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Too Hung Over to Write?

This weekend, I was visited by the former keyboard player (and his wife) from my old band (40 years ago) from High School. The band was called Sanders Mansion after a well known historic house in my home town. The house was called (I don’t want to make this too difficult), uh, Sanders Mansion. Built in 1708, I think. The house, not the band. Anyway, we were a pretty big deal for a local high school band back in 67-70 or so. We played all the usual venues-sock hops in the gym and, later, frat parties at the local college (Union College in Schenectady). The occasional bar gig and the occasional pool party were the two far ends of our performing range.  It’s nice that we stay in touch and whenever we see each other, which is not frequently enough, we always wind up reminiscing about our gigging days.  We probably played only 150 gigs in our short history but it was twice a week for a while along with the usual high school silliness. I, like him, was a lot more interested in the band than I was with my studies.  This really has nothing to do with ES 335s or guitar collecting but it has everything to do with the things that make life worth living. Good friends, good music (we both still play) and good memories. Sometimes the memories are even better than the original event.  I consider my time playing guitar in front of people to be one of the high points of my life and while it doesn’t define me as a person, it is always with me. Spending an evening eating, drinking and reminiscing with someone who has that same history is a great joy. Our wives get along great and they don’t even mind it when one or the other of us sits down and plays something.

My good friend Tom at the Vox organ in 68. The B3 was a year or so away.

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