fOauMlntHnhWhen your mind starts reelin' and a rockin' your insides start squealin' and a squawkin', you're floatin' around on a Belladonna cloud shouting, Euphoria!
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fOauMlntHnhI was sitting in the White Eagle one day when Seaweed showed up with a Security cop and a preacher. I'd been booking the White Eagle for a couple of years, and my band was the house band, until the Holy Modal Rounders showed up. I'd returned my bride to her mother's house on Mercer Island near Seattle. She was busy looking for Jesus, and I was busy looking for gigs. Four years seemed about right for a marriage.
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fOauMlntHnhI had moved to North Portland and was hanging out with the folks from the Storefront Theatre, which was just down North Russell from the garage I was occupying on Ross. Between was the White Eagle, a working man's whiskey bar, catering to the guys from the Iron Foundry next door and the high steel workers from the Fremont Bridge project. You could go there at five in the morning and see guys eat a huge breakfast and follow it with two double shots, prior to going to work hundreds of feet above the Willamette.
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fOauMlntHnhOne night coming back from a rehearsal at the Storefront, some of the musicians in the cast stopped by for a drink, and when the bartender -- one Tony Ferrone -- saw the instrument cases, he suggested we play some tunes. Tony was not a man whose suggestions were taken lightly. Though he was in his thirties, he bore the visage of a tough Italian from New York who had friends you didn't want to meet. We played; he loved it; we were his band; period. We would play twice a week. He'd pay us a little, feed us a lot, and make sure no one messed with us.
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fOauMlntHnhThe Eagle also catered to bikers and various folks of dubious employment, so it behooved us to settle under his wing. Eventually he realized that live music could fill the place at night, and I started booking bands or singles for every night of the week. Because of an idiotic OLCC law, taverns had to close at 1AM and could only have one musician at a time play, whereas hard liquor bars could have a whole band and stay open until 2:30AM. Musicians and bartenders caught on quickly; we would be playing music from 10 p.m. until 2:29 a.m. There was always a line at the door for the last set. Musicians would bring their axes just so they could get in the door, and then would end up sitting in. It became the place to be in the early seventies in Portland after midnight.
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fOauMlntHnhSo when Seaweed, who is an old friend from the Long Beach peninsula, a wildlife management sort of guy who worked for the Parks Service, an avid hunter and fisherman, who also smokes huge quantities, comes in with these two straight guys, I'm confused. He tries to explain that they have money and they want to open a club, and they want me to design it and book it and make it the place to be in Portland, and that they want it big. These guys didn't look like money guys, but one had a Jag and so I told them for a grand up front and 25% of the action, I'd give it a try.
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fOauMlntHnhThe preacher and I scouted the warehouse district in Southeast Portland between the Burnside and Morrison Bridges, and found this tire warehouse. I said, "This is what I want." They talked; we got it. It was huge -- brick walls with arches in the back that opened onto a perfect pool room, wood floor, all that it needed was a bar, a stage, and well, bathrooms, and a cooler, and well, a kitchen.
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fOauMlntHnhIt was about then that things went strange. These money guys started talking like they were broke. My grand was being doled out in pieces. I was expected to do a lot more than just design and book the place. I was expected to fight for a liquor license, bring volunteers in to work on the space, throw benefits to keep the doors open. It became obvious that the deal was stupid, but by then it had become my dream, not their business. Well, 25% of a dream.
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fOauMlntHnhThe OLCC denied our first two applications for a liquor license, for various trumped-up reasons. Basically, they didn't want a 'Hippie Nightclub' in Portland. We kept the doors open with a series of benefits that would allow us to get one-day permits to sell beer. Even after we finally forced them to give us a license, the OLCC would send agents down and they would write terrible reports about our customers and the management. One report we saw said that one of the owners (me) encouraged the audience to smoke pot before the next set. What had happened was, I smelled some dope, and went on stage and explained to the audience that it would cost us our license if they did that in here, and told them to go outside if they wanted to get high, and that the band would be back for another set.
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fOauMlntHnhBesides the OLCC problems there were money problems. The pockets of the 'owners' weren't as deep as I was lead to believe. We had to get volunteers from the Storefront people, and local artists to help get the place workable. We bought a bunch of used tables with no tops, and some plywood, and people cut the wood into various shapes and painted them. There was a bright red apple table, a Mickey mouse table, strange abstract-shaped tables; we even brought in some of the old stage sets and hung them like art. An artist painted the front of the building with each brick a different color.
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fOauMlntHnhThe Storefront Theatre did some performances there, the Comedia del Arte folks did several runs of Glassy Alice Wondering through Looking Land, The Holy Modal Rounders did a performance of Sam Shepard's musical, "Sidewinder." Sam had been the Rounders' drummer at one time. Henk Pander did the sets. We started booking great acts: Jimmy Buffett, John Prine, Doc Watson, Tom Waits, Mingus, Mose Allison, Elizabeth Cotton.
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fOauMlntHnhWhen we held our grand opening I had wanted a national act, and the Rounders knew Freebo, who was Bonnie Rait's bass player. I called this booking agency and they said they could get her, and that I was to wire some front money. I did. When I got back to the office I got a call from Dick Waterman, Bonnie's agent.
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fOauMlntHnh"Mr. Hults," he said, "I have heard that you have been trying to hire Bonnie for a gig."
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fOauMlntHnh"Yes," I said, "I've got her booked for our Grand Opening and I just sent the front money."
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fOauMlntHnh"Well, I'm sorry to say, Mr. Hults, that isn't true. The agency you are dealing with is not, how shall I put it, ethical?"
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fOauMlntHnhHe asked if I had put out any publicity. I said no, but the rumor was out. He suggested I try to get my money back, which I was able to do. He gave me his number and wished me luck. Well, we opened with the Rounders, which worked anyway.
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fOauMlntHnhAbout a year later we were doing a benefit for an alternative High School in Eugene. It was a week night and by eleven or so there were maybe a hundred people there. I was watching the door when Freebo, Bonnie, Buddy Guy and Jr. Wells walk in.
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fOauMlntHnh"Hi," says Bonnie, "Dick Waterman said I should check this place out."
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fOauMlntHnhThey went to a table and were surrounded by folks, and Freebo was introducing people, because he knew the Rounders who were hanging out, and some of the other locals. Well, the band had finished, and someone said, "You feel like playing?"
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fOauMlntHnhThe band lent them their instruments, and for an hour and a half the blues were sung. It was a wonder to behold.
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fOauMlntHnhMany nights became magic memories: Libba Cotton alone on stage with a packed house, quietly telling a story she had never told before about when her best girlfriend died, and she went home from the funeral and cried and cried and cried herself to sleep and when she woke up she was sitting on the edge of the bed and she was playing this song, and she knew she didn't write it, and that she had played the song ever since, but never told the story. And then she played the song. And at eleven o'clock on a weekend in the biggest nightclub in Portland, you could see eyes filling with tears. About that time a guy barged in the door expecting to have a party, but after two steps he stopped and looked, then he turned to me and said, "I'm too drunk to be in church," and left.
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fOauMlntHnhWell, I figured things were going great, we were drawing people, selling beer and food, and building a rep as the place to go. I was wrong. But, since things were going smoothly I decided I deserved a vacation and the Rounders were going to California for a tour, and I was invited on the bus. It's a long story that deserves it's own telling, including the ride home. But when I got back I was told that my father had showed up and they had put him to work. I hadn't seen nor heard from my father in seven years. He became the handyman and janitor, as well as self-appointed bouncer and full-time drunk. "My son owns this place!" he'd say, "but I'm gonna let you buy me a beer."
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fOauMlntHnhThey finally fired him when, one night, he opened one of the hatches that were used to throw tires down from the upstairs place where the office was and where he lived most of the time. He was apparently drunk enough to think he could drop fourteen feet safely and raid the bar. They found him the next morning with both heels broken and still drunk. That's my dad.
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fOauMlntHnhI've never been good with money, I know how to spend it but I don't particularly enjoy counting it, like some folks seem to do. So, I have always let other people count the money, especially since it's their money, mostly. After all, if they are going to let me deal, they get to cut the cards. With that in mind we brought a guy to keep track of what I was doing. Eventually, he began telling me what I should do, and doing what he wanted to do.
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fOauMlntHnhAccording to the deal I had with the Preacher, the Rent-a-Cop and Seaweed, I would do what I did, and by a given date I could purchase my stock in the Corporation for one dollar. Well, even though things had become strained I appeared on the date given, and handed Seaweed a silver dollar, and he entered the transaction on the day sheet. I thought I finally owned something. I was in my thirties, I was creating art, and I was probably worth some money.
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fOauMlntHnhIt was not to be. The guy began booking, began managing the bar, began being master of ceremonies. It became his place. I stood in awe, but was unable to stop him. We must remember this was the era of cocaine. Business was done with straws and mirrors, and he was good at it, he thought. I remember one night he came down from the office and drug me out of the bar.
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fOauMlntHnh"You've got to deal with this!" he said.
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fOauMlntHnhUpstairs I found Rock Skully, who worked for the Dead, sitting at the desk with a pile of Peruvian flake and a silver straw. He wanted to talk about booking some Dead folks at Euphoria and he said the other guy was an asshole who didn't know shit.
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fOauMlntHnh"He was talking about money and I was talking about show. Shit, I'm snortin' more money than we'll make."
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fOauMlntHnh"Probably never even offered you a toke, did he?" I said, pulling out a big bud and some papers, and we sat there for a while and talked snd smoked and snorted and drank, and I told him I was on my way out and that that would be the guy he would be dealing with. I don't think they ever booked any Dead acts at Euphoria.
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fOauMlntHnhSo, I was forced out and found an attorney that would work for free and sued for my 25% of what was a business that eventually sold for $100,000. We went before a lawyer who was practicing to be a judge, or something, and stated our cases. The judge called a recess and the Preacher and the Rent-a-Cop and their lawyer approached us in the hallway and offered to settle out of court -- they would split Seaweed's stock and give me half.
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fOauMlntHnh"You not only want to rip me off, but you want me to help you rip off my friend???"
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fOauMlntHnhI knew I was right.
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fOauMlntHnhThe lawyer playing judge ruled that since I had made my dollar payment at 10 p.m., "after regular business hours," that I had missed the agreed-upon date to exercise my option. It didn't matter that the business was open for business; five o'clock is quitting time. I didn't even get my silver dollar back.
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fOauMlntHnhI was destroyed. I couldn't believe it. My dream, my success, hope itself, hope for justice and honesty, all the sixties dreams kicked squarely in the balls. For the next full year the only thing I remember is sitting on the porch alone. I know I worked and ate and drank a lot, and had sex, and played music, but I was really sitting on the porch alone in misery.
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fOauMlntHnhOf course, everyone in town knew I had done Euphoria and people would talk to me about opening another place. I did Opening Night on Hawthorne and we had some wonderful music and theatre, but it wasn't Euphoria, and it wasn't mine. I was just hired help. I booked the Earth for a while, brought a lot of jazz in and blues. But, it wasn't really working out like I'd planned.
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fOauMlntHnhI was in a semi-dysfunctional relationship with a semi-dysfunctional redheaded woman whose kid I felt responsible for. I had no money, and worse, no dreams.
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fOauMlntHnhSo, I started hanging out at the Goose Hollow Inn.