My First Band (The Mystics)

        Long before I was into bluegrass mandolin I played rock ‘n roll guitar.  (Don’t tell my guys, they are very traditional.)  Like all kids my age we were smitten by the Beatles and took to music over it.  Hey- Paul McCartney was a big Bill Monroe fan.  We thought the Beatles were just bluegrass without a banjo.

        I was in middle school at the time, and got me an old Fender butterscotch ’52 Tele which I still have today, learned three chords and put me together a band.  Me and my buddy Tyler on the Saxophone were the “masterminds.”  We named the band “the Mystics” ’cause we saw the name on a roll of Scotch tape and thought it sounded cool.

        Tyler and I were quite meticulous in our choices for band mates.  We got Ed Hardy to play the organ.  He didn’t play one, but he had taken two years of piano so we figured he’d do, and we knew his mom had an organ in the living room she didn’t play any more.  She didn’t even notice when we put some rollers on it to make it easier to take to gigs.

        Our drummer was Pete “Trash Can” Stanley, so named ’cause of his heavy touch on the cymbals and for the parties his brother used to throw where they filled up trash cans with some strange purple liquid.   His mama was liberal and let us practice in Trash Can’s basement.  In exchange we were the house band for all his brother’s parties.  I didn’t know a blessed thing about the guitar, but with that crowd all you had to be able to play was “Louie, Louie” and “Wipe Out” and you could get by.

        Even at fourteen I was the responsible type, and would drive the impaired party goers home.  (This was before they invented the term designated driver.)  I figured it’d be better to drive without a license than for someone to drive drunk and kill somebody. 

        Tyler’s cousin found a guy they called Buddy Slick to play the bass.  (I played with Buddy three years and never knew his real name.)  Buddy had peroxide bleached blond hair, wore polka dotted shirts, smoked cigarettes, and had a driver’s licence.  None of our moms would let him in the house.  Buddy was a fine addition, ’cause he had the connections to get us all the nightclub gigs in the area.  We had to stay at Tyler’s when we played those.  (My folks woulda caught on, plus as a Doc my dad was in and out all night and mighta caught us.)  Tyler’s people were old and when they’d go to bed we’d jump out the window and go play.  When we got back we’d hose off in the yard so the cigarette smoke from the place wouldn’t give us away and then crawl back in the bed just in time for Tyler’s mom to wake us to a fine breakfast. 

        It might sound like a bad thing for a kid to do, but it was good preparation.  For one, I had no use for intoxicated people or cigarette smoke after what all I saw at those shows, and also I got used to all nighters which came in handy years later for study or as a Doc.  ( I was an energetic kid.)

        Maybe our smartest personnel selection was Scottie McDougall as lead singer.  I called him myself to ask if he’d join.  We had no idea if he could sing, but it didn’t matter.  He was considered quite cute by all the girls at school.  We figured if he was lead singer, they’d show up at our gigs.  Most teen-aged boys get into music to meet girls so it worked out perfect.

        I remember out first paid gig like it was yesterday.  We were at Trash Can’s house in the basement, and some lady from the Methodist church came to listen to us audition to play a youth supper.  Tyler was our business manager.  (He wound up as President of a national company that sells band equipment.)  All of us wore jeans and T-shirts, but Tyler wore a double breasted suit and a tie.

        “Let me all the talking,” he said.  “You boys don’t know nothing about negotiations.”

        He was right.  The only work I’d done was to cut grass for two bucks a yard, and we didn’t need for that nice lady to meet Buddy Slick, so we let Tyler handle it.

        The lady listened to a few tunes and Tyler put down his sax and went over to discuss the gig with her.

        “Well, I think you boys are good.  How much do you charge?”  she asked.

        Tyler did his best to act like a grown up professional.  We were real proud of him.  “Well, ma’am.  We feel like we have a very fine band.  We’ve practiced and worked hard to put together a first class show, so we’re going to charge fifty dollars this year.”

        “Fifty dollars!  I had more in mind something like five.”

        “We’ll take it.”  Some kinda negotiator Tyler was.

        We played the gig.  Had some good food, met some nice girls, and got paid a dollar apiece.

        Some things never change.  We have a bluegrass gig coming up at the Park. The Moose lined it up.  At four bucks we are a cheap ticket.  I guess you get what you pay for.  You can come see us play or buy a gallon of gas, and I think we are a better deal.

        And now all the girls I meet just want to know if I am taking new Medicare patients.  Oh well, I’ve been lucky my whole life, I don’t see any reason to change now, so I’d better go get ready for show time.

        Before it was all over the Mystics played some good gigs.  We dabbled in soul music and played once with Joe Tex.  (“Skinny Legs and All ” was one of his tunes along with “Show Me.”)   Then we landed an upstate S.C. show to open for Jr. Walker and the All-Stars (one of their big hits was “Pucker up Buttercup, I Wanna Kiss You One Time”) but after that the band busted up and we all went off to college.  Tyler was a music major, and I became a Doc.  Pete is a golf pro (nothing was ever wrong with his touch with a putter) and Ed got into real estate.   Scottie owns a construction company.  And Buddy Slick- I don’t know what ever happened to Buddy, we lost track of him and never saw him again.  If he is still alive maybe he’ll read this and resurface.  Or maybe I’ll see him if he gets sick.  I get reacquainted with a lot of old friends that way.  I wonder if he still plays the bass.  We need a sub at church from time to time and I bet he could cut the gig.

Dr. B

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