A flowing uncertainty
The envisage of the professional musician was arbitrary, Gary observing two categories of proviso’s of music. Performers, who have mastered the technique of instrumentation and assert the works of opportunity, and the Expressionist, those who are receptive to interpretation, reflecting a language of compassion, emotion attesting its invitation. Gary sometimes questioned his resolve, will an artist paint for the blind, will an author write for the apathetic, will musician play for the deaf? Some nights discovering an apparition of discontent, but posturing before the keyboard, all disparity would absolve with the embarkation of his musical presence, an acknowledgement is conveyed with a testimonial to his chosen profession.
It was after 2:00 a.m. and Herb Carpenter the owner of the Pirates Cove was departing the club, Gary, sales representative Julian Kersey and attorney Leo Thompson in conversation, ascertaining to Herb they would ensure the locking of the door when exiting. The three remained in conversation for thirty minutes, Leo venturing behind the bar to decant each a bourbon selection, the attorney returning with the liquid inspiration in hand, the discourse continuing without interruption. The phone ring was noted several times, the pianist hesitant in acknowledgment, the club being destined as closeted for the night. Giving its continued call, Gary finally responding, it was Bob the night desk clerk from the lobby on the line. Bob’s statement was perplexing, “there’s beer running down the hall and into the lobby”, the musician immediate response was “you gotta’ be kidding” Exiting the club, hurrying down the short distance to the lobby area, finding Bob was correct in his assumption, there was a foaming liquid retreating from beneath the club entrance door and navigating down the hall to the lobby.
Re-entering the club and tracing the exiting liquid path, Gary discovering the culprit. Leo, after venturing behind the bar, had removed his coat, placing the garment on a draw beer spigot. The pulling weight of the coat apparently turned on the tap, the brew flowing down the apparel, bypassing the drain. Once finding the floor, the fragrant liquid flowed under the bar to the entrance door and down the hall to the lobby. A question was raised on how much of the 15 gallon keg had been dispersed on it journey from the club, the answer remains in a state of uncertainty as likewise was the disposition of Leo’s coat.
A new volition for in-car music, the under dash eight track tape player having made the automotive scene. Gary visiting with a regular club customer who worked at a custom auto accessory shop on NW 10th installing car stereo systems, including eight track players. During the conversation about automotive eight track players, the customer mentioned that they had some old trade-ins and if Gary wanted one, he’ll give him one. The installation of eight track player was simplistic, Reba Green, a Cove waitress finding out about his eight track appropriation introduced him to a new group on eight track, the Mystic Moods Orchestra, their brass and string selection having the sounds of nature in the background, thunder, rain, wind. Gary enjoying the diversity of the Pirates Cove clientele, it wasn’t unusual for road traveling tradesmen through the week to make gifts of their demo products to those who provided the club services.
The Pirates Cove 2:00 a.m. closing at times was advantageous. Jan Lawhon who often visited with George Moore the Innkeeper during breaks, having acquired the okay to raid the closed kitchen, and on occasion Gary would accompany her. The double door refrigerator was stocked with various luncheon meats and condiments, the two sitting in a booth across from counter area, able to partake of a sandwich to cap-off the night. Even though this wasn’t a nightly event, the early morning resolution coming to a close after some of the late night customers started inviting themselves for a visit. Bob Henderson the night clerk visited with George that he had a concern about persons wandering back in the kitchen area, all good things coming to an end, halting their club closing incursion. Gary becoming aware, the 30 plus hours a week at the cove was becoming an integral part of his life, acknowledging and satisfied with its direction.
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