Photo: The sidemen with Ronnie Milsap: Back: Ron Mason, Ronnie Milsap, DC, Alan Heckle. Front Joe Velasquez.
At my age, I’ve seen it all, done it all, heard it all . . . I just can’t remember it all!
How true. And if it wasn’t for my good friends from the distant past, there would be no way I could have pieced this series together with any degree of accuracy. I owe a debt of gratitude to these gentlemen for their recollections and their undying friendship. A big shout-out to Doug Verver, Alan Heckle, Jay Cober, Ron Mason, Rodney Wall and, of course, Dale McFarland. And not to mention, my beautiful wife, Jaye Duncan.
I’ll be Here Awhile
The Curtis Hall Experience (Regard the word ‘experience’ with great trepidation.)
We had recorded a good album of 10 songs for Curtis. He was pleased enough to throw an extravagant ‘release party’ high up in the LTV Tower overlooking downtown Dallas. That evening, during a raging storm, we ate, drank and felt merry. All the while the chandeliers swayed to-and-fro due to the strong winds rocking the 33-story building. It was stomach churning… or was it the food?
Curtis Hall
Curtis had asked us to form a band and tour. It made sense. Why spend all that money recording a slick album and then not properly promote it? (But where was the money coming from?) So here I go again. My Evil Mistress was taking me away from my wife and child and having her way with me. (Oh, but it hurt so good!)
So much for my college career. “School’s out forever!”
Ron Mason came up with the band name: Curtis Hall & Cactus Café. Actually, “Cactus Café” was the title of a Jay Boy Adams song. (I suppose Ron was cleverly taking a jab at Jay Boy – for reasons unknown.) We did have a nice-looking tee shirt…
Suddenly we had a manager who had once played for the St. Louis Cardinals. (I hoped he was a better manager than a pitcher. He wasn’t.) He booked us at the famous Deb’s Danceland in Grand Prairie, an old two-step favorite. The hours were grueling. Six nights, five sets a night and an additional two cocktail sets (5 – 7) added on the weekends. Whew. Believe me, after that gig we were tight and roadworthy – and exhausted.
All big two-step dance halls were the same: they considered musicians employees, not artists. We were laborers hired to do a job. The stage was a hardhat area with a sign out front that read: Caution! Men at Work. (I’m surprised they didn’t make us clean the restrooms on break.)
Soon we headed to Lubbock to play a big concert warming up for Ronnie Milsap at Bigger ‘n Dallas. He had won Best Country Entertainer of the Year (1976) and was on fire that night. And Ronnie was one of the nicest guys I ever met – no lie! All-in-all, it was a great show and we had jelled into a damn good Country band.
Back in Dallas, when we weren’t traveling, we played around town and on Sundays we played a gay bar called the Service Station on Fitzhugh. (The Ramrod was across the street. Yikes!) How, and why, we were booked there still remains a mystery, but I have to admit that it was fun as hell. And those guys loved us, which equated into big tips. (The money kind, that is.) Donnie May was the “head waiter” and later would regularly cut Jaye’s and my hair at his luxurious apartment overlooking Turtle Creek. Donnie was a good guy, and mixed a mean Gin & Tonic!
As an extra added attraction, I hired Doug Verver to star – the band backing him – as the one-and-only, ‘Pancho Pinga.’ He appeared in an all-black mariachi outfit including a huge sombrero. He was a smash hit as he crooned and gyrated, driving the hombres wild.
Bubbles Cash
Another Sunday I hired Bubbles Cash, the most celebrated stripper in Dallas history. She was an aspiring Country singer who had approached me about recording with her. (She called me her “little drummer boy.”) Her singing career never took off, but her performance that evening was captivating. Even Dale McFarland was amused! The crowd absolutely loved her and treated her like their very own Bette Midler. I considered Bubbles a friend.
We were playing quite a lot, but all we had to promote were two 45s on a few jukeboxes, and for sale on stage. The label was called Zero. (That would explain a lot.) I don’t know if Curtis and his so-called manager were shopping the album to record companies or what. I suppose, that was none of our damn business. Anyways, it’d be a fat chance if we sidemen would be included in any potential record deal. But the band played on…
We pulled into Texarkana for a gig at a restaurant bar called the Gazebo outside of town. After those big dance halls, Texarkana was like a vacation. Now we had time to catch up on our partying!
Most of the fun was after hours at our downtown motel. Across the street was an all-night diner that was quite convenient indeed. People were coming and going all night long, and most of them had no idea where they were or where they’d been. One crazy, drunken night a car ended up at the bottom of the pool! Certainly, one of the highlights of the whole trip. (By the way, I had nothing to do with that.)
One evening we drove up to the gig and someone pointed up at the marquee. We all started laughing hysterically. Someone had changed the words, Curtis Hall & Cactus Café, to Curtis Hall & The Barking Spiders! Well, that just about said it all. And the management seemed to agree – they left it up for another week! Ron Mason finally confessed that he was the culprit, and we applauded him.
Just Don’t Know the Way
Back in Big D we played the shady Debonaire Danceland on Samuell Boulevard – what D Magazine called “one of the meanest bars in Dallas!” Then on Sunday, we were back at the fabulous Service Station for yet another crazed performance. Curtis would sing atop the tables and I would scurry about playing my top hi-hat cymbal. Booze and poppers for everyone. We were havin’ way too much fun.
At closing time, we hauled all our equipment out, loaded the two vehicles and drove straight to Albuquerque…
We were booked at the big Caravan East for two weeks, 6 nights a week. On Friday night the band was to play one set, opening up for singer/songwriter, Dickie Lee. His one big hit was a song called “Patches,” recorded years earlier. Dickie was a ‘B circuit’ entertainer traveling with his bass player/vocalist and his guitar player/vocalist. And on Friday night I was to play drums with the trio… cold!
We had driven all night from Dallas. Joe Valasquez and I were wired and hadn’t slept a wink. When we finally were let into the club to set up, I checked out a poster for Dickie Lee:
The Caravan East proudly presents Dickie Lee… Monday Night!
I couldn’t believe what I just read. “Oh my God. Tonight?” We did a good sound check, walked over to the motel, had something to eat and hit the sack. That night I met Dickie and his boys and we went over his two sets. It was doable. Luckily, Ron volunteered to join us on keys, and Dickie’s bass player directed me seamlessly. All-in-all, I pulled it off without making a fool of myself. And then Curtis and Cactus Café took over the rest of the night. Whew!
I knew Albuquerque well. It’s where I met Jaye; I married her in Roosevelt Park. My Army buddy, Hatch, a mountain man from Tijeras Canyon, spent some quality time with me reminiscing. The next week, Jayebird, Tait and Alan’s wife, Deb, drove out to join us. Jaye, and the kid and I moved over to our old friend Jim McConkey’s house, a mile away.
Everyone enjoyed themselves sightseeing and consuming hot New Mexican green chile. As far as the gig went, it was exactly like anywhere else, except different…
My drum set for the road
We got back into the old grind. Then, a few months later, the band ventured out to Hobbs, New Mexico. We were booked two weeks at the Big Country, owned and operated by Snuffy Smith, who once had played with the great Bob Wills & the Texas Playboys. (My favorite Texas Swing band!)
Playing Curtis’s original tunes was obligatory, but when we cut loose on that old country swing, we grooved right in the pocket. It felt and sounded s-o-o-o good. Those songs are what made playing in this group seem worthwhile. (I think all you players out there know exactly what I’m talkin’ about…)
It was a big room with a lot of hats and big hair. And wouldn’t you know it, off of stage left, in the corner, was the black section – self segregated. Of course, after a few nights, Alan and I gravitated over there.
One night our new friends, Frankie and Doo Doo, took us to their side of town. The name of the place was the Chicken Shack, an all-night joint with a juke box full of righteous Soul. Well, one night I got a little wasted on some bad stuff. A few nights later I got sick at the gig and they stuffed me into a cab. It was back to the motel.. and the porcelain throne.
I became deathly ill and was completely dehydrated. (I’ll spare you the details.) After the gig, Ron Mason took one look at me and rushed me to the emergency room. I was diagnosed with a stomach virus and was treated and released. According to the doctor, Ron had probably saved my life. It was that bad. I owe you, Ron!
The next night old Snuffy sat in for me on drums, but five hours of playing wore him out. He had no choice but to let us go. I had sacrificed the next week because of my foolishness. And I promised myself I’d never do that again. (If I could go back in time, I’d kick my ass!)
Back in Dallas the band petered out. As for the album? It was never released that I know of.
One evening I was headed to Wills Point for a Friday night gig with Doug Verver and Jay Cober. It was a restaurant/bar on lake Tawakoni. The most requested tunes were “Roll Out the Barrel” and “Sweet Caroline.” They also had a belly dancer (probably named Caroline).
We were on the freeway in heavy traffic in Doug’s wife’s Car. I was in the back when I told a joke. Doug laughed so hard that he yanked the steering wheel off! He could not get it back on, and then dropped it. He slowed down to a complete stop as cars zipped around us. Jay and I got out onto the rush hour freeway and frantically waved our arms. It was touch and go, but Doug got the steering wheel back on the post and zoomed over to the side.
We headed to a gas station for help. As those guys talked to the attendant, I snuck into the bay where somebody had been repairing a flat tire. I looked down and saw the lug nuts. So, I grabbed one. We tried the nut on the steering wheel and, unbelievably… it fit.
It turned out that an idiotic mechanic had worked on that steering wheel a few days earlier and forgot to put the damn nut back on. Jeezus!
“I’m not afraid to die, I just don’t want to be there when it happens.”
– Woody Allen