The Pink House was like an underground United Nations. Chapel Hill's aspiring artists, musicians, poets, DJ's, activists, actors, writers, nudists, flutists, knuckleheads, and couch-surfers, all living together in (relative) harmony, united by their common bohemianism. Life inside the Pink House often consisted of weird shit happening at all hours, every day, it rarely stopped. And there's something about that place that won't allow the vibe to ever fully dissipate. / PinkHouseForever.org
A People's Techno Association. An Institute of Higher Learning. A Paris party. A rave inside an elementary school. A legendary event that splashed down in an abandoned elementary school located six miles east of Fayetteville on a freezing winter night in 1993, featuring DJ's Brett and Sploo as the night's "Techno Professors." And the Pink House represented, with at least myself, Chris Pedigo, Dai, and Firas in attendance, during Dai's first visit to Chapel Hill. Our crew was undoubtedly bigger, but my memory is hazy.
After Dada Veda broke up at the end of '92, Clint decided to explore his love for the drums, and shortly ended up drumming in two other bands - Kung Fu Fighting and Anubis Leisure Society. This was before he joined Zen Frisbee.
Right after Dai got to town for his legendary first visit to Chapel Hill, Jay and I took him to see Kung Fu Fighting at Cat's Cradle.
Within three months, the Cradle would close its doors at 206 West Franklin Street for good while it searched for what eventually became its new home in Carrboro.
"There was no time the world needed Bob Sheldon more than the day he was killed. It was Feb. 21, 1991, a Thursday. The United States was pounding away at Iraq, 34 days into the Persian Gulf air war. Sheldon was spearheading Triangle-area peace protests from Chapel Hill's Internationalist Books, a hotbed of radical thought and action he had founded back in 1981. During the previous month, he had been shown on the evening news explaining why he had fought the draft during the Vietnam War and why he was contesting the Gulf War. As the ground war loomed, he was gearing up for more teach-ins, vigils and marches.
Sheldon spent the afternoon tending to tasks around the store, and made plans to go out with his friend Ken Kaye after closing at 9 p.m. When Kaye arrived at Internationalist, however, he discovered Sheldon's almost lifeless body on the bloodied floor beside the sales counter. Someone had fired a bullet into his head. About 24 hours after the shooting, Sheldon was pronounced dead at UNC Hospital.
"We lost an intellectual force," says Kathy Giuffre, a friend of Sheldon's who worked a block away at The Cave. "We lost someone who stood up for unpopular positions." Dennis Gavin, owner of the Skylight Exchange, then located across the street from the Internationalist, remembers Sheldon as "a voice of radical calmness" that rose above the din of heated political debates. "He had some radical ideas that he was always able to present in a fairly calm way, and he ran his business in a calm way.""
(Note from 2014 - On the second anniversary of Bob's death, Matt Stewart invited me to come join the vigil held from 7-8 pm in front of Internationalist Books' new Franklin Street store. I think Matt was the Internationalist co-manager at the time, or he might have recently stepped down from that position. It was a moving, somber occasion, and I felt a lot of love for Bob in the hearts of the folks who gathered on Franklin Street that evening.
It was the fall of '89 when I began swinging through Internationalist Books at its 408 West Rosemary location. My excellent freshman history professor Don Reid had instructed students in his HIST 140 - World History Since 1945 class (where Alvis Dunn was my TA and doing a great job helping Professor Reid awaken our young, naive minds to the hidden history of U.S. imperialism) to buy their textbooks from the store. So Internationalist Books was the whole reason I first set foot on Rosemary Street, two doors down from where in later years I would spend many a night tending shop myself at the Lost City.
I can't remember anything specific about my interactions with Bob during the year and a half before he was killed, except that he struck me as a super cool guy. The few times I saw him in the store, he was usually engrossed in lively conversation, either with another customer or talking on the phone. But he was always friendly and welcoming towards everyone, and I know we chatted from time to time.
According to a story I heard a few years ago, when Amiri Baraka came to UNC to speak sometime during this era, and a student was put in charge of chaperoning him around town, Internationalist was the only place Baraka wanted to visit. And FBI types in dark suits and sunglasses followed the two of them into the store and kept a close watch on every word Baraka exchanged with Bob Sheldon. If Internationalist Books hadn't been on the power structure's radar before then, it sure was thereafter.)
To contribute memories or photos of the Pink House, whether you once lived there, just passed through, or punched a hole in the wall at a party, no matter the era, leave a comment or e-mail us: pinkhouseforever@gmail.com.
I did "live" in the Pink House briefly when Scott and i dated. I remember the fridge that spoiled Jay's milk and he ruined some mac and cheese. I remember many parties. I remember two girls that shared a room downstairs and that toboggan wearing guy (erik?) who read every book known to mankind. I remember that jay's room was tiny. Scott had his own room then. I remember dinners to watch Ren and Stimpy and the Simpsons.
Ain't no party like a Pink House party...I miss Mona Lisa and dropping by just to see what was going on. If nothing else, you could probably catch an episode of Ren and Stimpy. Good times, people.
- Caroline Philson, 2009
A nominee for worst houseguest ever is whoever stole my $100 pair of Ray-Bans. Those were the most expensive pair of sunglasses I ever owned. I used to keep them on the shelf in my room that was the first thing you saw if the door was open. And one day, they were just gone. Other contenders include whoever stole the toilet tank cover, and one of our couch cushions, both at the same party in '95 or '96.
- Jay Murray, 2009
One thing that sticks with me is going through the phone bill each month - 6 people marking their calls. I think Erik used to total it up, and then it became my job when he moved out. There was always some random call that no one would claim!
- Mel Keister (Lanham), 2009
The Pink House experience...I remember the insane mix of characters and personalities...the endless procession of random fiends droppin' by to chill on our couches and unadulterated fun we had...never a dull moment...great times!
- Steve William, 2009
I remember being at the Pink House, but I don't ever remember going there or leaving. It's like it was a place that existed only in my mind.
- Matthew Dan Stewart, 2009
I lived in the house for only six months or so, including one flat-out glorious summer, imported by the inimitable Mr. Murray. Before moving in, I hung out there forever. Then rented the upstairs room (formerly Scott's? Mel's?) across from Erik's, when it opened up at the last minute. Actually hit the road and moved to LA two days before the shootings over on Henderson Street (in January '95).
- Trent McDevitt, 2009
Maybe I'll be back someday, knock on the old Pink House door. That is, of course, if they haven't torn it down.
I was so innocent before I moved into that house...
- Karen Hurka, 2009
Visitor Log
Good music, good people, good parties...a really good gathering of people who were looking for something more. There was new music, people from different backgrounds...a lot of the groovy, hip experience that I got out of my time in Chapel Hill. And lots of interesting conversations. That's what I remember most about Pink House parties – the great conversations.
- Mike Thomas, 2009
Early in '95, Chris Palmatier had bought an 8-track, probably on credit, because bill collectors were constantly calling and looking for him. He had his studio set up in the dining room, on the kitchen counter, and every morning, when I would get up and stumble downstairs looking for some breakfast, I'd have to step over a drum set in the kitchen. By 10 am, Chris would have some band starting their practice session in the living room.
- Allen Sellars, 2009
What's up this is Dawad from the old school Jungle Juice Crew! The blog is excellent, I was going through all the stories and memories were just snapping back in my head. I remember being upstairs taking whippet shots for the first time ever, out of this world, those were free and liberal times when ideas were flowing and action was only a step away.
- Dawad Norville, 2009
The Pink House pictures really brought me back to a very magical time in my life. And to memories of some of the best parties I've ever been to. I don't want to wax too nostalgic but I do think that was a special time and community of people in Chapel Hill in the early-mid '90s.
I was hanging out with (an unnamed Pink House resident) once when we were on campus at UNC, and we stumbled upon some Republican literature. So (the unnamed resident) said, "Oh look, some paper to keep the recycling program going!" And picked up the stack and tossed it into the paper recycling bin. I have always found that hilarious!
