Four Little Batwipes

  On a balcony.

One climbed the railing...

  Then there were three.

Three little Batwipes

  Wonder what to do.

"Race up seven flights? I'm IN!"

  Then there were two.

Two little Batwipes

  Dining in the sun.

One ate too much Slob Fish:

  Then there was one.

One lonely Batwipe

  Didn't understand

had a beat-strokey

  And re-joined the band.

-AMEN

-The Muse-

One particular memory I have of Buddy Lou is the time he took Dale and me out to Dunkin' Donuts on Plainfield.  I can't remember the gist of the conversation but I said something to the effect of "I assume."  He showed me what happened when you "ass | u | me."  I've seen it since and used it a few times myself, but that was the first time I saw it. 

It meant a lot to me, too, that time at the Degage' when he said it was good that "you guys had a drummer that knew what he was doing."  I really had no clue that I had a clue!  About all I had in my bag of tricks was 1 & 2 & 3 & 4 &, with an occasional rat-tat-a-tat-a on the snare!  But he must have seen something I didn't. 

And forgive me if I'm getting totally maudlin, but there's one other memory I want to pass along.  One time we had a gig at the Cottage Bar up in Rockford, or thought we did.  We got there and another band was already set up; they'd double booked and we came in second.  So we sat and had a few beers (might as well not waste the trip) and so help me Hannah, everybody that came in the place knew your dad! 

I'm sorry he won't be there in person to jam with KB and Buddy Ed.  But we're all gonna take a little Lou on that stage with us.  I think we should play For The Good Good Times in his memory.  All in favor?   Ter

MIKE WRITES: Nyyyyoooow Fellows,   I would love to practice, but - as Bob pointed out - I'm going to be working my big white ass off next weekend already.  We're at one club Friday and another Saturday; that's a lot of hauling, setting up and of course, playing.   I think we'll probably be okay Sunday, even without rehearsal.  And if we're not, I personally plan to blame it all on Dale.  He's the one who hasn't picked up his instrument in over a decade!  I've kept my mediocre chops up, as has Bob.  Even Terry plays from time to time.   So, we're all agreed then, right?  Say it with me: "It's DALE'S fault!!!"   Sorry about rehearsal, fellows, but really, we'll do fine I think.  Or will we?   M

DALE RESPONDS: Noooooowwwwwwwwwwwww  Michaellllllllll!!!!  You know that isn't true.  If you will remember it was YOU who told Bob, Ter, and I  it was just a "business thing" when you up and quit the Batwipes and left us out in the cold. The three of us wanted to continue BWDF, but you destroyed everything we had worked so hard to accomplish in those two short years.  Ultimately this led to my putting the bass guitar in mothballs for several years. It effected me to the point where I could never trust anyone again. If you hadn't DIVORCED BWDF we would still be together and I wouldn't have had no need to go into early retirement from the world of music.  So next Sunday night if you hear a D# coming from my bass guitar when you're playing a B note....  think about what I've written here.    Actually, I've been practicing a little on my own with the Peavey head Bob was kind enough to let me borrow. I've been playing along with some of the old audio tapes I have.  Actually I'm quite surprised at what I find myself remembering.  The first tape was from November 6, 1982 Vegas Night at the Creston Post when I was in my dad's band (Goldmine.)  Some of the tunes I can still play inside and out, and others... completely lost.  Of course my dad was always good at throwing in those damned seventh and augmented chords. I believe most of those chords he played were taken to the grave with him never to be heard on a guitar again. I think Bob  referred to them as "Lou Chords!"  Overall I recall about 80% of the chord arrangements on that tape. I've a few other tapes to go through before the 25th and Bob is going to stop by here Monday after work for a mini practice for about an hour.   Listening to that 1982 recording sure brought back the memories though.  Hearing my dad singing and playing guitar was very emotional for me.  Even more so as I began to play my bass along with the tape.  It was as if I was in "Goldmine" again standing right beside dad. Hard to believe at the time I was 8 years removed from BWDF.  Dad played a ton of the music he grew up with.  Glenn Miller, Bing Crosby, Tex Ritter, Hank Williams Sr., Elvis Presley, etc, etc.  I always respected that music and dad's decision to play it....  but eventually I wanted to get into a band again, with my peers.  A band where I was able to play the music I grew up with.  I'd been in "Goldmine" for about three years and finally wanted to move on.   I was trying to come up with a way to tell dad I wanted out without upsetting him.  It took me  awhile to build up the courage.  Finally one night, as we were tearing down from a wedding reception gig I told him. I also added how difficult it was for me to tell my own father I was quitting his band.   His reaction took me by surprise. He was completely understanding.  He said, "Dale, I've been in music long enough to tell you this happens all the time.  People come, and people go."   He added, "I can't begin to tell you all the bands I've been in all my life."  "I understand why you want to move on so don't feel bad... I want you to be happy."  "Just because we're father and son doesn't change the music business."   The last thing he said really stuck with me....  "Ever since I taught you your first tune when you were a little boy... my dream was to, one day, have my son in a band with me."  ""We'll now I can say my dream has come true."  "It wouldn't have mattered if it had lasted a couple of play jobs or a year....  I can proudly say my son and I were in a band together, and we were together for three years and that was more then I could ever have asked for."   So when I was strumming my bass to dad's music of 25 years ago, and knowing he's been gone since 1994... I would give anything just to be at his side again on stage playing even one song!    

MIKE REPLIES: You've got to post that last e-mail on the blog, Dale.  Seriously.  It's not often one of us schmucks comes up with something that's really heartfelt.   Buddy Lou really was something, though, wasn't he?  I still remember all those "Lou Chords" you mentioned - not how to play them, of course, but I remember Lou playing them and thinking to myself, "What the hell was that?"  The guy was like "Guitar George," from "Sultans of Swing": "Guitar George, he knows all the chords; but he's strictly rhythm, he doesn't want to make it cry or sing."   The world lost a real talent when Lou died, and I mean that.  He was one of those old time tough musicians, like Johnny Cash or Neal Young ... his voice was all honesty and authority.  There was no bullshit in it.   I can understand why you miss him.  A lot of people do; he left a big footprint on the earth when he passed.    On a lighter note, I'm glad to hear you remember something about playing the bass.  I'm actually beginning to think we're going to do okay next Sunday, but I probably shouldn't jinx it by saying so.

AND MIKE REPLIES: I don't remember any ROTC thing at the school, but it doesn't surprise me; we were still sending kids to Vietnam in those days.  I think I would rather have stuck my hand in a snowblower, but that's just me.

I didn't really miss that much school at RHS; I saved most of that stuff for Creston High School, a year or so later.  Seriously, I think I actually skipped as many days as I went to school there.  They weren't so crazy strict about that sort of thing as they are these days.

Besides, I didn't learn a damn thing in high school that I've every used in real life.  Same goes for college.  I had a good time there, but anything I might have learned is long gone from my memory.

Books I've read on my own; now that's where whatever meager knowledge I possess actually come from.  I've read a lot of books on writing, music and sex, and now I can do all three with reasonable proficiency.  (As far as the sex books go, I was only reading the articles, mom, not looking at the pictures.)

As to the RHS fight song, I didn't even know we had one.  Whom were we fighting?  And why.  Can't we all just get along?

TERRY ASKS:  Hey, fellows!   Do any of you recall a day at Riverside Jr. High when they herded all us ninth-grade boys into the rec room and gave us a pitch for Creston's ROTC program?  I think of it every time I have to work on my snowblower.    Here's the connection.  Sgt. Friske was standing before us all with his arm in a sling.  The person who was introducing him wanted to impress the gathered boys with the Sarge's toughness.  His arm was in a sling, we were told, because his snowblower wouldn't shut off and he actually reached into it and grabbed the auger to stop it!  It really made an impression on me, all right.  I remember thinking, in my little 14-year-old brain:   "Do I really want someone this stupid for a teacher?"  Anyway, I just wondered if I'm the only one who recalls that assembly.

DALE ANSWERS:  So far you're the only one Ter.  I do not recall the Friske incident. Of course I missed a lot of time during my RJH days, but not as much as Michael. Mike was probably busy hopping boxcars to California.  Perhaps Robert remembers.   However I do recall the RJH fight song....   We are the Cubs of the greatest school in town, We hold our heads up high, and our spirits never down.   No challenge is to great for us, no need to feud or fuss, We're proud of our school and we'll make it proud of us.   Hail to the colors of red and gray, Hail to our school with a hip, hip, hip, hooray!   We will shout our loyalty up to the sky, for our schools the best school... Riverside Jr. High!

I should have heeded all the warning signs!  As soon as I heard the name I immediately felt naucious.  I felt cold and clammy as prespiration driplets began to roll down my forehead and into my eyes.  The palms of my hands began to sweat.  I felt dizzy and thought I was going to pass out. 

I then thought to myself, perhaps I didn't hear him right.  That's it! I asked, "Who?"   Again, he said that name....  a name from my dreaded past.  He then went on to tell me about the gbrothers and the website.  And how Mike could be reached.     Funny, I don't recall asking how to get in touch with Mike...  and if I did, I don't recall having done so. Even if I remembered having done such a thing I will deny it.

Everything has been in a complete state of surrealism after that enitial phone conversation with Tom.  I vaguely recollect a nightmare in which I'm sending an email to Mike which began the snowball effect to where we are now.  A Reunion Dinner in January, and now....  BWDF back together doing a Veteran's Facility World Tour???????

If it weren't for the fact that I'm caught up in this web of insanity.... I'd laugh my ass off!

What in the Hell are we thinking?!?!?!?!?!?

FROM BOB: Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh, brother..as in where art thou Bobby Taylor...?
Now I also know why we haven't seen Mike around............Ha!
Noooooooo!....He doesn't owe me 20 buck$....(it's actually 62.50 for the night Thunder Bay got tossed out of the Loading Zone)........................Ha! Nooooooooooooooooooo!, just kidding...it's because he's been out there looking for Bobby............... and finally Willllllllllllliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiliaaaaaaaaaaaaaammmmmmmmmmm and Barney found him...and....Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!...he no longer sucks his thumb.
Anyway, looks like any Sunday is pretty much open at the "Facility" in Feb. and March, from 4:00 pm until 9:00pm.
What do you guys think?  A pre-concert happy whatever you want to call it get together before (cool) hand?
Let me know so we don't have a failure to communicate!
I'm thinking out loud that we could set up/tune...?...(eeh!...why bother...we never used to) /get a sound check (and maybe play some old Batwipe tunes to warm up on) starting at 4:00 pm.
Then have some time after that to download/visit with all the invitee's from 6:00 to 7:00 pm.
Then play/attempt to put on a show featuring some real songs (oldie, moldies...country-ish type music goes over best with a little old RnR mixeed in too), from 7:00ish until 8:30pm. (residents have to get back to the rooms for bed by 9:00pm)
If this goes well, and everyone is willing, then perhaps we could do a late spring/early summer concert outside in the band shell...or perhaps not?
At least it should be good prep for the up-coming "World Tour".
We can finalize details soon when we have our visit the Batwipe's parents day....right?
I vote for this Saturday (let's get it over with)
The 4 of us meet for breakfast...say 10:00ish?...Mr. Burger out at the end of Plainfield perhaps?...or the one on Lake Michigan Dr. near Covell?
I could get together until around 2:00 pm.
If not this week then maybe another time William! (Geeeeeesh!)
Talk to ya later!

Thanks for the trip down Amnesia Lane!  As your e-mail arrived on my birthday, I can also safely say, "Thanks for the birthday shit!"  Though for the life of me, I can no longer remember the name of the guy who coined that phrase, only that he smelled bad and we tortured the poor chump to the point that I'm sure he later committed suicide while clutching a photo of us in his right hand.  Lordy, we were evil little bastards.  

Speaking of birthdays, I no longer have that potato.  I donated it years ago to the Museum of Natural History in New York, where it takes up two whole floors by itself and is fed a steady diet of slow moving Girl Scouts.   Your letter really took me back.  I can't believe it has been nearly 34 years since we killed our first goldfish together.  I've been in a lot of bands since then, some good, some bad, but none with the awesome talent required to kill aquatic creatures.  

And Mady!  Man, I haven't thought of her in years.  My memory's not so hot, mostly because even back then I wasn't paying much attention to anything going on around me.  But I do remember Mady eating a banana in Pangborn's class.  I'd never wanted to be a banana before, but I sure did then.  Not sure why ... hmm ...  

She was a cutie, though, wasn't she?  I wonder if she ever got married to that guy she was dating?  Also, I wonder if they still have a copy of our fabulous film down at JC?  (GRCC, now.)   Did you know they used that film for years afterward in that filmmaking class, as a good example of student filmmaking?  I kid you not.  My daughter took the class years later and they still were showing that film to students!  Again, we were ahead of our time; the Spielbergs of our generation.  Can't believe we're not rich yet.  

As to our epic battle outside Terry's house, I seem to recall that I had you pinned to the ground, whining for mercy, when the SWAT team showed up (at least 200 of 'em) and using all the power, training and technology at their disposal, were able to save you from my ferocious, kung foo-like attack ... barely.  Yup, that's how I remember it.  

Actually, I've thought about those days a lot in the past 30 years.  Considering what a complete self-centered yutz I was back then, I can't believe you guys weren't kicking my ass every day. 

I was the nightmare teen every parent dreads (or regrets) giving birth to.  I'm still a self-centered yutz, but thank God I've learned to hide it better over the years.  Probably why I'm still alive.   That you guys never killed me is a testament to the power of music.  Playing together (not that we played very well) in BWDF was probably the defining act of my life and had more to do with making me who I am today than any other single factor.  My attorneys will be in touch.  

Seriously, I don't think I could have picked better friends with whom to forge memories.  Some of that crazy s#%t we did back then ... I tell my kids about it - and more recently my grandkids - and I don't think they entirely believe me.  I can see their point.  Could there really have been a guy named Denny Buitendyk who hung off the 8th floor balcony of a Holiday Inn?  Did people really sneak into the drive-in, make daring nighttime escapes from concession stands, then camp out in a woods full of werewolves?   Would anyone, no matter how foolish, walk underneath the Ann Street Bridge?  In winter?!  

Come to think of it, it's a miracle any of us are still alive. 

Turns out, after all these years, that "Nyyerrry" was right after all.  I swear, Terry was the only one of us who had even the tiniest shred of common sense.   I plan on turning our adventures between 1971 and '74 or so into a "coming of age" novel when I retire.  (Don't worry, I won't mention the "Nosepick" thing in my book.)  

Speaking of the book, I'll need to know what "became" of everyone ... you know ... for the final "where are they now?" chapter.  I hear Bob's working as a custodian - I always assumed he would follow in his father's footsteps.  But what about you?  What are you doing these days?  A

nd have you heard anything from Terry?  The last time I saw him was in 1974, I think, before I first moved to Detroit.  Is he head of some electronics corporation, or running a dot-com somewhere?   I'm probably working for the guy right now and don't even know it.  (The company I work for is a monster, one that owns about half the newspapers in the country, I think.  I've never even met any of the "big bosses."  So one of 'em could be Terry, for all I know.)  

I hear you're still playing from time to time, too, as is Bob.  I've never really been able to give up the habit, either.  I've been working with The Guinness Brothers Band (gbrothers.com) for the past eight or nine years.  It's a good band with nice guys ... a very mellow gig.  I'm still probably the biggest jerk in the group, but not so bad that anyone has to "hate my face" on a regular basis.  

My kids (Aubreii, Jordan and step-son James) are all grown, my daughter with two kids of her own (Edison and Rosy).  My daughter designs Web sites and my oldest son is a product rep for General Motors.  Both of 'em make a lot more money than I do, but I try not to hate them for it, as they will one day soon be picking out my nursing home.  My step-son is still finishing high school, but he works every day after classes at his dad's dairy farm; a nice, responsible kid.  They all turned out great in spite of my lousy parenting skills.   I'm married to Wife Number Four, my final wife, dammit and I mean it this time!  We just celebrated our 12th anniversary this past summer.  She's really great ... she puts up with me, and that's saying a lot, even these days.  

To be honest, and considering what a wiener I've been throughout most of my misspent life, it's a miracle how well things ended up for me (knock on wood).  I have a wife I'm crazy about, a job I love, a nice house in a great little town, a comfortable life and kids who phone at least once a week.  I'm sure Karma is planning to kill me off early, just to balance the scales, but what are you gonna do.  So far, it's been a helluva ride and I can't complain.  

I would love to see you guys again sometime.  Maybe we could set up an anniversary dinner some night; maybe after the holiday rush is past.  Say ... January 9?  It's a Tuesday night, so we could get into Applebee's or someplace like that without waiting in line.  What do you think?  We're all getting older than dirt; if we don't get together soon, one of us is sure to meet the same fate as Poor Uncle Elmo (probably me, because of the Karma thing).   Anyway, lemme know if a dinner celebration is doable.  We could bring the wives and bore the hell out of them with stories of our wasted youth!  

Talk with you soon, Nose- uh ... Dale.

He was losing money on the Kiddie flicks so turned the place into an X-rated theatre for a short time. He thought that was where the money was to be had.  But again, continued to lose money for the same reason. He finally sold the place.  It was converted into either office space or storage. 

I wish I remembered his name.  He said his heart wasn't really in it after the place went X-rated.  He claimed he missed the children. I find that hard to believe given the Hell we put him through all of those years.  Missing the kids and continuing to lose money was more then enough to convince him it was time to take a trip to that Projection Room in the sky. He'd be about 100 if  still alive. 

Never did hear if or when he died.   I'm not even sure if the theatre is still there. Don't get down that way much anymore.  Perhaps we can take a buzz over there Saturday and see.  My luck was never good at winning  door prizes he used to give to you if he called your ticket stub number.  My sisters were always winning.  I won twice.  One visit I won a plastic whistle, and the other, a bag of peanuts.

FROM TERRY: Yeah, I don't know where that came from!  Maybe he had some leftover guilt from being raised Catholic?  Sure, there were a few times that I got in a little later than I should have, but I didn't think we'd ever really disrespected Dad or anything.  And more times than not I was a willing accomplice to whatever we did. 

But if Bob felt like he had to get something off his chest I'm glad he went ahead and did it.   And Dad really did like the article. 

I did too, 'tho I thought you were a little tough on us.  "Week-old road kill?"  Yeah, if you judge us by the 3/10/73 recording.  I believe we improved some over the months, even if we never were going to be the next Alice Cooper or CCR.  And what we learned as BWDF carried us to greater heights in other bands, even if we never got higher than the tallest ski hill in Nebraska.   

Even if BWDF never made real beautiful music, its real beauty was in the friendship and camaraderie it cultivated.  You have to admit, we got pretty tight as friends.  Whatever joys or angst we went through as a band, at least we had three other guys who were on the same ride. 

Even when we hated each others' guts, we always forgave, even if things weren't quite the same afterward.  I can't imagine that being seventeen would have been any better without BWDF.  It would have been duller, though.   Let's not be too hasty about closing the door on the "reunion tour."  If the 25th goes well, maybe we should look at getting together and playing the Vets' Facility once or twice a year.  I know you and Bob have other bands and other gigs, and Dale may not want to pick up his bass more often than that.  But that festival they have in the summer sounds like it could be fun.  A

nd now that we've all fallen back into each others' lives, an occasional volunteer gig would give us an excuse to stay in touch.   

Chat'cha later, Ter   PS:  Why shouldn't old guys play rock 'n' roll?  I'm formulating a rebuttal.