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One of the most memorable gigs of the BHB was a trip somewhat out of the ordinary — to Dodge City.

People the world over know about Dodge from the long-running TV show “Gunsmoke.” From roughly a year before I was born until the year the BHB formed (1955-1975) Marshall Dillon, Miss Kitty, Festus, and Doc Adams were a powerhouse in TV ratings — the longest running network TV series at the time, and it was exported to every country on the globe that had TV sets.

The town made the most of their (fictional) fame. Dodge was — and probably still is — a tourist trap based largely on the TV show as well as the myths and legends of the “old west.”

However, I doubt that people are still talking about the weekend when The Bunk House Boys rode into town.

We were not on stallions or even geldings. We convoyed into town with a few vehicles (I can’t remember if we had our bus at this time.) The lineup was the same one in the picture on my Bunk House Boys web page — Ron Bailey on drums, Barry Green on lead guitar, Gary Mater on pedal steel guitar, Craig on bass, and me playing rhythm and singing. The time was the late 1970s.

The drive was an easy 95 miles. I remember Barry took his own car down, along with his wife and puppy. They had a station wagon, and Barry laid down in the back with his double-neck guitar and put on new strings — which might have made an amusing video if we had such technology in those days.

And now — over 40 years later — I can’t really remember if we had our bus at the time (a converted 1956 Chevrolet school bus with four bunks, a kitchenette, and a potty), or if Gail Bailey or Gloria Collier went with us. I don’t think the ladies were along — for reasons which will be clear by the end of this tale.

The gig — Friday and Saturday nights — was at a roadhouse dive bar called Tom & Jerry’s or Mutt & Jeff’s or something like that. We arrived in the afternoon and went by the place to see if we could set up the equipment. Before we had the bus, Dave Collier hauled our gear in a custom-made trailer that was formerly the rear-end of a pickup truck, so that might have been how we got everything to the gig.

We pulled up at the bar and went inside to see what awaited us. In our five years together, The BHB played some real holes — but this one took the cake.

The stage was up against a wall that looked like all the paneling was taken off of it — and replaced with tin foil! The electrical outlets were bare — no decorative fixture plates around them, just sticking out of holes in the wall. I could easily imagine this being my final performance, ending in a shocking finale.

In addition — the stage was filled with the gear from the previous night’s band. As we scouted for somebody to instruct us (or warn us to run for our lives), the previous band arrived and started tearing down their equipment. They had an open trailer behind a car — it looked like a welder’s mobile rig — and were tossing things into it. No equipment cases, they just disassembled the drums and dumped them in along with amplifiers and loudspeakers and mic stands. At least they cleared the way for us.

We set up, plugged in and were testing the sound, when Gary (who always had an eye for and a line for the ladies) brought a couple of young things up to the stage. He proceeded to point us out to the girls (his way of introductions, I guess).

“He’s married so he’s not putting out. He’s single so he’s putting out. He’s single so he’s putting out. He’s … “

(Craig and I were the only single guys there — I don’t think Ron and Gail were married, and I don’t think Gloria Collier came along on this trip.)

It was a new kind of billing for me … I didn’t know how to respond.

Craig and Wade (Photo Courtesy Mike Miller)

We went to our motel and quickly established that Craig and Wade’s room — the bachelor quarters — were party central. We filled the bathtub with ice and dropped in multiple cases of beer (after all — what is a bathtub for?). By the end of our weekend, the bathtub was filled with cardboard pulp that had disintegrated in the melted ice water. After all, we had to keep the bathtub well-stocked — our reputation depended upon it.

The gig went OK — it was a normal gig. But what I remember is that afterward (the first night), Craig decided he wanted to spend some time after the gig with a young lady who struck up his acquaintance during one of the breaks. I went back to our motel room alone. It was late, I had not met any girls to occupy my time, and I had to catch up on my beer consumption, because playing guitar and singing for four hours doesn’t let you keep up the pace you want to establish while drinking.

I slept soundly and securely — the motel had a security chain lock besides a deadbolt, and I had a nightcap or two or ten to usher me into a deep sleep.

But something was annoying me. Maybe bugs. I brushed my face in a groggy half-sleep, and felt something else against my hair. Then more little bumps — and a hissing sound. I realized that someone was whispering my name.

It was Craig. He had a room key, but the door would only open a few inches because of the chain lock. Being the creative type, he decided to pitch pebbles at me to wake me up. He didn’t want to raise his voice and disturb other occupants of the motel.

Since I was solidly asleep, it took quite a few pebbles and hisses to awaken me. In fact, the bed had more gravel in it than the parking lot. But finally I got up and let Craig in the door. He wasn’t real happy about my security arrangements — he felt I could have been safe enough with the deadbolt and skipped the chain.

I asked him why he was back — I thought he was spending the night with his new friend. He said she was so drunk she passed out about the time they got back to her place, so he left and came back to our motel.

So much for the tales of wild groupies and orgies on the road.

The Bunk House Boys finished the 2-night gig at the dive bar and we were never invited back — but I don’t think that reflected negatively on our performance. At least we weren’t tarred and feathered and run out of town on a rail — or even thrown in the hoosegow with the desperadoes — or worse yet, buried on Boot Hill.

No, I think we got out of Dodge relatively intact, pocketed a few bucks for our work, and headed down the road to our home base to get ready for the next exciting adventure in Outlaw Country Music.

And that’s the legend of The Bunk House Boys.

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Jerry Lewis got a dirty deal. From 1966 through 2014, the universally acknowledged comedy genius hosted the MDA Labor Day Telethon. A couple of generations grew up with Jerry on TV for 24 straight hours, hosting a string of celebrities from A-list to zzzzzzz (sleep through them, bubbie).

But the Muscular Dystrophy Association cut ties with the star who had raised so many millions of $$$$ for them in 2011. (MDA estimates around $2 billion from all telethons, including ones before and after Jerry). Why, Why, WHY?

Jerry was not only the king of comedy, he was the arch-duke of show biz and he knew all the tricks. He could be crazy and zany, but as the hours ticked by and he got more exhausted her would go absolutely nutsy-coo-coo. He cried, he pleaded, he cajoled, he did everything in the book. By the time the final “tote” (the total on the big board) was revealed, Jerry was ready to be carted away to a long-deserved rest.

But, MAN! what a show!

The MDA gave Jer the honorary title of National Chairman of the MDA in 1956. He hosted Thanksgiving telethons in 1957 and 1959. The first Labor Day Telethon was 1966 and was broadcast on only one station in New York. From then on, it was Labor Day all the rest of the Jerry years.

You know who was on these telethons? Everybody. Think of a name from show-biz history. Yep — they were on the telethon. Singers, dancers, actors, groups, animals, puppets and muppets and marionettes, swingers and squares — and don’t forget Ed McMahon, who served as the anchor for 40 years.

The first time he hosted, Thanksgiving of 1956, he was actually co-host with Dean Martin. That’s the year their comedy duo broke up — but Frank Sinatra reunited them on the 1976 telethon (supposedly surprising Jerry). It was kinda awkward, but sweet. They hadn’t been together for almost 20 years.

Then — unexpectedly — no more Jerry. The star didn’t talk about it. He was bitter. MDA claimed he wanted to retire. As if!

In 2015, the MDA discontinued the telethon. In an increasingly socially conscious age, they were getting lots of criticism. Some thought the telethon was presenting a detrimental picture of people with MDA. Many were successful and led full lives — they weren’t victims, they were not objects of pity, they should not be held up in front of a TV camera to elicit pity.

Jerry Lewis died in 2017 at age 91. The MDA lives on and still makes a lot of money. But Labor Day will never be the same.

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The Academy Awards show will be the talk of the world tomorrow. Unlike most programs on television (even awards programs) the Oscar ceremony is not presented for the people watching it on TV but the live audience in the room — the movie business insiders.

And as in all awards shows (and many other facets of life) I am against competition. We have turned everything in our lives into a contest with winners and losers, and a decision on who is the best.

But — does the Oscar itself matter?

Do you think the Oscar award goes to the best movie or actress or director? Well then you probably believe in the tooth fairy and the Easter bunny. The Academy awards are presented

Walt Disney presents Shirley Temple's Honorary Oscar

Read more on Oscars: Who Will Win? Who Is Best? Bah! Humbug!…

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Oscar host Seth MacFarlane performed a comedy song 'We Saw Your Boobs' The 2013 Oscar telecast was newsworthy for many reasons — both the obvious and some unique reasons. But the most visible result (at least right here) is that it spurred me to post something new for the first time since December.

Face it — Network TV is a dinosaur.  It is a Dead Man Walking.  It doesn’t know it has died and has not yet laid down in a grave.  The networks flail around trying to attract a public that is more interested in something that respects their intelligence and gives quality instead of pandering to advertisers.

One example is the three yearly broadcasts of Ricky Gervais hosting the Golden Globes awards Gervais is well known for his snarky style, and the producers obviously thought he’s got that “edgy” attitude that would bring about some excietment and some buzz to the awards show.  It did — and the feedback was usually that people were outraged by his behavior.  Perfect!  The awards show got attention and people would turn in to see what the bad-boy would do next.

Oscar producers tried the same strategy with Seth McFarlane.  He is far from an unknown quality.  McFarlane is one of the most prolific producers of multimedia comedy working today. He has at least three television shows in production and scored a huge hit with the theatrical film “Ted.”  So getting him to be host was obviously done with eyes wide open.

Looking at the resulting headlines tells the stories.  His opening number “I Saw Your Boobs” was offensive to women.  His “Ted” presentation with Mark Wahlberg was offensive to Jews.  His irreverent attitude toward Hollwood and Movies and Oscars was basically offensive to to everybody.  Or so the Outrage-Press would have us believe.

In other words — the strategy worked like a charm  Look for other programs to try this tactic now that it is well-proven.

WBW

 

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