The youth center called Spittoon

The reason why the youth center of the Tapiola parish, officially named Olotila, started being called Räkälä – in English, it might have been Spittoon – is unclear. The name, however, perfectly suited the large wooden house that was hidden away in a small grove situated between Menninkäisentie and Tapiola Comprehensive School. The barracks had a vaguely brown color and it stank. Not exactly like the sandy ground under its plinth, which smelled strongly of cat urine.

This was no big surprise, since the large sandy patch under the building, which stayed dry throughout the year, served as a massive litter box. If I were a tomcat, I would have been quite foolish not to satisfy my various needs under Räkälä. And there were plenty of strays in Tapiola. It was probably quite common that summer’s pet cats were set free as autumn arrived. The Garden City was rural enough to the extent that there were several houses in the Tapiola area, not only the Hagalund Manor, where cats performed their natural duty – exterminating rodents. It’s also worth noting that feral cat populations tend to reproduce excessively.

Female and male cool cats also moved within the walls of Räkälä. The place was extremely popular among youth in Tapiola, especially in the years before Heikintori’s disco opened. Olotila offered several activities aimed at young people. Scout troops arranged their meetings at Räkälä. Margaretha von Bahr’s ballet school was operational there. The sports club Tapion Honka held its office in that house. Piano music could be heard every now and then; undoubtedly, a music lesson was underway. Later, other types of music popped out from inside the house. Musicians of the Tapiola Comprehensive School’s Big Band gained extra space from Olotila. It was a true multi-purpose venue. This was certainly because the rapidly growing municipality couldn’t – or didn’t want to – allocate better spaces for its quickly expanding youth population.

The basement of the new church building was spacious. However, the rooms were often windowless, gray, and dreadfully gloomy. Naturally, all sorts of club activities were organized on these new premises. I attended stamp club meetings there for about half a year. Although initially enthusiastic, my interest waned night after night. Straining to examine perforations and color variations in the brightness of the bomb shelter’s neon lights started to feel like the dull pastime of musty old men. When the Beatles’ musical tsunami swept over Tapiola, stamp collecting was replaced by record collecting. Just like stamps, the records had colorful picture covers and strange markings to study.

I walked past Räkälä every weekday on my way to Tapiola Comprehensive School. Menninkäisenpolku, as the sandy path was called, curved past the barrack towards the school. Even in the daytime, there was all sorts of movement visible through the windows; probably the ballet school, Tapion Honka’s customers or the scouts. People were coming and going through the back door at the western end of the building.

The evening atmosphere was quite different. Bigger boys and girls flocked in groups towards the bright lamp of the main entrance like moths. We peeked through the windows. The intoxicating rock music echoed outside. Clearly, they were having fun inside. There was no Sunday school vibe about it. Cigarettes smoldered and swear words bounced around. How I wished I could get in there!

On evenings like this, it was not worth trying the wallet-and-string prank. The older ”big brother” age group knew this trick too well. We bitterly experienced that when we made the mistake of lurking in the bushes on the sandy pathway one damp Friday evening in the fall, with a wallet temptingly dangling from the end of a string. The corner of a promotional mini-bill, imitating a real note, peeked out from the wallet, cut from a magazine. There were not many people on the move that rainy evening. It started getting boring, hiding in the soaked shrubbery. But then, at a particular time, human moths started flocking around Räkälä. Then came an ideal group of three. Ah! They also went past. Suddenly, one of the group jumped backward, stamped on the string, and snatched away the wallet, cackling with laughter.

– No point trying, guys! Thanks for the nice wallet. Ha ha!

We did not get inside Räkälä, but we did get under it. With my friend Hassan, we built a secret den in the smell of cat piss. At that age, boys have a primal urge to build huts, coded into their DNA. The underside of Räkälä was not exactly a flat sand field. There was more mass on the edges than in the middle, and when you dug a little with a shovel, a suitable space for a small hut was created in the middle of the barracks’ base.

Hassan had a handy folding shovel purchased from the army surplus store; I had a cracked plastic children’s snow scoop. With these, we dug a largish hole, at the bottom of which we first dragged styrofoam and planks pilfered from a nearby construction site. The walls were made of boards and plywood. The ceiling was ready – the floor of Räkälä. Lighting was managed with candles and broken oil lamps. Cigarettes hung from our lips when we played cards. With bad luck, we could have been guilty of arson many years earlier. As wall decorations, Hassan had found pages from an adult magazine, Jallu. The raciest picture was the finalists of the Miss Monokini competition. We abandoned the den on one rainy autumn day. A hostile wild cat mother with her newborn kittens had taken over our space. The instinct for self-preservation made us abandon the idea of eviction.

After the confirmation summer camp of the church, Räkälä became my second home. From my front door, it was only a few hundred meters away. I could be sure that some friends from Menninkäisentie and Poutapolku were in Räkälä, or at least classmates from elsewhere in Tapiola. Usually, there was no program as such. We simply just hung out in the barrack. We chatted, listened to records, and smoked cigarettes. In one of the rooms, stood four pinball machines. We had intensely spun the Who’s ”Tommy” LP and inspired by it, we were completely enchanted by the silver ball. We even tried playing like the protagonist on that concept album, the deaf, dumb, and blind Tommy – that is, blindfolded. It didn’t go well. We used to hammer away at the pinball machines whenever we had coins to throw away. One machine, Vagabond, was a particular favorite of ours. We figured out that you could tamper with the mechanism from the back of the machine. With that machine, free plays never ended. Or they ended when one older guy saw what we were doing and nudged us away from the machine with his pals. We avenged this injustice by telling the staff member, Rexi, about the faulty device. It was the end of free games for everyone.

You could hear good music at Räkälä. Many new artists were found by chance when someone put their own record on. My passion for the Beach Boys’ Californian beach sound was ignited one beautiful summer evening when ”Surfin’ USA” hit me with all its intensity. Another long-term love affair developed with Wishbone Ash. There were also Olotila’s own records in the barracks, but they were scratched and thoroughly worn out. Records also disappeared – especially newer singles – before they were treated harshly in the communal use mill.

Some nights there was organized programming. The discussions in the side room were interesting, even though I didn’t dare to open my mouth myself. The Grand Sexual Debate would certainly be fun – or embarrassing – to hear now. Teenagers on the verge of puberty, boys and girls debating a subject that hardly anyone had any experience in or knowledge about apart from the vague crumbs of information received in school health class. There were also other topics. After confirmation camp in the autumn, heated theological discussions took place. For some, confirmation school was the first step towards deeper faith, while for others – like me – it was the true last supper. Band nights were anticipated, even though the space didn’t lend itself well to amplified electric playing. I greatly admired my friend Veli-Matti’s virtuosic playing, although the key wasn’t exactly right.

We’re sitting on the steps of Räkälä. The night is warm. Girls and boys move in and out of the barrack’s door. I recognize many faces. Every now and then a hand waves in greeting. With a few, I exchange some friendly words. The atmosphere is splendid, almost reverent. If only one could preserve such a small moment somewhere – a shard of it does remain in my soul. I’ve got a cigarette burning, Cassu as well. Veli-Matti and Markku are non-smokers. The hair is long: I have a glossy wave running down to my mid-back, Veli-Matti a blond curl cloud, Cassu a long reddish mop, and Markku’s hair tops would graze the collar of his shirt if he were wearing one. All four of us were in the same confirmation camp in Hila. Our camaraderie has deepened into friendship. Although Veli-Matti is superior as a musician, we are considering starting a band. Markku also has some musical abilities. Cassu and I somewhat less. On such beautiful nights on the steps of Olotila among friends, dreams have wings. Four guitarists, of course, is a bit too much. Markku is interested in switching to the bass. I’m considering acquiring an electric guitar. Cassu has a 12-string Eko. A drummer is missing – as always. Someone puts on a record.

– Cool stuff! What band is that? Sounds like the Beatles.
– I haven’t heard before. Great guitar sound. Let’s go check it out.
– The Moys? Some new band. ”Wild Tiger Woman”. That’s at least the song’s name. Someone’s already managed to scratch away at the label.
– Look at the flip side. I haven’t heard of such a band.
– The Move. I know this one. Listen! ”Omnibus”. Quite wild. I’m digging that guitar.

As the night becomes darker, the chatter continues. The Move becomes part of the soundtrack of my life – permanently.

Gradually my visits to Räkälä became fewer and fewer, as if by themselves. Following a rocky start, I really had to concentrate on my upper secondary school studies. Space for music and playing instruments was found in the homes of friends. Even the Klitsu clubhouse on Poutapolku was spacious and had better acoustics – in the way of a natural echo of a concrete cellar room. As an 18-year-old, the doors of the discos finally opened for me. Vesimies, the Aquarius, disco didn’t smell of mold or cat urine. We set our unsteady course towards Dipoli in Otaniemi. ”Groundwork” drinks of course had to be taken, so that the money painstakingly saved from summer jobs, for no more than a few pints, wouldn’t be wasted.

My school days ended with, Suvivirsi, the traditional end-of-school-year song in the spring of ’74. I no longer had to walk a stone’s throw away to get to school. Even the new center of Tapiola was easily reached by walking along walkways paved with concrete slabs. The once popular local hangout, Räkälä, was half forgotten and hidden away in the overgrown forest off Menninkäisenpolku. However, the activities in the temporary building didn’t come to an end. Markku, who had become a proper musician, played a Fender Jazz Bass in Tapiola Co-educational School’s Big Band. Rehearsals were still held in Olotila. Valuable sheet music was kept in a metal cabinet. However, it wasn’t enough to protect the Big Band’s arrangement sheets early one Saturday morning. A serial arsonist struck at two in the morning. Räkälä burned down to its foundations while the fire brigade could only limit the damage. Not only sheet music but expensive instruments were also destroyed. On Saturday, we gathered to witness the gloomy smoking ruins. Länsiväylä, the local weekly magazine, reported the incident on an entire opening. The imagery used was a nearly completely burned sheet music page of the song ”That Old Black Magic.”

And that Move’s single… It eventually ended up with me through the hands of several people. You can still smell the familiar scent of Räkälä in it.