The Alumni Magazine for Worcester Polytechnic Institute. (WPI)
Issue link: http://wpialumnimag.epubxp.com/i/114745
The band in 1973. STILL A FULL HOUSE Bass player Danny Klein, now 65, does indeed live in a full house— an 1890 red clapboard farmhouse in the Hyde Park neighborhood of Boston, shared with his wife, Valerie, and Ƃlled with vintage rock and roll posters, a fair amount of clutter, and seven lively dogs, including a Pomeranian named Elvis. Out back, his garage studio is Ƃlled with computer equipment, musical instruments, and the weights he lifts six days a week. A typical day involves walking the dogs ("that takes me a few hours," says Klein) and getting in some practice time with his Full House band. He spends a number of hours tinkering with his computer recording equipment and settles in, when he can, to "watch the Pats, watch the Bruins games." His voice is a little raspy from years of smoking, but he's as quick as ever with a quip. Growing up in New Jersey, Klein says he chose WPI because it was one of the top engineering schools in the country, and he thought at the time that chemistry would be his destiny. "I really didn't know what I wanted to do, and I liked chemistry so I just thought I'd try it," he says. WPI was an all-male school back then. Though the campus reƃected the conservative values of the era, in the 1960s a feeling of change and exploration was in the air. Klein joined Alpha Epsilon Pi in part to escape the tediousness of the dorms, and reveled in his newfound freedom away from a sheltered life in suburban New Jersey. He became co-captain of the cheerleading team "to get out of gym." There were blackouts and panty raids, crazy hazing rituals and plenty of parties. All the craziness didn't leave much time for academics. "I went to summer school every year," Klein says. "I didn't do too well there. I remember organic chemistry—I got something like a 39 on the curve, a D. That's how hard it was." One of his physics professors, Ralph Heller, was called The Red Vector "because," says Klein, "he would draw vector marks with red ink beside the wrong answers!" Clearly, Klein wasn't the best student, but he remembers loving his time at WPI because it felt like home. "I just didn't apply myself," he says, "so I don't know if I would have been a great engineer or a chemist or whatever. It was the '60s and everything was changing. The atmosphere was 'down with authority and the Vietnam War'." (See sidebar.) When Klein met Geils and Salwitz, chords resonated. He hadn't played an instrument while growing up, but had been introduced to the blues, Motown, and R&B; through the records his sister would bring home. He listened to Aretha Franklin, Otis Redding, all the Motown stuff. In college, he developed an interest in folk. Listening to music and fooling around with his washtub bass—the only instrument he could play at the time—began to seem a whole lot more exciting than periodic tables and steam charts. He and the others would spend much of their free time jamming in their "practice room"—a dorm laundry space and stairwell. "The turning point was when I was on a Ƃeld trip in New Jersey," says Klein. "I went to a munitions plant, and then a fertilizer factory, and then a 26 Winter 2013 THE 1960s For the times they are a-changin'…" For most American college campuses, the 1960s and '70s were a time of dramatic upheaval and change, and WPI was no exception. Thankfully, there were no bloody riots on Boynton Hill or heated confrontations with the police or school administration. Rather, the college underwent a steady organic metamorphosis, in keeping with its traditionally conservative character, but, ultimately, in tune with those fast-changing, colorful times. "Sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll were everywhere," says Domenic Forcella '70. He recalls a charged but generally upbeat atmosphere in which silk-screened T-shirts and faded jeans had, in the span of just a few semesters, nearly replaced Pendeltons and crisp, creased chinos as the student uniform of choice. "Drugs were around," he says, and there was "always a student or two referred to as 'Doctor' because they could hook you up." "During ROTC drills, people would be playing anti-war music and hanging banners [protesting the U.S. presence in Vietnam or the draft in general] in the windows," Forcella recalls. "I wouldn't say we were pushed by any other forces but our own. We did what we did because of who we were and what was happening at the time."