tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:/blogs/today-at-hensley-farmsToday at Hensley Farms2024-03-18T12:39:50-07:00Tom Hensleyfalsetag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/73688942024-03-18T12:39:50-07:002024-03-18T12:39:51-07:00Greetings from Limbo<p>In case you're wondering about my whereabouts, I'm hereabouts. Unfortunately my email domain was stolen by a sleazy outfit called Namecheap--the name says it all--so make a note not to hook up with them. I'll sort this out one of these days, but I'm a bit busy right now, so I'll get back to you on that---and everything else too.</p>Tom Hensleytag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/73364032024-01-18T15:01:20-08:002024-03-18T12:34:43-07:00A sad say in Hoople<p>A long-time friend has left the building. Peter Schickele, who performed under the <i>nom de schtick</i> P.D.Q. Bach was taken away from us at the untimely age of 88. The Hensleys met Peter shortly after they relocated from Indiana to Los Angeles, Hoosier friend, the late Jeff Ehhart (AKA The Trumpeting Fool), and continued meeting up every time Peter came to town to ply his trade of musical humor, of which he was a giant creator.<span> </span></p><p>Peter’s soundtrack for the film “Silent Running” was his first, and also my first recording session in LA. Peter continued LA regular visits in town until a few years ago (often with our friends in the Armadillo Quartet), and we those visits tapered off, we<span> </span>him already, but knowing that he won’t be back is sad beyond the beyond.</p><p> </p><p><br> </p>Tom Hensleytag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/71210992022-12-10T14:41:06-08:002024-01-19T10:42:30-08:00Grand Gardening<p> </p>
<p><strong><span class="font_small"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/aedf1acaf6db9600113a3b1abb8b8670d84b3b83/original/img-1304-jpg.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></span></strong>The sports season has begun, and by sports I mean basketball. I’m from Indiana, so that’s the only sport that matters. I’m mentioning this because today my alma mater, coincidentally Indiana, is playing against Arizona in Las Vegas. I’ll be watching. I often watch basketball on television because it gives me a chance to revisit venues where we have performed over the years. The MGM grand Garden is one of those, and I have lovely memories of our star having fans relocated from the highest balconies to the front section, making for a better experience for them, and for us as well. </p>
<p>I’ve heard that Billy Joel adapted a similar policy in recent times. I look forward to watching today’s game from my cozy home seat without having to take on the arduous trek in and out through the casino.</p>Tom Hensleytag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/70939582022-11-02T12:49:11-07:002022-11-02T12:57:48-07:00Tim talks TODAY!<p><a contents="TIM TALKS!" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://blog.fantagraphics.com/events/virtual-tim-hensley-detention-2-in-conversation-with-kayla-e-precious-rubbish-hosted-by-floating-world-comics/" target="_blank">TIM TALKS!</a></p>
<p>The youngest Hensley, Tim, is doing a real-world interview today, and will be chatting about his new book. You won't get this opportunity often.</p>Tom Hensleytag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/70939572022-11-02T12:49:10-07:002022-11-02T12:49:39-07:00Tim talks TODAY<p>https://blog.fantagraphics.com/events/virtual-tim-hensley-detention-2-in-conversation-with-kayla-e-precious-rubbish-hosted-by-floating-world-comics/</p>
<p>The youngest Hensley, Tim, is doing a real-world interview today, and will be chatting about his new book. You won't get this opportunity often.</p>Tom Hensleytag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/70712472022-09-29T13:03:00-07:002022-11-01T14:19:31-07:00Sticking it out, so to speak<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/d769a4680d00edab61171b0020a686bcb9170287/original/img-3271.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpeg" class="size_m justify_left border_none" alt="" /><em>We said “I do” on this day exactly 60 years ago today. Spoiler alert: we are still happily married. What follows is the detailed version of that story. </em></p>
<p>On this day a few years ago—okay, QUITE a few years ago—A beautiful red-haired college coed named Sarah Shideler made what could have been the worst mistake of her life: she exchanged vows, rings, assorted official papers and various bodily fluids with a nameless, blameless, shameless chap from Bloomington—a geeky, piano-playing occasional student whose job prospects consisted of working nights in smoky jazz bars and who was known to associate with individuals who were questionable at best, disreputable at worst. </p>
<p>Sarah, a promising young mezzo-soprano, was a voice major at the Indiana University School of Music, having diverted to follow a musical course of study instead of her original intent of going to New York to become a fashion designer. This tragically illustrates one of the dangers of sending your daughter to music school: she could end up marrying a musician. </p>
<p>She met her betrothed while she was singing in a pop choral ensemble called, in the quaint fashion of the day, the Belles of Indiana. The Belles had done a joint concert, excuse the expression, with the University’s newly-formed jazz ensemble, which was sponsored. yet barely tolerated, by Indiana University. The pianist had caught her eye, even though she doesn’t remember throwing it. Actually, she knew a bit about him because he was a high school classmate and friend of her cousin in Bloomington, Indiana. So, during a break in rehearsals, she went down to the bandstand introduce herself. But he was at that time surrounded by other coeds who clustered around him begging that he play his recorded hemi-demi-semi-hits, “Gnaw Bone” and “Possum Trot,” from his unreleased album, “Brown County Suite.” She was able to get his attention long enough to say hello and mention her cousin, but he didn’t seem to be all that interested, so she returned to the alto section to continue the rehearsal. </p>
<p>And that’s the end of the story. They never met again. </p>
<p>Wrong. <br>Despite his apparent lack of attention to her presence, he was in fact smitten, in his own twisted, passive-aggressive, excruciatingly shy manner. And he set out to find some way to ask her out. This was not easy for him, because whenever the necessary words were scheduled to escape his mouth they somehow became trapped en route from his brain to his larynx and turned into something like “hey, how ya doin’?” This did nothing to further his chances. </p>
<p>So he came up with a fiendishly clever plan. He purchased a pair of tickets to a campus production of “Brigadoon” with every intention of inviting her to accompany him. But each time he picked up the telephone to make the move, he somehow found himself ordering a pizza instead. The performance day dawned and he realized that by now it was far too late for him to call, so he resigned himself to going to the show alone. </p>
<p>Meanwhile, Sarah was picking up some extra credit in a new way: acting as an usher at the performance of “Brigadoon.” One night, when her ushering duties were completed near the show’s end, she noticed an empty aisle seat and sat down in it to watch the finale, ironically next to the man she would find herself sitting down with for decades to come. When the lights came up, they chatted and inevitably left together, and have remained so since then. </p>
<p>A year or so later, on his 22nd birthday, they were married at an Episcopal church in Fort Wayne, Indiana. </p>
<p>Some in her family were slightly dubious about the marriage, because his family itself was slightly dubious—his father was in the juke box business and the son was a musician. And his family was slightly dubious about the whole thing because there was no liquor served at the reception. </p>
<p>His family’s doubts were resolved when they went out somewhere for drinks after the reception. Her family’s doubts were resolved fifteen years later when he invited them to see the Neil Diamond show at the Market Square Arena and had a reception room set up for them. Those of you looking to heal any family feuds, sibling schisms or parental pouting should consider the healing power of Diamondville. </p>
<p>Despite his work as a musician, somehow the newlyweds were able to be together for their anniversary every year until September 29, 1992, when Concerts West chose to schedule a performance by their best-known talent in Sacramento, a town whose newspaper is named after an insect. </p>
<p>On that occasion, their anniversary celebration was marred by the mysterious disappearance of the bed from their hotel room while their attention was diverted by a lengthy conversation with the band’s lead vocalist, Mr. Diamond, who was implicated in the plot.. Tour security personnel told them: “We’ve seen these rings of bed thieves before. They’ll have that bed repainted, the serial number stripped off, and up for sale in Mexico by tomorrow morning.” </p>
<p>But fortunately it was returned later that night as mysteriously as it had disappeared. As of tonight, the Hensleys have happily endured 3120 weeks, or 60 years, of marriage, and they recently announced “We intend to remain together for at least a while longer, until we really get it right.” </p>
<p>One thing is certain: Sarah is responsible for whatever he is today, which is a horrible burden for any woman to bear. </p>
<p>Another thing is certain: you’re unlikely ever to hear one of them say a nasty word about the other. </p>
<p>Co-dependent? Let’s put it this way—if he was to drown in the LA River tomorrow, her life would probably flash in front of his eyes.</p>Tom Hensleytag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/70630502022-09-18T13:14:59-07:002022-09-18T13:19:32-07:00The Past Redux<p>Here’s another clipping from the Hensley Farms archives... Forward into the past </p>
<p>A kindly nod from the 60s, when I was on the Hoosier jazz planet, and at least one reviewer thought we were pretty good. It nearly convinced me.</p>
<p>I got to play with some real guy along the ways: Lee Konitz, Kenny Dorham, Charlie Mariano…</p>
<p>When I later moved to LA I was advised never to mention any jazz background, because it would keep me out of the rock musician crowd, where the work was. I remember one older sax player stressing the point by assuring me “A good review from Leonard Feather is the kiss of death in this town.”</p>
<p>But when I began doing sessions for Phil Spector, I observed that all the players were stars from the jazz world. I thought I knew stuff, but I knew nothing</p>
<p><span class="font_regular"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/9bd1dca3356629dc023328cee7ef228209889770/original/hensley-indy.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsImxhcmdlIl1d.jpeg" class="size_xl justify_left border_none" alt="" /></span></p>Tom Hensleytag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/70250212022-07-27T13:17:21-07:002022-07-27T13:17:21-07:00Tim Hensley, more to tell <p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/baf641266a52f3070a7b706c1ebb94f0bc2d0e06/original/30064474-sx318.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_none" alt="" />The other day I posted the news that our son Tim’s new book is finally about to emerge after three years. That was delightful to hear, but now comes additional word the Fantagraphics is also reissuing Tim’s previous book, Sir Alfred, which has been sold out and unavailable for a while. I’m posting their ad for it here, and it tells a bit more about Sir Alfred, a strange and delightful volume which I hope many of you discover. The reissue of Sir Alfred is scheduled to be concurrent with the release of Detention #2: "Maggie, a Girl of the Streets on October 26. Tim's earlier masterpiece, WALLY GROPIUS is only available on the collectible market at this time, and it's rather pricey there.</p>
<p>Here is the Fantagraphics release about Sir Alfred:</p>
<p><em>Behind the bonhomie, his "British touch," and his legendary films adored by the entire planet, Alfred Hitchcock turns out to have been in turn miserable, dangerous, mean, insensitive, obsessed, mad, and often screaming with laughter and/or dread. Master cartoonist Tim Hensley (Wally Gropius, Detention #2) paints a satiric and oblique portrait in this oversized one-shot (there is no Sir Alfred #1 or 2) that somehow informs the reader more about Hitchcock than most conventional history.</em></p>
<p>There is information about preordering both these items on <a contents="Fantagraphics' site." data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.fantagraphics.com/collections/coming-soon?page=3" target="_blank">Fantagraphics' site.</a></p>
<p> </p>Tom Hensleytag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/70205932022-07-22T16:24:16-07:002022-07-23T13:26:16-07:00Big News From Hensley Farms<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/9d80755f779917f4204af36a70e9d2a1cd0fa8b5/original/screen-shot-2022-07-22-at-10-28-26-am.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsImxhcmdlIl1d.png" class="size_l justify_left border_none" alt="" /></p>
<p>TIM HENSLEY </p>
<p>Press Release<br>From Fantagraphics:</p>
<p><span class="font_large"><strong>Detention #2 </strong></span></p>
<p>On sale date: January 1, 1900 </p>
<p>Brilliant cartoonist Tim Hensley (Wally Gropius) returns with his first new comic book since the acclaimed “Sir Alfred No. 3” in 2015! This is a gorgeous, oversized one-shot comic magazine (there is no Detention #1 — it's a joke, folks!) strictly limited to 2000 copies and available only through the direct market!</p>
<p>Hensley "adapts" in his own absurdist fashion an acknowledged classic of American literature, “Maggie: A Girl of the Streets” by Stephen Crane into a 44-page, oversized, full-color comic book titled “Detention #2.” Crane’s 1893 novella tells the story of Maggie, a Bowery waif on the cusp of maturity who becomes tragically embroiled with a barkeep named Pete.</p>
<p>Hensley satirically frames his version of this brutal tale of slum life as a study aide à la Classics Illustrated, created for those being punished by remedial instruction.</p>Tom Hensleytag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/70181002022-07-19T15:35:15-07:002022-07-19T15:52:03-07:00The Hottest Day Ever Redux<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/af09cc814b3f851631ce62a972f2b42fa4a0097c/original/train.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsImxhcmdlIl1d.jpg" class="size_l justify_left border_none" alt="" /></p>
<p>Today, I heard, was the hottest day in England…ever. That happens every so often, and it happened to us in 2005. </p>
<p>When we had arrived in Ipswich for our May 28 show, and we told the local folks that we’d had a great train ride down from Newcastle, their usual response was “Oh really?” or “I’m very happy for you.” When Friday morning came around, along with our planned departure for Birmingham, we were excited about another lovely ride on the British railways. </p>
<p>Boarding the train, headed toward London, it became apparent we were no longer aboard the Flying Scotsman. The amenities had shrunk from posh to pish. And it was hot. No air conditioning, no windows that open, not even a fan to move a little air around. </p>
<p>But at least we were moving. </p>
<p>For a while. </p>
<p>At each of the stops along the way, the temperature in the train cars rose. And then, at a village oddly called Hatfield Peveral, the stop became a pause, then a delay, then a breakdown, then a shutdown. The train was not moving, the thermometer was soaring, and Touroid patience was growing thin. </p>
<p>The train staff sympathized, but wouldn’t open the doors “for safety reasons,” and it continued to grow hotter. </p>
<p>“In Los Angeles, you could be arrested for keeping a dog in a car like this,” one Touroid correctly pointed out, and soon a revolution was building. Art Cisneros slithered through a window and spoke to officials, making a list of demands and pleas. </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/b14ad642155bc2e4ac70320315ffd48a09634ac1/original/cimg1865-jpg.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpeg" class="size_m justify_left border_none" alt="" />Eventually, a door was somehow made to open, thanks to our tireless security personnel, and the Arch Angel company spilled out into the station like prison escapees, eventually clusering in a nearby street. The horn players whipped out their instruments and played a few numbers and putting forth a hat which collected them a few quid. <img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/6d7d6ad874281ad125274946ac61d22955aa5bce/original/cimg1869-jpg.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpeg" class="size_m justify_left border_none" alt="" /></p>
<p>After some reconnoitering, a plan was formed and the party packed up their axes and went on by foot, walking through a modestly lovely area of homes, across a highway bridge, and into the village itself, finally arriving at an establishment called The Swan Pub, which offered plenty of beverages but no food.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/40480a8176508fcc15105957af3304ad1e2f9f0a/original/cimg1885-jpg.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpeg" class="size_m justify_left border_none" alt="" />Beverages would suffice, and Touroids were finally able to taste the touted local Greene King IPA. </p>
<p>Officials requisitioned a short-order bus from somewhere, and an hour of so later one pulled up in front of the Swan, and some sorry, shot, and somewhat soused Touroids quickly climbed aboard. </p>
<p>This bus, it was quickly and happily learned, came with full factory air conditioning, from a fully air-conditioned factory (thank you, Phil Proctor) which brought sighs of relief, which were tempered by learning that it contained no toilet. “Oh hell, we can pee out the window,” was the cry and the party carried on. <img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/d5791dd622a97529b6164a81ef919dcd3632e68c/original/cimg1890-jpg.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpeg" class="size_m justify_left border_none" alt="" /></p>
<p>By now, any hopes of avoiding rush- hour traffic had evaporated, so eventually the driver surrendered and pulled into a freeway rest stop, a food court featuring such amenities as Macdonalds, KFC and Pizza Hut, along with a French baguette joint with a pseudo cappuccino machine. A sign in front advertised internet access, but the wi- fi system required a password to enter, and the sign contained no clues about how to do so. </p>
<p>So Touroids threw themselves on the mercy of the food court, along with the occupants of dozens of other tour buses, many of them child-filled. Word filtered down that we were still hours from Birmingham, so stragglers gathered at the bus and the journey resumed and continued until the sun was on its way down and Birmingham finally showed its pretty face, sans its Raymond Mason “Forward” signature artwork, which had been tragically destroyed by fire two years earlier, and for which we'll now shed a post-mortem tear.</p>Tom Hensleytag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/70172652022-07-18T13:15:44-07:002022-07-19T14:34:27-07:00Whose Day Is It Today?<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/05838fcad3c2acd6ba0f19c509d60678e34d72d7/original/img-5076.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpeg" class="size_m justify_left border_none" alt="" />Sometimes I look online to see what's special about the day. I don't always do this, of course, and that's how I missed National Ice Cream Day recently. But I did check today, and learned that today is Mandela Day, celebrating the birthday of the South African leader Nelson Mandela</p>
<p>I never had the chance to meet Mr. Mandela, but I believe my boss attended a dinner for him some years ago in London.</p>
<p>Then, in 2011, we toured South Africa, a tour which inxluded shows in Johannesburg, Durban, Port Elizabeth and Cape Town, playing in stadiums built for the 2010 World Cup competition. The show in Port Elizabeth took place at the Nelson Mandela University Sports Stadium.</p>
<p>When we were in Johannesburg, our hotel adjoined Nelson Mandela Square where this photo was taken, after a dinner of some fine African cuisine with Reinie and Linda Press, Stanley Miller, King Errisson and Larry Klimas. They are shown being dwarfed by a larger-than-life statue of Mr. Mandela.</p>
<p>So here's a happy heavenly birthday wish to our good buddy Nelson, who stuck around long enough for a well-deserved vindication.</p>Tom Hensleytag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/69889502022-06-07T14:58:10-07:002022-06-07T14:58:10-07:00Seals and Crofts and me <p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/78078589c5ff20b6ad5c4fdba2161e15e1adffe8/original/tom-with-seals-and-crofts.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpeg" class="size_m justify_left border_none" alt="" />In the early 70s, I did a little touring with Seals and Crofts, who were hot at the time. We were working their hits—I remember Summer Breeze and We May Never Pass This Way Again. I also remember that my favorite part of the show was the bluegrass jam tune they did every night at the end of the show. I wasn’t needed to play on that one, But sometimes did anyway—just a leftover impulse from my days with the Pigeon Hill Boys, although I was playing bass back then. </p>
<p>After the show, Jimmy and Dash did a little meet ’n’ greet with members of the audience who wanted to hear about their Baha’i faith. I stayed for it once, and felt it was nice, unlike the Scientology cult, which I wouldn’t have tolerated so politely. And Seals and Crofts themselves were good guys. Here’s a photo of a dressing room jam somewhere on the road, somewhere in time, somewhere in the itinerary, somewhere in space. </p>
<p>RIP Jimmy, I enjoyed my brief time in your orbit.</p>Tom Hensleytag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/69821722022-05-28T14:44:36-07:002022-07-19T15:35:41-07:00Mr. TC Remembered<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/577d0f2c33916f597440be85ff0b4706776a5df5/original/img-1734.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpeg" class="size_m justify_left border_none" alt="" />On Memorial Day, I’d like to take a moment to remember a friend of the Diamondville community who is less-known to those outside our circle. Tom Collins, who operated our tour concessions for many years, left us in 2019, after Mr. Diamond’s retirement the previous year and the pandemic shutdown which was in progress, so we weren’t able to mark his passing in a more public way. </p>
<p>Tom was born in 1931 to Thomas and Martha Collins in the small Canadian mining town of Kirkland Lake, Ontario. Collins worked in a bakery and left school in 8th grade to work with his father in the local gold mines. Like most Canadian boys at the time, he learned to ice skate, play hockey and later turned to figure skating where he found his passion. Tommy's dreams reached beyond Kirkland Lake after he won the Northern Ontario Novice Men's Championship. In 1949 at the age 18, Collins joined Holiday On Ice as a chorus skater. In his second year with the tour he became the headliner and ultimately vice president and general manager. He also appeared as a skater on Broadway with Sonja Henie and later toured with her in South America. </p>
<p>While skating with Holiday On Ice he met his wife Jane (Janie), a 1956 Miss America contestant competing as Miss Georgia and fellow worldwide ice skating performer. </p>
<p>Tom Collins moved to the business side of Holiday On Ice in 1969 where he worked with tour owner and brother-in-law Morris Chalfen of Minneapolis. This was the beginning of what would later be known as Champions on Ice. Taking a break from the administrative side of the ice shows, Collins branched out into the music industry with Bill Graham promoting the careers of rock 'n roll singers of the day like Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, Alice Cooper, David Bowie and Earth Wind & Fire. Within a few years, promoting evolved into a merchandising business supplying programs, T-shirts and memorabilia for touring entertainers. His first client: Neil Diamond, was soon followed by John Denver, Bob Dylan, the Moody Blues, Wayne Newton, Rick James, Joni Mitchell and Earth Wind & Fire. </p>
<p>By 1975 under Collins' ownership, Champions On Ice, featured Olympic amateur and professional skaters who entertained audiences with their medal-winning solos rather than the vaudeville acts on skates of previous ice shows. Each year's tour program read like a Who's Who of ice skating. Tom put the skaters first. He did not want them to worry about anything other than their performances so the tour became known in the skating world as "the best of the best." </p>
<p>By the early 90's, interest in figure skating began skyrocketing. By 2002, the tour included shows in 93 cities. Collins was not only known for his generosity to his skaters but also to the U.S. Figure Skating Association making him the largest single donor in figure skating history. He sold his show to AEG, the sports and entertainment giant, in 2006. He oversaw the tour until 2008 when he announced his retirement. </p>
<p>The tour had become his extended family but his own family was an integral part of the tour. Sons Mike, Mark and Marty, along with Tom's brothers Butch and Harris were involved with tour operations. </p>
<p>Collins was the only person to be inducted into all 3 Figure Skating Halls of Fame - U.S., Canadian and World. The U.S. Figure Skating headquarters in Colorado Springs was renamed the Tom Collins Building in recognition of his support of the sport in 1999. </p>
<p>Tom shared his charisma with every person he met and treated everyone as if they were his close personal friend. Perhaps his greatest attribute was the love he had for his family. He would do anything for his family particularly his three sons. His love for life and playful spirit always came out when he was with his grandchildren. He played grape toss in the pool, hide and seek, took them to the movies and ice cream, attended each of their sporting events, school activities, and other performances. Holidays were particularly special, always over the top and filled with love. He never missed a chance to tell his family how much he loved them. </p>
<p>Tom came up with some wonderful t-shirt designs for our tour, including the PBI Roving Reporter shirts which were awarded to those who came up with stories which appeared in our legendary newsletter. He showed up regularly on the tour and was a champion at hanging out late with the band. Sometimes his pals, particularly fellow skater Scott Hamilton would turn up with him. </p>
<p>He regularly invited our group whenever his tour played the Forum and we were in town, and his receptions were famous for the food and fun. Carry on, Mr. TC!</p>Tom Hensleytag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/69043122022-02-22T13:22:41-08:002022-05-04T16:52:43-07:00Our Daily Miracle<p>On our tour, each show day began with breakfast in Hosty and concluded with Bus Call, when we were delivered to the Venue, where we moved into our quarters and waited for the words which would officially begin our workday: “The band is welcome on stage.” We were welcome because our heroic crew had completed the impossible task of converting an unwelcoming structure designed to accommodate sports events into an oversized palace of the arts. They had begun their work early in the morning and were almost always completely finished by the time we arrived—an actual miracle, when you think about it, our daily miracle. Our band members quickly headed for the stage to get ready to make music.<br><br>Sometimes we played a little by ourselves, and sometimes we played together, those of us who felt like doing so. When Alan Lindgren and I owned the stage for a few minutes by arriving early, we frequently ran through a piece, one that was not in our show and not by Neil. It was a song by the band Procol Harum, sometimes described as a “one hit wonder,” because of the group’s 1967 hit “A Whiter Shade of Pale.” But that tune, while great, was not the one we used to warm up our chops. Our obsession was with a song called “A Salty Dog.” Yes, there was an old folky tune with that same name, but the Procol piece was something completely different, with irresistible chord changes and haunting lyrics (beginning with "All hands on deck!" which was appropriate to lead into our sound check, and a compelling vocal by the song’s writer, Gary Brooker, who died this week.RiP, Mr. Brooker, we recognize your genius.<br><br>Procol Harum was inspirational to many piano players in rock bands, including me. Their melding of piano and organ parts was a large part of our sound and its orchestration. There will be a lot of musicians of my era speaking about Mr. Brooker in the next days, and probably more who should. I know I’ll be listening to the entire Procol Harum oeuvre today. You can get started by watching the live video below.</p>
<p><a contents="A Salty Dog, Procol Harum Live" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Gi7Z3-T_qQ" target="_blank">A Salty Dog, Procol Harum Live</a></p>Tom Hensleytag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/68890722022-02-04T15:07:47-08:002022-02-20T11:06:45-08:00Many Joan Rivers to Cross<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/b96e2c7e4406e7959d9a46ef1d1ee53b6183db0a/original/jim-connell-jake-holmes-joan-rivers-circa-1960s.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_none" alt="" />I’ve mentioned the era when I had the house trio at the Embers nightclub in Indianapolis. The traditional booking there was a singer and a comic. When my services weren’t required—when the singer brought in backing musicians, for example, I was sent off to play cocktail piano in the lounge. That wasn’t my forte, although I occasionally sang a Mose Allison tune in a vain attempt to be entertaining. Sometimes the main room act would drop by and hang out in the lounge after their set. One such act was a folkie comedy group called Jim, Jake and Joan. They were good, and it seemed to me that Jake Holmes was destined to be a star. The girl in the group was good too. We sat and visited in the bar a few times, and I enjoyed knowing her. Her name was Joan Rivers, and she was young, cute and funny. She retained at least one of those three qualities the rest of her life. </p>
<p>I didn’t encounter her again until 50 years later. I was on a plane, coming home from a European tour with Neil Diamond. I heard she was on the plane, but I didn’t see her during the flight. Our band was in business class, so I have to assume she was in show business class. </p>
<p>We landed at JFK and shuffled through our formalities, with everything moving along nicely. I noticed Joan was up ahead of me, and as I moved forward, I could tell I was catching up with her, and eventually passing her. I wondered why I was getting through the airport more quickly than Joan Rivers, and I eventually found out why: she was having a problem at immigration—her face apparently didn’t sufficiently match her passport picture. I felt sorry for her, but knew she would eventually make 20 minutes of material out of that situation. </p>
<p>I’m mentioning this because there’s I read there’s a biopic tv series about Joan in the works, with the requisite controversy. Some folks are upset that the part of Joan is to be played by an actress who is Catholic. Sarah Silverman refers to this as the “Jewface” policy, the practice of casting non-Jews as Jewish women. I’m not going to wade in on this topic—after all, my boss was Jewish enough to star in “The Jazz Singer,” yet we recorded two Christmas albums with him. I don’t think I have a vote on this, so I’ll just watch the series and hope that the star is suitably young, cute and funny, at least for a while.</p>Tom Hensleytag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/68814542022-01-27T17:34:04-08:002022-02-03T15:09:28-08:00My First Touring Gig<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/32129591af318085445fa77e3e2646da1b686bbb/original/img-2413.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsImxhcmdlIl1d.jpeg" class="size_l justify_left border_none" alt="" />In the summer of 1963 I hit the road for the first time, playing state fairs around the midwest as the pianist with the Warran Covington Orchestra. Warren had bought the Tommy name and library, and the shows, which were the grandstand entertainment at various state fairs, featured Buster Keaton, Rosemary Clooney, and the Smothers Brothers (who are visible on the billboard shown), along with vaudeville acts such as the Flying Zacchini Family and Dockey's dogs. The latter was a troupe of basketball-playing boxer dogs, who lived in a trailer with Dockey himself. It was considered wise to stay away from that trailer, because the odor was intense. We played for the singers, lively tunes for the dogs, and played the Smothers on and off, and background music while Buster did some pantomime slapstick falls and stuff outdoors in the night air. He seemed like the oldest person in the world to me, although he must have been around 64 at the time.</p>
<p>One night when we were in, I think, Kansas we had a night off and a group of us went to the movies. A theatre happened to be showing one of those compilations of silent films, "The Golden Age of Comedy" or something similar. I managed to sit a few seats to the right of Buster intentionally, because I was wanted to peek and try to see whether he laughed at his own primo material—I knew it would be included in the package.</p>
<p>Sure enough, one of Buster's classic scenes came on the screen (sorry I can't remember which one), and I looked to my left, and I observed Buster Keaton--okay, not laughing, but certainly smiling broadly, as if to say, "Yeah we didn't screw that bit up too badly."</p>
<p>I wish I'd had the gumption to chat with Buster at length, but he seemed too intimidating for that, and the opportunity was missed. I certainly will not make that mistake if he comes around again.</p>Tom Hensleytag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/68752082022-01-20T12:58:30-08:002022-02-03T15:11:58-08:00A Day for Jockeying Disks<p>Today is National Disk Jockey Day, for no good reason. Many of my friends are revealing their shameful pasts behind the microphone, and I am no exception. </p>
<p>When I was entering high school, the Bloomington radio station WTTS was the hippest place in town. An announcer named Gene Sherman did a nightly show from 10 pm to 1 am. It was called “Sherman’s March,” and he played mostly jazz, a fair amount of big band, especially Woody Herman. I eventually was among a small group that went to the station to meet Mr. Sherman. I learned that Gene had started as a salesman for Columbia Records in Indianapolis and Cincinnati, later worked as an advance man for Woody, and was on a first-name basis with seemingly every major jazz figure of the era. He was a good guy, and he was welcoming to our group of young jazz enthusiasts, and many others discovered jazz through his show. </p>
<p>He didn’t care if a bunch of teen-agers came down to the station and hung around while he did his show. He would sometimes speak to them on air, which was regarded as an honor. I wouldn’t call him a mentor, but many of us wanted to be him. </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/98d6ff930a05405fcaf46e7c94eccf8339fea73e/original/th-dj.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsInNtYWxsIl1d.jpeg" class="size_s justify_left border_none" alt="" />Eventually, after an introductory gig at a WBIW, 20 miles away in Bedford (my staff photo is shown here), I inherited Gene’s time slot, changed the name of the 10 to 1 times slot to “Night Flight,” and spent a few years at WTTS and WTTV-FM. A recent online search revealed that the FM station there now us has the WTTS call letters, while the AM station is now WGTC, which is said be an acronym for “good time country,” which is kind of sad. But WTTS-FM now has a very powerful signal, which it most certainly did not, at least when I worked there, so there is that. </p>
<p>On one Night Flight shift, I was playing an album I had brought from home. We did that—although there was a vast, or at least half-vast library at the station, there was no objection to deejays bringing in their own stuff to play. So I brought in an album called “Blues and Haikus”— poetry and jazz featuring saxophonist Al Cohn and the writer Jack Kerouac. I played several cuts, since it fit exactly into my no-format format. </p>
<p>A few days later, the station received a postcard addressed to me from a member of the English Department faculty at Indiana University. The guy who sent it was a friend of Jack Kerouac, and said that Jack had told him that he happened to be driving through the fields in southern Indiana the night I played his album, of which only a few hundred copies existed. He said he was thunderstruck to hear it played on his car radio in the Hoosier wilderness, and just wanted to let me know. </p>
<p>That was probably the peak moment in my radio career. Except maybe this: </p>
<p>A few years later, I was still working at WTTS-WTTV-FM, when I was offered a jazz gig, a road gig with the Buddy Montgomery group. Buddy, the vibist brother of Wes and Monk Montgomery, the royal family of Indianapolis jazz, was offering a gig that would start at a jazz club someplace in Ohio, and I thoiught about it for a while before saying no. We had a child by then, so it must have been around 1963, and I thought my pittance of a salary was a better option than the vagaries of a jazz career. </p>
<p>Later on, I heard that their gig vanished when the club folded, leaving the group stranded in Ohio for a bit, and I remember feeling I might possibly have made the correct decision. </p>
<p>I was still a radio and television major at IU, but I had already realized that the only guy at a radio station who made any real money was the guy who went out to sell time to advertisers. </p>
<p>WTTS was owned by Sarkes Tarzian Inc. Tarzian was a very rich, successful immigrant who had a huge business selling selenium rectifiers and other gadgets used in broadcasting, and eventually branched out into broadcasting itself. Each year his employees, including his radio station's staff, attended a holiday dinner at which they received a souvenir plate honoring a state. The idea was if you worked their 50 years, you would have a complete set. I did not plan to have a full set. </p>
<p>After Gene Sherman moved on, he went to work for the Crayola company as a crayon salesman. I lost track of him, and suspect that he never realized what an influence he had been for many of us juvenile delinquents. </p>
<p>After receiving a degree in Radio and Television, I was offered a job as news director for a small station in Ohio, which I turned down. I still didn’t know what I wanted to do to make a living, but I was adding to an increasing list of things that I did not care to do. That list has continued growing for a long time.</p>Tom Hensleytag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/68592522022-01-04T15:22:44-08:002022-02-03T15:16:45-08:00Who Gets What When, and Why?<p>Interview me? </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/819de7e60c694f6ffc44e3aeea22334b9a8efc0f/original/memories-1-54.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsInNtYWxsIl1d.jpg" class="size_s justify_left border_none" alt="" />I did my first interview back In the last century, in 1967, for the late, lamented Village Voice. That was a pretty hip publication back those days, and I thought it was cool that they wanted to talk to me, but after I read the resulting product. I hated myself. I sounded like the most arrogant jerk ever, and I vowed never to do that to myself again. I succeeded for a while, by remaining uninteresting enough that no one wanted to talk to me. Okay, not exactly, but I did manage to mostly lay low until 2017, when Kyle Long, a nice fellow from an Indianapolis weekly known as the late lamented, Nuvo, rang me up in Rochester, Michigan while I was on tour. He said he wanted to talk about the 50th anniversary, and I assumed he meant Neil’s 50th anniversary tour, which was going on at that time. </p>
<p>But no, he wanted to talk about the 50th anniversary of the album by my early group, the Masters of Deceit, which I had mostly forgotten about until his call. Mr. Long turned out to be a very skilled interviewer, and he usually knew every detail I had up my sleeve to show him. That interview came out so well that I mailed copies of it to people I imagined might be impressed by it. </p>
<p>So when a couple of guys from Indiana called me the other day to ask for an interview, I was fairly sanguine about it, and jumped aboard and had a good time chatting with them. So good a time, in fact. That I rambled on interminably, long enough that the resulting podcast had to be edited into a three part interview. It’s a bit weird. Since their podcast usually claims to be about business and finance and stuff like that and is called “Who Gets What.” I really didn’t know how anything I do is related to their subject matter, but I figured that was their problem. All I know is that once I got started blabbing, I just kept going. </p>
<p>I was impressed that they were willing to take a chance interviewing a guy whose conversations had already brought about the demise of two publications. (Let me add, however, that the magazine I began back in Indiana in 1965, the Brown County Almanack, is still being published, although under far different ownership.)</p>
<p>If you are, despite all this, inerested in hearing any of the resulting conversationw, here’s a link to the first part: </p>
<p><a contents="Who Gets What Podcast" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://mortonjohn.libsyn.com/neil-diamonds-pianist-part-i">Who Gets What Podcast</a></p>
<p>I notice that there have been absolutely no comments posted about this interview. If you feel inspired to issue a remark, it would be nice if you ,mentioned that my face is well-suited to an audio podcast.</p>Tom Hensleytag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/67393072021-09-07T20:32:59-07:002022-01-20T12:59:42-08:00September Song<p>I'm doing some updating to this site, so I'll apologize if anything wrong happens. I'm working on it now, so stuff might slip through unedited. But I'll get it right eventually. A lot is changing.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, I'd like to tell you this:</p>
<p>I knew a girl in high school named Elaine Patterson. Her brother Bob was a pal, and hung out with our crowd of bluegrass pickers and other weirdos, despite his being an athletic type. His nickname was “Breathless,” and he and his sister were good-looking people. </p>
<p>When Bob came by to visit with me when our tour took me to Phoenix, where he lived, Linda Press asked me later if I was lying about his being in my high school class, because he “looked so much younger.” </p>
<p>I knew Elaine, but she was a few years younger, so we weren’t really close. We connected a year or two ago, and had a great phone chat and made plans for more. </p>
<p>That won’t happen, because Elaine passed away recently. It turns out that the genes that made her so attractive also predisposed her to Multiple Myeloma, which eventually caused her death. </p>
<p>When I talked to my friend (another high school chum) Charlie, we discussed her career as an attorney in New York, and he said, “You know Elaine had a book out, right?” </p>
<p><a contents="" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=&ved=2ahUKEwjB6tbdzYTzAhXUoFsKHc9lBl8QFnoECAYQAQ&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.amazon.com%2FInklings-Orts-Smithereens-Elaine-Mills%2Fdp%2F1493151134&usg=AOvVaw3CBzJm9kxzyuW5gcsiB93F"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/5e9946ee32000677932db6bcfcd268a2455443c4/original/717lwryy4hl.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_none" alt="" /></a></p>
<p>I didn’t know. I tracked it down and read it a . “inklings, orts and smithereens” is a book of poems, and rather extraordinary ones, too. </p>
<p>I thought I knew Elaine, but it turns out I didn’t really know her at all. The poems were a revelation, making art, as others have done, out of growing up in Indiana. But better than most have done it. Reading it made me wish I could go back and meet her again, so I could slather her in praise for her writing, her insights, and her wit and wordplay.</p>
<p>Here's my favorite:</p>
<p><strong>Longing</strong></p>
<p><em><strong>Longing is vastly overrated;<br>so is having, as a matter of fact.<br>Being, on the other hand:<br>there's not enough of that.</strong></em></p>Tom Hensleytag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/67136412021-08-11T14:12:50-07:002021-09-07T20:34:04-07:00Jazz/Not Jazz <p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/cb635c2ac091e3e7386707eec4a11f6ef8076730/original/memories-1-20.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_none" alt="" />When I lived in Indiana, way back in the last century, my friend (and NEA Jazz Master) Jamey Aebersold would occasionally invite me down to Louisville to accompany some visiting jazz dignitaries. Pictured here is a flyer for such an evening with the fine saxophonist Charlie Mariano. I looked for one from the gig with Kenny Dorham and Lee Konitz, but it seems to be hiding in my archives at the moment. These are names I like to pull out when I want to inflate my jazz credentials more than they deserve. This was not always the case </p>
<p>When we moved to LA in 1970, I was cautioned not to mention my jazz background, lest it hinder my efforts at getting studio work. One elder statesman told me "A good review from Leonard Feather is the kiss of death in this town," and I took that advice to heart.</p>
<p>For a while, I did a lot of funky rockin' piano parts and big ballads, and almost nothing that could be interpreted as jazz. In fact, I did an album in 1981 with Jim Messina at his studio in Santa Barbara, and when the tunes took a turn toward the jazzy, I recommended to Jim that he bring in my friend Victor Feldman to cover the piano part on those tunes. He did as I suggested and it turned out great. RIP Victor. </p>
<p>After that, I no longer worried about hiding my jazz background. I noticed that there were a lot of jazz players on the sessions I did with Phil Spector, and I loved that. But jazz had taken a few turns over the years that made me uncomfortable, so even though my 60s album, "The Masters of Deceit," was considered by some to be "jazz/rock fusion," I steered clear of that kind of thing, until a faulty recording session forced me to reevaluate. </p>
<p>It was, in retrospect, my worst session experience in LA. Some people might be surprised to know that the artist was one that most jazz players would be thrilled to play with: a band called Steely Dan.</p>
<p>How it came about, why I ended up in the room, is unimportant; let's just say it was a big mistake. I knew they hated everything I played, and I hated everything I was being asked to play. I'm sure that none of our tracks ended up on anything they ever released, or at least I hope so. But there were mutual friends involved, and we were all nice about it, but I just couldn't wait to get out of Village Recorders that night, knowing that I would never return. </p>
<p><em>So, given all of that, why did I record an album called "Jazz Time: The Music of Neil Diamond"? The answer is that the jazz on that album is based on the styles that were prevalent when I came to love jazz, applied to the songs I loved playing for 40 years. That's why "Holly Holy" sounds like Ahmad Jamal, and why "Kentucky Woman" sounds like a cut from "Birth of the Cool."</em></p>
<p><em>You gotta play what you love. Otherwise, you're not playing.</em></p>Tom Hensleytag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/67126842021-08-10T16:13:09-07:002021-09-07T20:35:32-07:00Where credit is Due<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/d2a36f09a471cbdfdb748ba3f355bceceace7434/original/memories-1-19.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_none" alt="" />My college degree is in the field of radio and television. That’s what they called it then. It’s now the Media School, but it still authorizes me to operate the remote control whenever necessary. </p>
<p>At the beginning of my Freshman year, I co-produced a comedy TV special with a professor named Jack Sheehan. It was called “Non Sequitur,” and we were noticeably under the influence of Ernie Kovacs at the time—and possibly still now. </p>
<p>The reason I bring this up now is that I came across this card from the credits for Non Sequitur. I know who I am, and I know who Alan Kiger was (a great bebop trumpet player from Indiana who was part of the original George Russell Sextet), but I have no memory whatsoever of who Dale Wagoner is or was. </p>
<p>I’ve done the obligatory online searching that one does in these cases, and I found there are a lot of Dale Wagoners out there, none of whom seem to be this one. If you are or know who is or was Dale Wagoner, let me know so I can decide whether I need to brag about having worked with you or him. Or could Dale have been a woman? </p>
<p>As far as I know, there are no kinescopes of Non Sequitur.</p>Tom Hensleytag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/66835812021-07-09T11:31:10-07:002021-07-09T11:32:41-07:00A Short Story, all true<p>In the early 70s I was playing at the Troubador with Helen Reddy. Between sets I was hiking up the stairs to the dressing room when someone grabbed me from behind. It was Kris Kristofferson, and he gave me a big hug and said, “You’re the only one up there that didn’t look like the fuckin’ Partridge Family.” </p>
<p>Filed among my favorite Hollywood hugs.</p>Tom Hensleytag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/66804732021-07-06T13:45:59-07:002021-09-07T20:37:31-07:00Cycle of Fourths <p><em><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/e477fbcdbe25aee61418d8834802e8ce26ee0557/original/memories-1-18.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_none" alt="" />Ater the holiday I'm remembering a lot of Fourths of July from my checkered past. Here are a few. May the Fourths Be Witchoo</em></p>
<p><strong>1957 or so</strong>—I played at the Bloomington (Indiana) Country Club. It was an unpleasant evening. climaxed by a very drunk woman who persistently threw lit firecrackers under the already-out-of-tune piano I was trying to play. I made a silent voe never again to play at that country club—and, true to my word, I never set foot in the joint again.<br><br><strong>1976</strong> — We played in Las Vegas for the grand opening of the Aladdin Theater for the Performing Arts. We went for the weekend and took our kids along. Our friend Missy came along to baby-sit. While we were there, Richard and Tina were married, the ceremony taking place in Neil’s suite. We watched fireworks from the roof of the Jockey Club. When it was time to go home, Missy wouldn’t let us pay her, because she had won so much money playing poker. “After playing in Gardena,” she said, “These Vegas games are easy.” </p>
<p><strong>1986</strong> — Liberty Weekend. It was the centennial of the Statue of Liberty, and the reopening of it after restoration. It was an all-star televised event. All the celebrities' limos were parked in Red Hook and after the show, the stars were to be taken by ferry across to Red Hook. The ferry was delayed, resulting in a scrum of impatient stars, each off whom was the most important one there, battling to be first on the ferry. I'll tell the whole story sometime.</p>
<p><strong>1996</strong> — We had a show on the 3rd, in South Bend, Indiana, and then rode our trolley to Chicago, where we spent the 4th at the Sutton Place Hotel. That stay was distinguished by our Patriot Game: throwing balsa wood airplanes off the roof of the hotel, followed by our security personnel taking an elevator to street lever and rushing out on to Rush Street to pick up the aircraft and send them back up the elevator to Hosty for another round. On the 6th we flew to St. Louis, where we did our show. </p>
<p><strong>2009</strong>—We appeared with the Boston Pops on the Esplanade. It was televised, with Craig Ferguson as the host. His trailer dressing room was next our trailer dressing room, and we sat around for a while swapping tales about Glasgow—his former home, an a site of one of our shows, where the audience was seriously drunk. </p>
<p><em>There are more, but those are the ones that came to mind on this Fourth of July. Still not planning to return to the Bloomington Country Club unless they really make it worth my while.</em></p>Tom Hensley