Monday, March 17, 2008

77/366: Uncle Dick

A hot summer night in downtown Tucson. Music playing everywhere; storefronts open to catch any breeze. “Follow me,” he said. Winding through throngs, he led me into a punk bar where the sound would make your ears bleed. He turned to me with a wide grin and said, “Isn’t this GREAT??!!”


Indigo Bunting said...


Aslo White said...

The story would have been more impressive if I'd had enough words to add that he's 6'4", with a huge girth and a snow-white beard.

He could not be more different from my dad. I don't know how they ended up in the same family.

Mrs Slocombe said...

I misread: I thought he was 64. He probably is: but that's how I felt at the New York Dolls last year even with bog roll in my ears. Go Dick!

Aslo White said...

He was in his sixties at the time, I think.

I wish I could have described the bar. It was in an old warehouse with 20-foot ceilings. The lower half of the walls were painted black; the upper half, white. At the very top of the walls, all around the space, were headless and limbless mannequins, also painted white. The band played behind chicken wire.

For Tucson, it was very East Coast. That may be why he thought it was cool, him being a midwesterner. I'll have to ask him one of these days.