Old Ladies Can Too Remember Rock and Roll

Just the other day I was ‘talking’ to one of my ministers about being a musician. The email conversation started with the discussion over my availability to play for their church in the absence of their pianist. Alas, I was already booked and the response was, “That’s because you are toooooooo popular.”
My answer: No, just a cheap piano picker
Reply: At least not a cheap and easy piano picker!
Me: You may not know it, but I was a nightclub musician for many moons and we musicians have a reputation to live 'down to' ~ there's a very fine line that separates us from the dark side. As we mature, we graduate from the smoky stage to more respectable venues such as playing the church organ. As we age we get weaker, and the fine line is more difficult to walk. The dark side has a large vacuum just waiting for the frail and unsuspecting to walk that line dividing respectability and the previous life we lead in the caverns of secular life. About the time we retire from playing for the church, the automaton on the dark side switches on and drags us over. That's the only explanation for how we little old lady organists get siphoned from our side of the continuum to the other side where we take up drinking and cursing.
Reply: Oh, really?
Me: Well, maybe it only happened to me. Curses be upon that Canadian Whiskey!


Ah, back in the day of live music and not DJs with turntables.

In 1972, my best-guy-friend and trumpet section buddy, Steve, invited me to play in a band. I was all of sixteen years old and weighed about 75 pounds. I had long red hair and no shape to speak of, but I could play the trumpet as well as any upper classman and some college students. We played most of the music that was currently on the dance hit list and a lot of oldies from Percy Sledge’s “When a Man Loves a Woman” / Marvin Gaye's “Let’s Get It On” / The Temptations’ “Just My Imagination Running Away With Me” to the more contemporary music of bands such as Chicago and Blood, Sweat & Tears.

Most of our gigs were in local bars, er, uh, I mean establishments, including a club in Port Arthur on Hwy 73 just outside the city limits. I can’t for the life of me remember the name of it, but the stage was protected by chicken wire. For those of you who can remember the movie “The Blues Brothers” you will have a perfect mental image of this place. They had to bring me in through a back door to the stage because I was underage for front door entry. However, I was grateful that the chicken wire was a barrier between me and the creatures on the other side. I also had all six of my male band members to protect me. (My parents had no clue where we played most of the time. They were invited to venues like the Southeast Texas State Fair and church youth functions.)

Those years were an absolute blast. I had the freedom of an adult most young people wished for, and I was part of a music group that was really, really very good. We had a great sound. I was both proud and giddy to be part of the world of performing music live on stage. The late nights didn’t bother me. The later the hour the more pumped up I would get. Even considering the dark elements involved with nightclub musicians, the band was one of the things that kept me feeling alive. Music was also one of my escapes from a home life I considered unbearable.

The band stayed together through a number of member changes and the musical evolution of the seventies dance genre. It expanded to a ten member group named “The Sound Express” with three trumpets, one trombone, a keyboard/singer, lead guitar, rhythm guitar, bass guitar, a drummer and a soloist with several of us singing backup vocals. In 1974 I married the bass player, and several of the guys, including Steve, were in the wedding. I remained active in the band until 1977 when I decided to take a step back and concentrated my life on becoming a mother.

Fast forward to the year 2000. I was in the process of auditing the membership records of a large Methodist church in League City and utilized several good search engines to locate members who had moved away. While doing so, I searched high school web sites to look for old friends of whom I had lost sight. I tried several times to locate Steve. Last I knew he had moved to San Antonio to be a horticulturalist for Breckenridge Park. He was one of those friends who was probably the closest person to me during our junior high and high school band years. He was my sounding board and traveling companion on band trips. He was who I cried on when my boyfriend dumped me, and he is the person who introduced me to the young man I married - the father of my daughter. I had a nagging feeling that I needed to hear from him, just enough to say hello and talk about how the time had passed. For some reason it was important to me. Maybe I was just getting older and mentally reliving the glory days of the past.

I gave up the search because I hit brick walls at every turn. In the meantime, I found other friends like Gwen and Sheila. Life went back to normal routines, leaving the glamour of my young music days behind.

Until Facebook came along . . .

When Facebook is opened you find that one friend has logged on to invite you to be their friend, and a link to someone else is seen. Another friend is made and poof, you are back in high school and college, only now we are bragging on grandchildren or showing pictures of our children’s weddings, pictures of cars and motorcycles we would have loved to own in our younger days and sharing the joys of travels we couldn’t afford while we were starting families. On the click of the mouse I spotted Steve’s brother. I made the connection and asked the question I was afraid would have the response I felt in my heart I would hear, but still hoped “doing well and getting old like the rest of us” would be the words on the screen. Yet, it was not to be. I read the words that told me my dear friend left this earth about ten years ago - right about the time I was searching for him.

The news of his loss brought my day to a standstill. The ache that tightened my throat and around my heart was so strong I left my office and had to walk outside. I have lost so many music and art friends in recent years. I had bitter words for myself because I didn’t try harder to find him those many years ago. I never had the chance to tell him how much I cared for him, how much his friendship meant to me, how much he had influenced my life. Steve never knew that our shared laughter on those hot bus rides to and from band functions was often the only joy I had in my week. And, had it not been for his invitation to join a band, I would not have met the father of my daughter ~ I would have never known the joy of my daughter’s love and friendship.

For all these things, my dear friend Steve, I thank you. Someday I hope to embrace you, and you will know how much you meant. Until then, you will remain a fond memory for whom my heart will quietly weep.