Feelin' the Memphis groove today....

The weather is cloudy and misting outside in Maryland today but I've feeling the groove....

The Memphis groove.

Reader's Mailbag

I apologize in advance for the graphic nature of one of the photos in this posting. It's gross, but I can't imagine anything that would illustrate my point better.

Q:"Why don't you guys ever run pictures about Conservative Pundit Glen Beck? He's the dreamiest!" ~ Mr. Geoffrey Lam Sung, Phx, AZ.

A: Dear Geoff, the primary reason is because Beck reminds me of the following tattoo...I mean, really people. We can all turn away from this photo and say, 'that was disgusting in a not really very funny way. It's bad enough knowing this tattoo exists. Do we really have to be shown it?' This is how I feel about Glen Beck.

Q: Mr. David Luigi of Albuquerque New Mexico asks "Hey, If you guys are so smart, why you don't live and work in Memphis anymore?"

A: I'm not sure. But I bet there's a pretty good reason.Oh, Yeah. That's it.

Until next time, folks. Oh, and don't be a mailbag.

All the way to Memphis...

Mott the Hoople was a band that I liked, alot. David Bowie was around them in the Ziggy Stardust days and offered some help. The bands name was actually a title to a book written in 1968 and in '69 the bands leader read the book in prison. Anyway, "All the way to Memphis" was 'my' signature song when I left Memphis and moved to Albuquerque.

Pre-Moonpie, Memphis

This was like 6th grade in Memphis, Tennessee when this was taken for the class photo. It was 1968 or '69 and we had just moved from Lincoln, Nebraska. It was weird being the new kid again, but my brothers and I jumped in feet first. Memphis is where I honed my "little hoodlum" skills. Bicycles gave way to mini-bikes and mini-bikes gave way to motorcycles. The police were summoned to Parkwood drive where we lived because we were doing burnouts and wheelies up and down the street. Dad came from out back by the pool and spoke with the officer. Dad was the first guy that the policeman had ever seen in a wheelchair and they talked for about half an hour. We parked the motorcycles and Raleigh was safe for another night.

Vance's First Motorcycle

At the time, Jaqueline and Tom thought buying Vance a "real live" motorcycle was a good way to help build character in the boy.

They were therefore dismayed to see the front page of the Memphs Daily Chronicle, the following morning, featuring Vance riding with this woman with large breasts and one leg, named Eileen.

Though he terrorized and murdered half of Shelby County before he was grounded to his room without dinner or television, Vance never forgot that A.) Motorcycles are fun, and B.) You meet the nicest people on a Honda.

Sunday! Sunday! Sunday! Nitro-Burning Funny Cars. featuring "TV" Tommy Ivo

Oh, for Jesus. i can't get the damnable thing to load here. Just follow this link for a taste of the glory days of Raceway advertising. Lakeland Intl Raceway spot.
I've tried to post it here, but have had the same results as the fellow driving the BLue Max Mustang.

Be there!

Just a preview...

Back when I lived in Memphis, a friend of mine in grade school and I used to go to Lakeland nearly every weekend. I would spend the night on saturday and his dad would take us on sundays. All day saturday, we would do 'fire' burnouts on the sidewalk. Pour out about half a gallon of gas, add about 5 strike-any-where matchs and the roll over them and 'spin' the back tire to light the matchs and fuel. Phhooof...flames-a-plenty. And on a stingray no less. We saw TV Tommy Ivo, Gene Snow and Don Schomacher, the 'Flying Hawiian'. Life was good and the track was better. Rick is working on bringing the full effect of Lakeland to Moonpie. Stay tuned.

Note* see young Vance on tailgate of Little Red Wagon.

Memphis Mob Rounded Up

Fo those of you who read this blog because of it's Memphis connection, here's a little tidbit for you. This is from Thursday's Albuquerque Journal.

It's a pretty huge deal from the sound of it. Apparently, when Memphis Police found out that APD had these guys in custody, they were (and I'm not making this up) Glad we had them, and even gladder they weren't in Memphis.

Jobs We've Had: Westside 'Chard and the Jukejoint Jimmies (Feat. Vee Den)

Vance and I had a brief musical career as blues musicians. Here’s a studio-released promo shot of me, known then as “Westside ‘Chard” and Vance, who was known as Vee Den. Playing with us are the legendary Muddy Water (to my left) and the fictitious Blind Lemon Jefferson. We were at the Stax studios in Memphis to record my song “Wee Paper Boat Blues,” which goes like this;

Well, it’s just a wee paper boat
float’n’ down that muddy Rio Grande.
Said it’s just a wee paper boat
afloatin’ down that dirty Rio Grande.
Gonna float my way to Mex’co
‘nd all the way out to Japan.

It used to be a letter
from that long gone gal o’ mine.
Jus’ an ol’ Dear Johnny letter
from that long gone gal o’ mine.
It ‘ppeared to say she’s leavin’
Shoulda took it as a sign.

The day she packed her suitcase,
Oh, I wept, I moaned, I begged.
Yeah, when she packed that suitcase, Lord,
I wept, I moaned, I begged.
She said “get off your knees, you tired fool
an’ le’ go my goddam legs”

The session was going good until we actually started to play. I sang the first line and Blind Lemon began projective vomiting and Muddy keeled over dead on the spot. Little known fact.

Rick goes to Memphis: Part Two

I finally got the induction center. They fed me, tested me. Poked me. Prodded me. Et Cetera-ed me. That evening they put me and two other guys on a plane for Philadelphia. One of the guys was “in charge” and carried our records. At the time, in Tennessee, the drinking age was 18, so we sat in the bar and drank up what little money we had left. On the flight, a guy bought us drinks after he found out we were going in the Army. We were feeling like quite the men, I’ll tell you what.

In Philadelphia, we were supposed to catch a bus. We went to the bus counter, and all of a sudden these guys started yelling at us. It wasn’t like the movies, where there is a drill sergeant yelling at you to get on the bus and calling you maggot and shit like that. These were civilians. But they were older than us and bigger than us. When they had a full bus load, we set off, crossing the river into New Jersey, and into the country. After an hour, there was nothing to see out the window. We didn’t know where we were, which was the plan, I guess. Bring us in in the night and we wouldn’t know how to escape. All of us shared the private thought that, oh, shit; we’ve made a huge mistake.

Sometime in the middle of the night, we pulled into Ft. Dix, and up to the processing center. Here is where the Drill Sgt got on the bus and started yelling. We were all a bunch of scared little civilian kids. We got off the bus and they fed us – more yelling there – then gave us some blankets and, about 4 in the morning, sent us to bed. An hour and a half later, I woke up – more yelling and in a new twist, trash cans being thrown down the hall – to one of the longest days of my life. I was walking down the hall to take a leak. I accidentally brushed against a guy in the hall way. This guy was about 6 and half feet tall and black and he scared the shit out of me. “Why you touching me? You don’t know me! Don’t be touching me! Daaaaamn, motherfucker!” It seemed that the harder I tried to apologize, the more he yelled at me.

After breakfast, we were marched over to get haircuts. The drill sergeant was running around yelling at us about how we were all pussies and how he wouldn’t go into combat with a single one of us. I remember thinking that I wouldn’t go into combat with a single one of us either. We had barely been in the Army for 24 hours. What did we know? Not much, apparently, because they took us to get haircuts and we had to pay for them.

Rick goes to Memphis: Part One

So what happened between those entries in the Moonpie book? Between Me saying I was fucked because I had to go, and Vances entry that said I was fucked because I did go?

________________________________________
I’d known for several weeks, I guess, that the expedition was off. Vance had let me know he wasn’t going. As we’ve mentioned, I’d called my recruiter and had my records forwarded to Memphis. The trip was going to be my last hurrah, but now it was unraveling. You have to remember that this was back in the days before there was email, or FedEx. It took a week or more for things to get transferred around.

My fear was not so much “Oh. What will the Army do to me?” as it was “Oh. What will my dad do to me?” I had dicked up my leg while hiking a few months earlier, resulting in a full-leg cast. Dad thought I’d done it on purpose to get out of my enlistment—forgetting, of course, that I was the one who enlisted on my own.

It was a week before I was due to show up in Memphis. My mom was getting ready to walk out the door for work. My stomach was in knots. She walked out the door and I ran after her. I tried to tell her, but I just couldn’t get the words out and started crying. I don’t remember what it was she thought was wrong, but I think she found the truth to be a bit of a relief. The funny thing is that, after all the fear of my dad, I don’t remember his response at all.

June 21st, 1976 my parents put me on a plane to Memphis with a layover at Dallas-Ft. Worth. It was my first time flying alone. Making my connection in Dallas was a bit weird, that whole circular thing they got going on at DFW and all.

I got into Memphis late at night. Everything was closed. Dad had given me a twenty for cab fare and to get a bite to eat, but there was nothing available. The place was pretty well deserted. I sat down in a chair to wait it out. I drifted off to sleep. In the middle of the night, I woke up to see that there were three black guys, about my age, sitting at the far end of the terminal. One of them was watching me. I fell asleep again and when I woke up, they were sitting a bit closer. The next time, they were even closer.

Now, I guess I need to say right here that Albuquerque is a very un-Black-folk city. They call them the invisible minority here. When I was in high school I knew three black kids. I was actually surprised one day when I walked into a meeting of the Black Student Union and saw about 30 kids. They always seemed pretty friendly to me. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to think of these guys in the Memphis airport moving closer and closer.

Eventually the sun came up and I went to find a cab. Again, black kids coming up to try to help me. “You need a cab? I’ll get you a cab. Give me your money. I’ll go get the cab.” I guess at this point I should mention that Memphis is a very Black city. It was very different. I got a cab (on my own) and told the guy where I was going. He asked if I had money. I showed him the Twenty and he flipped. “Man. I ain’t got change for no damn twenny dollahs!” So we had to drive around to a couple of bars and find some. Finally I found one (packed full at 8:30 a.m.) that would break the bill. A whacked-out patron of the place came up to try and sell me some cocaine.

Moonpie One: Pages 15 & 16

Before we get into today's look at the actual pages, I wanted to say that this one felt either really weird, r really apropos for this day when Vance was looking at the possibility of not coming home tonight. These pages reflect the time just before and just after I went into the Army and was in the position of, basically, being incarcerated by the US Army.
Though we didn't hitchhike to Memphis, I did go on to have many solo hitchhiking adventures; once across the country, and many little trips in the Washington/Vancouver area. Interestingly, my son, Gabriel, is now semi-stranded up in rural Washington in a move quite similar to something that would have happened to me.
Anyway, on with the story....So, this page is a continuation of the previous Page Image. We were writing down WHY we were going on the trip. It starts out, kind of serious sounding:
Vance had started with "Im really not sure why I’m going. It could be because…”

Here is where it all picks up...

"I know the town. Jesus. What am I saying. Rick doesn't know it yet, but I don't think I'm even going to have the cash funds. Shit. Rick will be mad!"

Then Martin adds:

"Don't Know."

To which I now add. WTF! He's just read what Vance wrote and he writes "Don't Know"? Like he's still planning on going? Please.

I think the funny thing here is that, despite not having any money, I probably would have ended up going. And then winding up starving in Oklahoma City or something.
A bit further down and I add an entry (sans any commentary on no one going.)

May 6 [19]76 no chance for me (Rick) I have to go in order to report for the army! yup. I told them to send my papers to memphis. 6 days to leave.

I'm not sure that date is quite right. Or the math. I entered the army on June 22nd, 1976. At some point here, I'll have to relate my trip to Memphis. The thing is that, despite the fact that the expedition failed, I did actually go there. I set foot on Memphis soil.
The next entry is from Vance.

Date:? Rick has gone. a solom day in Turky town. Shit. Vance.

On the next page, we have the green-penned reports from Vance regarding my absence. I'll comment on the overall meaning of this after all of the text is presented.

Date:? Rick ain't thrivin' on bootie camp. he even went a.w.o.l for three hours. has I recall, it was to get the roach clip I got him as a going away present!* Gezz! What a FRIEND. My very own Begal** Buddy! "Want to buy a cookie?"

*For the longest time, i couldn't remember the curcumstancse of this AWOL incident, although it couldn't have been too severe, as I didn't get busted. Just today, I remembered it. The roach clip (The Star of David roach clip mentioned in an earlier post) was taken from me. it was on of those things where some guy wanted to see it, and then decided he was going to keep it and his was bigger than me.
** "Bagel Buddy." Bagels had gotten big in Albuquerque a few years earlier and I was a fan. (Plus they were Jewish food!)(See previous post regarding my infatuation with the Chosen People.) Anyway, Vance and I had plans to someday open a little Bagel and Brew place.
Next entry:

Date:? It's been so long! Rick's fucked up on the army.
I'm fucked up on life. And martin's fucking in his Pinto! I hope rick comes home from boot camp before school.

So, what are the implications here? What are these two pages about? Fuckin' adulthood smacking the shit out of you, that's what. Here's the deal. When you graduate from high-school, you may not be mature, you may not be responsible, but you are a fucking adult and, like it or not, you've got to put on your big-boy underpants and get on with it.
For me, I had the shit whipped into me by two black drill-sergeants who were just two-years out of the bush in VietNam. I cried like a fucking baby through the whole thing, but when I came out of boot camp, I was thrust into a world where... Ummm... OK, I was supposed to acting like a man, but the world of the military is surreal and so who knows what I was doing. I didn't have to pay rent, or buy meals, and to that end, it was like living at home, only with stricter parents and shorter hair,
Vance, on the other hand was left sitting there wondering what the fuck just hit him. one minute he's skipping along merrily, ditching class and smoking pot in the dugout at Eldorado High School, and the next he's got to do something resembling getting his shit together. Here on these pages, Vance is trying to run backwards in time.
Neither of us knew what the fuck that meant. We didn't really have any great examples. Jesus. our role models were the members of Monty Python's Flying Circus.

Moonpie 1: Pages 5 and 6

Here are pages 5 and 6 from the book. This is another one that will need to be rescanned -- bits of it were cut off.

On the left side, we see a photo of Vance holding several Cokes. I believe this was taken outside the Circle K that used to be next to Eldorado (Now a pet supply store.) He's wearing his Mangy Moose Saloon T-shirt from Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Also note the rodeo-style belt buckle, which was from Philmont Boy Scout Camp in New Mexico. Vance drew in the Green antennae.

At the top of the page, the complete text reads

"The ever Alert AND intellegante (sic) Vance Deniston"

At the bottom, it reads

"Vance here is co-author of the book and also provided most of the photo graphs.”

To the right side, we see the first actual journal entry which is dated May 26 (1976). If the day is accurate, the number one song in the country was the dorktastic "Silly Love Songs" by Paul McCartney and Wings. Peter Frampton was on the cover of Rolling Stone (this was when both Frampton and Rolling Stone were still cool*. Also, Frampton and I both still had hair. Martin too.
But, I don't think the date is accurate in the least remotest possible way. I say this because I think we'd have about graduated by this date -- and we hadn’t. Back then, School didn't let out until June. Also, there is a later entry dated May 6th. Perhaps this was April 26th? Plus I think my cast was off by this point. More on that later.)
The text reads

"The debate has come up on wether (sic) or not to hitch hike to Memphis or take a bus. Rick and I are for hitching and Martin would prefer to take a bus. Shit. Decisions, decisions.” **

Below that is the large, John Hancock-like signature of Jeff Speck. We believe this is Jeff Speck today. Click Here and call Jeff if you need any remodeling in Albuquerque.
Below Jeff's signature, Vance has written

"The above signature belongs to a kind-hearted fool who bought some climbing equipment from Vance to help Vance have enough money to live in Memphis for a while.”

You know, it wasn't until I started scanning this book that I realized that Vance wrote and assembled nearly the entire thing. Good on ya, mate! My real contributions to the entire collection came in the form of letters -- which were like mini books in themselves. Unfortunately the remaining copies of these have dwindled over the years. There's really only one letter left, which appears in the companion book to this volume.

I was thinking about it the other day. If I had all the stuff I've written over the years, along with all the photos I've taken, I think it would fill a small warehouse. Even just the photos. I've probably got less than 1% of all the photos I've taken over the years. Kind of sucks.

Ah well. As usual, if this image is hard to read, click on it. OK? I'm kind of tire of having to tell you that.

*Oddly enough, this week, Bruce Springsteen is on the cover of Rolling Stone, and I think Bruce is one of the coolest dudes ever. We never even heard of Bruce in NM during High School in Albuquerque!
**Fucking Martin, eh? This first entry was probably the beginning of the end of the whole thing.

A note to n00bs and historians

In case anyone is coming here expecting the truth - which none of you can handle anyway - you should know you'll come away sadly mistaken. Or at least 50% sadly mistaken.

You'll need to get on boots - tall ones - before wading into this cow byre of memoir. In the modern parlance, this is known as Creative Non-Fiction. Thirty-five or so years ago, Bill Cardoso dubbed it Gonzo Journalism to describe the style of reporting used by the (now) late Hunter S. Thompson.

Now, what Vance and I did - at least in the original book - was to create a melange of words, drawings, and photos that reported on our progress. Progress was ostensibly meant to refer to achieving our goal of raising the money to go to Memphis. A close scholarly reading of these manuscripts, at least at the end of the first decade of the 21st century, is more likely to reveal a Progress towards the frightening world of adulthood; a world some of us didn't actually enter until at least our 40s. Even then, it was more of a vacation destination.

The continued remaining Moonpie documents are a portrayal of a wild, even vicious time. Our paths diverged and converged over the years like a double-helix strand of DNA. The diverging was especially true of Vance and I. Other friends, Martin, Jones, Blane (Vance's brother) Schactner, Lewis, Corbin, Lampson, the Eskew brothers, etc, seemed to stay in a revolving circle of contact and friendship. I guess. I've been back in this town since 1982, and I've only run into any of them once in all that time, and that was a deliberate meeting, so I really don't have much of a clue as to what goes on a round here. But those people, those are the people who became the Stormtroopers. Vance and I seem to come back into contact with one another about once every seven years.

But, as is my wont, I digress. My point is that the creation of the Moonpie experience was based on making shit up as well as reporting it as it happened (with a buffer of eight hours to sleep off whatever was consumed while "it" was happening.)

One further note is that we've all done our 50 trips around the sun. We're getting up there. Memories do tend to fade out. Or we remember a better way for things to have happened... "Dude, I had hair down to my ass and one night I drank an entire keg of beer and smoked a half-pound of weed, ate sixteen tabs of acid, and snorted a dozen lines of blow and then got it on with ten teenyboppers named Gretchen. I shit you not."

Here's your grain of salt, chums. Take it while reading.

Soul Food. Soul Music.

We're still not quite putting things on here contextually, but that's cool. There are so many ways for us to go. The links, particularly the ones regarding Moonpies, the NRBQ song "RC Cola and Moonpie," and the City of Memphis all play a role in the leadup to this thing.

And, of course, the above photo of Booker T. and the M.G.s crossing East McLemore Avenue (the location of Stax Records)is pure classic Memphis.

Right on. Right on. Right on.