O-Bay Scooplaws
We planned to leave for California at midnight hoping for lighter traffic and avoidance of the excruciating heat the Souther Route is so famous for. But it was nearing 2:30 and the truck still did not have the drum set loaded. There was a nervousness in the air. Our parents had seen us off hours ago, telling us to be careful, the usual things they say when they finally accept that they no longer have any say in what their children are going to do.
The truck only held three in the cab so one of us would have to ride in the back, but we had a tarp over the bed of the pickup to protect our equipment so whoever was there would not be subjected to the wind.
I started out in the cab. We listened to the all-night radio stations as we crossed the country. My turn to be in the back came somewhere in Arizona. It didn't go so well for me as I found the isolation and the flapping tarp challenging my mental state. I tried to sleep as best I could.
When we arrived in San Francisco we had no real plans other to be a part of what was happening and try to get gigs. The only place we knew about in San Francisco was the Jefferson Airplane house on Fulton Street across from Golden Gate Park. The band members all lived in this huge house. It was famous. So we went there. That sounds silly from today's standards, but in that time, it made perfect sense.
We stood in front of the door for what seemed like a long time before someone rang the bell. A young man with shoulder length hair and rose colored glasses opened the door and gave us a huge smile.
We stammered trying to explain who we were and why we were there, even though we knew the only explanation was that we were lost children who had no place to go. But before we could say more, the man put a finger to his lips to quieten us and then motioned us into the house.
He led us into the main living space. On a low chair we saw Grace Slick looking far more beautiful than any photo had shown. She was talking quietly to a man with frizzy hair who sat with his back to us. Grace looked up with a big smile, saying, "Well, who do we have here?"
I said, "We are O-bay Scooplaws and we just drove here from Louisiana. You were our first stop."
She laughed at our band name, warmly shaking her head in amusement. She stared at each of us for a long time. I could see that she had feathers tied in her hair with ribbons that lightly floated in the air as she turned her head. They created an impression that she moved in slow motion.
She then relaxed and said, "Okay, you are approved but we have a rule that you can only stay two nights. We have a lot of turnover."
The man with the frizzy hair turned to us saying we could have his room since he was leaving for the airport in an hour. We could see that the man was Bob Dylan.
We only stayed one night. Their manager found us a flat the next day.
When the time came for our first gig, we invited the Airplane. It was an afternoon freebie playing on Haight Street in front of the free clinic. We didn't expect them to come and they didn't. We were the first of the bands to play so nobody paid much attention to us. However we did get to meet the headliner, Quicksilver Messenger Service, whom we admired. They invited us to their show that night at the Avalon Ballroom.
We hung out back stage with Quicksilver, smoking pot and drinking beer. There we met Chet Helms, the guy who produced the shows for the Avalon. The Quicksilver guys hyped up our band to Helms who asked if we had any recordings he could hear. We didn't. That wasn't so easy to get in those days.
Over time, the music scene changed. Even the Dead started playing country music. O-bay Scooplaws lost momentum and a couple of the guys became disillusioned and went back to Louisiana. That was too bad because I thought we showed a lot of promise. I tried to join other bands but I never found the right fit.
I bought a tape recorder and started learning how to use it by recording versions of some of my favorite songs from 1967. Now it is fifty years later, 2017. I have no regrets. The Scooplaws live on in my mind.
We planned to leave for California at midnight hoping for lighter traffic and avoidance of the excruciating heat the Souther Route is so famous for. But it was nearing 2:30 and the truck still did not have the drum set loaded. There was a nervousness in the air. Our parents had seen us off hours ago, telling us to be careful, the usual things they say when they finally accept that they no longer have any say in what their children are going to do.
The truck only held three in the cab so one of us would have to ride in the back, but we had a tarp over the bed of the pickup to protect our equipment so whoever was there would not be subjected to the wind.
I started out in the cab. We listened to the all-night radio stations as we crossed the country. My turn to be in the back came somewhere in Arizona. It didn't go so well for me as I found the isolation and the flapping tarp challenging my mental state. I tried to sleep as best I could.
When we arrived in San Francisco we had no real plans other to be a part of what was happening and try to get gigs. The only place we knew about in San Francisco was the Jefferson Airplane house on Fulton Street across from Golden Gate Park. The band members all lived in this huge house. It was famous. So we went there. That sounds silly from today's standards, but in that time, it made perfect sense.
We stood in front of the door for what seemed like a long time before someone rang the bell. A young man with shoulder length hair and rose colored glasses opened the door and gave us a huge smile.
We stammered trying to explain who we were and why we were there, even though we knew the only explanation was that we were lost children who had no place to go. But before we could say more, the man put a finger to his lips to quieten us and then motioned us into the house.
He led us into the main living space. On a low chair we saw Grace Slick looking far more beautiful than any photo had shown. She was talking quietly to a man with frizzy hair who sat with his back to us. Grace looked up with a big smile, saying, "Well, who do we have here?"
I said, "We are O-bay Scooplaws and we just drove here from Louisiana. You were our first stop."
She laughed at our band name, warmly shaking her head in amusement. She stared at each of us for a long time. I could see that she had feathers tied in her hair with ribbons that lightly floated in the air as she turned her head. They created an impression that she moved in slow motion.
She then relaxed and said, "Okay, you are approved but we have a rule that you can only stay two nights. We have a lot of turnover."
The man with the frizzy hair turned to us saying we could have his room since he was leaving for the airport in an hour. We could see that the man was Bob Dylan.
We only stayed one night. Their manager found us a flat the next day.
When the time came for our first gig, we invited the Airplane. It was an afternoon freebie playing on Haight Street in front of the free clinic. We didn't expect them to come and they didn't. We were the first of the bands to play so nobody paid much attention to us. However we did get to meet the headliner, Quicksilver Messenger Service, whom we admired. They invited us to their show that night at the Avalon Ballroom.
We hung out back stage with Quicksilver, smoking pot and drinking beer. There we met Chet Helms, the guy who produced the shows for the Avalon. The Quicksilver guys hyped up our band to Helms who asked if we had any recordings he could hear. We didn't. That wasn't so easy to get in those days.
Over time, the music scene changed. Even the Dead started playing country music. O-bay Scooplaws lost momentum and a couple of the guys became disillusioned and went back to Louisiana. That was too bad because I thought we showed a lot of promise. I tried to join other bands but I never found the right fit.
I bought a tape recorder and started learning how to use it by recording versions of some of my favorite songs from 1967. Now it is fifty years later, 2017. I have no regrets. The Scooplaws live on in my mind.