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After the Brotherhood

"FANG"

was hired to play bass for

Ricky Nelson's Stone Canyon Band
On The Johnny Cash Show - 1970
Performing at the Grand Ole Opry
Nashville, Tennessee
I joined Rick Nelson's Stone Canyon Band at the end of 1969, shortly after The Brotherhood had broken up. Our personal manager in the Brotherhood was a wonderful guy named Don Nelson, who happened to be Rick's uncle. Don had introduced me to Rick, and we began to socialize throughout the following year at Rick's house and other places. Rick had come to one of The Brotherhood's showcase performances in Hollywood in 1968 as our special guest, and I recall after the show when we were all visiting back stage, that he paid me a very nice compliment about my bass playing and my singing. He mentioned that he was really impressed with my ability to sing difficult songs and play complicated bass lines at the same time. I was very flattered with his comments, but I probably didn't realize that he might have been setting the ground work for replacing his bass player in the Stone Canyon Band and winning me over to his camp, which eventually happened about a year and a half later at the end of December 1969. Rick's bass player at the time was quite a talent in his own right, none other than Randy Miesner, who went from Ricky Nelson to the Eagles. Apparently, Rick let Randy go because of some personality clashes they were having, but it seemed to work out well for Randy, because shortly after that the Eagles began their meteoric rise to superstardom. Unfortunately, Randy only lasted a few years with the Eagles and eventually went off on his own to pursue a solo recording career.
My stint with Ricky Nelson was even more short-lived, approximately 7 months, wrapping up around July 1970. Rick and I had philosophical differences on many levels; marital fidelity, the use of drugs, and religion. When I first joined the band, he couldn't stop complimenting me on my bass playing and singing. He was so sure that it was going to be impossible to replace Randy Miesner, but when I showed up for the first rehearsal with all his songs memorized and all the background vocals totally under control, he was blown away and thoroughly impressed with my musicianship. So, the music part of our relationship was never a problem, and he had a great deal of respect for my ability to jump right in with both feet, having all his songs ready to go on my part. He even made the statement: "This proves that every man can be replaced!" With that, he shook my hand, gave me a great big smile of approval, and said, "...welcome to our band – you're going to fit in real good, and I'm still amazed that you already know all of my songs. This is going to be alot easier than I thought." Well, he was right about the transition being easy, because his gig was a piece-of-cake for me. But the part about "fitting in" with him and his guys proved to be little more challenging. At that first rehearsal he wanted to talk about astrology, and I declined, saying it's something I don't get involved with and I let him know that my Christian beliefs were not compatible with astrology. Then, he offered me some grass to smoke and I declined that, saying essentially, that "I'd been there – done that," and I was cleaning up my life and beginning to raise a family. (At the time, Tina and I had two small children, Christian and Kelly. During the Brotherhood days, I had been a heavy drug and marijuana user, and I really wanted to pull away from that lifestyle and remain drug free.) Rick Nelson was what you might call a "late bloomer," because he started his drug experimentation phase alot later in life than the rest of us, and while I was at a point in my life where I was leaving it behind, he was just beginning to turn-on and discover all the recreational drugs of the day. He was so into it that he was advocating legislation to legalize it. He was extremely puzzled with me that I didn't share his same enthusiasm about the "merits of marijuana." He was fanatical about it, but he respected my position for the time being, because he was so happy to have a new bass player that didn't need any training. All he had to do was count off the songs and the band was there, solid as a rock, and that made him very happy. Within a few short weeks we had to leave for an extensive road tour back East, which included taping two big TV shows along the way; The Johnny Cash Show and The Miss U.S.A. Pageant Show, so he was treating me real nice and I'm sure he didn't want to lose me at such an important time in his career with so much at stake. His career was really beginning to blossom, and he was successfully shaking off his old "squeaky-clean-Ozzie-and-Harriet" TV image, and becoming a viable recording artist who was gaining a large groundswell of support and respect for his latest efforts, which included a remake of Bob Dylan's "She Belongs To Me," and one of his own compositions called, "It's So Easy To Be Free." Even though we continued to play his earlier hits like Fats Dominoe's "I'm Walking" and "Hello Mary Lou," he was developing more of a folk rock image and that seemed to suit him very well. His record company was supporting this new direction, although they wouldn't let him use his real name "Eric Nelson," they did compromise and let him drop the "Y" off Ricky and be known by the more mature sounding "Rick Nelson." Apparently, he really wanted to distance himself from the TV image of "little Ricky," and be known as a serious musician songwriter and it appeared that this new formula was working for him, so I was very glad to be a part of this historical transitional period in his career when he was successfully re-inventing himself.
I was always a big fan of Ricky Nelson, as I saw him grow up on the Ozzie & Harriet TV Show. When he started singing on the show, that's when I really started paying attention. I always thought this picture was very cool. I was living in Idaho at the time when they sent this picture. I had just got my first guitar from my folks on Christmas, and I was looking forward to developing a music career like Rick. I wasn't sure how I was going to do it, but Rick was a big influence on me, and I certainly looked up to him as a role model. How amazing it is to me that I finally ended up in his band about 13 years later, and that was one of the things I use to dream about when I was milking the cows, feeding the pigs and chickens, and riding my horse around the lake near our farm. But his world seemed so far away from my world. How would they ever come together? This mystery challenged me to the core.
I'll find a way...someday...I must...But how?
I suppose I would have continued playing with him and gone down in the airplane crash with him, had I just given in to smoking a little grass with him, talking a little bit of astrology with him, and cheating on my wife just a little during the wild road parties, but I guess my personal decision to be "square" in those areas caused him to be frustrated and dismayed by my unwillingness to be "one-of-the-boys," so my demise with the group was inevitable, but maybe it saved my life in the long run. The word on the street is that the fire on the plane was caused by some kind of "free-basing" mishap. (This is NOT my idea or my own speculation, but I've read this numerous times in rock encyclopedias, newspapers, and magazines. Let's face it, the media likes to speculate and sensationalize. I really don't know what happened – some say it was a faulty heater on the plane – but I do know that Rick really loved his drugs, and he was determined to try them all, and along with that, he certainly wanted to add a notch to his pistol with every woman that entered his world on the road. His comment to me was: "Come on Phil, it makes you appreciate what you have at home.") That type of pretzel logic never impressed me much, but unfortunately my lack of interest in Rick's excesses and lifestyle habits continued to drive a wedge between our relationship. The music was always cool and solid, but all the crap off-stage began to take it's toll. Prior to leaving on the road with Rick, I had been making a very comprehensive study of the Bible with Jehovah's Witnesses, and things were finally beginning to make sense in my life. My priorities had changed dramatically and I had left alot of bad habits behind that I had developed during the Raider & Brotherhood days. In those days, "sex, drugs and rock & roll" was a way of life, and all manner of debauchery was rife and abundant on those road tours – right there for the taking – whatever you wanted. I had seen and experienced so much during my days with Paul Revere and the Raiders, and later with the Brotherhood, that I was shocked Rick was such a neophyte. He seemed like a kid in the candy store when he was on the road, while I on the other hand, had already played all those wild and crazy road games. I was more concerned about playing good music and making a living to support my family, plus, I was trying to find my balance as a christian man and avoid the things that I knew would get me in trouble. Yes, it was a radical lifestyle change, but I knew I could keep music and family in the same loop, and it would all work, if I kept my priorities straight. That wasn't easy with Rick continually pressuring me to succumb to his way of life. Our relationship became strained and awkward on account of it. We were going separate ways. Strangely enough, I got relief from a couple different sources.
Christmas cards were sent to my family from his family every year. I watched him grow up in these cards.. (check out the ones to follow – perhaps a span of 15 years or more from here)
Out of the blue, Paul Revere called me right in the middle of Rick's tour and asked me to play a couple of concerts with him because he was experimenting with a new sound which included a horn section and putting Keith Allison back on guitar along with Freddy Weller, and adding me back on bass guitar. Part of his main motivation for doing this was to capture the dual guitar sounds on hits like, "Him Or Me, What's It Going To Be," and to create a bigger sound on the new solo hits by Mark Lindsay like "Arizona" which incorporated horns, strings and big band orchestrations. I tip my hat to Paul as I write this because he was a strong anti-drug advocate. He was totally, and vehemently against any and all drugs on the road. Had he caught me, Drake or Smitty using controlled substances, (mainly pot or hash), he would have fired us, so we always had to be really careful and do every thing in secret. I didn't appreciate his position at the time, but later in life, when I was no longer in the group, I really admired him for his unpopular and courageous stand against a world of druggies and hippies. (I wonder how many people realize that one of our biggest hit records, "Kicks," was one of the first anti-drug songs to hit the airwaves.) He even spent thousands of dollars to produce an anti-drug movie that was used in the high schools throughout Idaho and the northwest. He lamented that the message seemed to be falling on deaf ears, as the proliferation of illegal drugs continued to claim more young victims every year. He and Rick Nelson were at two opposite ends of the spectrum and I doubt if they would have gotten along very well just based on this one issue alone. Anyway, Rick's tour schedule had a big empty hole – no show bookings – right during the time that Paul needed me for those two concerts, so I was able to leave Rick for a few days, and have a brief reunion with Paul Revere & the Raiders. It was a bittersweet occasion, because it was obvious that the "glory days" of the Raiders were over by then. We didn't even wear the traditional revolutionary outfits, nor did we do any choreography or do any of the zany stage antics that we had been known for, and the auditorium was considerably smaller than the large arenas we used to play. Nevertheless, it was great to be with the guys again, especially Paul, who is still a very dear friend of mine to this day, and play all the old hits, and enjoy a little break from Rick Nelson's gig. The Beach Boys were on the same bill with Paul Revere, so it was a double treat for me to visit with the "Boys," since many of our road shows in the early days (1965-67) were double-billed with the Raiders and the Beach Boys. Sometimes the Rolling Stones would double-bill with us. But something unusual happened after one of our shows.
More Christmas cards...their thing was a family photo with the traditional "Seasons Greetings."
The strange part about this gig I did with Paul in 1970 was the fact that Brian Wilson made one of his rare appearances with the band and he kind of sat at the piano in a semi-catatonic state during the show occasionally singing and playing, and occasionally just staring into space. After the show, he dashed from the stage, ran out the back stage door, and proceeded to crawl his way up a steep grassy knoll, where he continually slipped backwards from the damp grass on the slope. He was screaming and crying like somebody was hurting him or chasing after him, and he was trying to escape. His wife followed him up the hill, reassuring him that no one was chasing him, that all was safe, and he didn't need to be afraid. There was no riot, no crowd scenes, no fans pulling on his clothes or hair, and it was safe to come back inside the auditorium. It was quite a sight for me to behold. This once magnificently creative and powerful songwriter/composer/musician and leader of one of the greatest bands in rock history was having a major paranoid, delusional episode right in front of our eyes, and it was scary to me that he was so out of touch with reality. His wife and bandmates had apparently seen this quite often in different variations, and they all seemed fairly underwhelmed with the whole episode– took it in stride– as if it was business as usual, but for me, it was shocking and sickening to witness. Not long after that, he spent the next few years of his life under his blankets at home with a 24hour a day therapist by his side trying to get him back in touch with the real world. Finally after so many years, it's nice to see him back in the loop, recording and touring again at age 60, but I'm sure the rehabilitation was a very long, and dark period in his life. I'm sure he suffered a great deal, but I often wonder how his excessive drug use in his "glory days" may have contributed to his tragic demise into "never-neverland." I've wondered the same about the tragic loss of Rick Nelson. I went to his funeral and saw all his family and friends who just couldn't believe that he was gone. It was a very sad day for me because it felt like losing a long time family friend that I grew up with – someone who was closely connected to my family. I was also haunted by the thought that "...it could've been me and Rick, together," had we stuck it out over the years as musical buddies. It was kind of spooky to think about, but I considered myself very fortunate that Rick and I didn't get along very well on the road. That caused me to leave the group early on, and the rest is history. There's alot of people who dislike Jehovah's Witnesses, but in this case, my Bible studies and my new, lifestyle choices may have just possibly saved my life. Rick's steel guitar player, Tom Brumley, whose father was famous for writing several well-known Baptist hymns, turned against me when he found out I was studying to be a Christian, which essentially is what Jehovah's Witnesses are – followers of Jesus Christ. That was odd, since Tom claimed to be a Christian himself. I thought he would be more sympathetic to my situation. The other three guys in the band were clueless and did anything Rick told them to do.
My mom and Harriet were especially close, and most of this correspondence was between them...
It's a mystery to me to try and figure out why things work out the way they do, but when I was on the road with Rick Nelson, I really did, by the most part, have a great time, mainly because I felt liberated from alot of bad habits that previously had brought me down, habits that made me less of a person than I was capable of being. The break-up of the Brotherhood was rather depressing and demoralizing, so being back on the road playing music again was just what the doctor ordered. I was on a new path now, with a new focus on life. I had a gorgeous wife, and two beautiful, healthy children waiting for me at home. I really wanted to be a great bass player for Rick and do a great job for him, but as the tension between us grew, he started an ugly campaign against me within the band, which eventually alienated me from the rest of the band members. This was a very lonely time for me, but as I mentioned earlier, relief came from two different sources. The first being Paul Revere calling me in for a couple of gigs, which most people who write about rock and roll history have never realized that I had a brief reunion with the Raiders after my split with them in 1967. The second source of relief and joy came to me in the form of a world-wide brotherhood of friends that were there for me in every town that Rick toured. As soon as I hit town, I would call the local Kingdom Hall of Jehovah's Witnesses, and sure enough a bunch would show up in the audience for the concert, and invariably several letters or "notes" would be delivered backstage by the club manager. Rick would hold out his hand thinking they were all for him, but when it turned out that they were mostly for me, from my new brotherhood of friends, he would turn green with envy and glare at me like I was robbing his thunder. Inside myself I was laughing and having fun with this new found "fan club," but Rick didn't take it so well. He asked: "How is it possible for you to know so many people in every town?" I just smiled and shrugged and said: "I just have alot of friends around the country and I let them know I was in town. I'm just as surprised as you are that they all showed up for the gig." Yes, it was quite amazing that they all showed up, and how it continued to irk "Little Ricky." He just read it wrong. The message he was getting was that I was apparently more popular than he was. But that wasn't the case. I was just looking for some spiritual fellowship to help dispel my loneliness, and help keep me focused on the new path that I was taking as a Christian. The negative peer pressure that Rick was exerting on me to compromise my values, and his campaign to alienate me from the rest of the band, was hard to swallow, but it convinced me to look into my "survival kit" and find some friends on the road that I could trust and enjoy, some friends that could provide some good wholesome fun and relaxation, and that's exactly what happened. The brothers in my new found faith showed me unconditional love, support and respect. They took me in like a long, lost brother, and with each new town that we visited with the Rick Nelson Stone Canyon Band, there was a "band of brothers" waiting to greet me, take me in, and show me a good time, without the drugs, the cheating and all the other junk that made touring with Rick a "mixed bag of blessings and maledictions." It really saved me.
I loved traveling and playing music, and seeing great tourist sights in New England and various parts of the East coast like Gergetown, and even getting a chance to perform in the original Grand Ole Opry church building when we taped the Johnny Cash Show, and seeing all the beautiful girls in the Miss U. S.A. pageant, but believe me, if it hadn't been for my brothers coming to the gigs, and subsequently showing me around, taking me to BBQ's, being extraordinarily hospitable and caring, and most importantly, giving me spiritual direction, I would have been one miserable, lost soul, thousands of miles away from my family. During this tour I wrote a song called: "I Appreciate Your Company," which was a musical proclaimation of my love for my wife and children, whom I was longing to see after the tour. Tom Brumley heard the song, and said, "...one day that song is going to be a hit. that's a great song." (That was one of those rare moments when he made a kind remark to me.) As the song says in the second verse: "...such a long, long way to go, before I start my journey home, a million smiles or frowns may still await me, and I wish that cold December air would get a little bit warmer, still there's nothing like your love and warm affection – I appreciate your company – I've been loving you so long, it feels so right..." It was easy to write that song, (which now appears on my "Rocker" CD), because I was living all those emotions, and despite the uncomfortable situation with Rick, I felt that my faith was strong and getting stronger, and my vitality had returned to me because I was free of drugs that used to drag me down, make me paranoid and weaken me physically. I was feeling alive, and absolutely in touch with who I really was, and where I wanted to go with my life, and if Rick didn't appreciate my resolve and my path of choice, then so be it.
Rick's growing into manhood, and the Christmas cards are now coming in full-blown color...
When we returned to Los Angeles, we taped the Everly Brothers Show. (I'm still looking for a video clip of that show, but till now, no luck). I saw Don and Phil Everly backstage at their show in Las Vegas at the Orleans Casino, and they promised that they would send me the video of the show. I gave them my address and I'm still waiting. That was about three years ago. I decided not to hold my breath anymore on that one. If anyone reading this has that show in their archives, along with The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson in which the Raiders performed, I would be eternally grateful to you to get one.) The Everly Brothers show was enjoyable enough for me, and it came off real good, but the tension of the band that had developed on the road because of me being the "odd-man-out" was quickly coming to a head. The following week, we had a one-night gig in Hollywood at the Troubadour, on Santa Monica Boulevard, a legendary night club in it's day. (Yes – that's right, the same night club where John Lennon and Harry Nilsson were ejected for making a scene and getting too loud, abusive and rowdy). Anyway, Rick's wife or niece, (I'm not quite sure which) came to me before the show and asked me to stop in the middle of one of the songs where I have a little bass guitar pick-up line, and instead of going back into the song, start singing "Happy Birthday," to Rick. They wanted to surprise him with all kinds of friends and family jumping out of their seats at that moment with streamers and confetti, and singing the birthday song with the band playing along. I told them, I would play along, but that I didn't want to start or lead the singing on my own, and that another band member could have that privilege. Essentially, I declined their request to be the one that initiated the surprise and begin singing "Happy Birthday." After all the bad blood and bad vibes that went down during the road tour, and feeling quite alienated from Rick and the band at this point, (and for what? who knows... but I'm sure of one thing: "...if you don't continue running with them in this course to the same low sink of debauchery, they are puzzled, and go on speaking abusively of you." 1 Peter 4:4) Admittedly, happy birthday is not the debauchery thing I'm referring to here, that's harmless and benign, but the previous few months on the road was quite a carnival of excess and questionable behavior. But hey, who's keeping track? Apparently, Rick and the boys, were keeping score, and apparently, my presence made the rest of the band feel guilty because I didn't participate in all the devious "road stuff" that I found useless or offensive or counter-productive or just plain stupid and juvenile, or all the above. Anyway, the "birthday thing" at the Troubadour was "the straw that broke the camel's back." I felt that I needed to make a statement, even if that be silence, while the rest of the world is singing "Happy Birthday" to Little Ricky, I knew that my silence would have consequences, but I was willing to accept whatever came as a result of my own little "boycott" of the "birthday boy."
The next morning, Rick's manager called me, and fired me. He was cold and rude, but that didn't surprise me. It was simply the last insult, ending a long series of insults, backbiting, and unprofessional behavior, all because somebody took exception to the fact that I wanted to be faithful to my wife, I wanted to say "no" to drugs, I wanted to stay committed to looking for truth in the Bible, and I found the subject of astrology to be stupid and useless and a form of mysticism that violated my conscience. Rick was so full of himself, that if you didn't agree with him, you became his enemy. He had to be right. I've never been a "yes man," so it created tension between Rick and myself. I didn't feel threatened by him, but I'm not so sure about the other side of the equation. I often got the sense that he fancied himself having the legendary status of Elvis, and that was pathetic, because he was no Elvis. (It's dangerous to start believing your press releases.) My choir teacher in high school wrote some of the best words I've ever read in my yearbook. He said: "Dear Phil, I've enjoyed having you as my student, but let me give you a little advice. Along with that fine sense of self-confidence, throw in a little humility." Rick was full to the brim with self-confidence – he reeked of it – but maybe that was his downfall, and maybe my saving grace was listening to my choir teacher. I don't know, but my path and Rick's path were so diametrically different in 1970, I only wish that it was just about the music, and the songs, and the gigs and everybody could just get along, but it wasn't. Things got messy and complicated, and for all the wrong reasons. It's unfortunate. I'd love to say that I really loved the guy, and that we got along like famous friends, and that he was the nicest guy I ever worked for, but that would be false. Our chemistry just didn't work, although at that first rehearsal when Rick was so impressed with my playing and singing, it seemed like we were going to be lifelong friends. It felt warm and fuzzy, just like being at home with one of my brothers.
Reeling in the years...I wasn't kidding when I said I watched him grow. It was fun to see the progress in his career & maturity. I always looked forward to getting these cards. Although very professional & glamorous, these cards had kind of a "down-home" earthy feel about them. They felt like family to me in an odd sort of way.
It seemed so natural, because as long as I could remember, my mom and dad used to get Christmas cards from Ozzie and Harriet every year. You see, my mom was Harriet's massage therapist for many, many years, and my Uncle Jack Wagner played the role of the "Soda Jerk" in the Ozzie and Harriet TV series. When I was younger, my mom would take me over to Rick's house when she had to massage Harriet. Rick was already a young star on the TV show and he had just begun making records and singing his songs at the end of the show. I looked up to him, and always dreamed about doing what he did. I guess I was a fan, but I had just gotten a guitar from my folks, and I was working real hard on being famous someday, like Rick. But every time we went to his house, he was never there, so we never met in those early years, and I was always so disappointed, because I was so close to meeting a big star, and one that was in music, which was my dream. Only after my career with Paul Revere and the Raiders, did I meet Rick. Everything I used to dream about at Rick's house, while my Mom was visiting with Harriet, came true and in a very large way. The Raiders had over 12 top 40 hits, 5 gold albums, a national TV series for over 2 years, and a concert grossing record that was second to none. So, when I met Rick Nelson, we met as equals, and that was the best way we could have met, because there was mutual respect for each other. All the ingredients were there for a great friendship, but he had his personal agenda, and I had mine, and "never the twain shall meet." It just wasn't to be. Shakespeare said it best: "To be, or not to be, that is the question." Well, in Rick's case there's no more questions, and there's no more answers, just a sad remembrance that we lost him at a very young age, and for that, I'm very, very sorry, because in a strange sort of way it felt like I lost a remote family relative, one who used to send my family a Christmas card every year. The card always had a picture of the Nelson family. I watched him grow from a boy to a man. There they were every year, Ozzie, Harriet, David and Ricky. I felt like I knew him like a brother. His parents and my parents were very close for as long as I can remember, and we used to follow his career on the TV show as if someone in our own family was becoming a big star.
Jack Wagner as the "Soda Jerk" on
the Ozzie and Harriet TV Series
My uncle, Jack Wagner
But here's the sad reality: unfortunately – sometimes – even brothers don't get along. Look at Jacob and Esau. If two people ever had two different missions in life, it was Jacob and Esau. The story goes that Esau sold his birthright as firstborn to his twin brother Jacob for a bowl of stew. The lesson we learn is that Esau didn't appreciate spiritual things and he was willing to throw it away for a bowl of soup. He was a physical man, a hunter, with his focus on immediate physical things and gratification. At the risk of sounding preachy, and I apologize if it comes off that way, Rick respected me as a musician, but he didn't respect me as a man. He didn't appreciate what I stood for, or the spiritual path I had chosen for me and my family. He was willing to throw away our relationship for a birthday song and a bunch of confetti. A few weeks after being fired from Rick's group I was baptized along with my wife as one of Jehovah's Witnesses, July 17, 1970. His tour helped me face my own demons, it forced me to clean up my own act, it helped me to discover a new brotherhood of true friends, and it made me realize that there's more to life than "sex, drugs and rock and roll." For that, I thank Rick for taking me along for that short and adventurous ride as one of his bandmembers. But I'm sorry that Rick couldn't see the spiritual man in me, or in himself, for that matter. Fame is so fleeting, but truth and brotherhood is forever. We had some great musical moments on stage together, and for that I'm grateful.
I wish he were here so I could talk to him, because by now we'd both be older and wiser, and alot more grounded. I'm sure we could work out some of the kinks, some of the misunderstandings, some of the nonsense, and get down to the nitty gritty and figure out what really matters in life. If he were here, we could do that because life surely would have beaten us both up by now, but we'd stronger for it, and we would have grown because of it. We would've had similar experiences like the the joy of raising children, or walking our daughter down the aisle to give her away to her future husband. We both would share the sorrow of losing a parent, and a whole bunch of friends in Vietnam, including my brother George. If you were here, Rick, we would talk about many things – things that really count, because you know, and I know, that fame is shallow and fleeting, When all that fame fades away, what's left are the people that you can call your true friends. I wanted more than anything to be your friend. It seemed like I knew you alot longer than I really actually knew you. But, I really didn't know you at all, I only knew your image, and that's not enough for a good friendship. If you were here, Rick, I would tell you all these things, and maybe you would accept some of it graciously and with a smile and I could tell you what my choir teacher told me about humility, and maybe – just maybe – a little bit of that would rub-off on you and me, because we're older and wiser now. We could have some beers, and just be real with each other. Maybe – just maybe – we could even jam together, and laugh about some of the stupid things we did when we were young, cocky teen idols. Well – maybe not... (Phil "Fang" Volk)
The Miss U.S.A. Pageant - 1970
Miami, Florida
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