Doug Bihlmaier dropped out of prep school early. Though he had gotten into both FIT and Brown, he was “not really into it.” Instead, he decided to follow The Dead (Summer Tour, ‘68). It was at a show at Electric Circus in the City, if he remembers correctly, where he met a small Jewish kid who said ties were gonna be his thing. Doug never cared much for ties, but the kid did have some killer acid called “Ancient Madder,” so he listened for a while. Doug was always more of a listener.

After that chance encounter Doug drifted a little bit. Greenwich gave way to Asheville (or Nashville, hard to tell really), which led to someplace he was convinced was directly between the coasts (we’ll call it Santa Fe for argument’s sake). He traveled in a van with one passenger seat, a seat he made sure was always filled. Chances are both your mom and dad sat in that seat at one time or another, because Doug was always where the cool kids wanted to be.

Along the way Kathy filled that seat, and she was pretty cool. Cool enough to stick around, even. Cool enough to call that seat hers.

One day in the now-forgotten 80s he ran into that Jewish kid again, though this time he was neither a kid nor at a Dead show (which was kinda shitty, really). Instead he was in a suit with shoulders that extended almost as far as his potential. Doug was never a suit guy. Wasn’t him. But he could tell this guy knew his stuff. And he could tell those almost-gone, Ancient Madder-inspired pipe dreams were no longer just a pastel fog at the top of a mountain.

Today Doug is somewhere between the weekend and the Style section of The Times. If you pass him too quickly on the street you might be inclined to sheepishly inquire, “Dad?!” To which Doug will smile, pull his hand out of his pouch pocket, and flash two fingers to let you know everything is alright.

STOP ASIAN HATE