When I first relocated to the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont — aka "Moose Country", with Canada immediately north and New Hampshire east — I was in a desperate search for public WiFi.
Electricity finally reached this area in the late 1930s, why would there be public WiFi anywhere in 2008?
The nearest town had no cafés, not like you'd see elsewhere in the United States. McDonald's had one electrical outlet for all of its customers, and that one source of power put users in direct sunlight in the afternoon.*Hope came in the form of indications that a real-life café was coming to town.
First, a sign above the building appeared. Peering in hopefully, I could see an acoustic guitar leaning up against the wall. Furniture slowly appeared.Some nine months later, The Grindstone Café opened — and they did indeed offer WiFi with ample electrical outlets. The owner-founders were two guys out of Keene, New Hampshire — one of them a musician, teacher of guitar, and guitar fixer.**
Lounging comfortably in my new spot, consuming way less coffee than would compensate for the WiFi and electricity I was consuming, I regaled these new barista-owners with stories of my musically-driven, central Virginia coincidences.
When I'd hear my Virginia musician friends' songs play on the radio station at the café, I'd excitedly make the connection for the barista-owners.
One day an older guy tried to enter the coffee shop but had difficulty getting up over the threshold. He'd step up, then fall back. Overcoming that barrier, Otto Kremer (1943-2018) energetically grabbed for the guitar and started singing.He wrote songs, one of them having just played on NPR the Sunday before. He told tales of having once run a live music venue in St. Albans, Vermont — a story with a very wild ending.***
Here he was, a true musician, in fulfillment of the signs.
Months later Otto came in with a bag over his shoulder and asked if either of us — the non-musician barista-owner or myself — knew anything about streaming. "I'm sure Ben can help you on that, he's the technical guy around here," I deflected to the co-owner."That's good," he said, "because I have a movie I want to watch that my nephew produced. It's called The Parking Lot."
"Oh?" I asked, my coincidence bell ringing. "What's the film about?"
"It's about this parking lot in Charlottesville, Virginia. A bunch of musicians work there taking money, and this is their story."
I knew that parking lot. My room in the Chancellor Apartments looked out over it. I'd walked across that parking lot many times.
The Corner Parking Lot was at the heart what I'd come to call "Coincidence Corner" because of all the coincidences that had happened to me there.
Two of the biggest synchronicities I experienced on Coincidence Corner involved Buena Vista Social Club, a record the musician-friend who kicked off all my Charlottesville coincidences had recommended to me."Your nephew worked on this film, Otto?" I asked, returning to the matter at hand.
"Yes, my nephew Mark. He's a musician, too."
"What group did he play with?" I asked sensing where this might be going.
"6 Day Bender," he responded.
"I know Mark," I said. "I watched him play in that group at their CD release party."
"Oh," he said. "My sister lives in Charlottesville."
So many times this exact sort of thing happened to me, even outside of central Virginia, I should have long since gotten used to it.
Then Otto pulled a CD out of his bag, intending to give it to Ben to play for his customers. Catching a quick glimpse of the CD cover, I asked tremulously, "What CD is that, Otto?"He pulled it up, coming closer for me to see. I covered my eyes with my hands and lowered my head.
"Don't tell me," I said.
It was indeed Buena Vista Social Club.
*they have since made amends, converting their restaurant into a cross between a swanky 1990s restaurant and a lawyer's office, replete with outlets everywhere.
**they had been thinking about offering guitar-related merchandise in their café.
***involving drugs, escaping police capture to another state, etc.
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