My Mythological Narrative

Moving back to NYC I had a series of very strange jobs. All an adventure.

  The first time we played at the Moravian Lounge ( or the “The Mo” as we called it) was in the fall of 1976. The gig was 5 sets a night, 5 days a week and we ended up staying there (the first time) for about 50 weeks. The Mo was in a suburb called Clinton Township in the outer ring of the Detroit Metropolitan area, not far from lake Sinclair in Macomb county. I had turned 18 the previous May and was already pretty indoctrinated to the bar band life.Most of the area was farms until the 1960s but there were still plenty of farms and farmers around. The patrons of the bar were mostly people who worked in a nearby auto plant or family farms close by.When you’re at the same place for too long you get to know more than you want to about the people you see every day, especially when the booze is free-flowing and you’re at a age when you’re thinking about sex 24 hours a day.The bar was owned by the Kallikak family, and at this time was run by the middle brother named Teddy.Teddy was a big guy who apparently didn’t have dental insurance, with a glass eye and a hot temper. When fights broke out, which they often did, he was the one that went into action. I never had a problem with him, but I heard him yelling “ready to go” many a time. There were lots of fights at the Mo.His girlfriend was named Annie. She was a part-time waitress at the bar, but like many of the women who worked at “The Mo,” she also danced at a nearby “gentlemen’s” club a few nights a week, where the “real money” was. She and Teddy used to get into it pretty good sometimes and he would knock her around and slap her. One night it got really bad. I had gone out to parking lot on a break and walked back in the kitchen entrance, past by his office door. They were screaming at one another. I could hear there was some kind of physical altercation happening, like pushing and shoving, then someone being slammed into a wall. She was crying and telling him to stop. It made me feel sick to my stomach. The next day when I walked in she was tending bar, he wasn’t there yet. She had a big black eye that was covered in make-up, but it wasn’t hard not to notice even in the dark bar, especially for the people who heard the scuffle and knew Eddie. She looked like a scared ghost waiting for her attacker to walk through the door. He was a real fucking prince and I got the feeling she wished both he and she were dead. She must have been in a tough spot.The first time we played at the Moravian Lounge the bar was owned by a guy named Louie. Louie was probably the more sane of the three brothers in the family. It was cleaner and smaller than Charlie Brown’s, a blue-collar place for sure, but not a biker bar. Initially, it was a one-week stint and seemed pretty normal. By the time the week was up, Dennis had made arrangements for us to come back for several months.The SpidersAt the back of the bar, near the exit, were the regulars that the guys in the band referred to as “the spiders.” You didn’t want to get caught by the spiders in the spider’s web, because they were pretty much all nuts, and they could hold you there for a while talking crazy shit. They might even try to pick a fight or something. They were the five or six guys sitting on stools, the first people you would see if you went in the rear entrance, the guys who gave you the first impression of the bar, where you would decide if you were going to stay or not.“The Spiders” were Eddie and his brother Tom, whom I referred to as “The Baby;” a guy they called “Adameyer” (real name Adam Meyer); a big younger guy named Ralph; and a couple of others who radiated the aura of evil; a must to avoid, they may have been Borg like on Star Trek.“The Baby” had the same proportions as a giant toddler, built much in the same way as actor Tor Johnson of “Plan Nine From Outer Space” fame, only more toddleresque and less athletic. I never saw him do much except “baby walk” and “baby dance” occasionally. Babies are naturally a bit bow legged because of being in the cramped quarters of the womb. They also tend to bend their knees a bit to help themselves balance and support their body weight. “The Baby” had all of those characteristics and was a bit of a snappy dresser to boot.Ralph was a big, athletic looking guy, who I’m guessing worked for GM. He had a really nice Chevy Malibu with a stick shift that he would occasionally squeal out of the parking lot in. He was a nice enough guy except when he wasn’t, and that was awful.I don’t think we were at “The Mo” for more than a couple of weeks when Dennis brought in Don Jones. It may even have been at the behest of Eddie the owner. Dennis knew Don from another oldies band called “Crunch and the Daddy Cools.” Don played sax, guitar, flute, and harmonica, and sang. I guess that made him an “all around man.” Musically, Don was icing on a cake, personality-wise, he brought a deep, dark, dropped-out-of-art-school sense of humor that we all took to right away. He also came from a slightly different place than we did, because he was kind of a “Jazz boy.” For decades he used to take horn lessons from the late, great Sam Sanders at Oakland University. Just like us, he took his music seriously, he was a quick study, and he was funny. Still is. I became friends with both he and his wife Leslie and about eight years after we met, I married Leslie’s sister Tammy.The PacerAround the time we moved to the Moravian, Dennis bought an AMC Pacer station wagon. The Pacer was described by Motor Trend magazine in 1976 as “a flying fishbowl” and “George Jetson’s mode of transportation.” On CBS news, as the car debuted, it was declared “one of the fifteen ugliest cars ever made.” That said, it was still reliable transportation and not nearly as bad as some of the other gas guzzlers of that time; Dennis’s had a bitchin’ AM/FM/ Stereo 8-track player as well.https://www.autobarnclassiccars.com/vehicles/218/1975-amc-pacerhttps://www.metrotimes.com/detroit/farewell-from-keith/Content?oid=2170302https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/AMC_Pacer#cite_note-10http://www.americanradiohistory.com/Archive-Station-Albums/WJR-50-Years.pdfRiding in that car, the two tapes I remember listening to the most were Louis Jordan’s Greatest Hits and Al Green’s Greatest Hits Volume II. We used to also listen to The Fabulous Coachman on WDET, or sometimes Weekend Jazz Scene with Gene Elzy on WJR during breaks.The Pacer became sort of the de facto clubhouse when it was parked at the Mo. Truth be told, after a while during the summer, we used to stop at the liquor store on the way to the bar so we could drink in the parking lot as opposed to hanging out in the bar.When you play at the same place for a while, you can get REALLY sick of the songs on the juke box.Dale ReedRick Beohms bought a Peavey PA while we were playing at Charlie Brown’s. It consisted of a powered eight-channel mixer, two cabinets loaded with two fifteen-inch speakers with a “hyperbolic horn,” and a hundred-foot snake, so the microphones were plugged in at the stage, but the sound man could be out in the audience.Dale Reed was our sound man. He was a childhood friend of Dennis’s. For a while Dale wore roller skates when he mixed, I guess so he could get around the room better to check out the sound and look at girls. That, or it was just more fun that way. I’m sure he must have had a day gig, because I don’t think we paid him much of anything, but he was a very nice smiling sort of guy and a fine sound mixer. He married one the Moravian women, named Cindy. About a decade later, I heard Dale had committed suicide. I understand he had suffered with many long battles with depression over the years. The mind can be very cruel.Stylin’Brylcreem  Dippity-DoWhen Marshall joined the band back at the Stock Exchange we all went down to an old fashioned clothing store and bought matching suits with cummerbunds. Rick, Marshall, and I had grey suits and Dennis had a white suit and wore a black shirt and white tie. There are some pictures around still. At some point we expanded our wardrobe further and got blue crushed-velvet suits. We also used to put Brylcreem or Dippity Do in our hair and slick it back like greasers. The first time I put Brylcreem in my hair I realized it was like putting lithium grease on your head, it took days to get it out. I preferred the water-soluble Dippity Do because it rinsed out with water, though Brylcreem did have kind of a recognizable old fashioned smell to it. At one point, my hair was long enough so I tied it back into a pony tail, like a greaser Mullet. Anyway, for a while , we looked supper club ready.We always did pretty well at the Mo. There were always a least a couple of hours a night where there were people drinking and dancing unless there was a snowstorm or something. There was an ever-revolving cast of characters, especially girls to talk to, so that made nights more interesting and the time fly by. It’s always good to have a muse to perform to.Occasionally “normal” people would come by; people out on dates coming in after dinner for drinks and dancing, parties of four and six, girls-night-out type of stuff. There was one older married couple who would come in pretty regularly and dance the Madison. I was never much of a dancer, but Dennis was astute enough in dance to recognize the Madison when he saw it. I always love to see couples who can really dance. I like the effort and commitment it reflects, and the pride they showed for each other. It’s a deep love. The original Version of Shake Rattle and Roll by Big Joe Turner, the one with the line, “Way you wear those dresses, the sun comes shinin’ through, I can’t believe my eyes, all that mess belongs to you. “ You know, the GOOD version. It swings at about 140 BPM, I bet you could do the Madison to that.The Madison started in Columbus Ohio and was popular from the late 50s to the mid 60’s  and it’s line dance, to get the whole dance floor goin’.The jazz pianist Ray Bryant recorded "Madison Time" fo

In the Fall of 1977, I moved from Berkley MI, to Washington Heights, on the upper west side of Manhattan NY. Moving from a segregated Detroit suburb to a multicultural urban area offered a quick education in the ways of the larger world.The reason for the move was to go to school at the Institute of Audio Research, which offered a one-year program in audio recording and record making. In the end, I worked at a studio on 72nd and Broadway owned by Herb Abramson, one of the founders of Atlantic Records.Ultimately, I ended up living in NY for 7 years and having a pretty fabulous adventure.

Charlie Brown’s was on Kenneth street in Pontiac, MI. off of Telegraph Rd. by Dixie Hwy. Dennis, Marshall, Rick Boehms and I played there for 16 weeks; five nights a week, probably four sets a night, the year I graduated from high school (1976).When our friends or family would initially come up, the first thing they would say is “Oh, this isn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.” I’m sure, though, after experiencing a Friday or Saturday night at Charlie Brown’s, they felt differently.I’m guessing the building was built in the mid 1960s when GM factories poured out cars and trucks in Pontiac running three shifts. It had a tall, vaulted ceiling, and I recall that the wall where the stage was had a nonworking fireplace built into it.There were two big gas grills, and the cooking and food prep area could be seen from the bar. I bet in its day, they had steaks and burgers with baked potatoes and salads covered in blue cheese or thousand island dressing. Maybe chocolate mousse or cobbler with ice cream for dessert. I bet it was 1960s nice.By the time we got to Charlie Browns we had changed the name of the band to Denny and the Robots from Fonzie and the Happy Days. After we loaded in for the first night, we thought it would be a good idea to put the name of the band up on the roadside marque they had out front advertising the drink specials. We asked the owner Kathy where we might find the letters for the signage and she pointed us to a box on a shelf in a storage room.When the box was taken down, we realized that it was a bit short on letters. There were certainly not enough letters to spell out Denny and the Robots, or Fonzie and the Happy Days. So, Dennis and Marshall began to brainstorm on what words and/or phrases could be put up with the letters in the box and settled on FLOG ME. Not the new name of the band, but somewhat fitting for the vibe of the club for sure.Eventually, I think Kathy got around to reading the sign and asked that it be changed, but for a week or so, people did respond and come in to see who or what they may have the opportunity to flog.By the time the cosmos had brought us to Charlie Brown’s, or ‘Chuck Brown’s, as we called it, the place was filthy. The kitchen was closed. At its most base, the plumbing was out in the men’s room and there was a 5 gallon bucket under one of the urinals where the drain used to be. One of the workers had to empty the bucket from time-to-time. For a couple of nights, the heat was out and the owner turned the gas grill way-up to heat the place. The joint filled up with so much smoke the fire department came. I couldn’t make it up any crazier if I tried.Like many bars of the time, they used to have two-for-one drink specials early most evenings, and one night of the week was Pitcher Night, where 64oz glass pitchers were filled with draft beer; Pabst Blue Ribbon, Miller, Stroh’s or Budweiser for a bargain price.One night, some motorcycle gentlemen were sitting at a long picnic style table that faced perpendicular to a wide/tall brick wall. Perhaps the service was particularly slow that night or they were just in a care-free dangerous mood, but someone took a glass pitcher and sailed it high into the brick wall, smashing it into a thousand pieces. The crowd went wild.This was one of those times, like in the movie Titanic, where the band just kept on playing. There were a lot of times back then when crazy stuff was happening in front of us and the best (and only) thing to do was to keep playing and hope not to get drawn into the mayhem.Pitchers just kept on flying every so often and the crowd would erupt like when an exciting play is made during a football game. I don’t remember anyone being cut, but that’s only because of random, amazing good luck that drunk people sometimes have, like miraculously not killing anyone driving home.There were a lot of dangerous scenes there. One night Marshall and I cut out before the last set because some motorcycle gentlemen calmly inform me that they were going to have to kill me. It was the strangest thing. They said they didn’t want to do it because they liked the band and said I was a good drummer, but apparently I had insulted someone in their club and they had rules. In all transparency, it did involve a woman and universally bad behavior, but it CERTAINLY wasn’t worth dying for, especially at 17. I called the booking agency and they called the sheriff’s department, he next night, the police were there to broker a treaty, and we shook hands after I apologized.There were a ton of characters there. There was an old guy , I think maybe he held the note on the bar, that used to come up and sing ‘SHOW ME THE WAY TO GO HOME. I’M TIRED AND I WANNA GO TO BED,WITH YOU!!!” and the guy from the Crusader car club followed us over from the Stock Exchange and continued to do a pretty good Dion impression.HalloweenOne of my favorite nights there, though, was Halloween. If you’ve ever worked at a bar, Halloween is a night when all inhibition is lost. Put someone in a Frankenstein suit, they very well may become an actual Frankenstein. This was 1976. Gerald Ford was president and the ghost of the disgraced Richard Milhous Nixon was still present in the public mind’s eye. The year’s top selling Halloween costumes were, in no particular order: The Fonze from Happy Days, Evel Knievel, and Richard (Tricky Dick) Nixon.At the bar, Nixon had never been so well represented. There was short Nixon, tall Nixon, fat Nixon, small Nixon. A dozen Dick Nixons, all with the same soft rubber faced mask.We had a friend, rest his soul, name Michael Butkavich. I think Michael was the first guy I knew who graduated in the top of his class from a University. A great, smart, and funny guy.Most of my stories about Butkavich, and most anyone’s stories about Mike Butkavich (as a young man) begin with “Mike and I went to this weird bar shaped like a boat on John R. Road one night” and end with “ and I begged God, if you get me home safely, I will never drink again.” He was a “fun loving guy.”It is the custom at every bar on every Halloween night where people don costumes, that there be an obligatory Halloween costume contest. What usually happens is the contest judges walk around the bar and pick out what they deem as the ten or so best costumes in the room, and the contestants are brought to the stage, wherein audience response determines the winner of contest.Someone must have made the poor decision to have one or two of the band-members be judges, because what I recall is ten nearly identical Dick Nixons ended up on stage.The first Dick Nixon points a finger at the audience and mouths the words “ I am not a crook,” and all of his friends hoot and holler out their support. The second Dick Nixon points a finger at the audience and mouths the words “I am not a crook,” and all of his friends hoot and holler out their support. The third Dick Nixon, same thing, four, five, six, seven, eight, and then Butkavich, naturally our favorite Nixon. Butkavich’s friends cheer him on, but then Mike reaches into the pockets of his trench coat and pulls out two 7” reels of Memorex magnetic recording tape. The crowd went wild! It was great.The other thing I like to mention about Butkavich is that he used to come up and sing “Six Days on the Road” and “Soul Man.” We had a lot of fun with that guy.I remember a million bits and moments of the smoky dream that is Charlie Brown’s. Funny things like “Rubber Band Man” by The Spinners and “Squeezebox” by The Who being on the jukebox, but I remember, after the 16 weeks, packing up our equipment to move back to the Moravian Lounge. It felt good to be moving on, as if somehow we had survived what they call a near miss in the industrial trades.

There are people who forever change your life. This is one of those stories.