The Odyessy

 This is the story of how a little trip to California could be sooooo good and sooooo bad. 

We were scheduled to leave Myrtle Beach on a stormy Sunday, May 16th. A powerful storm system that had raged through the south, causing multiple tornadoes and vast damage and loss of life, was now causing havoc at airports up and down the eastern seaboard. 

Our flight out was delayed an hour, which, given a one- hour layover in Charlotte, would have caused us to miss the connection. There were no other flights to San Francisco out of Charlotte that evening. The airline booked us on a back-up flight to Sacramento, which would have required us to rent a car and drive to SF, a good hour- plus journey on strange roads in the dark, and then drop the car at SFO (not cheap). The only other choice was to wait a day and lose a full day in the city. This was not acceptable for us. 

So we hung in and crossed our fingers. After some time, we finally hit on some good luck: the connecting flight was ALSO delayed an hour!

Unfortunately, our flight was delayed at the gate, and we now had very little time to get where we needed to be in Charlotte. We were stressed!

When the flight finally landed in Charlotte, we were about 30 minutes from the connecting flight departing. It was a 15-minute walk to the gate. 

My bass, which has been gate- checked in Myrtle, was not showing up with the rest of the gate-checked bags. So there was stood in the jetway, panting and panicked, waiting for baggage guy to bring it up. 

I have no idea how it would up all the way up the plane's butt, but he finally showed up. We had about 18 minutes, maybe less, before the other plane lifted onto the sky. At that point, we would have been Sacramento bound. 

We tore through the terminal (no easy feat, as neither one of us is in particularly good shape at the moment) and made it to the gate -- just in time to learn that they had not yet even started boarding yet! The Charlotte airport is a major hub, and it was an absolute nuthouse on this day. 

After standing there in this Nov for about 15 minutes, yep, they changed gates. 

This time, we took our time, walking from gate B3 down to B15 at a respectable old-person clip.

Only to wait yet again. Our plane had not yet arrived. So there we stood for yet another good piece of time before, finally, the plane showed up and the folks deplaned.

Of course, they have to clean the plane and do all the stuff they do between flights, which takes a bit of time. 

As we waited, the departure time kept changing, and not in a good way. 

Finally, after another inordinate amount of time, it was announced that they were waiting for a "front-end crew," i.e., they had no pilot to fly the plane. 

I think you need that, or things generally don't go well. 

So we waited again. 

After another ridiculous amount of time, they finally did find their guy. Yes, everyone clapped. And we took off into the night, San Francisco bound. 

The flight out was a bumpy one, but it was reasonably uneventful. We arrived at SFO at around 2 AM West Coast time, 5 AM Eastern. Remember, we left the house in Carolina Shores at about 1 PM.

That's a loooooong day. 

And, of course, it was raining hard in Frisco, and the airport was another nuthouse. Our luggage was soaked. But mercifully, we managed to get an Uber for a mere $127 for a 40-minute trip. 

The Airbnb is great, but try carrying three suitcases, two backpacks, and a bass guitar up FOUR winding flights of stairs after THAT day. 

Anyway, we did it and got to sleep. Things would take a better turn. 

For a while. 

We woke up to a very nice San Francisco day. The forecast was pretty good, and we went to breakfast at Mel's Diner (very good) and took the daunting walk up Lombard Street, which is more like mountain climbing than walking. 

When we got up near the point where Lombard becomes "the most wind-y street in the world," the wind kicked up and the skies opened, and we were out in the open in a rain storm. 

This made Cindy particularly happy, as she has left her nice, New rain gear back in the closet at the Airbnb. Oops.

We huddled in some eves as best we could for as long as we could, and then started heading down toward City Lights bookstore, a renowned hangout of the 60s beat poets, and a favorite of my buddy, Al Pepiak, who recommended it. 

It's VERY cool store with some amazing literature steeped in the history of those heady days. Kerouac, Ginsberg, Ferengheti, and more. We spent some time appreciating this gem and then headed next door across Kerouac Alley to Vesuvius Cafe to suck up the history there, as this was a major hangout for the aforementioned beat poets, not to mention the Jefferson Airplane and the Greatful Dead.

You could feel the history in those walls, believe me. 

We enjoyed a cold beverage and then continued exploring both Chinatown and Little Italy, which border each other. 

It's an amazing part of town, and we saw PLENTY of it. Highly recommended. 

From there, we headed down to the wharf, where, of course, it started to rain again. In San Frsncisco, it's usually a cold rain, so we kinda hung around inside Pier 39, where there was some cover. Yes, we did see the seals, as had on our previous trip here. And the views of Alcatraz Island are both breathtaking and chilling. 

Once the rains ceased, we went down to the next pier and bought some sourdough and scones at the famous Boudin Bakery, and then waltzed down to Ghardelli Square for some of the best hot chocolate money can buy to warm us after spending most of the day in a chill rain. 

And, after 16,000+ steps, which is more like 32,000 since half of them were straight uphill, we grabbed an Uber, headed back to Airbnb, and collapsed into a happy sleep. 

More adventure awaited in the morning. 

We woke at a decent hour, munched on the scones, and headed out for a REAL treat: our first ride in a driverless vehicle!

Folks, this is a wild and crazy experience. You order the car in an app called Waymo, which is similar to Uber. Like Uber, it tells you when the car will arrive and what it will cost (pretty similar to Uber, actually, and no tipping the computer; how long before Skynet gets pissed?). Unlike Uber, it does not tell you the driver's info, 'cause their AIN'T one. 

Sure enough, here it comes down the street. It's a weird looking white Jaguar with fans on top (I assume to extend the charge) and sides and some strange bumps on the sides, which I assume contain cameras and other technology. And there is a lighted dome under the fan thing on top that lights up with your initials to let you know it's there for you. 

There is button on the app that let's you unlock the car, you climb in, the computer gives you some brief instruction, and you press a button on the dash to start the trip. 

Lemme tell you, it is a very odd feeling sitting in that passenger seat and watching the steering wheel turn as that car does its thing. 

The trip was as smooth as silk, I must say. The car negotiated every traffic situating probably better than I would have. It stopped for every pedestrian that came into its view, waited appropriately at every stop sign and signal, and graciously dropped us off at our destination and headed off to its next customer. The technology is insane. 

And there we were for our guided tour of Golden Gate Park. 

The park has an amazing history and a crazy amount of flora and fauna, and we saw a LOT on our 3-mile trip. It's a huge park, even bigger than New York's Central Park, which I found surprising. The tour was amazing, educational, and yeah, draining. Chalk up another 16,000+ steps. Getting in shape here! To say I was exhausted is quite the understatement. 

The tour guide dropped us off at a delicious French deli, Tartine, where we had a wonderful lunch, sandwich, and salad. He said it was a locals place, and those are always the best. It was. 

We then headed back into the park, where there is a gorgeous museum hosting, of all perfect timing things, an exhibit of Paul McCartney's personal photos taken during 1963 and The Beatles first visit to America in 1964! Much love to Cindy for finding out about this one!

Well, it was awesome. Intimate shots of boys backstage and relaxing, with some shots of the folks they hung with. It was a look at The Beatles that we had never seen before, and it was thrilling. 

Again exhausted, we grabbed one more ride in one of those wild Jaguars back to the Airbnb. Again, it was an amazing trip, with the car easily negotiating several pretty challenging traffic situations, including a moving truck on the opposite side of a stop sign blocking a lane and offering no visibility of incoming traffic. The thing handled it perfectly and safely. People in town say these cars are more patient than human drivers, and I believe it. Soon, they'll be in a city near you (but not on highways, at least not for a long time).

And that was it for Tuesday!

On Wednesday, my lovely wife booked a trip for us to really see the remaining things we had not yet seen. We walked about the blocks and were picked up by a van with a driver, a young opera singer, and two tourists from Columbia, all very nice. 

Our first stop was the Golden Gate Bridge. We had seen it before, but never had the opportunity to cross it. We checked that off our list and headed into Sausalito and Marin County.

The road leading into Muir Woods was a winding labyrinth, and I get really car sick easily, so this was quite the struggle. I couldn't really enjoy the view, but what I saw was all gorgeous. 

When we arrived at the entrance to Muir, you could smell the freshness in the air. You buy your ticket and walk through the gates to a world of wonder. 

The scale and majesty of these ancient behemoths can not be overstated. They are truly a sight to behold. There is an aura in there that is palpable, and it is one of the most peaceful places I have ever experienced. If you have never been, please do go. I hope I can return someday. 

We spent over an hour just sucking up the chill and then returned to the van to head to our next stop, downtown Sonoma.

What a great little town. We were dropped in the town square, which was filled with quaint shops and restaurants. We headed straight for the cheese store and bought WAY too much of the unique and delicious stuff. You know, for the winery. 

We walked around a bit and finally settled on having lunch at The Swiss Hotel, a very cute little joint with a heated outdoor patio. We had a delicious meal and then hustled back to the van for the next stop, Roche Winery. 

Note: neither of us knows a goddamned thing about wine. But hey, it tasted pretty good to me. We got the usual stories about the vineyard from one of the daughters of the founder and learned a couple of things about the wine. And yeah, it was beautiful! After about an hour there and four glasses of the vino, we headed to our final stop, RuVango Winery.

This place was of the charts. It's a very small, very exclusive winery. The owners are Vietnamese physicians, and they are art lovers. The place is filled with original Salvador Dali prints and tons of other amazing art.

Oh, and they got wine. Our host was a very entertaining Spanish gentleman who treated us like gold and kept filling glasses. We even got a tour of the barrel room, where we learned a lot about the entire process and were even served a glass of 2020 vino right out of the barrel. Those barrels cost $2,000, by the way, and they have a limited life span, after which they convert them into wine racks and sell them. Pretty cool. 

We had a wonderful time at this place and got our asses good and drunk on fine wine. A day well spent. 

Thursday was out day to meet up with the band back at SFO, which we did, climbing into the big van for the 90-minute trip up to Modesto.

It was an uneventful trip, as we caught up with happenings with the guys. Lots of orchards and stuff on the way to Modesto, and that part is beautiful. 

The town appeared to be making a bit of a comeback since we last visited. Some nice shops and restaurants have opened in the ensuing years. We had a wonderful Thai lunch down there pre-gig.

The Gallo Center is a gorgeous venue, one of the nicer ones we get to play. Unfortunately, it is quite large at 1,200 seats, and we sold just around 450 tickets, so it was quite a bit less than a full house. 

The sound check was okay, and show was very well received by the fairly small crowd. John Beland did his usual great job of wowing then with stories and song, we met some nice folks after the show, sold some merchandise, and headed back to the hotel to catch some ZZZs.

Unfortunately, Bob went out after the show and had a few glasses of wine, and then was seen buying several more small bottles at the hotel commissary. 

This was not good. People notice these things, and repercussions would follow. 

Anyway, Cindy and me grabbed a coffee and pastry in another nice spot downtown, and then off we went for the 1:15 van ride to Sacramento. 

We dropped Our bags off at the hotel there and we were rolling again for sound check. 

While Modesto seemed to be on the upswing, Sacramento seemed to be a little more of a struggle. We saw several homeless encampments enroute, and the city had a bit more of a desperate air to me. 

But the Crest Theatre was s dream. 

It's a very old theater with all the charm and touches typical to a building that old, having been built in 1912. You KNOW it's old when the stage crew is running around looking for old furniture to use on stage!

The crew was excellent, and the sound was, too. Once again, we were disappointed by the turnout at the 975-seat venue. Not sure how many tickets we sold, but my guess would be less than half. 

Fortunately, the crowd was VERY enthusiastic and responsive to pretty much everything we did, and we gave what I thought was a solid performance. After the show, we had another meet-snd-greet, sold some more merch, and a good time was had by all. They told us to call them the next time we were headed out this way, and that generally means they will rebook us, which is nice. 

Unfortunately, Bob was slipping further. He looked disinterested and out of it during the show (though he played and a sang fine to my ears), and he was seen grabbing a beer from the fridge and sneaking into the bathroom to drink it. This did not go over well. 

Cindy did not attend this show, as she was suffering from what she believed was a migraine. She stayed back at the hotel, a pretty big hotel this time, and tried to rest. 

And so back to another hotel for a night's rest, and then back in the van for yet another trip, this time south about 1:20 to the wine country town of Livermore. 

The hotel was a small but decent Hawthorne Suites. This would certainly come into play. We dropped Cindy and the luggage off and again sped off to the Bankhead Theatre for sound check. The Theatre was only about a mile from the hotel. 

Cindy was now officially under the weather and not feeling good at all. She wisely chose to stay out again. 

Unfortunately, she missed a sold-out, gangbusters show this time. The place was packed 450 souls, and we rocked them. During Desperado, the matches/phones came out, and it was an awesome moment. The crowd was so into it that they DEMANDED a encore, for which we had not prepared. 

But we pulled Tumbling Dice out of our butts and gave them one last big bang to end the evening. 

We then headed out to the lobby and enjoyed a loooong meet-and-greet, sold a LOT of merch, and met a lot of nice folks.

I was personally thrilled to meet the grandparents of Phillies prospect Cal Stevenson. Really nice folks, and REALLY proud of their grandson, as they should be. Kid is a nice little ballplayer. 

Afterward, the guys decided to head out for a bite, but at the last minute, I decided to Uber back to the hotel and be with Cindy. This was a wise choice. 

I was starting to feel a little sick myself and could feel "something" coming on. Cindy was a real mess by now, and little did I know I was about to catch up. I got a couple of In-N-Out burgers, but i only ate a part off mine and some fries. Cindy ate zip.

We had a 9 am call to depart the hotel and head to SFO for the flight home, but now neither of us was in any shape to do that. I asked Cohen to bring my bag up to the room, we canceled our flight, the band took off without us, and we huddled in the small room, suffering.

For two full days, Monday and Tuesday, we lay in the room like zombies as the bills piled up. Each morning, I added another night to the stay, each night, we hoped we would feel better the next day.

On Wednesday, I figured it was high time for urgent care, so we jumped in an Uber and went to Stanford Health. I got checked out, Cindy did not. They tested me for RSV, flu, and COVID, and we Ubered back to the room. 

We ordered some light Chinese takeout that evening, but we barely ate any of it. Just didn't taste right. The results of tests finally came in later that evening: COVID, my third trip down that path, and it was s bad one. We assume, of course, that Cindy had it, too, but we never did get her tested. 

Thursday was another lost day. We snacked just a little on the leftover Chinese, but really did not eat much yet again. Cindy was improving and so was I, but just a little. We talked that evening and agreed there was no shot for us to leave on Friday, but we both felt that Saturday could work, if barely. 

So we booked a Delta flight home out of SFO at 2 pm and crossed our fingers. 

We did manage to slowly walk over to Chick-Fil-A for a sandwich lunch on Friday. Once again, Cindy felt hers tasted lousy and she barely ate any of it. I ate mine and an order of fries, and it was fine for me. We both got milkshakes, which might have been a mistake, and went back to the room. 

Later in the day, I waltzed back over to Chick-Fil-A to get b since nuggets for Cindy, but again, she barely touched them, as they tasted weird to her. Yes, I finished them. 

Finally, Saturday rolled around. I booked an Uber to the airport to the tune of about $110, and we were finally on our way. The ride to the airport was about 50 minutes, and it was a smooth one. 

We got through security after some difficulty due to my shoulder and the fact that they flagged my small bag to check. Told me to next time take the batteries out of my Sans Amp, a first. But we got through. 

We sat down for lunch at the airport, and each had a Cobb salad, which seemed prudent for several reasons. 1) we needed to eat and 2) a light meal was probably smart. It was good. 

The flights were all on time this go-round, and the transfer at Atlanta went well. We finally arrived at Myrtle Beach Airport around midnight.

But of course, the journey still had some kinks in it. 

First, the luggage took forever. They had only one belt going and appeared to be short of personnel. It took a good long time for our bags to show up at Baggage Claim #2, but they finally got there, filthy as usual. The luggage we got REALLY shows dirt, and I guess those planes are really dirty. Ugh.

Then we had to find out car, no easy task two freaking weeks later. But we eventually found it and headed for the exit. 

Not so fast. For some reason, we couldn't find it way out of the economy lot. We drive around for about 10 minutes hunting, and then finally found the scanner. 

Oops again. 

My ticket had been sitting in the widow of the car, and it faded so badly that the scanner would not read it. So there we sat at the turnstile. 

Fortunately, there was a call button, and they got a nice gentleman out there to rescue us. He input a number into the machine, and bang, zoom, it asked for me credit card. 

Another $140 and we were finally, mercifully on our way home. 

We walked in the door after what seemed like the longest day of our lives, sometime between 1-2 AM, and crashed for the next day. 

I was starting to feel a little better, and did manage to show up for work in the morning; Cindy was comatose the entire day Monday, and both of us were still not great for the entire next week.

Happily, our scheduled show April 4 in West Virginia was canceled, so we were able to take a breather and recover. 

It is now Saturday, April 5, and we are just now finally starting to feel like ourselves. 

It was quite a time.

Postscript: word came down that Bob was being asked to leave the band. This is a bitter pill for him, and for me as well, as we have been singing harmony together for and 43 years. 

But there were rules set down for Bob, and he broke them.  There can be no argument to that. His anxiety about being on stage causes him to drink, and that combined with the anti-anxiety meds he is apparently taking are a dangerous mix.

The fact is that the road is no place for someone in his condition, sadly. I think the move was made with his own best interests at heart, and I think that this may be the best thing for him. I will miss him terribly in the harmony mix, but I can only hope that this is the best thing for him and that he finds peace. 

The Day Things Changed

Today I will be a fabulist. Today I will tell you a story.

In the 1930s or perhaps early 1940s, two young people fell in love. They came from like Camden City backgrounds, knew a lot of the same people, had lots of things in common, etc. 

But it was not to be. A world war ensued, one went off to the South Pacific in the Navy, and the two drifted apart, marrying others and going about their lives. I knew none of this, having not been born yet.

When I came to be in the late 1950s, I had a father, Nicholas Frese, and a mother, Anna Corvino. They were old to be having children, my mother being 38, my father 53. As life transpired, the two simply did not get along. There was strife in the household, loud arguments, separations, and finally, when I was about eight or nine years old, they divorced once and for all.

Around 1968, my mother started seeing a gentleman name Anthony Logandro. I first remember him coming to see my little league games at Whitman Park in Camden, NJ. 

I liked him from the start. He was an avid bowler and he taught me the game, which I took to like a fish to water. By the time I was in 7th grade, I was carrying an average of 171, which was no small feat in those days. I loved the game.

At that time, we lived with my grandfather, Carmine Corvino, in a row house in South Camden (1257 Decatur Street). When grandpop died in December of 1970, my mom could no longer afford to keep the house, so she sold it and we moved in with Tony and his two dogs (named Chipper and, of all things, Nicky), into a small, three-bedroom house in Audubon Park, NJ. It was a weird move for me because the high school I would attend, St. Joseph, was actually just down Decatur Street from where we lived, a two-minute walk. Instead, I would now need a ride to school.

But as with most things in life, we figured it all out and moved on with it.

I grew very fond of "the old man," as we all called him. He and his family, daughter Nancy and son Tony, became a big part of my life. We went bowling together probably several times per week, he in leagues and me open bowling as lanes were available. He hit softballs to me in the field across the street from our duplex. He taught me to drive. He became, for all intents and purposes, my father.

Life went on as it does, and everything that might have been abnormal became absolutely normal. I played ball, went to high school, bowled, and worked in the old man's gas station pumping gas and changing spark plugs and tires. I was not the type to enjoy getting my hands dirty, but he made me work there anyway. I hated it, but I did it. The cool part was that I could get gas for free at any time of the day or night, as I had the keys to the station!

I went to college in 1976, commuting, of course. "Why spend money on room and board when you can live right here?" Though I was accepted at Temple University, Glassboro State College became the only choice. They both had good Journalism programs; one was closer and cheaper. Decision made.

In 1977, my life changed drastically. I met a girl, and we got pregnant, and we eloped, telling no one until after the fact. Coincidentally, my mother and Tony got married that very same year.

Nicole was born in 1978, and I moved from our home in Audubon Park and got an apartment. Later, in 1982, we had a son who I named Tony after my step father. Once again, life moved on its path, as it always does. John Lennon once wrote, "life is what happens when you're busy making plans," and so it did.

Between 1978 and 1995, many things happened, many gigs were played, many people came and went.

On January 2, 1995, my dear mother passed away from congestive heart failure. She was a smoker, and she was 76-years-old. Tony Logandro was heart-broken, and he was not the same man any longer. He once told me that he could not even enjoy bowling any longer because he had no one to come home and brag to. 

It was a very sad time, but it was short-lived. The old man was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer in September of that year. On January 2, 1996, with my step brother, asleep on the couch in Audubon Park caring for him, the old man went to join his Annie. He was 83. My brother swears that he awoke to see a vision of my mother walking up the steps to the bedroom, and when he went up there, the old man was gone.

I guess she came to get him.

Once again, life moved on. In 2002, my sweet Nicole passed from this place, an event I'm glad neither the old man nor my mom were alive to see. There was another divorce in 2015, mine, and there was more baseball, more gigs, and more of life doing what it inevitably does. 

A year or so later, I found a new person to share my life with, a girl I had once dated back in 1976. Maybe we should have always been together, but as with those other lovers back in the 1930-40s, life apparently had other plans. We had both found others and moved on. She married someone else, as did I. A familiar tale, perhaps.

We were married on February 14, 2022, and suddenly it is 2025 and I am old.

A few months ago, I decided to try and learn more about my father's side of the family, the Frese side. I did not know much about them due to the divorce. I knew my father had a dark past, not having held a job until he was 38, and working as a "collector" for the local Philly mob. I knew his best childhood friend went to the electric chair for murder. I knew he had a previous marriage and a daughter, Phyliss, a half-sister who would have been much older than me. I knew he loved baseball and was nicknamed "Brownie" in his youth, after the long-defunct St. Louis Browns. 

We had a relationship over the years, but not much of one, and he passed in 1988 at the age of 83.

On April 1, 2025, I received the results of my DNA test. Not surprisingly in the least, my DNA says that I am 99% Italian; 50% Southwestern Italy and 50% Sicilian, with just a less-than 1% hint of Spanish thrown in there for flavor. None of that was surprising in the least. 

The next part was pretty surprising.

The first relative that appeared in Ancestry shares 15% DNA with me. Her name is Rita Logandro. The second was Frank Logandro, also a 15% match to me. They are my first cousins.

It turns out that those young lovers from the 1930s and 1940s had shared something else for all these years, a great secret that they took to their graves, never sharing the information with anyone, not even their son.

I am Nicholas Logandro.