TALES FROM THE EDGE OF THE EARTH: STORIES FROM THE CONCERT LIST

by Grant McGee

It's one of those things that showed up on The Facebook that, at first, I didn't want to do.
It was one of those "participate in this" thingys:  "Listed below are 10 acts.  9 I've seen, one I haven't.  Guess which one."
Finally when a couple of pals posted their "9 I seen, 1 I ain't" list I decided to post mine.
But once I got started the memories just started rushing back.  One memory would trigger another reminiscence.
I posted a list of 19 acts I'd seen, 1 I hadn't.
The Canadian accused me of being a showoff.
The Car Salesman guessed the band I hadn't seen on the list of 20.  I had listed The Rolling Stones.  I never saw them, they were always playing stadiums and stadium concerts weren't my cup of tea.  He said he figured it out through "hillbilly logic."
But the memories kept flooding out of the recesses of my mushy hard drive (my brain).
I jotted down act names I remembered on scraps of paper while I was in traffic, a song would suddenly pop a concert back in my head.
Then I posted a new list on to The Facebook:

Listed below are FORTY-FIVE acts I've seen live, EXCEPT one which I didn't. Can you guess which one?
1) Stephen Stills
2) Leon Russell
3) Yes
4) The Allman Brothers Band
5) Dire Straits
6) Little Feat
7) Pure Prairie League
8) The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
9) Willie Nelson
10) Heart
11) Eddie Money
12) The Doobie Brothers
13) Jimmy Buffett
14) Chicago
15) Jim Croce
16) Seals & Crofts
17) Loggins & Messina
18) The Eagles
19) England Dan & John Ford Coley
20) The Marshall Tucker Band
21) Conway Twitty
22) Randy Travis
23) Wet Willie
24) John Martyn
25) Gordon Lightfoot
26) Boston
27) The Band
28) Dwight Yoakam
29) Heartsfield
30) The Bellamy Brothers
31) Waylon Jennings
32) Merle Haggard
33) Michael Martin Murphey
34) Los Lobos
35) Marty Stuart
36) The Edgar Winter Group
37) Rick Derringer
38) Lester Flatt
39) Bill Monroe
40) John Hartford
41) Iris Dement
42) Peter Rowan
43) Mark Chesnutt
44) Chris Hillman
45) Grand Funk Railroad
46) Steve Young

And the memories with those concerts came back.

1) Stephen Stills
This was the first concert I ever went to.  Early 1973.  Tickets were 3 bucks.  Stephen Stills of Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young fame had put together a band Manassas that had some good tunes.  Funny, one of the things I remember is they had rolled out a big rug on the stage that the band was playing on.  Maybe it was a lucky rug or something.  Come to think of it I saw Stills again in 1976 when I tried to get an interview with him for the college paper.  I was having dinner with my date, I spied Stills, went over, asked him for an interview later and he gave me this look that would kill.  His manager stepped in and said come see him backstage after the concert.  It turned out that I had not only blown that because they took off right after the concert but I blew it for my newspaper editor too.  He actually had an interview set up with Stills and me interrupting Stills' dinner had blown the whole deal.
I guess I had karmic payback though.  His warm-up act was Flo & Eddie, two dudes who had spearheaded the pop group The Turtles back in the 60's.  But these two took to the stage acting like two fourth-graders who had just discovered bad words.  They were rude, obscene and they seemed to be totally out of place at a Stephen Stills concert.
Halfway through their act my date excused herself to go to the restroom.
She never returned.
I didn't understand.
I wondered why she could'nt've just told me she was offended or whatever.
2) Leon Russell
Leon kicked ass in "The Concert for Bangladesh" playing "Jumping Jack Flash."  He came to my home town of Roanoke, Virginia in support of a triple live album he released in 1973.  It was like a road revue like he did with Mad Dogs and Englishmen with Joe Cocker.  Even had a little gospel concert going on.  One feature was while he was doing one of his songs a member of the band came out on stage dressed in an Uncle Sam outfit, twirling a cane and tap dancing.  Come to think of it that was the first time I saw the band "New Grass Revival," they were the opening act.
3) Yes
This was early 1974 and the band had just released "Tales from Topographic Oceans."  What I remember about this concert was somehow it seemed like the sound ricocheted all around the colesium.  That's about all I remember because I had taken Dead Lisa as my date, except she wasn't dead then.  I spent a lot of time at the concert wondering if I was going to get to "make out" with her afterwards.
4) The Allman Brothers Band
Sorry guys, but I have to say this was the second worst concert I ever went to.  I hung around until they played "Jessica" and I got to hear the Dickey Betts guitar solo then I took off.  The concert was like "Hey we're stoned and we're gonna just jam up here.  You audience people do your own thing."
5) Dire Straits
Never seen Dire Straits.  Would've liked to.  Mark Knopfler kicks ass.
6) Little Feat
One of my fave bands.  Saw them twice:  Once in 1988 at Virginia Tech and a second time at the Santa Fe Raceway in 1991 where they were the opening act for the Allman Brothers.  Little Feat finished their set, the Allman Brothers took to the stage, I left as a giant cloud of cannabis smoke suddenly lifted above the audience.
7) Pure Prairie League
The band of the moment.  Their album they recorded in 1972 suddenly exploded in the spring of 1975 with the re-release of the single "Amie."
8) The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Saw these guys twice.  Or was it three times.  Always remember how banjo virtuoso John McEuen handled a heckler, having great fun at the heckler's expense.  Quite difference as to how Stephen Stills handled a heckler yelling back at the dude, "If you're so f*cking smart why don't YOU come down here and do the f*ckin' concert."
9) Willie Nelson
Maricopa County Fairgrounds 1993.  I was on the second row.  The lady in front of me looked familiar, couldn't place her.  Then during the concert Willie says, "I'd like to say hello to my good friend, former governor Rose Mofford."  Ah!  That's who that was.
10) Heart
Saw them twice.  Just loved to watch Ann Wilson sing and sister Nancy kick ass on guitar.
11) Eddie Money
It was Eddie Money.  Yup.
12) The Doobie Brothers
These guys were my favorite live act.  How many times did I see them in concert, four?  Five?  Once they blew it when lead singer Tom Johnston left the band for a bit and was replaced by Michael McDonald and he took the lead on Doobs hits that Johnston sang, it just wasn't the same.  At the end of the concert it seems we were all looking at each other going, who the hell was that and didn't he suck.
13) Jimmy Buffett
Warm up act for an Eagles concert.  It was Jimmy Buffett.  The best part was his harmonica player Fingers Taylor doing a jammin' little tune "Dixie Diner."
14) Chicago
Worst concert I ever went to.  It was like, "Glad you all paid cash money to come to our jam session but we don't give a shit you're here."  No hits, all band jam stuff.  Me and Dead Lisa (except she wasn't dead then...I wonder what she would've said if I'd said, "Sorry to tell you but you're going to pass away in 36 years.")  
Anyway, we drove up to the lake outside Roanoke and pulled up off the road where we sat in the dark talking.  That's it, no hanky-panky, just talking.
I was hoping I'd get to "make-out" with her.
Then I heard footsteps in the woods, Dead Lisa did too.  
She said, "What's that?"  
"Those aren't deer," I said.
And just as I started the car...
BLINK
Flashlights on either side of us.
"Roanoke police," said a voice.  "What are y'all doing up here?"
"Talking," I said.
"Talking?" said the voice.
"Talking," I said.
Long pause.
"The lake is closed after sunset," said the voice.  "Y'all get on out of here."
I think they were disappointed.
But Dead Lisa and I weren't the only ones who left the concert.  My buddy Dax and Sailor Boy (we called him that because he had signed up for the Navy) were on a double date with The Cheerleader and her sister.
Along with a bottle of grain alcohol and some Strawberry Hill wine I had purchased for them with my fake ID.
The girls ended up getting sick.
Sick to the extreme.
So Dax and Sailor Boy rushed them over to the home of Mr. B our high school English teacher.
He got them back to normalcy.
I think about that now and realize if such a thing had happened today that it would've been trouble for Mr. B, Dax, Sailor Boy and me.  It would've been something that would've had the whole town abuzz and everyone up on charges of being a threat to national security or some overdramatic shit like that.
15) Jim Croce
Hampton, Virginia, August 1973.  On a double date with my pal Chuck Biscuits and his girlfriend.  They set me up with a girl who started kissing on me as we drove away after the concert.  
I didn't understand. 
Then a month later Jim Croce was dead in a plane crash.
16) Seals & Crofts
It was Seals & Crofts.
17) Loggins & Messina
Saw them twice.
Dug them each time.
Full of energy and fun.
18) The Eagles
Saw them twice in the same year:  1977.
The first time in Richmond, Virginia.  The second time in Roanoke, Virginia.
The second time I started a standing ovation after my anthem-of-the-day "Take it to the Limit."
I was drunk.
I wished I had taken my groovy cassette recorder into that concert.  Midway through it the guys started jamming on a tune, I mean it was Joe Walsh, Don Felder and Glenn Frey tradin' licks on a powerful jam that SUDDENLY broke into "Witchy Woman."  It kicked ass.
Now two years earlier when I took Dead Nancy to the prom (she wasn't dead then) the prom was held in a function room at the Roanoke Civic Center while in the colesium upstairs The Eagles were in concert.
Someone had started rumor that the guys were going to come down and replace the band that was playing once their concert was over.
Yeah...
THAT didn't happen.
19) England Dan & John Ford Coley
It was England Dan & John Ford Coley.
20) The Marshall Tucker Band
One of my favorite bands to pay cash money to go see.
For their January 1977 concert I snuck a cassette recorder into the colesium and caught them on tape.  I never wanted to make any money off of it or anything, just wanted it for my own collection.  Caught a jam on there of them doing "Will The Circle Be Unbroken."  Mighty fine.
21) Conway Twitty
Like the country music people say, "The best friend a song ever had."
He opened his show with his deep, resonant "Hello darlin'...."
22) Randy Travis
It was Randy Travis. 
23) Wet Willie
Funky, Southern, full of energy and fun.  Opened for Grand Funk.  Opened for Marshall Tucker.
One of those times I was right up front.
24) John Martyn
Guitar virtuoso, good stuff.
25) Gordon Lightfoot
It's good to see a legend.
26) Boston
February 1977, College of William and Mary.  They were just as tight and good live as they were on their big selling LP of the day.
27) The Band
I drove all the way to Charlottesville, Virginia spring 1976 for this concert, not for them, but to see their opening act, Chris Hillman.
28) Dwight Yoakam
Amarillo, Texas...spring 1993.  I got to go backstage and shoot the breeze with him before his concert.
It was a great moment in time and bummerly all I could think to say was how cool it was that he put The Indigo Girls on his newest CD.
29) Heartsfield
Opening act for the one Doobie Brothers concert that sucked.  These dudes were from the Midwest.  Best described as a "merrie" band of melodic hippies full of kick ass energy.
I went out the next day and bought all three of their albums.
30) The Bellamy Brothers
This was the in-between time for them...from when they had the big hit with "Let Your Love Flow" on the Top 40 pop charts and were morphing into a mainstream country act.  They came to hillbilly-land to play a local gym. 
The receptionist at the radio station where I worked was quite smitten by the boys.
31) Waylon Jennings
Salem, Virginia 1977...Amarillo, Texas 2000.  It was Waylon.  Waylon kicked ass.
32) Merle Haggard
Roswell, New Mexico 2003.  I was glad to go.
33) Michael Martin Murphey
Roswell, New Mexico 1991.  I fell asleep.  Though I have to say when I interviewed him the year before when he was going to be at the New Mexico State Fair it was a fun interview, like talking to an old party pal from college.
34) Los Lobos
Phoenix, Arizona 1993.  Good stuff.  I dug it when they broke into one of my all-time favorite songs "One Time One Night."
35) Marty Stuart
Salem, Virginia 1974...Amarillo, Texas June 2000.  Marty knows his shit.
36) The Edgar Winter Group
This was the last concert I took Dead Lisa to.  I think she thought I had a one-track mind.  What can I say.  I was 16 and a boy.  I had hormones, you know.
37) Rick Derringer
Opening act for The Edgar Winter Group.
38) Lester Flatt
Bluegrass legend appearing on a double bill with...
39) Bill Monroe
...THE Bluegrass legend.
40) John Hartford
One of my fave country-folk acts.
I even got to introduce him on stage one time.
I saw him 2 or 3 times in my time.
41) Iris Dement
The folksy country singer from the Heartland.
She took to the stage in Scottsdale, Arizona 1994.
Have you been to Scottsdale?
It's expensive to live there.
She looks out at the audience.
"I went window shopping around here before the concert tonight," she said.  She paused.  "Bet y'all don't have a Wal-Mart around here."
42) Peter Rowan
Legendary Bluegrass musician and all-around performer.
43) Mark Chesnutt
Mainstream Country singer who gave a great, tight concert in a high school auditorium in Sierra Vista, Arizona 1995.
44) Chris Hillman
Original member of the Byrds, The Flying Burrito Brothers, Stephen Stills Manassas and years after this 1976 concert I went to... The Desert Rose Band.
45) Grand Funk Railroad
After The Doobs, The Eagles, Little Feat, Marshall Tucker Band my 5th fave band to see in concert.
46) Steve Young
My all-time favorite musician.  Southern singer songwriter.  The man who gave the world "Seven Bridges Road."
I couldn't believe my good fortune when he came to Amarillo for a small coffehouse concert in 1993.
I was really amazed when he showed up in Tucson in 1994 with Katy Moffatt.
Oh, hey.  I forgot to put Katy Moffatt on the list.

TALES OF THE SOUTHWEST: A VISIT FROM A GUY FROM THE FBI

by Grant McGee

There’s a story out of El Paso about some dude who was standing outside the FBI office there with his camera.  Some FBI agents came out in their suits and ties, confronted him and took away his camera.

I reckon he never heard the old saying if you don’t want the bear to attack you don’t poke it with a stick. 

Actually that’s not an old saying, I just made it up.  But you’d figure people would have some common sense about such stuff.

This incident reminded me of the time I came face-to-face with a real, live FBI agent.

I was kicking back one sunny afternoon at my bicycle shop when a customer came in.  He seemed like an average Joe, dressed like an average Joe, just browsing around.

“Where are you from?” I asked.  I like to shoot the breeze with folks about where they’re from.  It lets my brain get away for a bit.  Besides, I might’ve been where they’ve been and there’s a conversation starter for you right there.

“Roswell,” said Mr. Customer.

“Oh hey,” I said, “I used to live in Roswell.  What do you do down there?”

“I work for the federal government.”

Federal government?  Roswell?  The first thing that popped in my mind, to me the biggest Federal presence that I knew of was the Bureau of Land Management.

“So you work for the Bureau of Land Management?” I asked.

“No,” said the customer.  “The FBI.”

A strange tingly sensation rolled over me.  The theme from the 1960’s TV show “The FBI” played in my head.  Visions of Efrem Zimbalist Junior, the star of the show, appeared in my head, kicking ass and taking names for AMERICA!

“So you guys are like lawyers with guns who have super psychoanalytical mind-reading powers, right?” I smiled.  I opened a drawer on my desk.  “Dang, no aluminum foil in here so I can make a hat to keep you from reading my mind.”

Mr. FBI smiled.

“So seriously,” I went on.  “Are all you guys law school dudes?  Highly skilled in argumentation and debate and stuff like that?”

“No,” he said, “My degree is in Electrical Engineering.”

 “Can I see your badge?” I asked.  “I’ve only seen them on TV, like on that FBI TV show with Efrem Zimbalist Jr. or Mulder and Scully’s badges on ‘The X-Files.’”

Mr. FBI fished around in his pocket and produced his badge.  It was a coppery thing about the size of an old-fashioned silver dollar.  It wasn’t in a little wallet thingy with his picture ID like Mulder and Scully flashed when they were investigating an X-file.  I silently wondered to myself if this dude was for real.  But I only silently wondered.  There wasn’t any way I was going to challenge him on if he was a real FBI agent.

“Cool,” I said.  “But doesn’t that come in a wallet thingy with your picture ID?”

“On television,” he said.

“So you ride a bike?” I asked.  “So you’re like…a normal guy with an engineering degree who works for Uncle Sam.”

Mr. FBI gave me a sideways glance.  He smiled again.

He bought some inner tubes and stuff and was on his way.

When I told my friend Texas Michelle I had a customer who was an FBI agent she looked at me sideways.

“He was just shopping,” I said.

“Oh SURE he was ‘just shopping,’” said Texas Michelle.

“Yeah,” I said.  “But you know, I did write that article that one time about the dude who came into my bike shop and was talking how Obama went to a ‘secret school’ run by the CIA in Hawai’I and I called “Bullsh*t” because my brother went to the same school years earlier.  Maybe they saw me writing about that as a problem.”

“Unh-hunh,” said Texas Michelle. “You know it doesn’t take much to get those people’s attention.  There was that time that we were driving back from Oklahoma and we slowed down to look at an 18-wheeler with some “We-guard-the-President” kinda cars as an escort…we were curious…and one of them leaves the convoy and gets right up on our bumper and follows us real close for a couple of minutes then left us alone.”

“Nah,” I said.  “He was just shopping.”

“Unh-hunh,” said Texas Michelle.

“Maybe he was checking me out over that article I wrote and decided I wasn’t a threat to national security.”

Texas Michelle burst out laughing.

“Nah,” I said.  “He was just shopping.”

At least I think he was just shopping.

I’m pretty sure.

I reckon he was.

                                                                                -30-

TALES OF THE SOUTHWEST: STUFF YOU CAN SPEND YOUR MONEY ON IN SANTA FE

The Plaza, downtown Santa Fe, New Mexico

By Grant McGee

It was what I called a “lightning trip” to Santa Fe.

I was living in Phoenix and knew a guy named Tom.  He had to make a run to Santa Fe to take a test for his New Mexico licensure which validated his Arizona teaching stuff or something like that.  All I knew is he was going to make the run from Phoenix to Santa Fe, take a test, then rocket back to Phoenix and he was looking for someone to ride along so it wouldn’t be so boring.

About 500 miles, about 8 hours each way.

“Sure, I’ll go,” I said.

I reckon I could write about the one-day adventure:  Hitting the interstate at 4am, rolling into Santa Fe around lunchtime, Tom taking his test then rocketing back to Phoenix by midnight.

I picked up a Santa Fe paper while I was in “The City Different” as they call it.  I amused myself with the articles…here was one about women awakening their inner she-wolf written by a woman who had had a mastectomy and covered the scar with a vine tattoo…here was another article about raising babies without diapers.  That if you just got in tune with your baby you would realize when they needed to “go” and the poop could go in a toilet and not sully the environment with another used disposable diaper.

But it was the ads that I found most interesting of all.

Ads for mostly “services” that people with copious amounts of money could spend their money on.

Aromatherapy.  Shiatsu I & II.  Santa Fe School of Healing.  COME TO THE SPRING PSYCHIC FAIR!  Know your “court card personalities” and how they affect your life…$25 registration fee, limited to 25 participants, session begins with a catered vegan buffet.

I wrote them down…

The School of Natural Healing…this city sure has a lot of “academies.”

Transformational Healing Therapy.  Kinesiology (workshops available).  Creative Core Energetics.  RHYTHM ART!  DRUMS AND GONGS!  COST $395 W/O ROOM AND BOARD.  GRADUATE AS A NATURAL THERAPEUTIC SPECIALIST.

Colon Therapy.  It would be years later that a dude at a party in Bisbee, Arizona would remark to me on how “high” he felt after having his colon cleansed, and how fascinating it was to observe his colon contents on display for him in an aquarium after the procedure.

“Excuse me,” I said.  “Someone is calling my name over here.”

More from the Santa Fe paper…BUY FRESH GOTU KOLA, FOR SALE IN MY SHOP, THIS IS THE KOLA FOR THE AQUARIAN AGE.  The Gurdjieff Movements, $485 tuition includes lunches, end of seminar traditional feast.  There was a picture of Mr. Gurdjieff from long ago, he wore a pointy hat.

And then there was a thank-you note in the paper…

“Thanks to all who made this possible for me, your income donated to me allowed me three days naked in the rain forest to help give me perspective to my life.  When I left they gave me vibhuti (holy ash) from Satya Sai Baba…I plan to spend the next 6 to 8 months in India visiting ashrams, trekking in Nepal and continuing my spiritual journey wherever that may lead.”

I tried to imagine me asking people for donations so I could wander the earth on my spiritual journey.  I couldn’t see this happening.

More commentary, more ads…

“To my surprise the native Maori are a warrior people!  I didn’t fee much attraction to them.”  “The author having her millet paste make-up done during the winter solstice festival.”

CREATE THE RELATIONSHIP OF YOUR DREAMS NOW!  Explore the essence of spirituality.  I AM AN EMPATH, $75 AN HOUR.  “She is a best-selling Native American writer of eastern tribe and European descent whose training began with Native Elders in Mexico where she journeyed into non-physical worlds.”

I can’t make this shit up.

Psychospiritual Healing!

Spritual Healing!

Psychic Surgery!

Practical application of gemstones and crystals for personal and planetary healing.  Ear Coning.  Vibrational healing.  Earn your apprenticeship in Color Puncture Catalyst for Transformation.  European medium available in Santa Fe.

Craniosacral therapy.

Then I put the paper down.

I closed my eyes, rubbed my eyelids and laughed.

“What,” asked Tom.

“All the bullshit you can spend your extra money on in Santa Fe,” I said with a smile.

“Who has extra money?”

“Ohh, you know,” I said.  “Trustafarians…”

“What’s that,” he asked.

“You know, people who live off trust funds.  They’re out there.  Trustafarians and people with lots of money in general and  people with extra money who need to fill a hole in their soul.”

“Who the hell has extra money like that?”

“Zackly,” I said.  “They basically just need to get out, grow up, live and be free.  But hell, if the people who spend money on this stuff stopped then I reckon the whole town of Santa Fe would blow away.”

“Naw,” said Tom.  “All the New Yorkers and Californians would leave and it would go back to being a New Mexican town.”

We both laughed.

                                                                                -30-

TALES OF THE SOUTHWEST: A RADIO GHOST STORY

A scene from The Great American Southwest: Looking across the scrub and juniper at the south side of the Capitan Range in Lincoln County, New Mexico.

by Grant McGee

Not too long ago I woke up in the middle of the night, a doorbell jarred me out of a sound sleep.

i looked at the time on my bedside clock: 1:30. I settled back under the covers.

I don’t have a doorbell. 

I noted the time in case something happened to someone from my circle of family and friends that morning, that way I’d know they had dropped by to say goodbye. I believe in cosmic woo-woo stuff like that.

That’s happened to me twice: When my mom died a couple of years ago and when a fellow disc jockey clocked out when I lived in Arizona.

It’s been 22 years since Chris the morning disc jockey called me a half-hour after he died in a car wreck. Some might say I’m mistaken...that he called me....but that’s what I believe. 

I was operations manager for three radio stations under one roof. The boss thought I was “too country” for his country station so he made me his ops manager. I was glad, at least I got to keep a job. Chris was the morning DJ at the rock station. He was very popular. 

The last time I saw Chris he was on his way out the radio station door on a sunny Friday afternoon.  His work day was done.

“Have a great weekend, Grant.”

I looked up from writing a commercial, “You too, Chris.” I watched as the screen door closed behind him and he walked off into the afternoon sun. Later I would wish I’d said something better. I think we feel that way when someone we know is abruptly yanked off the stage of life.

Saturday morning my phone rang at 4:30. It was an automated voice. Many radio stations these days have an automated alarm system that calls a list of people when something goes wrong with the equipment. I was second on the list.

“Station three. Intruder, fire, flood.”

I hadn’t heard this message before from “station three,” the rock station. I'd gotten calls about station one and station two but not station three.  I entered a code into the phone and went back to bed. I lived a half-hour away. If something was wrong at the station the engineer, first on the list, ought to be able to handle it.

That morning after I woke up I was bothered by something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Around 10 a.m. I had an urge to call the station. Silly, I thought, it’s Saturday, no one’s there. But the urge to phone in was strong.  

The general manager answered. 

If I expected no one to be there I REALLY didn’t expect the GM to be in the building.

“What are you doing there, Ken?” 

“Grant, I need you to come in, Chris died this morning.”

“What?” I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me.

“He and a friend were on their way back from a party in Tucson when his pal fell asleep at the wheel.  They ran off the road and into an embankment.  Chris wasn’t wearing his seat belt. He went right through the windshield. I’m here with a trooper going through our files trying to find next of kin.”

Ken went on to tell me he needed me and another DJ to come to the station right away and re-voice all the commercials that Chris had on the air.

“We can’t have a dead man’s voice on the air,” Ken said. “It’s not right.”

Days later when things settled down I was having a conversation with Bill, our radio engineer. “You know, I got a call Saturday morning from the alert system, ‘station three, intruder, fire, flood,’” I said.

“I was home Saturday morning, it didn’t call me. Besides, the burglar alarm isn’t wired up.”

“It didn't call you?  You're first on the list.  It called me.”

“No, that’s not logical.” Logically is how a lot of radio engineers think. If it ain’t broke they can’t fix it, if it ain’t wired up there’s no way it can work. “I’m first on the list, you’re second. It would have called me before you and I didn’t get a call. Plus station three isn’t hooked up.”

“Well I got the call.”

Bill shrugged his shoulders and walked away.

Then it dawned on me. Station three was Chris’ station. The accident happened around 4 a.m. The call came a half-hour later.

Before Chris journeyed on to wherever we journey to when it’s all over, did he drop by work to take one last look around? Did he want me to know he’d dropped by?

I think so.

It makes a good story, anyway.

-30-

TALES OF THE SOUTHWEST: A NEW DATE FOR DOOMSDAY

Looking across the San Pedro River Valley in Cochise County, Arizona between Bisbee and Tombstone.  The range in the distance are the Huachuca Mountains near Sierra Vista.

By Grant McGee

                It didn’t happen in 2000 with Y2K, it didn’t happen in 2011 when some church dude said it would and it didn’t happen in 2012 with the end of Mayan Calendar.

                Talking about Doomsday, the end of the world.

                Now there’s a new date for Doomsday:  January 13, 2020.

                I got the word from Georgia the other day.

                Apparently some Earth Mother type has done an astrological reading and told a small group that something will happen that day…It could be Doomsday, could be a worldwide catastrophe, whatever.

                This is apparently a pretty small group that believes this, I did an Internet search on the topic and couldn’t find a thing.

                I don’t know why folks seem to be preoccupied with the end of the world.

                I remember another time when some people thought the world as we knew it would come to an end.  It was 1997 when some “New Age” folks predicted our world would change from one made of matter to one made of anti-matter.

                There would be three days of darkness.  All machinery would stop working, except for water systems.  I thought it was interesting there’d still be tap water.  We would emerge on the other side of the darkness converted to anti-matter.  Well, everyone except those who had too many alpha particles attached to them.  Alpha particles were negative-angry thoughts and if you had too many the three days of darkness would be illuminated by folks burning up like 4^th of July sparklers.  Everyone was told to boost their good, positive thoughts, make things right with those you’re angry with, forgive… to eliminate alpha particles.

                At the time I was living in Bisbee, Arizona.  Weekly seminars on this stuff were conducted.  I had nothing else to do on Tuesday nights so I went.

                Changing into anti-matter would’ve been interesting because anti-matter didn’t deteriorate like matter does, according to the seminar teachers.  So one could live forever, walk through walls and stuff like that.  You would no longer just smell a rose bush, for instance, you could walk into the rose bush and become one with the rose bush.  That would mean The Sex would be a whole different ball game.

                The expected date came and went.  One by one folks stopped coming on Tuesday nights.   I packed it in when one of the attendees said the change was still coming because her vacuum cleaner and toaster were developing intelligence and rebelling against her.

                “My vacuum cleaner was in the living room this morning,” said the woman speaking in a hushed tone, eyeing every one of us around the room.  “I didn’t put it there.  It moved there on its own.”

                There were nods of agreement and some “oohs” and “aahs.”

                Yep, time to leave that group behind.

                I remember kicking back with some friends and telling them about the stuff discussed in the meetings.

                “What do you think the end of the world would really be like?” I asked my pals.

                There was this long silence.  You could’ve heard a pin drop.  Sideways glances were exchanged.

                Finally, one of my friends spoke up.

                “I think everyone would be really, really thirsty.”

                Hmm, something to ponder.

-30-

TALES FROM THE EDGE OF THE EARTH: FOUND NOTES AND SUCH

Actual factual grocery list I found in the parking lot of a supermarket.

By Grant McGee

“Hi Boo!  Wot u been?  2 me nuthin.  Just chillin –n- thinking bout u so bored.  Miss u yo bad azz is green.  Did u tell Cheldra sumthin bout Keyshawn –n- dnt let Nekeyla read our notes cuz all she do is tell everybody wat we be talkin bout 4 it take u so long 2 write me bac c if u can cum 2 mi hous dis weekend well mi gum hav no mo flavor so bye talk later kisses BYE BOO”

So read part of the note I found on the ground while I was out for my walk with my dogs.

There was something going on in this note but I couldn't quite put my finger on it.  Probably a little "he'n and she'n," as my boss euphemistically called The Sex, was in the air.

I like found notes.

To me, they’re a real indicator of the human condition.

I mean it’s not like reading a diary or anything.  I don’t know who wrote it and if they chucked the note to begin with what can it hurt?

I used to save such notes, I was going to write something extensive about them, but didn’t.

I remember them though.

There was the one I found in the street in Phoenix complete with a drawing of a scowling sun and a spike-collared pit bull on a chain.  Someone had written “The cop and the gangbanger,” a bit of writing devoid of punctuation that detailed a gangbanger making friends with a policeman and how the gangbanger didn’t know how to feel when the policeman shot and killed the gangbanger’s friend.

There was the grocery list written by the person who had apparently been in school the day they taught the lesson on apostrophes but may have been daydreaming when they got to the part on usage.  On the list were things like:  “Tomatoe’s, tortilla’s, hamburger bun’s,” etcetera.

One gem I found while perusing the pages of an old book at the Salvation Army Thrift Store.  A guy had written a note to his significant other explaining his need to pleasure himself because “I’m not getting enough loving from you.”  By the way the note was written apparently his significant other had walked in on him whilst he was having a “hand party.”

I’ll always pick up a note off the ground just to see what people are up to.

That is, unless, it’s covered with some weird schmutz.

                                                                                -30-

TALES OF THE SOUTHWEST: WALTZ LESSONS FROM THE OLD HORNDOG

Driving toward the extreme SW corner of New Mexico and SE corner of Arizona.  The mountains are in Arizona.

By Grant McGee

“Waltz across Texas with you in my arms.  Waltz across Texas with yooooooooo…”

The crooner with the country band was giving his best to cover the old country standard Ernest Tubb recorded years ago.

“Like a storybook ending I’m lost in your charms, and I could waltz across Texas with you…”

“That’s a waltz,” I told The Lady of the House pointing matter-of-factly to the crowd on the dance floor.

The Lady of the House and I were out on the town.  We stopped by the local senior center.  She had read in the paper that a bluegrass band would be jammin’ at the center.

“You know,” I said as we walked through the parking lot, “We’re probably going to be the youngest ones in here.”

We walked in the door and surveyed the situation.

It was all dark except for the two glittering mirror balls on the ceiling and the stage where the band was playing.

“We’re the youngest ones in here,” said The Lady of the House.

We moseyed over to a corner of the room and had a seat.

“That ain’t no bluegrass band,” I said.  “But they’re pretty good.”

The band went through a bunch of classic country tunes by Hank Thompson, George Morgan and others from that classic country era about the time she and I were born.

I sang along with a few of the tunes.

“How do you know these?” she asked.

“My first radio job back in the mountains, lots of requests for stuff like this.”

And then they were playing a waltz by Ernest Tubb.

“Ernest Tubb once pulled up beside me at a gas station in Buchanan, Virginia back when I was in high school,” I said.

“Did you get his autograph?” asked The Lady of the House.

“Naww,” I said.  “I really wasn’t into country music then.  But I knew who he was from being over at Catfish’s house and his dad would watch ‘That Good Ol’ Nashville Music’ TV show in the evenings after work.

I pointed to the people on the dance floor.

“Waltzing,” I said.  I spoke the dance steps out loud.  “1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3…”

“No,” said The Lady of the House, “it’s 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4…”

“No,” I said.  “The ‘4’ doesn’t fit in there.  It’s 1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3…”

“No,” she said, “it’s 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4…”

I then invoked the name of an old friend who has since gone ‘on to Glory.’

“He taught me about waltzing, he was the authority on it,” I said.  “And he had a lot of respect for you.”

“He was an old horndog,” said The Lady of the House.

I gasped.

“My buddy?  My bro?  A horndog?” I said.  “What’s your definition of a horndog?”

“Someone who’s always flirting with women,” she said.

My old pal, a horndog?

I thought about my old buddy who caught “The Cansuh” and died.

When I came to the West I didn’t know much but over time he taught me a lot, things like when you pointing a direction you don’t point with your index finger, you point with your thumb kinda tucked in your palm so that your four fingers are pointing off to the side but the thumb is pointing in the right direction.

He taught me history, like there used to be a few brothels on the south side of the railroad tracks in Clovis, New Mexico and that’s where he experienced his…ahem…’first time.’

When he saw I couldn’t dance for shit out on the dance floor of the bar on the south side of Roswell he told me the steps for the key dances of the west:  The Two Step, The Waltz, The Cotton Eye Joe followed by The Schottische.

I never got the hang of the Cotton Eye Joe and the Schottische but I remembered two-stepping.  The two step wore me out after about three turns on the dance floor because I had to keep reciting the dance steps to myself:  “Step-touch-step-touch-walk-walk.”  Those were the instructions on how to move your feet. 

I couldn’t even carry on a decent conversation because the words kept going on over and over in my head:  “Step-touch-step-touch-walk-walk.” 

And waltzing was “1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3…”

Then I thought about my buddy, thought about some of the things I saw, some of the things he did.  I kinda thought it was sad he never wrote down all his stories.  And I thought about what a charmer he was with the ladies and…

“Well dang,” I said to The Lady of the House.  “I reckon he WAS an old horndog.”

“I didn’t say it like a bad thing,” she said.  “I was just stating fact.  Your old pal was a horndog.  And waltzing is 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4…”

“Why yes,” I said.  “Yes it is.”

“Now,” said The Lady of the House, “Why won’t they play any Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys?”

“Probably because we’re in Florida,” I said.

-30-