Stranded!

Three years ago, nearly two feet of snow fell in New York City, in a blizzard of historic proportions.
As fate would have it, I was right in the middle of it. Here's the story.
I am fortunate enough to be employed as a sales manager for a big company that has a skybox suite at Madison Square Garden in New York City. It's used to entertain our biggest clients. The sales pros are free to invite their customers for most of the events that are held at the Garden, from the New York Knicks to Elton John and everything in between, including professional wrestling, which my son and I are fans of.

There's much demand for tickets for most events, but wrestling isn't the most popular event on the list. As it's a requirement that a manager attend all events, I am usually the only one who actually wants to help host the wrestling events and be the required managerial presence.
 I had agreed to host the event which was to be held at 7:30 on on 12-26-2010. No other folks from my company would be attending. I think about 6 people were scheduled to attend as my company's guests.
As the fates would have it, the weatherman were predicting an all out blizzard for that day and for once, they got it right. By the time we drove to the parking lot of the train station late that  afternoon, it was already snowing, and snowing hard. Under any other circumstances, I would not have ventured out beyond my own driveway, but I had made a commitment to host the event and I had a responsibility to fufill that promise.
We did pack the car with snow shovels and extra clothing and gear, but we traveled light on the train, since we would be indoors while traveling, the whole time. The train takes you right underneath MSG. We made it to the Garden on schedule, with few issues.

The wrestling event itself was mediocre at best, as the wrestlers themselves were distracted by the thought of not knowing how they were going to get to their next destination later that evening. Only 2 customers showed up, leaving the four of us to try and eat enough food to feed a dozen people. The 2 customers left before the event was over, worried about getting home. My son and I stayed till the end, probably about 10:30. Before we left, I stuffed a few leftover cookies into the pockets of my winter coat.
We got our first glimpse of what was going on outside as we left the Garden and got on the train from NYC's
Penn Station to Newark's Penn Station. From the windows looking out of MSG, it looked insane outside. At Newark Penn station, we could take the train that would bring us back to our car. Or so we thought.

The train ride from NYC to Newark went remarkably well, and we immediately went to the information booth to find out when the next train was back to the Somerville, NJ station, where our car was parked. Pandemonium was already underfoot, and I saw  a lot of fellow train riders with worried looks on their faces. The attendant at the information gave us the bad news. The storm was already so bad that ALL trains out of Newark were cancelled. Period. We had no transportation alternatives out of Newark. It was a little before 11PM and we were stranded.

To be continued.

My Lunch With Donovan

A few years ago, I subscribed to an internet  mailing list for Donovan, so I could keep track of his album releases and concerts. Rather than assume that you know who Donovan is, here's a brief bio on this very underrated musical talent.

From 1966 through 1969, Donovan scored a string of eleven Top 40 hits in a row, including Mellow Yellow, Sunshine Superman, Epistle To Dippy, There Is A Mountain, Wear Your Love Like Heaven, Hurdy Gurdy Man, Jennifer Juniper, Lalena, Atlantis, and Riki Tiki Tavi.
Donovan was one of the few artists to collaborate on songs with the Beatles, contributing lyrics and vocals to the song Yellow Submarine. Donovan was also invited by The Beatles to join them at Abbey Road Studios for the final orchestral overdub session for the Lennon-McCartney collaboration A Day in the Life, the grand finale of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.
Donovan influenced Paul McCartney, John Lennon, and George Harrison in their guitar styles, and during his career played with folk music greats Pete Seeger, Joan Baez, and Bob Dylan, as well as rock musicians Jimmy Page of Led Zeppelin and Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones.

Enough said, this guy is a legend!  In any event, one day I get an email that went to all members of this Donovan mailing list stating that Donovan would be having lunch before his gig in New Jersey and that everyone on the list was invited to join him!
My son Greg and I showed up at the appointed time and place and sure enough there was Donovan, having lunch with about 15-20 fans. I walked up to the table and said "I guess we're in the right place!"

Indeed, we were. As the lunch progressed, we played a musical chairs type of maneuver, where once you got to speak with Donovan for a spell, you moved down, so everyone got a chance. I of course quickly put my foot in my mouth by describing one of my favorite songs of his  to Donovan as "simple". His reply of : "Do you play?", made me realize I had insulted him , although no insult was intended. We moved on and had a delightful  conversation. My son Greg asked him about some nefarious business dealings from the past where Don (this is what us insiders call him) had gotten shafted by some recording execs.

Before you know it, lunch was over. I shared another moment with Don in the men's room as we relieved ourselves. Goodbyes were exchanged and I told him how we were looking forward to hearing him later that day in concert.

He gave a great concert that night!

The Pee Machine

 I was a hard core bed-wetter up until at least nine years old. By hard core, I mean I drenched my pajamas along with bed every single night! As a parent, I can now fully appreciate how hard it must have been on my mom  to have to wash my urine filled clothes and bedding every morning. I never did hear one word of complaint in all those years.

It was really embarrassing in many respects and I can clearly remember having to say no to any sleep over requests from my friends, lest they find out about my little secret.
So one day, without telling me why, my mom told me that it was super important that I come home right from school that day. When I got home , there was a stranger in our living room who my mom introduced as a representative of a company that rented out bed wetting alarm machines. What a sales job this guy had.
From that day forward in my house, we called this cool little device, the pee machine.

Here's the way it worked. A aluminum like pad was placed under your sheets. The pad was connected by wires to the little radio like device that was placed by your bed and the unit was plugged in to an outlet. When you let loose, the urine completed the electrical circuit and set off a piercing alarm. The sales guy actually demonstrated it by having a glass with some salt dissolved in it, which he pored on one the pads he had hooked up to the pee machine. Sure enough, when he spilled just a little of the salt water on it, the little unit let out a very shrill tone. I sat there listening to it squeal until the sales guy told me to shut off the pee machine , which I did.
Thankfully, my parents were able to buy the pee machine elsewhere, which was a lot less expensive than renting it.
Over the next several weeks, everyone in the family knew when I was wetting my bed. Sometimes, the piercing alarm would still be shrieking when my mom came in to assist, as I was still sound asleep.
My mom kept a "wetting the bed "report card by my bed, with room for comments and stars if I stayed dry. I remember one of the comments being a simple one word " flood", with others noting how I got up  quickly and actually emptied most of my bladder in the toilet instead of in my bed! Slowly, with some "accidents" in between, the dry nights became more and more frequent, as my body and brain started to understand that when I had to go, it meant that I had to wake up and then go. I'll bet it was an 8-12 week process, but in the end, I was cured!
So lift a glass and join me in saluting  the glorious pee machine!

The Dumbest Thing I Ever Did

The dumbest thing I ever did just happened yesterday. I'm still smarting from my mistake, but felt it best to blog about it now, while the wound is still fresh.
I've read some articles lately that say how when you plan an event in the future, that you are really looking forward to, that you actually benefit from the event several weeks prior to it actually occurring. I can attest that this is a true statement. Every summer, we take one week of what I call a real vacation. Not a "staycation" , where you take day trips, but a real away from it all vacation. We've been going to Cape Cod in Massachusetts on and off for over 20 years, since our kids were little. We are so familiar with The Cape, that it feels like a second home for us.

Usually in December, I start trolling http://www.homeaway.com and plug in the search criteria for the house we need and start emailing the owners who have listed their houses for rent. We bring our dog Newman with us, and searching for "pet friendly" rentals cuts down on the number of suitable places quite substantially.
I found a great place this year that matched our budget and needs and booked the house for a week before 2013 even started! Several emails and even a phone call were exchanged between myself and the owners and eventually they sent us the rental agreement and we sent them a deposit.
We were all set for the week of 7/14-7-21.

I'm not a last minute packer, so I spent about 2 weeks slowing gathering everything we need for vacation. I'm so organized that I've developed a "vacation to do/bring" list that I update every year, so we don't forget anything.  I notify our newspapers to suspend delivery, make sure the yard and garden are tended to before we're away for the week, etc. I research what live theater and music we might see during our vacation, and even search for new eateries that are highly rated on YELP. I buy our beach pass ahead of time too, so we don't waste a precious minute getting one in person. I arrange for our mail to be picked up by a neighbor, and lined up our kids (now adults), to water the garden during our absence.

Mentally, I start thinking about how great vacation is going to be, and how relaxing and wonderful the whole experience is going to be at least two weeks before we go. This year was no exception.

So Saturday night, we went to bed early, knowing we would be getting up at 4:30 AM for the over five hour drive to The Cape.
The car was already packed, the  GPS loaded with the vacation address, and our anticipation was high.  The ride up was easy and we were fortunate not to hit any traffic jams even as we took one of the two bridges which are the only means of entry onto Cape Cod. We were on The Cape before 11 AM, and knew we had several hours to spend before we could get into our rental house where check in time was three PM. We drove along beautiful Route 6A , and stopped for breakfast at our favorite place, the 6A Cafe.

As we neared the town of Eastham, where our rental was, my wife and I excitedly pointed out several destinations we would surely hit during our stay...Nickerson State Park, Villa Pizza, Cape Cod Natural History Museum, and many others. It was going to be glorious week, with even the weather cooperating. We actually showed up about 1:30 at our rental, but the owner told us he had just arrived to clean it, and that we should come back at the check in time of 3 PM, which we did.

I started to feel slightly anxious when we pulled into the parking area where there were now 2 cars parked. We really wanted to unload the car, settle our dog and go out for a late lunch. What was even odder was that there were several people sitting on OUR deck (well at least it was ours for the week), drinking ice tea and chatting. We figured they were friend of the owners, who had stopped over to chat. I grabbed a few bags from our car and my wife asked if was ok to go in the house and the owners said sure. My wife noticed there was a "welcome " goody bag on the kitchen table, with someone else's name on it. She went back outside on the deck to tell the owners, and that's right about when all us started to realize something was amiss.

The people on the deck chatting with the owners were renters just like us. They had booked the week of 7-14, just like we had, or so I thought. The owner quickly took out his iPAD and said something like, "I hope I didn't make a mistake ."  While he fumbled with his iPAD, I fired up my laptop, where
I knew I had copies of the emails we had exchanged regarding the rental. Before I could connect up, the owner showed me a copy of the rental agreement I had signed. It was for the week of 7/7 to 7/14. That was last week! While it was hot in the kitchen where I was trying to get my laptop connected, my own internal temperature spiked to the point where beads of sweat were pouring off my face.

No matter what emails I found, the owner had the proverbial smoking gun with the copy of the signed rental agreement.. Somehow, I had messed up the dates. We were a week late!  Still disbelieving I had made such a moronic error, I continued to try to get my laptop connected to the internet , still thinking that maybe the owners had screwed up the dates. When I finally was able to view my emails, I couldn't find one that supported this week as the week we had asked for. I told the owner I had committed a colossal blunder. He was as nice as could be, feeling badly for us, but what could he really do? He helped me find a realtor in town as I was thinking at this point that maybe we could rent another place for the week.

But as we pulled away from our short lived vacation house, I started to realize that finding another suitable rental at 4 PM on a Sunday afternoon, was probably not going to happen. We also hadn't budgeted any monies for such an occurrence. The wife suggested we drive a short distance to Ben and Jerry's were she would get us some ice cream, and we could decide what to do.

Before she even came back to the car with my New York Fudge Chunk ice cream,

I realized that the best alternative was to head home and cut our losses. My wife agreed and some tears were shed by yours truly as I realized that all of my planning, anticipation, and excitement had just been dashed to bits. We were not going to be spending the week at The Cape. I had killed our vacation by messing up the date. Even as I write this, I still don't get what possessed me to do so.

We had spent a grand total of about four and half hours on the Cape. Talk about a vacation that flew by!

Flying Mushooms!

My mom would wash the kitchen floor now and then on Saturdays, on her hands and knees. It looked beautiful when it was done. We all knew that we should try as best we could to keep that floor as clean as possible at least for a while. She also cleaned the rest of the kitchen until it all glistened and shined.

My dad went fishing almost every Saturday and on this particular spring day came home late in the afternoon and strolled into the kitchen from the back door, which lead right into the kitchen. His muddy boots which he failed to take off, made a trail from the door to the kitchen stove. My dad had picked wild mushrooms that day and was eager to cook them up on the gas range immediately. So here he is, standing at the range, muddy fishing boots on, frying mushrooms which are splattering grease all over the newly cleaned range.

Enter my mom. Heated words were exchanged between this great couple who rarely fought over anything. The battle of words continued until my dad reached his boiling point. In one seamless motion, he shut off the frying mushrooms, walked over to the back door, and propped it open with one hand. He then flung the frying pan and mushrooms out the door into our back yard, which was four feet away from the door.


They were still sizzling when I went outside to retrieve them.

Lost?

My father was an avid fisherman and we often traveled far distances to fish at the most desirable locations. We fished a lot in New York's cities reservoir system. The bulk of their watersheds are in the Catskill Mountain region of New York State, which was about 2-3 hours from where we lived.
My trusty Datsun 1200 coupe also served as our sleeping quarters as we often stayed overnight. How 3 grown men got a good nights sleep in the back of this car still escapes me.

On this fateful summer trip, we fished at The Pepacton Resevoir,

a sprawling lake near Liberty, NY.  Our plan was simple, as we would arrive late afternoon, fish till it got dark, go back to the car, sleep, and then get up as early as possible and fish in the morning.

The path to the part of the reservoir we wanted to fish in was probably a mile long, all downhill to the water, all uphill back. It was almost as wide as a car, but overgrown in spots. It was probably there as a fire road. As it got closer to the water, it was much less defined and sort of petered out. We sauntered down with all of our fishing gear and some food and water as well, and spent that late afternoon fishing the resevoir. In the many times we fished there, I never encountered another fisherman in the area.

Nighttime came quickly and with that came a darkness that is only experienced when you are in a remote area like this where there is no ambient light at all. We had a few pretty crappy flashlights with us. We stowed our fishing stuff by some trees so we would not have to lug it back and forth to the car, and then we were ready to head back up the trail to our car.

As we turned towards the woods where the path was, one thing became alarmingly clear. While it was easy to see the path back to the car in the daytime, it was impossible at night. Everything kind of looked the same. We started to walk a pathway, only to have it dead end in a maze of prickly bushes and shrubs. Over and over again, we would think we found the right "entrance" to the fire road, only to find that it wasn't the right one. We went right, we went left, and became increasingly stressed as we wandered back and forth for probably an hour.

We had to get back to the car, as sleeping on the water's edge would have been meant not only a horrible nights sleep, but danger as well, as there were plenty of bears in these woods.  It was a hot summer's night and by this point we were very tired and thirsty, having finished the last of our water a while ago.

I know I speak for the three of us when I say we were scared and panicky. We also felt so dumb that we hadn't marked the entrance to the fire road back in some manner.  I for one had given up, imagining a pretty horrible, sleepless night , being sweaty, hungry, and thirsty.

I don't know if it was my dad or my younger brother who finally found the path after what seemed like an eternity. While we didn't wander like  Moses for forty years, it sure felt like it. It was so great to finally get back to our car, quench our thirst, and  eventually bed down for the night. We made plans right then as to how we would mark the entrance to the path the next time we fished at Pepacton.




I was speaking to my younger brother about this story a few years ago, and we were both reliving the experience. He then told me something I hadn't known. Just before we found the path, he had prayed fervently that we would. Thank God for answered prayers!

The Young Academicians Speech

Eighth  grade graduation was a pretty big deal in my town, so when one of my teachers told me I would be giving a speech during the ceremony I was pretty excited. I'm not really sure why I was chosen as I was not the valedictorian or even close . I was to be listed on the program as a "young academician."  Whatever that was.

Mr. B, who was the teacher who advised me of this honor, wrote out the whole speech for me and of course I spent many hours practicing it. I had the speech transcribed to some index cards, but after a short while, I had the speech down pat. Or so I thought.
The speech was in two parts, the first part being the longer part, followed by what was supposed to be a short pause, followed by me saying " honored guests, parents, blah blah blah. I present to you the class of 1967." I have absolutely no recollection of what my speech was about besides those words.

So the big day came that fateful day in June and the auditorium was packed to the rafters with family members and friends. My speech was to follow a stirring rendition of Bless This House sung by one of my classmates. I stepped lively up to the podium with my index cards with the speech on it tucked into my back pocket.  Brimming with all the confidence a cocky 13 year old can have, I was sure I would never have to even glance at my note cards.

Sure enough, I eloquently gave the first part of my speech, using the gestures and inflections I had so carefully practiced for several weeks. Then came the dramatic pause before I gave the "honored guests" part ending. So, I paused. Then, for some inexplicable reason, my mind went totally blank. I had no idea what I was supposed to say next. My mind was racing wildly. Should I grab the note cards from my back pocket? No, I reasoned, that would look awkward. I sought out Mr. B, hoping he could prompt me as to what the next words were. He shrugged his shoulders. I started to get really hot and nervously patted my hands against the sides of my suit. The audience started to realize I had forgotten the rest of my speech.

There was a quiet buzzing in the crowd as they too were unsure of what to do, or how this was going to play out. I looked out at the crowd hoping an answer to this nightmare was somewhere out there, but it wasn't! I don't know how long I stood there like a  clueless moron, but it still seems even today, like it was an eternity.

Then, without warning, the words came back to me. I finished off the speech and got what I thought was an extra loud round of applause from the relieved crowd.

I returned to my seat and one of my snarky classmates greeted me with the two words I would hear many times over the next few days: "nice speech".

The Sound Guy

My eldest son Greg has been a Beatles fan for as long as I can remember. It's not because of me or my wife, he just has loved them ever since he was a little kid. He has read dozens of books on them, seen every movie any of the Fab Four were ever in, and has collected much Beatles Trivia, including a beautiful quilt made by my sister.
For several years now, he has gone to The Fest For Beatles Fans which was created by a huge Beatle fan himself,

Mark Lapidos, who  thought that somebody should do something to celebrate the 10th Anniversary of The Beatles arrival in America - 1964-1974. It was at weekend of September 7-8, 1974 for the initial Fest , and they are still held to this day in the NY area, Chicago and LA.

Greg has been to many of these thru the years, and was the winner of The Beatles trivia contest one year.  His knowledge of them is encyclopedic. He decided to attend this years festival along with two of his cousins, who are also fans.

By chance, Greg happened to be in the area where the event in Jersey was being held this year on the day before the 3 day Fest was scheduled to begin. He decided to go into the hotel to look around and see what was going on. just out of curiosity's sake. Since he's attended the Fest many times at the same venue, he knew exactly what events would be taking place in the various banquet halls and rooms . He did see the techs setting up in the main ballroom and there were already sellers setting up their Beatles ware in the vendor room. He went over to the room where the trivia contest would be held, but there was nothing going on there. But, there was a nice piano in the room and Greg played his heart out for a good 45 minutes and then decided it was time to go.

He stepped out into the hall only to find Mark Lapidos, the founder of the Beatles Fest walking towards him . Greg greeted Mark, recognizing him from photos on the festival's website. They shook hands and Mark said, "Are you the sound guy?' Greg, thinking Mark had heard him playing the piano since the doors to that room had been open, responded "Yes".

Mark then told Greg that he was unhappy with the size of the tv screen in the media room where they run Beatles films all during the event and could Greg take care of that for him.  Greg then realized that Mark had mistaken him for one of the tech crew . For whatever reason, Greg did not correct Mark's mistaken identity of Greg and after clarifying as to what exactly what room had the small tv in it, Greg assured Mark he would take care of the matter immediately.

Greg found the room in question, noted the official hotel name: "The Diamond Room", and found himself agreeing with Mark, that the screen in question was indeed too small. He worked his way back to the one of the big ballrooms where he found a lone tech guy setting up . After determining that this particular tech guy could be of assistance, Greg explained to him what Mark's request was and was assured  that a tv with a much bigger screen  would be in place by start of the festival tomorrow.

Greg thanked him and then set out to find Mark to tell him that the issue was solved. Greg soon located Mark and said " Boss, there will be a much bigger screen in place by tomorrow, just like you asked" Mark was delighted .

On Saturday, Greg was sure to check out the media room during his time at The Fest, and sure enough, a much bigger tv had been set up.

Just another day!

Andrew Road The Boat Ashore

  As I have mentioned before on this blog, my parents had some unusual friends. Some of them were fishing buddies of my dad. There was Boris, a White Russian, who always wore a suit and tie when we went fishing. This sartorial attire was capped off by a pair of black high top Ked's sneakers

and a great hat.I know it's fashionable to wear sneakers with a suit in today's world, but trust me, Boris was not being hip!

Gentlemen of that era never went out in casual dress, according to my mom.

My dad's most frequent fishing companion was Andrew K, who didn't drive, and as a result. put enormous pressure on my dad to go fishing as often as possible, since without a car, his options were quite limited.  We did a lot of fishing in New York State's reservoirs in the Catskill Mountain region of New York State. My dad actually "parked" his boat on the shoreline of Ashokan Reservoir there for a few years as was permitted, so you didn't have to haul it in and out each time you went.

Well one day, I came home from school, and in our driveway was an old wooden boat on a boat trailer.

I was puzzled, as the boat was an old and very heavy wooden speed boat and we already owned an aluminum rowboat. My dad explained that all he wanted was the boat trailer,

but the guy who sold it to him said that the old boat was part of the deal, like it or not. My dad planned to dispose of the wooden boat.
Somehow, Mr. K got a look at the boat and told my dad that he was going to retrofit the boat and turn it into a rowboat that we would "park" at the reservoir for our use. Although my dad was skeptical of this plan,

 Mr. K was a stubborn old man who insisted this was a great idea.

As I mentioned, Mr. K did not drive and lived a fair distance from our house. So he took the bus back and forth to our house on almost a daily basis for several weeks so he could work for hours on the old boat. After several weeks of hard work and the purchase of the necessary materials,he was finished as he had transformed the old speedboat into a freshly painted rowboat.



The boat still weighed a ton. New oars were purchased as well a new chain and lock, so we could secure the boat to a rock or tree near the shoreline. The launching day arrived and we 
drove up to Ashokan Reservoir for the boat's maiden voyage. I can still remember how heavy the boat was and how excited  Mr. K was to have his own boat that he had put many man hours into to refurbish.
It didn't take but a few seconds for the boat to take on water, once we put it on the lake. The water came in from all over the  place and in a few short minutes, we all realized this boat was never going to be used again.

We somehow dragged it up onto the rocks on the shoreline where for all I know, there it sits until this day.

The Life and Times of an Indie Band- Part 3

We arrive at Spice, a Thai restaurant. During a sit down meal, the band usually turns off their smart phones and puts them into the center of the table, to ensure that everyone is paying attention. Food is quickly ordered and served. Before we eat, grace is said. Eating is an activity everyone involved enjoys and the food is often shared around the table. Tonight is no exception.
There's no time to tarry, so we quickly walk back to Webster Hall as the doors have started to open as it's already 6:30 PM. The Vespers announce themselves as band members so they can be let in at the stage door.

At some point, it's made known that there are 2 other "local" acts will be performing as well tonight. This does not go over well with the group, as it means they will performing last after 4 other acts. It's felt that the crowd will be burnt out by then. According to all, it's best to go on second, if there are three acts, and second if there are two. Going last with a five act lineup is to avoided at all costs. But, there is no changing things at this juncture.

The set list of what will be played tonight is handled by Callie . Taylor used to perform this important task, but says that the band realized that Callie had the better knack for knowing what was best for the crowd and the venue. Placement of new songs is also critical.

The "dressing room" is a tiny, barely furnished room off of the stage. The only amenity provided is bottled water. Demands for M&M's with the green ones removed  will not be honored tonight.
There's a real camaraderie among the musical acts and they are very gracious and friendly.


The manager of the venue lets everyone know that the show will be starting 10 minutes late. A pretty good crowd has gathered by 7:15 and there's well over a 100 people at one point. Most of them are there to see one of the local acts who has sold many tickets to their fellow students. The record company executive does show up to hear the Vespers play. By the time they do, it's almost 10 PM and the crowd has thinned out . Undaunted by the small crowd, The Vespers give it their all. They know that there might be (and in this case is) someone in the crowd that could be an important industry type.  Just as importantly, there are some in the crowd that came just to see them. They will not be let down.

Then, in what seems like mere minutes, the Vespers are playing their last song. In what will turn out to be over a 12 hour day, the actual performance is probably a little over a half an hour. Before you know it, the load out has been started up.

The Vespers and their partner band for this tour, Caleb, stand outside the venue, in the cold February night, say their goodbyes and wish each other a safe ride to the  venue they'll be playing together the next night in Virginia. Everyone settles back into the van. Bruno announces the meager payout to everyone. This night's check will cover expenses ,but not much more . There's more talk about being the last of 5 acts to play and how that is less than ideal. Pretty soon, the chatter dies down as we head back to New Jersey.Everyone is quickly back on their smart phones.

Later that evening, The Vespers find out that the van Caleb had been driving to Philadelphia has broken down on an interstate in Philadelphia. They do not know if they will be able to make the scheduled gig or not. If they don't what will the Vespers do without the shared drum kit that was in Caleb's van? That's another tale, for another day, on the road. 

Life and Times of an Indie Band- Part Two

With a great parking spot secured, The Vespers headed off to lunch with the recording industry executive. Caitie and I grabbed a cup of coffee at the nearest Starbucks and then headed back to the van where we discussed the future of the world....well maybe not the world but we did cover a lot of topics. Caitie had branched out from being the merch person, and she now handles the lights and audio when no audio technician is provided by the club. On this tour, the other band, Caleb has their own audio guy and this venue has  pretty sophisticated stage lighting. So there will be a lot less gear to unload as a result.

The Vespers are at a crossroads in their life as a band. The two sisters, Callie and Phoebe, are getting married in the spring. How this will exactly affect the band is uncertain.  The touring is fun, but is tiring and can be a grind. Can they attract attention of a record label and a subsequent larger audience? They need the backing of a label to appear on the late night talk shows. and to get the radio and internet play they would need to take them to the next level. For an independent band, they have done a lot on their own, including the release of 2 albums and with the publication of  two big articles on them in the Huffington Post. But the organic growth and their own drive will only take them so far.

Bruno, Taylor, Callie and Phoebe return from their meeting with the record executive. He will be attending tonight's show as he has never seen them live. His young daughter made The Vespers a cute card with some drawings representing some of their songs. While the meeting went well, no specific deal has been offered at this point.

For now, the immediate concern is unloading the van and getting all the gear down the flight of stairs of Webster Hall to the stage area. There is no elevator and the venue does not provide any assistance as is the case at most shows. The Vespers have done "the load out" hundreds of times and have it down to a science. Everyone pitches in . It is really cold and rather dark in the stage area. The other band, Caleb, is also unloading, and there is a  constant flow of young people lugging equipment. instruments, and hard cases down the stairs.

The load out is also a little easier today, because both bands are sharing a drum kit. It's now about 4pm, and I am getting hungry, as I haven't eaten since breakfast. The Vespers are used to it, as they rarely have three meals a day. When they first toured, they would rarely order an entree for each of them, as things were so tight financially.

The stage is soon filled with the drum kit, various other instruments, and sound equipment of all sorts. Caleb's sound guy begins the somewhat lengthy process of doing the sound check. He gets some info from Summer, the sound gal from Webster Hall, and then proceeds to have the Vespers play a few bars from every instrument. Once that is complete, he asks them to sing into their individual  microphones. Phoebe and Callie belt out some spiritual tunes, which sound wonderful. There's a lot of standing and waiting as the sound check goes thru it's arduous process.Yawns abound.

After what seems a cold eternity, the Vesper sound check is complete! A few of the band members are hungry. Taylor gets a tip on a good Thai restaurant that's just down the street, and the six of us are on our way for some much needed sustenance. Show time is still 4 hours away! To be continued.......

The Life and Times of an Indie Band

I've have developed a close relationship with the members of an independent musical band called The Vespers. These four young people, sisters Callie and Phoebe Cryar as well as brothers (not related to the sisters), Bruno and Taylor Jones , are a touring , singer-songwriter band who drive their sturdy van and trailer to venues coast to coast from their home base in Nashville, Tennessee.


Accompanying  them is Caitie Merz,  merch (merchandise) seller, roadie, and assistant to Bruno, who doubles as the band's manager.

They were recently booked to do a gig in Webster Hall, in New York City. When they play close to my home in Jersey, my wife and I open up what we now call The Chornomaz Inn, to them and let them know they are welcome to stay with us while they are in the area where we will feed and house them. When the  NYC gig came up and they asked if they could stay with us for two nights, I said of course, but texted Bruno  back to see if I could drive in with them, in the Vesper van, to get a real taste of what their touring musician life was like.  His one word text reply made my day: "Absolutely!"

We left my house about noon time as the band had a luncheon meeting with a record executive around one thirty, and the venue , Webster Hall, wanted them to set up around three in the afternoon  as the show started at 7 PM. On this tour, The Vespers were performing along with some other Nashville performers, Jillian Edwards, and a band called Caleb. Since the Vespers were going on last ,they might not be performing until after nine. So it was already apparent to me that it was going to be a long day.

I got to ride shotgun with Bruno, who does almost all of the driving. Once we all got settled in the van , Bruno hit the go button the GPS and we were off to New York City. I soon found out that we couldn't take the Holland Tunnel, as trailers are prohibited there...good thing Bruno was aware of the restriction. I was surprised at the lack of talking in the van as we started our journey. Everyone has an I Phone and was either emailing, phoning,tweeting, texting, web browsing or listening to music. There is a DVD player in the van, and many movies and television series have been watched by those not driving.

I asked Bruno if he listened to the radio while driving, and he said no, as he wanted to pay attention to the van's performance at all times. As you can imagine, gasoline is a big expense, as the van gets less than 10 miles a gallon. There is talk of getting a more fuel efficient van once there are funds to do so. The van has a lot of miles on it, and there have many breakdowns along the way, but they have always occurred on a day off, and the band has never missed a gig as a result of transportation issues.

Bruno's biggest concern today is parking, as the van with trailer takes up almost 3 parking spaces and NYC isn't exactly an easy place to park in the first place.
We are lucky today, as traffic is pretty light this Tuesday, and by 1:30 or so we pull up to the venue which is in the East Village area of downtown Manhattan. Bruno is delighted to see that the "loading only" parking space right in front of the venue is available and he deftly maneuvers the van in the spot. He feels we will be able to leave the van there the whole day, as he is certain that the traffic enforcement types will see the trailer and not ticket us. This is a glorious start to the day!
To be continued......

Those Were The Days My friends

Last night, I had dinner with five childhood friends of mine. I went to kindergarten with most of them (there was an AM and PM session) and then we grew up together until we graduated high school . They were all at our 30th high school reunion dinner in 2001. A chance meeting with one of them as I was boarding a plane from Memphis back to Newark a few years ago, got the two of us to try and organize a mini reunion once a year and we've pretty successful in doing that the last few years.
It's really weird to think that we've known each other almost 55 years! 55 years!
 What strikes me about our get togethers is first of all, the deep feelings that abound. Handshakes don't cut it anymore. Hugs are in. No one brags about what they do, or how much they make, or how pretty their wife and/or grand kids are. There are at any time, multiple  and loud conversations going on . The topics go from " is so and so dead?", to "when's the last time you saw her?', quickly followed by "and how does she look?".
Funny stories about how on one wonderful lunchtime on the playground one of them forever dispatched the bully that was bothering us all are followed by the recollection that one of our eighth grade classmates , Doug, ate his breakfast under the fire escape every morning. It consisted of 2 robust ham and cheese sandwiches on a roll washed down by a quart or two of Boller cola .
That tale was tempered by the fact that Doug had a bastard for a father, which lead to a life of crime, followed by a very early death. The conversation quickly switches to the next memory.
This year's get together is  dampened by the fact that one of our little group has stage 4 lung cancer. It's discussed, but not dwelt on. We know we're getting old. We know each of us is celebrating our 60th birthday sometime this year. We know most of our teachers have passed away. We're aware many classmates are also no longer with us.
But the five of us are committed to meeting annually . Until.

"Trust No One"

Right after graduating college, my first job was in a department store warehouse which was on the fourth floor of a old fashioned department store in Newark, NJ. Here, I supervised 30 women in a checking and ticketing operation of ready to wear goods. All the items for all of their 6 stores came to this combination store/warehouse and were processed and then transported to the other stores.

At the same time I was working at Hahnes ,my younger brother was attending my alma mater, Rutgers, on the Newark campus. When his class schedule matched my going into work schedule, I intermittently drove him to school and he would take the bus back home. Rutgers and Hahnes were no more than a mile apart.

 This area of Newark was rough, but not dangerous. Although, I can tell you that I would practically run to my car when it was dark, ever vigilant for would be muggers. The area had it's share of wacky people, like the older woman who would stand outside of her apartment , smoking a cigar, while constantly spewing forth an obscenity laced diatribe at some imaginary enemy. All this while dressed in a pink sweater, all year round.


On this day, my brother and I arrived pretty early in the morning to snag a precious parking spot. There were parking lots for a dollar, but that was way more than I had to spend most days.
So they were are, in my parked car with the windows rolled down, on a sunny fall day, waiting until it was time for us to go to  class and work respectively. A guy walking down the street comes up to the passenger side window and greets us in a most friendly manner. But alas, he needs our help! It seems that he is on his way to work, but has no money for gas that day. Is there any way we can "lend" him $5 for the gas.

How will he repay us? While, he'll be sure to meet us right back here tomorrow, same time! I stole a glance at my brother to get his reaction, which was non committal.
The guy seemed so trustworthy and  repeated his vow to repay me the next day.
So, I handed him over the five dollar bill and he profusely thanked us. He reminded me to meet him right on the same spot the next morning.
Like a moron, I waited for him the next morning for over a half hour.
Of course, he never showed up.