What A Fool Believes
Heard the Doobie Brothers yesterday.
They were a band of my youth, and I listened to all their hits, like everyone else...
...but there's more to it than that.
My childhood friend and neighbor Yvonne is out in San Francisco with her husband, Tony. She's been posting a number of photos over the last few days.
The two stories converged in my mind and I thought back to a day around the pool at the apartment complex, in San Bruno, in 1983.
It was a great summer!
We were all working at the Meridien Hotel where Dad was the top dog on the huge project. I had just started my career as a union laborer and John was working with the crew installing the telephone systems.
Everyone else from out of town was also hanging out around the pool. I forget all the names, but Ralph and Rudy were a couple of the mainstays.
We'd drink beer, grill steak, chicken, ribs...
...all sorts of things.
One Sunday, the beer was really flowing.
We were hanging out, talking with everyone and Dad was certainly the top dog around the grill too. We were well known all around the apartment complex.
Dad was cooking on one grill...
...there was another group cooking chicken at a second grill.
We all got to talking.
Turns out, one of the guys working the barbecue was in the music business. John and I were blown away when he told us that he was the bass player with the Doobie Brothers, and that a couple of other guys in his group were also band members.
"You guys wanna' see the gold records?"
We watched him flip the chicken one last time, gave the black man (who I believe is original member Tiran Porter) one of our beers, and followed him to his apartment. He showed us the gold records, which were displayed on his wall, and we talked about Rock & Roll.
"Gotta' get back to the chicken," he said.
When we returned poolside, Dad was at the grill...
...eating a piece of Tiran's chicken.
"What the f$&@!" Tiran yelled out.
"It's true," Dad called out. "You guys are better at cooking chicken."
Tiran (who for some reason we were calling Oscar) laughed.
We spent the rest of the afternoon, sharing the Doobie Brothers chicken, our steak, and a whole bunch of beer.
"You're Dad is one crazy bastard," Tiran said, in summation.
And that's our brush with the immortal Doobie Brothers.
They were a band of my youth, and I listened to all their hits, like everyone else...
...but there's more to it than that.
My childhood friend and neighbor Yvonne is out in San Francisco with her husband, Tony. She's been posting a number of photos over the last few days.
The two stories converged in my mind and I thought back to a day around the pool at the apartment complex, in San Bruno, in 1983.
It was a great summer!
We were all working at the Meridien Hotel where Dad was the top dog on the huge project. I had just started my career as a union laborer and John was working with the crew installing the telephone systems.
Everyone else from out of town was also hanging out around the pool. I forget all the names, but Ralph and Rudy were a couple of the mainstays.
We'd drink beer, grill steak, chicken, ribs...
...all sorts of things.
One Sunday, the beer was really flowing.
We were hanging out, talking with everyone and Dad was certainly the top dog around the grill too. We were well known all around the apartment complex.
Dad was cooking on one grill...
...there was another group cooking chicken at a second grill.
We all got to talking.
Turns out, one of the guys working the barbecue was in the music business. John and I were blown away when he told us that he was the bass player with the Doobie Brothers, and that a couple of other guys in his group were also band members.
"You guys wanna' see the gold records?"
We watched him flip the chicken one last time, gave the black man (who I believe is original member Tiran Porter) one of our beers, and followed him to his apartment. He showed us the gold records, which were displayed on his wall, and we talked about Rock & Roll.
"Gotta' get back to the chicken," he said.
When we returned poolside, Dad was at the grill...
...eating a piece of Tiran's chicken.
"What the f$&@!" Tiran yelled out.
"It's true," Dad called out. "You guys are better at cooking chicken."
Tiran (who for some reason we were calling Oscar) laughed.
We spent the rest of the afternoon, sharing the Doobie Brothers chicken, our steak, and a whole bunch of beer.
"You're Dad is one crazy bastard," Tiran said, in summation.
And that's our brush with the immortal Doobie Brothers.
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