Nine acres, all paved, with a store and attached garage with three bays big enough to handle big rigs. Estimated value was just under six hundred thousand. The bank was hoping to get two fifty.
I was twenty two, but saw possibilities. I wouldn’t get my trust fund for another three years, so I talked my Dad into backing me, loan to be paid in full when I received my fund.
Property was selling well, and I figured I most likely wouldn’t get it. Surprisingly, not many showed for the auction. Most investors at the time were looking into residential investments, and the property was zoned business. The location wasn’t that great business wise, so there wasn’t a lot of interest.
In the end, I got it for one hundred sixty four thousand. After the thirty day waiting period the bank insisted on having to entertain upset bids, we closed. Dad wrote a check.
With Dad’s permission, I borrowed enough to put up mini warehouses, enclose the property with a six foot steel fence, and install security cameras. I hired a real estate firm to manage the property. Seven years later, it’s paid for.
I also enclosed the store/garage building with fencing and converted the store area to a office and storage area for my instruments. In addition to security cameras, I also had a state of the art burglar alarm.
This is where I met Freddie. He walked in and looked over my instruments. “Wow” was all he said.
He was there to look at a 1956 ES 125 Gibson I had acquired. It was an arch top acoustic/electric, with a really good tone. A single p90 pickup model. I had one, a 1958, that I rarely played but couldn’t seem to let go of.
I got the ’56 when a young guy around fifteen inherited it from his uncle. He wanted a solid body, something more in tune with his head banger mentality. I gave him $1, 000 after talking to his parents. I had just picked up a mid eighties Yamaha teardrop electric, light blue. It came with a small Fender 15 watt practice amp. I had two hundred in it. I showed it to the kid just to be nice.
He fell in love, and after talking to his parents, I gave him the guitar, amp, and five hundred cash.
I had seven hundred in it, and had it advertised for four thousand. That was a little higher than average, but it came with the original case and paperwork. I figured I could get thirty two to thirty five, making a nice profit.
Freddie was like a kid in a candy shop. He looked at everything, even those that weren’t for sale. He loved my 1968 red SG and 1957 Fender Squire, also red.
I took the 125 down and he chorded it a few times, admiring the action. Then we plugged it into a small practice amp so he could get the full effect.
I had a few old metal folding chairs I had picked up at an auction. They were perfect to sit and play on. He sat down, and after a few minutes, started into She Talks To Angels, an old Black Crowes song, probably the best song they ever did.
I couldn’t resist. I grabbed my 125, plugged in, and did the finger picking work while he chorded. By the time we had finished I realized who he was.
“Chance Blaze” I said grinning.
He grinned back.
“I prefer Freddie. My manager was a big admirer of John Mellencamps’ manager, who insisted he become John Cougar. So he stuck me with Chance Blaze, kinda silly, huh?”
“I have to agree. But you do have a pretty good sound.”
Chance Blaze was an up and coming country singer. Just 25, he was handsome, personable, but more importantly, he could actually sing. He had the borderline bad boy image going, and many of his songs had a bit of a rock edge. At this stage he was an opening act, one or two good songs away from being a headliner.
He relaxed and we spent another ninety minute just jamming, playing anything that suited us. Towards the end, I took my SG and played slide while he did the old blues standard ‘Come On In To My Kitchen’ in the Warren Haynes/Greg Allman style.
He let out a little whoop when we were done.
“Damn, that was fine!”
“You’re not so bad yourself. Why don’t you do more lead work on your CDs?”
“I used to when I had my old band. Now I just pick up guys when I need them. I’m actually rehearsing for a tour now.”
We offered and counter offered on the 125, but I knew he really wanted it, and he knew I was in the high end of the estimated value range. He ended up writing me a check for thirty five hundred.
He thanked me, and we parted not quite friends, knowing we probably never see each other again. He did tell me if I ever went to one of his shows, let his management know and he would get me backstage passes.
When I told Sammi who bought the guitar it threw her for a loop. Apparently he was one of her favorite singers. If I had known, I would have taken her with me. When I told her about his offer for backstage passes, she made me swear on my ’61 EBO I would take her when he started his next tour.
…………………..
A year before I met Sammi and Sandy, I had another brush with cancer. This time it was Dottie.
She was fifty six, and took regularly scheduled mammograms. Her latest showed some lumps in her left breast. It was cancer, malignant. They did exploratory, and decided they would rather be safe than sorry. The procedure was a success, but she lost her breast. She was devastated.
We hovered over Dottie until she got sick of us. Between us, she never had a chance to become depressed. When she recovered sufficiently she sent me home with an admonition that if I really wanted to make her happy, get busy and give her some grandchildren to spoil.
I kissed her cheek and promised I would get right on it.
…………………….
Thanks to my work with the kids at the hospital over the years, I became well regarded by the hospital administration. When they asked me to sit on the board of the fundraising arm of the cancer wing, I was honored.
I think they recruited me knowing my background and the fact that I was in the entertainment business. They wanted to do something different this year, something ambitious. All my years in the local music scene paid off.
I met Josh Wingate while Dottie was being treated. His wife was a breast cancer survivor, and they just happened to own the Downtown Music Hall, an old auditorium they had bought from the local school system when they closed a school down due to consolidation. It was what we called a ladder venue, booking acts that were working their way up, and those that had peaked and were on the way down. They had it refurbished, installed state of the art lighting and sound systems, and opened. They got people whose careers were rising as well as those that were declining. It had two bars, and could hold three thousand people, according to the fire rating.
It also had a mini jumbotron, twelve feet square.
He came on board and donated use of the hall for three nights in four month’s time. It fell to me to get the musicians.
I pulled in every favor I had and made promises that would haunt me for years to come.
My band was a given. I told them I would pay for their time and they laughed at me. They all knew someone or had someone with cancer, so they were on board 100%.
Next I went after the local college chamber quartet. They weren’t sure how they would fit but loved the idea of that much exposure. They were in.
Horns For Hire was four guys who did session and tour work. Between them they could play every brass or woodwind instrument known to man. One of them was an old band mate, from my beach era. When I explained what I wanted they were all over it.
I had played with Blue String Theory, a bluegrass outfit on occasion. I didn’t have to recruit them, they heard what I was doing and volunteered.
Hard Country was next. A top of the line country band, they had a pretty loyal following. I played with them a few times, filling in. Occasionally I would drop in and play my Gibson Lap steel on a few songs, if my band wasn’t working. By now the small music scene in my area knew what was going on and before I could make my pitch they told me yes.
By then I had more than enough musicians, but kept getting volunteers.
Jenny/Ginny/Jen was an all girl trio whose music is best described as punk meets rockabilly. I knew Jenny from my music teacher. She was one of his last students before he retired. I actually handled a few of her lessons while he was sick. They were breaking up, Ginny was pregnant and Jen was getting married, and they wanted this to be their swan song. How could I say no? I had one more musician I was going after, and then we would start rehearsals.