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Still Pickin' After All These Years!
Born August 27, 1950 in Clearwater Florida at a time when my dad was skippering yachts and racing hydroplanes. One of my earliest memory was a guitar on the bulkhead of a 60 foot Chris-Craft. Dad continued doing that until a near fatal race accident forced him to retire. After the accident my parents moved to Ohio (mom’s idea of course) where I spent the next 15 years. Ugh….
As an entrepreneurial youth and in the need of money I started delivering newspapers - yep back then kids actually worked and people actually read newspapers. I combined four Cleveland Plain Dealer (the big morning paper) routes and got up at 5 o'clock every morning before school to deliver those monsters. Though rain, sleet and snow those postal carriers didn’t have anything on me - they were sleeping while I was peddling papers! I have to tell you I did clean up at Christmas time. Back in those days folks tipped their paperboys, oh yeah big bucks!
Well, with that holiday paper route money I bought my first guitar at Strauss Music Center in Warren Ohio -it was a red Epiphone Olympic (the Epiphone model of a Gibson melody maker). You know, the one with the batwing headstock and the tremolo tail piece that doesn’t stay in tune but sounds just nasty with the one single coil pickup at the bridge. With that purchase and a used Fender bandmaster now I was on my way to success, stardom and fortune! Or so I thought…………
With the help of a few friends and their new guitars we started a band and practiced in the basement the Ohio home. More than once we had the police called on us due to the noise or what we thought was cutting edge music. My god we were awful but it sure was fun!
After many hours of practicing at volume 10 we got our first gig. It was at the local Knights of Columbus for some crazy daytime function. As it turned out we had to join the Musicians Union to play the gig which cost us each $18 and the gig only paid $25 for the whole band - let’s see $25 -(4 x $18) LOL. Welcome to Unionized America.
It was my senior year in high school while standing in front of the principal in his office when I was told if I want to be a hippie go to San Francisco. The light bulb went off! It wasn't long before four of us in a green 1953 Chevy station wagon were on the road. Go West young man.
After a couple stops from state troopers and about 10 gallons of motor oil the car finally stopped in Santa Cruz. I mean that was it, dead. Our destiny was upon us. We had reached the promised land and if you have ever been to Santa Cruz you know that's true. On sunny side of Monterey Bay where the redwoods meet the Pacific Ocean. Yep, Surf City USA.
Let’s skip ahead a few years……….
Lived several years in the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hippie House with the "Church of God" sign hanging from the from porch. It was an old chicken ranch where a bunch of us lived, raised chickens, grew pot and practiced music in the barn. We played a few gigs drank a whole lotta beer and generally kicked back.
Stay tuned................
