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The
saloon-pictured last week--the first time I saw it
in the 50s when I was visiting my parents in the city
now known as Carlsbad, NM. My father, Jeff "Red" Hall
who worked for the city as an electrician, told me the
Billy the Kid tale. He offered to take me over to
meet Dee Harkey, still alive at the time, but I was
young and had other things to do. A big mistake, I
realize now. In life, we make choices. Some good.
Some not so good. I wish I'd met Harkey. I did read
his biography, though. A good tale of what The West
was really like.
Saloon
Chapter 2 of a short
story
by Claude Hall
Old Horace sat there on his horse for a while and when
he came to the conclusion, finally, that Rodney was
done with the conversation, he jerked old Bess around
in a fit of disgust at Rodney and old Horace and his
horse ambled back down to the porch of the general
store. At least, he'd gathered a little information
which would add to his status and, of course, he made
up a few more things as he and the horse wandered down
the dirt street. By the time he reached the porch, he
had decided that Rodney Peterson was, without
question, deeply smitten with Bonnie Jean Allison
regardless of her brother and in spite of the fact
that Bonnie Jean just might come looking for him with
a shotgun or, at the very least, a rifle. Yes, she
appeared to be exactly that kind of girl, old Horace
had decided. A girl with a doubtful reputation and
yet a girl with a lot of spunk. He hadn't seem much
of her, that's true, but he'd certainly seen enough to
come to these conclusions.
Poor Rodney Peterson. He was in an awful lot of
trouble!
Now one of the people who just happened to stroll by
the general store shortly after school turned out was
Miss Lizzie Jones. And, of course, old Horace found
her to be quite interested in the new gunslinger who'd
just hit town.
"And she's quite pretty, too," old Horace said, even
though he thought he was lying the instant he said it.
"Well, well," said Miss Lizzie Jones. "Perhaps she
has come to work in the saloon."
She said this last sentence with more than just your
ordinary disdain. But school marms have, in general,
been widely known to look down on saloons so this did
not surprise old Horace one bit.
Of course, the saloon was not just your basic,
run-of-the-mill every day saloon. How it came to get
there alongside one of the main thoroughfares of the
town, only a few people could honestly remember and
two of them were not on speaking terms with the rest
of the community, one having been hung just recently
and the other getting close to it. It was an adobe.
Mud bricks. Fairly common building material in many
parts of the southwest. The walls were quite thick
and this thickness lent to the coolness of the saloon
in the hard heat of summer as well as protected
against the cold winds during the hard chill of the
winter. There was a fireplace on the side of the main
room. You couldn't find a better place to warm your
hands when cold winds came down off the Guadalupe
Mountains. The fireplace was the most outstanding
feature of the saloon and it wasn't all that fancy.
There was, of course, a counter along one side of the
room and a few scattered tables with chairs and some
coaloil lanterns hanging from the beams of the
ceiling. Yet, if you've ever been west of Fort Worth,
you would find this particular saloon rather welcome
as a haven against the rest of the world and many
famous outlaws and outcasts found it exactly that.
Old Horace did not frequent the saloon all that often.
He suffered from too many aches and pains that
whiskey did not improve. Thus, he found it more
comfortable to sit on his throne, for that was what it
was, and attempt to add to the aches and pains of
others passing by. This included Rodney Peterson.
For it was old Horace who'd told him about Bo
Allison's comments. Only now, to be honest with you,
old Horace couldn't remember whether Bo Allison had
referred to Rodney Peterson as a man with the
disposition of a horned toad or not. Maybe it had
actually been someone else commenting about someone
else.
All this did not matter to old Horace. He was
personally having a fine time and for the moment had
forgotten that his right toe was hurting as well as
his left knee where years and years ago he had been
kicked by an old miner's donkey.
One of the things that pleased him immensely was the
distraught glimmer in the eyes of the school marm.
Almost tears. She was, after all, approaching 23
years old. Another year and she'd be classified as an
old maid. Old maids are generally considered unfit
for marriage. Old Horace had been known to place such
tags on women himself. It was his duty, he thought.
It's not that there weren't a lot of single men
around, but most of them were not very interesting and
thus Rodney Peterson was of prime material; most women
thought they could mould a man like that into a fairly
decent husband worthy of showing off at the local
church. And he would be dragged there, no doubt, as
soon as she had that ring on her finger.
Old Horace was somewhat disappointed that Miss Lizzie
Jones did not linger to continue the conversation.
With considerable aplomb, twirling her parasol, she
walked on down the boardwalk and around the corner and
out of view.
So, there was the sun about to set in a while and at
the moment old Horace didn't have a lot to do but sit
there and watch until it dropped casually behind the
hill to the west, a foothill to the Guadalupes. This
was fairly dull, as you might imagine. Thus he was
right pleased when the buggy of Bonnie Jean Allison
came into view down the street and proceeded in the
direction of the blacksmith shop.
He was quite tempted to climb on old Bess and follow
the buggy. But even old Horace had certain rules
about his various quests for knowledge. Anyway, that
would be a little too obvious and he preferred to do
things in a more discrete manner. So, he decided to
call it a day. A bit early for him. Because the sun
was still making up its mind about setting. He went
out and took the reins of old Bess from around the
hitching rail and climbed wearily aboard, left foot
bothering him as he set it firmly in the stirrup, and
headed to his little house at the edge of town. Could
he help it if his path was directly past the
blacksmith shop? At least the blacksmith shop wasn't
far out of his way.
But he was too late. The buggy of Bonnie Jean Allison
was nowhere to be seen and the barn door was shut. In
spite of his rules about such things, he could not
resist. He clambered down from old Bess and peaked
through one of the cracks. But he couldn't seen a
cottonpickin' thing!
Frustrated like all gitout, he violated another rule.
He got aboard old Bess and headed for the saloon. Now
it should be noted that old Bess knew the way. So,
old Horace was not a total stranger to the best saloon
this side of El Paso del Norte. The best, because it
was virtually the only saloon around. He was pleased
when he realized his effort, however, had paid off.
For there was the buggy of Bonnie Jean Allison parked
at the hitching rail in front of the saloon.
He carefully tied the reins of old Bess to the same
rail. Once, she'd pulled loose and gone home and he
had to walk, hurting feet and all, and he didn't want
that to happen again. A man who repeated his mistakes
was not a very bright man, in the opinion of old
Horace.
He was thus quite surprised when he entered the saloon
and found them together. This was after his eyes
adjusted, of course, to the prevailing gloom of the
place.
Now old Horace was very curious about how this came to
be. At the same time, he wasn't stupid. He wasn't
about to go over and ask them direct. They were
sitting at a table and, strange to say, holding hands.
This whetted the innate curiosity of old Horace so
much that the gray hairs on the back on his neck were
standing up.
However, even as impatient as he was, he managed to
find an unoccupied table in the distant corner and
bide his time while sipping at a lukewarm bottle of
sarsaparilla. He hated the drink and he disliked even
more intently the fact that it was not chilled.
Worse, he could not hear what was being said at the
far table where Sissy Pete...that is, Rodney
Peterson...and the strange lady named Bonnie Jean
Allison were sitting. Obviously, she could not be
from Fort Worth as he had earlier decided. He was
also quite mystified that she could be so friendly
with the very man who'd shot her brother. Of course,
there was always that little fact that her brother
probably needed shooting and had received that which
he deserved. But, without question, here was a very
odd mystery on his hands and old Horace could not
tolerate such unknowns. They festered at his soul.
Maybe she was, as they say, playing up to Sissy Pete
to lure him into a trap for her brother! What a weird
and very strange and also quite delicious idea! Very
subtle! Old Horace, somewhat of a master at
subterfuge, had to admire an idea like this. If, of
course, that was her purpose.
Here from his table, shadows running around the room
in the glow of half a dozen lanterns hung from the
ceiling and the movement of the citizens of this den
in evil and danger, he could study the girl a lot
better than his quick glimpses of her during the day.
Sunlight hides facets in the human personality.
Darkness and shadows, on the other hand, bring these
to the fore. She was not as plain as he'd earlier
imagined. There was a certain cast to her cheekbones,
her eyes, the way she'd prepared her hair for the
evening that was, one might say, even appealing.
What if the girl was from Fort Smith! Now that was an
interesting thought!
Now at this point the outlaw Bo Allison had been
"stove up," as they say, in his room at the boarding
house for more than three weeks. And, of course,
Sissy Pete had been wearing his left arm in a sling
just about the same length of time almost to the
minute. But in the west most people are up and about
long before two weeks have elapsed. You could
literally take it for granted that Sissy Pete's arm
was just about healed and he was probably still
wearing that sling just to evoke any pity that might
be had amidst the general public of Eddy.
As for Bo Allison, well, someone voiced the opinion
that he was probably keeping mostly to his room just
in order to avoid having to face Sissy Pete before he
was good and ready. The other conjecture was that Bo
Allison was already well enough to oil down his sixgun
and had all six cylinders loaded with bullets instead
of the usual five that was the tradition among most
people in the west.
Surely, decided old Horace, he needed more
information. The question was: How to gather this
information without appearing too obvious about it?
Had the young couple glanced his direction? He wasn't
sure. But perhaps they did suspect that they were
under observation. What then?
After a few minutes, old Horace came to the conclusion
that he'd seen just about all he was going to see. He
carefully stretched and faked a yawn. Then rose from
his table and slowly strolled toward the door.
Someone at the bar eagerly rushed to claim his table,
he noticed. Not a surprise. It was well known
throughout the community that the saloon was one of
the most popular places in the entire west. He,
himself, had given careful consideration about moving
his throne from the front porch of the general store
to this very location. All of the people who
meandered up and down the streets of Eddy also tended
to frequent this very place. However, he'd finally
decided that he needed the fresh air to be found
outdoors. Saloons, especially saloons such as this
one, bred not only whiskey-sodden talk that sometimes
erupted into violence, but physical ills such as the
grip. This was a known fact.
And right now, it appeared, this saloon was breeding
something else entirely!
"Hey, you!" said a voice behind him.
Old Horace turned, of course, in hope that whoever
said something like that was, indeed, talking to him.
Even though the words were rather callous and the tone
slightly tart. This proved to be the case.
It was Bonnie Jean Allison herself!
With what dignity he could muster under the
circumstance, old Horace turned, head tilted in a
disdainful manner, the smile of a wolf, he hoped, on
his face. This...this person dared to confront him in
such a bold approach? Didn't she know who he was?
She gestured with her head as if commanding him to
come over to her table. The hussy!
Normally, a man would have merely grinned and
continued walking toward the door. However, old
Horace was consumed with curiosity! He tried to turn
again toward the door of the saloon and he could not!
It was as if his body was in control of his mind. He
found himself standing placidly in front of the woman,
his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes downcast,
waiting her next command. It was galling, as you
might expect, but he was desperate for further
information. Old Horace, no matter what you might say
about him that was negative and even though he might
warrant every scorn you could heap on his portly
frame, he had literally controlled the flow of tidbits
and gossip in the community of Eddy for so many years
that he dared not give up his duty to the citizens.
Without information to pass from here to there, he
would wither and become dust and be blown out of town
with the next wind storm.
Standing this close, he realized that the sister of Bo
Allison, the outlaw, was indeed a pretty woman. She
had done something to her face. Something had
happened to her eyes. Much brighter now! Sparkling,
in fact! Her hair had been undone from her travels
and now fell around her face like a frame of gold.
And she smelled good. Perfume, of course, and that
particular odor was not the kind that was easily
available in this part of the country.
His hope to be invited to sit at the table with them,
however, was quickly dashed.
"My brother wishes to see you," she said and she
smiled. Like a hungry cat, thought old Horace.
Horace, of course, was astonished. Her brother? The
notorious outlaw Bo Allison? He immediately started
to tremble slightly, but just as quickly caught
himself. Was it actual fear that had engaged his
soul? Or, perhaps, merely excitement.
"What about, may I ask?" old Horace said.
"He didn't tell me," she said. "But you can tell him
that I'm here at the saloon with Sissy Pete. That
should spark him up some."
Old Horace turned to Rodney Peterson. "I thought you
didn't like the name Sissy Pete."
Rodney Peterson smiled at Bonnie Jean.
"Guess I like it well enough," he said.
Again, that curious smile from Bonnie Jean. Old
Horace wondered why she had to smile like that. He
glanced quickly at Sissy Pete.
"I haven't done anything," old Horace said.
"Don't look at me," Sissy Pete said. "I haven't the
slightest idea why he called for you. I was hoping
that he would summon me at some point. But evidently
not yet. Not yet."
And Sissy Pete, too, smiled.
That left old Horace completely dazed. Ah, more
mysteries! Was Sissy Pete eager for another gunfight
with the outlaw? And him with his arm still in a
sling?
"Did your brother say when I might call upon him?" old
Horace asked Bonnie Jean.
"Him? No, my brother has always been sort of
indefinite about things like that. I suppose that any
time would be either the right time or the wrong time.
Depends on his mood of the moment, I might think."
"Not exactly the kind of appointment I would wish to
keep," ventured old Horace.
"I wouldn't want to make my brother irritated," said
Bonnie Jean. "He takes unkindly to matters such as
that."
"True. But perhaps I should wait until your brother
is...well, well, so to speak."
"He's well enough," she said. "More well than some."
And she glanced with that curious smile in the
direction of Sissy Pete.
"I told you, good lady, my arm is still bothering me."
"Sure," she said, but said it in a tone that clearly
indicated she didn't believe him for one second.
"I was told," said old Horace with a rare display of
bravado, "that you were only shot in the arm. One
recovers from scratches such as that rather quickly."
"I wasn't merely scratched," said Sissy Pete. "I was
shot and wounded by absolutely one of the most
ferocious outlaws in the entire west. A man whose
very name creates terror in the hearts of men hither
and yon."
At this, Bonnie Jean almost laughed. She wanted to
laugh, old Horace decided, but stopped herself from
doing so in just the nick of time. But still her head
shook as if in mirth and she turned away so that he
might not notice.
This absolutely enchanted old Horace. Not the woman
now. Nope. The mystery! Why laughter? Maybe the
woman was crazy! That seemed to be the only possible
explanation!
"Well, it's growing late. Perhaps I'll visit your
brother in the morning," old Horace said. And he
unpocketed his watch and made a pretense at checking
the time.
"No," said Bonnie Jean. "I wouldn't wait. You most
certainly don't want to make the most ferocious outlaw
in the west angry at you."
She glanced with a smirk at Sissy Pete. But he merely
smirked back.
Reluctantly, old Horace put away his pocket watch. He
wanted to talk more to this very strange couple, but
he had run out of things he could say. Polite things,
that is. Because he was completely full of questions
at the moment. Rude questions, of course. And
obviously this was not the time nor the place to ask.
He wondered, for example, if these two people at the
table had known each other for very long. And where?
As he turned to leave, Sissy Pete ventured a remark
that mystified old Horace even more.
"Tell Bo for me that I would like to buy him a drink
if he'll meet me here at the saloon."
Old Horace paused.
"When?" he asked Sissy Pete.
"Why, right away, of course," said Sissy Pete.
Now it was the turn of old Horace to smile a grim
little smile. It was rooted in his perverse nature,
you see.
"With gun or without?" old Horace asked.
"What would that matter?" Sissy Pete asked. "But you
will be sure and inform him that it's Sissy Pete
making the invite, won't you?"
"Well, well," said old Horace.
And with that, he continued toward the door of the
saloon and this deadly little chore to which he'd been
assigned.
Old Bess was ready. She'd long grown bored standing
there at the hitching rail in front of the saloon. As
soon as he climbed into the saddle, she trotted up the
street, seemingly knowing in advance that he was
heading toward the boarding house of the widow Mrs.
Epson, who was perhaps the most dour person in the
community of Eddy. Dour to the extent that absolutely
no one had ever seen her smile. Not for any reason
known to man. Her one redeeming factor was that she
kept a quite neat and quite quiet boarding house.
Even though some of the residents of this particular
boarding house suffered immensely from time to time in
lack of any redeeming character whatsoever. Among
these, of late, had been Bo Allison, the outlaw.
There are those who wondered why she stooped to taking
money from a person of bad repute such as Bo Allison.
But, on the other hand, she was indeed a widow and
money was not always easy to come by in the west.
Certainly not for a widow woman. Not even for an
outlaw. Especially amidst other outlaws such as Billy
the Kid and John Wesley Hardin. Between these two
persons alone, a graveyard or two had been filled.
Some said that Hardin had killed more than 50 men.
And little Billy as many as the years he'd lived and
he was only about 20. But everyone stayed at Mrs.
Epson's when they were in town overnight and this
included even the legendary John Wesley Hardin. He
probably found the boarding house much more pleasant
than the prison where he'd recently spent fifteen
years!
This evening, too, was pleasant as old Horace and Bess
made their way up the street toward the arroyo, a
drywash that, though seldom, sometimes flowed bank to
bank with raging water from a rain storm. Days were
often hot in this part of the west. But when evening
came, it was like someone had dampened the stove and
this particular evening a small breeze had come up.
Old Horace felt quite jolly. A lot of interesting
things were going on and he seemed to be in the middle
of everything. His life, often dull, had become
somewhat exciting. A man of his age could ask for
little more!
The Epson boarding house sat atop a small rise near
the arroyo and you could see it for a considerable
distance up the street, its two stories with gables,
quite ugly, and even an assortment of lightning rods
poking into the sky and glistening in the sun that was
soon to disappear behind the mountains to the west.
It was supper time, of course, and Mrs. Epson was no
doubt in her kitchen preparing supper. Or maybe even
serving supper by now. Her food was rumored to be
decent. Yet old Horace had never dined there. He
preferred a Chinese restaurant on the outskirts of
Eddy that served not only ample portions, but was
quite good. And very reasonable in price.
However, he valued Mrs. Epson's dining table for
another reason than just food. The information that
permeated the atmosphere during the supper meal was
quite delicious! And Mrs. Epson, always fussing about
the table to make sure that various bowls were in
reach of her customers, was the perfect funnel for all
of these tidbits. In return, old Horace now and then
shoo'd a potential boarder in her direction.
This evening, though, old Horace did not bother to
seek out that dour woman, but tethered old Bess to the
hitching post out front of the house and walked up the
graveled walk to the porch and peeked into the dining
room without asking permission. Didn't matter.
Everyone was welcome at that table. For a fee.
Evidently, the outlaw was not well enough yet to dine
with the others. This gave old Horace heart. For all
outlaws, in his mind, were fit to be avoided when and
if possible. This included John Wesley Hardin, who
was said to have been the son of a Methodist minister
and also said to have an agreeable disposition. All
outlaws: Avoid. That was a good rule in the mind of
old Horace.
Once he discovered that the outlaw Bo Allison was not
dining this evening amidst the others, old Horace
ventured up the stairs to the second floor. He knew
precisely the room occupied by the outlaw. And on the
landing went directly to the door of Bo Allison. He
knocked as gently as possible and yet be heard.
Careful raps with his knuckles. Only three times. No
sense disturbing the outlaw if he were sleeping.
Unfortunately, Bo Allison was not asleep. There came
a gruff voice from behind the door. But old Horace
didn't understand a word, so he remained still for a
few minutes and when nothing happened, knocked gently
again. He was suddenly wishing that he'd told the
girl about his illness. For, indeed, in matters such
as this he was often sick. The sickness would come
upon him suddenly.
There was a faint noise. As if bedsprings creaked.
Then, after a long moment, the doorknob turned and
swung open and old Horace found himself looking down
the barrel of a sixgun. And he really was sick.
Fright, if you will!
Bo Allison, behind the gun, stared at him.
"What do you want?"
"Your sister...Bonnie Jean...said you wished to see
me."
"And who might you be?" asked the outlaw.
"Horace Bustman," old Horace said. He tried to keep
his voice calm. It wanted to quiver. But he felt
he'd best not reveal just how nervous he was to the
outlaw.
"Did she say why I wanted to see you?" Bo Allison
asked.
All urge to shake from fright suddenly disappeared
from the body and mind of old Horace. Ah! So the
outlaw's sister Bonnie Jean was playing some kind of
game! The outlaw had not wanted to see him. In fact,
didn't even know who he was!
(continued next week)
e-mail claude@claudehallonline.com
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June 12, 2006
Commentary
by
Claude Hall
The Texas Playboys, circa 1979,
with Vince Cosgrave of Capitol Records in front, who produced
their LP "Texas Playboys" with David Cavanaugh. The legendary
western group at the time was directed by Leon McAuliffe and
featured Smokey Dacus on drums, Joe Ferguson on bass, Al
Stricklin on piano, Bob Kizer on guitar, Jack Stidham on fiddle,
Bob Boatright on fiddle, McAuliffe on steel guitar, and Leon
Raush with vocals. (Photo courtesy of Vince Cosgrave)
How embarrassing! Someone knocked
on the front door
Wednesday afternoon, June 7, 2006. Mail, just
arrived, was scattered inside the door. I thought it
might be the mailgirl with something too large for the
slot. I opened the door and this guy handed me a
phone book and said something about real estate and I
said thanks but I intended to live here forever and
was just about to close the door. Then I looked at
him. It was Vince Cosgrave! You know how it is. We
seldom really look at people. At least, that's one of
my problems. No, I'm not going to use the excuse of
being just a dab nearsighted. And, anyway, he came to
the wrong door. Friends come through the patio and he
must have forgotten. Vince, though, took it in good
stead. Loaned me a couple of photos to scan. Gave me
a Texas Playboys LP. But I still feel a little bit
like an ass. At least dumber than usual. Just hope I
haven't lost a friend. Hey, Vince, George Wilson puts
up with me! Anyway, it addition to two pictures,
including the one above, Vince typed up some details:
"Two of my last projects at Capitol Records were pure
vanity projects of mine. At MCA Records, one of my
few heroes, Artie Mogul, used to say 'you are allowed
to sign one girl singer a year solely on tits'. These
were different. They were heroes of mine. I got to
produce probably the last 'Original Texas Playboys'
album. When I discovered country music in 1979 in a
swing through Texas after Ray Charles turned me on
with his masterpiece country album, I had to go back
to Hank Williams and Bob Wills and then embrace the
whole then current Texas scene. So, in 1979, I got to
help get the Playboys and the Lost Gonzo Band signed
and ended up helping produce their albums. Neither
sold, but who cares; I was only in the biz for the
music, as a jock, street sales, local promotion, VP
sales, promotion and marketing. It was always the
music. Still is. I even got to get the Playboys to
do a couple of Levon Helm songs. Anyway in 1979 just
before leaving Capitol to work on 'Coal Miner's
Daughter' for Loretta Lynn with her late greater
manager David Skepner and Universal Picture's Kevin
Genther, another great guy, I found myself in Studio A
at Summit-Burnett Sound Studios in Dallas with the
Playboys. When I checked the log, I flipped out!
That very afternoon the Light Crust Doughboys were
doing spots for the Houston Power Company. I knew
that Bill Ward of KLAC in Los Angeles was in town,
gave him a call, and he and his camera were there in
record time. He shot both groups and we all had a
great reunion. A lot of Texas history in that studio
that day. Bill did not take the cover picture, but
the Playboys wanted me to be on the cover. Cooler
heads prevailed at Capitol. I loved those guys."
Just FYI, most of you guys are welcome here. Patio
door.
Ray Whitworth,
rayisbroadcasting@earthlink.net: "Bob
Crowley is so right about the current state of News.
The news today is the Bo-Tox Babes, plus The Tummy
Tuck Tommys. The news content is The National
Enquirer, People Magazine, Entertainment Tonight
combined with some hit show on Fox, placed in a
Warrington blender, and the outcome is sludge. Frank
Herbert wrote in the sci-fi novel 'Dune': 'He who
controls the spices, controls the universe'. Take
that same thought, apply it to current media
ownership, and you have 'He who controls the airwaves,
controls the news'. Bob is a great journalist and
there are a few more still in operation. It's just a
damn shame that slanted talks shows seem to be the
source of information for radio listeners, and Bo-Tox
Babes along with Tummy Tuck Tommys are the source for
viewers."
Hoo-hah! Love your term Tummy Tuck Tommys. I shall
steal it. Sans doute! CNN, which claims to be
Headline News, is going more and more toward a program
thing and there are a couple of people who fit the
term. I mean, some of these females and males are
really bad! A disgrace to journalism.
Bob Lefsetz said something about Peter Gabriel in one
of his emails and George Wilson decided I could judge
for myself. And I did. An amazing talent. I now
have a couple of his tunes on this laptop-"Secret
World" and "Biko." What's really impressive, however,
is the vast scope of George Wilson's musical acumen.
The natural tendency is that one might put George's
musical tastes in a box. After all, he was music
director, or selected the music as disc jockey,
program director, and probably even to some extent
when he became a general manager. But I would have
thought his tastes leaned more to Top 40 rock and r&b.
Not so. I don't know Bob Lefsetz. But I do know
George Wilson. When it comes to a hit, that is a song
that people will enjoy listening to, I'll go with
George Wilson. I think the man has the golden touch.
In the old days, they used to say that record producer
Snuff Garrett (Tanya Tucker, Bobby Vee, Gary and the
Playboys) had a golden ear. George stole it. I
would think that many of us operate from a "fan base."
George Wilson is unquestionably a fan of music and
music artists. The man knows a vast array. But when
it comes to records, there is more than likely the
commercial appeal factor hanging fire somewhere in his
brain. Billy Preston died this past week. Behold,
George focused on "Get Back" by the Beatles and "You
Are So Beautiful" by Joe Cocker. Okay, trivial buffs!
Why?
John Hall,
johnalexhall@gmail.com: "As for Peter
Gabriel, I am a big fan. Andy and I went and saw him
on his last tour a few years back. There was one song
that was completely amazing called 'Sky Blue' in which
he was joined by the Blind Boys of Alabama. Heck, I
have been following his career for a long time, going
back to your days at Billboard. I picked up his first
solo single 'Solsbury Hill' on one of my visits to
your office. Almost all of his songs are not
political in nature, but he did have one that was a
doozy. It was on his third album and was called
'Biko' about a martyr in South Africa. It is already
a scorcher out here in the Valley. The paper says
that it should reach 100 degrees today. It feels
mighty close to that already. Great game last night.
Shaq was quite impressive. Has anybody told him that
he is suppose to be over the hill? First off, in your
Commentary this week, you did make another error.
Dan Adkins, not Ted Adkins. Dan became a successful
comic book artist. Had a great time last night. Went
to see Bruce Springsteen perform at the Greek with
some friends. Bruce was performing with the band
that he recorded for his most recent CD, 'We Shall
Overcome: The Pete Seeger Session'. He did the songs
from this album and a few songs from his massive
catalogue that were changed to fit with this band.
The band is kind of folky funk or funky folk. It had
a horn section, two fiddlers and much more. Clearly
Bruce was having a great time, enjoying himself. The
band was pretty damn big. I do not think that Bruce
can be making much money on this tour due to its size
and the smaller venues that he is playing. I suspect
that Bruce is doing this mostly for the fun of it. I
read somewhere that Bruce fell in love with the songs
of Pete Seeger about ten years ago, so I guess that he
wanted to do something to honor the man while he was
still alive. Bruce made a few anti-Bush comments
during the concert, mostly to point out that Bush
gutted the one government program that could work by
making it full of cronyism when Bruce was talking
about FEMA and New Orleans. He also sang a couple of
anti war songs including 'Bring Them Home'. Overall,
I had a great time. Bruce is perhaps one of the best
performers out there. He is definitely the best that
I have seen."
Andy Hall, one of my other sons, says "Biko" is
probably Peter Gabriel's best song, though he also
thought highly of "Family Snapshot."
From left:
Barbara Hall, later to become public relations manager of the
International Museum of Photography at George Eastman House in
Rochester, NY; Jeff Gonzer of KMET in Los Angeles, and Pamela (né
Sanchez) Baumgardner, circa 1979. (Photo by Claude Hall)
Pamela Baumgardner,
pambaumgardner@hotmail.com: "I was
searching for Jeff Salgo and I came across your column
and my name!!! I'm honored to have a place in your
memory. I have nothing but fond thoughts of Radio
Report. You gave me many opportunities and I learned
so much. When I was a little girl, I used to play
radio with my reel-to-reel deck in my room for hours
on end. I always viewed the on-air DJs in the same
vein as the artists whose songs they were spinning.
Years later, as a young adult, I got hired at Radio
Report and started to meet some of my DJ heroes. (Not
to be disrespectful, but...) I soon learned these guys
were normal folk...smucks...pretty much like me!!! So
after Radio Report closed its doors, I went back to
college to study radio/TV broadcasting and a few years
later I found myself once again working with Jeff
Salgo when he hired me at KEZY in Anaheim. I worked
in radio for almost 15 years. My last job in radio
was in 1996 at KXBS in Ventura, California, at an
alternative rock station. I was the PD with the
mid-day shift. You guys made my dreams of radio a
possibility. I thank you for that. I have not spoke
to Jeff for a few years. The last I heard he was at
KROQ. I do talk to Victor at least once or twice a
year to catch up. We dated for almost 3 years.
Bruce's girlfriend (who later would be his wife...then
ex-wife), Linda Stein, is still a good friend of mine
and we see each other monthly. She lives up here in
Ventura county with her family as well. We have
actually known each other since the third grade! I
got into the magazine game for a while where we
managed to get out four issues of Buzzine, a music and
entertainment magazine, between 2002 and 2004. It was
national and in Canada. Unfortunately it was
mismanaged; but I don't believe it is completely dead
in the water yet. I was the editor-in-chief (yes, I
learned an awful lot from you). I'm divorced two
years now after a 15-year marriage and I'm currently
raising my 12-year-old daughter in Ventura and working
for a civil engineer...while doing web designs on the
side:
www.pambaumgardner.com. Well, I hope all is
well with you and Barbara and the whole family. Do
write back and get me caught up."
Paul Irey,
irey2021@creativeonline.com: "I think you
finally got your radio personalities mixed up with
your comic book personalities. It had to happen when
you know so many people. I read your column today and
said to myself 'I'll bet there is a Ted Atkins in
Claude's radio memory that transposed over to become
the comic book personality--Dan Adkins'. And, thanks
to a handy search engine, I found that Ted Atkins
seems to have been very well known in radio during the
1957 to the 90s era and he also is now retired in
Pennsylvania, just like Dan. He was known as Capt.
Showbiz, according to this broadcast history site:
http://www.440.com/namesa2.html#_tatkin
Am I right? Don't feel bad. I also remember the guy
that dressed as Superman and jumped off rocks in
Central Park, but I can't remember his name at all
now...a fanzine type who lived near the Museum of
Natural History and used to make his own home movies,
right? Don't worry, Claude. I'm sure you're still
99% right about all this other stuff you recall. Jean
Shepherd from WOR seemed to remember his entire
childhood and always started his radio show with...'I
was this kid see...' I loved that show. I can still
hear his voice in my head today. Here is one of his
other quotes: 'Can you imagine 4,000 years passing,
and you're not even a memory? Think about it,
friends. It's not just a possibility. It is a
certainty'."
A bit later, Irey came up with this: 'Since the email
I sent earlier I dug deep in some dark recess of my
mind and the Superman character's name came up as
Larry Ivy. It was difficult, I only met him a few
times. Today I feel like Columbo."
Larry Shannon,
larryshannon@radiodailynews.com:
"Congratulations on the published book! I've updated
your
www.claudehallonline.com Web site and posted the
tease and link to it in RDN CENTRAL. I have been at
my farm in NW Missouri near Westboro all week and will
stay at least another week. Claude, the new
technologies are amazing. Westboro, Missouri, is 155
miles east--as the crow flies-- from Lebanon, Kansas, the
geographical center of the U.S. Here I sit in the
middle of my section and a half of corn and soybean
fields and have communication with the world with
lightning-fast high speed Internet via DSL. Nine
generations of my ancestors who have farmed this land
are looking over my shoulder and marveling at the
graphics on my computer screen, I'll bet. This, in
addition to my DirecTV satellite television service
that brings me the world from a dish that's 24,000
miles up in space. A great horned owl has been
quietly making its home in my barn and flies away to a
nearby safe tall pine tree each time I walk by. But
only after having given me a tolerant and quizzical
look, and an unspoken threat of 'Get away, kid, you're
bothering me!', when I disturb it--all cozy, perched
and snoozing on a high rafter in the dusty red, faded
and shadow-filled barn. Here in this area 70 miles
south of Omaha and 100 miles north of Kansas City,
where Lewis and Clark sailed up the Missouri River 200
years ago, the small towns and villages still name
their thoroughfares and streets Main, Elm and Maple.
Friendly folks know each other by their first names
and greet each other when passing on the sidewalks.
Every day there's a notice published somewhere in the
local newspapers telling about activities going on at
the senior citizen centers. And you will find young
folks there talking with their elders, listening and
learning from them--unlike in large cities.
Twenty-one miles to the north of my farm, the only
theatre in Shenandoah, Iowa is showing 'The DaVinci
Code'--but there are no protesters walking a picket
line on the sidewalk in front of the movie house,
spurred on by the magnets of the media's videocams and
cable news talk show hosts. Shenandoah is the home of
KMA 960 Regional Radio
www.kma960.com where the Everly
Brothers got their singing start as kids when they
appeared regularly on the Everly Family Radio Show in
the late 1940s. Gary Owens worked there too, long
before Denver, Omaha, Dallas, San Antonio and Los
Angeles. A cottontail rabbit has grown accustomed to
watching me wander around the yard and doesn't run
anymore when it sees me, after hearing the screen door
slam when I walk out of the farm house. Yesterday
morning, from my front porch, I watched a doe (deer)
as it grazed in my front yard not 40 feet away. Yep,
they still have porches and views for a country mile
here in the country where Missouri, Iowa, Kansas and
Nebraska come together -- in a big, but little place,
called the 'Midland Empire'. Each day, I discover
another shortcut in technology. Just keep clicking
around on a computer and you'll slowly educate
yourself. Another trick is using the Help button on
the menu bar! Here on the farm, I discover daily that
it really IS a small world. Found out yesterday at the
post office in Tarkio, Missouri (pop. 1,935) that the
postmaster had temporarily lived down the country road
a half mile or so from my farm house last year and
that my Great Horned Owl had swooped down upon her car
each time she passed for about a week...probably
protecting its nest in my barn from dangerous
critters--like people! My possum pal who lives in a
hole burrowed next to the house hasn't been seen in a
couple of days. No doubt, he's on vacation or has
made a trip to Omaha for supplies. Another thing was
revealed to me this morning by my own accident. Water
that spills over the edge of the sink goes right into
the basement! I left the water running, ran out to
the garage, and when I returned, it was flowing over
the edge of the sink. No big deal as far as flooding
the tile floor. But, where was the water? I went
into the basement and there it was, still flowing from
the dripping ceiling onto the concrete basement floor
and into the drain on the floor. When my great, great
uncle John built this home in 1930, he must have
anticipated fools like me. Imagine! Gravity--and
water flowing down hill! It exists in the farm
country, too!"
Rob Moorhead: "My main computer crashed a couple on
months back. The hard-drive had a dead spot on the
boot section and it stubbornly refused my kindest
entreaties to fire up. This computer contained most of
my important files and contacts. In my brilliance, I
had used another drive on the same machine as primary
back-up. The data is retrievable, provided I can find
the time and motivation to dismantle and mirror the
back-up drive... I just don't have any desire to
tackle that one yet. So, I went on to plan B: buy a
new primary computer. Rather than deal with a
Windows-based desktop, I searched for the most
enormous and powerful notebook I could find, the
17-inch Toshiba Q45 Qosmio. I nearly went with the new
dual-platform Apple instead, but figured with Apple
running both their standard software, and their new
capability to run Windows on the same machine
simultaneously (and on a new untested machine, no
less), it would just be asking for trouble...all the
bugs probably weren't worked out yet. The Toshiba
blows me away. It really is more a desktop that a
notebook. The energy consumption in enormous so it
can only go about 2 1/2 hours when running
batteries... but it's stunning nevertheless. I am
still figuring out how to use all the features. It
requires fingerprint scans of authorized operators
before it will boot. So Star Trek! So fast! So many
gizmos and capabilities. It also has an HDTV tuner and
Tivo... but why? AM, FM, Sirius and XM were not
options. Can't have everything I suppose.
I downloaded 80 gigs of music last week onto a portable
Archos player. I grabbed every song that hit the
charts in the past 50 years. Speaking of the Archos
player, specifically the Archos 500, here is an Ipod
on steroids. You gotta check this out. It comes from
Britain. It is a machine years ahead of Apple
technology. Check it out before buying your next Ipod.
It is slightly bigger than the largest Ipod, but
features a 4X3 screen that is big and brilliant it
puts competitors to shame, and the top model has
200gigs memory. The brushed aluminum body is built
like a armored tank. The controls, however, are both
numerous and overly complicated. Apple definitely has
the intuitive functionality market cornered. The A500
is both a music player and a DVR. Unlike Apple, it
patches directly to audio and video sources for
variably encoded recording (including a TIVO feature)
and for playback, as well. Video recording and
playback quality (which is adjustable) exceeds the
line quality of both standard US and European TV
formats. Of course, it still patches directly into a
PC for digital downloads, plus it is capable of
downloading updates to incorporate new features, and/
or new audio/video codecs, that might appear in the
future. It is an open-ended platform. Built in mike,
built in rudimentary speaker and inputs for auxiliary
mikes, digital cameras and-- get this-- has a high
resolution, low light capable, pinhole lipstick video
camera for..... hell, I dunno-- corporate espionage,
cheating spouses, the nude beach? Mount the video
camera in your old KFWB Good Guys baseball cap and see
what transpires. Archos 500 DVR is $700 list, but you
can find it for around $500 if you shop. FYI,
yesterday (6/6/06, what does that portend?) Microsoft
announced an alliance with several Japanese
manufacturers, including Toshiba, to manufacture a new
portable media product to compete with Ipod. Expect
the same features as the Archos, but for how much
money?... plus, knowing Microsoft's predatory
practices, it may not be compatible with I-tunes or
anything non-MS. And perhaps it will still share that
shaky, crash-prone Windows O/S, too. Who knows?
Anyhow, that is why I haven't written you in a while.
I was email incommunicado and all incoming messages
were lost due to computer problems. Today I scanned
your archive for things I missed. Congrats on the book
deal. Is a screen adaptation far behind? Maybe you
can cameo like Alfred Hitchcock in the film version. I
can see the credits now...'Man in the Coke bottle
glasses was played by Claude Hall'. My reason for
writing you now, following that long prologue, is that
I saw you had mentioned Jan Basham in your column a
while back. Everyone's favorite record person, Jan,
was one-of-a-kind. She had such a deep and genuine
passion for music, promotion and people-- not just her
product, too, but anything else that deserved airplay
as well-- she was the straightest shooter in a
business rife with some pretty disingenuous
promotional gunslingers. She was nice, she was
genuine, she was unique. Doubtless all those she
encountered over the years have their favorite Jan
Basham stories. Let me give you an example of one of
mine. Around 1978 or '79, I was the import and
independent-label record buyer for a major Los Angeles
record chain called Music Plus. There is no-return
policy on imports--if it fails to sell, you eat it.
Being a ner'do'well punk rocker at the time, I kinda
had my pulse on the underground scene from Europe and
Japan. Y'know, Squeeze, The Clash, Throbbing Gristle,
Kate Bush, Joe Jackson, The Stranglers, The Dickies,
The Go-Go's, etc...so many artists were doing great
overseas, but the product wasn't being released here,
or at least not in a timely fashion. Even American
legends such as the Everly Brothers (well, Phil and
Don were releasing separately at the time) and Iggy
Pop, all had #1 records overseas...great, big,
beautiful hits that never made it to American labels.
Frustrated, I would call Jan. 'Hey Jan, ever hear of
this? Ever hear of that? Check this one out, Jan. It
has legs'. She usually already knew about the stuff,
too, and sometimes she even surprised me: 'Joe
Jackson? Yeah, we picked him up, we have it scheduled
for release on A&M'. Cool. So cool. On one occasion I
called her about an British album of which I had
imported a few cases on white vinyl. Three spiky
haired guys, a singer with a golden voice, and some
tight rock/ reggae-ish backing. 'Jan, I think it
might be yours, it's on A&M UK. It's a monster. Ever
heard of it?' The record was 'Outlandos d' Amour' by
the Police. She said it wasn't on the schedule. It
took about a year before A&M America picked up the
band. In the meantime the Police embarked on an
independent tour of the States. The Police booked the
Whiskey one night. I was planning to buy some
tickets, but before I did, I got a call from Jan out
of the blue. 'Hey Rob, remember that band you liked?
They are still on A&M UK, but they are playing the
Whiskey. Do you want tickets?' I asked why she was
offering tickets if the band wasn't yet signed to the
label. There were no comps, she said, the band was
unsupported on their American tour. As it turned out,
she shelled out of her own pocket for the tickets.
Her dedication simply blew me away. Hell, she wasn't
even supposed to be involved with retail people like
me, she was a radio promotion rep! Who else but Jan
would do such a thing? As for that first show at the
Whiskey, the band and cocktail waitresses (remember
the Whiskey Girls?) far outnumbered the audience. The
place was as empty as I had ever seen it. And the
Police played so hard, so long and with such desperate
determination to succeed that it remains one of the
most perplexing and unknown debuts ever to have been
overlooked by A&R execs. Mind you, this was the period
of the bloated recording mindset that gave us
simultaneous release of four (yes, four! ) KISS albums
on the same day.... and dare I say it--the Peter
Frampton/Bee Gees 'Sergeant Pepper' soundtrack--all of
which shipped platinum, and soon afterwards made it to
the cut-outs bins in platinum, as well. Does the RIAA
give platinum awards for returns? The last time I
spoke to Jan was in the mid '80's. She had retired to
(I think) San Luis Obispo. She was loving life and
seemingly was many lifetimes removed from the record
business. I was a music director at a station in Los
Angeles. She called me out of the blue one day. She
had seen the Grammies on television the night before.
There had been a duet performed on the show by Joe
Cocker and Jennifer Warnes, 'Up Where We Belong'. She
launched into a passionate tirade over the phone, 'Did
you see it, did you hear it, did you like it?' She
wasn't really waiting for my responses...she just kept
on going, hammering her convictions. ' That record is
awesome...are you playing it, and if not, why the hell
not?' God, I loved her. In-your-face-and-loving-it. I
knew the song, and she was right-- it was an out of
the box smash. But if I remember correctly, MCA (or
whoever the label was) had not yet delivered the
record to radio. The Grammy performance had been aired
in advance of the promotional release of the record.
She said something like 'What the hell is that all
about? Go find a copy and start playing it. Now'.
Thank you, Jan, for a well-deserved kick in the pants.
She finished the call with a disclaimer: 'You know, I
have nothing to do with this record. I am still
retired and loving it. San Luis Obispo is wonderful.
But when I heard that song on TV last night, and I
hadn't heard it before on the radio, it just got me
angry. Promise me you are going to play that record'.
I did. I had a test pressing messengered over right
away and put it on the air. It was
Pick-Hit-Of-The-Week, a 60-min rotation for an entire
week, at the top of every hour. She was absolutely
right. It was one of the biggest hits of the year. Go
figure. And so in conclusion, Jan Basham, a quietly
retired record promotion legend living in central
California, promoted into airplay a record that hadn't
even yet been pressed. Who else would do that? Guts
and instinct in spades. There was something so
charmingly 'Jan' about it all. She is dearly missed,
fondly remembered and deeply respected. She was the
pioneer that opened a door to all other great women in
the record industry, but she always remains the first
and the best in my book. She cared about the music,
she cared about the station, she cared about the
person sitting across the desk from her. If only
everyone were so good. Oh, Claude, do me a favor and
please don't print my email address in your column. I
am reclusive to begin with, plus, data miners scan
websites for email addresses and I get lots of junk
mail whenever you post it. Hope all is well with you
and Barbara and all at the Palatial Hummingbird
Estate."
I'm concerned about this "data mining" thing. Spam
doesn't mean anything to me. Goes into a bulk folder
in Yahoo and I dump it with a click. But if it
concerns any of you, I will stop printing email
addresses along with your notes. On those of you who
wish. My reason in the first place was so that old
friends could get in contact with each other. And
that has proven somewhat true, I think.
Shelby Singleton,
shelby@sunrecords.com, reports that
Art Talmadge, who started United Artist Records and
later founded Musicor Records, has died. He was 92.
I believe this was one of the labels that I covered
during the 60s on Billboard in Manhattan.
e-mail claude@claudehallonline.com
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