Insane I think I am going to be! I abandoned this blog
several months ago because it started to get stale. I can only write so much in
my aspiration of being another Melville or Hemingway. I was neither and would
never be.
Like my brief career as a rock artist, you need talent! It took me 25 years to realize that I could not play the guitar like others who played that long. As for bass guitar, I gave that up in 1977. The rest include playing the piano (chords only), organ and drums, gradually all went by the wayside especially after that ill-fated rock show we put on at Parkway Theaters in El Cajon, California in 1974. I was no Paul McCartney in talent or having girls scream my name as I sang and never reached the first steps to rock and roll glory! I never achieved fame but instead infamy and recognition that never went beyond my father’s garage in Fletcher Hills in California.
Our band was hired to provide live music to entertain moviegoers who were buying tickets to see the opening of the Poseidon Adventure! It didn’t make sense why the theater had a major celebration about opening for a movie that was already a year old! But it was our first gig! I took all the money I saved in cutting lawns and rented a PA system and for me a Fender Jazz Master solid bass guitar and a professional bass amp. It did no good except for a photo op after the “G” string broke on the Fender before we played our first set of songs. I asked a friend to go to my home and get the old red violin shaped bass from the closet. That bass was to make me another Paul McCartney in the previous band I was in. However, when it came to achieving popularity with girls McCartney had much more than I will ever have. One was money and the other was sex appeal. So there we were across from the ticket booth standing on a small dirt plot ready to play for first group of ticket buyers. I was reunited with my old cheap Hofner copy bass guitar fed into a Fender amplifier. It was like having a four cylinder engine in a Corvette!
We did cover songs mostly from Paul McCartney’s Band on the Run LP. I don’t remember what the opening song was but I was nervous and so were rest of the mates. The band’s name was “The Flights” though I did add my name on the front to copy Paul McCartney and the Wings. Except no one has ever heard of me so you can say I had counted the chickens before the eggs hatched. The theater hired a professional artist to paint a bass drum cover that was placed over my brother’s Gretsch Jazz drum set. Phil played lead guitar and Leo provided rhythm guitar. We were nervous as we started into a set of songs that we rehearsed late afternoons and early evenings in my parent’s garage. Leo and I were 17, my brother Dave was 14 and Phil 15. At least we graduated from the garage, or we thought.
The band was asked to move to the parking lot after our first set of songs. Being clueless teenagers we agreed to move to the parking lot and the theater provided us with extension cords. I recall Leo’s mother’s friend was the manager and I don’t think she had the heart to fire us, pay us off with promised movie tickets then tell us to go home. She told us that moviegoers were complaining about the loud amps interfering with their movie viewing. There was quite a bit of distance between where we were playing and the movie doors that led into the theater. And of course they always had the stereo in the theater cranked up. Years later in retrospect I think that was an excuse to put us away and for them to wash their hands from hiring bad talent. The individuals in the band were good; it’s me that stunk!
We sat up in several parking stalls, tuned our instruments and set up the amp. I needed a smaller amp so I borrowed my former bandmate Jim’s amplifier. As the movie ended and the crowd came out of the theater we went into a set of 1950’s rock n’ roll music. It was a popular genre at the time with popularity of “American Graffiti” and TV show “Happy Days.” We did have a crowd gather around us but instead of enjoying the music I think most of them though it was odd that a band would be playing in the parking lot. Considering most of them saw us when they bought tickets. Then there were the usual jokes I heard later about talent being so bad that management had asked them to play in the parking lot! That was us!
My parents and friends showed up for the second show. My father wondered why we were playing in the parking lot. That is where my aspirations to be a rock star ended and quit playing electric instruments altogether. I went into the acoustic world after that. I was embarrassed so the next day I told my mother when she came to wake me up that I was not feeling good. I think she knew the real reason why I didn’t want to go to school. But her being the mother she was always encouraging and told me she liked last night’s show. To her I was talented and good though in reality I think she knew better. I remember one evening years later serenading or better put torturing two Japanese girls through a set of Beatles songs. My mother was there nodding her head in tempo and smiling as I sung and strummed the guitar. I think the two ladies were doing their best to refrain from yawning and were very polite. If they were American girls, I think they would say “gosh you suck!”
I look back at those days with fond memories. I wished I can make a time machine and go back and see that Joe and ask him “what the hell do you think you are doing?” Four years before my goal to be a rock star, I was going to be a football player. That lasted until I took a hard hit from a guy that was shorter than me but strong. It was cut day and the coach told me I was not going to make the team. I went to football practice every day during the summer but that one hit ended my sports career and left a bad impression with the coach. I was going to be the next Joe Namath or star cornerback. My father was not happy as he had just bought me my football shoes a week earlier. When I see those pictures from 1969 of a nerd in high water pants, dark frame glasses with greased back hair wearing a white number 41 football jersey; it seemed to be more of a character than an actual person.
I was going to help coach my younger brother’s little league baseball team as I went to his practice, sat in the dugouts during the games and really wanted to play. My middle brother was the athlete. He played pitcher and catcher and was the All-Star representative from his team. I was supposed to teach his teammates how to catch pop flies in the outfield but I taught them how to miss and chase the ball to the perimeters instead. I look now and know I provided the kids with laughter and a buffoon that showed them what they were not supposed to do. Again I seem to have provided the comedy, though not intentional.
Like my brief career as a rock artist, you need talent! It took me 25 years to realize that I could not play the guitar like others who played that long. As for bass guitar, I gave that up in 1977. The rest include playing the piano (chords only), organ and drums, gradually all went by the wayside especially after that ill-fated rock show we put on at Parkway Theaters in El Cajon, California in 1974. I was no Paul McCartney in talent or having girls scream my name as I sang and never reached the first steps to rock and roll glory! I never achieved fame but instead infamy and recognition that never went beyond my father’s garage in Fletcher Hills in California.
Our band was hired to provide live music to entertain moviegoers who were buying tickets to see the opening of the Poseidon Adventure! It didn’t make sense why the theater had a major celebration about opening for a movie that was already a year old! But it was our first gig! I took all the money I saved in cutting lawns and rented a PA system and for me a Fender Jazz Master solid bass guitar and a professional bass amp. It did no good except for a photo op after the “G” string broke on the Fender before we played our first set of songs. I asked a friend to go to my home and get the old red violin shaped bass from the closet. That bass was to make me another Paul McCartney in the previous band I was in. However, when it came to achieving popularity with girls McCartney had much more than I will ever have. One was money and the other was sex appeal. So there we were across from the ticket booth standing on a small dirt plot ready to play for first group of ticket buyers. I was reunited with my old cheap Hofner copy bass guitar fed into a Fender amplifier. It was like having a four cylinder engine in a Corvette!
We did cover songs mostly from Paul McCartney’s Band on the Run LP. I don’t remember what the opening song was but I was nervous and so were rest of the mates. The band’s name was “The Flights” though I did add my name on the front to copy Paul McCartney and the Wings. Except no one has ever heard of me so you can say I had counted the chickens before the eggs hatched. The theater hired a professional artist to paint a bass drum cover that was placed over my brother’s Gretsch Jazz drum set. Phil played lead guitar and Leo provided rhythm guitar. We were nervous as we started into a set of songs that we rehearsed late afternoons and early evenings in my parent’s garage. Leo and I were 17, my brother Dave was 14 and Phil 15. At least we graduated from the garage, or we thought.
The band was asked to move to the parking lot after our first set of songs. Being clueless teenagers we agreed to move to the parking lot and the theater provided us with extension cords. I recall Leo’s mother’s friend was the manager and I don’t think she had the heart to fire us, pay us off with promised movie tickets then tell us to go home. She told us that moviegoers were complaining about the loud amps interfering with their movie viewing. There was quite a bit of distance between where we were playing and the movie doors that led into the theater. And of course they always had the stereo in the theater cranked up. Years later in retrospect I think that was an excuse to put us away and for them to wash their hands from hiring bad talent. The individuals in the band were good; it’s me that stunk!
We sat up in several parking stalls, tuned our instruments and set up the amp. I needed a smaller amp so I borrowed my former bandmate Jim’s amplifier. As the movie ended and the crowd came out of the theater we went into a set of 1950’s rock n’ roll music. It was a popular genre at the time with popularity of “American Graffiti” and TV show “Happy Days.” We did have a crowd gather around us but instead of enjoying the music I think most of them though it was odd that a band would be playing in the parking lot. Considering most of them saw us when they bought tickets. Then there were the usual jokes I heard later about talent being so bad that management had asked them to play in the parking lot! That was us!
My parents and friends showed up for the second show. My father wondered why we were playing in the parking lot. That is where my aspirations to be a rock star ended and quit playing electric instruments altogether. I went into the acoustic world after that. I was embarrassed so the next day I told my mother when she came to wake me up that I was not feeling good. I think she knew the real reason why I didn’t want to go to school. But her being the mother she was always encouraging and told me she liked last night’s show. To her I was talented and good though in reality I think she knew better. I remember one evening years later serenading or better put torturing two Japanese girls through a set of Beatles songs. My mother was there nodding her head in tempo and smiling as I sung and strummed the guitar. I think the two ladies were doing their best to refrain from yawning and were very polite. If they were American girls, I think they would say “gosh you suck!”
I look back at those days with fond memories. I wished I can make a time machine and go back and see that Joe and ask him “what the hell do you think you are doing?” Four years before my goal to be a rock star, I was going to be a football player. That lasted until I took a hard hit from a guy that was shorter than me but strong. It was cut day and the coach told me I was not going to make the team. I went to football practice every day during the summer but that one hit ended my sports career and left a bad impression with the coach. I was going to be the next Joe Namath or star cornerback. My father was not happy as he had just bought me my football shoes a week earlier. When I see those pictures from 1969 of a nerd in high water pants, dark frame glasses with greased back hair wearing a white number 41 football jersey; it seemed to be more of a character than an actual person.
I was going to help coach my younger brother’s little league baseball team as I went to his practice, sat in the dugouts during the games and really wanted to play. My middle brother was the athlete. He played pitcher and catcher and was the All-Star representative from his team. I was supposed to teach his teammates how to catch pop flies in the outfield but I taught them how to miss and chase the ball to the perimeters instead. I look now and know I provided the kids with laughter and a buffoon that showed them what they were not supposed to do. Again I seem to have provided the comedy, though not intentional.
Today my brother and I do not see each other very much. In fact we saw each other twice in the last 20 years and maybe call once or twice in one year, usually when an event has occurred. Last time I saw him was at my mother’s memorial service in California in 2011. So those times are now treasured as I approach 60 and my brother now needs a cane to help him walk. Our kids could never envision that their fathers were once kids themselves as the labor to raise them took a front seat to nostalgia. My youngest brother and I are 13 years apart and I left home when he was five. However, I see him more than my middle brother in the last 20 years. I got to know my youngest brother and spent more time with him as an adult than I did as a youngster.
Activities that were beyond my scope I did during my adolescence would set up a pattern of what I would do after I became an adult. It seems my failures outweighed my successes including starting a business without much knowledge and training to name one. That was more of an ego trip and wild dreams inspired by stories of those who beat the odds rather than reality. But it was a costly experience.
These moments of being a “rock star,” football player or baseball coach was stepping stones on the path to becoming an insane sailor. My parents encouraged me to succeed though my successes were never in the general area or in topics people could easily comprehend. The awards, certificates and the accolades I received for my successes sit collecting dust in a box at home. Some adorn the walls of my house back in Hawaii as the wife needed filler to cover bald spots between the pictures. Most visitors just look but never ask questions on what was done to receive those. In many ways those accolades contributed to much of my failures instead of representing my success.
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