It was probably 1997 or 1998 and my dad decided to take my brother and me out for haircuts. Our normal barber, Avondale, was closed or super busy or something, so Dad took us to a barber shop downtown called
Arcade. Neither of us had been there before, but obviously, Dad had. So we went in and sat down to await our turn and started flipping through magazines desperately trying to entertain ourselves and ignore the usual sporting event or news show that was playing on the television or radio.
I looked up from my magazine, that I assume was either a Field and Stream or a Car and Driver, and Dad was having a conversation with another gentleman. Dad can small talk, but he’s not ever really been known by us to be the chatty type so Matthew and I both thought this was strange. As it turns out, this man was the bass guitar player from the band my dad was a member of in the mid-sixties. It had been a long time since they had talked, but naturally, the conversation turned to music and Dad introduced me to the man. I had been playing guitar for a few years so I think there was a bit of parental pride going on: even though I was terrible. That was the day I met Billy.
I, honestly, will never for the rest of my life forget that day. The details of the conversation and the barbershop are fuzzy at best, but I do remember meeting Billy. I remember seeing a twinkle in Dad’s eyes as Matthew and I recalled to story to Mom when we got home that Saturday afternoon.
“Mom! Dad got asked to be in a band!”
Billy had continued to play music after their original band broke up and was just starting to try to get a new band together. Dad played when he and Mom first got together, but having a full time job and three kids certainly didn’t leave him much time so there were only a handful of times in my youth that I can remember him playing guitar. Billy had asked Dad if he was still playing and expressed interest in playing music with him again. Matthew and I were delighted. Dad was going to play rock n roll!