RODNEY THE ROCKER
LOVES JEFF'S SCANS OF BUDDY'S "3 COINS" 45
Subject: Re: Buddy Sings "3 Coins", Connell Sets the Allmans Straight, Art Neville Evacuates To T-town & MO'!!!!
Date: Mon, 12 Sep 2005 22:59:22 -0400Awesome Jeff ! http://limestonerecords.comRodney Justo
Subject: Re: Po' Ole Buddy May Have Had A Brain Fart, Jimmy Dean Came Through & Capn Keeps Us Up Wid Katrina!
Date: Mon, 12 Sep 2005 22:58:02 -0400
.....if I say it happened. IT HAPPENED !Rockin' Rodney Justo
thought you might be interested in this idiotic picture. This is the last reincarnation of the Webs, the one that played at the Old Dutch
. From left to right: Larry Coe, Bill Ackridge, Wilbur Walton, Jr., Bruce White, Jimmy Dean. We weren't actually wearing our pants up around our chests--those are cummerbunds. This photo was taken in 1964 at a club in Atlanta called Pigalley, and they made us wear those stupid clothes, including the cummerbund. Buddy made us play there so we could learn "stage presence". All I learned was how to sneeze thirty times a minute. The joint was totally covered with two inches of dust dating back to the depression, which was our mood while we were there.I'm still trying to think of a way to get Buddy back for this.
Jimmy DeanKen Babbs
corrected our PSYCHEDELIC WORLD HISTORY
version of him hosting the Earth's first ACID TEST
found at http://rockpigrimage.blogspot.com
Subject: Re: Po' Ole Buddy May Have Had A Brain Fart, Jimmy Dean Came Through & Capn Keeps Us Up Wid Katrina
host of the very first Acid Test almost 40 years ago at his book
store in Santa Cruz,CA on November 27,1965]
at my house, not a bookstore, and the bookstore probably being
referred to was owned by peter dema and ron bevirt and was called thehip pocket bookstore
I forgot to say I never have owned a bookstore and can confidentally
predict I never will, but you never know, you never know so I will
curb my tongue.
R.I.P. CLARENCE "GATEMOUTH" BROWNhttp://skypilotclub.com
"That wheel keeps turnin" cap'n...he was a talent...saw him in Memphis during the Handy Awards weekend, maybe 2001 or so, he blew the place away. It's 3am or so in a theater and he is playing on stage with a fiddle strapped over one shoulder as he is playing electic guitar, very well, and then slings that thing over and brings down the fiddle and away we go. Wow, he was absolutely in control and soul soul soulfull. American master, another original. We all have seen and known so much talent and genuine people. What a blessing.
-- #43, SparksHey BRUCE:Don't I remember seeing Gatemouth at The Chukker on two occasions?I am so glad I got to talk to such a SUPER GENTLEMAN!BEST,ROBO
Here's a chapter from Carl Carmer's STARS FELL ON ALABAMA
where he describes legends of Coden, Alabama from the 1920's.
Alabama History has not been taught in Alabama's public high schools since 1998 so now our students are not even exposed to their own geography, culture and history. That's about as sad as Katrina.Coq d’Inde
The old shell road out of Mobile leads to a coast land of bayous. Bienville saw wild turkeys there and named an inlet Coq d’Inde. Coden
it is now, lying beside Sans Souci and Bayou Labatre and Point aux Pins. Near these little towns wine-colored streams reflect Spanish moss hanging in long tatters from the water oaks, and bathe the roots of fragrant orange and lemon and oleander trees. Now the country is inhabited by fisherfolk and summer guests. Once its uncharted sinuous channels gave refuge to more dangerous residents, to robbers and pirates, even to Jean La Fitte.
That bane of British and Spanish commerce put into the Mississippi Sound one day between Isle aux Herbes and the mainland and found Coden. The legend is that he buried treasure there, knowing that his rich colony of marauders established at the Island of Grande Terre could not resist for long the forces of law and order. The Lanrendines, the Girards, the Rabbis, descendants of the oldest French families in the region, know where be built his shack and they have speculated for generations now on the direction he and his men took when they went from it one midnight staggering under the weight of chests of gold. But the spades of treasure hunters have not yet uncovered the buried metal.
Knowing the ways of summer resorts, I gave this legend little credence when I first went to Coden. The faith of “Bud” Rabbi, fisherman, in its truth finally brought me to make inquiries as to its origin. My search led to the Moore family,early residents of the section, and to a correspondence which amazingly corroborated the legend of Coden’s buccaneers.
In the late 1880’s a daughter of the Moore household, which had migrated to Alabama from South Carolina early in the century, set down in family letters a number of her mother’s reminiscences. From them I culled the following extracts:
“ ‘The first man I met of romantic interest,’ I have heard my mother say, ‘was an old gentleman named La Mas. He was one of the Black Flag men who sailed with La Fitte, the pirate captain. La Mas was an old man when I met him. He wore a long beard, high boots outside his trousers, and always carried, stuck beneath his belt, blunderbusses and knives of curious workmanship. He lived on a green knoll in a quaint wooden house which was fastened to the earth by chain-ropes of iron, for the tornadoes and gales at Coq d’Inde were often very Severe.
“ ‘Las Mas was always ready with his tongue and his language was courtly. He had the manners of a gentleman of “the quality” and great admiration for his former leader. “Why, Lady Moore,’ he once said, “I have stood knee-deep in human blood on deck with La Fitte and yet he was a man of fascinating and unquestionable charm and finish.” ‘ “
In another section of these epistolatory chronicles their
author writes that the remains of the shack built by La Fitte
“are still standing, storm—blown, time—touched, crumbling under a gigantic chestnut tree. All about are blowing cowslips and English daisies. I can see the ruins from the window of Anatol Rabbi’s stone dining room, set off from the rest of the house, where, under the orange trees, I am enjoying my breakfast of mullet, salt bread, and cafe noir served by a pretty Creole girl.”
This odd tangent to the biography of the French pirate-hero of the Battle of New Orleans is not the only romance—laden tale of the Alabama bayou country. At Sans Souci shrimp fishers tell the story of a French buccaneer who discovered that his beautiful daughter was in love with a Spaniard and meeting him secretly. The father immediately killed the girl by cutting her throat and buried her beside the bayou, where her ghost appears nightly. And at Bayou Labatre there are many variations of the tale of a headless Indian who appears beside the dark copper-colored water just at sundown, moaning dismally of some forgotten crime.
Most beautiful of all the Gulf Coast legends, however, is that of the Sea-Maiden of the Biloxi. It has been told to me by the islanders of Dauphin and Isle anx Herbes, by trawlers in Bonsecours Bay and the shrimp fishers of Pascagoula which is across the Mississippi state line. Each narrator claimed that the spot where the wonder took place was in the waters within a few rods of his residence. Of the many versions, this one, told to me one moonlight night by Pierre Laurendine as we sat on the white sand beside Coden bay is most affecting:
“A long time ago a tribe of Indians, named the Biloxi, lived on this island. They believed themselves to be children of the sea and they worshiped a sea—maiden. But the Spaniards came and they forced the Indians to give up their belief and take the Christian religion. A Spanish priest went among them with his cross and bell and box and the Indians had to bow to him and his God. One night the priest was wakened by a sound of stirring waters. He looked out and saw dark waves risen into a trembling mound that almost reached the clouds. At its peak, close against the blue moon stood the sea-maiden. She sang:Come to me, children of the sea.
Neither book, nor bell, nor cross
Shall win you from your queen.
Then, before the priest could interfere, he saw the natives fling themselves into the water and swim toward the maiden leaving behind them great streaks of fire. When they had circled the column of waves it burst with a great hissing roar, engulfing the whole tribe in the subsiding waters.
The churchman who saw this strange thing happen believed that it was due to the fact that he was not himself in a true state of grace. On his death-bed he said that if a priest would row to the spot where the music sounded and drop a cross into the water all the souls at the bottom would be redeemed though he himself would be instantly swallowed up by the waves.
No one has ransomed the souls of the Biloxi. The sad music that haunts the bay today, rising through the waters when the moon is out, comes from the sea-caves down below where they live.”