The Fugarwe Club
.........from chapter 37
#37 Bam Bam, Risha and the “FUGARWE” Club
Environmentalist suggested that P.C.B.'s washed down stream from the factories in the north end, polluted the Acushnet river, but we've determined that the smoke and all the booze that was drank and pissed down the toilet at the cottage is what really did it.
The band was a very social lot; therefore one never knew who would pop up as a new admirer or groupie. After each performance there would be someone making some kind of offer to the band. One babe liked us so much; she offered us a nice cottage that we could use for small money. It was a two bedroom, with a large living room and nice kitchen. It was located right on the beach in Fairhaven, a small town just east of new Bedford in time, we would make this place one of the premier partying spots for the band.
The cottage was acquired through our search for new housing. The search was inspired by an accident we had with a police car, while in route to a gig at Otis air force base. We were surprisingly broad-sided while driving through an intersection with a green light. The cops were traveling through the intersection without a siren or lights. This accident totaled the van, damaged a lot of the equipment, sent Bam Bam and Risia flying inside the van and put the band out of commission for a while. We were allowed to collect welfare while we were waiting for our case to be settled. In order to collect welfare, we had to have New Bedford area addresses because some of us lived out of town. We took advantage of this opportunity by getting a couple of apartments in town. Gaining access to the cottage gave the band an extra advantage. It was the perfect getaway and a good place for the band to practice as well as live.
When we moved into the cottage we discovered an Indian chieftain headdress. It was very beautiful and would soon become the center of attraction at our parties, at one of our famous onboard parties; Ernie christened the bonnet and the cottage, by naming the group, " The FUGARWE club". Whenever we had a get together at the cottage, we would start the session with a chant of "We're The Fugarwe club. When these words are spoken quickly, you will hear the message in the name. It was a perfect name for the group in a perfect setting, with the perfect mix of friends. Girls and guys, musicians and fans, all sitting in the middle of the floor with a giant bong stuffed with the best weed in town, puffing away like there was no tomorrow. Sometimes there would be so much smoke in the room, you couldn’t see who was sitting opposite you. We would reach a point of euphoria so great that we would sit for hours not saying a word and other times we would share humorous stories and laugh ourselves into hysteria or just pass out.
Jimmy Hendrix was the order of the music. We would listen to "Machine gun", Hey Joe", and changes over and over. Then we would get into a little Buddy Miles' "Down by the river", or we might play some Chicago or Blood, Sweat and Tears. No matter what the music was; we could sometimes manage to eat a box a "1001 malted balls" or a gallon of strawberry ice cream. When we got smashed, we would eat anything that was in the house. Sometimes we popped open a can of welfare Spam or made a bunch of grill cheese sandwiches from one of those massive slabs of government cheese. When it came to food we would eat just about anything. Money was tight and we were very frugal, but somehow even when we didn’t have any money, there always seem to be some herb around to help keep your mind off the hunger pains.
In spite of it all, we still managed to stick together through all the tough times. The band members had paired off and maintained different apartments in town for welfare purposes, but we would be together most of our spare time at the cottage. We would spend hours practicing and analyzing music together at the cottage. Eventually we got the band back on the road and were playing steadily again. It wasn’t easy, but we made it through with the help of a lot of friends. Even the U-haul truck we keep for about three months helped out a lot. Eventually we would all moved into the cottage and we also took on another roomie to help pay the rent. He was a fellow musician from another band who needed our help.
His name was John, a massive three hundred pound character with wavy processed hair and remarkable racconish black rings around the eyes. He stood a full six feet, four inches tall, and had a tremendous sense of humor. He was a soft spoken, kind and gentleperson, who never use his size to intimidate anyone. He was totally forgiving and understanding, and could always find time to listen to the problems of others.
He was an idol to me, someone I respected and admired greatly. Whenever he and I got together, the sparks of humor would fly. He was psychic to me some times we would just look at each other and there was a sense that we knew exactly what the other was thinking about john was the quintessential funk and rhythm and blues singer in the area, and he had held that position for years. He was music and music was his life, and his weakness, therefore making himself vulnerable to all the pains and penalties that music has to offer. He was a lover, a Romeo. He was sweet and smooth, and he had class.
He had been playing the “Chitterling” circuit for many years and always had many stories to share with young up-start musicians. John loved meeting new musicians, because he was always searching for that new musical thing, the one thing that would put an extra ounce of funk or soul into his song. He was a tenor who had a decent range of voice. It was slightly raspy with the touch of confidence that can only be gained through experience. He did a wide variety of songs including;" Turn back the hands of time", Tyrone Davis; "You made me so very happy", Chicago; "me and Mrs. Jones", Billy Paul, etc. he lived with us; even though he played in a different band. His knowledge, experience, and inspiration were invaluable, and we were happy to have him around.
As a fellow musician we had many things in common; like food. When john cooked his favorite meal it was an all day affair. He made the most unbelievable pot of spaghetti I had ever seen. He would sauté a mound of red green peppers, mushrooms, onions, garlic and spices in a huge skillet. Then he would throw in some sweet and hot Italian sausages, roll up a bunch of meatball and a some linguica, and let it all simmer together for a while. Next he would cook a bunch of spaghetti in a ten-gallon pot; (about three-quarters full) and finally he would dump the whole skillet of peppers and meat in the pot, toss the mixture together and let simmer for half an hour. The pot would sit on the stove for a couple of hours to allow all the flavors to come together. In the mean time we would sit in our ceremonial circle on the floor, with someone donning the Indian bonnet. The peace pipe would be going full blast to tease the monster in your stomach, and as Julia child would say; bon' appetite.