#LBS legally bigoted states

#LBS ......sadly, as it was in the south with jim crow segregation, the tipping point for the end of legalized bigotry against LGBTs will NOT be caused by loss of jobs and what should have been Shame ........ it will be when universities from states whose legislatures are not time-warped back into the Dark Ages will refuse to schedule college football games with schools, especially state universities, located in Legally Bigoted States ( #LBS ) ..... just wait and see ...OR even quicker when blue chip high school players refuse to even consider colleges in legally bigoted states (#LBS)..... and the College Bowl Games could announce policies no schools from LBS will be invited to their bowl games. Historical Example: Alabama legendary Coach Paul "bear" Bryant scheduled a home game at Legion Field against USC, a racially integrated team, for the 1970 season ..... USC EMBARRASSED all-white Alabama 42-21 ........ the next year, Alabama had its first black players .... btw, basketball player Perry Wallace, in my class of '70 at Vanderbilt, was the first black athlete in the SEC, and a couple of years later Lester McClain was the first black football player in the SEC at the University of Tennessee. Both of these young men played their high school ball in Nashville. The NFL could announce no Super Bowl will be played in a #LBS.

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EULOGY for MY FATHER

I share this with you, especially those of you who are my age and may have also lost a parent(s) .... please accept this eulogy as being for them as well as my father.

Those of you who know my attitude toward beliefs in imaginary divine beings may be surprised that a Protestant Minister and a Catholic Priest are part of what I am sharing from a very poignant moment of loss in my life.  And a few days over four months later, my Mother also died.

Rev Joe has been a friend of mine for over 35 years; we met at a small independent tobacco shop, the Oxford Smoke Shop, when he was buying a cigar and I was getting my pipe tobacco, and we later discovered that he and his family had moved to my neighborhood in rural north Davidson County, Tn.  Joe was also my game day partner at the Tennessee Titans games for 13 years.  And Father Tom, now retired, was the local parish priest who was a customer, then friend, at our hardware store, whom we liked before we knew he was the new priest because he hardly ever wore his priestly collar and garb.   They are both very progressive minded people, easy for me to like and respect even though none of my family ever attended religious services with them or anyone else.   AND knowing where I would be going in my talk to a very conservative rural audience, it was an easier segue into that with a preacher and priest doing some of the generic things people expect at a funeral service.  I knew the nature of my talk would not be the audience's usual funeral experience, so I decided Rev Joe and Father Tom would make them more comfortable before I made my points, and I was honored they agreed to be part of the service, especially since they both are well aware that I am a heathen.

Below is the text of my eulogy for my father with comments inserted afterwards to describe the service.

Oringinal text of the eulogy, and my extemporaneous words are in bold, comments added later are in regular density.


EULOGY for MY FATHER   ........
(Harry L “Buddy” Swain ......”Honest Harry”   6/24/20 - 10/16/07)
Delivered  by H Lee Swain Jr.
October 20th, 2007.....Anderson & Garrett, Joelton, TN

Beginning of Service.....Daddy's coffin draped with only the American Flag honoring a Veteran....
... solemn classical music, Barber’s "Adagio for Strings" plays as I lead Rev Joe and Father Tom to our places, music  finishes ....... I  retrieve a SWAINs HARDWARE HAT from a bench which is normally on the sidewalk in front of the family hardware store, placed there by our landlord/friend with "Honest Harry" burned into the wood back, and I then go to the Lectern .......

All of you who knew my Daddy know he was always upbeat in his demeanor,
ready to tell or hear a good story and share a laugh ....... and I know he would not
want this memorial service to be too solemn .......as is often said on occasions such
as this, we are here today not so much as to acknowledge his passing, but to celebrate
his long and full life ...... he truly enjoyed being your local hardware man (hold out Hat),
and I think this next song is very appropriate to begin this service for my Daddy.

Playing of Wood Newton CD (lyrics at the end of this post)
..... track #1 ... "Daddy Went to Heaven in a Pickup Truck"
......... after song finishes, I return Hat to its place of honor on the otherwise empty bench.

The two members of the Clergy I am about to introduce are here today NOT
because Daddy and I know them from any Words they have preached, but
because we know them from hundreds of experiences which have always
revealed them to be men who possess immensely compassionate hearts and
minds.  One of the reasons my Daddy loved Rev Joe Ingle and Father Tom
Bielawa is they don’t waste time talking about their faith and how a human being
should behave, they just live it.   They do not need to talk-the-talk, because they
walk-the-walk.   Daddy and I have been proud to call them our friends.

Rev Joe, Father Tom ?  Before you each talk about my Daddy, will you lead us in
some traditional words of comfort?

(23rd Psalm ......... Rev Joe and Father Tom comments were mainly humorous "roastings" playing upon my Daddy's exaggerated nickname of Honest Harry.   Joe focused on the many sports bets he made with my father and his penchant for wanting to make "adjustments."   Father Tom referenced the Tomato Wars we declared for our community, challenges for the first ripe tomato, the largest, most perfect, ugliest .. we would take photos and post them .... Father Tom alluded to his suspicions of Daddy somehow cheating with his tomoato growing and creating the Tomato War as a way to get free "maters' from our customers.  There was much laughter, Daddy would have loved it.

Thank you Rev Joe and Father Tom .... (to audience: .... They are Really going to be a hard act to follow)

One of the active pall bearers, a childhood friend, we played little league baseball together, and he worked as a teen, as I did, for Daddy's business in which days he came up with the nickname Honest Harry, and it stuck.  When I came to the lectern, I called Ronnie out by name and had him stand, to receive the praise or ridicule those assembled felt appropriate,   There was much laughter by all, along with some mock cheers and boos.... I was pleased the audience was into it.   Then it was time to be more somber.

I, and the rest of the family, want to thank all of you for coming ....... and we have
been overwhelmed by your many kind comments and rememberances of my
Father ......and if YOU feel my Daddy added a few pleasant or happy moments to
your lives when you visited Swain’s Hardware, please know that YOU added as
much, if not more, to his life on a daily basis, and I thank you for that from the
bottom of my heart.

I hope I can remain strong through my comments, as strong as my Daddy always
was ...... and he always had others first in mind ..... me, my brother and especially
over the last 20 years, he was so strong for my mother in her disabled condition
which prevents her from being present today.

And even as his own health problems increased, he would often express concern
about being a burden on ME ..... he was more worried about that than worried
about himself ..... and when he would bring up being a burden on me, I often told
him the biggest burden he put on me was trying to keep up with HIM.  

Daddy was an amazingly strong and determined man with a tremendous sense of
duty and responsibility.    I do not entertain even a thought of being his equal in
these areas.

I was a rather bookish kind of kid, Daddy encouraged that ..... but he also often
told me to never be afraid of honest, hard work ........... and indeed, he taught me
that lesson by his own example......... right up until a week ago Thursday when he
went to hospital.

I have come to realize how fortunate I have been over the last three decades .........
For in this day and time when job opportunities often require family members to
live in different cities, and maybe only get to see one another thanksgiving, xmas,
summer vacation ......... I got to be with my Daddy EVERY DAY ........ and I cherish
every one of those days.   Just as I cherish my memories as a young boy trying to
learn how to be a catcher in little league baseball when Daddy would throw
knuckleballs to me, pitches that would seem to float through the air and you
never knew which way they were going to curve.  Daddy said if I could catch the
knuckleball I could catch anything. ...... Daddy was a spry agile man, played
basketball and tennis in high school.. and when he and I would play ping pong,
badminton, pitch horseshoes ....... the truth is I NEVER beat him.    When my
daughters were little, playing games with them, I remember wondering why
Daddy just occasionally NEVER LET me win.  But when I got a little wiser, I realized
he was teaching me a life lesson ...... one doesn’t get better at anything if it is
made too easy for you ...... life doesn’t give you anything, it doesn’t owe you
anything...you have to earn it.   Nevertheless, Daddy did spoil me in many ways,
too.

These type of teachings about the value of honest, hard work, doing what is
necessary, putting the well-being of  family and others before your own desires,
of doing things because they were the right thing to do even if there was no great
personal gain .... all these characteristics I came to appreciate in my Daddy are
also traits of many people of his own age ....... and I would like to read something
that not only applies to my Daddy, but to all his contemporaries ........ what I am
about to read to you is a column I wrote for the Nashville City Paper and was
originally published in the fall of 2000, almost exactly seven years ago.
**************************************
(I recite the text of the published column shown here in Italics)

All too often now, I have conversations with customers who have lost either their
moms or dads or both.  These conversations cause sober reflection.

I am fortunate both my parents are still living.  Daddy is over 80 years old, and, in
addition to taking care of my disabled mother, he daily works my tail into the
ground.  But I don’t think he notices.  He has worked hard all his life; he knows
no other way.

I want to make one thing clear right now: I am not the man Daddy is.  I never was;
I never will be.   But folks my age enjoy a distinction we do not share with anyone
in recorded history .   And even though it is an honor we have NOT earned, we do
have every reason to be extremely proud.   You see, we are the children of truly
America’s Greatest Generation ..... the generation whose childhood was
beleaguered by the Great Depression before they sacrificed their early adulthood
and blood to the task of literally saving the world in World War II.   Daddy did his
part from September 1941 until the end of the war in the Pacific, on Iwo Jima.

We owe this generation absolutely everything.

Until recently, I labored under an embarrassing ignorance. I had thought the
famous statue of the Marines raising the Stars and Stripes on top of  the island of
Iwo Jima was an official memorial to all World War II veterans; however, it is a
memorial only to the Marine Corps veterans of that era.

Daddy knows the Marines earned that recognition.   He was a sergeant in the U.S.
Army 20th Air Force, a B-29 outfit that followed the Marines onto Iwo Jima.   He
saw the hellish aftermath of what they had endured.   The dead enemy soldiers
were so numerous many were simply bulldozed under the airstrip, some not
completely covered.   One day, Daddy  "borrowed" a Jeep and made his way up
Mount Suribachi so that he could stand on the famous summit that overlooked
the eight square miles of black sand and rock where so many lives were lost.

Although the books "The Greatest Generation" and "Flags of Our Fathers" and its
movie and the film "Saving Private Ryan" helped rekindle public awareness of the
accomplishments of Daddy’s generation, I, like many others, have discovered
there’s no official memorial to honor all of our World War II veterans.

I wondered how this could have happened.

World War II was "the good war," a totally justified mobilization against brutal
military dictatorships in Europe and the Pacific which perpetrated unspeakable
atrocities against civilians.   That war effort received nearly universal support;
everyone home and abroad made sacrifices and contributed to the war effort in
many ways.   Everyone knew what had been at stake.
And veterans of the Korean War have also long been ignored.   In contrast, the
veterans of the horribly divisive Vietnam War now have the most visited
monument in Washington, D.C.   And even though that’s all well and good, why
has there been no monument established to honor the generation who won the
"good war?"   Who could be more deserving of such an honor?

I think I understand part of the reason.   For many decades after World War II,
much of Congress and the Presidency were controlled by members of the
greatest generation.    It  never occurred to them to make an exceptional use of
public funds or use their bully pulpits to raise private monies to erect a
monument to themselves.   And most of their fellow veterans in the private sector
never expected  them to do so.  The GI Bill was enough for them.

This is one of the reasons they are the greatest generation.   There was never any
question in their minds; they only did what had to be done.  It was their duty and
they fulfilled it without question.   They never thought of themselves as
heroes.......... True heroes ... never do.

It is now the responsibility of those of us who have benefitted from the sacrifices
of the greatest generation to assure recognition for the immensity of what this
group achieved overseas and at home.   It is way past time to honor G.I. Joe and
Rosie the Riveter.   Sadly, it is too late for many of them, as it is too late to pay
our symbolic respect to the parents whose sons and daughters never came home
and now lie buried in foreign soil.

But a physical monument that most of the greatest generation will never be able
to visit is not enough.   Nothing could be enough.   But if the richest country in
the history of the world cannot afford a complete health care and drug benefit for
its greatest generation, it ought to just shut down, close up the shop and choke
on its shame.    Shame on whomever the President may be, shame on whomever
controls the Congress, shame on ALL of us, shame on America if we do not
immediately and with great pride grant our Greatest Generation full and complete
health care.   What possible better use can there be for the federal surplus
instead of giving tax cuts which are biased toward those who need it least while
the big drug companies and HMOs squeeze profits from our heroes of the
Greatest Generation in the last years of their lives.   They literally saved our
country, then came home and built this nation into the richest country the world
has ever known.   We owe them this benefit .............. we owe them ...
EVERYTHING.
*******************************************
That was published in 2000.... and today there is a memorial in Washington
honoring the veterans of WWII.   But health care is still far too great a burden on
the families of the Greatest Generation and that is simply a DISGRACE.

I then went off script for a moment ......

I am going to depart my prepared text for a moment and ask you to do
something.........   I see Mr Nash (you were on the battleship Missouri when the
Japanese surrendered ending the war in the Pacific, Mr Jarrett (you were on that
hell hole Iwo Jima, were you not?), and I see Mr Cooper .....there may be other
WWII era veterans or their widows present ......

I am going to ask the rest of you to stand for a moment...... those who have worn
the uniform can give an honorary salute if you wish ....... PLEASE ...... let us
demonstrate our respect, let us honor these members of our Greatest Generation
before it is too late.

(Everyone did stand, and when I started to applaud, they enthusiastically joined for a
long ovation which rose into an ever-increasing crescendo....... tears in many eyes   ....
people still mention this moving moment to me years after the event)

Thank you for honoring the members of America’s Greatest Generation who are
present as well as the memories of those who are now gone, and my Father.

You know, my feet are about three sizes larger than my Daddy’s, but there is one
thing I know for sure, and that is I will never be able to fill his shoes.

I have heard it said that a son never truly becomes a man in his own right until
after his father dies.   That may be true ...... but right now, at this moment, I would
still rather be my Daddy’s little boy.

Thank you for coming today to honor my Daddy and all those who are members
of America’s Greatest Generation.

Rev Joe ....... Father Tom .....????

(They lead the Lord’s Prayer   ... I am respectfully silent)

As Barber’s "Adagio for Strings" plays, pallbearers come forward, those not needed to
carry the casket form a long line of honor along the path to the hearse.
**********

Graveside: Oakwood Methodist Church Cememtery, located in the country, barely over
a mile from the family homeplace, where my only brother and only sibling is buried along
with four generations of my maternal side ancestors.

Father Tom ???
( Father Tom recites a prayer about how much the deceased meant to people, very
nice)
Thank you, Father Tom ...........

We now lay may Father to his final rest .......and as we mourn his passing, I
accept and realize the fact that Death is the Price for the privilege of living ...........
and also that the essence of every human being, every sentient creature, every
tree, every rock , every flower is of a ONENESS, and that Oneness by whatever
name, is the Ultimate Reality .... and now the essence of my Father has returned
to that ONENESS from which he came.

Before we close Daddy’s Grave, we invite those of you who wish to place a flower
or handful of earth in the grave as a final goodbye to do so as the Flag which draped
his coffin is folded (by a veteran friend of the family).    And thank you again for coming to 
honor the life of my Daddy.

(Rev Joe recites the traditional “ashes to ashes ......” many place flowers or handfuls of
earth onto the casket before the vault lid is placed.  I take a shovel and assist in the closing
of the grave before we leave)
***************************************************************

My ex called this song to my attention, we both know lots of musicians, but I cannot remember
which one was the source.   The hardware reference was something I could not pass up.

DADDY   WENT TO   HEAVEN   IN   A   PICKUP   TRUCK
by Wood Newton

Daddy ran the local hardware store
With a helping hand and an open door
His friends around our courthouse town
Said he did the little things that count.
Daddy drove a pickup truck painted blue
Forty-nine Chevrolet, bought it brand new
Everywhere he went he drove that thing
And when he died I had this dream.

Daddy went to heaven in a pickup truck,
Across the sky in a cloud of dust.
He’s rolling with the sun and waiting on us
It ashes to ashes and rust to rust
Cause Daddy went to heaven in a pickup truck.

Daddy  read the word and he lived his faith
By works you’re   known but saved by grace.
On his dying bed he still could smile
He said once a man, twice a child.
We put his wooden coffin in his pickup bed
Made that hearse go on ahead
Drove through town to say good-bye
Brought a smile to tear-stained eyes.

Daddy went to heaven in a pickup truck .... (repeat this chorus)

I remember a preacher from long ago
Said the streets in heaven are paved with gold
Now won’t those angels be surprised
When they see my Daddy come driving by

Daddy went to heaven in a pickup truck
Across the sky in a cloud of dust
He’s rolling with the sun and waiting on us
It’s ashes to ashes and rust to rust
Cause Daddy went to heaven in a pickup truck
.
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My Nite with JANIS JOPLIN

for pics, google .... "janis joplin nashville"
*********************************************************************************

The concert, at the old Tennessee State Fairgrounds Coliseum in Nashville, December 16, 1969, headlined JANIS JOPLIN on her Kozmic Blues album tour with Rotary Connection with MINNIE RIPERTON as the opening act, and was promoted by Wired Dragon Efforts, Inc .

Back in 1969, I WAS the Wired Dragon .... well, that was the name I picked for the production company ...

But this concert almost did not happen.

I was first informed by her booking agency that they were not taking any more dates for her current tour. But they called back and told me that when Janis heard it was NASHVILLE, she instructed them to find a date and add it to the tour, she didn't care if it was the night before or after a scheduled date, she wanted to come to Nashville ... BECAUSE, if possible, she wanted to see if I could arrange for her to meet Skeeter Davis and Kris Kristofferson.  Kristofferson makes sense to most people because of "Me and Bobby McGee", but Skeeter Davis, the country music artist, was a big voiced female singer like Janis.  Skeeter did come, and it was hard to tell which one of them was more excited about meeting the other.  Kristofferson in those days was often in his regular booth at Melfi's, an Italian restaurant near Music Row, high on peyote buttons, thinking up that Rhodes Scholar grade poetry he turned into songs, but we were unable to find him there.   I was also more than pleased to book as the opening act from the same agency Rotary Connection with the great Minnie Riperton.   I liked the idea of a concert with women fronting both acts.

The Fairgrounds Coliseum was an old brick structure, configured like a big hockey rink with elevated permanent seats all around the sides and an open floor for rodeos, ice capade type shows, a circus, etc.   For concerts, one had to rent folding chairs to put on the main floor.  I had a stage set up at one end of the floor area, and behind it were three rented trailers to serve as dressing rooms... one for Janis, one for her band, and one for Rotary Connection and Minnie Riperton.

Many of my "hippie"  friends served as ushers and event staff, and were of invaluable help with a myriad of pre-concert tasks, which they all did for free, their only compensation was being part of the promotion and free admission to the concert.  I cannot remember whose idea it was, but I rented white high-collar Busboy jackets for them to wear at the show where they served as ushers, stage "security," and happy gofers backstage for Janis and the musicians.  The white jackets basically meant you had free run of the arena.  These jackets in their inappropriateness for a rock concert (in Nashville seen almost exclusively worn by young black males serving white folks) worked rather well in creating an ambience unusual for Nashville concerts at the time, especially since this concert featured two powerful female singers, one a flamboyant white hippie and the other a black diva.  We thought we were making a small statement with the white jackets since in Nashville they were traditionally a uniform of subservience for minorities but at the concert they were privileged personnel.  We were young, naive and idealistic.

I had the hottest DJ  in Nashville, the "Super Shan" Scott Shannon to be the MC; he came with the advertizing package for the concert on his station, WMAK.  Later in his broadcast career, he was a morning drive time institution in New York City, and a member of a broadcasters hall of fame.  He was dressed as what he thought was "hip" at the time, a flowery shirt, tight pants with a scarf tied above one knee.   He wanted to meet the artists of course, and be sure just how they wanted to be introduced.  We first went to Rotary Connection's trailer; when I opened the door a thick cloud of weed smoke billowed out as we stepped up into the trailer.

I could tell the band members were wanting to have some fun with this local DJ in the South trying to look cool, and one of the band members came up to Shannon with this joint the size of a Cuban cigar in his mouth and then held it out right in Shannon's face.  Now, in 1969 in Nashville, weed was a radical, dangerously illegal thing for most folks, and for a sense of the cultural times, Martin Luther King was dead less than eighteen months, there were still "White Only" signs on some public facilities, so a joint offered directly from the lips of a black man to a white man in the South was way outside the box in many ways for those days.

But old Shan did step up and took a short hit.  He tried to hand it back, but the guy said "C'mon man, you can do better than that, this is some righteous shit, man, hit it a good one."  Shannon did take another deeper hit and did not cough.  The black musician was right about the righteousness. These were Chicago-based musicians, they had been around, they just exuded oceans of "cool."

I do remember they told him they did not want any pompous intro ... just ... "from Chicago ... Rotary Connection" and no need to mention their record label ... real musicians usually despise record label execs and the business bullshit which consists primarily of cheating the creative artists.  I have no recollection of Minnie Riperton sharing in the "righteousness," perhaps to assure her vocal performance's integrity.  Riperton that night was indeed Amazing in her range and control, the band super tight.  Her flame of talent was extinguished by a fatal disease way too early (FYI, Riperton is SNL's alumna Maya Rudolph's mother).  They wowed the almost entirely white audience, many of which I am sure had never heard of them before that evening.  I remember feeling proud of my home town audience for the warm reception they gave her and her band.

Earlier in Janis's dressing trailer, she told me her famous chinchilla coat had been sent unsolicited to her by the Southern Comfort folks in appreciation for the huge increase in sales of their product which she had unintentionally made famous.   She giggled that infectious high pitched laugh when she told the story, picked up the coat and held it out to me and said "Just Feeeeel that motherfucker .. rub your face in it .... if it had a dick, I'd marry it" and her infectious giggle filled the trailer again.

I did NOT see Janis drink any alcohol nor consume any drugs before her set.  The only thing she would accept were UNopened cokes ... she said she could not take the chance someone might spike one with acid (do I need to say LSD?) or something before she had to perform.

The audience was still jazzed up from Riperton and Rotary Connection while the roadies set up for Janis's set, then the house lights went down, and after a few moments Shannon appeared in a tight spotlight center front stage, making the introduction. When he finished, the spot goes out, and he gets the hell out of the way as he had been instructed, and the band began laying down a funky beat.  Janis was crouched behind the amps, bouncing in a kind of squat position, like a sprinter getting ready to run ... then she opened a full pint of Southern Comfort and killed nearly half of it in one swig then chased it with some orange juice from a glass container she had brought herself.   She bounced up, out into the spotlight, and literally killed the audience of about 2,500 .... so much energy, so much brass, giving all of herself into her performance.

She would hit the Southern Comfort and OJ throughout the show.  As I am writing this, I am getting little chills remembering her nailing "Ball and Chain" and "Piece o' my Heart."  It was a very, very cool night musically in Nashville, and to my knowledge, the first time a San Francisco spawned rock act of Joplin's stature had been brought to the Music City.

Janis Joplin and Minnie Riperton on the same stage on the same night in Nashville in 1969, two icons who died too young .... it was special.

But, I was also a young and dumb kid then .... I did not think to have anyone take any pictures of me with Janis or the other performers.  I had also neglected to notify or offer passes to either of Nashville's two daily newspapers, or any of the TV stations, so the press coverage of the concert was minimal.  A lady reporter from the TENNESSEAN newspaper was at the airport when I met Janis, but her article stated she was surprised no promotion staff had met Janis.  I called her after the article was published and informed her I was right beside Janis and her road manager as she asked questions while we all walked through the concourse. She refused to write a correction, saying she thought I was one of the musicians because of my youth and long curly hair!

All and all, I was just stereotypically a young person, infatuated with being in the presence of true female rock icons, consumed by the exciting moment, with no idea what would be really valuable decades down the road. Perhaps it was amazing enough I had gotten the date, the venue, the stage erected with a tarp stretched tight over it, and UNION electricians to lay the drop boxes required for the stage equipment, got the proper array of UNION stage lighting and crews specified by the performance contracts, the dressing trailers delivered and hooked up to electricity, a couple of thousand folding chairs set up on the floor to correlate to the printed tickets and the permanent seats.  Thanks to all my hippie friends helping, the evening went off without a glitch.  This still amazes me, that essentially a bunch of kids pulled off this concert.

Sadly, the old Coliseum burned to the ground not long after this concert, and with it, my rock concert promoter dreams .... the venue was riculously cheap .... 250 dollars while at the same time the newer downtown Municipal Auditorium would take a significant percentage of the total gate while being guaranteed a fee in the thousands of dollars to be paid in advance.  And since this rock and roll stuff was considered so "dangerous," the Municipal Auditorium had a strict policy of everyone remaining in their seats which was vigorously enforced.  And I was told they would NOT ever book the Municipal Auditorium for The Doors or Sly and the Family Stone.   No such restrictions applied at the old Coliseum and the crowd quickly left their seats when Rotary Connection began to play and gathered close to the stage.   One could tell the performers liked this intimacy with the audience and it gave a special atmosphere to the evening not then common in the South.  Janis even invited one of my Busboys (who  happened to be the one who had offered her an opened Coke and was blonde and handsome) up onto the stage to dance with her.  The crowd went absolutely wild at this.  Maybe it was because they felt this superstar validated the hipness of this audience in a country music town by having a local onstage with her, however briefly, and it was something not seen in other Nashville venues.   Perhaps it is just as well the Coliseum burned .... had I gotten into that world big time, I might be dead now.

Since the flight for Janis and her band out of Nashville was a take-off the next day, most of the band members accepted our invitation to party at my hippie pad in an old house on Blair Avenue ... they were genuinely surprised the promoter asked them to party since apparently promoters tended to be more established and much older people than my young dumb ass.  Nashville was, and is, the capitol of redneck super-patriotic country music located on the Buckle of the Bible Belt, and it was the peak of the Viet Nam era and Civil Rights tensions, so I guess this mixed race band was pleasantly surprised by their treatment from the locals.

I was not personally at the band party at the beginning, because Janis's road manager invited me and my lady to accompany them back to the hotel bar club.  Imagine the ego-rush for this kid from Nashville, being invited out with Janis Joplin !!!  Just how fucking unbelievable was that ?!?!?!?

At the booth in the bar, I soon realized I was not with Janis Joplin, the rock icon, but Janis, the girl who had been disrespected in Port Athur, Texas .... the brassy confidence was no longer evident. Janis slammed screwdriver after screwdriver, and she constantly asked if the "kids" really liked her.   The talent which had just two hours before had dominated the stage and enthralled the audience was now replaced by an almost palpable personal insecurity.  The woman on stage who had been the sexual fantasy of so many young males in the audience was gone, replaced by someone who did not think of herself as desirable, but rather someone who knew she had imperfect skin, someone who had been ridiculed in her youth.  So, when less than a year later Janis was dead from an overdose, I was, sadly, not that surprised.  But I will always have my memories of My Night with Janis Joplin and Minnie Riperton, two stars whose light disappeared too early, one from a path of self-destruction, the other by a fatal disease.

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