Oh. I was saying that it was the long anticipated fourth of July before I went off on the shoe thing. Happens a lot when I'm trying to tell a story. Mind races off in all directions. I was going to tell you about our band, the fireman's fair and all that when my mind just ran to Bucky's boots and Tom Mccann.
I began to tell you about the fourth of July when the all volunteer fire department would set up a row of games, hire a small carnival of rides and set off a fireworks display. There was food and a sound stage and various vendors. Since this was the biggest thing going all year, everyone would come to play, eat, have fun, and raise money to support the fire department. It was cool when that kid from Columbus Ave got a dart stuck in the side of his nose. But that's another story.
What I wanted to tell you about was our garage band. "Ten Cent Nickel Bag" was the name. I owned a Jazz Master Fender, Al had a Silvertone that could play a good rhythm and bass. Bucky played the drums. You see, Bucky wanted to play the fireman's sound stage. "Great way to get to get laid," he would say. This idea scared the crap out of me. Playing before a crowd and getting laid. But Bucky was determined and kept after us day and night until the Fourth came out of the calender and just stood there.
We played one song that I wrote called, "She's the one." If I were to liken it to any song in memory, perhaps it sounded like the "Stray cat strut." Maybe he heard it and ripped us. I don't know. Could happen. We did a spazzed out Inagaddadavida. Sans keyboards, of course. We did a "Sunshine of your love." Beside some fun nonsensical Jamming, that was it. Bucky thought that was all we needed.
In hindsight, its funny to think that all we had for amps was a 50 watt Silvertone amp and a 40 watt something or rather. At least the Silvertone amp had some cool re-verb. I had a wah-wah but was too confused and untalented to use it properly. So we set up. If not for the cheap sunglasses, I would have fainted. No one really noticed us but that did not stop Bucky from telling every other girl that we were a band like Jimi's. When we sang "Fire" instead of saying "Move over rover and let Jimi take over," we said, "let Timi take over." Oh brother!
We were forced into playing. As soon as Bucky began his drum rolls and cymbal banging, we had to do something. We played an awful rendition of the Iron Butterfly song; without the drum solo. It seemed that we kept playing and playing it because we were too scared to stop. Then we went on to massacre Cream. Then we went on to my song. Ugh! But then we went on to jam. Just plain screwing around. When we began to have fun, and forget ourselves, we sounded pretty good. My body loosened and I actually began to move like a rocker. Al blazed some bass/chords while Bucky slapped those toms and snare like slinky descending the stairs. We drew quite a crowd! Like speaking in tongues, we started as a babble and by the end we started to make sense. Satisfied, we packed up and joined the crowd for the evening.
It did seem that it helped us with the girls. They were friendly. Some guys would joke about knowing us before we were famous. Bucky disappeared into the night and we all went our separate ways. As the fair began to wind down, Bucky's father came to pick up our stuff in his car. Bucky wasn't around, so Al and me decided to cross the river and cut up through the woods to go home. We sat on my front stoop recounting the days' events when at long last Bucky arrived to join us.
"Smell my hand," he demanded, pushing his fingers into our faces. "Smell my hand!"
"What's that," we demanded, not really smelling anything.
"Smell my hands. They smell like cunt! Smell!"
That was Bucky. Bucky, all the way.