you really had to be there, but...
- Thread starter DVS
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DVS
A ghost from your dreams
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I sincerely appreciate that you like my stories.What a wonderful collection of tales.
I'll be posting more in the near future.
DVS
A ghost from your dreams
- Joined
- Apr 17, 2002
- Posts
- 11,416
Back in the 70s, it was a different time to be alive. Clothing was vibrant with colors and designs. Paisley was a strange shape that made good. Of course, if you were around in the 70s, you know what I’m talking about. Paisleys were on everything. I had shirts covered with paisleys and ties covered with paisleys. One thing I didn’t have was shoes with paisleys, but I’m guessing they were out there.
Unfortunately, I did have shoes with 2 inch heals, though. Being as tall as I am, I really stood out in a crowd, let me tell you. Bell bottom slacks were big. It wasn’t uncommon to see somebody wearing jeans that had such large bell bottoms that you couldn’t even see their shoes. Check out Google to see if I’m telling the truth. “Mod” was a style you should check out. Be prepared to be shocked!
Rock music was very popular in the 70s. It was before the 80s, when bands started getting out of hand with their big hair and spandex. The 70s were still like the 60s. Songs back then still had a melody. Yes, this was a time when music was really music. Psychedelic was a trending thing in music. Strobe lights were popular and other interesting light shows were the thing behind rock bands. It was mostly for impact, because the audience was usually pretty high on drugs. Those lights would actually enhance the musical experience.
Dude was a popular word to use. Everybody was a dude. It had nothing to do with what they looked like. It was just a name everybody used, in an attempt to seem cool. Dude, it’s just simple to say that the 70s were cool. OK, not as cool as the 60s, but the 60s were a special time. If you weren’t there, you really missed something.
I’ve probably bored you to moving on to something else. But, if not, this story is from the mid 70s. I think the exact year was 1974. I had a job as manager of a car wash. Yes, you heard me. It was the first automated car wash. You would just sit in your car and it would pull you through the tunnel. At the other end, your car would come out nice and clean, blown dry and probably missing your radio antenna. In some cases, the antenna got caught in one of the brushes and scratched the car from one end to the other. But those scratches would be nice and clean.
This car wash was on a popular street corner back then. Today, this car wash no longer exists. The city has moved on and nothing that was once on this corner is even there any more. Actually, the area has changed so much, that corner is no longer there. I went by the area about a year ago, and got lost, because it had changed so much. You know you are getting old when you get lost like that.
A lot of things happened on that corner. Everybody that worked in the car wash was a pot smoker. And it seemed like everybody that came to wash their car was doing drugs of some kind, too. It was popular because you could just sit in the car and watch the show. It’s not that uncommon to see one today. I’d guess everybody has gone through an automatic car wash. I’m also sure drug deals happened during one of those car washes. That was just a part of the times.
Speaking of drug deals, it wasn’t uncommon to supplement your income back then by selling pot. It was easy to get, and you could buy a large quantity, get some sandwich bags, and go into business. But, it was also possible to get your pot cheaper, the larger quantities you purchased. Being a musician, it was a normal thing to smoke a lot of pot. You could create better music when you where high.
Oh, I know what you’re thinking. You think we just thought it sounded better. Nope. That’s one of the things pot was known for. Everything was enhanced by the high. Don’t confuse this with those stupid stoners we all remember. Those guys were pot abusers, similar to what we see today in drinkers. So, if people who abuse alcohol are called alcoholics, I guess those who abused pot would have been called potaholics or maybe marihuanaholics? I think it’s just easier to call them stoners.
Remember when I talked about everybody using the word dude? I think dude was a stoner’s favorite word. While most people would need a complete sentence to make a point, stoners could express a complete thought with just one word. Dude could mean “hello”, and it could mean, “What the fuck are you talking about?” All it took was a different voice inflection.
I was one of the people who liked to buy a lot of pot at once, to save money. That meant I didn’t have to see a dealer as often as some did, so there was less of a chance I’d meet up with a narc. There was also the chance of getting screwed, so the less you saw that type of person, the better. And if you had the necessary cash, it would save you money in the long run. And if you needed money before pay day, you could always sell some and you’d have some ready cash to last until you got paid.
One day while working at the car wash, I met a guy. We got to be good friends. He was off work, because he drove one of those big earth movers and I guess they don’t work unless somebody wants some earth moved. One day we got to talking and I mentioned that I liked to buy large quantities of pot, because it was cheaper and it would last a long time. He said he knew where I could get just about as much as I wanted, if I had the cash. And he would be the middle man, so I wouldn’t have to see anybody but him. All I’d have to do is give him some as a finder’s fee. I perked right up at that information. We decided to make a deal.
I don’t remember the prices back then, but of course they were cheaper than they are now. That’s back when an ounce of pot was still called a lid. Nobody worried about buying anything smaller. Now, I think people by lesser quantities, because they can’t afford any more. But, because that's what everybody purchased, I guess you’d say that would be a retail purchase.
What we decided on was a kilo of pot. If you’re good at your weight conversions, a kilo is 2.2 pounds of pot. And if you got a good kilo, it would be pressed very tightly into a rectangle and really resemble a dictionary. If it didn’t look like this, it had probably been stepped on and you had to worry if you were getting screwed. Because my friend was doing all of the difficult part of the deal, he had to worry about all of this.
Moving along, the spot where he was to meet me was the car wash. He showed up and the kilo was a perfectly pressed block. It looked fantastic. It was a solid block of pot. We had decided that his cut of the deal would be that 0.2 pounds, leaving me with 2 pounds of pot. But we had to figure out how to cut it up. In all of our negotiations and planning, we hadn’t figured out how we were going to cut it up. I happened to have a large knife at the car wash and so we decided to just estimate how much 0.2 pounds would be and I started cutting the kilo up. I’d put a plastic sheet down, so we wouldn’t lose any, if it crumbled.
About mid way through this little transaction, one of the other guys working at the car wash came back and told us that police were all over the corner. Talk about panic… I left my friend with the pot and went to see for my own eyes, what was going on. Sure enough, there were maybe 20 police cars right outside the car wash. I had to keep my composure, in case they were coming for a visit. I went back to my friend and explained to him that sure enough, there was a mass of police right outside. That little corner lot had the car wash and a small burger joint on it. That was it. There wasn’t much on that corner to require that many police. In fact, it seemed to me that every police car in the area just happened to be on this little corner.
Needless to say my friend was in panic mode. Shit, needless to say I was in panic mode. The last thing we wanted to see while cutting up a kilo of pot was about 20 police cars. Keep in mind that every car had at least one policeman, too so that means 20 police officers right outside our car wash.
We waited a little bit, expecting the worse. It was a tense few minutes. After that, I had to know what was going on. These police were all just hanging out like they were waiting for the doughnut light to come on or something. The best answer is straight from the horse’s mouth, so that’s what I decided to do. I somehow had to slow my heart down and the only way to do that was to find out why all of these guys with guns were on this particular corner at this particular moment.
I got my wits about me, and walked outside the front door of the car wash and over to where most of the police were standing. It did seem like they were hanging out around the rear of the little burger joint and not around the car wash. That gave me the necessary courage, because if they knew what we were doing inside that car wash, they would have been circling the wagons around and getting the blow horn out to say those immortal words…”come out with your hands up, you’re surrounded”.
Slowly I walked up to this group of police officers. They were all standing together, and it seemed like they were all joking with one another. It really didn’t seem like they were there on business. That gave me even a little more courage. I took a big breath and walked up to them and asked the obvious question someone would ask when they saw so many police in one place. There was no dead body, no fire, and no gunman hold up in the burger joint. So why were they all hanging out there?
You won’t believe it. I know I didn’t believe it when I heard it myself. You know why they were all there? It seems one of the officers had been to the burger joint for lunch, and he had parked in the back, where most everybody parked. You see, it wasn’t a place you could go inside. It just had a window you walked up to where you would place your order. I guess when he got back in his car and started to leave, he scraped the owner’s car. I don’t think it was a very bad scratch, but a scratch is a scratch and because he was at fault, he had to call it in on the radio. He also had to request a police photographer come take pictures of the scratch.
So, because he had to call this in on the radio, every police officer in the area that wasn’t doing anything at the time had to show up and razz the guy for scratching a parked car. Scratching a moving car is bad enough, but he had scratched a car that wasn’t even moving.
Imagine my relief when I heard this. But instead of my heart slowing down, I think it actually stopped for a few seconds. So, after I laughed with the officer who told me this story, I just turned around and walked back to the car wash. When I got there, everybody was still in panic mode. I told them what the real reason all of those police were hanging out on our corner. I returned to my friend and the kilo of pot I had been cutting up. I explained to him what was going on and we both shared a strangely nervous laugh. Then, after my hands has stopped shaking, I was able to resume cutting it up. Thinking back on this, I think he ended up getting more than his 0.2 pounds, because we didn’t have a scale to weigh it. But, when you have 20 police officers right outside your door and you’re cutting up a kilo of pot, you don’t worry about the small things.
You really had to be there, when you think about this story. How could it have been any stranger? Seriously, when you think about it, those guys could have decided to pop in to say “hi”, because some of them were regulars and came there to wash their patrol cars. Any number of things could have caused the situation to go another way, but I guess the gods were with us that day. Oh, they were with us, but they were also playing a little joke on us, too.
Unfortunately, I did have shoes with 2 inch heals, though. Being as tall as I am, I really stood out in a crowd, let me tell you. Bell bottom slacks were big. It wasn’t uncommon to see somebody wearing jeans that had such large bell bottoms that you couldn’t even see their shoes. Check out Google to see if I’m telling the truth. “Mod” was a style you should check out. Be prepared to be shocked!
Rock music was very popular in the 70s. It was before the 80s, when bands started getting out of hand with their big hair and spandex. The 70s were still like the 60s. Songs back then still had a melody. Yes, this was a time when music was really music. Psychedelic was a trending thing in music. Strobe lights were popular and other interesting light shows were the thing behind rock bands. It was mostly for impact, because the audience was usually pretty high on drugs. Those lights would actually enhance the musical experience.
Dude was a popular word to use. Everybody was a dude. It had nothing to do with what they looked like. It was just a name everybody used, in an attempt to seem cool. Dude, it’s just simple to say that the 70s were cool. OK, not as cool as the 60s, but the 60s were a special time. If you weren’t there, you really missed something.
I’ve probably bored you to moving on to something else. But, if not, this story is from the mid 70s. I think the exact year was 1974. I had a job as manager of a car wash. Yes, you heard me. It was the first automated car wash. You would just sit in your car and it would pull you through the tunnel. At the other end, your car would come out nice and clean, blown dry and probably missing your radio antenna. In some cases, the antenna got caught in one of the brushes and scratched the car from one end to the other. But those scratches would be nice and clean.
This car wash was on a popular street corner back then. Today, this car wash no longer exists. The city has moved on and nothing that was once on this corner is even there any more. Actually, the area has changed so much, that corner is no longer there. I went by the area about a year ago, and got lost, because it had changed so much. You know you are getting old when you get lost like that.
A lot of things happened on that corner. Everybody that worked in the car wash was a pot smoker. And it seemed like everybody that came to wash their car was doing drugs of some kind, too. It was popular because you could just sit in the car and watch the show. It’s not that uncommon to see one today. I’d guess everybody has gone through an automatic car wash. I’m also sure drug deals happened during one of those car washes. That was just a part of the times.
Speaking of drug deals, it wasn’t uncommon to supplement your income back then by selling pot. It was easy to get, and you could buy a large quantity, get some sandwich bags, and go into business. But, it was also possible to get your pot cheaper, the larger quantities you purchased. Being a musician, it was a normal thing to smoke a lot of pot. You could create better music when you where high.
Oh, I know what you’re thinking. You think we just thought it sounded better. Nope. That’s one of the things pot was known for. Everything was enhanced by the high. Don’t confuse this with those stupid stoners we all remember. Those guys were pot abusers, similar to what we see today in drinkers. So, if people who abuse alcohol are called alcoholics, I guess those who abused pot would have been called potaholics or maybe marihuanaholics? I think it’s just easier to call them stoners.
Remember when I talked about everybody using the word dude? I think dude was a stoner’s favorite word. While most people would need a complete sentence to make a point, stoners could express a complete thought with just one word. Dude could mean “hello”, and it could mean, “What the fuck are you talking about?” All it took was a different voice inflection.
I was one of the people who liked to buy a lot of pot at once, to save money. That meant I didn’t have to see a dealer as often as some did, so there was less of a chance I’d meet up with a narc. There was also the chance of getting screwed, so the less you saw that type of person, the better. And if you had the necessary cash, it would save you money in the long run. And if you needed money before pay day, you could always sell some and you’d have some ready cash to last until you got paid.
One day while working at the car wash, I met a guy. We got to be good friends. He was off work, because he drove one of those big earth movers and I guess they don’t work unless somebody wants some earth moved. One day we got to talking and I mentioned that I liked to buy large quantities of pot, because it was cheaper and it would last a long time. He said he knew where I could get just about as much as I wanted, if I had the cash. And he would be the middle man, so I wouldn’t have to see anybody but him. All I’d have to do is give him some as a finder’s fee. I perked right up at that information. We decided to make a deal.
I don’t remember the prices back then, but of course they were cheaper than they are now. That’s back when an ounce of pot was still called a lid. Nobody worried about buying anything smaller. Now, I think people by lesser quantities, because they can’t afford any more. But, because that's what everybody purchased, I guess you’d say that would be a retail purchase.
What we decided on was a kilo of pot. If you’re good at your weight conversions, a kilo is 2.2 pounds of pot. And if you got a good kilo, it would be pressed very tightly into a rectangle and really resemble a dictionary. If it didn’t look like this, it had probably been stepped on and you had to worry if you were getting screwed. Because my friend was doing all of the difficult part of the deal, he had to worry about all of this.
Moving along, the spot where he was to meet me was the car wash. He showed up and the kilo was a perfectly pressed block. It looked fantastic. It was a solid block of pot. We had decided that his cut of the deal would be that 0.2 pounds, leaving me with 2 pounds of pot. But we had to figure out how to cut it up. In all of our negotiations and planning, we hadn’t figured out how we were going to cut it up. I happened to have a large knife at the car wash and so we decided to just estimate how much 0.2 pounds would be and I started cutting the kilo up. I’d put a plastic sheet down, so we wouldn’t lose any, if it crumbled.
About mid way through this little transaction, one of the other guys working at the car wash came back and told us that police were all over the corner. Talk about panic… I left my friend with the pot and went to see for my own eyes, what was going on. Sure enough, there were maybe 20 police cars right outside the car wash. I had to keep my composure, in case they were coming for a visit. I went back to my friend and explained to him that sure enough, there was a mass of police right outside. That little corner lot had the car wash and a small burger joint on it. That was it. There wasn’t much on that corner to require that many police. In fact, it seemed to me that every police car in the area just happened to be on this little corner.
Needless to say my friend was in panic mode. Shit, needless to say I was in panic mode. The last thing we wanted to see while cutting up a kilo of pot was about 20 police cars. Keep in mind that every car had at least one policeman, too so that means 20 police officers right outside our car wash.
We waited a little bit, expecting the worse. It was a tense few minutes. After that, I had to know what was going on. These police were all just hanging out like they were waiting for the doughnut light to come on or something. The best answer is straight from the horse’s mouth, so that’s what I decided to do. I somehow had to slow my heart down and the only way to do that was to find out why all of these guys with guns were on this particular corner at this particular moment.
I got my wits about me, and walked outside the front door of the car wash and over to where most of the police were standing. It did seem like they were hanging out around the rear of the little burger joint and not around the car wash. That gave me the necessary courage, because if they knew what we were doing inside that car wash, they would have been circling the wagons around and getting the blow horn out to say those immortal words…”come out with your hands up, you’re surrounded”.
Slowly I walked up to this group of police officers. They were all standing together, and it seemed like they were all joking with one another. It really didn’t seem like they were there on business. That gave me even a little more courage. I took a big breath and walked up to them and asked the obvious question someone would ask when they saw so many police in one place. There was no dead body, no fire, and no gunman hold up in the burger joint. So why were they all hanging out there?
You won’t believe it. I know I didn’t believe it when I heard it myself. You know why they were all there? It seems one of the officers had been to the burger joint for lunch, and he had parked in the back, where most everybody parked. You see, it wasn’t a place you could go inside. It just had a window you walked up to where you would place your order. I guess when he got back in his car and started to leave, he scraped the owner’s car. I don’t think it was a very bad scratch, but a scratch is a scratch and because he was at fault, he had to call it in on the radio. He also had to request a police photographer come take pictures of the scratch.
So, because he had to call this in on the radio, every police officer in the area that wasn’t doing anything at the time had to show up and razz the guy for scratching a parked car. Scratching a moving car is bad enough, but he had scratched a car that wasn’t even moving.
Imagine my relief when I heard this. But instead of my heart slowing down, I think it actually stopped for a few seconds. So, after I laughed with the officer who told me this story, I just turned around and walked back to the car wash. When I got there, everybody was still in panic mode. I told them what the real reason all of those police were hanging out on our corner. I returned to my friend and the kilo of pot I had been cutting up. I explained to him what was going on and we both shared a strangely nervous laugh. Then, after my hands has stopped shaking, I was able to resume cutting it up. Thinking back on this, I think he ended up getting more than his 0.2 pounds, because we didn’t have a scale to weigh it. But, when you have 20 police officers right outside your door and you’re cutting up a kilo of pot, you don’t worry about the small things.
You really had to be there, when you think about this story. How could it have been any stranger? Seriously, when you think about it, those guys could have decided to pop in to say “hi”, because some of them were regulars and came there to wash their patrol cars. Any number of things could have caused the situation to go another way, but I guess the gods were with us that day. Oh, they were with us, but they were also playing a little joke on us, too.
Last edited:
All_4_Love
Literotica Guru
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Hey! This is awesome! I just saw this thread! It looks like I have some reading to do! Thanks DVS.
DVS
A ghost from your dreams
- Joined
- Apr 17, 2002
- Posts
- 11,416
I hope you enjoy what you read.Hey! This is awesome! I just saw this thread! It looks like I have some reading to do! Thanks DVS.
DVS
A ghost from your dreams
- Joined
- Apr 17, 2002
- Posts
- 11,416
Back in 1969, I had been in the Boy Scouts for several years. I was an eagle scout and moved on to be an Explorer, which was the next and final step in scouting. I don’t know how we got the chance, but quite a few of our troupe were able to fly up to Idaho for the National Scout Jamboree.
We were all from a small town and it seemed like everybody in the town were behind us. We’d never been to something like that before so we were very much newbies to it all. We were told that it would be good to take something to trade to the other boys there. The town council provided us with little things like small first aid kits and sewing kits with the town’s name on them, and pennies pressed inside an aluminum circle that also had the town’s name on them.
We were also told to stock up on suntan lotion, because Idaho had a very dry heat. Our area had very humid air, so we noticed it more than the same temperature without humidity. We were told we could easily get a sunburn and not even notice. I was working as a lifeguard in the summer months, so I already had a nice tan. I don’t remember if I even put any of the lotion on or not. I was pretty used to sitting in a hot sun.
Anyway, we flew up there on Frontier Airlines, and I’m not sure if that airline still exists. I think it was a Boeing 727 jet, which were popular back then. The flight itself is spotty in my memory. I just know we got there in one piece and somehow ended up at the Jamboree. I don’t know what I was expecting, but most of the area was full of tents…lots of them. In a way, it looked like a military base. The tents were all lined up and in groups, rows and rows of them. Each group was a different scouting troupe from a different part of the country. And even though it was just a National Jamboree, there were some scouts from other parts of the world there, too.
Some troupes were small, so they were bunched in with other troupes. Because we were a small troupe, we were mixed in with another troupe from the same basic area as we were, but a much larger city. These were two men tents and so we all ended up bunking with someone we didn’t know. That was supposed to help us make new friends. I’ll get deeper into my tend buddy a little later.
Each group of tents had a larger tent where those scouts would gather for their dinners. Each had portable grills, skillets and wooden cabinets with cooking supplies and things like bread, apples and some canned goods. Yes, we had all the comforts of any other camp site. Instead of each of us cooking our own food, we’d all take turns being the cook for the whole group. I don’t remember if we all got a chance or not, but there were a lot of chances to cook breakfast, lunch or dinner.
On my first day, of course, I had to check the place out. We were up on a hill that looked down over most of the rest of the tents. It was a sight, let me tell you. I don’t know how many tents there were, but they filled the whole valley. There were small mountains all around, and that valley was very flat, almost like it had been created just for the occasion. There weren’t that many trees, either. I do remember a few around the edges, but down in that valley, there wasn’t a tree to be found. And yes, it was hot. I think my suntan and being a lifeguard helped me, but we were all wearing scout uniforms and they were more for looks, not for comfort in the heat.
My tent buddy was from another city, like I already mentioned. What I didn’t know was his family had a business and he had planned to go into that business as soon as he was old enough. He was very proud of that business, too. Unfortunately for me, he was so proud of it, that we would have conversations about it at night, before going to sleep. You’ll never guess what the family business was. His dad was a mortician. And this kid was already schooled on the process of embalming and that’s how we spent our time at night. I now know more about the embalming business than I really care to know. And this kid really seemed like he had watched his dad do this. He knew all of the grizzly details of it all and he didn’t seem bothered at all when talking about it. I’m not the squeamish type, but I could have lived a long time without finding out about all of that stuff. It’s one part of my jamboree experience I hadn’t counted on.
Like I said, our group was up on a hill, above most of the other tent sites. One afternoon, we were given the privilege of watching a jet plane barnstorming the valley. Yes, this was a large passenger jet, a Boeing 727 making several passes over the valley. I could tell by the engine placement. And I don’t think he was any more than 1,000 feet above the ground. It seemed like a lot less than that. Sure, he had to be drunk or something, because that’s not a very safe thing to do. If he had crashed into the valley, he would have surely killed a whole lot of boy scouts.
The sun was too bright to tell if there were any airline makings from where we were standing but I’m sure somebody down in the valley could see. I had a camera and I took a couple of pictures, but the camera was a cheap one and all of the photos came out looking like he was miles away. That’s how some cameras are, so things that are really up close will appear to be a lot farther away. It sure would have been nice to have a more professional camera, but that was back when consumer cameras were either very expensive or really cheap plastic, like mine. My guess is he was surely caught and at least fired for what he did. It’s difficult to get away with something like that in such a large plane. But, no matter what happened to him, he gave us all a pretty cool thrill. And I still have my memories of it.
One morning, we all woke up and like every other day we assembled in the larger tent for breakfast. Because of the way the cooking was done, we never knew what was for breakfast until the person cooking let us know. So, we were all standing around waiting when my scout master came up to me and said it was my day to cook breakfast. I’m sure there was a schedule somewhere, but I hadn’t bothered to check it. I was having fun doing other things, like watching jets fly over and visiting guys from other parts of the country.
The news that I was going to be cooking breakfast caught me off guard. You see, we were suppose to plan something in advance, so we’d be prepared for it and everybody would be fed without incident. So, when he asked me “what’s for breakfast” he was expecting an answer and I didn’t have one. In the few seconds I had to think before giving my answer, I quickly thought about what I could cook. What I remembered was what my mother once taught me to cook, if I ever needed something to eat and I was alone. Sure, she taught me how to cook grilled cheese sandwiches, and the basic peanut butter and jelly, but those weren’t good ideas for breakfast.
Then something else came to me. She had also taught me how to make French toast. Yes, if you know, it’s very easy to make, if you have the necessary ingredients. And there are some fancy ways to do it, but I just know the basic French toast. So, I quickly blurted out “French toast” as the answer to what I was going to cook that morning. I’m sure he expected me to say scrambled eggs or something like that, but it was easy to see that he was impressed with my answer. I was, too.
He asked what I needed and I told him milk, eggs and bread. And as it turned out, we needed lots of bread. My spontaneous thought of breakfast was a hit. I think we had to get extra bread from other groups, because everybody wanted seconds and thirds. It was amazing. Something so easy to make had such an impact. Years later, those in our troupe were still talking about that breakfast…especially my scout master. Thanks, mom.
I said earlier that everybody who went to these jamborees would exchange trinkets to others to get remembrances of meeting guys from other parts of the country. My town had sent us off with trinkets of our own to exchange. Some had patches from former jamborees to trade, but being newbies, we didn’t have any of those. It was still very interesting to see some of those patches. They were kind of like looking at patches from the Olympics. And some guys were trading patches from their own troupes, but we didn’t go prepared for that, either.
I was walking around, looking at all of the different collections of things as well as things everybody had to trade and I came upon a troupe from Washington State. What they brought to trade was pretty unique. There was a table with a lot of Styrofoam coffee cups on it and in each cup was a very small tree. Each tree was about 3 inches tall. They were Washington blue spruce trees. I’m not that much of a gardener, but for some reason, I had to have one of those trees.
Who could tell if any one of those trees would live very long or grow up to be straight and tall spruce trees. I think they were mostly considered little trinkets to trade, just like what we had brought. I don’t remember what I traded for a tree, but I ended up with one. I was smart enough to wait until the jamboree was almost over, so I didn’t have to care for it for long. And it wasn’t easy keeping it from damage, when packing everything up and flying home again. I had to keep one hand free to carry it, because it wasn’t something I could pack.
There was the flight, and then the hour long drive to our small town, after that, but that tree did just fine. I was really concerned that I’d drop it. That small cup wasn’t that sturdy and I’m sure it would have broken. That would have been the end of my tree, I’m sure. I got it home OK and once I got it home, my mother planted it for me. Again, we didn’t know if it would live very long. You never really know how long something that small is going to last. They are so delicate at that size.
Well, as I continued to grow, so did the tree. By the time I moved out of the house and went on to college and more, I think the tree had grown to about 10 feet tall. Some of the things around it had to be moved. Yes, it grew more than we thought it would and it was taking over the area. But, it was a very pretty tree. And it was growing nice and straight. I don’t think I could have asked for more, after lugging it around like I did.
Years have passed, my parents have both died, and we’ve sold the house. But, I’ve been up to that house a few times and every time I go up there, I hope that tree is still there. See, the house has sold a couple more times, since we sold it. I did make sure to mention it to the family we sold the house to how that tree came about, but I don’t know if they kept the story going or not. But the last time I saw the tree, it was over 30 feet tall, and still growing straight as an arrow. Why would anybody want to cut it down?
I keep telling myself I need to go up there and tell the story about that tree to the present residents. But, I don’t think they’d know me and I’d hate to be thought of as a pervert or some stranger at their door. From what I know, all of the neighbors have all either died or moved away, so there isn’t anybody left in that neighborhood that would know me. I’m sure my dad would be remembered, because he was a very prominent citizen of the town.
He was also a charter member of the Lion’s Club, a member of the park board, school board and even the mayor for a time. He was also one of the few who would build the fireworks displays each year and set them off the night of the 4th of July. And I’m talking about those big ones they shoot off from metal tubes buried in the ground. But, you just never know about how your life has impacted others.
I’ve checked Google maps and I think I’ve been able to see the tree, but I don’t know how long ago the Google camera car had been through that town. I do know someone who still lives in the town, so I guess I could ask him to drive by to see if the tree is still there. But, I don’t know if I could trust him to know what tree I was talking about. There were a lot of trees in our back yard back then.
So, I guess I’m going to have to make a trip up there, just to make sure the tree is still there. I have to make as much of an impact as I can on that family, too. I think they still have a paper up there. Maybe I could make it a human interest story. Who would cut down a tree with such an interesting beginning? You really had to be there, inside my body, inside my heart, as I look in that back yard for my tree. The last few blocks up the road are the worst. Sure, it’s just another tree to anybody else. But to me, it’s a large part of my boyhood.
We were all from a small town and it seemed like everybody in the town were behind us. We’d never been to something like that before so we were very much newbies to it all. We were told that it would be good to take something to trade to the other boys there. The town council provided us with little things like small first aid kits and sewing kits with the town’s name on them, and pennies pressed inside an aluminum circle that also had the town’s name on them.
We were also told to stock up on suntan lotion, because Idaho had a very dry heat. Our area had very humid air, so we noticed it more than the same temperature without humidity. We were told we could easily get a sunburn and not even notice. I was working as a lifeguard in the summer months, so I already had a nice tan. I don’t remember if I even put any of the lotion on or not. I was pretty used to sitting in a hot sun.
Anyway, we flew up there on Frontier Airlines, and I’m not sure if that airline still exists. I think it was a Boeing 727 jet, which were popular back then. The flight itself is spotty in my memory. I just know we got there in one piece and somehow ended up at the Jamboree. I don’t know what I was expecting, but most of the area was full of tents…lots of them. In a way, it looked like a military base. The tents were all lined up and in groups, rows and rows of them. Each group was a different scouting troupe from a different part of the country. And even though it was just a National Jamboree, there were some scouts from other parts of the world there, too.
Some troupes were small, so they were bunched in with other troupes. Because we were a small troupe, we were mixed in with another troupe from the same basic area as we were, but a much larger city. These were two men tents and so we all ended up bunking with someone we didn’t know. That was supposed to help us make new friends. I’ll get deeper into my tend buddy a little later.
Each group of tents had a larger tent where those scouts would gather for their dinners. Each had portable grills, skillets and wooden cabinets with cooking supplies and things like bread, apples and some canned goods. Yes, we had all the comforts of any other camp site. Instead of each of us cooking our own food, we’d all take turns being the cook for the whole group. I don’t remember if we all got a chance or not, but there were a lot of chances to cook breakfast, lunch or dinner.
On my first day, of course, I had to check the place out. We were up on a hill that looked down over most of the rest of the tents. It was a sight, let me tell you. I don’t know how many tents there were, but they filled the whole valley. There were small mountains all around, and that valley was very flat, almost like it had been created just for the occasion. There weren’t that many trees, either. I do remember a few around the edges, but down in that valley, there wasn’t a tree to be found. And yes, it was hot. I think my suntan and being a lifeguard helped me, but we were all wearing scout uniforms and they were more for looks, not for comfort in the heat.
My tent buddy was from another city, like I already mentioned. What I didn’t know was his family had a business and he had planned to go into that business as soon as he was old enough. He was very proud of that business, too. Unfortunately for me, he was so proud of it, that we would have conversations about it at night, before going to sleep. You’ll never guess what the family business was. His dad was a mortician. And this kid was already schooled on the process of embalming and that’s how we spent our time at night. I now know more about the embalming business than I really care to know. And this kid really seemed like he had watched his dad do this. He knew all of the grizzly details of it all and he didn’t seem bothered at all when talking about it. I’m not the squeamish type, but I could have lived a long time without finding out about all of that stuff. It’s one part of my jamboree experience I hadn’t counted on.
Like I said, our group was up on a hill, above most of the other tent sites. One afternoon, we were given the privilege of watching a jet plane barnstorming the valley. Yes, this was a large passenger jet, a Boeing 727 making several passes over the valley. I could tell by the engine placement. And I don’t think he was any more than 1,000 feet above the ground. It seemed like a lot less than that. Sure, he had to be drunk or something, because that’s not a very safe thing to do. If he had crashed into the valley, he would have surely killed a whole lot of boy scouts.
The sun was too bright to tell if there were any airline makings from where we were standing but I’m sure somebody down in the valley could see. I had a camera and I took a couple of pictures, but the camera was a cheap one and all of the photos came out looking like he was miles away. That’s how some cameras are, so things that are really up close will appear to be a lot farther away. It sure would have been nice to have a more professional camera, but that was back when consumer cameras were either very expensive or really cheap plastic, like mine. My guess is he was surely caught and at least fired for what he did. It’s difficult to get away with something like that in such a large plane. But, no matter what happened to him, he gave us all a pretty cool thrill. And I still have my memories of it.
One morning, we all woke up and like every other day we assembled in the larger tent for breakfast. Because of the way the cooking was done, we never knew what was for breakfast until the person cooking let us know. So, we were all standing around waiting when my scout master came up to me and said it was my day to cook breakfast. I’m sure there was a schedule somewhere, but I hadn’t bothered to check it. I was having fun doing other things, like watching jets fly over and visiting guys from other parts of the country.
The news that I was going to be cooking breakfast caught me off guard. You see, we were suppose to plan something in advance, so we’d be prepared for it and everybody would be fed without incident. So, when he asked me “what’s for breakfast” he was expecting an answer and I didn’t have one. In the few seconds I had to think before giving my answer, I quickly thought about what I could cook. What I remembered was what my mother once taught me to cook, if I ever needed something to eat and I was alone. Sure, she taught me how to cook grilled cheese sandwiches, and the basic peanut butter and jelly, but those weren’t good ideas for breakfast.
Then something else came to me. She had also taught me how to make French toast. Yes, if you know, it’s very easy to make, if you have the necessary ingredients. And there are some fancy ways to do it, but I just know the basic French toast. So, I quickly blurted out “French toast” as the answer to what I was going to cook that morning. I’m sure he expected me to say scrambled eggs or something like that, but it was easy to see that he was impressed with my answer. I was, too.
He asked what I needed and I told him milk, eggs and bread. And as it turned out, we needed lots of bread. My spontaneous thought of breakfast was a hit. I think we had to get extra bread from other groups, because everybody wanted seconds and thirds. It was amazing. Something so easy to make had such an impact. Years later, those in our troupe were still talking about that breakfast…especially my scout master. Thanks, mom.
I said earlier that everybody who went to these jamborees would exchange trinkets to others to get remembrances of meeting guys from other parts of the country. My town had sent us off with trinkets of our own to exchange. Some had patches from former jamborees to trade, but being newbies, we didn’t have any of those. It was still very interesting to see some of those patches. They were kind of like looking at patches from the Olympics. And some guys were trading patches from their own troupes, but we didn’t go prepared for that, either.
I was walking around, looking at all of the different collections of things as well as things everybody had to trade and I came upon a troupe from Washington State. What they brought to trade was pretty unique. There was a table with a lot of Styrofoam coffee cups on it and in each cup was a very small tree. Each tree was about 3 inches tall. They were Washington blue spruce trees. I’m not that much of a gardener, but for some reason, I had to have one of those trees.
Who could tell if any one of those trees would live very long or grow up to be straight and tall spruce trees. I think they were mostly considered little trinkets to trade, just like what we had brought. I don’t remember what I traded for a tree, but I ended up with one. I was smart enough to wait until the jamboree was almost over, so I didn’t have to care for it for long. And it wasn’t easy keeping it from damage, when packing everything up and flying home again. I had to keep one hand free to carry it, because it wasn’t something I could pack.
There was the flight, and then the hour long drive to our small town, after that, but that tree did just fine. I was really concerned that I’d drop it. That small cup wasn’t that sturdy and I’m sure it would have broken. That would have been the end of my tree, I’m sure. I got it home OK and once I got it home, my mother planted it for me. Again, we didn’t know if it would live very long. You never really know how long something that small is going to last. They are so delicate at that size.
Well, as I continued to grow, so did the tree. By the time I moved out of the house and went on to college and more, I think the tree had grown to about 10 feet tall. Some of the things around it had to be moved. Yes, it grew more than we thought it would and it was taking over the area. But, it was a very pretty tree. And it was growing nice and straight. I don’t think I could have asked for more, after lugging it around like I did.
Years have passed, my parents have both died, and we’ve sold the house. But, I’ve been up to that house a few times and every time I go up there, I hope that tree is still there. See, the house has sold a couple more times, since we sold it. I did make sure to mention it to the family we sold the house to how that tree came about, but I don’t know if they kept the story going or not. But the last time I saw the tree, it was over 30 feet tall, and still growing straight as an arrow. Why would anybody want to cut it down?
I keep telling myself I need to go up there and tell the story about that tree to the present residents. But, I don’t think they’d know me and I’d hate to be thought of as a pervert or some stranger at their door. From what I know, all of the neighbors have all either died or moved away, so there isn’t anybody left in that neighborhood that would know me. I’m sure my dad would be remembered, because he was a very prominent citizen of the town.
He was also a charter member of the Lion’s Club, a member of the park board, school board and even the mayor for a time. He was also one of the few who would build the fireworks displays each year and set them off the night of the 4th of July. And I’m talking about those big ones they shoot off from metal tubes buried in the ground. But, you just never know about how your life has impacted others.
I’ve checked Google maps and I think I’ve been able to see the tree, but I don’t know how long ago the Google camera car had been through that town. I do know someone who still lives in the town, so I guess I could ask him to drive by to see if the tree is still there. But, I don’t know if I could trust him to know what tree I was talking about. There were a lot of trees in our back yard back then.
So, I guess I’m going to have to make a trip up there, just to make sure the tree is still there. I have to make as much of an impact as I can on that family, too. I think they still have a paper up there. Maybe I could make it a human interest story. Who would cut down a tree with such an interesting beginning? You really had to be there, inside my body, inside my heart, as I look in that back yard for my tree. The last few blocks up the road are the worst. Sure, it’s just another tree to anybody else. But to me, it’s a large part of my boyhood.
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DVS
A ghost from your dreams
- Joined
- Apr 17, 2002
- Posts
- 11,416
This is a short story, but I think it’s pretty funny. I think it was sometime in the mid 1960s when this happened. I don’t remember if I was there or not, or if it was just my sister telling the story. I’ve had so many pets in my years that sometimes they all run together. And I’m not one to give pets pet names like Rover or Spot. Oh, I’ve been guilty of it a little, but I like to give my pets real names, like human names.
This story stars a dog I once had. He was a mix breed for sure. I think he had some German Shepard in him because of his ears, some Doberman because of his shiny black coat and maybe some Border Collie because of his markings. His name was Ralph. I’m not sure how I picked Ralph for a name, but he was kind of lanky and big for his age, so I think Ralph kind of fit, because I see the name Ralph as a unique name, far from common.
I grew up in a small town…a very small town, where everybody knew everybody else. And it wasn’t uncommon for people to share their life skills with others who shared theirs in return. There was no need to exchange money as long as everybody was happy with the result. My dad was an Optometrist and he would often give people free checkups, when they couldn’t afford to pay. This got around and we would often get food brought to our house by people, as a way to show their thanks for my dad’s generosity. We got some really nice eats from people, let me tell you. Of course, there was this gooseberry pie that I didn’t really care for, though and anything with nuts in it I don’t care for. Why someone would put pecans on top of a pie I’ll never know.
Not only my dad was like this, but other people were like this too. I wonder if the IRS was curious about why very little money exchanged hands in that town. I’d go in to a store and want to buy something, but because they knew who I was, I didn’t have to pay for it. It was never big things, but it was always nice.
My small town only had two banks. One of them had been around a very long time. The other was only about 50 years old. It just happened that the president of the first bank lived a block down the street from us. One summer evening, the family was out on the screened in porch enjoying the light breeze and watching the lightening bugs in the back yard. I think I also remember frogs croaking in the neighbor’s yard. Oh, I guess I should tell you that our neighbor put in an in the ground swimming pool. Then, they moved. For a while, nobody lived in that house and that swimming pool turned into a pond. Among other varmints that flock to ponds, there was also a family of frogs over there.
On this summer evening, we heard Ralph barking, so we knew somebody was trying to get into the back door. Of all the people who might come around to the screened in porch that night, I sure didn’t expect to see the bank president from down the street. He came to talk to my dad about some project that was going on. Both he and my dad were on several boards and committees in that town. I’m not trying to say they were anything special, though. It’s just there aren’t that many people to pick from, in a town of 2,000 people.
Ralph just kept barking and barking and he wouldn’t stop. He’d never seen the bank president before, and because he was in our fenced back yard, I guess Ralph was trying to tell us there was an intruder on our property. So, as the story goes, one of my sisters tried to get Ralph to stop barking. Ralph wasn’t good at listening, so getting him to stop barking wasn’t very easy. But, my sister was at least persistent in her attempts. She kept saying, “Ralph, Quiet!” and “Be quiet, Ralph”, and other various things, trying to shut the dog up. He didn’t have a collar on him, because he never left the back yard. That made it even more difficult for her, because she was trying to get him into the house at the same time. He wasn’t a small dog, so with no collar, she had nothing to grab on to but the whole dog. That wasn’t going well, either, because he just thought she wanted to play.
Soon, it seemed like everybody in the family was doing their best to get Ralph to stop barking and so I thing there were probably four of us out there, trying to corral Ralph. It was a sight. All of us running around yelling at Ralph to be quiet, and Ralph having a great time playing this new game.
My dad and the bank president continued talking and neither of them seemed that interested in what the rest of us were doing. Everybody was calling Ralph’s name, trying to get his attention, but it wasn’t working. He didn’t seem like the smartest dog in the world, for sure, but he was just a pup. He was a rather large pup, but still a pup.
I don’t remember who first noticed it, but somebody noticed that the banker seemed to glance at us all trying to capture Ralph. At first, I think it was just because we all looked so silly, chasing a barking dog around. But soon, it became clear. It was rude for the bank president to be at our house with a dog that wouldn’t stop barking. But in our haste to get him to stop, we all failed to realize that the bank president’s name was also Ralph. So, when somebody yelled for Ralph to be quite or even more rudely, “Ralph, shut up!” the banker seemed a little perplexed.
Finally, somebody got brave and told him that the dog’s name was Ralph. I guess he had that figured out before he was told, but I’m sure it took him a while as not that many dogs are named Ralph. After the banker left, my dad started laughing. He said even he hadn’t thought about Ralph having the same name as the banker. Only after a while did he notice some of the looks on the banker’s face, when we were all yelling at Ralph, the dog. He said some of the expressions on his face were priceless. I’m sure that at least for a few minutes, we were all yelling at him.
You really had to be there to get the full image in your mind. There we were, all running after Ralph the dog, yelling, “Ralph” over and over. We were trying our best to shut him up, so my dad and the banker could talk. And none of us really thought about how it looked to the bank president, who also happened to have the name Ralph.
This story stars a dog I once had. He was a mix breed for sure. I think he had some German Shepard in him because of his ears, some Doberman because of his shiny black coat and maybe some Border Collie because of his markings. His name was Ralph. I’m not sure how I picked Ralph for a name, but he was kind of lanky and big for his age, so I think Ralph kind of fit, because I see the name Ralph as a unique name, far from common.
I grew up in a small town…a very small town, where everybody knew everybody else. And it wasn’t uncommon for people to share their life skills with others who shared theirs in return. There was no need to exchange money as long as everybody was happy with the result. My dad was an Optometrist and he would often give people free checkups, when they couldn’t afford to pay. This got around and we would often get food brought to our house by people, as a way to show their thanks for my dad’s generosity. We got some really nice eats from people, let me tell you. Of course, there was this gooseberry pie that I didn’t really care for, though and anything with nuts in it I don’t care for. Why someone would put pecans on top of a pie I’ll never know.
Not only my dad was like this, but other people were like this too. I wonder if the IRS was curious about why very little money exchanged hands in that town. I’d go in to a store and want to buy something, but because they knew who I was, I didn’t have to pay for it. It was never big things, but it was always nice.
My small town only had two banks. One of them had been around a very long time. The other was only about 50 years old. It just happened that the president of the first bank lived a block down the street from us. One summer evening, the family was out on the screened in porch enjoying the light breeze and watching the lightening bugs in the back yard. I think I also remember frogs croaking in the neighbor’s yard. Oh, I guess I should tell you that our neighbor put in an in the ground swimming pool. Then, they moved. For a while, nobody lived in that house and that swimming pool turned into a pond. Among other varmints that flock to ponds, there was also a family of frogs over there.
On this summer evening, we heard Ralph barking, so we knew somebody was trying to get into the back door. Of all the people who might come around to the screened in porch that night, I sure didn’t expect to see the bank president from down the street. He came to talk to my dad about some project that was going on. Both he and my dad were on several boards and committees in that town. I’m not trying to say they were anything special, though. It’s just there aren’t that many people to pick from, in a town of 2,000 people.
Ralph just kept barking and barking and he wouldn’t stop. He’d never seen the bank president before, and because he was in our fenced back yard, I guess Ralph was trying to tell us there was an intruder on our property. So, as the story goes, one of my sisters tried to get Ralph to stop barking. Ralph wasn’t good at listening, so getting him to stop barking wasn’t very easy. But, my sister was at least persistent in her attempts. She kept saying, “Ralph, Quiet!” and “Be quiet, Ralph”, and other various things, trying to shut the dog up. He didn’t have a collar on him, because he never left the back yard. That made it even more difficult for her, because she was trying to get him into the house at the same time. He wasn’t a small dog, so with no collar, she had nothing to grab on to but the whole dog. That wasn’t going well, either, because he just thought she wanted to play.
Soon, it seemed like everybody in the family was doing their best to get Ralph to stop barking and so I thing there were probably four of us out there, trying to corral Ralph. It was a sight. All of us running around yelling at Ralph to be quiet, and Ralph having a great time playing this new game.
My dad and the bank president continued talking and neither of them seemed that interested in what the rest of us were doing. Everybody was calling Ralph’s name, trying to get his attention, but it wasn’t working. He didn’t seem like the smartest dog in the world, for sure, but he was just a pup. He was a rather large pup, but still a pup.
I don’t remember who first noticed it, but somebody noticed that the banker seemed to glance at us all trying to capture Ralph. At first, I think it was just because we all looked so silly, chasing a barking dog around. But soon, it became clear. It was rude for the bank president to be at our house with a dog that wouldn’t stop barking. But in our haste to get him to stop, we all failed to realize that the bank president’s name was also Ralph. So, when somebody yelled for Ralph to be quite or even more rudely, “Ralph, shut up!” the banker seemed a little perplexed.
Finally, somebody got brave and told him that the dog’s name was Ralph. I guess he had that figured out before he was told, but I’m sure it took him a while as not that many dogs are named Ralph. After the banker left, my dad started laughing. He said even he hadn’t thought about Ralph having the same name as the banker. Only after a while did he notice some of the looks on the banker’s face, when we were all yelling at Ralph, the dog. He said some of the expressions on his face were priceless. I’m sure that at least for a few minutes, we were all yelling at him.
You really had to be there to get the full image in your mind. There we were, all running after Ralph the dog, yelling, “Ralph” over and over. We were trying our best to shut him up, so my dad and the banker could talk. And none of us really thought about how it looked to the bank president, who also happened to have the name Ralph.
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DVS
A ghost from your dreams
- Joined
- Apr 17, 2002
- Posts
- 11,416
Sorry, this story is kind of long, but it's a subject I could talk about nonstop, for days. I hope you enjoy it.
Back in 1977, I was at the height of my playing days as a musician. I had been in many bands, played my share of gigs and learned more songs than I can even remember going into one ear and out the other. The 70s were a slight carry over from the 60s where love, sex and rock-n-roll were words on everybody’s lips. And the participation in these activities was also on everybody’s list of wants and needs. You might consider life in the present as the place to be, but I’ll go on record as saying those old days in the music biz were very special.
Everything was new and exciting. We were breaking new ground because in many ways, because the explosion of music that really started in the 60s was gaining ground. In the local scene, any number of bands that played rock cover tunes could expect a job somewhere in their area on Friday and Saturday nights. Being in the place where all of the excitement was and the focal point of interest by audience members and dancers alike was special, but getting paid for it was even better.
In some cases, if you were in a popular band, you could make even more money, if you were given a percentage of the door. These days, you are almost expected to bring in a following, but you don’t get any percentage of that following. The industry has matured and like many other industries, the people who create the fun are the last to get their due.
But, living in the Midwest isn’t going to get you discovered, that’s for sure. Local bands like Kansas and the Ozark Mountain Daredevils had to move to a music Mecca to get noticed or hire people in a Mecca that could get you noticed. Don’t get me started on how the music industry has gone down hill in the last 20 years. I could burn your ear with some of the stories. And the listening public is the loser, because musical artists who are creating interesting and innovating music are tossed aside in favor of the next act that looks like KISS, Usher or some other name act. The “look” is what they are after. Sure, talent is necessary, but it’s actually secondary.
In many cases it isn’t so much the music that gets you noticed, but if you look the part or your stage presence. Tone deafness can be fixed in the studio and even live performances today are fixed with lip syncing and auto tuning programs. Yes, it’s become a big sell out. Oh, I’m not saying everybody you hear these days is selling out, but they exist, just the same. Unless you know for sure that your favorite artist is the real deal, you may never know.
But, back in the 60s and 70s, there was no technology to alter pitch, and lip syncing was still considered taboo and unprofessional. When you heard someone on the radio, it was possible they could have had studio musicians play their parts, but hearing someone live, you could tell if they were worth your interest. Back in the early years, I remember when the TV show “The Partridge Family” was on. People really thought those kids were really playing those instruments. Talk about gullible. In reality, Shirley Jones (Shirley Partridge) and David Cassidy (Keith Partridge) were the only musicians in that TV family. And Shirley is David’s real mother. His father was Jack Cassidy, and also the father of another teen heartthrob of the times, Shaun Cassidy.
David’s musical ability wasn’t expected by the producers, but he quickly told them he could sing, so he was allowed to sing while the rest of the cast just lip synced the lyrics and faked playing their instruments. Shirley is a long time singer from Broadway and movies so she was allowed to sing, too. The albums this TV family put out were also fake. The album covers would show the TV cast in pictures and somewhere in the fine print, the actual musicians would be named. There was a group of studio musicians that also played in the live shows that were billed as “The Partridge Family” and David Cassidy was the only member of the cast to perform in those venues. But, because of his teen heartthrob appeal with the teenage girls, it didn’t seem to be an issue that none of the other cast members were present.
Another TV band was The Monkeys. They started out in the same way as the Partridges, but eventually all played their own instruments. Peter Tork and Michael Nesmith were musicians but the producers wanted control so early on, they weren’t allowed to do much more than fake it on screen. But, in the case of the Monkeys, they didn’t like fooling the audience and stood their ground that they wanted to actually perform the music. They were all found to have natural talent and eventually did a great job at that and even wrote many of their best known songs.
All of this was going on in the 70s. The public was very naïve, when it came to performers. Many TV acts faked to pre-recorded tracks in the interest of production time and continuity. But, what you saw on TV was considered real and so it was easy for productions to fake a “live” broadcast. Today, most people are very savvy and won’t be fooled by any of this. But, it’s how many people see the Internet. It’s pretty easy to fool some on the Internet. For some reason, they see anything on the Internet as the truth or at least assume certain web sites are pristine. It’s a different medium and so there are new ways to do the smoke and mirror things. We never change.
So, living in the mid-west wasn’t getting me anywhere. Of course, I had friends telling me I was a really good musician and I already knew I wasn’t going to be noticed unless I moved to one of the areas of the country with a nationally noticed music scene. A bass playing friend of mine lived in Atlanta and he suggested I move down there and we’d form a band to play my original songs. He said he already knew people who would fill in the necessary parts, they just needed the songs. So, how could I resist an offer like that? I could live almost rent free with others in the band, and there was a job pushing veggie sandwiches at a local pub waiting for me.
I had no support what so ever from my family. Anything I wanted to do with music was considered a bad move by my parents and so they refused to help me financially or support me in my efforts to continue playing. They did help with rides to gigs and that type of thing, when I was younger, but once I was the age for college, all of that stopped. I tried college, but there were no performing degrees back then. The only degree you could get that involved music was a teaching degree.
My sister was a music teacher, and she hated it. She complained about it at every chance she got. It wasn’t the teaching that she hated, but the administration and how she had to treat some of the kids. If one of them complained about something, she was first on the list to be considered the cause. I think that is still a problem in our schools and some kids use that to their advantage. Teachers have very little control and some are even afraid to confront kids that act out in class. I heard enough about the problems of teaching and decided I was just wasting my parent’s money by going to college. Sure, that pissed my dad off and I’m sure that was part of the reason he decided not to support me in my music desires. I really think he wanted me to fail, so I’d give up and go back to school. He didn’t understand how strong my desire to play music was.
So, quitting school, I moved everything to Atlanta. Actually, it was Decatur, which was a suburb. The house was your basic band house, with little in the way of décor and even less in kitchen utensils and items in the refrigerator. But, I was on my way. I was in a music Mecca and the opportunities were like night and day to the mid-west. There were some of the same situations, but also many of the larger opportunities that could get someone noticed by people in the industry like major booking agents and record producers. And you could give it a shot as a studio musician, if you wanted.
The talent was all very good. I don’t think there was a bad musician in the bunch. It seemed like anybody who wanted to make their name in music had moved to Atlanta in the hopes they would be noticed by somebody. I guess there were a few people who hadn’t been told they weren’t professional material, but they were few and far between. The opposite was the case, in the mid-west. The audiences were less naïve and they expected a professional experience. It was an exciting place to be.
There were times when it was obvious that just being a good musician wasn’t enough. I met a guy who could play two saxophones at once so he could play harmony with himself. I went to music school and learned how to play all of he instruments. Trust me, reed instruments were tough. I squeaked and squawked more than I got a real note to play. And there’s a music term called the embouchure which is the use of the muscles in your mouth and face to play any woodwind or brass instrument. If you don’t form that perfect embouchure, you ain’t gonna get no notes worth shit. This guy was able to play one sax or two and it seemed just as effortless, either way.
I know this guy who plays bass and trumpet at the same time. And to think about it, you’d assume both instruments would suffer in the process, because they both require two hands to play. I play trumpet so I know what I’m talking about. One hand is responsible for holding the instrument steady, so that embouchure so necessary to play a note is possible. The other hand assists in that, but it’s mainly to press down the valves and play the designated notes.
The bass guitar is similar, in that one hand plucks the string and the other presses that string down against the desired fret to produce the note. The required hand in either case would be the one that makes the note. On trumpet, that would be the right hand and with bass, it’s the left. But, because they both usually require both hands, he has found a way to do the work of both hands with one, allowing him to play both instruments at the same time.
Because I’m a trumpet player, I can see how he would be able to use just the right hand to play that instrument, but it’s still difficult to hold the instrument steady and move your fingers up and down on the valves at the same time. If he were walking or marching, like in a marching band, every time his feet hit the ground, he’d have a very difficult time holding that trumpet steady enough that a clear note would be possible. Because of the connection between the lips and that mouthpiece are so important to a clear and steady tone, two hands would be necessary.
With the bass guitar, it’s more difficult, but if you have strong finger muscles, it’s not impossible. Because you don’t have the right hand to pluck the string, your left hand actually almost slaps the string against the fret board hard enough to get the string vibrating sufficiently to create the note. And because you slap it at the correct fret position, the correct not is played. It’s not that difficult to do, if you play bass, because you do develop strong muscles in your left hand. Those strings are larger than guitar strings, and if you don’t press down hard enough, you’ll hear that buzzing of the string that you sometimes hear.
That buzzing sound is the string vibrating against the metal fret. You hear that most often with acoustic or classical guitar players. When they move their left hand fingers on the fret board to play the note, sometimes they don’t get the string pressed down sufficiently or at the exact same time the string is plucked by their right hand. If you never hear any buzzing at all, that’s a good guitar player.
Back to my friend and playing bass and trumpet at the same time, he can play both instruments by doing the job of two hands with one and do it on each instrument. And he doesn’t play them with same rhythm. What do I mean by that? Many people can do things with both hands and do them together or at the same time. But most people are limited as to what they can do independently with each hand. Musicians do that all of the time, but they usually do it on one instrument. And because it’s just one instrument, that process has been repeated so many times that it comes naturally and they don’t even notice what they’re doing. Each hand does its job correctly to produce the necessary note and tone. It’s not being ambidextrous, but that does sometimes come into play. It’s learning the dexterity of getting your fingers to do what they’re required to do at any given time.
But, when talking about two different instruments at the same time, not only is someone doing the work of two hands with one so he can play both instruments, he has to listen to both with his ears to make sure he’s producing the desired tone and note with each instrument. Like the guy who plays two saxophones, both have to sound like saxophones or the whole thing is similar to a carnival act. But playing both instruments and creating a good note with each makes him a professional musician playing his instrument.
But, playing trumpet and bass guitar at the same time is different than playing two instruments that are the same. When playing two different kinds of instruments, the technique is also different with each. The trumpet has its basic style as does the bass guitar. So he has to also keep that in mind while playing both instruments. It’s easier to just listen to one of the other, but he has to listen to both as well as playing the correct notes on both. And while the bass guitar usually just plays one note on the down beat of a measure, the trumpet will play passages that are more complex.
If you listen to any song that has a trumpet section playing, you’ll hear sections where they play, and then there will be a period of time when you don’t hear them at all. While the bass guitar is more constant in the fact that you’ll always hear it playing, that trumpet is sometimes not playing. And that makes it that much more difficult to get the instrument positioned correctly and then play the passage correctly, while still playing the bass guitar.
Now, I’m a keyboard player, so I can play different notes with each finger of either hand and I can play two keyboards at once. I can listen to both and play them both as if they were being played by two different people. But these are both keyboard instruments. All of the keys are the same black and white keys and so there isn’t that much difference in me playing one keyboard or another, except when the type of music demands a certain action of my fingers to express a certain mood or whatever. But doing this with a trumpet and a bass guitar takes it beyond that. Sure, he doesn’t play “Bugler’s Holiday” on the trumpet while also playing bass, but the passages he does play on trumpet are worthy of someone using two hands. If you just heard the song, you’d assume there were a trumpet player and a bass guitar player, not one playing both.
There is a phrase that fits many people in this world. If you can’t carry a tune and are pretty much tone deaf, they say you can’t carry a tune if it were in a bucket. And if you are really bad off, they add a lid to the bucket in that phrase. It’s no sin to be tone deaf. It happens to some very nice people. And some people can’t walk and chew gum at the same time. There’s no sin in that, either. Being a musician, I’m not tone deaf, and I can walk and chew gum at the same time. I can play an instrument and I can also sing at the same time. That’s pretty common for most musicians…well, if they can sing. But to play two instruments, two totally different instruments at the same time and do it well, now that’s called a musician.
OK, I kind of got side tracked a little, but I wanted to make a point. When moving from an area of the country that has basic farmers and city folk to one that has farmers and city folk and also good musicians, there’s a certain feeling you get inside. You’re no longer the guy who is also a musician. Everybody you associate with is a musician. You all have the same ambition, the same goal. And in some cases, you share that goal by playing in the same band. You can swap horror stories of gigs you’ve played through the years, and even talk shop to other musicians who play the same instrument. It’s kind of like coming home. People relate to your pain and your joy in a way a non-musician could never understand. I guess we express ourselves differently in some ways, too. Our feelings are in tune, for lack of a better way to describe it.
I lived in a house with other musicians. That’s very common, because most musicians are also starving musicians. Like any other artist type, there usually isn’t a job you can just apply for and get paid. You have to make a name for yourself. You are an independent contractor. But, like I said, if you can come together with other musicians and form a band, that makes your job easier. You decide on a certain playing style. And you usually decide on a certain genre of music to play. You may be a jazz band or a rock band. You are either a cover band or you play originals. Both situations have their own difficulties.
A cover band can either play the cover songs as the original artist played them, or you can do your own thing with the song. Either can gain a specific audience. Many people say you aren’t a proper cover band, unless you play the song exactly as the original. But, some people say that putting your own twist on a song is better. Either way is fine, but you have to remember that both styles have their audience and the audience decides if you are any good. If you are well liked by the audience you develop a following. That’s very important to any musician or band.
If you play originals, of course you are free to play the songs in any way you want. But playing originals can be a challenge, because the audience has never heard your songs before. That can be difficult to gain an audience and even more difficult to build that into a following. The key is to get those songs heard as much as possible. That means playing in every little hole in the wall bar that will let you play. And sometimes even if it’s for free. Some of those hole in the wall bars have regulars with opinions as to what they consider music and what is considered crap. Some people result in throwing beer bottles at you while you’re playing and some decide to meet you in the parking lot after the gig to let you know how shitty they though you sounded. But, that is a whole different story for another time.
I went down to Atlanta with a band pretty much ready to play my songs. I’d sent a tape down to my friend the bass player and everybody was learning their parts. So when I went down there, I didn’t have to search for band members. That saved me some valuable time. And everybody was excellent with their instrument so there was no need to worry about any of that. So, the next step was to fine tune the songs, then seek out venues that would allow us to play. That usually started with open mic type gigs, and other freebees that needed bands to fill time and allowed pretty much anybody to get up on stage while the preferred acts were relaxing in back.
In many cases, the audience was there to see the band that was relaxing in the back, so they could sometimes be hostile to what you played, especially if you were doing originals. I won’t go into that, but suffice it to say just a couple of people like that can really disrupt your thoughts. You want to be liked. You want people to enjoy your music. You don’t want them to leave the show and just remember the heckler that was in the front row. But, you take the bad with the good and hope for the best.
Being in Atlanta, it was easier to be heard by someone who was big enough in the business that they could do something for you, if they liked you. So, you always went out to a show, with the hopes that there would be somebody there like that and you played as if those people were always there. And if you happen to know somebody who can get you more exposure by providing you a place to play to a large audience, that’s pretty special. We just happened to know such a person. Her name was Cat, or maybe it was Kat and she was a promoter. She had certain bands that she promoted and if they were well liked, she profited from that, too. She sought out venues that fit certain bands and got them booked into that venue.
There was a little place that had an open mic night and we asked her to come listen to our songs. Now, I’d been involved in that sort of thing many times before, but being in a music Mecca, the results can be different. If you are well liked, you can move up quickly. But, it still is mostly being in the right place at the right time so the right people will hear you. The difference is there are more right people in a place like that.
Anyway, she said she would come, but you never really know about things like that. Other opportunities can seem more profitable to someone, and they blow one act off to go listen to another. But, she did show up. And I was a little bothered by the size of the place. And I was really bothered by the size of the stage. There were four of us and the space a full drum kit takes up, the rest of us are close to falling off of the stage. And this was kind of a coffee shop and the first tables were just a couple of feet from the stage. I’m guessing most open mic acts were acoustic guitars or something like that. We were a full electrified band. Just the bass drum itself could make a glass shake on a table, if it was close enough and these tables were close enough.
But we played and everybody liked what we played. They actually clapped and that is special when doing originals. You never really know if an audience is going to accept you or not. This one did. Oh, there will always be people who will be nice and clap, even if you suck. But you can tell when the clapping is real or not. And that made it that much better to have Kat there, hearing this. She had her own opinions on how we sounded, but to hear people actually clapping told her the audience thought we were good.
So, she came to talk to us after the show. Atlanta had a thing that happened every summer where there would be a lot of bands playing for a long time. We’re talking days. A large stage would be set up in Piedmont Park and people could come and spend a lot of time, getting high and listening to music. In a way, I guess you could call it a mini Woodstock. This particular show was really going to showcase a band that had just signed a recording contract with Capricorn Records and they would be the last band to play on the last night. She said she could put us into the schedule and we would play right before that last band. I knew that was a coveted spot in the schedule, so it seemed like she thought a lot of us and of our music.
The day of the show, we first went out to the venue to hear a few of the other bands playing that day. It was a very large stage with the standard canvas walls and roof, keeping wind and sun from the bands. Of course, right out front, there was no cover. There were thousands of people there and we were there when the hot Atlanta sun was beating down so we only assumed there would be more people that evening, when we were to play. And because this was to be a showcase for that band signing with Capricorn, we knew there would be Capricorn agents and producers at the show. Playing right before the main act, we were sure to get heard by several people who could do good things for us in the business.
We went home and started packing up our equipment. We looked very much like a starving band, because we didn’t have one truck for everything. We hadn’t taken everything to the open mic gig, mostly because of the size of the place. But, with that large stage, we were going to be able to spread out and put all of our equipment to use. Some amps are pretty large, and because they aren’t shaped like people, they often don’t fit into just any car. We had several cars just because of that. An amp could take up a whole trunk just because of its size. But because of its shape, there wouldn’t be room for anything but that amp. We looked like a caravan going to the gig, with the different vehicles we had our equipment in.
When we got there, it was a perfect afternoon. Not a cloud in the sky and the temperature would start to cool down as the sun went down. We weren’t scheduled to play for a few hours, so we left somebody to watch the equipment and the rest of us walked through the crowd to check out the atmosphere. We found out it was a great crowd, lively and ready to listen to good music. And some of the people had been sitting there for hours already. I’d guess the quality of the bands was also increasing as the schedule continued, too. Warm up bands are not suppose to be better than the main act. It sometimes happens, but it’s not supposed to. In something like this gig, that was the promoter’s job. That was Kat’s job.
I wish I remembered the name of the band that was the main act. I don’t even remember if they ever went anywhere in the business or if they folded after a while. I’m sorry about that, because it would be a good thing to add to this story. All I remember is it was a rock band and the record company was Capricorn, which was based in Atlanta. But of all of the people in the audience, I’m sure many of them were there for that last band and to cheer them for their success for being signed to a recording contract. That’s what most every musician dreams of.
As the sun went down and the temperature cooled off, we started noticing some clouds off in the distance. Rain could be a bad thing. I don’t remember if the PA speakers were covered by the canvas stage covering or not, but if not, rain could damage speakers very easily. But, the clouds were off in the distance and we just kept our fingers crossed that they stayed in the distance. The forecast hadn’t been for rain, but it’s not uncommon for thunder storms to pop up out of nowhere. In fact, it is pretty common in the hot summer months.
As the evening continued, other bands kept playing. It was a very organized event. Kat had things under control. There was a staging area where the band next to play could set their equipment up, ready to take it on stage and a similar area on the opposite end of the stage for a band to move their equipment off of the stage to tear down. Audiences in events like this can get restless in-between bands and this saved a whole lot of time.
We were supposed to play pretty late in the evening. Everything was close to on schedule, but I think they were running about 30 minutes late. Unfortunately, those clouds kept getting closer, but it was a star filled sky above us. It seemed to be a race in my mind, but nobody with the show seemed concerned.
As the band that was to play before us was moving their equipment on stage, Kat came to us and informed us that might have to stop the show, if we were caught in a thunderstorm. Lightening could be dangerous in the wide open area we were in. She said rain wouldn’t be a problem, though because the stage was covered. Of course, we understood, but I wasn’t happy. She was talking about my chance for industry biggies to hear my music. But, when you think about it, I doubt that those same biggies would sit in the rain, just to hear new bands.
Everybody was watching the clouds, at that point. And yes, there was lightening, because we could hear thunder. There were still stars in the sky above us, but those clouds were on their way. The temperature was taking a dive, and that was another bad sign. Cold fronts are often followed by thunderstorms. The cool and warm air mixes together and thunder boomers are the result.
I hated to see it, but it didn’t look good. All I could hope for was just rain, but looking at the clouds, I wasn’t holding my breath. None of us were. One of the stage crew told us to move our equipment up to the staging area so we’d be ready to go on stage. I think somebody in the band jokingly asked if it was even worth it, but I was still willing to give it a try. You just never know about the weather. It can change without notice.
In anticipation of not getting to play, we hadn't unloaded anything except the drums. They take a long time to set up. But the drummer had them all setup and ready to carry to the staging area. We had time to unload everything else and get up to the staging area. But, just as we started doing that, a huge gust of wind came up…and it didn’t stop. It was a little surreal, almost like the gods were saying "No, we won't allow this to continue!".
I went around to the front of the stage where the band was still playing, or I should say trying to play. That gust of wind had blown one of the drummer’s cymbal stands over and everybody was looking up into the sky. And something else I hadn’t noticed earlier was how the large PA columns were set up. They were suspended from the top of the stage girders, just a few inches off of the stage floor. And as large as they were, they were being blown around, too. That tells you how strong that wind was. The front had arrived.
The rain wasn’t there yet, but because of that wind, Kat panicked and decided to stop the show. She said the PA system was rented and she had to think of her investment. Again, I couldn’t help but understand. It wasn’t Kat I was upset with, but I was mad at Mother Nature. Kat went up and made the announcement and any of the crowd that was brave enough to still be there started heading for cover. There had been an RV parked behind the stage and after Kat's announcement, it started up and pulled out. I guess the main act and maybe also the Capricorn execs were inside.
Because of the timing of everything, we only had to tear down the drums and put them back into the car. But by that time, the rain had started and we were getting drenched. If we had gone ahead with the show, it would have been very wet and windy. The wind was blowing the rain and those PA columns were looking scary as they swayed back and forth. In hind sight, I wonder if that was really a safe way to put those PA columns up.
We all got home and unloaded the equipment that we could. We had some plastic sheets, to help cover things that needed to stay dry as we moved them, because the rain was really coming down. Other things, we just left in the cars until the storm passed. Speaking of the storm passing, I just thought my best chance of getting noticed had been blown away by that storm. You really had to be there, sitting in that room. We were wet, despondent and mad. The day had started out so well. Our spirits and our expectations had been high. I guess it just wasn’t meant to be. Well, at least not that day.
Back in 1977, I was at the height of my playing days as a musician. I had been in many bands, played my share of gigs and learned more songs than I can even remember going into one ear and out the other. The 70s were a slight carry over from the 60s where love, sex and rock-n-roll were words on everybody’s lips. And the participation in these activities was also on everybody’s list of wants and needs. You might consider life in the present as the place to be, but I’ll go on record as saying those old days in the music biz were very special.
Everything was new and exciting. We were breaking new ground because in many ways, because the explosion of music that really started in the 60s was gaining ground. In the local scene, any number of bands that played rock cover tunes could expect a job somewhere in their area on Friday and Saturday nights. Being in the place where all of the excitement was and the focal point of interest by audience members and dancers alike was special, but getting paid for it was even better.
In some cases, if you were in a popular band, you could make even more money, if you were given a percentage of the door. These days, you are almost expected to bring in a following, but you don’t get any percentage of that following. The industry has matured and like many other industries, the people who create the fun are the last to get their due.
But, living in the Midwest isn’t going to get you discovered, that’s for sure. Local bands like Kansas and the Ozark Mountain Daredevils had to move to a music Mecca to get noticed or hire people in a Mecca that could get you noticed. Don’t get me started on how the music industry has gone down hill in the last 20 years. I could burn your ear with some of the stories. And the listening public is the loser, because musical artists who are creating interesting and innovating music are tossed aside in favor of the next act that looks like KISS, Usher or some other name act. The “look” is what they are after. Sure, talent is necessary, but it’s actually secondary.
In many cases it isn’t so much the music that gets you noticed, but if you look the part or your stage presence. Tone deafness can be fixed in the studio and even live performances today are fixed with lip syncing and auto tuning programs. Yes, it’s become a big sell out. Oh, I’m not saying everybody you hear these days is selling out, but they exist, just the same. Unless you know for sure that your favorite artist is the real deal, you may never know.
But, back in the 60s and 70s, there was no technology to alter pitch, and lip syncing was still considered taboo and unprofessional. When you heard someone on the radio, it was possible they could have had studio musicians play their parts, but hearing someone live, you could tell if they were worth your interest. Back in the early years, I remember when the TV show “The Partridge Family” was on. People really thought those kids were really playing those instruments. Talk about gullible. In reality, Shirley Jones (Shirley Partridge) and David Cassidy (Keith Partridge) were the only musicians in that TV family. And Shirley is David’s real mother. His father was Jack Cassidy, and also the father of another teen heartthrob of the times, Shaun Cassidy.
David’s musical ability wasn’t expected by the producers, but he quickly told them he could sing, so he was allowed to sing while the rest of the cast just lip synced the lyrics and faked playing their instruments. Shirley is a long time singer from Broadway and movies so she was allowed to sing, too. The albums this TV family put out were also fake. The album covers would show the TV cast in pictures and somewhere in the fine print, the actual musicians would be named. There was a group of studio musicians that also played in the live shows that were billed as “The Partridge Family” and David Cassidy was the only member of the cast to perform in those venues. But, because of his teen heartthrob appeal with the teenage girls, it didn’t seem to be an issue that none of the other cast members were present.
Another TV band was The Monkeys. They started out in the same way as the Partridges, but eventually all played their own instruments. Peter Tork and Michael Nesmith were musicians but the producers wanted control so early on, they weren’t allowed to do much more than fake it on screen. But, in the case of the Monkeys, they didn’t like fooling the audience and stood their ground that they wanted to actually perform the music. They were all found to have natural talent and eventually did a great job at that and even wrote many of their best known songs.
All of this was going on in the 70s. The public was very naïve, when it came to performers. Many TV acts faked to pre-recorded tracks in the interest of production time and continuity. But, what you saw on TV was considered real and so it was easy for productions to fake a “live” broadcast. Today, most people are very savvy and won’t be fooled by any of this. But, it’s how many people see the Internet. It’s pretty easy to fool some on the Internet. For some reason, they see anything on the Internet as the truth or at least assume certain web sites are pristine. It’s a different medium and so there are new ways to do the smoke and mirror things. We never change.
So, living in the mid-west wasn’t getting me anywhere. Of course, I had friends telling me I was a really good musician and I already knew I wasn’t going to be noticed unless I moved to one of the areas of the country with a nationally noticed music scene. A bass playing friend of mine lived in Atlanta and he suggested I move down there and we’d form a band to play my original songs. He said he already knew people who would fill in the necessary parts, they just needed the songs. So, how could I resist an offer like that? I could live almost rent free with others in the band, and there was a job pushing veggie sandwiches at a local pub waiting for me.
I had no support what so ever from my family. Anything I wanted to do with music was considered a bad move by my parents and so they refused to help me financially or support me in my efforts to continue playing. They did help with rides to gigs and that type of thing, when I was younger, but once I was the age for college, all of that stopped. I tried college, but there were no performing degrees back then. The only degree you could get that involved music was a teaching degree.
My sister was a music teacher, and she hated it. She complained about it at every chance she got. It wasn’t the teaching that she hated, but the administration and how she had to treat some of the kids. If one of them complained about something, she was first on the list to be considered the cause. I think that is still a problem in our schools and some kids use that to their advantage. Teachers have very little control and some are even afraid to confront kids that act out in class. I heard enough about the problems of teaching and decided I was just wasting my parent’s money by going to college. Sure, that pissed my dad off and I’m sure that was part of the reason he decided not to support me in my music desires. I really think he wanted me to fail, so I’d give up and go back to school. He didn’t understand how strong my desire to play music was.
So, quitting school, I moved everything to Atlanta. Actually, it was Decatur, which was a suburb. The house was your basic band house, with little in the way of décor and even less in kitchen utensils and items in the refrigerator. But, I was on my way. I was in a music Mecca and the opportunities were like night and day to the mid-west. There were some of the same situations, but also many of the larger opportunities that could get someone noticed by people in the industry like major booking agents and record producers. And you could give it a shot as a studio musician, if you wanted.
The talent was all very good. I don’t think there was a bad musician in the bunch. It seemed like anybody who wanted to make their name in music had moved to Atlanta in the hopes they would be noticed by somebody. I guess there were a few people who hadn’t been told they weren’t professional material, but they were few and far between. The opposite was the case, in the mid-west. The audiences were less naïve and they expected a professional experience. It was an exciting place to be.
There were times when it was obvious that just being a good musician wasn’t enough. I met a guy who could play two saxophones at once so he could play harmony with himself. I went to music school and learned how to play all of he instruments. Trust me, reed instruments were tough. I squeaked and squawked more than I got a real note to play. And there’s a music term called the embouchure which is the use of the muscles in your mouth and face to play any woodwind or brass instrument. If you don’t form that perfect embouchure, you ain’t gonna get no notes worth shit. This guy was able to play one sax or two and it seemed just as effortless, either way.
I know this guy who plays bass and trumpet at the same time. And to think about it, you’d assume both instruments would suffer in the process, because they both require two hands to play. I play trumpet so I know what I’m talking about. One hand is responsible for holding the instrument steady, so that embouchure so necessary to play a note is possible. The other hand assists in that, but it’s mainly to press down the valves and play the designated notes.
The bass guitar is similar, in that one hand plucks the string and the other presses that string down against the desired fret to produce the note. The required hand in either case would be the one that makes the note. On trumpet, that would be the right hand and with bass, it’s the left. But, because they both usually require both hands, he has found a way to do the work of both hands with one, allowing him to play both instruments at the same time.
Because I’m a trumpet player, I can see how he would be able to use just the right hand to play that instrument, but it’s still difficult to hold the instrument steady and move your fingers up and down on the valves at the same time. If he were walking or marching, like in a marching band, every time his feet hit the ground, he’d have a very difficult time holding that trumpet steady enough that a clear note would be possible. Because of the connection between the lips and that mouthpiece are so important to a clear and steady tone, two hands would be necessary.
With the bass guitar, it’s more difficult, but if you have strong finger muscles, it’s not impossible. Because you don’t have the right hand to pluck the string, your left hand actually almost slaps the string against the fret board hard enough to get the string vibrating sufficiently to create the note. And because you slap it at the correct fret position, the correct not is played. It’s not that difficult to do, if you play bass, because you do develop strong muscles in your left hand. Those strings are larger than guitar strings, and if you don’t press down hard enough, you’ll hear that buzzing of the string that you sometimes hear.
That buzzing sound is the string vibrating against the metal fret. You hear that most often with acoustic or classical guitar players. When they move their left hand fingers on the fret board to play the note, sometimes they don’t get the string pressed down sufficiently or at the exact same time the string is plucked by their right hand. If you never hear any buzzing at all, that’s a good guitar player.
Back to my friend and playing bass and trumpet at the same time, he can play both instruments by doing the job of two hands with one and do it on each instrument. And he doesn’t play them with same rhythm. What do I mean by that? Many people can do things with both hands and do them together or at the same time. But most people are limited as to what they can do independently with each hand. Musicians do that all of the time, but they usually do it on one instrument. And because it’s just one instrument, that process has been repeated so many times that it comes naturally and they don’t even notice what they’re doing. Each hand does its job correctly to produce the necessary note and tone. It’s not being ambidextrous, but that does sometimes come into play. It’s learning the dexterity of getting your fingers to do what they’re required to do at any given time.
But, when talking about two different instruments at the same time, not only is someone doing the work of two hands with one so he can play both instruments, he has to listen to both with his ears to make sure he’s producing the desired tone and note with each instrument. Like the guy who plays two saxophones, both have to sound like saxophones or the whole thing is similar to a carnival act. But playing both instruments and creating a good note with each makes him a professional musician playing his instrument.
But, playing trumpet and bass guitar at the same time is different than playing two instruments that are the same. When playing two different kinds of instruments, the technique is also different with each. The trumpet has its basic style as does the bass guitar. So he has to also keep that in mind while playing both instruments. It’s easier to just listen to one of the other, but he has to listen to both as well as playing the correct notes on both. And while the bass guitar usually just plays one note on the down beat of a measure, the trumpet will play passages that are more complex.
If you listen to any song that has a trumpet section playing, you’ll hear sections where they play, and then there will be a period of time when you don’t hear them at all. While the bass guitar is more constant in the fact that you’ll always hear it playing, that trumpet is sometimes not playing. And that makes it that much more difficult to get the instrument positioned correctly and then play the passage correctly, while still playing the bass guitar.
Now, I’m a keyboard player, so I can play different notes with each finger of either hand and I can play two keyboards at once. I can listen to both and play them both as if they were being played by two different people. But these are both keyboard instruments. All of the keys are the same black and white keys and so there isn’t that much difference in me playing one keyboard or another, except when the type of music demands a certain action of my fingers to express a certain mood or whatever. But doing this with a trumpet and a bass guitar takes it beyond that. Sure, he doesn’t play “Bugler’s Holiday” on the trumpet while also playing bass, but the passages he does play on trumpet are worthy of someone using two hands. If you just heard the song, you’d assume there were a trumpet player and a bass guitar player, not one playing both.
There is a phrase that fits many people in this world. If you can’t carry a tune and are pretty much tone deaf, they say you can’t carry a tune if it were in a bucket. And if you are really bad off, they add a lid to the bucket in that phrase. It’s no sin to be tone deaf. It happens to some very nice people. And some people can’t walk and chew gum at the same time. There’s no sin in that, either. Being a musician, I’m not tone deaf, and I can walk and chew gum at the same time. I can play an instrument and I can also sing at the same time. That’s pretty common for most musicians…well, if they can sing. But to play two instruments, two totally different instruments at the same time and do it well, now that’s called a musician.
OK, I kind of got side tracked a little, but I wanted to make a point. When moving from an area of the country that has basic farmers and city folk to one that has farmers and city folk and also good musicians, there’s a certain feeling you get inside. You’re no longer the guy who is also a musician. Everybody you associate with is a musician. You all have the same ambition, the same goal. And in some cases, you share that goal by playing in the same band. You can swap horror stories of gigs you’ve played through the years, and even talk shop to other musicians who play the same instrument. It’s kind of like coming home. People relate to your pain and your joy in a way a non-musician could never understand. I guess we express ourselves differently in some ways, too. Our feelings are in tune, for lack of a better way to describe it.
I lived in a house with other musicians. That’s very common, because most musicians are also starving musicians. Like any other artist type, there usually isn’t a job you can just apply for and get paid. You have to make a name for yourself. You are an independent contractor. But, like I said, if you can come together with other musicians and form a band, that makes your job easier. You decide on a certain playing style. And you usually decide on a certain genre of music to play. You may be a jazz band or a rock band. You are either a cover band or you play originals. Both situations have their own difficulties.
A cover band can either play the cover songs as the original artist played them, or you can do your own thing with the song. Either can gain a specific audience. Many people say you aren’t a proper cover band, unless you play the song exactly as the original. But, some people say that putting your own twist on a song is better. Either way is fine, but you have to remember that both styles have their audience and the audience decides if you are any good. If you are well liked by the audience you develop a following. That’s very important to any musician or band.
If you play originals, of course you are free to play the songs in any way you want. But playing originals can be a challenge, because the audience has never heard your songs before. That can be difficult to gain an audience and even more difficult to build that into a following. The key is to get those songs heard as much as possible. That means playing in every little hole in the wall bar that will let you play. And sometimes even if it’s for free. Some of those hole in the wall bars have regulars with opinions as to what they consider music and what is considered crap. Some people result in throwing beer bottles at you while you’re playing and some decide to meet you in the parking lot after the gig to let you know how shitty they though you sounded. But, that is a whole different story for another time.
I went down to Atlanta with a band pretty much ready to play my songs. I’d sent a tape down to my friend the bass player and everybody was learning their parts. So when I went down there, I didn’t have to search for band members. That saved me some valuable time. And everybody was excellent with their instrument so there was no need to worry about any of that. So, the next step was to fine tune the songs, then seek out venues that would allow us to play. That usually started with open mic type gigs, and other freebees that needed bands to fill time and allowed pretty much anybody to get up on stage while the preferred acts were relaxing in back.
In many cases, the audience was there to see the band that was relaxing in the back, so they could sometimes be hostile to what you played, especially if you were doing originals. I won’t go into that, but suffice it to say just a couple of people like that can really disrupt your thoughts. You want to be liked. You want people to enjoy your music. You don’t want them to leave the show and just remember the heckler that was in the front row. But, you take the bad with the good and hope for the best.
Being in Atlanta, it was easier to be heard by someone who was big enough in the business that they could do something for you, if they liked you. So, you always went out to a show, with the hopes that there would be somebody there like that and you played as if those people were always there. And if you happen to know somebody who can get you more exposure by providing you a place to play to a large audience, that’s pretty special. We just happened to know such a person. Her name was Cat, or maybe it was Kat and she was a promoter. She had certain bands that she promoted and if they were well liked, she profited from that, too. She sought out venues that fit certain bands and got them booked into that venue.
There was a little place that had an open mic night and we asked her to come listen to our songs. Now, I’d been involved in that sort of thing many times before, but being in a music Mecca, the results can be different. If you are well liked, you can move up quickly. But, it still is mostly being in the right place at the right time so the right people will hear you. The difference is there are more right people in a place like that.
Anyway, she said she would come, but you never really know about things like that. Other opportunities can seem more profitable to someone, and they blow one act off to go listen to another. But, she did show up. And I was a little bothered by the size of the place. And I was really bothered by the size of the stage. There were four of us and the space a full drum kit takes up, the rest of us are close to falling off of the stage. And this was kind of a coffee shop and the first tables were just a couple of feet from the stage. I’m guessing most open mic acts were acoustic guitars or something like that. We were a full electrified band. Just the bass drum itself could make a glass shake on a table, if it was close enough and these tables were close enough.
But we played and everybody liked what we played. They actually clapped and that is special when doing originals. You never really know if an audience is going to accept you or not. This one did. Oh, there will always be people who will be nice and clap, even if you suck. But you can tell when the clapping is real or not. And that made it that much better to have Kat there, hearing this. She had her own opinions on how we sounded, but to hear people actually clapping told her the audience thought we were good.
So, she came to talk to us after the show. Atlanta had a thing that happened every summer where there would be a lot of bands playing for a long time. We’re talking days. A large stage would be set up in Piedmont Park and people could come and spend a lot of time, getting high and listening to music. In a way, I guess you could call it a mini Woodstock. This particular show was really going to showcase a band that had just signed a recording contract with Capricorn Records and they would be the last band to play on the last night. She said she could put us into the schedule and we would play right before that last band. I knew that was a coveted spot in the schedule, so it seemed like she thought a lot of us and of our music.
The day of the show, we first went out to the venue to hear a few of the other bands playing that day. It was a very large stage with the standard canvas walls and roof, keeping wind and sun from the bands. Of course, right out front, there was no cover. There were thousands of people there and we were there when the hot Atlanta sun was beating down so we only assumed there would be more people that evening, when we were to play. And because this was to be a showcase for that band signing with Capricorn, we knew there would be Capricorn agents and producers at the show. Playing right before the main act, we were sure to get heard by several people who could do good things for us in the business.
We went home and started packing up our equipment. We looked very much like a starving band, because we didn’t have one truck for everything. We hadn’t taken everything to the open mic gig, mostly because of the size of the place. But, with that large stage, we were going to be able to spread out and put all of our equipment to use. Some amps are pretty large, and because they aren’t shaped like people, they often don’t fit into just any car. We had several cars just because of that. An amp could take up a whole trunk just because of its size. But because of its shape, there wouldn’t be room for anything but that amp. We looked like a caravan going to the gig, with the different vehicles we had our equipment in.
When we got there, it was a perfect afternoon. Not a cloud in the sky and the temperature would start to cool down as the sun went down. We weren’t scheduled to play for a few hours, so we left somebody to watch the equipment and the rest of us walked through the crowd to check out the atmosphere. We found out it was a great crowd, lively and ready to listen to good music. And some of the people had been sitting there for hours already. I’d guess the quality of the bands was also increasing as the schedule continued, too. Warm up bands are not suppose to be better than the main act. It sometimes happens, but it’s not supposed to. In something like this gig, that was the promoter’s job. That was Kat’s job.
I wish I remembered the name of the band that was the main act. I don’t even remember if they ever went anywhere in the business or if they folded after a while. I’m sorry about that, because it would be a good thing to add to this story. All I remember is it was a rock band and the record company was Capricorn, which was based in Atlanta. But of all of the people in the audience, I’m sure many of them were there for that last band and to cheer them for their success for being signed to a recording contract. That’s what most every musician dreams of.
As the sun went down and the temperature cooled off, we started noticing some clouds off in the distance. Rain could be a bad thing. I don’t remember if the PA speakers were covered by the canvas stage covering or not, but if not, rain could damage speakers very easily. But, the clouds were off in the distance and we just kept our fingers crossed that they stayed in the distance. The forecast hadn’t been for rain, but it’s not uncommon for thunder storms to pop up out of nowhere. In fact, it is pretty common in the hot summer months.
As the evening continued, other bands kept playing. It was a very organized event. Kat had things under control. There was a staging area where the band next to play could set their equipment up, ready to take it on stage and a similar area on the opposite end of the stage for a band to move their equipment off of the stage to tear down. Audiences in events like this can get restless in-between bands and this saved a whole lot of time.
We were supposed to play pretty late in the evening. Everything was close to on schedule, but I think they were running about 30 minutes late. Unfortunately, those clouds kept getting closer, but it was a star filled sky above us. It seemed to be a race in my mind, but nobody with the show seemed concerned.
As the band that was to play before us was moving their equipment on stage, Kat came to us and informed us that might have to stop the show, if we were caught in a thunderstorm. Lightening could be dangerous in the wide open area we were in. She said rain wouldn’t be a problem, though because the stage was covered. Of course, we understood, but I wasn’t happy. She was talking about my chance for industry biggies to hear my music. But, when you think about it, I doubt that those same biggies would sit in the rain, just to hear new bands.
Everybody was watching the clouds, at that point. And yes, there was lightening, because we could hear thunder. There were still stars in the sky above us, but those clouds were on their way. The temperature was taking a dive, and that was another bad sign. Cold fronts are often followed by thunderstorms. The cool and warm air mixes together and thunder boomers are the result.
I hated to see it, but it didn’t look good. All I could hope for was just rain, but looking at the clouds, I wasn’t holding my breath. None of us were. One of the stage crew told us to move our equipment up to the staging area so we’d be ready to go on stage. I think somebody in the band jokingly asked if it was even worth it, but I was still willing to give it a try. You just never know about the weather. It can change without notice.
In anticipation of not getting to play, we hadn't unloaded anything except the drums. They take a long time to set up. But the drummer had them all setup and ready to carry to the staging area. We had time to unload everything else and get up to the staging area. But, just as we started doing that, a huge gust of wind came up…and it didn’t stop. It was a little surreal, almost like the gods were saying "No, we won't allow this to continue!".
I went around to the front of the stage where the band was still playing, or I should say trying to play. That gust of wind had blown one of the drummer’s cymbal stands over and everybody was looking up into the sky. And something else I hadn’t noticed earlier was how the large PA columns were set up. They were suspended from the top of the stage girders, just a few inches off of the stage floor. And as large as they were, they were being blown around, too. That tells you how strong that wind was. The front had arrived.
The rain wasn’t there yet, but because of that wind, Kat panicked and decided to stop the show. She said the PA system was rented and she had to think of her investment. Again, I couldn’t help but understand. It wasn’t Kat I was upset with, but I was mad at Mother Nature. Kat went up and made the announcement and any of the crowd that was brave enough to still be there started heading for cover. There had been an RV parked behind the stage and after Kat's announcement, it started up and pulled out. I guess the main act and maybe also the Capricorn execs were inside.
Because of the timing of everything, we only had to tear down the drums and put them back into the car. But by that time, the rain had started and we were getting drenched. If we had gone ahead with the show, it would have been very wet and windy. The wind was blowing the rain and those PA columns were looking scary as they swayed back and forth. In hind sight, I wonder if that was really a safe way to put those PA columns up.
We all got home and unloaded the equipment that we could. We had some plastic sheets, to help cover things that needed to stay dry as we moved them, because the rain was really coming down. Other things, we just left in the cars until the storm passed. Speaking of the storm passing, I just thought my best chance of getting noticed had been blown away by that storm. You really had to be there, sitting in that room. We were wet, despondent and mad. The day had started out so well. Our spirits and our expectations had been high. I guess it just wasn’t meant to be. Well, at least not that day.
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DVS
A ghost from your dreams
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- 11,416
I guess people are reading these stories. There have been approximately 400 thread views since July 25th.
Ah, but 400 views could be misleading. They could come here assuming sex to somehow be involved, and rightly so, since this is a kinky sex site.
But, all they find are some quirky stories, only to leave mad and frustrated.
After all, "you really had to be there" could assume some voyeurism at least.
Ah, but 400 views could be misleading. They could come here assuming sex to somehow be involved, and rightly so, since this is a kinky sex site.
But, all they find are some quirky stories, only to leave mad and frustrated.
After all, "you really had to be there" could assume some voyeurism at least.
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All_4_Love
Literotica Guru
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I'm reading and enjoying the thread a lot. I'm only up to the middle of page 2. I love your stories, DVS!
*hug*
*hug*
DVS
A ghost from your dreams
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I appreciate you saying that, but with most things, the beginning is usually the best. It's fresh and new and enough lubrication to keep things interesting. You might not be into the dry and boring stories yet.
DVS
A ghost from your dreams
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I've been in contact with a friend up there. He said the tree is still there and doing fine. I hope to get up there to "coax" the present owners of the house into keeping that tree as long as possible.DVS that is absolutely wonderful story
And yes, I think you should go there and tell them the story about that special tree.
I would love if somebody told me such story if I bought the house.
Oh, I know how most people see things like this and I know I can't control how someone else treats what is now their back yard. But, it's still a large part of my life. I lived in that house from age three to age eighteen, and we still owned the house up until we sold it twelve years ago. It's strange...my family owned and lived in that house for a very long time but since selling it, there have been at least three owners.
Life goes on and it continually changes for bad and for good. All we can hope for is more good than bad to spill into our path. I'm holding on to that tree as a little bit of good that I experienced many years ago. No, you can't go home again, but you can still carry those memories.
The tree? It's like I'm on a mission. It has done so well, I'd hate to see it cut down just to make way for something else. But, with the memories it holds, "something else" could never fill the void it would cause, if that tree wasn't there.
DVS
A ghost from your dreams
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In reference to the story about the tree, it's still there. It's growing nice and tall, straight as an arrow. In fact, I submitted the story to the local news paper and they published it. Wow, I'm an author!
Just wanted to bump this thread a little and update about the tree. And with the newspaper story, I don't think that tree will be cut down for a long time...at least I wouldn't think so.
Just wanted to bump this thread a little and update about the tree. And with the newspaper story, I don't think that tree will be cut down for a long time...at least I wouldn't think so.
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That should totally replace 'Confabulous' as your descriptor.
An interesting background story indeed...
