The Election - October 23, 2014

As published in the White River Current - Thursday October 23, 2014

In less than two weeks, Arkansans will be going to the polls to vote in an important mid-term election.  As a matter of fact, early voting has already begun (last Monday).  Indications are that the turn-out will be very large.  If the polls are correct, most of the voting for the state and national candidates will go right down to the wire.  It looks like no candidate has a clear edge, at least at the time that I am writing this edition of the Ramblings.  May the best candidate win.  In addition to selecting their choice of the candidates, the voters of Arkansas are being asked to cast their choice, either for or against, a total of five “issues.”  Four of these issues are Constitutional Amendments, number one, two and three are being referred to the people by the Arkansas General Assembly.  Number four is proposed by a petition of the people.  Issue number five, also proposed by a petition, if passed, would increase the Arkansas minimum wage by $2.25 per hour when it becomes final on January 1, 2017.  When I was a boy growing up in Calico Rock, I remember on several occasions when there was a proposed Constitutional Amendment on the ballot at election time.  On at least one occasion, there was a proposal to hold a Constitutional Convention to re-write the Constitution (it failed).  My dad always, never wavering, voted against these issues, saying “the Constitution is just fine, has served us well for many years, and we do not need to change it.”  My dad had strong feelings about a lot of things and didn’t mind letting you know just how he felt about a subject.  I may not have always agreed with him on certain political matters when I reached voting age, but I always respected his opinions and he did mine.  I have tried my best to be an informed voter and have read each “issue” in its entirety. I also watched the debates last week on AETN.  Now, I do not intend to suggest in any manner about who you should vote for or how you should vote on the five issues, but I would like to make a few observations on Issues No. 3 and 4.  Issue No. 3 was printed in this newspaper a few weeks ago.  It took up almost two full pages.  That in itself might raise a red flag.  The state newspaper, the DG, caught it right away and editorialized against it in the next Sunday edition following the filing of this “issue.”  Some would say “hidden” in the middle of this long “issue” is a section “establishing term limits for members of the General Assembly.”  Excuse me, but didn’t we approve that in 1992 (60%) and reaffirm (70%) in 2004?”  In this case, “establishing” means doubling the current limits.  This smells a lot like the Mickey Mouse tactics that the group of yahoos in Washington do when they tack a pay raise amendment onto some obscure bill and try to send it through on late Friday, hoping no one would notice, but they always get caught.  I suspect these people think we voters are stupid.   There is an organized group travelling the State and are urging the people to vote against Issue 3.  Pulling a trailer that contained a ten-foot tall,  wooden Trojan Horse, they were in Calico Rock the last of September.   Check them out at  

www.SaveARTermLimits.org.  If passed, Issue No 4 would allow the sale of alcoholic beverages in all seventy five Arkansas counties regardless of previous conditions.  This issue is also widely opposed.  In an earlier edition of the Ramblings, I recalled a time when I accompanied my mother when she and others circulated a petition to place an issue on the ballot to make Izard County a “dry county.”  The issue passed, and  since 1939 it has been illegal to sell alcoholic drinks in Calico Rock and Izard County.  As I said in that earlier edition, there is no way that I am going to dishonor my mom by voting to change that decision.  I am of the opinion that everyone should vote because every vote counts.  In my lifetime I have seen a school election decided by one or two votes.  On one occasion when the vote had ended in a tie, the outcome was decided by the lone absentee vote.  The other was decided when the outcome was challenged and the four absentee votes were thrown out, making the two vote loser a two vote winner.  Recommendation:  Rent the 2008 Kevin Costner movie, “Swing Vote.”        

The Media - October 9, 2014

As published in the White River Current - Thursday October 9, 2014

I learned another good lesson:  Be careful what you say.  A couple of weeks ago, I had a severe attack of what is sometimes referred to as “the stomach flu” or 24-hour virus.  I think it was actually caused by something that I had eaten the previous evening.  Anyway, I was confined to the house, in close proximity to the bathroom for a couple of days.  I was scheduled to sing with the choir at the Sunday service of the community revival.   I reported to the choir director that I would not be able to lend my golden tenor voice for this production, that I was ill and that it might be Ebola because I felt so bad.  Now I have been accused of overstating the facts occasionally, and maybe I did leave the impression that I was pretty sick (at least too sick to sing) because she must have implied to the choir members and others that I was soon to receive my last rites or something like that.  Now, everyone I meet is inquiring about how I am feeling and “I heard you were sick” and “how long were you in the hospital?” etc.  Just to set the record straight, I am fully recovered and thank you one and all for your concern.  Now, on to something else.  I am a slow reader when it comes to a good book.  I like to take each word and carefully digest it in the proper recesses of my brain.  I have written before about my love of the printed word especially when it is a good mystery story, most often fiction.  Occasionally I will make an exception and stray into the non-fiction category.   I am currently reading “Ghost of the Ozarks” which is sub-titled “Murder and Memory in the Upland South.”  The author, Brooks Blevins, PhD,  is the Noel Boyd Professor of Ozarks Studies at Missouri State University in Springfield, Missouri, but calls Violet Hill, Arkansas, home.  Some of his other books are for sale at the Calico Rock Museum.  The book that I am reading is a detailed account of a “gruesome murder”  that may or may not have occurred (I’ll know when I get further along in this very entertaining story) in Stone County, Arkansas, in 1929.  Brooks is a very skilled historian and he leaves no stone unturned or no newspaper unquoted in his reporting of this event that occurred in our neighboring county some eighty-five years ago.  The bibliography that is listed at the end of the book is ten pages long.  Even though I have only muddled through the Prologue and the first three chapters, I can see that the story may be as much (or more) about the way the media representatives, from Kansas City and Chicago, and as far away as California, who descended on this remote part of the country and sent back reports of this grisly act of barbarism.  I can imagine that newspaper sales skyrocketed when portrayals of the local citizens as “illiterate hill people” reached readers across the country.  A few years after this incident, when I was a boy, I remember that our state was described as the “armpit of America” by our northern neighbors.  We had to endure the radio broadcasts of the like of Bob Burns who was described as “The Arkansas Traveler” and “The Arkansas Philosopher.”  Bob made an act out of “reporting” about the people back in Van Buren which he claimed was his home town (he was born in Greenwood).  My mother couldn’t stand him and she was always critical of his making fun of the good Arkansas people.  He played a home-made musical instrument that he called the Bazooka.  The WWII tank destroying piece of military artillery is named for this invention.  Another radio show that sort of pictures uneducated, backwoodsey  residents was “Lum and Abner.”  I liked this program because it was satirical and sometimes very funny.  Their Christmas program was outstanding and they repeated it every year.  It has only been in the last few decades that Arkansas has been able to shake off the mantle of being portrayed as a backwards, moonshine swigging population.  Thanks to Charles for loaning me this interesting account of another time.  Anita told me once about her niece from Detroit who came to visit every summer and who called her Arkansas relatives “dumb farmers.”  Beverly had a rough time as an adult but Anita married a handsome young man from the queen city of the Ozarks, became the mother of two above-average children and lived happily ever after. 

Grandparents - September 25, 2014

As published in the White River Current - Thursday September 25, 2014

I hardly even noticed.  Autumn slipped in a couple of days ago with hardly a whimper after the last gasp of summer heat over the weekend.  Actually it was a pretty nice summer, weather wise.  Only a few really uncomfortable hot/humid times and more rain than average.  I believe I mowed my lawn every week.  I think I’ll cut back on the fertilizer next year.  The arrival of autumn  wasn’t the only thing that was missed.  Grandparent’s Day, which is normally observed on the first Sunday of September, was a complete non-event this year.  How could something as extremely important as that not get our undivided attention?  Why weren’t the flags displayed in all their splendor?  What happened to the greeting cards, phone calls and gifts?  Oh, well!  When I was growing up, three of my grandparents were already in heaven.  I was fortunate to have my mother’s father to help “raise” me.  Granddad lived with us until he passed away when I was about fourteen years old.  We were very close.  His name was Lucas and everyone except me called him Uncle Luke.  I always called him “granddad.”   Probably since the average age of the population of our country is much higher than when I was growing up, families have resorted to giving the grandparents names that aren’t quite as quaint or out-of-date.  This almost always occurs in families where there are two sets of grandparents drooling over the above-average offspring of the respective son and daughter.  Take our family for instance.  My mom and dad were “granddad and grandmother” to our two kids.  Anita’s mom (her dad had passed away a few years earlier) was referred to as “granma Woolf.”  Not too bad, but it gets worse.  When our first grandchild (Sara) was born, Anita and I continued to be known to her as Granddad and Grandmother.  Her other set of grandparents were “Grandpa Bill and Mimi.”  Now that Sara is married and we are great-grandparents, no one has really decided what the “greats” should call us.  When Ruby was born last December, she became the first grandchild for Ross’ parents, Jack and Brenda (our daughter), and Leah’s parents, Eddie and Vonda.  Jack is now Pop, Brenda is Gigi, Eddie is Papaw and Vonda is Nana.  Well, just having a little fun.  This all started because of an article entitled “A Grandma by Any Other Name” that appeared in the September issue of the AARP Bulletin.  In that composition, the author’s first grandchild was about to be born and she was trying to determine what she wanted the new baby to call her.  She was looking for something that was fun, cool and inventive—not frumpy.  She conducted an informal survey with 20 current or prospective grandparents and only three said Grandma and Grandpa are their go-to names.  Others wanted to be called Granna, Bobo, G-Ma, GeeBee, Meema, Gogo or Glam-ma.  The author ended up choosing Granny, partly due to the British TV drama, Downton Abbey.   Anyway, I’m sorry to spend so much time on this topic.  I wanted to mention that September is the month for the annual election for school director which drew a lot of attention this year and resulted in a large turnout of voters with a very close finish.  This always reminds me of my four races for this unheralded, mostly unappreciated position.  I lost my first race by seven votes (19 to 12) and my last race by two votes.  I won the other two races probably because I didn’t have an opponent.  I think there might be a message for me there (stay out of politics).  September also marks the time of the annual Community Revival in which all the churches join for a time of ecumenical togetherness.  The museum sponsored the festival that included both a Mountain Man rendezvous and a tribute to the Native Americans that once populated our area, concluding with a remembrance of the “Trail of Tears.”  A very active month leading up to one of the busiest times of the year, October.  Thanks for the correspondence you have sent regarding the Ramblings column.  It has occurred to me that perhaps others might like to offer some comments or maybe even suggestions about future articles.  If so you can contact me at PO Box 296, Calico Rock, AR 72519 or e-mail reedsrambling@yahoo.com.  See you in a couple of weeks when I will be talking about some families from the past.  

Domesticity - September 11, 2014

As published in the White River Current - Thursday September 11, 2014

Anita and I resided in Missouri for most of the first decade of this 21^st century.  During that time period, traffic on the Missouri streets and highways almost doubled as did the speeders and crazy drivers. When that young whippersnapper in that red Miata sports car passed me on the access ramp as I was attempting to enter the four-lane US 65 highway (it is now six lane), I decided “enough is enough.”  We immediately started conversation about moving back to Arkansas.  Yesterday was the fifth anniversary of our return to Calico Rock.  One day last week, Anita and I were having early morning coffee out on the front porch when she began to comment on the traffic in front of our house.  Most of the cars were probably heading to the high school or were hospital employees.  “Look at that one.  She’s going too fast” and “there goes another one; lickety-split!”  I just laughed.  She comes up with those old sayings ever so often.  Such as “well, I swan” or “quicker than you can skin a cat” or “slicker that goose grease.”  I’m not sure where all these sayings come from.  When I was a boy growing up in the Rock House on Red Lane, our family would listen to the radio program, Lum and Abner, every evening at 6:15 PM.  Lum referred to those proverbial expressions as “old Eddard sayings.”  Did you know you can still listen to episodes of Lum and Abner on the internet?  Tune in if you are wanting a good laugh.  I mentioned in an old column that I met Lum (Chet Lauck) at a Lions Club mid-winter conference in Jonesboro years ago.  Anyway, I know that many of you have also heard and used these sayings in your normal conversation.  I was at the grocery store the other day when I bumped my cart into an acquaintance.  “Pardon me, Ray, I wasn’t looking where I was heading.  How are you doing?”  “Pretty good, Reed.  Whatta ya know?”  “Well, I know it takes a big dog to weigh a ton.”  He laughed and came back with the usual reply, “yea, and it takes a big man to kick him off the porch.”  We both nodded and laughed as if neither of us had ever heard this bit of nonsense, then, after a few remarks about the weather, went on about our shopping, both satisfied with the useful conversation that had occurred.  For me, it had reminded me of an old joke:  “A man went before a judge to get his named changed.  ‘What is your name?’ the judge asked.  “Joe Dumbbell.”  The judge replied, “Well, I understand.  What do you want your name changed to?”  “Charlie Dumbbell.  I’m getting tired of hearing ‘Hello, Joe, whatta you know?’”  OK, I thought it was funny.  I do most of the grocery shopping now that Anita has been feeling poorly.  As a matter of fact, I have turned into a pretty fair house husband.  I have always believed that marriage is a joint effort and, since retirement, have tried to increase my part of the household duties. I caught myself singing the other day:  “On the Calico Road, there’s room for just two, no more and no less, just me and just you.  Each burden we’ll bear, each sorrow we’ll share, there’s never a care, while we are both there.”  It’s not easy getting old and some can accept it more gracefully than others.  Perry used to say, “it’s not for sissies.”  I’ve learned to do the laundry (thank goodness for the wash and wear fabrics).  I can run the vacuum and do the  dusting (sort of).  And, in addition to the grocery shopping (I clip coupons) I am doing part of the cooking.  I have tried several recipes that I saw on Facebook and regularly check the websites and apps that offer interesting possibilities for something to soothe the appetite.  So far, I have made a roast (crock pot), a cake (Betty Crocker),  a batch of peanut butter cookies that I made from scratch using a recipe that Dee e-mailed (they were delicious) and some soups and chili that turned out pretty good.  Some of our younger couples, and others, have learned to prepare menus for an entire week and grocery shop for the necessary items on weekends.  I’m not that organized yet but it sounds like a good idea.  Motivation and deciding what to try out are my biggest problems now but I’m making progress.  Some great philosopher once said “You do what you have to do.”  I’ve adopted that as my motto.  So far it seems to be working.  I’ll keep you informed but right now I have run.  I don’t want to burn the beans.    

You are what your wear - August 28, 2014

As published in the White River Current - Thursday August 28, 2014

Well, I have learned a good lesson.  In these bi-weekly visits I have tried hard to stay clear of religion, politics and other things controversial.  I must have stepped over the line a little bit in a recent article because the facebook pages lit up with posts on the subject.  It could be coincidence, but if I said anything or even implied something that one of you considered judgmental, I erred and I apologize.  I promise that I will be more thoughtful and considerate in my opinions.  I do, however, reserve the right to offer my opinion on various subjects and should do so, I guess, because this is, by name, an opinion/editorial column.  For instance, I have written about music several times.  I much prefer the older tunes than those that are broadcast across the airways today.  The oldies had lyrics that I can understand and enjoy.  Here’s a favorite from about thirty years ago:  “My back is sore from bendin’ over backward to just lay the world at your door.”  That was from the song, “You Take Me for Granted,” was written by Leona Williams and was recorded by the great country artist, Merle Haggard, who took it to Number One.  And how about this:  “Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes and found my cleanest dirty shirt.”  That line was from another country song, “Sunday Morning Coming Down,” penned and performed by Kris Kristofferson.  Now, I can relate to that “dirty shirt” line.  You may have observed that I am never considered when it comes to naming the “best dressed” citizen of Calico Rock.  As a matter of fact, I may have appeared downright slovenly lately.  I wear what feels comfortable, regardless of my possible unkempt appearance.  Now when my shirt  doesn’t show any dirty or greasy spots and passes the “sniff” test, I may decide to wear it one more time before it goes into the hamper.  It wasn’t always that way.  I have a photo of a cute little boy standing in front of the Rock House on Red Lane.  He is wearing knickers and long stockings, a long sleeved shirt and a necktie.  I imagine we were on our way or just returning from church.  My dad and most of the other adult men always wore suits and neckties to church.  So did I until a few years ago.  These days, casual (even ultra-casual) is the new church look.  My uncle Joe would not approve (he was Aunt Muriel’s husband; more about her in a minute).  Years ago, it  was almost an everyday occurrence that I would dress for work only to be greeted by Anita with “You’re not going to wear that, are you?”  I’ll bet some of you other guys have had similar experiences.  Anyway, she would march me to my closet and pick out a shirt that matched my trousers.  In my lifetime, I have seen numerous style changes.  I would almost wager a tidy sum that I purchased the last leisure suit sold in the Western hemisphere.  It went out of style overnight and, after seeing it hang in my closet for several years, I took it out to the Christian Service Center one night and, under cover of darkness, hung it on their front door.  Buying wearing apparel for school kids is also a real problem.  “Daddy, I wish you would take me down to the Salvation Army store and buy me some decent clothes.”  Those words came from Lisa, Don’s youngest daughter, several years ago when she was a young teenager and the fad at the time was the Eisenhower jacket, a war surplus item named after the famous WWII army general who became the 34^th president of the United States.  When I was on the school board, there was talk in the Arkansas legislature about requiring students to wear uniforms such as those worn at some private schools.  It never became a law but there was a lot of support for it, primarily in larger school districts that were having a lot of peer-pressure problems.  More recently, the fad with the boys was to wear loose jeans that bagged in the back revealing their brightly colored boxers.  Whenever I got a hole in my jeans or overalls, my mother would sew on a patch to cover it.  Now girls can purchase new expensive jeans that already have large ragged holes produced at the factory and are very stylish.  Go figure.  Aunt Muriel selected the dress she wanted to be buried in (she was).  I’m thinking of following her example with a suit that I like.  I can just hear the teary-eyed ladies at the public visitation:  “My, doesn’t he look nice?”   

        

Many Years Ago - August 14, 2014

As published in the White River Current - Thursday - August 14, 2014

  

Many years ago, Dean, Billy Charles and I, along with some other young boys who were searching for an adventure, would spend a large part of our summers playing on the bluffs that border the White River on the west side of town.  One great adventure that we repeated many times was to descend from the top of the bluff to the railroad track 200 feet below via the Billy Goat Trail.  Once we reached the tracks at the bottom, we would turn around and climb back to the top where, after a short rest, we would repeat the cycle, over and over until we got bored.  The BG Trail began at a point on the bluff in front of Mrs. Wright’s house where we could gain access to a narrow ledge.  Crawling along the ledge, on our hands and knees to keep from bumping our heads on the overhang above, we would eventually come to an opening where there was a huge boulder that sort of slanted downward.  Easing onto the boulder, feeling for hand and toe holds, we slowly made our way to a point about half way down the bluff.  From there, it was fairly easy the rest of the way to the bottom.  Sounds very exciting, doesn’t it?  Add this to my list of “Done it, but wouldn’t do it again for a million dollars” items.  Along with things like climbing to the top of the city water tower (one time was enough for me).  Or crawling through the narrow drainage tunnel that starts out in front of the Riverview Hotel, goes down the hill, under the train depot, under the railroad tracks and finally exits above the river.  Believe it or not, I did this several times but never again.  I never thought much about the beauty of the bluffs, the mountains and the river valley when I was a boy.  Much later, Anita and I partnered with Steve to build a cabin on the upper bluff, an area where I had spent many hours of my childhood about sixty-five years earlier.  My idea of camping out may be different from yours.  Our “cabin” has three bedrooms, two baths (one with a separate shower and whirlpool tub), a full kitchen and laundry, a TV and a covered porch on the river side that has a terrific view of the mountains and river valley.  It was Steve who came up with a name that might describe this scenic location.  He chose a biblical name, Nain (Nein in the Hebrew language), which can be translated as “Place of Beauty.”  I have, as you well know from previous columns, always been fascinated with words and names.  There was once a performer who was billed as a comedian that appeared on several late night shows several seasons ago.  He resembled a young Groucho Marx (complete with the long cigar) and had a monologue that went something like this:  “My name is Raymond J. Johnson, Jr., but you can call me Ray, or you can call me Jay, or you can call me RJ, or you can call me RJJ…..” and on and on.  You can catch his act on You-Tube if you are mildly interested in determining if he was funny or not.  Now, you can call me Reed or you can call me Mack, but  when I was growing up, everyone called me Reed Mack, mostly to identify me apart from my cousin, William Reed, who used only his middle name most of the time.  We both got our Reed names from our maternal grandmother, Rosa Reed.  Years ago we called our older residents Uncle or Aunt, even if no relation.  You can even call me “doctor,” not to be confused with our physicians or dentists.  I have a certificate from my alma mater that signifies that I am a Doctor of Pharmacy (PD).  Sara is also a Doctor of Pharmacy (Pharm. D).  Tom, my pastor, is a Doctor of Divinity.  I call Connie “doctor” because she is a Doctor of Laws (LL. D.).  Ed, David and others have earned Doctor of Philosophy degrees (Ph. D).  You can call all these persons doctor.  

I was in an area store recently and, before getting through the check-out, was called “sweetheart,” “darling,” “ honey” and other endearing names that are reserved only for Anita.  You can’t call me those names.  Now, I know it’s difficult for you girls to refrain from grabbing me and giving me a big hug, and that’s OK, but please back off on the names.  Quickly I want to comment on the wonderful weather we enjoyed in the month of July.  Very unseasonable.  Is Global Warming real or is it a sham?  You can call me “not convinced.”  Right now you can call me “outta here.”  See you in two weeks for another discussion,  Bye for now.         

Rest of the Story - July 31, 2014

As published in the White River Current - Thursday July 31, 2014

 I had an unusual amount of comments on my column that appeared two weeks ago. It was entitled “Parrothead” but actually was intended to be about tattoos, a subject that I finally got around to shortly before the end of the article. If Paul Harvey was here today, he might say “There’s more to that story.” The comments were split about half and half between the guys and gals, with the ladies wanting to see my tattoo and the fellows wanting to know more about the harmonica player. By the way, the article appeared in the July 17th edition of the Key West Traders Daily, an internet newspaper, probably because of the Jimmy Buffett connection. I imagine it was obtained from Steve’s blog because he had added a picture of the harmonica that Fingers gave him after playing “Amazing Grace.” Check out the archive and take a look. My infamous tattoo was self-inflicted in an attempt to permanently place my initials on my left leg a few inches below my knee. It was done with a sewing needle dipped in a bottle of black India ink. I was with the Hudson boys, Dean and Charles, who, apparently, were a bad influence on this young teenager. I had to stop the procedure when my leg began to hurt. It’s a wonder we three knot-heads didn’t get blood poisoning and maybe lose a leg. I never completed my initials and have ended up with what looks like a small upside-down exclamation mark. Now about the second part of the article. Greg was a keyboard player when he first started his career in the music business. That’s when he acquired his nickname, “Fingers.” He was a member of the Buttermilk Blues Band headquartered in Jackson, MS, in 1969 when he abandoned the keyboard and took up the harmonica as his preferred instrument. He told me that he made the change because the harmonica was much easier to transport between gigs than the bulky, heavy keyboard. Makes sense to me. He did retain his nickname and was always better known as “Fingers” than by his real name, Greg. He joined Jimmy Buffett and the Coral Reefers in 1974 and remained a regular band member until May, 2000. On that December day, probably in the late 70’s, when he made his only visit to Calico Rock with his wife, Sarah, they talked freely about their travels and friends which included James Taylor, Carly Simon and other well-known figures in the music world. The only time that I saw Fingers again was at the Jimmy Buffet concert at Barton Coliseum in Little Rock a few years later. I did see Sarah several times. She and Fingers split, sometime in the early 80’s I think, and she moved in with her parents. Glenn and Joann had moved to Calico Rock from Jonesboro and purchased a home on the lower bluff just south of downtown. They were the parents of two other children, David and Joyce. Glenn was elected Mayor in 1982 and again in 1986. Sometime during his first term, he served a one-year term as state commander of the American Legion. He was a veteran of WWII, retiring after 20+ years as a high ranking officer. I liked Glenn. He was a friend and a real character. He was a typical military retiree, insisting on doing it his way but got a lot done for Calico Rock. He was responsible for getting all the downtown businesses on the National Register of Historic places. He is probably best known for convincing the Arkansas Department of Corrections to purchase the land and build a prison near Calico Rock, causing the NIMBY people to come out of the woodwork. Glenn prevailed over the opposition and, as we are all aware, the North Central Unit became a reality. Five months into his second term, Glenn became very ill and was forced to resign as the Mayor of Calico Rock. I was elected to finish out his term, then one term on my own. He never got to see his pet project completed. When he died, I ordered the flag at city hall to be lowered to half-staff. He was buried in Roselawn cemetery with full military honors. I used to be asked what I thought about having a prison near Calico Rock. My pet answer was “Well, I would rather have a cookie factory.” I don’t say that anymore. Where would we be without it? PS: Fingers retired to Jackson, MS in 2010. Listen to him make his instrument weep, howl, plead and bleed on “Coast of Marseilles” recorded in 1978 (You-Tube).