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What kind of offspring is produced when you cross a brilliant mathematics and computer science educator (Jane) with a humorous, hardworking, community minded man (Walt) who had a penchant for wearing Santa Claus outfits and clown costumes? You get John Mianowski of course. Or “Bing”, the highly competent reservations manager and technical whiz at Cascade Lodge, who doubled as a tenacious sound production guy and a bassist who was methodical about dissecting a piece of music to learn and perform it to perfection, all while wearing his signature Zubaz and neon-colored t-shirts. He saw humor in virtually everything he observed. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Bing.
I first met him in 7th grade. We grew up in an era when nearly everyone had a nickname or three, some of which may even be printable in a community newspaper. He never really knew how he acquired his nickname
“Bing”. I knew him as a bass player, so I assumed that it was a description of how he attacked his bass strings. “Bing, bing, bing”! But he denied that theory, given that he had been stuck with the nickname since long before he played a bass. I do know that in more recent years he was slightly disappointed when the Bing search engine appeared online without even acknowledging him or asking permission.
A gang of us had many adventures, and misadventures, in high school years. I can share a little. Some of the stories will have to remain untold until there is further research regarding statute of limitations issues. But all in all, it was pretty innocent fun. These were the years at the back end of Vietnam, the front end of Watergate, and the explosion of rock music’s most productive period. We were pretty isolated in Cook County. The nearest movie theater was 80 or 90 miles away. There were three television channels to choose from, if you could somehow get past the poor TV reception that usually dissuaded our tube time. It took nine years to construct a four-lane bowling alley. So, kids made their own fun. We played sports. We played music. We gave each other nicknames. We hiked up the creeks and rivers. And we got involved in media.
In high school, a new experiment was performed on the students. Traditional scheduling was scrapped completely in favor of “modular scheduling”. Days of the week were replaced by numbered days (#1-6), and the seven one-hour periods per day were replaced with twenty-one 20 minute long “mods”. Much of our time was scheduled as “I.S.” time, which was independent study. It didn’t take long to find workarounds to avoid I.S. boredom. Bing and I, and eventually a couple of others, became the school photographers to support the yearbook and school newspaper publication. Naturally, we were allowed hall passes giving us unlimited access on school grounds to be able to photograph school events or capture candid shots. Of course, occasionally carrying a camera helped to legitimize our hallway and football field meandering. We shot only black and white, developed the film, and printed and edited the photos in the darkroom, which was just off the entrance to the physics lab.
This activity naturally progressed to another mutual project – Bing’s idea actually. We put out an underground newspaper. Amazingly, we were able to purchase paper in the principal’s office area, use the office ditto machine to print the copies (it took a week to clean the blue ink from hands and fingers), and even use the office stapler. The content was mostly juvenile, self-deprecating humor along with poking fun at close friends. What would you expect from kids raised on Laugh-In, The Monkees, and Mad Magazine? The perspective for the humor, although it didn’t really ever approach “clever”, was Rodney Dangerfield as opposed to Don Rickles, if that makes sense. We’d laugh at ourselves rather than hurl mean spirited insults. The newspaper was named the “Squiggly”. It was named after Sid Backlund (yep, of Sven & Ole’s fame), whose nickname had morphed from “Squid” to “Squig”. Football team members had a notoriously loud hop and shout in the echo-laden shower stalls that solidified the naming of the newspaper. We typed articles on the school typewriters, cut them to size with scissors, and used tape or rubber cement paste to make the page layouts. We even accepted classified ads: “Goober and Agate’s Auto Parts – you name it, we’ll get it. Ask about special gas prices”, or “Dr. X’s Self Defense Training – Lesson 1: Stalk and attack a bowl of Jell- O. Lesson 2: Karate a pile of whipped cream in half. Lesson 3: Hold an inflatable Bozo the Clown punching bag to the ground for the count of 3” ….and so on. We were a staff of 4, but it was fun. Today, if something like that took place, the participants might end up on a watch list! Independent study. We made our own fun.
On some of those school days we only had 40 minutes (2 mods) of scheduled class. So, we walked the halls with cameras. Brought our instruments up to the music room to jam after school and eventually started a band appropriately called “Danger”. John had transformed me from a honky tonk piano player to a rock and roll guy by feeding me a steady diet of Grand Funk Railroad, James Gang, Ten Years After, Bloodrock, and other noises. We also snuck out some afternoons with several others to play quarter limit poker at Clint Helmerson’s house – great training in psychology, probability/statistical analysis, and communication. And we put out a few issues of a newspaper that may very well have been the precursor to “The Onion”.
After graduation everyone went their separate ways. But, as so many others do, Bing returned to his roots quite often before finally settling back for good. I remember a few years out of school, I was pushing a stroller with my newborn daughter near the harbor during Fisherman’s Picnic, and I heard blood-curdling shrieks coming from somewhere near the fishburger booth. This was not a noise usually heard near the harbor – save for an occasional Satanic seagull – so I went to check it out. A power rock trio from the twin cities was performing on the platform next to the fishburger stand. The shrieking was coming from a skinny guy with long stringy curly hair dyed yellow. He was unrecognizable from the time I had last seen him, but it was Bing. He was hitting notes that would have made Minnie Riperton or Geddy Lee green with envy. I was thoroughly frightened, maybe because I had subjected my daughter to the Bing experience a bit too early in her development.
Bing passed away on the morning of May 22. Many knew the current version of him – how could you not, with the shaved head, and the signature clothing. I wanted to add some perspective and memories from earlier years to demonstrate some of the traits that were constants through time: intelligent humor, task-oriented methodology, organizational and training skills, and a willingness to help others. He had a work ethic that valued the pursuit of perfection in tasks. He could be stubborn. But how do you tell someone wearing striped pants and a bright orange t-shirt to lighten up? You had to wear a welding helmet around him sometimes to protect your retinas. I know he was extremely happy performing with his group “Four Shore”. And he found a great fit in setting up and running live sound for performers. He was really at home in that environment and quickly became accomplished at it, whether it was at a music venue or up at WTIP for an in-studio broadcast performance. Using a term he would be very familiar and comfortable with, he was a true “statistical outlier”, and he definitely belongs in the Cook County Hysterical Society. Adios Bing, my friend, and cheers!
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