Senti-Metal Journey

by Jim Schiavi, Student Reporter

In 1991, I entered my sophomore year at Kennedy High here in Cedar Rapids. I'll never forget the first time I heard about, and then heard, Abysmal Crucifix. My friend Jimmy McKenna told me about a house party in a section of town called Ohlinger's Row, a few blocks of saltine-box tract housing on the northwest side of town. The houses were built by the Works Progress Administration and the Civilian Conservation Corps between 1934 and 1935 and sold at an enormous profit by Poe College alumnus Harifus T. Ohlinger (class of 1928). When Jimmy told me about the party, I was reluctant to go (because of the neighborhood). Jimmy clapped his arm around my shoulder and said, "Buddy, you have got to see this band." I didn't know what he meant by that, but I figured what the hell? Saturday night, I went to the party — and my life changed forever.

When Girth McDürchstein — then a senior — plugged guitar into amp and began to wail, I literally couldn't move. I had been bored until then, but I was suddenly transfixed, standing in front of a little stack of Ho-Ho's on the hors d'oeuvres table. The set transformed me into the metal fan I remain to this day. For some people, it was the Beatles. Others, Nirvana. Me? I'm a fan of Abysmal Crucifix.

This is one hell of a "small town boy makes good" story. Not many know that Girth McDürchstein, the band leader, lead singer, lead guitarist, and principal songwriter, grew up in Cedar Rapids and actually began his band here. Even before he left, McDürchstein somehow captured the essence of L.A. metal.

I'll never forget the day Girth McDürchstein spoke to me after Abysmal Crucifix performed a scorching set as the between-sketch "pit band" at the Kennedy High variety show. It was on the third night — I went to all four shows — and as I stood in the main hall afterward, hoping to catch a glimpse of him (or bandmates Carl Davenport and Robin Kelley) coming out of the theatre hall, I felt a hand grip my shoulder and a rugged voice groan, "You seen Cheryl Lemke?"

I turned and found myself staring into the reflected aviator glasses of Girth. The man Himself. Voice cracking, I muttered, "Cheryl Lemke? Sure, I saw her go out to the parking lot with some other girls."

He smiled at me and asked, "You wanna go get laid?" I didn't know what to make of that statement until he added, "Cheryl hangs with a lot of sluts. I'm sure I could hook you up."

"Why would you do that?" I wondered.

"I saw you back when school first started, at the party at the Hermanns. You get us, man. Come on."

I followed him down the hall, through one of the double-doors into the bitter November cold. He pointed out a '71 Nova at the back of the lot, near the grove of trees that lined Elmer Creek. We trudged across the wet parking lot, wind nipping at our faces. When one of the car doors open, a plume of odd-smelling smoke flooded out. I saw the scabbed but otherwise gorgeous face of Cheryl Lemke sitting behind the driver's seat. She slid along the bench into the passenger's seat, and Girth almost dove in after her, pulling the door closed with a jackbooted foot.

I stood alone in the parking lot, hands in my pocket. After a few minutes, Jennifer Patersen got out of the car. She looked me over and smiled. Today we're married.

Recently, I learned that Abysmal Crucifix — now headlining shows at the famed Whisky-a-Go-Go in Hollywood — will be releasing their debut album, Star Sex in December. I can only hope it preserves the memories I still hold so dear.

Reprinted from the November 27, 1995, Cedar Rapids Gazette's reprinting of the November 14, 1995, article in the Poe (College) Picayune