Sitar Heroes


Bring yourself to ignore the glamour of the flannel shirt and steel-toed boots and I’d like to make it clear, once and for all, that I am not now, nor have I ever been, a rock star.

I’m a thief.

In the mid ‘70’s I was accomplice in robbing a young girl and her little brother of a brief unplanned encounter with celebrity.  Prepubescent dreams are not to be trifled with.  For 34 years I’ve been haunted by the faces of stolen reverie, and the fact that my cheesy mustache was recorded for posterity.

There were three of us in the wedding party.  I no longer remember whose.  This is hardly news; there are great patches of the ‘70’s that escape my recollection.  Even much of the early ‘80’s are a bit sketchy.

The wedding party consisted of:





Don, aka “Onger” (Long story)

Dennis, aka “Captain Spanky” (An even longer story.  One that requires protective garments just to listen to)

And Pinhole, aka “Elaine” (Don’t ask)

(Eyes have been blacked out, TRUE STORY style, in case the statute of limitations on dream quashing hasn't expired.)





Obligingly wrapped in the appropriate ruffles, and occupying time in front of a small town motel, we were approached by a boy of around 9 whose teenage sister was watching in obvious anticipation about 10 feet away.  In a rather creaky voice he inquired, “Are you guys the Doobie Brothers?”

Had any of us possessed the presence of mind to realize the potential damage to these young psyches we might have responded, simply, “Yes”.  Or, at the very least, “No…we’re Emerson, Lake and Palmer”.  But, looking at us, it’s easy to see that, in our collective bag of possessions, presence of mind wasn’t within easy reach.  All three of us just chuckled and shook our heads, “No”.  The “Thud!” of fallen expectations was almost audible.

Fortunately, for the music world and listening public, we gave no consideration to the error of these misguided youth.  Had we exploited our sheer lack of talent, I’m certain we would have capitalized on the success of the popular bands of the day and named ourselves “Helium Supply”, “The Strolling Pebbles”, or, perhaps, “Chartreuse Floyd”; but fate led us in separate directions.  Fate, it turns out, knew exactly what it was doing.

Late this Fall, we had occasion to reconnect at my niece’s wedding.




Clowning in front of a hotel in downtown Kansas City, “Captain Spanky” decided that this was probably “Ersatz Doobies: The Reunion Tour”.  We knew the planet couldn’t escape our melodious gifts forever.

So if you’re near the Airport Hilton in Napalm Springs be sure to stop in.

Thanks…We’re here all week.






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