We met the Johnsons in January of 2001. A friend of a friend took us to a party at their home in the Lincoln Park area of the city. It was an older home, one of many 3 story stone maidens that lined the streets of that neighborhood. Inside we found the house had been completely redone. The main floor was mostly kitchen and living room - dinning room - conversation area. The middle story were the bedrooms, their doors closed, their interiors hidden and off limits. Then there was the third floor. I had never seen anything like it. The floor was one enormous room. Polished hardwood floors, fantastic stereos and a beautiful, fully stocked bar. Two restrooms stood in the back corners of the room.
On the main floor sweet jazz played softly behind layers of conversation. 15 to 20 people stood, sat and reclined in small groups. Their conversations mooted as they debated and solved the problems of the day. It was a quiet, refined place. A room that reminded me of the dinner parties my parents had thrown when I was a child.
On the top floor things were different, Rock and Roll blared full throttle from the stereo while a hundred people lost themselves in dance. It was a teeming, close packed group that seethed and gyrated to the music. There were no partners, just a mass of people, all dancing together. Wine, beer and other libations flowed endlessly from the bar. Munchies appeared from no where and were consumed and then reborn. It was a party unlike anything I had ever seen. It was a party by and for people who populated the pages of Playboy or the New Yorker.
As the night wore on we learned that the party was an ongoing event, re-appearing on the first Saturday of every month. It was a fantastic evening and we were invited back for next month. We returned in February and again in March. April found us at a wedding in Cleveland, but we returned again in May. Perhaps before going further I should stop and do some introductions. I am Miles Davis, not that one, just someone who shares the name of a great Jazzman. I was attending the parties with my wife Julie. We had been married for two years and were both focused on our careers. Julie was production assistant for a major ad agency and I was a programmer for a local insurance giant. We were young and life was good.
There was nothing unusual about the May party, except what happened after it was over. One couple, Ryan and Cecilia Fagan had a bad accident on the way home. Ryan had a broken Leg while Cecilia escaped with many cuts and bruises. The people in the other car were also injured, although the details are now lost in the fog of time. Ryan was charged with drunken driving. They were starting to crack down on drunken drivers about that time and it looked like he would be lucky to avoid jail.
Word of the accident spread within our little community of party goers. The Johnsons' were very concerned about what had happened. They decided that they did not want people driving home from the party. At first we thought this was the end of our monthly adventure. No, it turned out the parties were still on, but there was a new rule. If you lived near by walk. If you didn't live near by bring a sleeping bag. At two AM the upstairs would be turned into a dormitory and we would all sleep over. We were relieved that the parties would continue, and never realized how this new arrangement was to change us to our very core.
