Iowa’s Magic Bus: Where is the party machine turned tailgating icon?

Editor’s note: This is part of a series recounting and exploring College Sports Mysteries.

GRINNELL, Iowa — Parked in a harvested cornfield sits a 39-year-old bus with more stories, half-truths, debauchery and outright lies than an unlocked Wikipedia page.

Here sits the Magic Bus, which earned the moniker of the nation’s top tailgating spot by Sports Illustrated in 1997. Surrounded by rusting farm machinery and newer models still working the fields, the 1984 International S-1800 bus with an unofficial capacity of “Naked 69” moved around Poweshiek County for a few miles just to get the juices flowing on a Sunday afternoon.

It’s a five-speed with a two-speed axle that goes from zero to 60 “in about 5-10 minutes,” said heavy machinery mechanic Shane Carnahan, who has fixed the ultimate party pad on wheels numerous times in recent years. For now, Carnahan’s border collie Duke watches over the Magic Bus, which coincidentally is located 69 miles from its former home at 817 Melrose Ave. — across the street from Kinnick Stadium.

For 20 years, the Magic Bus was Iowa City’s ultimate tailgate party, averaging around 50 kegs and 1,500 people on game day. For $5, patrons paid to see live music and drink all the beer they wanted. At least those were the rules. City and university leaders didn’t always interpret the Magic Bus as a concert first and twice arrested the organizers for bootlegging.

It was put to pasture 13 years ago figuratively by Iowa City’s hierarchy and literally by the Iowa City Ducks rugby club, which owns it. But the anecdotes, oh man.

“Some of these stories might be part of the reason I don’t have a degree,” original Magic Bus owner Brian DeCoster said.

Good mysteries don’t usually start with the conclusion in the first paragraph. But when you’re talking about the Magic Bus, where scantily clad performances before thousands of tailgaters equaled the number of kegs stacked alongside of it, the legend begins with fuzzy memories.

Let's start a new conversation. Anyone remember the Magic Bus? What a place that was.
— Scott Dochterman (@ScottDochterman) October 25, 2023

Birth of the Bus

DeCoster and Iowa City party life became synonymous when he was a student at Iowa in the early 1980s. He bought and rented refrigerators each year on campus before quitting school and entering the rental business full time in his fourth year. He has owned Big Ten Rentals for more than three decades. Any story about the Magic Bus begins with DeCoster.

Known for holding some of Iowa City’s best tailgate parties in the mid-1980s, DeCoster wanted to add kegs of beer to his tailgate spot on university property. The University of Iowa shot down his request, so he moved his spot to private property, and the parties took off.

Then in 1990, DeCoster and a few friends were shooting pool at The Vine and one asked him where he planned to watch the Iowa game. DeCoster said the same party spot. Then his friend reminded him Iowa was playing at Miami.

“So I said, ‘Maybe I’ll buy a bus and we’ll all go,’” DeCoster said. “That’s what happened. I bought a bus, I think it was the next day.”

The black-and-gold bus cost DeCoster $1,000. DeCoster and 12 other people piled into what he christened “The Magic Bus” after The Who’s song and left for Florida almost immediately. Back in Iowa City, people held a pool for where they would abandon it. Yes, the bus broke down, but it was quickly fixed.

Along the way, DeCoster and friends hit a bar in St. Louis and picked up some girls, who joined the travel party. They were ridiculously behind schedule and DeCoster told everyone he wasn’t stopping except to fuel up. Considering all of the beer drinking, it was a rough experience for his new passengers.

“I said you can pee in the bucket like everybody else,” DeCoster said. “We are not pulling over. And they’re like, ‘OK.’ They shrugged their shoulders, and we’d all hold up a sheet and they’d pee in the bucket like everybody else.”

The Magic Bus added more people in Atlanta and went to the game, which Miami won 48-21. The party didn’t end there, however. They kept going to the Florida Keys. Nobody won the pool because the Magic Bus returned to Iowa City in one piece.

A party machine

Over the six years DeCoster owned it, the Magic Bus made its way to the Kentucky Derby, the Indy 500, Mardi Gras, bowl games, concerts and numerous bachelor/bachelorette parties. It once hosted the world’s largest Tupperware party. DeCoster estimated he put 176,000 miles on the bus.

But nothing defined the Magic Bus like tailgating. Over the years, Iowa has developed a reputation as one of America’s ultimate party campuses. Even after the Magic Bus’ heyday, Iowa City ranked either No. 1 or No. 2 in Princeton Review’s annual party school rankings from 2012 through 2016. In reality, it was down a notch or two from the 1990s, especially during tailgating.

DeCoster built a platform atop the Magic Bus, which later featured live music during game days. Radio station KRNA-FM aired outside the Magic Bus, and tons of bands built their followings with pregame, halftime and postgame sets. There were other — ahem — acts on top of the bus that often resulted in nudity. We’ll stop a little short of explaining everything that went on inside and on top of the Magic Bus.

But there are other memories for those who experienced it in person. Kim Winslow, a 1994 Iowa graduate, moved to Raleigh, N.C., and brought her then-fiancé (now husband) to an Iowa-Penn State game in 1999. She introduced him to the Magic Bus that day.

“Everyone was in full-on party mode,” Winslow said. “Music was playing, beer was flowing and there were happy Hawkeye fans everywhere. Finally made our way into the stadium for the game. The excitement soon faded as Iowa trailed No. 2 PSU 21-7 after the third quarter. My dad and I stayed until the end, but my husband exited after the third quarter to go back to the Magic Bus with my cousin. Let’s just say by the time I met up with him after the game, he was a whole lot happier at the Magic Bus than I was after the game.”

A home game with decent weather started with anywhere from 30 to 50 kegs of beer. When it ran low, DeCoster called a taxi to pick up another 10 or 20. Beer distributors, bars and other establishments became sponsors. Beer executive Jake Leinenkugel sponsored the tailgate and provided about 50 kegs. DeCoster and Leinenkugel went to take a picture, and Leinenkugel noticed the kegs weren’t of his beer. They already had run out and had approached 100 kegs that day when ’70s rock star Rick Derringer played at the 1997 tailgate.

“It was really, really crowded. There was literally nowhere to stand up,” DeCoster said. “And after that, we’re sitting on the roof of the bus with our legs hanging over, and I end up falling asleep. I wake up about 10 at night, it’s dark out. I get down from the roof of the bus and go down the stairs and fall asleep on the couch.

“I hear this big grunt and a thump and some scuffling. I go outside and my buddy Eric is laying on the beer swill right underneath the faucets for the bus in a fetal position. And it looks like he fell off the roof of the bus.”

DeCoster’s buddy was bloody, not because of his fall from the bus, but from a previous tumble off the garage because there was no room in the yard around the bus.

Another wild tailgate convinced DeCoster to sell the bus. He left the Magic Bus for more beer and returned to the crowd cheering a naked man clutched to a rusty antenna atop a two-story colonial house.

“It had three layers of rotted shingles,” DeCoster said. “I got up on the roof of the house trying to get him down and encouraging the crowd just to stop encouraging him. And, of course, that’s not going to happen. I don’t remember how I got him down safely. But I decided that’s it.”

Brian DeCoster bought the Magic Bus for $1,000. (Scott Dochterman / The Athletic)

Trouble

A party pad like the Magic Bus might feel like paradise, but it had its moments in purgatory, too. One of the more infamous situations took place Sept. 11, 1993 — the day of the Iowa-Iowa State game. Local police warned DeCoster that other officers were planning to arrest him and future Johnson County Supervisor Rod Sullivan for bootlegging. Because DeCoster was giving away beer at a concert, officers claimed it was a commercial location. Both were arrested, but the charges were dropped. Law enforcement still confiscated the Magic Bus.

DeCoster bought two other buses — Magic Bus Too and Black Magic — but still fought to reclaim his property. Six months later, the state returned the Magic Bus to DeCoster.

“I got it back on Groundhog Day, and we had a big party,” DeCoster said. “Right out of the impound lot, put on a tux and went straight to St. Louis.”

After DeCoster sold the Magic Bus, he still helped bring entertainment to the homecoming concert. That included Derringer in 1997, Head East in 1998 and Molly Hatchet in 1999. Most of Iowa City’s finest got along well with DeCoster except for one officer. The day Molly Hatchet came to the Magic Bus, Sgt. Sid Jackson warned DeCoster if the Southern Rock band played, everyone would get arrested, including the band.

“The band was like there’s no way we’re going to jail for your cause,” DeCoster said. “So we sat and talked about it for a while and then decided to do air guitar.”

Organizers turned on a Molly Hatchet CD and the band lip-synced and played air guitar. Jackson claimed the stunt was inciting a riot, and DeCoster made him write the ticket on stage. Booing and beer tossing ensued. Afterward, Iowa City had to reimburse DeCoster for the situation.

“It didn’t ruin the day, but it put a little damper on it,” DeCoster said. “But I don’t think there’s anybody that can say they had Molly Hatchet play air guitar at their party.”

Changing hands

DeCoster chose to raffle the Magic Bus in 1996 with proceeds going to the Children’s Miracle Network. It changed hands three times in about 10 minutes before four members of the Iowa City Ducks rugby club wound up with the Magic Bus.

Jeremy Freerks, longtime Ducks president, bought half of the raffle tickets, but a couple of guys from Des Moines won it instead. That didn’t deter Freerks or his teammates from their pursuit.

“We took them over to Mumm’s Saloon and fed them a lot of beer and told them how their wives would not be happy if they dragged the Magic Bus back to Des Moines,” said Freerks, who now lives in Oklahoma as a pipefitter. “We might have passed a little devil’s lettuce over to them, too.”

The bus initially became a burden. The rugby team moved it from place to place until football season approached. None of the rugby players had DeCoster’s finances, so figuring out a way to break even was a challenge. Ultimately, they built up the music scene and booked bands to play on top of the bus. But the cleanup became a real chore.

“We’d have to go clean up the entire lot, and then we’d have to haul the one port-a-potty we had back — which will always be overfilled — and it would be sloshing down Riverside Drive,” Freerks said. “That was always nice on Sunday morning to deal with that.”

When DeCoster sold the bus, it didn’t include the infamous rack. The Ducks were on their way to a rugby tournament, and at a gas station, a guy told them he had the Magic Bus’ rack. They picked it up and welded it on, but it had no railing after a low-clearance bridge took it off. The rugby players “borrowed” some wood from one of their parents when a deck was being built to make it “safe” for bands.

Freerks and his rugby mates transferred ownership to the club. The Ducks issued wristbands and worked as security. Donations from beer distributorships — first Miller, then Shriner, then Miller again — allowed the club to become profitable, which in turn allowed it to donate money to local charities. It worked with downtown Iowa City bars to book music acts, so bands received a weekend of exposure. One rugby player was an electrician and rewired the property so there were no electrical issues for the bands.

In 1997, Sports Illustrated dedicated an issue to the top 50 college sports programs in America. Iowa was a wrestling dynasty and a perennial Big Ten contender in football, men’s basketball and women’s basketball. But the story featured “the Best Traveling Tailgate Party in America.” The Magic Bus had made it big-time.

When the photographer arrived on Easter Sunday, the Magic Bus had sat in a pasture all winter and wouldn’t start. The club towed the bus to its tailgate spot and called several regulars to throw a party on it.

Downfall

The Magic Bus became a symbol of Hawkeye hedonism that city and university officials believed needed more control. The Ducks had to up the cover charge to $10 per person, but it still was a bargain. By the mid-2000s, the university halted halftime access outside Kinnick Stadium, where fans would sprint across the street, slam a few beers and return during the third quarter.

Curbing binge drinking became a major topic at the university later that decade. The longtime property across Kinnick exchanged hands multiple times, but in 2010, the new owners wanted to build their own money-making tailgate venture. The Magic Bus needed to move, and it required a temporary use permit. Neighbors started a petition against the bus, and the move was denied by city officials “after failing to meet criteria including proper public and emergency access to the tailgate.”

The Ducks sought another site about a 10-minute walk from Kinnick Stadium, but it never caught on. The Magic Bus’ demise coincided with the university’s “Think Before You Drink” campaign. At the 2010 season opener, police issued 146 alcohol-related tickets or arrests. The backlash was so intense, the university and local police had to backtrack. It took years before thousands of fans returned to traditional tailgating. The Magic Bus never came back.

“Iowa City and (then-UI President) Sally Mason decided we’re going to take the icon away from the University of Iowa, and that icon was the Magic Bus,” Freerks said. “They just decided we’re going to find a way to cancel the bus and maybe this thing about Iowa City being the greatest place to tailgate and biggest party town will go away, which, obviously, didn’t happen. And for what, for six Saturdays a year?”

For a few years, the Ducks brought the Magic Bus to Backpocket Brewing for pre-tailgating events, then the ignition wires got pulled and it couldn’t start. The Magic Bus was towed to the Club 76 American Legion building. The club loaded it on a trailer to Merkel’s in Chicago when the Hawkeyes played at Soldier Field in 2012, but it largely sat unused in rural Johnson County.

“It was kind of a whole debacle there,” said Tyler Dailey, president of the Iowa City Ducks and coach of the University of Iowa club team. “Once we couldn’t get it started on its own, we had to haul it back out to the lodge. And that’s where it sat for quite a few years until we were able to find somebody to fix it.”

Rebirth

During the pandemic, Dailey was told about a mechanic in central Iowa who could fix anything. So Dailey called Carnahan and had the Magic Bus towed to his shop.

“About an hour after I got it in his parking lot, he had it running,” Dailey said.

There were pine needles and debris everywhere from years of inactivity. It needed new tires, brakes and electrical work. But Carnahan worked on it, and he fired it up this week before parking it in the cornfield.

“It runs like a sewing machine,” he said.

This winter, Carnahan plans to rebuild the rack on it. The hope is for the Ducks and university club team to eventually use it for charity events and rugby parties. Perhaps one day it will make a tailgating appearance, but that’s not the first thought right now.

“That kind of went away with the whole debacle,” Dailey said.

As for the legacy, the Magic Bus lives on where the myths become embellished because the details are so fleeting. But when you talk tailgating in Iowa City, there was nothing like it.

“Everybody tells me that all the time,” Freerks said. “I said I don’t remember a whole hell of a lot of it.”

“There’s never a week goes by I don’t hear people talking about it or people talk to me about it,” DeCoster said. “It just had some really fun times.”