VALENTINE’S WEEKEND 1995: THE NIGHT SQUEAKY DIED By February 1995, I was well entrenched in the Rocky Horror scene, regionally. I had been part of shows and conventions from Albany, New York to Townsend, Maryland (Baltimore suburbs), and a regular performer at my local cast in Edison, NJ, on Friday nights for almost a year, and unless I was on a road trip to another show, a regular at the show in Nyack, New York on Saturdays. At this time, I was driving a 1985 Dodge Ram 50 Prospector pickup truck. It was as small as pickups came, with a 4-speed transmission and a bench seat. Nothing fancy or special. This was a work truck and had only an AM radio in the dashboard. By now, it had over 150,000 miles. Once on an early Saturday morning, driving someone home from a show, she noticed how the shocks squeaked as we went ov...