Whatever Happened To P.K. Lavengood?

I'm not sure why - perhaps it's because I'm watching my alma mater playing in the NCAA basketball tournament - but a name I doubt I've thought about since I was in college popped into my head. P.K. Lavengood.

Who's P.K. Lavengood is what most anyone treading this way is probably asking themselves. Right? I wish that I could say that he's a gay doctor successfully mounting a campaign for the legalization of homosexual marriage and also performing abortions in South Dakota. If that was the case, this entry would certainly bob around the "Last viewed" column for the next several days as quasi-literate zealots denounced him because they know what God wants. That, alas, is not the case.

No, P.K. Lavengood was (and still is) nothing more than a humble guitarist who hailed from a small town near the university I attended. He was a local hero, performing in a rock band called Rods And Cones. Personally, I barely remember seeing Rods And Cones play once, maybe twice at outdoor events on campus as I was too young to get into clubs during their heydey.

The reason that his name is etched into my brain (aside from the fact that it's a rather memorable moniker) is because of a college roommate. For a year, I lived in a house with...five to eight other roommates (it fluctuated depending on a complex formula factoring in girlfriends, academic probation, and other variables). Our roommate Bill worshiped P.K. as if he were Hendrix (and, I must note, P.K. was a highly regarded player).

Mensa wasn't knocking at Bill's door, but he was more charming than Richard Dawson and he made the girls all swoon. Italian with curly, dark hair, he flashed an affable, toothy grin with ease either because his threshold for amusement was low or, as was often the case, he was quite high. He had been the third-string kicker (or something crazy) for the football team and had already graduated and started a job.

Another roommate, nicknamed Toad, was the stereotypical science geek - gangly and asthmatic with a mop of unkempt hair and glasses. During the summer, he would hassle Bill to take him to classes on Bill's motorcyle despite the fact that we lived directly off campus. "Why? I asked. "It's more trouble waiting for him to find his keys."

"Bill never bothers to throw on a shirt," Toad replied. "Women can't take their eyes off him as we cruise through campus which means at least I have them looking in my direction." Toad had a good head on his shoulders.

Bill would often wake me in the wee hours of the morning. "Wake up," he'd whisper, loudly enough for everyone in the house to hear. "Let's go sneak into the stadium and you can hold while I kick field goals."

"It's 4:00, man. I'm not getting up to go across the street with you."

But, this was supposed to about P.K. Lavengood, wasn't it? Well, P.K. played a regular gig every Monday at a local club, thus Monday was dubbed P.K. Day and Bill was the only person on Earth that didn't hate Mondays (actually I was still in school, so I was ambivilant about Mondays since I usually skipped class anyhow).

I remember a rumor that P.K. auditioned for Dio's band which impressed us mainly because this was the late '80s and, even though we weren't metalheads, Dio had sold out arenas during our high school years. It struck me as odd, at least from a visual aspect, because P.K. was a Buddy Holly doppelganger much like Donnie Iris (about whom I recently babbled).

A little poking around on the internet satisfied my curiosity as I found that P.K. is still playing as a member Of John Eddie's band. It's good to know that he's continued to make a career as a musician.

As for Bill, I have no idea of his whereabouts. I did find a photo of him on the internet participating in some golf tournament with a bunch of insurance salesmen or something. He still had that goofy grin, so I guess things turned out OK for him, too.

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