My Complex Relationship With Music

 We've had a very complicated relationship, me and music. So this is going to be a long and complicated story. 

I'll start off with the obvious: I love music. My life is richer and better because I picked up a bass guitar and learned to play it way back in 1975. It still brings me great joy to this day to pick up a guitar and strum a few chords. That will never change. 

The complications come from the classic argument: art vs. commerce. Which is it?

When I started with my cousin, Dom Albanese, in the mid-70s, it was all about songwriting. We had a blue scholastic notebook filled with song lyrics (he still has it), and that was our sole focus. 

Because you can really play out without, ya know, playing an instrument (duh), Dom insisted I learn one. The bass seemed to be the easiest obvious path to playing in a band, so I spent $50 on a no-name, "bent-neck bass," as my Uncle Ming called it, and off I went to learn. 

I took a few lessons with Jack Deal at Audubon School of Music, and then spent a lot of time doing my best to learn the damned thing for real. 

We learned a bunch of songs together, just me and him, and we played our first "real" gig in the Fall of 1976 at a frat party at LaSalle College. 

We were so nervous that we spent the pre-gig moments in the john there! I can remember playing Go Your Own Way, Poor Poor Pitiful Me, and Palisades Park, and I have no memory of the rest, other than to note that I can't remember playing any original songs. 

After that, we spent the winter of '76 and the early-to-middle parts of '77 trying to find a third band member, never an easy task. 

We finally did settle on Chris Rutecki (rest well, old friend), and we called ourselves Alba-Freeze, possibly one of the worst bands names in history, and there have been a LOT of those!

Our very first gig was at The Pine Hill Tavern on Halloween. Lots of our friends came, and it was a success. Again, I do not remember us playing any original music, though we might have, I guess. 

Chris had a relative who held a position at The Broadway Theatre in Pitman. They were just starting to get back into live music after years of existing as a movie theater, and they needed an opening act for their very first headliner, Donna Fargo.

We got the gig after adding a drummer (can't remember his name) and lead guitarist (Pat Byrne). It was Thanksgiving Weekend of 1977.

So we were the VERY first band to appear on the stage of that venerable theater in their very first live music show in some 40-50 years, which is a pretty neat distinction. 

I can't remember very much of what we played in our short set. Certainty The Beatles' "I've Just Seen A Face" was one, and I have a feeling "Daisy Jane" by America was another. Still no originals that I can recall.

As an aside, Donna Fargo was a sweetheart, and was very nice to us despite the fact that we were likely in way over our heads at that early stage of our musical lives. He band was also very cool, inviting us back to their Gloucester City hotel to hang with them (we stupidly declined).

So what happens? Why, the band immediately breaks up, of course. "You can't keep a band together! Bands come and go!" Thank you, Del Paxton from "That Thing You Do."

I can't remember the specific reasons. I'm sure egos and logistics were involved. But I never played with Chris, Pat, or the drummer again. 

Dom and me were like brothers, and we pressed on with the writing, and began an insane scheme to play a "concert" at our school, Glassboro State College. 

We were nuts.

So we gathered together a bunch of musicians we knew, including Michael DiDomenico (RIP), Joanie DiDomenico (RIP, backing vocals), Linda Ristan (backing vocals), our other cousin Paul Presto, Sr. (keyboards), Lou Valardo (sax) and Mario Flamini (drums) and began rehearsing our original music at the college in one of the rehearsal rooms at the Wilson Center.

There WAS a raw recording of one of these sessions, but I have no clue if a copy still exists. 

We went ahead and began promoting the gig. We posted flyers. We went on the radio. We talked to people. We went crazy doing this stuff. 

And guess what? The night of the concert came, guessing it was late winter or spring of '78, March, and the place was PACKED.

Unfortunately, there were a couple of major problems: 1) the sound system was god-awful; 2) the sound engineer, a nice guy and friend named John Butterworth, might have been over his head; and 3) WE were absolutely over OUR heads, still lacking the great songs and performing experience to maximize this big opportunity. 

The show was lackluster at best, though it had it moments, and it was a one-and-done for us. 

But out of it came a new band with Joanie, Michael, me and Dom. We started learning pop material and looking for work. 

After months of rehearsal, we somehow landed a summer gig, four nights per week, at the Whitebrier Hotel in Avalon, NJ fire the summer of '78.

So we rented a little A frame house in Mays Landing for the summer, right across the street from Joanie and Michael's place to make the commute easier. And we got ready for Avalon.

The Whitebrier was great. Slightly upscale, but not enough where there wasn't good Jersey Shore fun to be had. 

There was a duo who played the earlier sets before we want on. They were called Frank & Linda Jay. Nice folks. 

We were playing an the popular songs of the day, plus a special Motown Medley that REALLY went over well there. I think we were one of the first bands in the area to really mine that well. 

We went back-and-forth about the name of the band, and had reluctantly agreed upon "Swingtown" after the current Steve Miller Band hit of the same name.

Well, when Frank Jay introduced us for the very first time at the hotel, he called us "The Swingtowners!"

It was so jive sounding that Joanie on-the-spot changed our name to Another Star, one of the other names we had considered. And that's what we became due eternity.

It was a fun summer. We were young, resilient, liked each other, were n love with music, and very popular on the island. 

Although we played zero original music in this band, Dom and me continued to write and record music at Ed Candelora's studio in Glassboro, NJ. 

During this two-year period with Another Star, we wrote some cool and interesting songs such as "Let Me Walk You Home," "My Love Is Real," "Let It Be Me," "701," and "I Don't Know Why." It was the very beginning of the whole New Wave thing, and looking back, we were right on top of the curve with this material. 

"Let Me Walk You Home" in particular could have been an early Madness tune. Should have been an FM hit, but nobody knew who we were nor cared, and we did not have an actual band anyway. So it all went for naught.

Now, by this time, it should be noted that I was already a married man, and as of June 17, 1978, would have a child, the beautiful Nicole Renee Frese. So for the winter of 1978-79, I took a year off from full-time college (took a few night classes) and got a very low-paying and difficult job at Albert E. Price Industries in Bellmawr, NJ.

Obviously, my priorities HAD to shift to making a living. 

I worked like a dog for that year, looking forward to another summer at the shore playing music. 

The Foreman at Albert E. Price was a big, tough guy named Joe, and he kindly agreed to lay me off in June, knowing I wanted to return to college full-time the following Fall and complete my degree. 

We played one more summer in Avalon in 1979. I lived in Wildwood that summer, collected unemployment illegally, and really had a pretty chill experience. 

It was at this time that I sold the Hofner bass and bought a new black Rickenbacker 4001 bass for $400. I was still not very good on the instrument, but I was at least improving. 

Things did not go quite as well at The Whitebrier this summer. We did a Sgt. Pepper Show with costumes and everything, but it did not in any way equal the response to the Motown thing from the prior summer. Things were changing, and the handwriting was on the wall yet again. 

I went back to school full time in '79-'80, still illegally collecting unemployment while attending school, and still playing some gigs with the band, which was fading rapidly.

I proudly got my BA in May 1980, graduating Cum Laude from GSC. But I had come to the musical crossroads.

Dom and me started a new four-piece band called Secret Service that winter with Brett Robinson on keyboards and Drew Hoffman on drums. Again, no originals, just pop covers. We somehow managed to get booked for a New Years' Eve show at the Echelon Tavern. This was likely 1980 going into 1981, I think. 

This became the first-ever gig in the career of a Jersey Shore legendary band, Secret Service, one that I would eventually not be a part of.

I believe SIX people showed up for our debut show, and this INCLUDED our wives and girlfriends. Yes, SIX. It was an epic disaster. It was the beginning and the end. 

At this point, Dom had dropped out of college and wanted to continue on to a career in music. Being a married man with a college degree, I saw no path for me to do the same. 

So I got ba "real" job, at first working at the Sewell Post Office. Dom and me played as a duo for a time, most notably at the Silver Lake Inn and one New Years' Eve gig at the Holly Inn in Pitman. But it was short-lived.

Dom departs the story at this time. He went on to join with Craig Phillips and continue Secret Service as a duo. They scuffled for maybe a year or so, but then landed a gig at The Shamrock Cafe in Wildwood and took off on a profitable 40+ year run as Jersey Shore icons. Still going strong to this very day. 

Let me be clear: this would have never happened with me on board. I was simply not cut out for that life, and I would have been miserable in it. Dom and Craig were on the same page, they knew what they were doing and what they wanted, and they made it happen. I have ZERO regrets in choosing a different path, one that was on my terms. 

So now what? With Brett Robinson and Mario Flamini, we joined a wedding band that was the house band at Shannon Caterers in Berlin, NJ. Those two can really play, but the band as a whole was a bit shaky, and lasted maybe a year or so. 

Then the three of us formed a little trio thing and kinda became the house band at the Silver Lake Inn for a while. We sounded good, but it was one boring-arse gig. We were basically playing to an empty room most of time, doing ballads. Mario once actually fell asleep in mid-song, and I woke him up by tapping him with the head stock of my black Rickenbacker 4001 bass. Yes, really. 

But it was a money nonetheless, and it helped me live. 

The trio went on for a year or so, until I guess we couldn't take it any longer. Brett Robinson departs from the story at this time; Mario went off with a metal band called Ivory Tower, but I never fully lost touch with him, and he would reappear down the road a bit. 

I wandered aimlessly for a few years at this point. I played some shows with Cousin Presto Sr., tried out for some other bands, filled in with a few (including a memorable show in Folsom, PA during which we played for an old stripper named "Chessy Colt & Her 45s;" the keyboard guy had played in a movie theaters for silent films; Don Tolefson was there with his hot girlfriend). 

But nothing really took.

In about 1982 or 1983, I joined a band doing original music and met Bob Leonetti, who along with guitarist Bob Weinland, were the writers. The songs were good, but the band was lacking a real direction. We rehearsed in the grungy basement of the Audubon Park Municipal Building, which was conveniently a one-minute walk from my front door. 

We rehearsed a LOT, but got only a single gig, playing for free at The Galaxy in Somerdale, just one set. This show was memorable because a) we were doing pop soul in a heavy metal room, which did NOT go over well; and b) the band Cinderella, still not famous, was upstairs rehearsing WHILE we did our set, and they were probably louder than we were.

I tore my parachute pants that night, and the band faded into the ether not long after. But I did stay in touch with both Bobs.

In 1984, a seminal development: Presto Sr. had been playing on a casino boat in LBI that took gamblers to Trump Castle in Atlantic City, and he needed help because it was becoming too much for he and his partner, Jackie Vee, to cover. Those two were working seven nights and two afternoons at the Surf City Hotel, plus five days on the boat. They were nuts!

So he recruited his son, Presto Jr., who I barely knew at this point, and me to cover assume of the dates. He taught us both his shtick, which involved a lot of old sing-along stuff. We added some Motown and other stuff and brought a little of ourselves into it, and off we went. 

At this point, I had barely ever spoken into a microphone. Presto Jr. hadn't either. I was shy and scared, and here both of us were thrown to the wolves as basically co-front men!

A weird thing happened: we got really good at it. We plied this trade for four years, working out asses off. Presto Jr. REALLY worked hard, sometimes doing seven days a week in the boat and making really good money.  I was doing as many as five days per week, this while still working a full-time job in Philly.

It was a grind for both of us. I brought Bob Leonetti into it for a few shows; Paulie brought a high school friend named Bill Hornibrook, a guitarist, into the family. 

We had to have sounded pretty awful on the boat, with Paulie playing a bent VKO-9 keyboard, me on a Hofner bass, through a Shure Vocalmaster PA that had seen better days and was rusted badly from the salt air. 

There were good times and there were bad times. There was money made, and there was very pretty much zero creative outlet. We all longed for more musically, but we became close like brothers through the shared craziness of the gig. I got stories, but I'll save them for another tale.

As things were winding down on The Black Whale, Bob, Paulie and me decided to form a trio called The Big Chill. We were fans of the music from that movie, and we wanted to do something that sounded good and that we would enjoy. 

Our first gig was at a small dive bar in Northeast Philly. It was memorable because the PA head was behind us, literally in the unused kitchen sink. We went over very well, and began a journey that would continue to this very day. 

We played at a bunch of places, but got two "regular" gigs that would sustain us for a while. I've was at Tom Smylie's American Cafe in Northeast Philly; the other was at Josh & Molly's in Edgewater Park, NJ. 

The three of us jumped into Paulie's Ford Ranger just about every weekend and lit out for those places (and others) for a few years. 

There was a brief interruption when Paulie joined the decaying carcass of the band Money briefly, but fact is that they did not make any of their namesake. The band leader, Rob Margulies, nice guy, booked a gig in WEST VIRGINIA that paid them $60 each. 

That was enough for Presto, and he walked. 

Around this time, the idea of getting Bill Hornibrook as a regular member was agreed upon. We all loved Billy's playing and singing, and we thought b he'd add a rock edge to the soul music. We rehearsed a bit with him, changed the name of the band to Heart & Soul after thebrock/soul Huey Lewis song of the same name, and worked just about every weekend.

We were making about $75 per man in these days, playing for sets a night ending at 11 pm or midnight. The band was very good. We were doing songs no other bands were doing, and we were writing original music, recording it, and actually performing some of the stuff in the act. It was a nice mixture, and we were all really into it. 

We met some really nice fans on this journey, the McSweeney family prominent among them (along with a girl named Paula, another huge fan of ours).

Terry & Ginny would come see us all the time at Josh & Molly's, and we became fast friends with them and their daughters, who came in with them from time to time. They made the sometimes boring nights at the club much more enjoyable for us all. 

In a tremendous act of kismet, Billy would fall in love with their eldest daughter, Shannon, and bulid a family together and live happily every after. That alone kinda made the whole enterprise profitable!

We went along this way for a number of years, recording two eight-song projects (one on cassette, one on CD) before deciding we needed to start making more money. 

Profit over art. 

The theory was, why are we working four gigs to make $400 each when we could make that in ONE gig playing weddings? So we started trying to book weddings. We picked up a few, but it became clear to us that for guys with a drum machine wasn't going to cut it in that market. 

So the first order of business was a) get a drummer and b) find a girl singer. 

There was only ONE drummer on my mind, and that was Flamini. Fortunately, he was open to it, which has happened several times with me and him. Fate?

We held auditions for a lead singer, and settled upon a girl named Nancy Denton. She was an okay singer, and I think "settled" was the operative word at the time: we needed a female singer; she was that. Done. 

I'm not sure how long she lasted, but we never really got a ton of work, and whole thing just never felt 100% right. We decided to make a change, and while we were at it, Paulie felt we needed a horn player to step up in the market. 

We held auditions, hearing a bunch of girls. But we were all taken by the sweet voice of a young lady named Jamie Vitale. She had an innocent quality to her voice that no one else could match, particularly evident in her rendition of Bonnie Raitt's "Something to Talk About." When she sang "I'll Be There" with us, it was pure magic. 

She got the gig. 

Meanwhile, Paulie found a great sax player, Jason Shapiro. Jay is a jazz player, and he easily  jumped into the fold and was awesome from the very first gig. 

But Jamie was a little problematic, especially for Paulie. She was a bit too young and unseasoned unlike the rest of b us. She didn't drive, so Paulie had to get her and take her home before and after the gigs, and she really struggled to learn material on-the-fly, which was kinda important for a band that loathed rehearsal. 

Paulie wanted to replace her with a friend of his family named Stacey Goerdetzer. We agree to this to save his sanity, but I will admit that we did it somewhat reluctantly because we loved Jamie and her voice. 

But business is business. We took on Stacey with a promise from Paulie that she, too, would have to go if it didn't work out. 

Well, it didn't. 

Stacey had a very big voice, but she lacked the subtlety and control to handle the wide variety of material we needed to do. And to be perfectly frank, she was a large girl, and her appearance on stage did not help. That is not my opinion; simply a reality of what we were dealing with in the market. 

We used to do a lot of wedding showcases in those days, and when we started doing them with Stacey, her voice would crack on tough, gentle songs like "Because You Loved Me," and we did not book a single gig from any of the showcases we played. Simple fact. 

So the three of us, me, Bob and Billy agreed she had to go. This put poor Paulie in a very tough spot, being she and her parents were family friends. 

But her did what he had to do. 

Her mother had a major blowout with Paulie's mother during which she "ordered" Paulie to fire the three of us instead of her daughter, a ridiculous request. It was apparently an ugly scene, and the whole thing destroyed that friendship forever. Stacey's parents sadly both died before anything was ever patched up. It was a shame. 

But to be clear, this was purely a business decision on our part. Stacey was not capable of doing the job for several reasons; she was let go. Facts. No one wished her any ill will beyond that. Sometimes things just don't work out. 

Bob, Billy and me were now driving to the Black Tie Orchestra shows together, Paulie having married and moved to Lumberton. We would occasionally stop for a cocktail after the gigs to decompress, and of course, during this period there was much discussion about the lead singer. 

One night we stopped into Reggie's Bar in Blackwood, then basically a dive bar. On stage performing was a duo, a guitarist and female vocalist. 

I was immediately taken by her performance and vibe, and after talking with her for a few minutes, I instantly knew that Deb Chamberlin would be the perfect fit for the band. If I have ANY real talent, it's my ability to detect those types of things. 

I don't think Paulie loved her voice at first, but I know he loved her professionalism and ability to sing harmony on the fly. And so she entered the picture in this final chapter of Black Tie.

Also entering was Danny Colonna, a fabulous trumpet and trombone player who also for like a glove. 

And so the "classic lineup" of Black Tie Orchestra was now complete. 

Deb commuted to the gigs with the four of us, and we always had a fun time, often learning material together while driving to the gigs. Paulie had been traveling to the gigs with Mario, and that continued as well.

We mostly played in Delaware, as our agent, the wonderful Amy Leach, had lots of connections down there. 

Dupont Country Club. Brantwyn Mansion. Brandywine Country Club. Hercules Country Club. You name it, we played our. We advertised in Bridal Magazine during these years, a not-cheap (about $4k power ad!) proposition that got us some work. 

So with Deb on board, I would guess we were doing maybe 30 weddings per year at our peak.

We NEVER practiced. Well, let's say very minimally, maybe five times the entire time the band was together. If we had to learn any new songs for first dances and things like that, Paulie assigned a vocalist, charted the chords out for everyone, and we learned the tunes on our own and showed up and played them. 

It was awesome. 

When the wedding band started to really get regular work, Heart & Soul kinda faded away. We did a second CD of original music in the late 80s, but from then on, the focus was on making money, which was fine.

But it was business. As Flamini liked to say, "when the tux goes on, the fun stops." And that was pretty much true. 

We made good money during those days, a lot more than we would have made slogging through late-night club dates. It was less grueling, and the fact that we ALL liked each other and understood the assignment made it pretty easy. 

I'll pause here to tell one crazy story. 

One frigid January evening, me, Bob and Billy were driving home from a gig somewhere in Delaware. It had to have been before Deb joined the band because otherwise she would have been with us. So this puts us in the very late 1980s or early 1990s.

When approaching the almost deserted Commodore Barry Bridge sometime after midnight, we began to hear a clanking sound coming from somewhere at the front of the vehicle. 

We had no clue what it was, but decided to slow to a crawl and try to nurse Bob's Bronco II back home to safety. 

We didn't make it. 

Just after crossing the bridge, the left front tire ripped right off the car. We crashed to roadbed and came to an abrupt stop. The tire took off down a virtually deserted Route 322 and into the distance as we sat there stunned. 

Understand that this was a classic freezing cold, wind whipping, January night in Jersey in a fairly remote spot (at that time of the morning).

Lo and behold, a kind citizen had seen our tire bouncing down the highway, retrieved it, and kindly brought it back to us. The lug bolts were sheared completely off, and we would later learn that a local tire place had rotated Bob's tires despite the fact that the front and back drums on that particular vehicle do not match! 

So we were actually pretty lucky we were nor hurt and the vehicle was not damaged further. 

Bob called AAA and a wrecker eventually rescued us from the arctic conditions. 

But there was a problem: the wrecker only had room for one person up front. 

Hilariously, Bob got to ride with the driver and his partner while me and Billy had to suck it up and "enjoy" the trip to Bob's sitting up there on the flat bed in the disabled vehicle in the freezing cold. 

It has become quite the story and memory over the years, and now I've shared it with the world. A classic moment in my musical life. 

Where was I? Back to our timeline.

Black Tie powered into the new millennium running on fumes. Work was being harder and harder to come by, as the major music conglomerates like Eddie Bruce Orchestras and others began to merge and pool resources. They simply out-advertised us in the trades, and that $4k tab started to be problematic for us, as we just weren't making enough to offset it. 

We played at the (dear departed) Concordeville Inn on New Years' Eve 1999. It was the big blowout party everyone had been building up to, and we rocked it and had fun and made great money. 

And the work dried up like THAT.

 It seemed that the turn of the century signaled the death, or at least the chronic illness, of live music. Our bookings dwindled to a scant few, the ads became pointless and unaffordable, and by 2006, the band had run its course. 

I don't think there were a ton of regrets at that time. The music itself was changing, and we were old dogs who had no interest in learning new tricks. All things must pass, and our time as a wedding band was done. 

What now?

Around 2005-6, when I knew the wedding band was about to die, I had begun looking for something in the original music area. I had learned the mandolin a few years prior, and I wanted to build my skill set in that instrument. 

I hooked up with a guy named Jeff Selby and his Quixote Project. Selby wrote really nice "roots" music, and the mandolin and my backing vocal fit in will. 

The "band" was Selby on guitar, a nice guy named "H" (RIP) on bass, and a fellow named Jim Oakley on drums. The latter would factor heavily in our story going forward. 

It became obvious to me that we needed a lead guitarist to complete the puzzle, and I knew just the guy. I coerced Hornibrook to join us, and he did just that. 

We began to play regularly at La Campagnola Restaurant in Shamong. REALLY good food, and a nice place to play. We also had the chance to play a gig at The Tin Angel in Philly, which was a thrill for me given the many acts that had stood on that stage.

And though this project would prove to be short-lived fitter various reasons, it would lead me to other, bigger, better things. 

When we were auditioning musicians for Quiote Project, a female vocalist/guitarist came into the basement. I distinctly remember singing harmony with her on John Prine's "Angel From Montgomery," and my Spider Sense again was activated.

Though she did not join that band, there was something there and I knew it. This was Lynn King.

It was obvious this band was not gonna be a long-term deal for any of us. Selby was quite a bit younger than the rest of us, a bit head-strong, and the material, though very good, was not exactly conducive to a rocking party.

When we moved on, I immediately tracked down Lynn, and started rehearsing her original material, at first with me on mandolin and two of her friends on bass and drums.

It soon became obvious that lineup was shaky, and I again recruited Hornibrook to play lead guitar. The bass player left, and it was obvious that I was gonna have to transition back to that instrument if this was gonna work. So that's what I did. The first song we played together: "Love Alive" by Heart.

This would be significant later.

At this point, we were doing virtually all original material. And we had some fun shows. I remember playing in Manayunk, at a place in Audubon, NJ, some GREAT original music shows at Lynn's home in Glendora, and a big show at the Haddon Heights amphitheater. There is a great video on YouTube of us doing "Love Alive" at that show. Look it up. 

At this point, we were already plotting ways to grow the band's following. We decided to learn a bunch of cover material to build a clearing and weave the original material in to showcase it. 

As we went down this path, it became obvious that the drummer, a really nice guy, wasn't going to be able to keep up with us in learning the covers. Also, he did not sing. 

Re-enter Jim Oakley.

We added Oakley, branded the band as Love Alive, learned a bunch of cool material, and started to look for work. 

I believe Billy had some connection with a place called Carolina Blue in Pitman, NJ. He managed to convince them to hire us for some Sunday afternoon shows, usually 4-8 or 5-9 PM.

Things went very well there. We usually did two acoustic sets and two electric sets. We could all sing very well, and that format began to bear fruit. We developed a loyal following that began to grow. 

At this point, I felt like we needed to add another element to the band, and I had a feeling I knew who that was. 

Joe Lam had played with Mario in several original bands (Ivory Tower, Buff The Musket, Love Revolution) over the years. I had also seen him play bass many times with a disco band in the late 80s. GREAT rock singer, and also now a solid guitarist. 

I suggested to the guys that we add him to the band, and we did around 2008, I think. 

The combo of Joey and Lynn on lead vocals, with me, Billy, and Oakley on harmonies, was gold. Our devoted and wonderful following began to grow exponentially, and before long, Sundays at The Blue were packed and became a "happening."

The owners of The Blue also owned a bar in Pennsville called The Riverview, and we began to play there as well, and developed a big following down south, too.

These were fun days. 

In 2009, we recorded and released a CD of original material called "Love at 2nd Sight." We recorded it at Lynn's home on Mays Landing, and Billy did the engineering on his computer. It was a great project, lots of work for Billy, but the result was excellent, and I think the songs, mostly Lynn's, stand the test of time. Still sounds good today. 

I tried to put together a big concert that year in September at The Flying W in Medford, where I had a connection, an old friend named Frankie DeNinno who was managing the place. He took a chance in me. 

At the time, I was acquainted with The Refugees, a trio of seasoned pros (Wendy Waldman, Cindy Bullens, and Deborah Holland) and I managed to convince DeNinno to pay them to headline the show. I also asked Michael Tearson to MC, and he agreed. I got another local act to join the bill in the hopes that we'd be able to fill the place. 

It was a disaster. The weather murdered us. 

It poured from morning until night. The poor Refugees (living up to their moniker perhaps) had to drive many hundreds of miles to make the gig only to play before a meager crowd under a tent in the deluge. God bless them, they showed up and did their thing anyway. 

The Flying W lost money. We all survived, but I never tried anything on that scale again. The CD was the only major project we ever did together, which is a shame. 

But we continued on for a decade, blowing out The Riverview and The Blue most weekends from March through October. 

One of my favorite gigs was at The Bus Stop in Pitman. I had become enamored with Susan Cowsill and her CD "Lighthouse" after seeing the documentary on The Cowsills called "Family Band."

I saw that they had a gig scheduled for Atlantic City, and I somehow tracked down Susan's husband, Russ Broussard, and managed to talk them into doing a show in Pitman while they were in the area. I knew we could pull a big Love Alive crowd in for this and we could pay them decently from ticket sales. As I recall, we did the gig for free. 

This time things worked out. 

Russ and Susan were two of the nicest, coolest people I've ever met, and we stay in touch to this day. They did a wonderful show, Billy sat in with them during their set, and a great time was had by all. 

A big win for me, I'd say. 

Love Alivev continued on at The Blue and Riverview, and at a few other places from time to time. None of us really wanted to work late into the evenings often, and  there simply are not a lot of places to play in the afternoon in South Jersey/Philly.

Things began to stagnate for me. We were no longer producing any original material, playing at the same clubs day in and day out became a grind, and there were some internal tensions from time to time, as is bound to happen with any band.

"You can't get a band together. Bands come and go."

Thank you again, Del Paxton.

By 2017, I said farewell to the  band I had created, Love Alive. Fortunately for you fools in South Jersey, the guys quickly found a great replacement bassist in George Thompson, and they continue on to this day, which makes me very happy. 

I know they miss my harmony parts sometimes, and that is bittersweet. Although I still do miss playing with them and still love them, it was time for me to move on and I don't regret leaving. 

Next chapter.

As my Love Alive experience was somewhat souring, I began to look for a way to play bigger venues like theaters. The only way for a schmuck line me to do this was a tribute band. I figured I might be able to somewhat fund my impending retirement that way. 

But before leaving Love Alive, I want to say a heartfelt "thank you" to all our loyal fans. During my entire career, I don't know that I've ever enjoyed such a connection between a band and their followers as I did with you guys. 

I appreciated every moment with every one of you, and leaving that was, without question, the hardest part of moving on.

You know who you are. I salute you all. 

So around 2016 or so, I saw an ad on Bandmix placed by someone trying to form a Linda Ronstadt tribute. 

I had been in LOVE with Linda during my teen years and followed her religiously throughout the 70s. I knew the material intimately, but wondered if anyone besides her could plausibly pull it off. 

Gesenia Gerena could, as it turns out. 

I heard her demo on Bandmix ("Easy For You to Say," I believe, was the tune) and then sat down and sang with her at her sister's house in Lindenwold.

It sounded like it could work, especially when I recruited my old friend Bob Leonetti to join. 

Now mind you, I had reservations right from the start. As mentioned, I LOVED Linda, and I could never see myself going to a tribute show of her music. If it wasn't actually her singing, it just wouldn't have interested me because it was HER I loved.

But I put those doubts aside in the hopes that it was just me. 

The three of us searched for additional musicians to complete the band, and it was not an easy task. It never is. 

Things took a turn for the better When I found Jim Cohen.

Lots of Linda's material needs a pedal steel, and I felt like it would be virtually impossible to find one in the Philly area. But I did a search and Cohen's website came up. 

I could see right away that he was probably too accomplished to jump into something at such an early stage with little hope of success. 

So I soft-pedaled it. I told him I knew he was probably too good for this (true), and asked if he knew anyone who might have interest. 

Lo and behold, Jim loved Linda, too. He agreed to come play with us, but he later admitted he was also reluctant to believe that we had a singer who pull this off.

As with me, Gess proved him wrong with her vocal talents, and he came into the fold. This was a huge development because Jim had very good musical connections.

The first guy he put us on to was lead guitarist David Lenat. Jim had done some studio stuff with Dave and loved his playing. The feeling was mutual, and Lenat quickly agreed to join. 

Fortunately, one of Dave's dear friends is an excellent drummer named Tim Reeder, and he brought Tim into the fold. We had already been through a few  drummers (including Jim Oakley), but none seemed to be the perfect fit until Tim.

Next and finally, Jim suggested we contact Dave Hartl to handle the keyboards, another key component. I had never heard of him at this point, but turns out he is a master and perhaps THE best keyboard player in the Philly area.

None of us thought he would go for it, but he apparently saw something in us and agreed to join. The 7-piece Ronstadt Revue was now complete. 

It was not easy breaking into the tribute scene, and it took us several years to get started. As bad luck would have it, just as we got rolling, a former American Idol finalist decided to do the same thing.

She had a huge internet following thanks to the show, an excellent agent who got her lots of work (we heard they worked chair than us, too), and subsequently closed us out of a LOT of rooms we might have booked. The only b thing we had going at this point was a great band and an internet connection (thanks to Leonetti's schmoozing) with Linda Robstadt's former guitarist, John Beland, who hated tribute bands but loved our band. 

Then COVID hit and the world stopped dead. 

Nothing happened for us for several years thereafter. We remotely recorded a CD during this period, with Beland producing one track, "Can't Find My Way Home" by Traffic, and Dan Dugmore doing pedal steel on another, "Dirty Work" by Steely Dan. These were tunes that Linda had considered recording but never got around to. And that kinda became the theme of the CD.

Cohen, who apparently knows EVERYBODY, got Linda's nephew, Michael Ronstadt, to play cello on a few of the tracks, and he even got studio legend Dean Parksb to play mandolin on one. 

So though I never met Dugmore nor Parks, my name got to be beside some legendary musicians on a CD, which is pretty otherworldly. 

Beland, I did meet. 

Several of Ronstadt Revue's best and most fun shows were the gigs we did with Beland in Texas and California.

JB was living near Brenham, TX when he first came into our universe, and we booked a show there with him opening at the Barnhill Center.

It was a sellout and a blowout, as we brought the house down. 

Fortunately, the sound engineer had recorded the entire thing, which we didn't know about until after. He kindly gave Jim the digital recording stems and he took them to a local studio, mixed them, and produced an amazing live CD which stands as a permanent record of our show.

Also during this period, the late 2010s, the Heart & Soul boys decided to record another CD of original music after many years of nothing. 

We began to write and record stuff at Paulie's house, mostly between meals, as usual. I was just now starting to come into my own as a writer, and this work contained four songs written or co-written by me, which was neat for me. 

I am very proud of this CD, called "The Long Ride" after a song on it written mostly by Hornibrook, with me contributing the lyrics to a verse and bridge. It was a fun project, brought us together in the studio after many years apart, and has led us to doing more recording together, albeit remotely, which has yet to be released. Stay tuned. 

But of course, nobody but us cares a lick. 

Meanwhile, Ronstadt Revue was, for the most part, an uphill battle. Linda had not performed live since the early 2000s and sadly, an entire generation had never heard of her. And the ones who have, our audience, was rapidly aging and not buying concert tickets. 

We had additional highlights including: two sold out shows at the Algonquin Arts Center in Manaquan, NJ, two magical shows at the Bankhead Theatre in Livermore, CA, and the crowning achievement, a performance at the 7,000+ seat Miller Amphitheater in Houston, TX. 

There were many more shows, but never enough to provide any real income to us. We might have made $10k each max in our best year, and Gessy's promotional efforts were pushing her quickly into big-time debt and understandably stressing her out. 

It was unsustainable, and her health was suffering. When the usual and inevitable band-ish drama reared its head, the writing was again on the wall. 

She ended the band in July of 2026. We never even got the chance to do a farewell show, which was hugely disappointing. 

In the last couple of years, I had begun working a duo down here in North Carolina, where we moved in November of 2020 during the tail end of COVID. It was strictly for the money, and to keep up my bass playing and singing chops in case something else develops in the future.

I work down here pretty much weekly. We've met some very nice fans, but I'd be lying if I said it brought me any musical fulfillment. It simply doesn't. 

I'm used to playing with top level musicians and vocalists, people who are BETTER on their instruments than I am on mine, and that simply ain't the case down here. It can be annoying for me, but it's a living, of sorts. Or at least extra cash of sorts, I suppose.

So there's the dichotomy with me and music. What I really want at this point, some 50 years down the line, is not to be HEARD, but to be LISTENED TO. There's a difference. 

I write. I record by myself and remotely with the Heart & Soul boys. I play out, often pretending I'm having fun, sometimes actually having some, though most days it's work, with people barely listening. Such is the fate of every "bar band" in the world. 

It's not the worst thing I've done musically in my life, but frankly, it's close. I've had the chance to play and sing with MANY super talented people over the years, all named in this narrative. Those days may be over forever for me; I hope not.

I just don't know.

It Was a Good run

 Some things you remember, some things you don't.

That's the nature of this thing we call "aging." I can remember EXACTLY how it felt hitting a home run up in Cooperstown, NY in 1995, but damned if I can tell you what I had for dinner on Tuesday night.

I remember that my very first full-time job was in the fall of 1978 at Albert E. Price Industries in the Bellmawr Industrial Park.

It was a HORRIBLE job.

I worked an 8-hour day, somewhere from 8:30-4:30 or something like that, either unloading filthy trailers or zipping through the warehouse on a power jack picking orders. I would come home in the evening and blow my nose, and dirt would literally come out. Not fun.

Oh, and the final indignity: take-home pay was $115 per week!! But it was almost enough to support my family, with the help of food stamps.

I lasted in that job until spring of 1979, at which point the folks at Price were kind enough to lay me off. That summer, I played in Avalon, NJ while collecting unemployment (don't tell anyone!). In the Fall of that year, I continued collecting unemployment while I finished my education at Glassboro State College, getting my degree in Communications in May of 1980, along with Lou & Doretta Martelli and our good friend Michael C. Pierce.

On to a "real job!"

I got hired into the Sewell post office in late September of 1980, again taking a job to support my family.

It didn't last long.

It was another horrible experience, as they had me coming in at 4 AM, commuting from Audubon Park to (old) Sewell to make special deliveries. It was cold and dank, and in one instance, I can vaguely remember walking through the streets in a deluge delivering mail. I as desperate to find a job "in my field," and I scoured the help wanted ads in the paper (remember those??) daily.

Finally, in November, I saw an add for a typographer to run a Compugraphic 7700 typesetter. I had take two typesetting courses during my last year of college, and I liked working the machine, so I put my hat into the ring and was hired by Max Selzer Productions, located on Walnut Street between 11th & 12th streets, across from the Forrest Theatre and Moriarty's Pub (GREAT bar). 

I got thrown into the firm big-time there, as the only other typographer quit the day I was hired. I was by no means an expert at running the machine, and I worked some very long hours during the month-and-a-half left in 1980. I was working there the day John Lennon was murdered, and me and a bunch of artists hit Moriarty's at lunch and got half shit-faced in sadness.

Suffice to say that not much work got done in the afternoon.

In January of 1981, the company moved to 401 North Broad Street, across from The Inquirer building (now police headquarters, I believe). It was several blocks and a world away from the toney Walnut Street District.

Almost the day we moved, a TON of work dried up, and I was left alone with the 7700 to spend several months just perfecting my skills. In the end, I got REALLY good as a typographer, and could make the machine do things it was never intended to do. During this period, I got the firm to hire Lou, and get him out of his dead-end, brain-cell-killing job at the Runnemede post office. 

This would be a decision that both of us slightly regretted 25 years down the line when we would have already been retired with a good pension. But in all honestly, we probably both would have stabbed ourselves in the ear if we had to spend 25 years doing work a trained monkey could probably do. So no REAL regrets, I suppose.

Business eventually picked up, but it was time for me to move on. So after about 1.5 years at Max Selzer Productions, I took a job in 1982 at an advertising agency and moved to Chestnut Street between 15th & 16th, again in the heart of the city and all that hustle and bustle, which I liked much better. The job was with Orenstein Advertising, an agency that did only recruitment advertising. The help-wanted pages were about the become vital to me again, but in a completely different way.

Orenstein was a very small company (always my preference!) of about six people, including the VERY entertaining owner, Irv Orenstein, a real character if there ever was one. Thursday was Inquirer deadline day for the help-wanteds, and that was always a pressure-filled day, with the many of the ads coming in late in the day and due at the paper by 6 PM or thereabouts. This was BEFORE PCs and all that technology, so the ads were either sent to the Inquirer (and other papers nationwide at times) via fax machine, which took about four minutes per page, or couriered over to them (if they were display ads).

Yeah, that's how old I am.

I learned to work quickly under pressure, and I was working there when -- glory be -- the PREVIEW was invented in the Compugraphic 8400. This saved a LOT of time and photographic paper, and I learned some expertise on that unit. In 1987, while still working at Orenstein, I purchased a used 8400 and opened a typesetting business on the side based out of my home.

For a few years there, I managed (with the help of my ex-) to make a few extra bucks setting type. Cindy took a college class to learn typesetting, and she would work during the day in our garage. I would take over when I got home from work as needed, so I was burning the candle at both ends AND playing in bands on the weekends (that's THREE jobs, if you're counting).

By the late 80s, the world was turning to desktop publishing and the world of typesetting machines was coming to an end. I learned expertise in DTP, mastering Aldus Pagemaker and other software and just kept on trucking. The home typesetting business was really starting to dry up by the early 1990s, and eventually that $17,000 machine went to the curb as garbage, believe it or not.

During the course of my "career" at Orenstein, there came a need for another office-type person, and I was able to get Doretta in there, which was wonderful. She did all kinds of jobs at the company, and it was great to have a friend there with me, as I did before at Max Selzer. The shenanigans me and Lou into there is a story unto itself which I'll leave for another day.

One of our clients at Orenstein was a firm called Howard Lawson. They used to have me do real estate flyers. Their representative, Ruth Wait, eventually left that firm and took a job as Marketing Director at a company called RTE Asset Management in Jenkintown, PA.  Soon after, she recruited me there.

Now this was a MAJOR commute for me from Turnersville, a full hour of slogging through rush-hour traffic on a good day -- and there weren't many good days. But I decided it would be a good opportunity, so that's where I went in 1992.

RTE was a money management firm that working with financial advisors, and the entire company was based upon a computer algorithm created by the founder, David Rights, that timed market moves via a buy/sell signal. So now I was in a corporate financial environment, although again in a very small firm of under 50 people (as I recall).

I wore a bunch of different hats at this firm, working with DTP software and preparing materials for printing. It was a good place to work, and Dave was a good guy. Ruth drove me a little crazy at times, but I persevered. About a year after I started, I began hearing about this thing called "the world wide web." I could see that this was gonna be something significant, so I took it upon myself to learn HTML coding.

Ruth wanted NO parts of any of that, so I had to kinda sneak around to learn it, and eventually it became obvious that this was a "thing" and that we should join the club. So now I was a web developer in addition to a desktop publisher.

To put a ribbon the career cake, I took it upon myself to learn database programming, using a great product known as FileMaker Pro. This software became my absolute favorite, and it remains so to this very day. I LOVED it. The things I was able to do with it were amazing (and still are), and I did some really cool stuff with it.

By the late 1990s or early 2000s (there's that "forget" thing again), I had pretty much run my course with Ruth Wait. I asked to be transferred to the burgeoning IT Department so I could work exclusively on the website, programming in a language called Frontier, which I don't hear much about these days. Not sure if it even still exists.

A guy named Tom Finnegan was hired to take my job in the Marketing Department. I taught him everything I could about the job, and he was a fast learned and a good guy. He shined in the role, and I moved happily over to IT.

However, this was about to become a fateful (and fatal) move for me.

In about 2001, Dave's market signal began to fail, and fail rapidly. The signal would say "buy," we would buy, and the market would go down. The signal would say "sell," we would sell, and the market would go up. Dave (RIP, he died this year) was a brilliant and good guy, but he could find no way out of this one. Assets began flying out of the company at a stunning and staggering pace, and it became obvious that layoffs would be necessary.

And guess which department was the first to fall?

You got it: IT. In October of 2002, I fell in the first wave of layoffs.

Ouch.

My boss at RTE, Dave Scheuring gallantly hired me to work for his outside venture, HR WebXPress for a brief period of about two months, working out of his place out in Blue Bell, PA, yeah, another ridiculous commute. The software that Dave built his platform on (it was actually built by Kevin Newman, a consultant who worked at RTE for a while) was also Frontier, which I knew pretty well by this point.

But things did no go well with HR WebXPress. Dave was unable to secure a client base, I was a lousy salesperson (which was also supposed to be part of my job), and the money ran out after maybe two months. I will always be grateful to Dave Scheuring for going out on a limb for me, but there I was on unemployment for the first time in my life in 1982 at age 45.

Not good.

Getting used to the idea of being unemployed was not easy, and the job market in 1982 sucked to high heaven. We survived on unemployment for a while as I looked for work, but there was nothing appropriate to be found. Of course, we lost Nicole during this period, so the one morbid benefit of being unemployed was that I was able to be at the hospital(s) with her almost every day. This was absolutely the worst time of my life, period.

But after we went through that tragedy, from which I will never recover, I got a little lucky.

I had taken a DISC Language sales training course while working for Scheuring. In that class, I met a guy named Tom Annas, who owned a company that sold used cabover trucks out of Chester, PA. If you drive on 95 down near the Commodore Barry Bridge, you've seen it there on the right heading southbound.

Tom is a good guy, and he did me a favor by hiring me, because again, I SUCK as a salesperson. The job did not pay a ton of money, I think I was making maybe $35k per year, but it did have benefits, which was huge.

I sold a (very) few trucks during my time there. By 2005, funds were low at T&A Trucks, and Tom had to lay me off. In desperation, I took a job selling Mitsubishi vehicles at Prestige Mitsubishi in Turnersville.

There were only two good things about this job: 1) Very close to home; and 2) Benefits.

But once again, I SUCKED at sales and was making peanuts. Car sales is just an awful business filled with shysters and assholes, and I was a fish out of water in every way. The Sales Manager, Tony Bruno, was a very good guy, and that helped. But the owner was a jagoff who did not give a rat's butt about any of his employees.

Fortunately, T&A started to pick up again and they were able to hire my back for a brief period. Unfortunately, it did last long, and I was unemployed again by the end of 2006, job hunting again in another crappy job market.

I finally found a position in Marketing in either late 2006 or early 2007 with a firm called Ace Glass in Vineland, NJ, that made laboratory glassware. I was hired by the Marketing Director, Chuck Carney, a GREAT character who became a good, life-long pal. Again, the pay kinda sucked -- I might have been making $40k -- but there were health benefits and a very easy, back-roads commute.

Chuck and me had a lot of fun working in our decrepit offices on the second floor Ace Glass. I did a ton of work in InDesign and worked on their website with the use of Dreamweaver and FileMaker Pro. I wrote a sequence from FileMaker that could created 10,000 product web pages with the click of a single button, which was very cool.

But the downside of that firm is that it was owned by people who I would describe at best as "kinda miserable." I'll give you one anecdote in that regard and then move on.

When I started there, the President was a guy named Paul Kramme, who I liked very much. Big baseball fan. Paul was ill when I started, and he passed away a few years late. On the VERY DAY he died, his younger brother, Dick, who was aptly named, moved himself into Paul's office in one of the most classless things I've ever seen. They HATED each other!

But I digress.

Chuck retired a few years later, around 2011 or so, and Jim Abbott took over. Another really good guy, Jim and I got along great, but when you have ownership like those people, it was never gonna be a smooth ride. So I was always looking for options. The glass industry never appealed to me in any way, and I was looking for a future elsewhere at the advanced age of 54.

I was once again rescued by Lady Luck.

My old pal, Tom Finnegan, was now working at Clark Capital Management at One Liberty Place in Center City. Clark had purchased RTE, and about 10 people from RTE were now working there. They were starting a brand-new Marketing Department, and Finnegan wanted me on board and made it happen. I stated there on March 13, 2013.

It was a busy place, and Finnegan was a jack-of-all-trades who did everything from marketing materials to network management to PC setups to everything else you can imagine. I became his right-hand man, and we embarked on many busy days and fun project together. During our years apart, he developed a great expertise in FileMaker, and I jumped back into the program on a more extensive basis and learned a lot from the guy I had originally taught to use the program back in the 1990s. It was a full-circle moment.

Clark Capital is by far the best employment situation of my life. Harry Clark, the founder, is a great guy, and I enjoyed every minute of working for him and the firm.

In the late teens or early 20s, the firm sold its TAMP to AssetMark, and the money started to roll in. There were about 47 people employed there when I started, and we had about $4 billion in assets under management. Today? over 150 employees and up to $47 billion or so in assets.

And the firm was recently purchased by the giant financial firm Raymond James Investment.

So the "small company" days are just about over at Clark Capital, and it is quickly becoming what I would describe as "corporate," the type of company I never wanted to work for in the first place.

This is not an insult directed at Clark Capital in any way. It's still a great company run by good people. But it became clear that my time in the sun, after some 47 yeas in the workforce, was coming to an end. 

I have had enough of chasing technology, keeping up with changes, and toeing the corporate line. I am from a different generation than mostly all of my co-workers, and I feel like a dinosaur -- the oldest person in the company besides the founder.

It's time for me to close the "working" chapter of my life and move on to a more sedate, quieter time in my life, the retirement years.

My last day is Friday, March 13, 2026, 13 years to the day after I started at Clark Capital. So farewell to early rising, job pressures, useless meetings, and corporate bull.

It's time to have some rest before I move on to what's next.

Unleash This

Charlie Kirk's wife said something yesterday that I think we need to look at and analyze in a logical fashion. Her words:

"They should all know this: if you thought that my husband's mission was powerful before you have no idea, you have no idea what you just have unleashed across this entire country and this world."

We have to give her some leeway given the fact that she just witnessed her husband being horribly murdered. That said, these are incendiary comments nonetheless. 

"They." Who is "they?" 

Given that Kirk's entire life was spent attacking and doxxing liberals, I think it's fair to assume that we are the "they" to whom she was referring. 

The "you have no idea what you have unleashed" is clearly a threat of unspecified nature. I can't tell if it's a threat of violence or the threat of an ideological revolution or what. It certainly does not hold any evidence of the "Christian love" that these people are so quick to claim they possess. This does not surprise me, as I've seen and heard plenty of this religious hypocrisy in my lifetime. 

Now, let's look at the alleged shooter. Here's what we know:

He was young.

He was white.

He was a practicing Mormom.

According to his own grandmother, everyone in their family was a lifelong Republican.

He was from a town that is known to be extremely right-wing leaning.

There is (or was before they began scrubbing it) plenty of social media evidence that they were gun worshippers, as evidenced by multiple pictures of them canoodling with their various weapons. 

Using logic again, does this sound in any way like a card-carrying liberal?

No, it does not. 

Now we add to this hateful stew allegations that this kid may have a member of a far-right-wing hate group called "the Groypers." Tlnote that this has not been confirmed in any meaningful way. However, this group is said to hate Kirk, possibly even Trump, and other traditional Conservatives politicians because they are NOT FAR-RIGHT ENOUGH. 

I know it sounds weird that there could be people that far right (and far-gone) out there, but I need only mention the name of Timothy McVeigh to dispel that quaint notion. 

So, now where are we? We have a right-wing yahoo, famous for doxxing liberals and lying at a pace that almost matches Trump's, that's Kirk, who was apparently murdered by another right-wing yahoo who apparently did not think that Kirk was enough of a right-wing yahoo.

And somehow, liberals are to blame for all this??

I will not sit here and listen to ANYONE try to blame any of this on us liberals, who have been forced to sit here passively for the past 10 years and watch Donald J. Trump turn American politics into hateful theater as he runs roughshod over our Constitution. Before his reign, did you EVER experience this insane division in this country?

No, you didn't. Because he caused it, or at least encouraged it. 

Let me be crystal clear: NO ONE deserves to be shot for ANY reason, no matter how hateful, divisive, or un-Christian their words or opinions are. This was a heinous crime, and I weep for this man's children who must now grow up without a father. 

But his death should not be an occasion to create further division in this country, which is exactly what the president, and now his widow, are doing. And of course, the rest of the complicit GOP are going right along with it almost by script. 

This is shameful and disgusting, and I refuse to sit here and listen to it without calling it out for what it is. 

It's not the liberals. It's the right-wing. It has ALWAYS been the right-wing.

A Dream, May 12, 2025

 I stand atop a hill acting as the lookout for a team, or rather a gang of misfits. 

This is not a country vista with rolling hills and grass. No, this is a city vista, perhaps Camden, the city I see in my child's eye, perhaps not. The vantage point is high, calling to mind San Francisco, but the area seems somewhat impoverished.

I can see three entry points to the intersection and just a small portion of the fourth. My job is to alert my companions when a brown car enters their block. Our intention is to disable this vehicle and remove something of value from it. 

I am not certain of the purpose of this exercise. However, I am convinced the cause is a righteous one. 

I am aware that I need to return to this area the next day to begin my training as an attorney. I have already passed an entrance exam of some kind for this, and I am to meet with an instructor the next day near this spot. 

I call to my compatriots on several occasions as brown vehicles enter the intersection, but to no avail. They are not the right car. Eventually, the task fails for some reason, and I head down the hill to meet with them. 

As I approach, I am pulled aside by a woman, and she asks if I am Nicholas Frese. I respond affirmatively, and she tells me that she is my teacher and has been looking for me. I got my days wrong and was supposed to meet her on this day. 

We walk to a block nearby, and there is some event in place that had something to do with the homeless. I can see these people are advocates for them. I tell my teacher I have been to a similar place recently and met with another such advocate, a short woman of great power who uses her knowledge to help those less fortunate. I believe this meeting was in Philadelphia, but I am not h certain of this. 

My teacher says she knows of this woman and that yes, she is a great person with high knowledge. We talk a bit about the law and my background,  but before the work can begin,  several men enter the area and begin to introduce themselves to me and others present. 

One of the men, another teacher of sorts, tells me that he is going to administer a test to see if I have the aptitude for the position. 

He has a small saw, some small wooden cutouts, and some type of molds in which they are supposed to fit. I am apprehensive as he hands them to me. I do not understand what he expects me to do with them. They are some sort of puzzle, and if I am unable to solve it, it seems I may not be able to continue my training. 

He gives me a brief and unintelligible explanation and then leaves me with the tools to complete the puzzle. 

Bewildered, I stare at them. 

The dream ends.

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.

Grandpop Stories

I was a bit younger than most of my cousins, so I only knew our grandpop as an old man. He died at age 78 in 1970, so he was already 70-years-old by the time I was just five. But I also have the perspective of having lived with him every day my entire life until his passing.

Grandpop was always kind to me, though he was certainly losing it in his later years. He used to come into my bedroom in the middle of the night, stand by my bed and wake me to say "Nicky, I'm-a no gonna see you no more. I'm-a gonna die." This went on for many nights in the last year or so of his life. When my mom came back from the hospital after he passed, she was crying and saying "he said he was gonna die!" I remember thinking (not sure if I said it out loud) "well, he said it every day for a year. He had to eventually be right once." Dark humor, but absolutely true story.

In the middle 1960s, my father lived with us on Decatur Street. The marriage was very rocky, and my father was a pretty miserable human being, to be quite honest. I have a very vivid memory of him trying to kick a stray dog I was trying to pet in front of our house (he missed; the dog bit him; Good). I know most of you probably never saw that side of him, but it is true. He had a prior marriage, back in 1930, and he had a daughter, Phyliss, who was born in 1933. I did not know about her until I was in my 40s, and I never met her. She had at least one child, a daughter, who would be my half-niece. I never met her, either, and have no clue what her name was or is. She would likely be around my age, I think.

My father and grandpop absolutely hated each other, and they fought quite often and loudly. As a result, me, my mom and my dad moved out of grandpops house and bought a house on Van Hook Street. which they owned for only about a year in the very late 1960s in what I believe was an attempt to save their marriage. Of course, it did not work out in the end. I was a shy and fearful child, and all this fighting certainly did not help. As an aside, we sold the home to Debbie Cipriani's dad, Rick Anthony, a DJ at WCAM who later died while on the air. He was a good guy.

During our brief time on Van Hook Street, my mom had Bella come over for a visit, and she unfortunately had a major episode during which my mother had to call the police. It was a very difficult thing for a young kid to witness, and I remember it vividly, as there had to have been 20 cops there trying to restrain poor Bella. Afterward, my father verbally berated my mother for being "kind-hearted Annie" by having Bella over for a visit. He said this in front of me, and it's another cruel moment that I will never, ever forget. Not long after, they separated for good and we moved back in with grandpop, where we stayed until his passing.

There was one occasion sometime in the late 60s where grandpop had a huge fight with my mother about something. As young as I was, I have no memory of what it was about. But grandpop left the house in a huff and went on a bender in Camden. He did not return home that evening, and everyone was very, very worried. The entire neighborhood was sitting out on the porches waiting for word of his whereabouts, and I think Uncle Pip and others were out looking for him.

At some ungodly hour of the morning, might have been 3 or 4 am, a taxi cab stopped down Decatur Street, about 15 houses down from ours. I remember looking down the sidewalk as a figure emerged from the cab and stepped into the light down there. And there was the recognizable figured of grandpop, with his customary hat, staggering down the street drunk off his ass. But we were all very relieved because he was safe. I never learned what the fight was about, or at least I don't remember.

Presto's story about the flowers is pretty accurate, but I can add some color. The woman who's flowers he dug up (she lived one block up toward Mt. Ephraim Avenue, I believe) came to our door SCREAMING at my mother, "your father dug up my flowers!!!" Grandpop denied it right to her face, saying "she's-a crazy!" But sure enough, there in our back yard were this woman's flowers, planted there by the old man. My poor mother had to dig them up and replant them back in the woman's yard.

There was another fun moment when some other neighbor woman came to the screen door asking for my mother. I was in the living room, and the old man answered the door. He turned away from the woman and shouted to my mom (and reminder: this was a SCREEN DOOR), "hey Annie, here's a bigga fatta bag!" And my poor mother had to then come to the door and speak to the woman. Can you imagine??

I have another vivid memory of Cousin Donna coming over to babysit me on a night when my mom went out somewhere, maybe on a date, as this was after my father had moved out. The old man was really pissed off about something. Not really sure what, but I gather he was mad at my mother for something. Anyway, he was in the basement doing his "ooo-ooo-ooo, dee-dee-dee" noises and banging on the ducts down there very loudly. I remember Donna being very scared, but this was something I was used to -- nothing new -- so it didn't really bother me. I suppose I calmed Donna down by telling her this was business as usual.

And then there was the 1969 moonwalk. Me and my mom sat watching on the black-and-white TV in the living room. The old man was wandering back-and-forth from the kitchen to the front of the house, as he was wont to do. My mother keep telling him to sit down and watch, and he would wave her off like, "I don't want any parts of that." Finally, she said, "pop, sit down and watch! The men are walking on the moon!" His classic reply: "You believa datta bull-a-shit??" Maybe he was ahead of his time.

He started to get a little crotchety in the last few years, and he used to refer to my friends as "the gotta damma gang," which was hilarious given how innocent they all were. He would often not finish his lunch, put the remainder of his sandwich in his shirt pocket, and head upstairs. My mother would yell at him and ask him where he was going with the sandwich, and he would say "I eat-a later." And I can remember him eating pea soup, getting it all over his hands, and then grabbing a roll and trying to hand it to me, saying "You wanna roll?" No thank you!!

Again, many of these things are simply the result of the ravages of age, as we are all kinda learning ourselves now. But again, he was a good man, a nice man, an immigrant with little education who worked hard to provide for his family after the terrible loss of his wife at age 30, the results of an abortion gone bad. This final story sums him up for me, and I will never ever forget it.

My mom got me a puppy that we named Skippy. It was a cute little beagle. The old man LOVED that dog. Sadly, he got out of the yard one day and was struck by a car on Decatur Street. I can remember Gary Talvacchio rushing into the house to tell us, and the old man hustled out there, picked up the puppy and brought him in the living room. He died there on the rug, as the old man hovered over him, saying "he's a just sleeping." He was crushed by this dog's death, and he cried over him. It hardened him further to life, and he was obviously very deeply affected by it, as I was. It was one of the most traumatic experiences of my life, and to this very day it haunts my dreams. But it made me love the old man. He had a good heart.