. However, at the time of his arrest, Nichols had the misfortune of renting an apartment located less than 2,000 feet from Missouri Valley College’s main campus. Instead of being charged with a Class C felony for distributing under 35 grams of marijuana (which carried a maximum of seven years in prison), Nichols’ proximity to his own college resulted in a conviction on four counts of distributing a controlled substance near schools, a Class A felony carrying a maximum punishment of 30 years to life. Still, as a first-time felon, Nichols wasn’t sent to prison, at least not right away. Instead of a fifteen-year sentence, a judge slapped him with five years of probation. Having been expelled from Missouri Valley College, Nichols returned to Michigan, but over the next three years he twice tested positive for weed. He also failed to complete his community service or pay probation fees. In June 2015, the Randolph County Circuit Court determined that Nichols was guilty of “unexcused and unjustified violation of a substantial condition” of his probation. With probation officially revoked, Nichols was sentenced to serve the full fifteen-year sentence. He was probably looking at at least a decade in prison before he’d have any chance to make parole. Again, that’s fifteen years in prison for selling $80 worth of weed. To adults. “It struck me as a big waste of both Missouri taxpayers’ money and this kid’s life to spend any more time
in prison,” Parish says. She began lobbying the governor’s office on behalf of Nichols in early 2016. Parish was thrilled by the governor’s action on his final day in his office. And she notes that the law Nichols was convicted under was unduly harsh: It made no distinction between selling a few grams of weed to college students and slinging meth on a kindergarten playground. In fact, that very law was repealed as part of the sweeping criminal code reform that went into effect January 1. Had Nichols been arrested for the same crime today — distributing less than 35 grams of marijuana — he would face a maximum punishment of four years in prison. And Nixon’s commutation isn’t an immediate get-out-of-jail card: Like Mizanskey, Nichols must still appear before a parole board and make his case. But at least he’ll get that opportunity. Nichols’ case is an outlier among Nixon’s 110 acts of clemency. As we’ve previously noted, Nixon overwhelmingly directed his clemency powers to pardon Missourians for minor crimes committed many decades ago, in some cases as far as back as the 1950s and 1960s. Few among the pardoned had ever served prison sentences. Nixon’s staff — presumably busy packing up their desks on their final day in office last week — did not respond to questions about Nichols’ case. But Parish, for one, praised the governor. “I do think Jordan’s case was somewhat unique,” Parish says. “I think Governor Nixon saw a case where he was being asked to do what was right, and he did something. It n was the right thing to do.”
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The Final Flight of
MARTIN MCNALLY
The hijacker left St. Louis with a fortune. It all slipped from his grasp somewhere over Indiana BY DANNY WICENTOWSKI
F
inally alone after eleven hours of feverish demands, threats and hostage exchanges, the hijacker pulled off his shaggy brown wig and began to disrobe. He shrugged out of a burgundy sport coat, white dress shirt and yellow trousers — it was, after all, 1972 — revealing a second outfit: a set of dark-colored slacks and a collared blue t-shirt. Upon surveying the rows of empty seats running the length of the Boeing 727, he checked his wristwatch. Only a few hours remained until sunrise. It was after 3 a.m. on June 24, and the purloined aircraft was hurtling through a cloudy night sky, heading for the Canadian border. The hijacker, Martin McNally, was 28 years old, but with his boyish face and near-smirk, could pass for a teenager. He scooped up the discarded clothing and walked to the very rear of the pane, arriving at the open hatch and extended stairwell. He stared into the murky darkness below. There was still time to call it off, McNally thought. He could turn around, walk back to the cockpit and hand his rifle to the pilot. He could return the bag stuffed with $500,000 cash and then, somehow, talk his way out of the mess he’d left back in St. Louis. He could tell the FBI agents that there was never any bomb on the plane, that it was all joke. McNally tossed the wig through the hatch, followed by the clothing, several smoke bombs and the rifle with its two loaded cartridges. The items whipped into the air and disappeared. This was no time for second thoughts. Aside from a single hostage, McNally was now the only non-crew member left on the flight. Hours before, on the tarmac at Lambert International Airport, he’d negotiated to release more than 90 passengers in exchange for a fresh crew to fly him to Toronto — a city McNally had no intention of visiting. Soon after takeoff, he’d ordered the sole remaining American Airlines stewardess (through whom he had relayed all of his demands) to join the hostage and flight crew in the cockpit. Now, McNally’s only companion was the thrilling weight of a cash-heavy mailbag tied to his left belt loop. After strapping on a pair of flight goggles, McNally donned a reserve parachute, tightening the straps around his legs and chest, just as he’d been instructed by an FBI agent during an on-the-spot lesson earlier that evening. McNally had never touched a parachute before. This would be his first jump. Slipping a handgun into his pocket, he descended the stairs haltingly, on
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MCNALLY FUMBLED WITH THE RIPCORD WITH HIS RIGHT HAND, BUT THEN HE MADE A MISTAKE: HE LEFT HIS LEFT ARM OUTSTRETCHED. his butt, scooting down step-by-step into the roar of the wind. He turned onto his stomach, catching one last look at the rear hatch leading into the passenger cabin; he imagined how easy it would be for someone on the plane to walk back here and shoot him in the head. McNally’s hands were the only things keeping him connected to the plane. His body, suspended from the stairwell at 300 miles per hour, felt like a daisy caught in a hurricane. In the cockpit, the remaining crew felt their ears pop as the cabin pressure fluctuated. One thousand feet above the Boeing 727, from the vantage point of a military surveillance plane, an FBI agent observed a small, dark object falling rapidly from the rear hatch. McNally dropped like a bullet, feet-first, and the first thing he perceived was the wind punching his flight goggles into his eye sockets. In seconds, the goggles were violently ripped from his head. McNally threw out his arms, bringing his body parallel to the ground as he began counting down from twenty in his mind. Basing his calculations on the formula for terminal velocity — which he’d learned in a library physics textbook — McNally figured that this would be enough time to slow his fall to a safe speed. If
he pulled the chute too early, he knew, the air would shred the canopy like tissue paper. The time came to test his math. McNally fumbled for the ripcord with his right hand, but he made the mistake of leaving his left arm outstretched. Instead of producing the serene, deliberate movements of an experienced skydiver, the wind took hold of his arm and slammed the hijacker into a furious spin. In the midst of the chaos, the parachute exploded out of the chest harness and ejected its spring-loaded contents directly into McNally’s face. Blinded and hurting, he managed to grab hold of the shroud lines above him. He tugged hard, and was rewarded with resistance as the canopy filled with air. McNally was going to live after all. His hand strayed down to his left thigh, hoping to be reassured by its half-million dollars. He could only look down in horror. The mailbag was twenty feet below him, and getting smaller and smaller by the second. As if in a dream, McNally watched the fortune tumble in slow-motion, end-over-end, until it slipped below the clouds and vanished. The hijacker considered his options. Forty-four years later, on a sweltering afternoon in August 2016, Martin McNally enters the Thomas Eagleton U.S. Courthouse in downtown St. Louis. He rides an elevator to the second floor and checks in at the front desk of the federal probation office. Clean-shaven, his white hair combed and slicked back from his forehead, the 72-year-old ex-con is anticipating good things from a scheduled meeting with a federal parole supervisor. Five years out of prison, McNally is now permitted to apply for release from his permanent parole, a status that saddles him with travel restrictions and random checkups. The meeting could set the wheels of true freedom in motion. By the time McNally had been released from a California prison in 2010, he had already spent more than half his life behind bars. He then settled
into an apartment in south St. Louis, where he subsisted on disability benefits linked to an old Navy injury. McNally’s first decade as inmate had been marked by violence and multiple failed escapes. He was involved in numerous scraps with prisoners, and, although never convicted, he was twice brought up on charges for assaulting guards in the U.S. Penitentiary in Leavenworth, Kansas. In one instance, he was accused of wielding two sharpened pencils as shanks. “My first ten years, those were turbulent, no question,” McNally says, making conversation in the parole office waiting room. “The guards at the U.S. Penitentiary in Leavenworth were brutal. They beat up and assaulted prisoners; they killed prisoners. So yes, there were assaults on guards, there were indictments.” By the early 1980s, the inmate had calmed down a good deal. McNally dedicated much of the next three decades to appealing his conviction for air piracy. He became a proficient jailhouse lawyer, ran for president and accrued more than $10,000 by illicitly trading Wall Street stocks. At the courthouse, McNally waits an hour before he and his local parole officer are beckoned into the conference room to meet the supervisor. The meeting lasts under 30 minutes, and it doesn’t look good. During the meeting, the local officer testifies that it would be best to keep the septuagenarian hijacker on parole indefinitely. On the drive back to his apartment, McNally unleashes a stream of curses, mostly directed at the parole officer. “I would recommend retaining him on parole,” McNally quotes, sneering his impression of the testimony, “because of the nature of this crime.” Fuming, he says, “Yeah, no question, I’ll be on parole until I’m dead.” Beginning in the mid-1960s, the “Golden Age” of airline hijacking was an era when any passenger could walk through an airport terminal unmolested, breeze onto the tarmac and board a plane — all that with their shoes on, no less. In some cases, you could even pay for your ticket on board. This casual freedom — a relic of a more civilized time — persisted in the face of an unprecedented wave of hijackings. Early interventions Continued on pg 12
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MARTIN MCNALLY Continued from pg 11 proved laughably inadequate, flabbergasting airline companies. Ticket agents were instructed to subjectively screen passengers based on a cooked-up checklist of psychological and physical traits believed to be particular to hijackers, and although sky marshals were deployed in 1970, their limited ranks couldn’t hope to make a dent in the vast number of flights taking off each day in American airports. The virtually non-existent security led to a frenzy of hijackings. According to Brendan Koerner’s 2013 book chronicling the period, The Skies Belong to Us, more than 130 hijackings were committed in American skies between 1968 and 1972. Many of the culprits were straight nutjobs, driven by religious or political yearnings that required (for some reason or another) immediate passage to Cuba. But even as the capers escalated in audacity and potential violence, airlines companies balked at beefing up their own security. Instead, they sought to avoid the possibility of violence at all cost. Crews were instructed to comply with hijackers’ demands rather
than risk an altercation. Pilots on domestic flights were provided with charts outlining passage to Havana, just in case. But there was a second, altogether different species of hijacker: not a nutjob, but rather a certain kind of foolhardy opportunist. In other words, a common crook. Driving through Detroit in January 1972, Martin McNally listened with growing interest to a radio news report of a twomonth-old hijacking in the Pacific Northwest. Shortly before Thanksgiving, an unidentified man had commandeered a Boeing 727 after taking off from Portland International Airport. According to the report, the hijacker had ordered the plane to land and subsequently demanded a parachute and $200,000. Upon receipt, the hostages were released, but the hijacker kept the crew and ordered the plane to take off once again. Forty-five minutes into flight, the man jumped from the lowered stairwell at the rear of plane. Both hijacker and cash had seemingly disappeared without a trace. In the coming months, McNally would spend hours poring through library books on parachutes and skydiving. An idea took root in his
A FBI photo of Martin McNally in 1972. |NATIONAL ARCHIVES AT KANSAS CITY mind. The hijacker on the radio — soon mythologized as “D.B. Cooper” — had demonstrated an effective strategy for air piracy, and it seemed a much easier task than knocking over an armored truck or a bank. McNally was a product of a large family, and had lived most of his life in his hometown of Wyandotte, a suburb in the southern shadow
of Detroit. McNally’s father, a shoe store owner and respected figure about town, had put eight children through Catholic school. But young Marty McNally spurned his studies. Instead of completing eleventh grade, he enlisted in the Navy, where he labored as an airplane electrician. It was no harbinger of destiny: His flight time was
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restricted to servicing the cramped patrol craft sweeping for Soviet submarines off the coast of Alaska. Given a general discharge from the Navy in 1964, McNally had no interest in joining his father at the family shoe store. He wound up scrambling through a series of odd jobs and minor scams, including a plan to embezzle gas sales from a service station and a short-lived counterfeiting operation, which ended when he was busted feeding fake quarters to a laundromat change-machine. By 1972, he was exhausted with the paltry returns on minor scams. One big score, that’s what he needed. All he required was a weapon, some phony documents and a passable disguise. D.B. Cooper had shown him the rest. Getting the gun was easy. A local pool hall hustler, Walter Petlikowski, provided a .45 rifle, and McNally cut ten inches off the barrel. The weapon fit comfortably inside a black attaché case with a wig and smoke bombs. Petlikowski, in turn, signed on as an accomplice in exchange for $50,000. In the fall and winter of 1972, McNally charted a tour of Midwest cities, hitting Indianapolis, Chicago, St. Louis and Kansas City. He settled
on St. Louis’ Lambert Airport — it had the worst security, McNally says — and made two more trips to the airport with Petlikowski to prepare for the one-way flight. On the morning of June 23, a Friday, Petlikowski dropped McNally at the main terminal. Petlikowski had changed his mind about participating in the hijacking directly, but he’d still agreed to act as chauffeur for half his original fee. McNally, briefcase in hand, bid his accomplice farewell and boarded Flight 119 destined for Tulsa, Oklahoma. McNally encountered no metal detectors on his way to the flight. His ticket, purchased with forged Navy discharge papers, identified him as “Robert Wilson.” Less than 30 minutes before landing in Tulsa, McNally excused himself from his seat three rows from the rear of the plane and walked to the lavatory. When he emerged, he was wearing a shaggy brown wig and sunglasses and wielding a rifle. He handed a note to a startled stewardess. A few minutes later, the captain’s voice came over the intercom: “Ladies and gentleman. We have a passenger who needs to return to St. Louis.”
McNally followed D.B. Cooper’s example to the letter, though he added a key embellishment: McNally demanded more than twice Cooper’s ransom, asking for $500,000. He also requested another $2,000 in small bills, most of which he gifted to the stewardesses as a tip for their compliance. Around 4 p.m., Flight 119 returned to St. Louis and came to a stop on a runway on the far edge of the airfield. McNally made his demands known. He claimed to control the detonator to a bomb somewhere on the plane, and that any attempts at resistance would be met with gunfire. Over the next hour, a flurry of negotiations and counternegotiations played out between the hijacker — who relayed all messages to the cockpit via stewardesses — and FBI agents on the scene. Eventually, McNally permitted 80 hostages to leave the plane by way of the plane’s inflatable emergency slide. But raising a half-million dollars on a Friday evening was no easy task. It could take hours. So, after refueling, McNally directed Flight 119’s crew and the fourteen remaining hostages to ready themselves for takeoff. Back in the air, the plane
traced circles above St. Louis. At one point, McNally allowed the pilot to redirect the plane to Fort Worth, Texas, based on reports that the money could be collected there much faster. That report turned out to be premature, and the plane instead turned back to St. Louis, where bank and airline officials were still scrambling to put together the ransom. It was after 9 p.m. when their efforts succeeded. Flight 119 made its second landing on a Lambert runway. Now, McNally relayed three additional demands: He needed a shovel, flight goggles, five parachutes and two harnesses. The money was delivered in two packages: a heavy airmail bag and a small wrapped parcel. However, despite his preparations, McNally struggled to figure out how to buckle the parachute harness. So he added an additional request: for someone to show him how to put the thing on. When the “instructor” (actually an undercover FBI agent) came aboard, McNally watched from a distance of several feet, rifle at the ready in case of ambush. The instructor/FBI agent made no move to disarm McNally, and after his quick lesson, left the aircraft unharmed. Continued on pg 14
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MARTIN MCNALLY Continued from pg 13 It was just after midnight, and the plan seemed to be chugging along perfectly. McNally released thirteen more hostages, leaving under his control one hostage, two stewardesses and the flight crew. TV and radio stations were already broadcasting the unfolding drama across the country. From behind the rectangular glass facade of the main Lambert terminal, throngs of passengers watched as a tanker truck refueled Flight 119, readying the plane for its fourth St. Louis takeoff in the past eight hours. But nothing could have prepared McNally for the interference of a young Florissant businessman, David Hanley, who was among the bystanders ogling the drama from the terminal. Hanley did not remain a bystander for long. As the jet taxied down the runway, its massive engines revving in preparation for takeoff, Hanley’s 1971 Cadillac Eldorado crashed through the runway’s perimeter, battering through a fence at 80 miles per hour on a collision course with Flight 119. The plane, heavy with fuel, was essentially a bomb with wings. Over the intercom, the captain’s voice crackled with panic. “Oh my god, there’s a vehicle on the runway!” Hanley steered the Cadillac into the nose of the plane. Inside, the impact knocked McNally forward in his seat, and the heavy vehicle careened through the nosewheel, coming to a smoldering halt against the landing gear beneath the portside wing. The damage was superficial — the jet fuel did not ignite — but the plane was crippled. (Interviewed by the Associated Press one year later, Hanley claimed that the crash had wiped all memory of that night, and that he was as mystified by his actions as everybody else: “My mind is a blank from 6 o’clock that night to two weeks later.” As for “reports” that he’d left a cocktail lounge near the airport, telling friends he “would shock the world,” Hanley denied it. “If I was there then any friends who were with me were a bunch of slucks,” he told the AP. “No one has come to me and said, ‘David, I was with you that night and this is what you said.’”) An ambulance arrived to take Hanley to a hospital. He’d suffered two broken jaws, broken ribs, a fractured skull and a crushed left arm and ankle — but the only damage McNally cared about 14
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had been inflicted on his getaway ride. The aircraft was useless now. McNally relayed an urgent message to the cockpit: “Get me another plane.” It took 90 minutes to bring a second Boeing 727 alongside the disabled airliner. Fearful of FBI snipers, McNally pressed himself between two stewardesses and covered his head with his briefcase until he safely entered the new plane’s lowered rear stairs. The second plane was fueled and ready for takeoff. Along with his civilian hostage, McNally presided over the jet’s three-man replacement crew as well as the one remaining stewardesses he’d kept from Flight 119. There was no need for more leverage than that. McNally ordered the plane to leave St. Louis and set a course to Toronto. Tracing a straight line, the flight path would take the plane over the vicinity of Detroit. In the preceding months, McNally had tried to work out the precise timing of his jump based on the plane’s airspeed, but he now worried that the delays had disrupted his calculations. He had originally planned to make his jump shortly after midnight. It was now nearly 4 a.m. Still, it was time to leave. He stripped off his disguise and buckled the parachute’s harness around his arms and legs. McNally didn’t know where he was. From 10,000 feet, the undisturbed whiteness of the clouds below had obliterated any landmark or geographic feature. He wondered if the pilot had betrayed him, and whether he was seeing not clouds but the deep waters of Lake Michigan. In reality, McNally chose to make his jump too early. The plane was passing above central Indiana, about 150 miles southwest of Detroit. Having already hijacked two planes that day, getting to the ground should have been the easy part of McNally’s plan. He intended to bury the money immediately, leave the area and lay low for a few weeks or months. Then he would return with a shovel. McNally dropped from the rear stairwell. Without firing a shot, he’d just made more money than he’d ever earn in a lifetime of shoe sales or petty crime. But riches were not in McNally’s future. Gravity saw to that. McNally landed hard in a barren field, narrowly missing a grove of trees. He had made a mistake, panicked on approach, thrusting
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his heels into the soil and causing his body to whip backwards into the ground. His head bounced on the soil, leaving him concussed. His vision danced with stars that were not really there. The money was gone. It had disappeared, eaten by a blanket of clouds in a moment that imprinted itself in McNally’s mind like a nightmare. There was nothing he could do. He didn’t even know where he was; the lack of discernible landmarks on the ground made triangulation useless. Of the $502,000 he’d had in his hands, all he had now was $300 that he’d pocketed before the jump. McNally peeled himself off the ground. Around him, the sound of dogs barking echoed through the night. He gathered the parachute and clambered over a barbed wire fence surrounding a thicket of trees. Finding a suitably covered spot, he laid out the parachute and collapsed for two hours. At dawn, woozy and shivering, he dragged the chute deeper into the woods, where he covered the canvas with leaves and shrubs. He climbed into the parachute’s folds as if it was a cocoon and slept until noon. McNally awoke to helicopter blades thumping overhead. The search parties were already on the move, hoping to sniff out the skyjacker and the loot. He decided to wait for dusk before moving from the forest’s tall canopy. In the meantime, he napped, buried the parachute and cleaned his clothes and shoes as best he could. Again crossing the barbed-wire fence, McNally walked 500 feet before coming to a gravel two-lane road. In one direction, he perceived a white glow against on the horizon, possibly a city or town. He began trudging in that direction, the monotony broken only by a few cars with Indiana license plates passing by. An hour and a half later, one car stopped short about a quarter-mile down the road. In the driver’s seat was Richard Blair, the police chief of Peru, Indiana. Chief Blair had been driving back to Peru with his wife, and the sight of a lone pedestrian on the road so late at night tugged his interest. McNally introduced himself as Patrick McNally (his older brother’s name) and displayed a Michigan driver’s license (a forgery) that corroborated the ID. Though McNally’s two credit cards were issued to a “J. McNally,” he explained to the chief that he had borrowed the cards — with permission —
from his brother. The chief asked McNally what he was doing out on a country road after 9 p.m. McNally claimed he had recently traveled to Peru from Detroit on a mission to retrieve his brother from a nearby farm. Alas, McNally continued, his brother had gotten drunk earlier that night and beaten the snot out of him, leaving McNally in this sorry state. McNally’s eyes and cheeks were heavily bruised, his chin was gashed open and he sported several cuts on his forehead. He really did look like he’d taken a beating. Chief Blair offered a lift to Peru, and McNally gladly took him up on it. Before climbing into the car, McNally quickly slid the handgun from his pocket and tossed it to the side of the road. (“He did not frisk me,” McNally would later recall. “If the chief had said anything about patting me down, I would have pulled out this pistol from my right pocket, cocked it and said, ‘You’ll search nothing.’ He and his wife would probably have been killed at that point.”) On the drive to town, Blair warned McNally that it was a bad time to be alone on the road, what with so much traffic speeding back and forth. Hadn’t he seen the news? Search parties were scouring the area for a hijacker and a bag of money. McNally answered vaguely in the affirmative, and thanked the chief for saving him the long walk and potential hassle. Blair dropped McNally off at the Peru Motor Lodge, across the street from police headquarters. It was late, and McNally hadn’t tasted food in more than 24 hours. He also hadn’t had a chance to look in a mirror. Sitting down for a burger in a nearby bar, he felt the eyes of the other patrons evaluating him from all angles. He wasn’t losing his mind to paranoia. In the bar’s bathroom, McNally stared in shock at his bruised and puffy reflection. No wonder he was getting weird looks. McNally returned to the motor lodge and bought a room for the night. The elderly desk clerk accepted his explanation about the mismatched driver’s license and credit cards, but she couldn’t help but notice the condition of his face. “You aren’t that skyjacker, are you?” she asked. McNally laughed it off as a joke. “No,” he said. The hijacker, he added, was probably a long way off by now. Using the payphone in the lobby, McNally tried calling an accomplice
hitting the airport in Indianapolis. But there would be no second chance. By the time McNally returned to Detroit, FBI agents were already staking out his home and awaiting an arrest warrant. Investigators had linked the forged “Robert Wilson” Navy discharge papers to McNally’s actual Navy records. And in Detroit, two of McNally’s criminal confidants had immediately ratted him out to the feds. Six days after leaping from a plane and losing a fortune, McNally was arrested outside his home without incident. He was charged with air piracy, which at the time carried a potential death sentence, and held on a $100,000 bond. Not long afterwards, Petlikowski turned himself in as well. In a turn of good luck for McNally, the U.S. Supreme Court had recently instituted a moratorium on the death penalty. After a quick trial in 1973, McNally was found guilty and given a more humane punishment: a life sentence, which at the time meant just 30 years in prison.
The mailbag, once stuffed with $500,000, would later be used as evidence in McNally’s trial. |NATIONAL ARCHIVES AT KANSAS CITY
Having never used a parachute before, McNally needed outside help to get into the harness.|NATIONAL ARCHIVES AT KANSAS CITY in Detroit — a fellow hustler to whom McNally had confided the hijacking plan. Hitchhiking from Peru was out of the question; he needed someone to extract him from this hellhole. But there was no answer, so McNally returned to his room to watch TV coverage of the unfolding manhunt. A sketch artist had provided a composite portrait based on witness statements; it flashed on screen,
showing a culprit with shaggy hair and aviator sunglasses. On Sunday, McNally paid for another day in the motel, and made another call to Detroit. Still no answer. He was getting worried: Along with the bruised hijacker, the motel also served as lodging for a half-dozen FBI agents who were in the process of hunting him down. On his way downstairs, McNally
passed two agents walking to a different floor; they were oblivious now, McNally thought, but how long could that last? He really had to get out of Peru. By Monday, in desperation, McNally phoned his chauffeur, Walter Petlikowski. “I thought you were dead,” said Petlikowski. By now, both had seen the latest breaking news on the search for the hijacker — the bag of money had been recovered in a bean field. The find was made by an elderly farmer, who, perhaps naively, had chosen to report the bag’s contents to the authorities rather than keep it for himself. (The farmer’s selfless act would later be enshrined in the Guinness Book of World Records as the most cash ever returned to its owner.) By the time Petlikowski arrived in Peru the next day and the two men took off, the motel was swarming with FBI agents — who by now had picked up McNally’s scent. A search party had discovered the handgun he’d hastily deposited on the side of the country road. The FBI knew the hijacker was nearby. McNally was already dreaming of his next hijacking. If he could take one plane, he could do it again, he told Petlikowski. He was thinking of riverfronttimes.com
On a summer evening in 2016, McNally nudges a black-and-white cat off his coffee table and lights the first in a long chain of cheap cigars. The smoke billows in the cramped, shotgun apartment. Lying on a threadbare sofa, facing a television playing the news on mute, McNally kicks his feet up on the coffee table. “Nobody knows my real history,” he says. “These neighbors and stuff, they don’t know what I’m about, where I came from. They don’t know what I’m capable of doing.” After his conviction for the hijacking, McNally decided he wouldn’t go down without a fight. He appealed, arguing that FBI agents had illegally searched his home while gathering evidence for the 1972 criminal trial. But his argument failed to sway a judge. When the appeal was denied in 1974, McNally concluded that the courts had been corrupted, and he resolved to free himself by any means necessary. “I immediately got into escape mode,” he says. In Leavenworth, McNally met the perfect escape partner, a hijacker of some renown. Garrett Brock Trapnell was serving a life sentence for commandeering a TWA flight over Chicago about five months before McNally’s exploits in St. Louis. Armed with a .45 pistol smuggled inside a plaster arm cast, Trapnell was ultimately shot and
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MARTIN MCNALLY Continued from pg 15
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apprehended by FBI agents after landing in New York City. But Trapnell was more than a hijacker. A highly successful manipulator, he had left a trail of bank robberies across Canada in the mid-1960s, and he became famous for exploiting the legal defense of “innocent by insanity.” Upon capture, Trapnell would present symptoms of schizophrenia or multiple personality disorder, committing to the role until a judge granted admittance to a mental hospital instead of prison. Time and again, Trapnell was either released upon “recovery” from his bout of madness, or he simply escaped. McNally and Trapnell were obvious allies. “At one point, we made a commitment to each other,” McNally remembers. “If I ever got out, I would skyjack a plane to get him out. Or, he would skyjack a plane to get me out.” Before the two could plan an escape from Leavenworth, however, McNally was thrown into a series of high security cells owing to his repeated run-ins with guards. The two men didn’t see each other again until 1977, when McNally was transferred to the U.S. Penitentiary in Marion, Illinois, the country’s first “supermax” prison, dedicated to housing the country’s most dangerous criminals. McNally and Trapnell found themselves sharing the same cellblock. One afternoon in February 1978, Trapnell stopped by McNally’s cell and knocked politely on the bars. McNally waved him in. In careful whispers, Trapnell sketched out an escape plan that was elegant, crazy and ethically vile. McNally loved it. Decades later, McNally looks back on the plan with regret. “It makes us look like monsters,” he says. “We destroyed a family.” Trapnell’s offer was simple: “How would you like to leave this place in a helicopter?” After McNally listened to the details, the two set their minds to refining the plan’s moving pieces: First, an outside accomplice would hijack a helicopter at gunpoint and force its pilot to fly to Marion, where Trapnell and McNally would be waiting in a designated spot. From there, they could hijack a plane at the nearby airfield in Perryville, Missouri. The next step could be improvised from there. The key to the plan was Barbara Oswald. A 43-year-old former Army
staff sergeant who had served as an air-traffic controller in a helicopter squadron, she happened to be in love with Trapnell. Even behind bars, Trapnell maintained an air of celebrity, which only increased after the publication of a biography in 1976. The book, The Fox Is Crazy Too, was anything but a scholarly tome. A lengthy subtitle touted its epic contents: “The true story of Garrett Trapnell, Adventurer, Skyjacker, Bank Robber, Con Man, Lover.” The book had fallen into Oswald’s hands. In its pages, Trapnell was presented as a tragic figure, a modern-day pirate who lived life freely and made fools of psychiatrists and prosecutors across North America. Oswald was smitten. She wrote to Trapnell in prison, and she was rewarded with a flood of love letters. So strong was her passion that Oswald convinced prison officials to place her on Trapnell’s approved list of visitors, and soon she was regularly visiting the object of her infatuation. On a few occasions, Oswald even brought her two teenage daughters along for the trip. It was only a matter of months before Trapnell asked Oswald to help him escape. In letters, he promised her a new life on a 2,000-acre planation he owned in Australia. He sent her photos of a palatial estate where they could live together, happily ever after. Of course, Trapnell owned no plantation in Australia. And Oswald would never find that happily ever after with Trapnell — or, as it turned out, anyone else. In McNally and Trapnell’s preparations, Oswald represented a tool to be used and abandoned at the earliest opportunity. She wasn’t part of Trapnell’s post-escape plan, which encompassed robbing a handful of banks with the assistance of McNally and the third member of the escape crew, a convicted bank robber named Kenny Johnson. Shortly after 6 p.m. on May 24, 1978, the trio of inmates shuffled around the recreation yard alongside a couple hundred prisoners. The day was hot, and many of the inmates were shirtless and wearing shorts. McNally sweated under a jacket, heavy fatigues and boots. He watched the sky, and waited. When the red-and-white helicopter made its first pass south, several thousand feet above the prison, McNally signaled to Trapnell and Johnson that they should get ready to run.
A hand-drawn map found in Barbara Oswald’s possession after her death. In his report, the prison warden noted the “X” of the helicopter’s planned landing spot.| NATIONAL ARCHIVES AT KANSAS CITY Minutes later, the muffled thump of rotors became a sharp whine as the helicopter crested the treetops south of the prison. Guards were already scrambling to arm themselves, and the three inmates had just moments to take advantage of the confusion. Trapnell, McNally and Johnson made their move, dashing to a restricted area between two housing units, coming to a yard just big enough for a helicopter to land. Trapnell laid out a bright gold jacket to catch the pilot’s eye, while McNally jumped and waved his arms as the helicopter tilted and wobbled above the prison. But instead of landing in the yard, the helicopter settled next to the prison’s administration building, located behind several layers of fencing. The whine of the rotors abruptly fell silent, and a thin figure in a blue flight suit leapt from the pilot-side door. There was no sign of Oswald. Something had gone terribly wrong, but there was no time to figure out what. Trapnell lay down in the grass, seemingly catatonic and unresponsive to McNally’s urging — to run the hell out of there. McNally and Johnson attempted to flee the scene, sneak over a roof and slip back into the recreation yard, hoping to disappear into the mass of hooting prisoners watching the commotion. However, by now every guard was on high alert, either rushing to the helicopter or searching the prison grounds for potential escapees. Minutes later, McNally and Johnson were spotted on the prison
building’s roof and apprehended. Trapnell, the escape’s mastermind, didn’t move an inch from where he’d collapsed in the yard. A guard would later report that upon discovering the prone inmate, he told Trapnell that he’d been lucky. “You would have been blown away,” the guard said. “I knew it was a set-up,” Trapnell spat back. “Was that their helicopter, or mine?” Inside the helicopter, Oswald’s body lay slumped against the cabin’s rear seat. She had been shot in head, spattering blood throughout the cabin and across the helicopter’s doors. Bullets had smashed a ragged hole through the side passenger window. In her final hours, Oswald had tried her best to fulfill her lover’s instructions. She’d reserved the helicopter several days prior, and called the charter company’s office around noon to confirm her flight with pilot Allen Barklage. Oswald had posed as a St. Louis businesswoman curious about the condition of some flooded properties in Cape Girardeau. With Oswald in the rear passenger seat, Barklage took off from a downtown St. Louis heliport around 5:30 p.m. After 30 minutes of flying, Oswald tore off Barklage’s headset and put a gun to the pilot’s temple. Barklage tried to talk her out of it, but she was adamant: She ordered him to fly east, following a chart to the location where they would rescue three inmates being housed at the U.S. penitentiary in Marion. But as Barklage made his first pass over the prison at 5,000 feet,
he noted the imposing towers and armed guards. A Vietnam veteran and former combat pilot, he considered the likely possibility that those guards would shoot an escaping helicopter out of the sky. He had no intention of dying that day. As Barklage brought the helicopter around again for the second and final pass over the prison, he informed Oswald that helicopter doors were difficult to handle, and that she was better off opening them now to save time. As Oswald struggled with door, she shifted the gun to her right hand and took her finger off the trigger. Seeing his chance, Barklage took his hands off the controls and snatched at Oswald’s pistol. The two struggled as the unpiloted craft pitched sickeningly through the air above the prison yard. According to Barklage, the fight lasted only ten or fifteen seconds. When he’d finally wrested the pistol from her grip, Barklage later testified, Oswald had reached for a bag beneath her seat. She told him, “It doesn’t make a difference. I’ve got another one here.” Barklage pulled the trigger four times, spraying broken glass and blood inside the cabin. Oswald fell back, motionless, and Barklage regained control of the wildly pitching helicopter. When armed guards approached Barklage on the ground, the pilot was nearly incoherent. “I killed her,” Barklage ranted, one guard would later report. “I have been hijacked,” Barklage said, over and over. “I have killed and we need an ambulance.” riverfronttimes.com
Trapnell and McNally weren’t finished with the Oswald family. The daring escape attempt had drawn national news coverage, and there seemed little doubt that the inmates would be hit with harsh sentences. But as the failed escape crew prepared their defenses — each faced charges for attempted escape, air piracy and kidnapping — Trapnell once again demonstrated his skill for undermining the legal system. Trapnell decided to represent himself in court, and in so doing, received privileges reserved for attorneys. For one, he was able to arrange unsupervised interviews with defense witnesses. One of those witnesses was Barbara’s grieving sixteen-year-old daughter, Robin. The death of her mother had left Robin depressed and at the point of suicide, details she confided to Trapnell. “I felt sorry for Robin,” Trapnell recalled years later during an interview for a short-lived ‘90s crime anthology series, FBI: The Untold Stories. “The things she was telling me, I felt a responsibility. I was the one who caused her mother’s death. At the same time, I wanted to get out of prison.” Trapnell came to McNally with a new plan: He had seduced Robin, and now the teenager had agreed to finish the job her mother started. Robin would hijack a plane and demand Trapnell’s release. As before, Trapnell promised McNally could come along for the ride. Just days before the trial’s conclusion, Kenny Johnson, the third escapee, pleaded guilty to
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MARTIN MCNALLY Continued from pg 17 lesser charges for attempted escape. McNally and Trapnell felt no such compunction, and the two arrived in good spirits to the verdict hearing in St. Louis on December 21, 1978. Trapnell had gotten word to Robin Oswald the night before: She would hijack a TWA flight out of Louisville on its way to Kansas City. In her purse, she’d smuggle a roll of duct tape, some wires and three railroad flares. It was McNally who’d insisted that Robin be outfitted with a fake bomb. The teenager was unstable, he told Trapnell, and he didn’t trust her to handle a pistol, let alone an explosive that could take down a plane full of people. Trapnell agreed. It was 10 a.m. when Robin, seated in the back of the flight on its way to Kansas City, announced the hijacking and rerouted the plane to Williamson County Airport near Marion. A passenger later reported that her demands amounted to a simple, repeated statement: “I want Garrett.” The judge presiding over Trapnell and McNally’s trial ordered the jury immediately sequestered, to keep them away from TVs and radios blaring the prejudicial news updates. But Robin Oswald’s hijacking attempt only put a temporary stop to the proceedings in St. Louis. After a lunch break, McNally and Trapnell chain-smoked in a holding cell, fully expecting to be called any minute to Williamson County Airport. The call never came. After nine hours, Robin Oswald surrendered to FBI agents, who recovered the fake bomb and took the teen into custody. That evening, a jury returned identical verdicts against McNally and Trapnell: guilty on all counts. McNally was given another life sentence for air piracy, 75 years for kidnapping, and five years each on charges of attempted escape and conspiracy. The years were added consecutively to his life sentence from 1973. After the conviction, McNally’s release date was set for the distant year of 2082. But McNally had escape skills of his own. Arguing on appeal, McNally and his lawyers raised the issue of news reports covering Kenny Johnson’s guilty plea before the trial. Surely coverage had prejudiced the jury against McNally and Trapnell. In 1980, the U.S. Court of Appeals issued a decision that went even further than McNally had hoped. 18
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McNally awaits a meeting with a parole supervisor inside the federal probation office in St. Louis in August 2016 .|DANNY WICENTOWSKI Not only did the judges rule that the trial court erred in not properly examining jury members for bias related to the news reports of Johnson’s guilty plea, but the appellate panel actually acquitted McNally on two of the most serious charges — air piracy and kidnapping. Although there was ample evidence to prove McNally’s participation in the escape plot, the judges wrote, nothing tangible linked him directly to Barbara Oswald, the plan to hijack the helicopter or the kidnapping of Allen Barklage. For her part in attempting to free Trapnell and McNally, Robin Oswald was tried as a juvenile and reportedly released after a short sentence. Considering Trapnell was already facing more than a century of jail time for his previous
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hijacking and bank robberies, prosecutors chose not to charge him for manipulating the teen girl. Trapnell would never again attempt an escape. In 1993, he died behind bars of smoking-related emphysema. McNally had no reason to expect a different fate. By the dawn of the 21st century, he’d given up hope of appealing his 1973 conviction for air piracy or reversing his life sentence. He wasn’t a fighter anymore, just an old con moving through a series of concrete rooms and hard beds. McNally resigned himself to the inevitable. He waited for death. By 2009, McNally decided that he’d had enough parole hearings to last a lifetime. No more, he told his case manager. Each previous hearing — about a half-dozen throughout
the last three decades — had ended with the parole board restating the obvious: McNally’s past crimes made him a risk to the public. But after a miscommunication with a case manager, McNally was nevertheless roused on the morning of July 18, 2009, and told that he was expected at a parole hearing the next day. The inmate grumbled, but an order was an order. The meeting seemed normal enough. The board quizzed him about his record and his activities in prison. By now, McNally had collected about 30 years of generally good behavior. Like Trapnell, McNally had been affected by the 1978 caper and its sobering aftermath. He wrote to his mother about changing her will. “Don’t leave me anything,” he told her. “I’m never going to get out of prison.” Yet McNally left the parole hearing in a state of dumbfounded bliss, and he walked back to his cell, grinning ear to ear. Against all expectations, he’d been given a release date. The board had evaluated his 37 years in prison and deemed him capable of handling parole. Six months later, on January 27, 2010, McNally walked out of the federal prison in Atwater, California, and hopped on a Greyhound bus. He initially requested to be settled in Tennessee to live with an old prison buddy, but that plan had been denied. McNally had no interest in returning to his estranged family in Michigan. So McNally bought a ticket to St. Louis, the scene of his 1972 hijacking. “I had no intentions, really, of staying in St. Louis,” he admits. “I had planned to go on the lam, rip off some banks, get the vaults, get all the money, so forth and so on.” On the long bus ride, he split his attention between looking out the windows and the fact that people on the bus were making phone calls by holding plastic rectangles to their ears. Yet he somehow never got around to riding off into the sunset as a bank robber. Instead, he found that he quite enjoys civilian life. With the aid of a reentry program affiliated with the Archdiocese of St. Louis, he was placed in the south city apartment where he resides to this day, paying his own rent and caring for a fluctuating number of cats. He watches a lot of Netflix, especially true crime shows that sometimes feature his old prison acquaintances.
These days, McNally is still reconciling his law-abiding life with the conman who resides in his heart. He’s been burned multiple times on get-rich-quick schemes, from buying penny stocks to chasing fictitious fortunes promised by email scammers. His attempts to open wholesale businesses selling jewelry, knives and wristwatches each folded in quick succession. And although he purchased 1,000 lottery tickets before the drawing date, McNally failed to win a $1.6 billion Powerball jackpot in 2016. On a summer afternoon, a rickety air conditioning unit rattles in the window of McNally’s second-floor apartment as the old hijacker pads his way to a desk in his living room. “Check this out,” he says, and retrieves a shiny metal sphere, about two inches in diameter. He holds it up to his eye. “It thought it was a ball bearing, for big machinery, but there’s a bell inside of it,” McNally says. He shakes the bauble for a few seconds, producing a mad chorus of jingles. “I don’t know what it is,” laughs the former skyjacker, “but when I saw that, I said I got to have it.” This is not the existence McNally envisioned for himself as he clung to the stairwell of a Boeing 727 all those years ago. He risked it all, experienced an amazing adventure, and in the process lost everything. Once, he had dreamed of riches. Now, the fact that his kitchen is stocked with groceries and beer seems like a miracle. “I’ve come further than most people would reach,” he says. “I never thought I would get out of prison. Very few people have had my opportunity.” McNally drags on a cigar. He says he wants to “rehabilitate” the memory of Barbara Oswald, a woman whose only crime, in his mind, was wanting a better life for herself. She, too, had risked everything. “It’s tragic,” McNally says. “That woman was driven to her death, just because some phony monsters were intent on getting out of prison under any circumstances.” And now, McNally is the only monster left. Trapnell died alone and incarcerated. Kenny Johnson, the third member of the 1978 escape team, also expired in prison more than ten years ago. Allen Barklage, the hero pilot who foiled their escape, died in a helicopter crash in 1993. “There’s nobody else,” McNally says. “I’m the last of the people who know the facts.”
After what McNally believed was an ill-fated meeting with his parole supervisor, there was nothing to do but go back to his life on parole, complete with random inspections, restrictions on his movements and the looming possibility that, any day, a single misstep could land him back in prison again. “The nature of this crime” — the parole officer’s testimony echoed in McNally’s mind. The meeting had seemed to confirm his beliefs about the criminal justice system, those lessons he’d learned in a series of courtrooms and, later, at the hands of prison guards: Justice was a thing you had to take, by physical force or legal fight, not something granted by a board of bureaucrats. McNally had even begun the process of handwriting a lawsuit targeting the federal parole commission and his parole officer, whom he planned to accuse of violating his rights and conspiring illegally to keep him on parole. Never mind if it was true. When the law bites you, you bite back. McNally’s good fortune, however, knocks on his apartment door on the afternoon of October 4. Shirtless and wearing a worn pair of jeans, McNally welcomes in his parole officer, the very same guy who broke his heart at the August hearing. But this is no regular checkup. The parole officer, Tim, hands McNally a single sheet of paper. “I have some good news,” Tim says. “You’re off parole.” McNally’s face breaks into a smile. “Oh no,” he jokes. “I’m disappointed. I need to have you come over here at least once a month, I need to see you. I don’t get enough visitors.” The two men laugh, and after a few more pleasantries, Tim leaves McNally to consider his future. It’s a heady feeling, freedom. McNally can travel whenever the mood strikes. He can live anywhere and associate with anyone if he wants to. Or he can remain in St. Louis, playing with his cats and reliving memories of crimes past. McNally hasn’t set foot on a plane since 1972. Even now, he’s too paranoid about Homeland Security agents and terrorist watchlists to actually buy a ticket. But if you find yourself in Lambert airport, you may spot a thin, white-haired man with a light smirk on his face, watching the security lines and rows of shoeless travelers hefting suitcases through metal detectors. Someday, Martin McNally allows, n he just might fly again.
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WEEK OF JANUARY 12-18
Tom Stockman will discuss his many toys at the Missouri History Museum on Thursday. | TOM STOCKMAN
BY PAUL FRISWOLD
THURSDAY 01/12 From the Screen to the Playroom Tom Stockman is known around St. Louis for his love of films and his massive collection of movie memorabilia — specifically his toys. Stockman brings his expertise to the Missouri History Museum (Lindell Boulevard and DeBaliviere Avenue; www.mohistory.org) tonight at 7 p.m. with the illustrated lecture From the Screen to the Playroom: Movies, TV and Toys They Inspire. He’ll share more than 100 images of some of the best bits of his sprawling collection, which include Universal Monsters, James Bond and Batman toys in all their many varieties. Admission is free.
FRIDAY 01/13 Lines in the Dust Denitra wants what is best for her child. A well-rounded education at a school that can challenge her daughter to achieve her best possible future isn’t a ridiculous demand, but because of the state of things in Newark, New Jersey, it feels like an impossible dream. So Denitra does a little boot-strapping and falsifies paperwork to gain admittance to a better school in an affluent neighborhood. It’s technically illegal — but only a problem if Denitra is found out. Unfortunately, a former police officer is on staff to sniff out district jumpers, and he’s very persistent. Nikkole Salter’s drama
Lines in the Dust is about how 60 years after Brown vs. Board of Education, America still hasn’t figured out how to give everyone — poor people and minorities included — the same basic education. The Black Rep continues its season with Lines in the Dust. Performances are at 7 p.m. Thursday, 8 p.m. Friday and Saturday and 3 p.m. Sunday (January 13 to 29) at Washington University’s Edison Theatre (6445 Forsyth Boulevard; www.theblackrep. org). Tickets are $15 to $40.
Prometheus’ Dream D r . F ra n ke n h a s m a d e a n incredible medical discovery that changes the very nature of humanity. What if you could be riverfronttimes.com
brought back from the dead? Franken proves the validity of his research by going on a lengthy lecture tour showcasing a key piece of evidence: his test subject, Adam. Theirs is a fraught relationship. Did Adam want to return to life? Is the doctor using him to advance his own career? Caleb King’s drama Prometheus’ Dream is a modern retelling of Mary Shelley’s classic Frankenstein, in which fame and glory drive the quest for immortality. First Run Theatre presents Prometheus’ Dream at 8 p.m. Friday and Saturday and 2 p.m. Sunday (January 13 to 22) at the Thomas Hunter Theater at DeSmet Jesuit High School (233 North New Ballas Road; www. firstruntheatre.com). Tickets are $10 to $15.
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ON SATURDAYS, WE BRUNCH! THERE’S NO BETTER WAY TO CHASE AWAY A HANGOVER THAN BRUNCH WITH FRIENDS. And Riverfront Times is once again bringing together the best restaurants in town with one mission: unite to cure St. Louis’ hangover. Brunch tastings, Bloody Marys, mimosas, beer, wine and champagne – all in The Moto Museum. It’s the ultimate cure for a Friday night party — and a great start to another night on the town!
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CALENDAR Continued from pg 21
SATURDAY 01/14 Loop Ice Carnival If you’re one of the happy few who enjoys a nice cold day, the Loop Ice Carnival has you covered. The annual festival of frosty fun features more than 50 ice sculptures, ice-carving demonstrations, game booths, human dog sleds, a giant snow globe (stand inside and have your picture taken!), and a skateboard demo. If you’re more of an indoor person, most of the businesses in the Delmar Loop (6200 Delmar; www.visittheloop.com) will offer specials and deals throughout the day. The Loop Ice Carnival runs all day, and admission is free.
Cardinals Care Winter Warm-Up It’s a little too cold for baseball, but the Cardinals Care Winter Warm-Up can provide a nice substitute for major league fans in the dead of winter. Current and former St. Louis Cardinals players return to town to talk a little baseball, sign some autographs and dream about warmer days, all in the hope of raising some money for Cardinals Care. This year’s edition takes place from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. Saturday and Sunday and 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. Monday (January 14 to 16) at the Hyatt Regency St. Louis at the Arch (315 Chestnut Street; www. stlcardinals.com/winterwarmup). Passes are $10 for kids up to age fifteen and $40 for adults, with player autographs ranging from $5 (Jack Clark) to $150 (Yadier Molina).
Cabin Fever Unlike wine, which is reserved for special occasions such as coronations and the successful completion of grad school, beer is an every day beverage. And it just so happens that today is a day, which means it’s time for beer. Schlafly obliges with its annual Cabin Fever party. Today from noon to 4 p.m., Schlafly Bottleworks (7260 Southwest Avenue, Maplewood; www.schlafly. com) takes it outside to the expansive parking lot, where staff will 24
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An American in Paris brings the City of Lights to the Fox Theatre. | MATTHEW MURPHY serve up samples of more than 40 different Schlafly brews. Some of the more interesting options include Sticky Toffee Porter, Mexican Chocolate Stout and a Baltic Porter. Tickets are $30 to $35 and include a commemorative tasting glass and unlimited beer samples.
SUNDAY 01/15 Mississippi Valley Bike + Outdoor Expo After a year off and some rebranding, the Mississippi Valley Bike + Outdoor Expo (formerly the St. Louis Bike Expo) returns to the Gateway Center (1 Gateway Drive, Collinsville, Illinois; www. bikeandoutdoorexpo.com) with an expanded vision. In addition to vendors hawking bicycles and bicycle-related gear, the new look expo includes products and demos for rock climbing, running, hiking, camping and paddling. The show caters to both enthusiastic amateurs and professionals, offering expert advice, sneak peeks at new products and a chance to try your hand at Goldsprints, which are side-by-side bike races on rollers with a projected course and computer timing. Also there to be experienced: the North Face’s virtual
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reality tour of national parks and Upper Limits’ mobile rock climbing wall. The Mississippi Valley Bike + Outdoor Expo takes place from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. today, and admission is $8 to $12.
TUESDAY 01/17 An American in Paris American G.I.s Jerry and Adam decide to stay in Paris after World War II to pursue their artistic goals, Jerry as a painter and Adam as a composer. Joined by Henri, a wealthy heir who dreams of becoming a a song-and-dance man, the three get back to living life in peacetime. There’s also the matter of Lise, the beautiful French dancer Jerry recently bumped into — she’s worth sticking around for as well. But Jerry’s not the only one dazzled by her charms, and the course of true love never did run smooth. The musical version of An American in Paris is inspired by the 1951 MGM film, and it features the same swooping romance and exceptional dancing that made its namesake a classic. An American in Paris is performed Tuesday through Sunday (January 17 to 29) at the Fox Theatre (527 North Grand Boulevard; www.fabulousfox.com). Tickets are $25 to $95.
WEDNESDAY 01/18 Singin’ in the Rain If you’re still bummed about Debbie Reynolds’ sudden passing, there’s no better way to fight through the sorrow than by watching her career-making film, Singin’ in the Rain. The musical is a bright, colorful confection about an established star of silent pictures, Don Lockwood (Gene Kelly), falling in love with newcomer Kathy Selden (Reynolds) just as sound is introduced to film. There’s romance, there’s Donald O’Connor at his rubbery, comic best and there’s about a half-dozen classic dance numbers. Fathom Events celebrates Singin’ in the Rain’s 65th anniversary with screenings at 2 p.m. Sunday and 7 p.m. Wednesday (January 18 and 20) at Wehrenberg Ronnies 20 Cine (5320 South Lindbergh Boulevard; www.fathomevents.com). Tickets Planning an event, exhibiting your art or putting on a play? Let us know and we’ll include it in the Night & Day section or publish a listing in the online calendar — for free! Send details via e-mail (calendar@ riverfronttimes.com), fax (314-754-6416) or mail (6358 Delmar Boulevard, Suite 200, St. Louis, MO 63130, attn: Calendar). Include the date, time, price, contact information and location (including ZIP code). Please submit information three weeks prior to the date of your event. No telephone submissions will be accepted. Find more events online at www.riverfronttimes.com.
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FILM
[REVIEW]
The Poetry of Quiet Lives Jim Jarmusch’s Paterson is a paean to life’s small wonders Written by
ROBERT HUNT Paterson
Directed and written by Jim Jarmusch. Starring Adam Driver and Golshifteh Farahani. Opens Friday, January 13, at the Landmark Tivoli Theatre.
S
ome viewers may complain that nothing much happens in Paterson, Jim Jarmusch’s new hymn to everyday life in New Jersey’s third largest city, but they’d be missing the point. The film is like an optical illusion; you have to watch very closely before you notice that what appears to be a stationary image has changed or turned into something entirely new. With its modest settings, deliberate, carefully timed repetitions, and deadpan humor so underplayed that some viewers may not notice it at all, Jarmusch’s warmhearted shaggy-dog story about a seemingly mundane world follows a logic of its own and finds poetry — and not just the written kind — in the loose ends and random interactions of the ordinary world. Paterson’s Everyman hero is a soft-spoken bus driver, also named Paterson, with a secret passion for writing poetry that reflects and acknowledges the pedestrian quality of his life. The film is divided into seven seemingly similar sections. Each begins with Paterson in bed, waiting for his 6 a.m. alarm to go off. He gets up, eats breakfast and walks to work. At night, he stops to observe the Great Falls of the Passaic River, then goes home to admire his wife Laura’s latest monochromatic artistic fancy (she paints blackand-white shower curtains, buys a black-and-white guitar and bakes black-and-white cupcakes). After
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Adam Driver and Golshifteh Farahani share another quiet dinner together. | MARY CYBULSKI / AMAZON STUDIOS & BLEECKER STREET
The spiritual godfather behind all of this is, of course, William Carlos Williams. dinner he walks his remarkably indifferent bulldog, Marvin (the closest thing to a villain that the movie can muster up), and makes a nightly stop at a local tavern where he checks in with his neighbors and discusses famous Paterson residents of the past (Rubin “Hurricane” Carter, Lou Costello, one-half of Sam and Dave). And so it goes, one day after another. But part of the deceptive charm of the film is that Paterson’s daily routine is never entirely the same, and the small details that make up each day — Laura’s blackand-white obsession, the doomed
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romance of two bar patrons, the front yard mailbox that tilts over daily — gradually evolve into narrative elements that are perhaps too subtle to be called payoffs but give the film a sense of an unpredictable yet satisfying logic. The spiritual godfather behind all of this is, of course, another Paterson resident, William Carlos Williams (or as Laura calls him, “Carlos William Carlos”). Another poet with a day job who devoted his literary life to celebrating the ordinary, Williams’ collected writings include a five-volume work chronicling the everyday romance of his hometown. Paterson reveres Williams’ poems and sees him as a spiritual mentor, but I don’t think Jarmusch is trying to suggest that his character is in the same league. It’s not even clear if his poems are supposed to be particularly good. This is not a film in which an unappreciated artist holds forth on his aesthetic purity to an unappreciative world. (If you want that sort of thing, see Ryan Gosling in La La Land.)
Paterson writes poetry, but more importantly, he reads it. It’s his way of filtering the world around him, whether it’s between book covers or coming from his own hand. With his long face and loyal-dog sincerity, Adam Driver is perfect as the seemingly unflappable hero, a man who puts in a day’s work without passing judgment on what it presents. He’s at the center of every scene, absorbing everything around him. When he interacts with the other characters — especially Golshifteh Farahani as his wife, his energetic opposite — you get the sense that Driver is slowly contemplating what he hears, formulating an answer and then keeping it to himself. Jarmusch has written Paterson, New Jersey, as a strange world where schoolchildren discuss anarchy and the local multiplex plays Island of Lost Souls on Saturday night (the 1933 film serves as one of his slow-burning punchlines). Driver provides the human touch, standing at the center holding it all together like n a cosmic straight man.
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THE ARTS
[ S TA G E ]
Sins of the Fathers An explosive new production of All My Sons brings to life Arthur Miller’s first hit play, 70 years after its premiere All My Sons
Written by Arthur Miller. Directed by Seth Gordon. Presented by the Repertory Theatre of St. Louis through January 29 at the Loretto-Hilton Center (130 Edgar Road; www.repstl.org). Tickets $18 to $81.50.
W
hen All My Sons opens, enough time has passed since the end of World War II that America has seemingly returned to normalcy. Joe and Kate Keller’s backyard is back to being the social hub of the neighborhood; their son Chris has been discharged and now works for the family business. But this sense of normalcy is a lie. All of the neighbors know that Joe barely escaped a prison sentence for his company’s role in manufacturing defective engine cylinders, which led to the death of 21 American pilots during the war, and Chris still suffers from an undiagnosed case of post-traumatic stress disorder brought on by the loss of his entire company. On top of all that, Kate refuses to accept that her oldest son Larry, who has been declared MIA, is most likely dead. When Chris invites Larry’s old girlfriend Ann for a visit, he sets his family on course to uncover every ugly truth behind their happy facade. Arthur Miller plaits these strands together to create a fraught drama about lies, honor, personal responsibility, morality and love in All My Sons, and then he rips them apart. The play premiered just two years after the war ended, but Repertory Theatre of St. Louis’ production (now through January 29) feels so new and shocking that you’d swear Miller’s ink was still wet on the page. Even if you know
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Chris (Patrick Bell) and Ann (Mairin Lee) discuss what the future holds. | JERRY NAUNHEIM, JR.
Director Seth Gordon has a remarkable facility for convincing you that a false ending is in fact the real ending, even when you know it’s not. from previous productions how the Kellers’ world falls apart, the end is still a short, sharp shock that stings because it changes nothing. John Woodson brings Joe Keller to laughing, boisterous life, making him likable even as his true nature is revealed. He’s a grade school drop-out who has built a successful
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company partially through his bluff charm. With that success, he’s given Chris (Patrick Ball) a better life. He’s also unwittingly created a gulf between them. Chris is collegeeducated, and his vocabulary and his idealism both confuse Joe. Ball plays Chris as a man who stands simultaneously in the future — his plan is to propose to Ann (Mairin Lee) during her visit — and in the past, where his dead soldiers forever remain. “They didn’t die — they killed themselves for each other,” he explains to Ann, trying to make her understand how lost he feels in a world where new cars matter more than the sacrifices made by his generation. And then there’s Kate. Margaret Daly finds Kate’s own nobility in her loyalty to her lost son, but also shows flashes of a seemingly unbreakable will. She refuses to listen to Chris’ pleas that she accept Larry’s death and sharply rebukes his talk of starting a relationship with Ann. It’s Ann’s father who was found guilty of approving those faulty engine parts, and he’s still
serving his sentence. Besides, in Kate’s mind, Ann is Larry’s girl. And so something must give. The arrival of Ann’s brother George (Zac Hoogendyk) signals the emptying of the Keller’s backyard — this time for good. Director Seth Gordon has a remarkable facility for convincing you that a false ending is in fact the real ending, even when you know it’s not. There is a brief period of quiet that feels like a happy conclusion. All the darkest secrets are still shrouded, and then George tells Kate, “I never felt at home anywhere but here.” He’s the only honest man in town, but the Kellers are not a family that deals with the truth. Hoogendyk’s quiet, contented delivery of the line is a soft hammer that breaks the night wide open. Those planes cannot be uncrashed, Chris’ comrades cannot be unsacrificed and no bullet can be unfired. Being good should matter more than being greedy, but the truth is that most people aren’t heroic. They’re just people, fallible and prone to making bad decisions, and no dose n of truth can change that.
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Highlights at the Stellar Hog include the half-pound burger, served with “Rib Jam” and pit beans. | MABEL SUEN [REVIEW]
Some Pig The new barbecue joint inside Super’s Bungalow, the Stellar Hog, is as good as its name Written by
CHERYL BAEHR The Stellar Hog
5623 Leona Street; 314-481-8448. Fri.-Sat. 11 a.m.-8 p.m.; Sun. 11 a.m.-6 p.m. (Closed Monday-Thursday.)
S
everal years ago, my former boss was entertaining an outof-town colleague who had just one request for his time in our fair city. “I have to try that St. Louis barbecue,” he insisted. “I’ve
heard you have some of the best.” He was right. St. Louis does indeed have some outstanding barbecue places — so many that it seems like a month seldom goes by without the RFT touting yet another smokehouse. We have the Memphis-style institutions that put us on the map, a topnotch spot for Texas brisket and everything in between. I could take him to any of those places and blow him away. I don’t think that’s what he wanted, though, and frankly, that’s what perplexed me and my boss. Was he looking for the rectangularshaped spare ribs that bear our city’s name but are relegated to drum-shaped smokers in church parking lots? Would he prefer a Maull’s-soaked pork steak cooked in someone’s south city backyard? Sure, St. Louis is a barbecue city, but St. Louis-style barbecue — that’s surprisingly hard to pin down.
If he came back today, though, I’d know exactly what to do. I’d pick him up from Lambert, head south to the corner of Bates and Leona, and belly up to the bar at Super’s Bungalow, the Holly Hills institution that may as well be the template for St. Louis’ innumerable old-school dive bars. Under the yellowed light of a smoke-stained Clydesdale Budweiser sign, I’d pass him the small cardstock menu for the under-the-radar, weekendsonly barbecue restaurant now embedded inside the bar, the Stellar Hog, and tell him to order one of everything. Then we’d crack open a few Busch heavies, talk politics with the union guys in the corner and play “Panama” on the jukebox. And when that glorious meat extravaganza hit the table, we’d be clear on one thing: This is what we mean by St. Louis-style barbecue. Super’s may be a nearly 90-yearold institution, but the outstanding riverfronttimes.com
barbecue coming out of its kitchen, courtesy of the Stellar Hog, is a recent addition. Last March, former Adam’s Smokehouse pitmaster Alex Cupp and his father bought the property with a plan to turn it into a bona fide barbecue destination. Cupp’s intention was not to close Super’s in favor of the Stellar Hog; instead, he sees himself as a steward of the historic bar, albeit one who just upped its culinary profile. He’s renovated the bathrooms, given the place a facelift and is in the process of redoing the kitchen, but it’s still Super’s through and through. “Some nights, we have three generations of regulars in here sitting at the bar,” Cupp said when he took over the space. “I’m not going to change that. I’m just going to do my barbecue project out of here.” That “barbecue project” represents a mingling of Cupp’s two culinary worlds. The south city
JANUARY 11-17, 2017
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STELLAR HOG Continued from pg 30 native got his start in the kitchen in St. Louis’ country club scene, training under acclaimed chef Chris Desens at the Racquet Club Ladue. There, he learned classical techniques to create upscale cuisine for the white tablecloth set. It’s also where he worked with my husband — which leads to this disclosure: I’ve known Cupp for several years now, and he recognized me on my visits, though presumably he didn’t know I was there for a review. Cupp had his eye on becoming a fine-dining chef, but after several years at the club he was hungry for a change. He wasn’t sure what form it would take, though, until he saw the sign on Watson for Adam’s Smokehouse and went inside to ask for a job. As he learned the tricks of the barbecue trade from the city’s best — Mike Emerson and Skip Steele of Pappy’s fame — he realized he had both the passion and the knack for the art of smoking meat. With the Stellar Hog, Cupp finally has his own venue to show off his skills — and man, does he have skills. Pulled pork, infused with fruitwood smoke that underscores its sweetness, is so succulent, its juices are sauce enough. If you’re so inclined, however, Cupp’s smoky, mustard-forward Carolinainfluenced sauce is an ideal accompaniment. The mustard’s gentle tang cuts through the rich pork flavor, giving it just a touch of bite. Cupp’s meaty pork ribs are among the best in town, with forktender meat that slides off the bone with almost no prodding. The rub is simple and slightly sweet with a touch of warm spice; when it mingles with the rendered fat that slicks the bottom of the plate, it’s stupendous.
Chef Alex Cupp’s spectacular smoked beef brisket will put him on the map. | MABEL SUEN His brisket, too, is positively sublime. I’m a stickler for this cut, and rarely do I find a place that satisfies my impossibly high standards. Cupp’s sends me into an orgiastic stupor. The thick strips of marbled meat are cooked to the point where they get that beautiful, pull-apart crumble that would bring a tear to a Texan’s eye. The fatty edge, infused with black pepper and salt, caramelizes and forms a butter-
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like texture that makes you wonder why in God’s name anyone would ever ask for a lean cut. This brisket will put Cupp on the map. Smoked whole wings have such a delicate sweetness, I’d swear they were dipped in honey. The interior meat is juicy; the outside skin is akin to a crackling or the crisped skin on a really good Peking duck. The burger is equally worthwhile — a thick, char-kissed patty that
evokes the quintessential backyardgrilled burger. Cupp brushes the meat with garlicky butter and dresses it simply with lettuce, tomato, onion and pickle. It’s perfect in its simplicity. When Cupp first conceptualized the Stellar Hog, he emphasized his commitment to well-executed side dishes — something he feels have often been an afterthought at other smokehouses. His mac and cheese exemplifies this, though calling it by such a casual name seems insulting. Its luxurious texture, like a velvety mornay sauce, harkens back to Cupp’s fine dining days. There isn’t a creamier version around. He’s put just as much thought into his pit beans. Vinegar-forward tomato sauce is enriched with molasses flavor; hunks of brisket and pan drippings fortify the beans, giving them a deep, smoky undertone. Those same brisket pieces make an appearance in Cupp’s chili. The hearty beef and bean concoction is so thick I ate it with a fork — that is, when I wasn’t smothering my fries in it. I’d put this up against any chili in town. I could eat that chili every day of the week and not tire of it. Perhaps it’s a good thing, then, that the Stellar Hog is currently open only on the weekends. Cupp has plans to expand the hours, though for now he insists he’s not ready: His cooking, he says, is not yet where he wants to be. If you ask me, that’s the only thing he’s wrong about when it comes the Stellar Hog. This unassuming St. Louis smokehouse is not just ready for prime time — it’s defining St. Louis-style barbecue in a whole n new way. The Stellar Hog
Ribs (full slab) ���������������������������������� $24 Smoked beef brisket (per pound) ���� $16 Smoked brisket chili ���������������������������$6
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Farmtruk’s Samantha Mitchell Loves the Freedom of the Road Written by
CHERYL BAEHR Samantha Mitchell’s food truck success gives her time for family. | CHERYL BAEHR
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amantha Mitchell was only ten years old when she found herself in the restaurant business. “My grandma owned a restaurant in the Ozarks called Annie’s Cozy Kitchen,” Mitchell recalls. “It was a small country restaurant and everything was homemade. She’d have us peel potatoes and stuff. I was a ten-year-old waiting tables.” Mitchell never strayed from the business, taking on her first “real” job at sixteen at Subway. It didn’t last too long, though. “I got fired after only a few months for giving away free subs,” she laughs. “What can I say? I liked boys.” In need of a new job, Mitchell got a gig hostessing at Macaroni Grill. One day, they were short-staffed in the kitchen. Mitchell, now the owner of the Farmtruk food truck and a rising star in the St. Louis food scene, pitched in — and never looked back. “I felt at home in the kitchen. I’m not a stereotypical girl and never really felt like I fit in anywhere,” Mitchell explains. “I was the only girl in kitchen and I loved it — the vulgarity and intensity and not being judged. For the first time I realized that people don’t give a fuck about anything other than how good you do and how good you can cook and if you’re able to clean and do the grunt work. It made me realize it’s a respect thing. I was sold at sixteen.”
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Mitchell enrolled in culinary school immediately after high school. She left Missouri for Idaho after she finished the program, working as a sous chef at a wine bar called Nectar. The experience opened up Mitchell to the concept of hyper-seasonal, farm-to-table cooking that would become her philosophy. After moving back to Missouri, Mitchell made her way to Annie Gunn’s, where she worked for seven years, first as a sous chef for catering, then as the restaurant’s overall sous chef. However, when she got married and had her daughter, she began to question whether a life in the kitchen was right for her and her family. “Being a chef is a pretty selfish career,” Mitchell says. “You give up your family and friends and things that you want to do — and you love it and it’s worth it. When you have a kid, though, things change.” Mitchell had fallen in love with food trucks in Idaho and was excited by the freedom they could bring to her career. She found an old van on Craigslist, and she and her husband converted it into the roving farm-totable concept Farmtruk. “The love we have gotten from people is wonderful,” Mitchell says. “I love going to different venues and seeing people get excited because
JANUARY 11-17, 2017
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they have been wanting to try our food. I’ve been able to get my food out and educate them on what we do.” Mitchell took a break from the truck — and her new Farmtruk catering operation — to share her thoughts on the St. Louis food and beverage scene, her love of IPA and why, when in doubt, you should always put an egg on it. What is one thing people don’t know about you that you wish they did? I am pretty much an open book, but some people may not know that even though I can be tough, I am a bleeding heart and a lover of everyone and everything. What daily ritual is non-negotiable for you? Coffee is most certainly non-negotiable. Honestly, I cannot remember the last time I didn’t have at least one cup in a day. If you could have any superpower, what would it be? I wish having a tail like an avatar could be a superpower, because it would be super rad, but just in case it isn’t, I would probably be invisible so I could creep up on people. What is the most positive thing in food, wine or cocktails that you’ve noticed in St. Louis over the past year? The caliber of chefs is on the rise.
This generation of up-and-coming chefs is going to take our food scene to the next level. What is something missing in the local food, wine or cocktail scene that you’d like to see? An indoor market focused on the best of the best of local food, art and small business. A central hub for all things awesome in St. Louis. Who is your St. Louis food crush? Bob Brazell [of Byrd & Barrel] is so awesome. Everything that comes from this dude is killer, from his restaurant concepts to his staff and of course his delicious food. Plus we use the same farmers. Who’s the one person to watch right now in the St. Louis dining scene? Jesse Mendica of Olive + Oak, for sure. She is an extremely smart and talented chef. There is no stopping her. I have looked up to her for years, and to watch her success is inspiring for me. Which ingredient is most representative of your personality? Most certainly eggs. When in doubt, put an egg on it! If you weren’t working in the restaurant business, what would you be doing? Who knows? This is all that I have ever done. I’m a sucker for this crazy business, but probably something in the arts where I could have creative freedom. I could never, ever have a desk job. Name an ingredient never allowed in your kitchen. Any type of processed cheese product. “American cheese” is a no no in my kitchen. I know it tastes good, but it just is not cheese. What is your after-work hangout? Home mostly. I love spending time with my husband and daughter. I do tend to make a pit stop by Olive + Oak once a week or so to “catch up on emails.” Haha. What’s your food or beverage guilty pleasure? I am an IPA kind of chick for sure, so a good beer makes me happy. What would be your last meal on earth? I would say a big bowl of seafood pho. There is nothing better. The warm broth is so comforting, and the crunchy vegetables and fresh herbs are something I crave on the n regular.
[FIRST LOOK]
Crave Brings ‘Street Food’ to Wash Ave Written by
SARAH FENSKE
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picy popcorn chicken, served with drawn butter on the side. Mozzarella sticks crusted with Spicy Nacho Doritos. Even a “Wu-Tang Spliff ” — cream cheese lightly fried in a crepe, lumpia style, with pickled papaya slaw and banana dipping sauce. You could call the small bites they’re serving at Crave (2605 Washington Avenue, 314-696-8480) stoner food — or you could just marvel at the fun the kitchen is having. Either works. The good times extend far beyond the appetizers. Breakfast comes in a cup and is served all the way up to closing time — you start with three eggs scrambled with potatoes, a blend of chihuahua and cheddar cheese, peppers and onions — and from there you can add just about anything you desire: steak, bacon, turkey, roasted red peppers, smoked jalapeños. Or try the chicken and pancakes, a riff on the classic chicken and waffles, which come tossed with dark rum syrup. The fast-casual eatery, located just one block west of downtown at Jefferson and Washington, is the brainchild of Dave Holman and Chris Ayala. Holman is responsible for the restaurant’s sassy look, which seems absolutely ready to be replicated soon in a neighborhood near you. Ayala, formerly the sous chef at Scottish Arms and then smokemaster at its sister restaurant the Shaved Duck, has created the menu and serves as chef. Born in Mexico City and raised in a food-loving family in Alton, Illinois, he’s excited about the food they’re serving. “It’s really all about the food,” Ayala says. “We want people from all walks of life to come in here and be comfortable — to make it the spot they go before they go to the City Museum or a show at the Fox — and to get off that beaten path slightly.”
Clockwise from top: The “Wild Salmon Phatada” includes baked salmon and whipped feta in a lightly fried flatbread, while a poke cup combines fresh tuna, cucumber and avocado. Chef and co-owner Chris Ayala says his spot is for “people who love good food.” | PHOTOS BY SARAH FENSKE And by that he means not just heading a few blocks from the main dining districts on Wash Ave or in Grand Center to find his restaurant, but also to try the intriguing new dishes on offer. Chief among them is the restaurant’s proudest invention, the “phatada.” Depending on who you talk to, it’s either a wrapped up tostada or a lightly fried burrito — with flatbread that’s slightly thicker than the usual tortilla, stuffed with meats, cheeses and vegetables and then given a quick, light fry in peanut oil. The result is a wrapper sturdy enough for everything from baked salmon to a classic Cuban. It’s no mere
gimmick; while the name is new, Ayala says he’s been perfecting his technique since his days at the Scottish Arms, when he made something akin to phatadas for hungry coworkers. Yo u c a n a l s o g e t c l a s s i c quesadillas here, or the poke bowls beloved on the West Coast — only at Crave they’re served in cups, on a bed of warm sushi rice. Nachos are loaded and come with steak, turkey, chicken, pork or shrimp. And if you’re feeling thirsty, two agua frescas are on offer, served slushie-style: one watermelon, the other papaya. You can also try up to a half-dozen flavored lemonades. riverfronttimes.com
Nothing on the menu is more than $8 — an achievement in light of Ayala’s commitment to making things in-house. “This has a fast-casual motif, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that it’s a chef-designed menu,” he says proudly. “It’s for people who love good food. We want people to be able to point their finger and say, ‘That’s exactly what I was craving.’” Currently, Crave is open Monday through Friday from 11 a.m. to 10 p.m. and Saturday from 5 to 10 p.m. Eventually, Ayala says, they hope to add late-night hours, with food available until 4 a.m. six days a week. See n cravestl.com for more details.
JANUARY 11-17, 2017
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Mon - Fri: 10AM - 9PM Sat - Sun: 9AM - 9PM latejanataqueria.com The first St. Louis outpost of a Nashville change, I Love Juice Bar offers smoothies, juices and acai bowls. | EMILY MCCARTER [FIRST LOOK]
T
I Love Juice Bar Opens in Rock Hill
hink there aren’t enough options for healthy eating in St. Louis? I Love Juice Bar (9849 Manchester Road, Rock Hill) will challenge that perception. The juice and smoothie bar — the first St. Louis location of a national franchise — offers vegetarian, gluten-free and organic (when possible) meal alternatives in the forms of juices, smoothies, juice shots, soups, sandwiches and small bites. Carolyn Dowd and John Brunner opened the Rock Hill location on December 1, 2016. “We fell in love with the menu and the concept of fresh fruits and vegetables, no added sugars, no preservatives, nothing fake,” says Dowd. “There’s nowhere in St. Louis that dedicates itself to this concept. You can go to a cafe that has a juicer, but it’s not a juice bar.” A Nashville couple started I Love Juice Bar in 2013. It’s already grown to 35 franchise locations around the U.S. The brand uses a centrifugal juicer to process whole fruits and vegetables. Other healthy ingredients, such as almond milk, raw cacao powder, acai puree, chia seeds, hemp seeds and plant-based protein
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WHITEHALL PLAZA : 3149 N Lindbergh Blvd, 314-291-8500
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powder are added to the beverages to achieve a healthy and delicious snack or meal. “We don’t use any ice, we don’t use any cheap fillers. We’re all about the nutrition,” explains Dowd. The 1,700-square-foot space radiates good vibes and healthy living with bright green walls, barn wood tables and succulent plants. “I hope that people realize that this is a place where people can go to get healthy, or if they’re already healthy, to help them stay healthy,” says Dowd. “People can come to grab lunch, grab breakfast, grab a quick dinner — we’re open until 6:30 p.m. We’re the only place in town that you can get a good acai bowl.” The juice bar handcrafts everything — every juice, food and sauce is made in-house, with products purchased from locally based Sun Farm. “We taste every single juice that comes out of here to make sure that it has the right flavor profile so that it tastes the same every time you get it,” says Dowd. Opening the store was an impulse decision turned passion project. Dowd was working in operations for a non-profit when she and Brunner decided to bring their idea to life.
JANUARY 11-17, 2017
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After a year and a half of planning, the store finally opened its doors. Bestsellers at I Love Juice Bar are the acai bowl (acai puree, banana and organic almond milk, topped with granola, almond butter, strawberries, blueberries, banana, chia seeds, hemp seeds, coconut flakes, cacao nibs, goji berries, bee pollen and local honey) and the green smoothie (spinach, kale, pineapple, banana, lemon, organic coconut milk, organic apple juice). Prices range from $2 to $11.75. Most small juices and smoothies are $6. Juice cleanses are also available; however, Dowd encourages customers to come in and discuss their health needs and wants before starting a cleanse. “I think of food as medicine. It can be the reason you’re healthy or the reason you’re sick,” says Dowd. “We’re a place to go to help you get healthy, and use food as medicine. But we can do the basic things too — there’s room for a Smoothie King customer at Juice Bar.” Hours are Monday through Friday 7 a.m. to 6:30 p.m., Saturday from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m., and Sunday from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. — Emily McCarter
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3.18 SON VOLT
2.17 STING 2.24 & 2.25 CELEBRATION DAY: A TRIBUTE TO LED ZEPPELIN 3.1 ST. PAUL & THE BROKEN BONES
3.23 SOUTHERN SOUL ASSEMBLY 3.27 BRING ME THE HORIZON 4.1 DARK STAR ORCHESTRA
visit us online for complete show information facebook.com/ThePageantSTL
@ThePageantSTL
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thepageant.com // 6161 delmar blvd. / St. Louis, MO 63112 // 314.726.6161
38
RIVERFRONT TIMES
JANUARY 11-17, 2017
riverfronttimes.com
MUSIC
39
[ R E TA I L ]
For the Record Music Record Shop prepares to open its new location in the .ZACK building at Grand Center Written by
DANIEL HILL
W
hen Music Record Shop fell victim to an overnight burglary at its Washington Avenue location in midDecember, owner Mark Carter didn’t spend much time dwelling on the smashed storefront or the fact that the perpetrator, confusingly, stole nothing but a single set of headphones. In fact, within a day of receiving the 5 a.m. phone call informing him of the incident, Carter was already setting out for greener pastures. “When we got the phone call, we were gone the next day,” Carter says. But Carter wasn’t driven from the location by the crime. He was already driven — by an ambitious plan to take his record store to the next level. The break-in just moved his timeline up a little. Even before the incident, Carter had secured a spot in the .ZACK building, the new multi-use space in Grand Center (previously home to Plush) that includes an arts incubator, music venue, theater and more, operated by the Kranzberg Arts Foundation. The store’s location in a Kranzbergowned building on Washington Avenue was always meant to be temporary, to allow renovations to the .ZACK space. Clad in a black hooded sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, Carter is chatty as he shows off his store’s new space, which sprawls across two floors of the .ZACK building. The record shop has come a long way since its August 2014 opening in the Grove, rapidly outgrowing its original home’s 1,100 square feet and amassing an unwieldy
Music Record Shop owner Mark Carter, vinyl superfan, in the store’s new Locust Street location. | DANIEL HILL collection of records in the process. “It was a smaller store, and we really wanted to get all the vinyl under one roof, because we had it at storage units all over — I had three or four different storage units just full of vinyl,” Carter says. His salt-and-pepper hair reveals his age (48) much more than his demeanor; as he speaks, he’s a flurry of ideas and dreams delivered with youthful fervor and hope. “I needed a place where I could just get it all under one roof, take a look at it and start assessing what we have. Because, you know, we just kept buying.” Music Record Shop takes up a little more than 3,500 square feet of the new building’s 40,000 total. The retail area will ultimately be located on the second floor (currently it’s on the third, while construction continues downstairs). Also on the third floor are offices, an allpurpose room with a table and kitchenette meant for hosting artist signings or similar small events, and a room stacked floor to ceiling with unprocessed records waiting
to be sorted and priced. The doors haven’t yet opened for business — the store’s soft opening is slated for January 17 — and already Carter is surrounded by vinyl and wondering if his inventory requires even more space. “We’re talking about taking space down in the basement and caging it off so we can just leave raw stock down there, because we’re looking at — I think, sleeve-wise, I’ve got an order in for 100,000 of just outer sleeves,” he explains. “You times that by ten, that’s a shitload of boxes and weight. And, you know, where are we going to put it?” Music Record Shop’s vast collection is sourced from a combination of overseas and domestic distributors, in addition to Carter’s fondness for buying up massive used record collections whenever he gets the chance. Carl Daniels, one of Carter’s employees, is still sorting through the more than 5,000 records purchased in the summer of 2015 from a woman who inherited them from a local DJ. In the old shop, it was riverfronttimes.com
hard to sort such bulk purchases efficiently. Now that they have the room to spread out, they’re finally discovering what they have. “Yeah, we found Michael Jackson promos,” Carter says with a grin. “Carl will come out every now and then and he’s just like, ‘I can’t believe we have this.’” Music Record Shop’s collection is so large, in fact, that Carter uses his stock to supply other record stores across the country. He estimates there are 20 to 30 retail stores he can contact who would buy stock “right away.” His store originated as an online distributer, and that portion of the business remains quite strong. Another employee, Phil Tucker, attends to that, quietly sitting at a computer and thumbing through records. The setup is the secret to Carter’s success. With distribution channels across the world, Music Record Shop is able to make the ease of online shopping work for the brick-and-mortar, rather than against it.
JANUARY 11-17, 2017
Continued on pg 40
RIVERFRONT TIMES
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MUSIC RECORD SHOP Continued from pg 39
Get in The Grove for exciting Drinking, Dining, Dancing, & Shopping!
January Burger of the Month: “The Blazing Saddles Burger”
1/3 lb. Local Beef Patty, Elk and Stag Cowboy Chili, Melted Cheddar, Diced Onions, Brioche Bun.
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FOOD
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40
RIVERFRONT TIMES
JANUARY 11-17, 2017
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Prior to setting up shop in St. Louis, beginning some twenty years ago, Carter worked in Los Angeles as vice president of sales at New World Digital, a packaging company that initially primarily serviced contracts from the U.S. Government Publishing Office before securing a deal with Warner Bros., which thrust the staff suddenly into the music business. Carter found his calling. But by 2012, he recognized that the industry was changing with the decline of physical media. The surest way to adapt, he believed, was to begin importing records from overseas and setting up his own distribution channels. He packed up and moved to St. Louis, starting what would ultimately become Music Record Shop as an online distributor. His former employer’s practice of securing contracts to everything from government work to a major entertainment conglomerate’s CDs and DVDs taught Carter the importance of staying diversified — of making sure that if one side of the business suddenly tanks, other aspects are capable of keeping the ship afloat. Even today, he sees that approach as a key to long-term success. “We have a whole accessories side of the business that we’re doing. We’ve started to manufacture inner sleeves, outer sleeves, anti-static sleeves, ten-inch, seven-inch, twelveinch — we’re shipping that stuff now worldwide and buying in bulk, and we just need space,” he explains. “We’re getting into licensing music also, so we’re starting to import more music. We’re talking with [Netherlands-based record label] Music on Vinyl about taking on their catalog to bring it on for a licensing deal here in the States. So we’ll see what happens.” When Carter is asked about his five-year plan for the business, Tucker interjects with a simple goal: “Pay Phil more money.” Carter laughs and agrees. “Phil needs a big raise. It’s definitely get these guys more money,” he says of Daniels, Tucker and fellow employee Daniel Sexauer, who is manning the register today. “I mean the biggest thing — it’s all these guys.” When pressed about the future, though, the ever-driven Carter flashes a coy smile. “You have to turn the recorder off for that.” n
HOMESPUN
41
OTHER PEOPLE Other Songs (otherpeoplestl.bandcamp.com)
J
eremy Goldmeier and Bob McMahon are life-long friends, former college roommates and, in Other People, coleaders of a pop-leaning rock trio. Yet despite these many connections, the two approach songwriting from different angles. McMahon writes slightly detached narratives built around smart, unflashy guitar patterns, while Goldmeier’s forceful piano and emotive delivery suggest a more theatrical direction. On the just-released Other Songs, these bandmates don’t so much split the difference as run in diverging directions. “Some people say we’re two bands in one, and it’s hard to disagree on some level,” says McMahon, who is also an occasional contributor to the Riverfront Times. “Bob and I have known each other since we were infants,” says Goldmeier. “We went to preschool together, and we serendipitously wound up going to college together — we wound up in the same dorm and eventually wound up in the same dorm room. We formed this musical hive-mind where we listened to the same stuff and shared records with each other. So that informs everything we do, I think. The sensibility is very similar between the two of us even though we have different approaches to it. “There’s a bit of telepathy there that comes from knowing someone for so long,” continues Goldmeier. “When we’re collaborating, we bring the songs mostly complete to the group, but there is a collaborative element there; we know each other and are able to enhance what the other does.” “We’ve always been best friends so it just seemed natural to do this once he started playing music and we started playing together,” says McMahon. At first the duo began gigging around town and playing open mic nights — then, as now, each member would handle drumming duties when the other was singing lead. Goldmeier notes that, as a pair, they had “a rather thin” sound. Enter A.J. Lane on bass, who serves not only as the connective tissue between a band with a rotating drum throne but as producer and engineer on these dozen tracks. His melodic bass runs give some power-pop body to songs like “Truth and Beauty” and “The World May Change,” two Goldmeier compositions that close the album with some of the bounce and verve found on the first few Ben Folds Five albums. As Mizzou students in the early 2000s, McMahon and Goldmeier bonded over some of the rising stars of indie rock — Spoon, the Shins, Of Montreal — as well as legacy acts like the Kinks and Elvis Costello. Goldmeier credits those last two artists for “the observational stuff, the wry sense of humor” that comes through on Other People’s songs. One of McMahon’s contributions, “Medical Benefits,” most clearly fits that mold, presenting a story-song of class, sex and vice in the manner of Squeeze
or XTC. “I remember reading some article once about med students in Britain who were paying their way through school with prostitution,” recalls McMahon. “It sounds pretentious, but it seemed like a juxtaposition of the high and low of society — I just thought that was an interesting thing to write about.” The track stands out as Goldmeier’s favorite McMahon-penned song on the album. “I think it’s a different sound for us. When he first played it for me I thought of Elvis Costello’s Imperial Bedroom. I could imagine it being orchestrated and having a tympani in there. It has a different feel from a lot of our material in general — it’s a little more herky-jerky and intricate rhythmically.” The tracks on Other Songs date back several years — initial recording for the album began more than two years ago, and was completed in fits and starts. Several of Goldmeier’s songs date from his stint as a journalist at a daily newspaper in Abilene, Texas (he returned to St. Louis in 2012). He wrote songs on a hand-me-down keyboard in his spare time, and the culture shock of working in what he calls an “arch-conservative town” added grist to his lyrics. “A lot of those songs came from generally being dissatisfied and alone — the emo stuff,” Goldmeier says with a laugh. “I felt like a fish out of water and I had a lot of pent-up creative energy and frustration that fed some of those songs. How do we as individuals influence the societal whole? That probably came from that general mood.” Other People plans on gigging more aggressively in 2017 than in years past and seems to have no shortage of material for another full-length. McMahon and Goldmeier’s relationship all but guarantees more new songs. “There is definitely a friendly rivalry that has been there since the earliest days of the group,” says Goldmeier. “Bob will send me something and I’ll want to top it. I’m sure the feeling is mutual.” –Christian Schaeffer riverfronttimes.com
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RIVERFRONT TIMES
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43
MUSIC LISTINGS THURSDAY 12
SPLIT LIP RAYFIELD: 10 p.m., $20. Old Rock
p.m., $10-$12. Old Rock House, 1200 S. 7th St.,
SUNDAY 15
BUG CHASER: 9 p.m., free. Off Broadway, 3509
House, 1200 S. 7th St., St. Louis, 314-588-0505.
St. Louis, 314-588-0505.
G. LOVE & SPECIAL SAUCE: 8 p.m., $25. The
OVERCOATS: 8 p.m., $10-$12. The Ready Room,
Ready Room, 4195 Manchester Ave, St. Louis,
4195 Manchester Ave, St. Louis, 314-833-3929.
314-833-3929.
Lemp Ave., St. Louis, 314-773-3363. IVAS JOHN & BRIAN CURRAN: 7 p.m., $5. BB’s
SATURDAY 14
Jazz, Blues & Soups, 700 S. Broadway, St. Louis,
ANAT COHEN QUARTET: 8 p.m., $25-$40. The
ROLAND JOHNSON: 8 p.m., $7. Beale on Broad-
GINA SICILIA BAND: 6 p.m., $10. BB’s Jazz, Blues
314-436-5222.
Sheldon, 3648 Washington Blvd., St. Louis,
way, 701 S. Broadway, St. Louis, 314-621-7880.
& Soups, 700 S. Broadway, St. Louis, 314-436-
JOE METZKA BAND: 10 p.m., $5. BB’s Jazz, Blues
314-533-9900.
SHARK DAD: w/ The Ottomen 8 p.m., $7. The
5222.
& Soups, 700 S. Broadway, St. Louis, 314-436-
BILLY PEEK: 7 p.m., free. Hwy 61 Roadhouse
Heavy Anchor, 5226 Gravois Ave., St. Louis,
LOVE JONES “THE BAND”: 9 p.m., $10. BB’s Jazz,
5222.
and Kitchen, 34 S Old Orchard Ave, Webster
314-352-5226.
Blues & Soups, 700 S. Broadway, St. Louis, 314-
KIM MASSIE: 10:30 p.m., $10. Beale on Broad-
Groves, 314-968-0061.
SIMS: 8 p.m., $15. Blueberry Hill - The Duck
436-5222.
way, 701 S. Broadway, St. Louis, 314-621-7880.
DANBURY STREET: 6 p.m., free. Howard’s in Sou-
Room, 6504 Delmar Blvd., University City, 314-
SOUL REUNION: 10:30 p.m., $7. Beale on Broad-
KIRRA: w/ Days Of Heaven, The Crowned, 1818
lard, 2732 S 13th St, St. Louis, 314-349-2850.
727-4444.
way, 701 S. Broadway, St. Louis, 314-621-7880.
6 p.m., $10-$12. Fubar, 3108 Locust St, St.
DIARRHEA PLANET: w/ Bruiser Queen, The Wil-
SMOOTH HOUND SMITH: w/ the Sleepy Rubies 8
STREET STATUS EMPIRE IV: 7 p.m., $25. The Fire-
Louis, 314-289-9050.
derness 8 p.m., free. Delmar Hall, 6133 Delmar
p.m., $10-$12. Off Broadway, 3509 Lemp Ave.,
bird, 2706 Olive St., St. Louis, 314-535-0353.
SEVYN STREETER: 8 p.m., $20-$65. The Firebird,
Blvd., St. Louis, 314-726-6161.
St. Louis, 314-773-3363.
WINTER CLASSIC: w/ Indeed We Digress,
2706 Olive St., St. Louis, 314-535-0353.
FLAW: w/ Chrysalis 7 p.m., $13-$15. The Fire-
SOUTHERN AVENUE: 10:30 p.m., $10. Beale on
Seashine, Bike Path 8 p.m., $5. San Loo, 3211
SPORTS: w/ Lavender, Scribble 7 p.m., $8.
bird, 2706 Olive St., St. Louis, 314-535-0353.
Broadway, 701 S. Broadway, St. Louis, 314-621-
Cherokee St., St. Louis, 314-696-2888.
Fubar, 3108 Locust St, St. Louis, 314-289-9050.
LARRY GRIFFIN & ERIC MCSPADDEN: 7 p.m., $5.
7880.
YOUNG DOLPH: 8 p.m., $32-$52. The Pageant,
TORTOISE: w/ Hope & Therapy 8 p.m., $18-$20.
BB’s Jazz, Blues & Soups, 700 S. Broadway, St.
WINTER WOLVES: A BENEFIT FOR THE ENDAN-
6161 Delmar Blvd., St. Louis, 314-726-6161.
Old Rock House, 1200 S. 7th St., St. Louis, 314-
Louis, 314-436-5222.
GERED WOLF CENTER: w/ Vimur, Malas, FaithX-
588-0505.
MARQUISE KNOX BAND: 10 p.m., $10. BB’s Jazz,
tractor, Stonehaven, Terranaut, Cryptic Hymn,
MONDAY 16
VESPERTEEN: 7 p.m., $10. Cicero’s, 6691 Delmar
Blues & Soups, 700 S. Broadway, St. Louis, 314-
Nucleus, Emaciation, Cycle of Ruin, Daeva,
LUKAS GRAHAM: 8 p.m., $26.50. The Pageant,
Blvd., University City, 314-862-0009.
436-5222.
Animated Dead, Xaemora 6 p.m., $15. Fubar,
6161 Delmar Blvd., St. Louis, 314-726-6161.
WORD OF MOUTH: 10 p.m., free. Pop’s Blue
MVSTERMIND: w/ Anthony Lucius, Looprat 9
3108 Locust St, St. Louis, 314-289-9050.
MUSIC UNLIMITED: 8 p.m., $5. BB’s Jazz, Blues
Moon, 5249 Pattison Ave., St. Louis, 314-776-
& Soups, 700 S. Broadway, St. Louis, 314-436-
4200.
FRIDAY 13
5222.
[CRITIC’S PICK]
SOULARD BLUES BAND: 9 p.m., $5. Broadway Oyster Bar, 736 S. Broadway, St. Louis, 314621-8811.
AARON GRIFFIN: 8 p.m., $7. Beale on Broadway, 701 S. Broadway, St. Louis, 314-621-7880. BIG MIKE AND THE BLUE CITY ALL STARS: 10:30
TUESDAY 17
p.m., $7. Beale on Broadway, 701 S. Broadway,
IKE REILLY: 8 p.m., $12. Off Broadway, 3509
St. Louis, 314-621-7880.
Lemp Ave., St. Louis, 314-773-3363.
BIG THIEF: w/ Sam Evian 8 p.m., $10. The Ready
KIM MASSIE: 10:30 p.m., $10. Beale on Broad-
Room, 4195 Manchester Ave, St. Louis, 314-
way, 701 S. Broadway, St. Louis, 314-621-7880.
833-3929.
RYLEY WALKER: 8 p.m., $12. Blueberry Hill - The
CIRCLE THE WAGONS: w/ The Lucky Dutch,
Duck Room, 6504 Delmar Blvd., University City,
Vya 8 p.m., $10. Cicero’s, 6691 Delmar Blvd.,
314-727-4444.
University City, 314-862-0009.
ST. LOUIS SOCIAL CLUB: 7 p.m., $5. BB’s Jazz,
CLASS CLOWNS BAND: 9 p.m., free. The Archive
Blues & Soups, 700 S. Broadway, St. Louis, 314-
Music House and Southern Grill, 706 Lafayette
436-5222.
Ave, St. Louis.
WEDNESDAY 18
EARTH GROANS: w/ Torn at the Seams, Our Last Words, A Promise To Burn 6 p.m., $10. Fubar,
Big Thief. | VIA GROUND CONTROL TOURING
3108 Locust St, St. Louis, 314-289-9050. GREENSKY BLUEGRASS: 8 p.m., $20-$25. The Pageant, 6161 Delmar Blvd., St. Louis, 314-7266161. JEFF THE BROTHERHOOD: w/ Chastity 8 p.m., $15. Off Broadway, 3509 Lemp Ave., St. Louis, 314-773-3363. LIZA ANNE: 8 p.m., $10. Blueberry Hill - The Duck Room, 6504 Delmar Blvd., University City, 314-727-4444. MURPHY LEE: w/ Nate Moore, Dj Style, Dj Blaze 1 8 p.m., $10. Fubar, 3108 Locust St, St. Louis, 314-289-9050. OFF THE MAP: w/ Looprat, Najii Person, Dante Wolfe, Domino Effect, Riley B, Kody Kool, J.Demul 7 p.m., $5. The Bootleg, 4140 Manchester Ave., St. Louis, 314-775-0775. SKEET RODGERS & INNER CITY BLUES BAND: 10 p.m., $5. BB’s Jazz, Blues & Soups, 700 S. Broadway, St. Louis, 314-436-5222.
BIG RICH MCDONOUGH & RHYTHM RENEGADES: 7 p.m., $5. BB’s Jazz, Blues & Soups, 700 S. Broadway, St. Louis, 314-436-5222.
Big Thief 7 p.m. Friday, January 13. The Ready Room, 4195 Manchester Avenue. $10. 314-833-3929.
M. Ward’s return to St. Louis this past June was a highlight of the summer concert season — he hadn’t performed his solo material in town since opening for Norah Jones, in 2007 — but Ward and his band were nearly upstaged by an unassuming but engrossing opening act. The New York City-based quartet Big Thief was playing its first St. Louis show off the back of its debut Masterpiece,
BOB “BUMBLE BEE” KAMOSKE: 8 p.m. Beale on
and the interplay between singer/guitarist Adrianne Lenker and lead guitarist Buck Meek cut to the core of these creeping, bare and barbed songs. You probably saw Masterpiece on more than a few Best of 2016 lists, and deservedly so, but the band’s live show allows the songs to bloom in real time. Sam He Am: Fellow Saddle Creek recording artist Sam Evian will open the show with his genteel psych-folk ministrations. — Christian Schaeffer
Broadway, 701 S. Broadway, St. Louis, 314-6217880. THE EAST SIDERS REVIEW: 10 p.m., $5. BB’s Jazz, Blues & Soups, 700 S. Broadway, St. Louis, 314436-5222. HUEY MACK: 8 p.m., $18-$20. Fubar, 3108 Locust St, St. Louis, 314-289-9050. JUNIOR BROWN: 8 p.m., $25. Old Rock House, 1200 S. 7th St., St. Louis, 314-588-0505. RED HOT CHILI PEPPERS: w/ Trombone Shorty & Orleans Avenue, Jack Irons 7:30 p.m., $49-$99. Scottrade Center, 1401 Clark Ave., St. Louis, 314-241-1888. TREADING OCEANS CD RELEASE SHOW: w/ Strange Medicine 6 p.m., $10-$12. Fubar, 3108 Locust St, St. Louis, 314-289-9050.
Continued on pg 44
riverfronttimes.com
JANUARY 11-17, 2017
RIVERFRONT TIMES
43
OUT EVERY NIGHT Continued from pg 43
[CRITIC’S PICK]
THIS JUST IN ADRIAN BELEW POWER TRIO: W/ Saul Zonana, Fri., March 31, 8 p.m., $25. Old Rock House, 1200 S. 7th St., St. Louis, 314-588-0505. ALL THEM WITCHES: Sun., Jan. 29, 8 p.m., $12$15. The Firebird, 2706 Olive St., St. Louis, 314-535-0353. BEZZ BELIEVE: W/ Jade, Sizzle, Beastkingz, Don BILLY CURRINGTON: Thu., March 9, 7 p.m., $25$75. Peabody Opera House, 1400 Market St, St. Louis, 314-241-1888. BRIT FLOYD: Fri., March 24, 8 p.m., $29.50$59.50. Peabody Opera House, 1400 Market St, St. Louis, 314-241-1888. CHARLIE WILSON: W/ Fantasia, Johnny Gill,
Mvstermind. | JERMARCO BRITTON
Solero, Fri., Feb. 24, 7 p.m., $44-$94. Chaifetz Arena, 1 S. Compton Ave., St. Louis, 314-9775000. CHEAP TRICK: W/ Foreigner, Jason Bonham’s Led Zeppelin Experience, Wed., Aug. 16, 7 p.m., $29.95-$99.95. Hollywood Casino Amphitheatre, I-70 & Earth City Expwy., Maryland Heights, 314-298-9944. EL TEN ELEVEN: Fri., March 10, 8 p.m., $12-$15. The Firebird, 2706 Olive St., St. Louis, 314-5350353. EXPLOSIONS IN THE SKY: Fri., April 28, 8 p.m., $26-$30. The Pageant, 6161 Delmar Blvd., St. Louis, 314-726-6161. FEMFEST 3: Sat., Feb. 4, 6 p.m., $10. 2720 Cherokee Performing Arts Center, 2720 Cherokee St, St. Louis, 314-276-2700. GREEN DAY: W/ Catfish and the Bottlemen, Mon., Aug. 14, 7 p.m., $30-$89.50. Hollywood Casino Amphitheatre, I-70 & Earth City Expwy., Maryland Heights, 314-298-9944. K-CI & JOJO: Sun., Feb. 12, 8 p.m., $35-$55. The Pageant, 6161 Delmar Blvd., St. Louis, 314-726-
Mvstermind 9 p.m. Saturday, January 14. Old Rock House, 1200 South Seventh Street. $10 to $12. 314-588-0505.
St. Louis rapper Mvstermind’s unstoppable ascent up the ladders of underground hip-hop continues unabated with a headlining performance at Old Rock House this weekend. The show is a part of the third annual Art of Live Festival, brought to you by ORH Presents, which sees artists both local and touring converge on three St. Louis venues from Thursday through Sunday. Mvstermind’s non-stop hustle continues to pay dividends: In addition to his participation with Art of Live, the rapper has also brought the massively influential hip-hop
website/eventcompanyTeamBackpack to the St. Louis area this weekend as part of its ongoing Off the Map series, which highlights up-and-coming artists in cities across the nation. Team Backpack will be in St. Louis for a four-day takeover Friday through Monday, including a local hip-hop showcase at the Bootleg on Friday, which Mvstermind will emcee. In other words, this weekend is a rap lover’s dream come true. But Wait There’s More: Warming the stage for the Old Rock House show will be fellow St. Louis rapper Anthony Lucious and the ten-piece University Citybased jazz/hip-hop collective Looprat. — Daniel Hill
6161.
[CRITIC’S PICK]
KILLER QUEEN: A TRIBUTE TO QUEEN: Wed., July 12, 7 p.m., $30-$58. Family Arena, 2002 Arena Parkway, St Charles, 636-896-4200. KRIS KRISTOFFERSON: Fri., March 31, 8 p.m.,
Dale Watson and Ray Benson
$50. The Pageant, 6161 Delmar Blvd., St. Louis,
8 p.m. Wednesday, January 18.
314-726-6161. MARLEYFEST 10: Sat., Feb. 11, 9 p.m., $12. Blueberry Hill - The Duck Room, 6504 Delmar Blvd., University City, 314-727-4444. MASTODON: W/ Eagles of Death Metal, Russian Circles, Thu., April 27, 7 p.m., $40-$47.50. The Pageant, 6161 Delmar Blvd., St. Louis, 314-7266161. THE MAVERICKS: Sat., May 6, 8 p.m., $35-$55. The Pageant, 6161 Delmar Blvd., St. Louis, 314-726-6161. MICHAEL IAN BLACK: Sat., Feb. 18, 7 & 10 p.m., $25. The Firebird, 2706 Olive St., St. Louis, 314-535-0353.
The Sheldon Concert Hall, 3648 Washington Boulevard. $35 to $25. 314-533-9900.
Deep in the heart of Texas are two of the deepest, warmest baritone singers you’ll hear this side of an Ernest Tubb 78. Dale Watson and Ray Benson have been crossing honky tonk paths for decades, the former as one of Merle Haggard’s foremost acolytes and the latter as Bob Wills’ greatest champion. In early 2017, the two will release their
first album together, Dale & Ray, which honors those influences through original duets on the inexhaustible themes of drinking, dancing, crying and being hungover. Their command of the wittiest and swinging-est country traditions is as bottomless as their voices. Take This Music Industry Model and Shove It: Watson and Benson cover “Write Your Own Songs,” a classic Music Row kiss-off first cut by Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings. It’s still timely. — Roy Kasten
OTEP: W/ The Convalesence, Sun., March 12, 6 p.m., $15-$20. The Firebird, 2706 Olive St., St.
44
RIVERFRONT TIMES
Louis, 314-535-0353.
THE SOUTHERN UPRISING TOUR: W/ Travis Tritt,
Compton Ave., St. Louis, 314-977-5000.
A PERFECT CIRCLE: Thu., April 20, 8 p.m.,
the Charlie Daniels Band, the Marshall Tucker
STREET STATUS EMPIRE IV: Sun., Jan. 15, 7 p.m.,
$39.50-$65. Chaifetz Arena, 1 S. Compton Ave.,
Band, the Outlaws, Sat., Sept. 30, 5 p.m., $50-
$25. The Firebird, 2706 Olive St., St. Louis,
St. Louis, 314-977-5000.
$100. Family Arena, 2002 Arena Parkway, St
314-535-0353.
SIMPLE PLAN: W/ Set It Off, Seaway, Fri., April
Charles, 636-896-4200.
TERRY BARBER: Tue., Feb. 7, 7:30 p.m., $28.
7, 7 p.m., $30.50-$33.50. The Pageant, 6161
STATE OF EMERGENCY: HEAL THE CITY: Tue.,
The Sheldon, 3648 Washington Blvd., St. Louis,
Delmar Blvd., St. Louis, 314-726-6161.
March 14, 8 p.m., TBA. Chaifetz Arena, 1 S.
314-533-9900.
JANUARY 11-17, 2017
riverfronttimes.com
SAVAGE LOVE CLUBBING BY DAN SAVAGE Hey, Dan: My partner and I have been playing with male chastity devices. We’ve been considering going to a strip club while his cock is caged up and getting him lap dances. Is there some etiquette for this with the dancers? Do we let the dancer know before she is on his lap? Or do we not mention it? Is it rude to get a dancer involved at all? I’ve not yet found an etiquette guide for this situation. Letting Our Cage Kink Show “I think I speak for most dancers when I say I don’t care what’s going on underneath a customer’s pants,” said Bobbi Hill, a lap dancer based in Portland, Oregon, strip club capital of the United States. “Grazing over a stiff object in the crotch region is not an uncommon experience when giving a lap dance, and depending on the texture of the device, I might not even give it a second thought.” While your concern for lap dancers is commendable, LOCKS, the person most at risk of injury is your partner. Nothing is more fun than inducing an erection in someone who’s locked in a male chastity device — a necessarily painful and punishing erection — but the de-
vices are unyielding (ideally) and the cock flesh is weak (even when hard). A dancer who grinds down on your partner’s crotch is likelier to hurt him. That said, lap dancers don’t like surprises. If a dancer grinds down on your partner’s crotch and feels something hard, clunky, and uncock-like in his pants, “she might go into air-dance mode,” said Hill, “which is essentially a lap dance where you make as little contact with the customer’s crotch as possible. Of course, you can never go wrong investing in a stripper’s patience and well-being — try handing her a Benjamin as you explain your situation.” Just in case you’re not interested in dancers who are hers, LOCKS, I ran your question by a male stripper. “I don’t think most dancers would mind if a customer was wearing a male chastity device as long as it caused no physical harm or discomfort,” said Aaron, a dancer at Stag PDX, Portland’s new male strip club. “If all parts of the device are safely tucked away between your legs while you receive the lap dance, there should be little to worry about. But if the device has parts that protrude — and could possibly harm an overzealous dancer while they grind up on you — you may want to be more cautious. It also never hurts
to ask the dancers what they’re comfortable with.” Strippers! They’re just like us! You can ask them questions! They will answer them! They respond positively when you take their comfort into account! They also appreciate large tips! And good personal hygiene! And clients who aren’t completely shitfaced! Hey, Dan: I recently left my husband and moved from the suburbs to my own apartment in Philadelphia. It’s very liberating, and I have been starting to venture out for some great sex, something missing in my 25-year marriage. Two weeks ago, I decided to be adventurous and went to a clubby bar around the block and brought a guy back to my place. The guy was in his 40s, lean, and muscular. The sex was great! He was very oral, unlike my vanilla husband. When we got this stud’s clothes off, I saw that his pubic area was completely shaved, basically from his navel down. I don’t know if I looked as shocked as I felt. While he was humping away — I have never had anyone with such stamina and power — he told me to feel his anus, and that area, too, was shaved. I didn’t want to ask him why he shaves, but I am wondering if this is common these days? Is there some “meaning” to it? And is anal touching now customary? I am really out of it and thought I’d
riverfronttimes.com
45
ask you. Confused Over Under-Garment-Area Region While I love your signoff, COUGAR, sleeping with a lean, muscular guy in his 40s who likes to have his anus touched doesn’t earn a woman her cougar wings or whiskers or whatever. You’re going to have to fuck a few boys in their 20s if you want to be a cougar. In regards to your recent hookup, COUGAR, the removal of pubic hair has definitely become more common over the last 25 years. Studies have found that upwards of 60 percent of women regularly remove most or all of their pubic hair; there aren’t studies about men removing their pubic hair, but many men do. Shaving or waxing doesn’t necessarily mean anything in particular, other than a preference for hairless junk. And the younger people are — chronologically or in spirit — the likelier they are to remove their pubes. And while I wouldn’t describe anal touching as customary, there are definitely more straight men around today who aren’t afraid of their own assholes. Listen to Dan’s podcast at savagelovecast.com. mail@savagelove.net @fakedansavage on Twitter
JANUARY 11-17, 2017
RIVERFRONT TIMES
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100 Employment 110 Computer/Technical
RF Engineering Manager (Chesterfield, MO
Mng RF eng’g dvlpmt &implemntatn projs. Master’s electrcl eng’g or electrncs eng’g +2yrs exp w/RF ntwrk optimzatn & deploymt or Bach’s electrcl eng’g or electrncs eng’g +5yrs similar RF ntwrk eng’g exp. Profic w/mobile radio propagatn aspects wrkg w/at least 1 of followg: GSM/GPRS, CDMA/1xRTT, UMTS, EVDO, HSPA, LTE, or VOLTE. Wrkg knowl of 1 of followg: Ericsson, Nortel, Nokia, Siemens, Motorola, Alcatel Lucent, or Huawei. Profic. w/1 or mo e live data KPI tools, incl AMOS or Ericsson BO. Profic. w at least 1 indstry-acceptble performnc data mgmt tool, drive test tool, or other plann’g/optimzatn tool, incl Atoll, TEMS investgatn, or Actix anlyzr. Possbl relocatn to unantcpated, nationwd client wrksites. Res: Amdocs Inc., careersta@amdocs.com, Ref: HR-2001.
105 Career/Training/Schools THE OCEAN CORP. 10840 Rockley Road, Houston, Texas 77099. Train for a new career. *Underwater Welder. Commercial Diver. *NDT/Weld Inspector. Job Placement Assistance. Financial Aid avail for those who qualify 1.800.321.0298
120 Drivers/Delivery/Courier
DRIVERS NEEDED H H H ASAP H H H
Requires Class E, B or A License. S Endorsement Helpful. Must be 25 yrs or older. Will Train.
ABC/Checker Cab Co CALL NOW 314-725-9550 185 Miscellaneous
LICENSED PIERCER NEEDED!
GOLDENLANDS TATTOO 8768 St. Charles Rock Rd
(314) 423-0530 190 Business Opportunities
Avon
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Call Carla: 314-665-4585
For Appointment or Details Independent Avon Rep.
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400 Buy-Sell-Trade 450 Pets, Pet Supplies
BLACK GERMAN SHEPHERD PUPPIES AKC Registered. 12 weeks old. Great disposition. Parent on site. Received first shots. $50
314-395-8800 475 Want/Trade
Historian will pay top $$$ for German/Japanese WWII military relics.
314-249-5369
600 Music 610 Musicians Services
MUSICIANS
Call to Schedule An Appointment (314) 223-8067
Do you have a band? We have bookings. Call (314)781-6612 for information Mon-Fri, 10:00-4:30
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MUSICIANS AVAILABLE
500 Services 525 Legal Services
File Bankruptcy Now! Call Angela Jansen 314-645-5900 Bankruptcyshopstl.com The choice of a lawyer is an important decision and should not be based solely on advertising.
530 Misc. Services
Do you need musician? A Band? A String Quartet? Call the Musicians Association of St. Louis
MUSICIANS AVAILABLE Do you need musician? A Band? A String Quartet? Call the Musicians Association of St. Louis M-F, 10:00-4:30
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WANTS TO purchase minerals and other oil & gas interests. Send details to P.O. Box 13557, Denver, Co 80201
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SOUTH-CITY $130/wk+$130-security 314-277-8117 Room for rent. Everything furnished. Internet Access. SOUTH-CITY $160/wk+$160-security 314-277-8117 3 rooms, private bath, AC, all carpet. 314-707-6889
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315 Condos/Townhomes/Duplexes for Rent CLAYTON-CONDO $1000 Evelyn-636-541-1403 8111 Roxburgh-2 bdrm, 1 bath, garage, hrdwd flrs, washer dryer, walking distance to Downtown Clayton, Galleria, The Boulevard (Maggianos-PF Changs), Shaw Park & MetroLink.
BENTON-PARK $775 314-223-8067 Spacious 2 BR, wood fls, e ficient electric, fu nace/ac. Lots of closet space! 1st fl, po ch, ceiling fan, w/d. CENTRAL-WEST-END
CENTRAL-WEST-END
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5578 PERSHING 1100 sq ft; Perfect for WashU, Fontbonne OR SLU students. Nurse? Located near several major hospitals, Forest Park and Delmar Loop. Some utilities included; Off Street Parking. Optional 2 Gated Parking Spaces, $75 remote deposit. Application Fee: $50.00 (Lease Description: 18+, satisfactory credit, no prior evictions) DOWNTOWN Cityside-Apts 314-231-6806 Bring in ad & application fee waived! Gated prkng, onsite laundry. Controlled access bldgs, pool, fitness, business ctr. Pets welcome NORTH-COUNTY
$510
314-521-0388
Newly renovated 1BR apts for SENIOR LIVING. Safe and affordable. HHHFIRST 3 MONTHS FREE!HHH OVERLAND/ST-ANN $535-$575-SPECIAL 314-995-1912 1 MO FREE! 1BR & 2BR SPECIAL! Great location near Hwys 170, 64, 70 & 270. 6 minutes to Clayton. Garage, Clean, safe, quiet. RICHMOND-HEIGHTS $525-$575-SPECIAL 314-995-1912 1 MONTH FREE! 1BR, all elec off Big Bend. Near Metrolink, Hwys 40 & 44, Clayton. SOULARD $750 314-724-8842 Spacious 2nd flr 2BR, old world cha m, hdwd flrs, ya d, frplcs, off st prk, no C/A, nonsmoking bldg, storage.
nprent@aol.com SOUTH CITY $400-$850 314-771-4222 Many different units www.stlrr.com 1-3 BR, no credit no problem SOUTH ST. LOUIS CITY 314-579-1201 or 636-939-3808 1, 2 & 3 BR apts for rent. www.eatonproperties.com. Sec. 8 welcome
SOUTH-CITY $695 314-277-0204 3400 South Spring-1st Floor North-2BR, new eat in kitchen & dining room. Blinds, appliances, C/A, all electric. $40 app fee per adult, becomes key deposit. No rent deposit. Available Now!
SOUTH-CITY $495 314-707-9975 Grand & Bates: 1 BRs, hardwood flrs, all electric, C/A SOUTH-CITY $515 314-707-9975 Jamieson & Nottingham: 1 BR, all electric, hdwd flrs, C/A SOUTH-CITY $525 314-707-9975 2742 Osage: Large 1 BR, all electric, hdwd flrs, C/A Washer/Dryer hook ups in the unit. SOUTH-CITY $525 314-707-9975 3745 Wisconsin: 1 BRs, hardwood flrs, all electric, C/A Washer/Dryer hook ups in the unit. ST-JOHN
5578 PERSHING 1100 sq ft; Perfect for WashU, Fontbonne OR SLU students. Nurse? Located near several major hospitals, Forest Park and Delmar Loop. Some utilities included; Off Street Parking. Optional 2 Gated Parking Spaces, $75 remote deposit. Application Fee: $50.00 (Lease Description: 18+, satisfactory credit, no prior evictions)
NORTH-COUNTY
$495-$595 314-443-4478 8700 Crocus: Near 170 & St.Charles Rock Rd Special! 1BR.$495 & 2BR.$595.
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OVERLAND/ST-ANN $535-$575-SPECIAL 314-995-1912 1 MO FREE! 1BR & 2BR SPECIAL! Great location near Hwys 170, 64, 70 & 270. 6 minutes to Clayton. Garage, Clean, safe, quiet. RICHMOND-HEIGHTS $525-$575-SPECIAL 314-995-1912 1 MONTH FREE! 1BR, all elec off Big Bend. Near Metrolink, Hwys 40 & 44, Clayton. SOULARD $750 314-724-8842 Spacious 2nd flr 2BR, old world cha m, hdwd flrs, ya d, frplcs, off st prk, no C/A, nonsmoking bldg, storage.
nprent@aol.com SOUTH CITY
$400-$850 314-7714222 Many different units www.stlrr.com 1-3 BR, no credit no problem SOUTH ST. LOUIS CITY 314-579-1201 or 636-939-3808 1, 2 & 3 BR apts for rent. www.eatonproperties.com. Sec. 8 welcome
SOUTH-CITY $695 314-277-0204 3400 South Spring-1st Floor North-2BR, new eat in kitchen & dining room. Blinds, appliances, C/A, all electric. $40 app fee per adult, becomes key deposit. No rent deposit. Available Now! SOUTH-CITY $400 314-707-9975 4321 Morganford: 1 BR, all electric, hdwd flrs, C/A SOUTH-CITY $495 314-707-9975 Grand & Bates: 1 BRs, hardwood flrs, all electric, C/A SOUTH-CITY $515 314-707-9975 Jamieson & Nottingham: 1 BR, all electric, hdwd flrs, C/A SOUTH-CITY $525 314-707-9975 2742 Osage: Large 1 BR, all electric, hdwd flrs, C/A Washer/Dryer hook ups in the unit. SOUTH-CITY $525 314-707-9975 3745 Wisconsin: 1 BRs, hardwood flrs, all electric, C/A Washer/Dryer hook ups in the unit. ST-JOHN
$495-$595 314-443-4478 8700 Crocus: Near 170 & St.Charles Rock Rd Special! 1BR.$495 & 2BR.$595.
ST. CHARLES COUNTY 314-579-1201 or 636-939-3808 1 & 2 BR apts for rent. www.eatonproperties.com. Sec. 8 welcome UNIVERSITY-CITY $795 314-727-1444 2BR, new kitch, bath & carpet, C/A & heat. No pets ST-JOHN
$495-$595 314-443-4478 8700 Crocus: Near 170 & St.Charles Rock Rd Special! 1BR.$495 & 2BR.$595.
ST. CHARLES COUNTY 314-579-1201 or 636-939-3808 1 & 2 BR apts for rent. www.eatonproperties.com. Sec. 8 welcome UNIVERSITY-CITY $795 314-727-1444 2BR, new kitch, bath & carpet, C/A & heat. No pets
320 Houses for Rent NORTH ST. LOUIS COUNTY 314-579-1201 or 636-939-3808 2, 3 & 4BR homes for rent. eatonproperties.com. Sec. 8 welcome
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M-F, 10:00-4:30
Do you have a band? We have bookings. Call (314)781-6612 for information Mon-Fri, 10:00-4:30
UNIVERSITY-CITY $795 314-727-1444 2BR, new kitch, bath & carpet, C/A & heat. No pets
385 Room for Rent
(314) 781-6612
MUSICIANS
ST. CHARLES COUNTY 314-579-1201 or 636-939-3808 1 & 2 BR apts for rent. www.eatonproperties.com. Sec. 8 welcome
300 Rentals
NORTH ST. LOUIS COUNTY 314-579-1201 or 636-939-3808 2, 3 & 4BR homes for rent. eatonproperties.com. Sec. 8 welcome
201-957-5288
4801 WELDON SPRING PKWY. ST. CHARLES, MO 63304
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Unless otherwise limited, prices are good through Tuesday following publication date. Installed price offers are for product purchased from Audio Express installed in factory-ready locations. Custom work at added cost. Kits, antennas and cables additional. Added charges for shop supplies and environmental disposal where mandated. Illustrations similar. Video pictures may be simulated. Not responsible for typographic errors. Savings off MSRP or our original sales price, may include install savings. Intermediate markdowns may have been taken. Details, conditions and restrictions of manufacturer promotional offers at respective websites. Price match applies to new, non-promotional items from authorized sellers; excludes “shopping cart” or other hidden specials. © 2017, Audio Express.
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