This is me with my first guitar in the background. A 1935 wide neck Rosewood Martin. We were touring, opening for Dylan in the Village before Dylan was Dylan. We called him, “Juicy” cause he was always stealing candy. I had a small hit that got some radio play called, “Coming Round to Baby Jane.” It was before the smack overwhelmed everybody. Lost Johnny Hotter and Cindy Lou Frances, my two closest friends, to some sour shit that ate us all alive after a gig in Newark. Johnny’s mother always said it was revenge by the brotherhood but that shit didn’t matter much. Dead is dead. I started drinking Yoohoo after that and never touched the shit again. Still have that jacket even if the moths have gotten to it. Back side says, “Take me Alive!” Funny thing was back then an eight year old kid couldn’t work a lot of the best places so I did a lot of street singing. Kumbaya was a bad dream so we kept it real as we could but the radio stations said they couldn’t handle anything by kids. Some say it was a hard life but it was all I knew. Life is life, road is road and the Martin probably sits in some rich cats vault and never gets played. I lost it to a hustler took me in tiddly winks after a hard night in a small college gig outside of Fredonia, New York. Memories, now ain’t that what you try to forget.
Sorry for the grainy photo.