Hold on, friends, this is a long post.

Last Thursday, I think it was, a tall, polite young man walked the Green Acres Neighborhood to let us know of an event they were planning for this just past weekend (the famous Little 500 weekend that brings out hordes of IU students as well as gobs of people from out of town). He told me they were going to hold a day long event, the Burning Couch Music Festival . . .

. . . in this neighborhood, all day and into the night Saturday, with three stages, one outside and two inside, so they could feature as many local bands as possible. This was a warning, yes, and thank you! But, this was also an invitation! He said they wanted to invite neighbors to come join them!

Now, I must say, that’s a first, an invitation to join a student-run event in Green Acres. For so long, I and my fellow long-term occupants (usually older, or with young families, whether renters or owners) have gritted our teeth during party season, dreaded the expected pounding “music” and wild yelling and screaming, with cars taking up all available parking spaces in front of our homes and then roaring off at 1:00 AM, with litter up and down streets leftover in the morning — you know the drill.

I can remember, the year I arrived in Bloomington, back in 2003. My husband (who had just finished his first semester at IU law school) had died in January, leaving me a newly grieving widow in a brand new town — and I was suddenly getting a rude jolt: my first taste of IU party season. Waking up to pounding music and yelling somewhere nearby around 1 AM, I made a quick decision: instead of calling the cops I put on my bathrobe, walked down the street, and pounded on the door (to make sure they could hear me). When the door opened, I imagine we were all surprised to experience this old lady (I was 60 then) standing there in her night clothes, asking politely if they would please turn the music way down, so that the neighbors could sleep. Well, they were so surprised — and so grateful that I was not going to call the cops on them — that they immediately did what I asked.

Since that time I have not gone out in my bathrobe when party season arrives. Instead, I have remained in my bed, closed the windows, and just waited it out. After all, it doesn’t last very long, spring party season. And pretty soon, the students having departed for the summer, we old fuddie duddies can again breathe a sigh of relief.

On the other hand, a hidden part of me really did and does appreciate student vitality,  recognizing that young people, who have not yet found a way to direct their immense energy productively, must somehow periodically siphon it off.

Even so, despite my relatively stoic attitude spiced with hidden appreciation, the town/gown split here DOES exist. Of course it does. It’s an academic town, dominated by Indiana University, which might employ nearly as many resident Bloomingtonians as it serves: about 45,000 students.

Okay, back to Saturday’s festival. It was to be held five houses down, at the dead end of 7th street, in the back yards of two back-to-back houses. My son Colin (who lives next door) and I decided to go, with our dogs, curious to show up and see what was going on. The fact that we had specifically been invited, as neighbors, to join the party had filled me with delight, and I wanted to show my appreciation.

During the hours preceding our visit, of course there were hoards of cars driving by, seeking parking spots. I happened to be out on the porch doing taichi when one of them parked directly in front of this house. The driver got out of the car, followed by three or four others. When I yelled out (nicely, not nastily) that my housemate was due home soon and would need to park there, he very nicely said, “Okay, I’ll find another spot!” and they all piled back into the car.

That pleasant  exchange was a foretaste of what was to come. When Colin and I strolled down there, about 5 PM, the event was in full swing. Probably 150 people total sitting, standing, on the lawn in front of the stage. At first we were hesitant; would we be welcomed? We knew we weren’t going to stay (music way too loud for me), and didn’t have the $5 entrance fee. So we slid in via a side entrance of the garage of a vacant home: Immediately, people on the lawn looked up, waved, smiled, and even pointed to us to come join them. Well, we didn’t do that; but of course, our dogs (one large, one small) took us among them anyway, with the young people hungry for dog’s special blessings of the LOVE that fuels and fills the universe. Shadow and Kona were willing to endure, or even enjoy their many hands; however, my dog, Shadow, was much more interested in any scraps of potato chips or tacos (from the food truck that had driven in for the occasion).  And, in fact, the memory of easy pickins’ is what would then drive him back, three times, squeezing through the door meant only for the cat, and mosey down the street, all the way back to the party place.

The first time was later than evening, just before dark. When I, suspecting the worst (where was the little bugger?),  walked down there, and entered through that same back entrance, I was welcomed again, and this time people were laughing, pointing every which way to where Shadow (many of them now knew his name) had just been, nosing around.

The second time was the next day, Sunday. Once again, he escaped, and this time was brought back by a young man who introduced himself as Thomas. Thomas told me he had followed Shadow home to see where he lived.

When they arrived, Thomas was nursing his hand. Shadow had bit him! I was shocked! Shadow never bites. He responded, “It’s okay, he was probably scared. I had tried to grab him to see if he had a name tag on his collar.” (Don’t worry, I assured him later when he stopped by again, “He’s vaccinated against rabies.”)

That began what, to me, turned into a deliberate intention to set the stage for town/gown unification. First, of course, I brought him in to wash off the tiny amount of blood from the tiny wound, and cleanse it with hydrogen peroxide. Then Thomas and I talked for awhile; he had a look of great satisfaction on his face. Said that the Little 500 weekend is the only time during the school year that they can get away with doing such a large event in a neighborhood without the police coming down on them. And that the total number of those who spent some time at the festival from noon to 1 AM was around 1200!

WOW!

I told him I wanted to write a blog post about the event, and could he send me some pictures? He did; that’s what you see here, and above.

Furthermore, in a fulsome and heartfelt email, Thomas addressed some questions I had.

Dear Ann,

So sorry for the late reply! Tearing down from the festival has been a very grueling task. We ended up with fourteen 13 gallon trash bags full of trash.

P.S. Thomas: the other neighbor who showed up was Diane! I had no idea she was at Woodstock. Will have to ask her about it. (I couldn’t make it, though I wanted to go.)

I also put Thomas on the list for our Community Dinners, told him he’s welcome to come and bring his friends. This was after I had, once again, just as I did at the event the evening before, said how much I appreciated that they had actually invited the neighbors. That “it was a brilliant move, and changed everything.” He responded the way others had responded at the event itself: “We really did want the neighbors to come. We wanted to create a sense of community!” Wow. Well, yes! I didn’t say, but thought: I’ve been working on this since 2007! And never, ever before, have I heard students who lived in the neighborhood express the same desire for unification.

GREEN ACRES NEIGHBORHOOD PLAN.pdf

Puppy Shadow made one more forbidden excursion, squeezing his chubby body through the cat’s door, and on down the street. That was late yesterday, and this time when I went to see if he was there, five organizers of the event were standing in the driveway; this time they told me he had just been there, but was heading home (I presume Shadow heard me calling his name). Joseph, who also lives here, had joined me in walking there; he agreed to follow Shadow home, and I stayed on for awhile, discovering what it was like for them when they noticed Colin and I approach from literally a back door! They were scared, they said, thought Colin might be a cop, or that we were neighbors about to call the cops and shut the the whole thing down. Luckily, the tall young man, who had alerted neighbors in the first place, calmed them down; said he had already met us, and we are “chill.” So that was pretty funny, especially since I’ve told Colin from the time he was small that he’d make a good cop, he has such strong Guardian energy.

Oh, and yes, they actually had a burning couch,  and pointed to its charred remains. We discussed how the city would haul it away for $10.

One of them expressed surprise that the entire event felt so good and “wholesome,” — that’s the word he used. I agree. An amazing occasion of human unity. “Though it did get a bit rowdier later inside,” he grinned.

Such a contrast to what we’re hearing about two reports of shootings, one of them in a downtown bar which left four young men wounded with gun shots during this same Little 500 weekend, the first to be fully open to the public since 2019.

It appears that the human species is splitting in two: those who continue to allow increasing political and cultural disturbance to trigger them into violence (via hatred, a mask for fear), and those who choose love, no matter what. So very glad to know that what we attracted in our neighbohood was the latter. And hope some of these wonderful young people will join us in our weekly Community Dinners!

P.S. My main focus in this post, was sociological. Here’s the write-up in the wonderful student-run IDS, which focused especially on the music.

https://www.idsnews.com/article/2022/04/burning-couch-festival-indie-rock-rap-music