Fathead Newman on the afternoon jazz show.
Whenever Ray Charles was in Dallas, Fathead would fall by
Woodmen Hall and sit in with the house band, the Red Tops.
He would have tenor battles with James Clay reminiscent of those
between Gene Ammons and Sonny Stitt, or Dexter Gordon and Wardell Gray.
Sometimes with Leroy Cooper on baritone. One time I was riding with Bobby Bradford
to the gig and the cops pulled us over. They wanted to know what I was doing in a car
with a colored person. "The only reason a white kid comes to niggertown," the policeman said,
"is for pussy or drugs." I thought about saying, "What about music, officer?
Can't you see we're headed to a jam session? What about jazz, sex, and dope."
But I kept my little ofay mouth shut. Who did I think I was? Jack Ruby?
Candy Barr was Mickey Cohen's girlfriend. She went to jail
and kept her mouth shut. They got her on a marijuana beef.
Whew, Jesus--life is not fair.
What a waste. My public radio station
is not broadcasting the Metropolitan Opera
this season. You have to stream it live on their website
or buy an HD receiver. No more FM broadcast.
As Nixon said to Harris of the Post, "Fuck the poor."
"But, sir? What about the poor?"
Where the Buffalo Roam.
I identify with Hunter S. Thompson.
Apropos of hippies and law enforcement.
The only job you can get during a Republican administration
is narc or prison screw. Perhaps something harmful or destructive to
the environment. Snail darters of the world, unite! How?
Save the Whales 1, Nuke the Whales 10.