I was rocking an outfit of polyester and faux fur, with a white silk scarf and a big smile. Beside me in line, my long-haired pal, Seth, was sporting his signature Indonesian leopard print shirt and a floppy purple hat. Both of us wore oversized sunglasses, although the sun had set. It was Halloween, 1995, and my best friend and I were in line to see our favorite band, George Clinton and the Parliament Funkadelic All-Stars, at the Berkeley Public Junior High School auditorium.

Clinton had yet to appear, but Bootsy and Bernie launched into the first jam as we entered the hall, bouncing. We were handed our stubs and pointed in the direction of our seats, at which point Seth looked at the ushers like they were crazy. Seats? There was no way he was going to spend the next three hours confined to a seat. So we nodded and took our tickets, and I followed my friend straight past our assigned row toward the pit up front. Just then, George Clinton came bounding onstage, gave a shout of appreciation, and noticed Seth, grooving down the aisle toward him and bursting with joy. Clinton jumped off the stage, threw his arms wide, and gave Seth an enormous bear hug, and then he hopped back onstage to move the crowd, which quickly filled in all around us.

For better or for worse, none of this will happen when you walk through the doors again at Oakland Yard. There will probably be music playing, it may be funky, and someone, or several of us, will be happy to see you, but we’ll hold off on the bear hugs and sweaty crowds. We will wear big smiles behind our masks and welcome you across the threshold, because it feels good to share our space again, and even better to be able to catch up face to face with friends and neighbors. It still smells like that happy mix of wine, wood and cardboard, and one day we’ll raise a glass together. For now, it’s nice just to see you in the shop again.

Cheers,
Max