Quote from: A Friend of Charlie on September 19, 2024, 01:35:15 PMQuote from: razgueado on September 19, 2024, 01:27:37 PMQuote from: Travellin Dave on September 19, 2024, 12:14:12 PMwith...The picture of "ST" is Sylvia Tyson.Attached is a picture of the recently deceased Jerry Miller (ex-Moby Grape) playing my 1961 Gibson B-25 12-String. This guitar has some battle scars that it picked up playing the main stage with my dad at the Monterey Folk Festival in May 1964. My dad and his group The Village Criers had played the small stage and were not supposed to play the main stage, but were tapped to do so because Ian and Sylvia Tyson had to cancel owing to Ian being ill. That might have been a career break for my dad, except that mere weeks later he was driving his manager's Triumph Spitfire near Santa Cruz, lost control, rolled it, and was nearly killed. He spent the next couple of months in the hospital, then recuperating at home in a hospital bed where I was, ahem, inadvertently conceived sometime in August. Ultimately that pretty much kiboshed my dad's musical career.That's very cool story... Except for the conception part. Actually, the really cool part of the story of me is this...I was a scandal. My dad was the grandson of one of the leading citizens of Los Gatos, California. My mom was the daughter of a real estate broker who was president of the local Junior Chamber of Commerce and member of the school board. It was a small town. Both families were pillars of Calvary Baptist Church, the local Conservative Baptist Church. My mom comes up pregnant in October of 1964. Dad's family - the Spotswoods and the Holtz's - handled it. My mom's family, the Everetts, who could have been used as textbook entries for various neurotic disfunctions, manifestly did not. They sent mom to Aunt Frances Clark in Indio. Aunt Frances had been the accountant for a local doctor in Indio who had been caught performing abortions. Frances knew how to get this taken care of. Meanwhile, my dad is trying to track my mother down. Her parents won't tell him where she is. In a moment of clarity - rare for a 17-year-old who was still recovering from a near-fatal car accident - he figures out where she is, tracks down a phone number, gets through to Frances, and convinces her to put Cathy on the phone. "Come home," he says."What are we going to do?" she asked."I don't know, but we'll figure it out."They made it 49 years, and then cancer took Cathy. They were cuddling in yet another hospital bed in a living room two nights before she died. The irony did not escape me.
Quote from: razgueado on September 19, 2024, 01:27:37 PMQuote from: Travellin Dave on September 19, 2024, 12:14:12 PMwith...The picture of "ST" is Sylvia Tyson.Attached is a picture of the recently deceased Jerry Miller (ex-Moby Grape) playing my 1961 Gibson B-25 12-String. This guitar has some battle scars that it picked up playing the main stage with my dad at the Monterey Folk Festival in May 1964. My dad and his group The Village Criers had played the small stage and were not supposed to play the main stage, but were tapped to do so because Ian and Sylvia Tyson had to cancel owing to Ian being ill. That might have been a career break for my dad, except that mere weeks later he was driving his manager's Triumph Spitfire near Santa Cruz, lost control, rolled it, and was nearly killed. He spent the next couple of months in the hospital, then recuperating at home in a hospital bed where I was, ahem, inadvertently conceived sometime in August. Ultimately that pretty much kiboshed my dad's musical career.That's very cool story... Except for the conception part.
Quote from: Travellin Dave on September 19, 2024, 12:14:12 PMwith...The picture of "ST" is Sylvia Tyson.Attached is a picture of the recently deceased Jerry Miller (ex-Moby Grape) playing my 1961 Gibson B-25 12-String. This guitar has some battle scars that it picked up playing the main stage with my dad at the Monterey Folk Festival in May 1964. My dad and his group The Village Criers had played the small stage and were not supposed to play the main stage, but were tapped to do so because Ian and Sylvia Tyson had to cancel owing to Ian being ill. That might have been a career break for my dad, except that mere weeks later he was driving his manager's Triumph Spitfire near Santa Cruz, lost control, rolled it, and was nearly killed. He spent the next couple of months in the hospital, then recuperating at home in a hospital bed where I was, ahem, inadvertently conceived sometime in August. Ultimately that pretty much kiboshed my dad's musical career.
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