pyroguysr's Diaryland Diary

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BRUSH WITH FAME

This one is for HissAndTell.

Back in the late 70�s, when I was far more to the left of center, I had an interesting group of friends, lived in a commune in San Diego with a bunch of other �political� hippies, generally smoked stuff that was bad for my lungs � and my brain � and was poor, drinking �Lucky� beer because it was (back then) $1.69 per 12 pack and had little picture-grams in the cap that would get easier as you got drunker and slurred the words describing the pictures together.

Yeah, that was a helluva run-on sentence for someone who is supposed to be a writer, isn�t it?

And it has absolutely nothing to do with this story other than introduce it.

One of those friends of mine � perhaps my favorite of our �extended family� of radicals and communists, was a guy by the name of Kent Hudson. He intrigued me because he�d been on the civil rights marches in Birmingham in the 60�s, had protested on the Capitol Mall when the Reverend Martin Luther King gave his �I Have A Dream� speech. He�d ridden segregated busses to protest that. And he was an interesting guy. I loved listening to his stories about meeting the likes of Pete Seeger and Odetta.

Now, at that time, I was quite taken with a female singer that I�d first discovered on Joe Cockers �Mad Dogs & Englishmen� album. Her name was Rita Coolidge. Half-Cherokee Indian, she was gorgeous to me. I bought every single one of her LP�s at the time and would play them whenever I could. This amused Kent because he said he knew her as well. This time I didn�t believe him and told him so.

About 6 months later, in August 1977 I think, I�d received some cash from my parents for my birthday and I splurged a little by buying tickets to a concert I wanted to see. Actually, a bunch of us were going to it. Another friend - a Canadian named Alan Lane who was 10 years older than I and I was his sometimes roommate � got me hooked on another singer named Kris Kristofferson after explaining to me that Janis Joplin did NOT write that song (but that she WAS the �Bobbie Magee� he referred to). I was supposed to go over to Alan�s house to get a ride, but I also received an offer from Kent to have dinner at his house and meet a relative of his. I tried to back out, but he was insistent.

So, I went to Kent�s house � late of course. I�m supposedly going to be late for my own funeral as well. But I arrived in time for pork chops and mashed taters, meeting his cousin, Chris (who he didn�t always get along with because, according to him, Chris was a bit on the pompous side). I found Chris and his wife to be wonderfully funny and full of all sorts of stories as well. I enjoyed it when Chris told me of his travels around the country and how a college education doesn�t necessarily translate into a job.

Chris was pretty clean-cut, but he was definitely country. I sorta discounted him, wondering why a guy with his education had to mooch off his poor cousin for dinner and such. Chris�s wife was pretty, but she could have used some makeup and her hair, being in pigtails on either side of her face, didn�t do anything for her. She was tall and slender though. Flirted with me nicely, but generally kept quiet.

After 45 minutes I said I �had to go.�

�Where ya off to?� asked Chris, �Maybe we can give you a lift?�

�No, no. I�m just going two blocks over to my friend, Alan�s. We�re going to a concert tonight.�

His face lit up and he gave me a sly grin.

�Oh really? Who you going to see?�

�A favorite of Alan�s. A guy named Kris Kristofferson and his wife Rita Coolidge. I love her voice! I�m hoping she sings �Whiskey, Whiskey� and he sings �Jesus Was A Capricorn� tonight. Those are my favorite songs by them.�

�Really?� said Chris, �Not �Bobby Magee?� I�d think that�d be yer favorite.�

�Not really. The last one is overplayed. I like the odder stuff.�

�Sounds like we have something in common. Me and the old lady are going to that concert too. Sure we couldn�t give you a ride?�

�Thank you very much,� I said (having been raised to be polite and also not wanting to be stuck with a country hick rather than smoking some primo stuff on the way there), �My friends are expecting me.�

�Where you sittin�?� he asked, �Maybe we can look you up when you get there!�

:I gave him my row and seat number (8 rows from the stage at Golden Hall and a couple seats to the left of center).

�We�ll see you there then!�

Two hours later, I�m nicely stoned and sitting 8 rows from the stage, slightly left of the center, the lights go down and out walks Kris and Rita. My jaw drops.

�Rita and I are going to start out with two songs we both love,� he said to us. �They�re the favorites of a friend of ours that we had dinner with tonight! You out there, Jack?�

The spotight swung around and landed on that seat, 8 rows from the stage and slightly left of center. Everyone in my group looked at me. And he and Rita launched into �Jesus Was a Capricorn,� followed by a smoky rendition of �Whiskey, Whiskey.�

The bastard had shaved off his beard!