EDITOR’S NOTE: The following is an excerpt from the unpublished book, “Breadcrusts,” co-written by James G. Wasserman and David T. Young. It recounts the events of Jan. 22, 1969, at the Grand Valley State College Winter Festival talent show:
The 4Qs strike again
GVSC’s annual winter carnival was 
approaching, and Wasserman thought this would be a great way to have a larger contingent of his “unwashed” hippie chums to crash the talent contest.
He talked me into being the front man for the operation because I was a virtual unknown and he, of course, was notorious. When we were signed up, I was told by talent show coordinators that we were virtually assured of at least the runner-up prize because there were only two entries in the large group category.
Wasserman then recruited me, the talented organist Michael Green, bassist Ed Matuszak (Buchanan), also a local disk jockey; Pat Walsh, Denny Brown, Tom Woodruff, Fran Nawrocki, Jim Blanchard, “Energy Man” Stevie Kumpf on the drums and “Captain Sky” Danny Ritsema, who dressed up in a suit in a desperate attempt to garner us teen appeal.
We gathered several hours before the concert at Kent Apt. #11 to “practice.” We chose a lot of old doo-wop grease songs, a couple from the recent Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention album “Cruisin’ with Reuben & the Jets” and some old standards like “Duke of Earl” and “Teen Angel.” Many of us slicked back our hair with Brylcream and put on whatever period clothes we could find, such as white socks and black loafers, to give us that ’50s look. Some were even able to roll up a pack of cigarettes on their T-shirt armsleeves.
And this was before hardly anyone had ever heard of the Sha Na Na or Flash Cadillac.
Wasserman, who didn’t do the ’50s look because his hair and beard were too long, carefully plotted throwing in a few extra wrinkles for the concert.
Even before the show began that night, WGVS radio was promoting the whole affair. Disc jockey John Struthers was heard all over the campus telling students to check out the Winter Carnival talent show tonight in just a little while at the Lake Huron lecture hall and be sure to catch “Dave Young and the 4Qs.”
Gord Wolotira was hanging out and carefully watching the whole scene. He couldn’t bring himself to get up on stage and make a fool of himself like the rest of us. His recollections:
“What I recall from that night was talking to a campus security guard at Seidman House perhaps an hour before the concert,” he said. “He was earnestly trying to be sympathetic to a group of assembled long-haired students (some in the band) and to be cool. I told him we were going to a concert that night to see a really ‘heavy’ group.
“‘What’s their name?’ he asked.
“‘The 4Q’s,’ I responded, somewhat embarrassedly, since with the exception of the Election Night fiasco (the 4Q’s debut), the group only existed in Wasserman’s imagination up to that point, and the one rehearsal — if you want to call it that — at Kent House No. 11.
“‘Oh yeah, I’ve heard of them,’ he responded. ‘They’re pretty good.’
“‘Really,’ I answered already feeling a little bad at the deception. But I wouldn’t give away the secret of the 4Q’s. ‘Yeah, they’re pretty good.'”
Finally, it was time to face the music. I was nervous about getting up in front of that crowd of about 300 people in Lake Huron Hall. I didn’t know what to expect and worried that we would humiliate ourselves with our obvious lack of talent.
But when the curtain rose, we broke into a rousing rendition of “Cheap Thrills” from Reuben & the Jets. Green and Matuszak were pretty decent musicians and they carried us. Most of the audience seemed to be amused by a bunch of hippies masquerading as ‘50s greasers and trying to sing brazenly simple doo-wop:
Cheap thrills, set fire to my soul,
Cheap thrills, like a story untold,
about Cheap thrills, up and down my spine,
I need it, I need it ’cause it feels so fine…
The impact was startling. After we finished the first number, I saw many in the audience, including teens, moms and dads and even older folks, laughing boisterously and flashing peace signs. They roared with approval.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and hearing. They liked us?
We then broke into another “Reuben & the Jets” number, “Love of My Life,” and the crowd continued to be both amused and entertained. The song was insipidly simple, in fine doo-wop tradition:
Love of my life, I love you so,
Love of my life, don’t ever go,
Stars in the sky, they never lie,
tell me you need me, don’t say good-bye…
To break things up a bit, Wasserman did a brief spastic solo of “Heart of My Heart” and I did the falsetto lead on “Duke of Earl.” We all then collaborated on a thrilling rendition of “Teen Angel,” with Blanchard leading the gleeful clapping for the last line, “They buried you today.”
The crowd was loving it and pleading for an encore.
But when we performed our parting shot, “God Bless America,” the cheers immediately turned first to silence and then to jeers and boos.
Toward the end of our song, while we were reciting “From the mountains, to the prairies,” Ritsema, our gussied up teen appeal attraction, was hit on the side of the head with a stale doughnut.
When the curtain fell, we could still hear the boos and pelting of objects on the front of the stage. I had thought this kind of thing only happened in the movies.
Suddenly we heard someone climb up onto the stage and take one of the microphones in hand to tell the audience that on behalf of Grand Valley State College he wanted to apologize for the bad behavior of the group that had just appeared on stage. He added that students such as members of the 4Q’s represented only a small vocal minority.
Then the young man, Chip Saltzman, came behind the curtain where we were taking down our set and musical instruments. Saltzman headed straight for Mike Green, the organist, violently threw him up against a wall and hurled vile epithets in his face. We really don’t know if he would have physically harmed Green, a skinny pacifist who was in dire need of a kidney transplant, but Woodruff, a tall and burly fellow, stepped in to stop any further trouble.
The next morning we learned that we didn’t even win the runner-up prize in our category. It had been withdrawn. Saltzman and his Phi Beta Sigma fraternity brothers and some sorority sisters had won first place with a parody of “Laugh In.”
But also that morning, when I walked into the campus newspaper office, Wasserman had written on the blackboard, in huge letters:
“JAN. 22, 1969: TOTAL VICTORY OVER THE GRONKS!”
When Blanchard and I went shopping at the grocery in Allendale later that day, several students we didn’t know told us they thoroughly enjoyed our performance the night before.
On campus, many students I didn’t know, said kind words about our act. The worst thing that was said to me was that perhaps we should have left out “God Bless America” because up to that point we had everybody rockin’ and rollin’ with us. Even the townspeople and parents liked our act up to that point, they said.
Nawrocki recalled the climactic finale thusly:
“We were simply singing the song (“God Bless America”). We weren’t singing it in a mocking way. I remember some professor who was a judge of the contest yelling ‘You guys really blew it. You would have won first prize.'”
So, did we push the envelope a little too far?
It didn’t matter to The Lanthorn editor, who flatly contended we had every right to sing “God Bless America,” just as much right as Kate Smith. Wasserman supported his argument by quoting the opening lines of Woody Guthrie’s most famous song:
“This land is your land, this land is my land.”
I do not understand, why were they upset? Did they think you were mocking?
Yes.