Where do I begin?

It's all personal and selective is memory, so I'll just let it flow I suppose; let some of my memories of the good times and smiles and laughter tumble down from the past one more time.

First meeting with the early core group, Harri, Pete, MB, Casey, Fatman, Bryson maybe, and a bunch of others at those wintertime dances at Senator O'Connor. Standing on the edge of the football field . . .

Paul Bryson who liked truckin'. And we did, many a mile did we truck all over Don Mills in the early days before there were plenty of wheels around. Paul and I liked Buffalo Springfield and Neil Young especially. He laid a copy of Buffalo Springfield Again on me one day for no obvious reason other than the fact that I _really_ dug that record. Just laughed and said "enjoy." Hell, it was probably hot, but the sentiment was impeccable. I still have it Paul . . .

Darcy.

The baby blue vee-dub.

Driving down from Finch and Yonge late one night in the rain with Michael, listening, at Mike's insistence, to Gilbert O'Sullivan singing Alone Again, Naturally, and realizing how much it had hurt Mike up when "the bogues" split up.

Peter's magic bedroom with the black light. Listening to the Doors in there. The puke baggies. Pete's mysterious, totally hip older brother Frank.

Tommy Savass.

Les James' magic bedroom window screen.

The amazing manner in which Les managed to sneak out of his parent's house after everyone had gone to bed (and sneak back in before dawn) so he could wander the streets with me till all hours.

The annual Spring ritual, as it came to be, down at the Pits, the meeting of the clan. The year the firemen waded across the river to see what the hell we were up to over in the bushes with that big old bonfire and all that hootin' and hollerin' and sat down for a beer. It seemed one of the fire-fighters was neighbour of Mike's.

Whiteley and Nose trucking up the Brookbanks path (probably coming from Janet Johnson's place) towards us all standing out on the corner of the Parkwoods Mall, carting a tattered Ummagumma album and wearing those buckskin jackets.

Watching Monty Python's at said Johnson residence (yeah, I remember this Paul). Nose went from one sister to the other, right?

The wild-ass party at Nigel and Moira's father's apartment and the screaming drive down the Parkway to the Stones concert. Mike, Darcy, and I fighting our way down from the greys to centre ice and through the crowd up to the foot of the stage. Someone ripping the ass out of my brand new gold lame pants from Long John's, Mike's choice for fashions at that time.

Mike's pink platforms, with the sky-blue toe flames. And all that satin. It was a look. You had to be there.

Several equally wild-ass parties at 63 Fortrose when someone's Mom had gotten married and (foolishly) left someone in charge of the house till it was sold. It was only good fortune that P.C. John Taylor, who lived across the street, liked someone's Mom.

Andrew and Gunny and Hammy and Smith and Paul Fowler. Andy clunking along in horrid platform shoes and going bald at 17. I knew Andy Johnson from the age of 9.

Paul Fowler's 63 Fairlane and cramming 12-15 people into it (in the trunk too) for rides up to the Drop-In. Paul's muscle cars, the Mustangs. Paul's irrational LOVE for the Moody Blues and the Beach Boys at the same time.

Heavy duty intellectual-type fights over the relative merits of Led Zeppelin 3 versus Led Zeppelin 4 with Gunny.

Robin "Smiley" Richard.

Oly playing that one side of Physical Graffiti ad nauseum on Redpath.

The V.P. Drop-In Centre. Grayson and Deirdre.

Hearing Lump, Peanuts and Magoomba play for the first time at the Drop-In Centre and knowing right then that I was never going to make a living as a musician. Hearing Dan Hill later (again at the Drop-In) and thinking I might just be able to after all, heh heh. But shit, that old Kay of Ian's was damned near as big as he was! And John (beatle bass, right John?) was the first bass player I ever heard who could double whatever the lead player was laying down, played lead lines on his bass even when he was a kid.

Hearing Genesis for the first time wafting into Paul's bedroom from Darryl's stereo in the apartment on Leith Hill.

Almost burning down the apartment at 2600 around the same time.

Seeing Mahavishnu Orchestra soon after at Convocation Hall.

Centre aisle, second row, Massey Hall, being buffeted by the flash pots we were so close, at the end of "Supper's Ready."

Fergus and Adrian Elliot.

Pete getting his "serious" Ludwig drums. They were beautiful and he could play them so it was pretty good. Jam sessions down in the basement of his parent's house were really cool after that.

Jim Miles. And his father who taught boxing up at the Drop-In.

Willy playing 12 Dreams for me and guaranteeing that this was going to be a huge record. I didn't like it at first, but I still listen to it now, close to 30 years later. It still sounds good. You were right Bill.

Kevin Bjarnason. The original Yes freak. The only true pacificist I have ever known.

Sandy Wilson refusing to allow _anything_ by the Rolling Stones to be played on his turntable up at the apartment in The Toronto (I think it was called, can't remember the name of the damned street), down the street from our place on Soudan.

Garth. Bless him.

Kevin Ackroyd.

The Parkway Tavern. Puisse Cafes and Rod Stewart and Mike's birthday parties. Klaus and Ribble holding court at "their" table at the back. It was here that Nose rescued me from the streets one chilly late summer evening. It was here outside in the parking lot after closing that Nose also let me take the worst beating I ever received in my life for shooting my mouth off in a drunken stupor one night. Steve was funny like that. In later years, screaming in at ten to one for last call every weekend from whatever party we'd been terrorising.

Debbi Wilson. Mike loved her pretty bad back in those days.

Harri's Acoustic amp and that old SG in the upstairs front bedroom on Redpath. You could hear him playing down at the corner of Redpath and Soudan, several hundred yards away, over the evening traffic!

Pete, Oly, and Duck--the hippies of the group.

Mike Williams.

Emo. Where I learned to love Bob Dylan.

The Winnipeg 7 who went to visit Linn and stayed overnight.

Perth Count Conspiracy at Massey Hall.

Primal Therapy LIVE on Spadina Avenue!

Mother's Sandwich Shop which kept Oly alive one Spring, as I recall.

Artistat which financed many of our early adventures. My first steady job it was, at $49.50 a week, delivering photostats on a bicycle all over downtown Toronto. I cannot remember whether that wage was net or gross. Christy Shareck was a good dude. So was Johnny Wood, bless him too.

Walking up to Paul Whiteley's parent's place the morning after the night before with Paul and Nose, and another time, listening to "One of These Days" on the headphones at my father's apartment.

The house on Soudan, both years. Taylor HATED the boys; heh heh, they knew it too. The house on Redpath.

A summer holiday in a Buick with Sandy and her baby girl, Wanda, and Paul. Ending up in Magog with Frank and Debbi.

Linn. Larry.

Moira, Elaine, and Bobby. And Hazel, whatever happened to Hazel?

Maura and Evel-een. *grin*

Wanda Woods.

Placing bets on how long it would take Harri to get that babe over at the table across the bar to come over and talk to him, she always left with him too. Harri's a respectable dad and husband nowadays, but, hey a legend is a legend.

Listening to Tull with Harri in his bedroom in his parent's house on Roywood. Watching Harri carve that soapstone statue of the figure from the Zeppelin album in the basement of his parent's house one summer.

Getting bounced out of the basement bar under the Executive restaurant over on Eglinton. Getting bounced out of the Camelot just down the street on Mount Pleasant. Getting bounced out of . . .

Rick Quennville.

Brownie.. MB.

The two rock festivals. Rock Hill, the good one, and the nightmare at Madoc. Spend a weekend with The Choice.

Alice Cooper and Steppenwolf (amongst many others, Chilliwack when they were good) at the all day concert at Lamport Stadium I think. Chucking empties down at the pigs and ponies outside in the parking lot from the top of the bleachers.

Erika Ross and the giant bunny at Edward's Gardens. I missed this soiree but it immediately became legend amongst the early crew. It was one of those "bonding" experiences that we all hear about. *grin*

That's it for now. Not bad eh? And I didn't even touch on the later years, the trips out west (well, I got as far as Winnipeg), or any of that stuff from the restless years. Amazing what comes forth when you open the floodgates.

Dave.

"Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades Forever and forever when I move." Tennyson --------------------------------------

dsage@uoguelph.ca