One of the early bands I was in and the first punk band was a combo called the Camaros. I’ll be covering some of the fun and funny things that occurred in that band as I go along but here is the tale of the stranger who came to play harp.
The Camaros were a band that played from 78-79. For the most part we played covers of 60’s songs in the punk style. For this particular story the Camaros were Kevin B., Jimmy T., Mark C., Royce L. and myself. We were playing in an apartment that Royce previously resided. Royce’s mother owned the apartment, decided he wanted to upgrade to another unit his mother owned. In all honesty both the Indiana apartment and the one he moved to were both dumps made worse by the tenants who lived there. Of course one can’t expect the upper crust of society to be accepting of a punk band playing in a four family flat and with all that noise. The Camaros never got any complaints.
The Camaros were using his residence as a practice space and practicing was not an option at his new place. To have a place for the band to practice I took it upon myself to rent out the shotgun flat on Indiana Ave, one block east of Jefferson with Cherokee street at the corner. (see Nazi Rally for more info on Cherokee) As mentioned in an earlier post Cherokee was a St. Louis business district past its prime. Meaning it was an excellent place for a group of near’ do wells to play punk rock.
I was early into my residency there when we were having a Sunday afternoon practice. And as typical in a Camaros practice there would be copious consumption of beer. The reader must be informed that at this time in Missouri for the most part alcohol sales were not permitted on Sundays. There was one work around that allowed sales to certain establishments that could show that a larger percentage of their sales was in food. In this area we had two establishments that fit this bill. Thurmer’s on Cherokee and Compton and Black Forest on Cherokee.
At this point in time I can’t recall if we were making an initial beer run or replenishing stock but Mark and myself made the trip to Thurmer’s for libations.
Since I had recently moved in from not living away from home ever, the apartment was sparse on furnishings. I was able to procure seats and shelving because right outside the back of the apartment was a grocery store. It was part of the National chain for any old timer who might be familiar. This was one of many chains that now no longer exist at all or in this area.
At the back of this National market was a large supply of milk crates. The ended up making about 70% of all the furniture I had in the apartment by volume. I had a couch given to me by my parents. A mattress on the floor, an old black and white 12 inch TV and of course the centerpiece of the house, my stereo. There was an additional item that was left at the house when Royce left. A patio couch that was in the kitchen.
When Mark and I arrived back with our refreshments there was an old gentlemen sitting on that couch. Who was this? Did one of the other band members invite their alcoholic uncle over to listen? Did this gentleman mistake us for the Salvation Army Harbor Light Rescue Center? As Mark and I shuffled in beer to the fridge I asked Kevin, Jimmy and Royce who this person was.
They explained that he just walked into the house while they were playing and demanded a harmonica so he could jam along with them. Since no harmonicas were available and even if there were it would be unlikely that it would be provided, being as harmonicas are the least shareable musical instrument known to man, he took a seat in the patio couch and awaited his instrument.
Being new at this whole having a place thing I still was somewhat sure that having derelict old men come into your apartment was not standard practice. I went over and asked him if he had lost his way and perhaps mistaken my apartment for someplace else. Till that time he was just sitting there as if in a trance. He popped out of the trance at my question and said to me in a gravely voice, “gimmie a harmonica.”
I said, “Sir, we don’t have a harmonica for you to play. We can give you a beer if you’d like that but you’ll need to leave”
“Gimmie a harmonica” was his reply.
This was a person who was bound to jam with a young punk band and he was not going to go until he did.
I believe I attempted to stand on the back porch with a beer and coax him out to no avail. We finally gave him a beer and he sat in the kitchen on the couch drinking it.
With nothing else to do and a definite lack of precious items in the kitchen so there was no worry he’d make off with anything. We started practice. A Ramones song, a Clash song and a Modern Lovers song later we looked up and he was gone.
MUSIC CRITICS!!!