"I Know Who You Are Talking About... What IS His Name?"

New Orleans pianist, James Booker.

 Good Wednesday Morning, all bodies.

I walked into Russell's Marina yesterday after an appointment with a physical therapist to hear the New Orleans R&B song called,"Something You Got" which was written by Chris Kenner. I found it to be rather fortuitous... and funny.

After giving the doctor all of my information, medical and otherwise, I turned the tables on him by asking him how he became a physical therapist. I groaned when he told me that he went to Jesuit, but from that part on it got interesting...

At least to me!

His first exposure to the medical industry was at Charity Hospital in downtown New Orleans. It was called that for a reason and serviced many of the poorer patients in the city... and some of the greater R&B musicians too.

"Who's that guy that played in Fats Domino's band," he asked.

"Oh man," I replied. I know who you are talking about... What IS his name!"

Shame on me because I never did remember his name and neither did the doctor. The stories abound as I mentioned that my brother-in-law worked for many years as the head of the x-ray department there and had the opportunities to meet so many great musicians there. We could have gone to the local brew pub and continue on. So much fun as I attempted to jog my memory.

Who IS that guy? Toussaint, Fess, Fats, Ernie K-Doe, Larry Gueden, Roy Brown, Frogman Henry, Jesse Hill, Art Neville, Lloyd Price, Booker!, Earl Palmer... Chris Kenner!

Yeh, that's it... Chris Kenner. "Something You Got", "Land Of A Thousand Dances", "I Like It Like That!"

Yeh.. NO! With a fourth cup, it all came to me... Dave Bartholomew!

Second Giddy Up cup!

Copyright 2022/Ben Bensen III

"You Know... Where The Buffaloes Roam And All That Stuff,"

The Famous Montana Hat...

I received a call yesterday morning from Larry Leonard. Well, that's what the phone told me who was calling, but I didn't recognize the voice and the only Larry I knew that might call me was my next door neighbor.

It didn't sound like him.

"Hi, Mr. Ben, this is Larry!"

"Hey there, Larry" I replied.

"Larry who?" I asked.

"Mr. Ben, this is Larry... Badass Larry," he said.

I could tell something was up. Badass has never called me. He got a new flip phone a few months ago and barely knew how to use it. I tried to "edjamacate" him, but he was too embarrassed to learn.

"Hey man, wassup?"

Sniffles in the background made me think about the worse. Larry carried a small 22 caliber pistol on a belt holster next to the belt holster that houses his seldom used flip phone.

Polite as ever, asking me how Therese and I were, he told me that his wife of sixty plus years had passed away earlier in the morning.

Disguising my real sigh of relief, I quickly attempted to share his grief at losing her.

Upon hearing that me Dad has passed away, I felt that same sigh of relief.

"Do you wanna meet at Giddy Up? Is there something I can do to help you out? Please let me help," I begged him.

"No, he said, I just come back from there!"

Talking a bit about arrangements for her funeral, I reminded him that I wanted to be a part of his grief and offered another visit at the coffeehouse if he wanted.

After hanging up the phone, I immediately thought of his beloved cowboy hat. Because I lusted after it, he promised to buy me one when he leaves this all behind and moves to Montana... if his wife passed away before he did.

Seems like every morning, Badass would sit alone with his cinnamon roll and coffee and complain about his life with his wife who suffered for years with Parkinsons. The entire scene is pretty sad, and I'd always do what I could to listen and put a smile on his face.

"Dude, you've got diabetes on top of your Mesothelioma, you cannot be drowning your dreams in cinnamon rolls," I'd say in a "sweet talking" admonishment.

"What about your Montana? You wanna return there, don't you?"

"You know... where the buffaloes roam and all that stuff," I'd say.

"Aw, Ben... it don't matter much, anymore!"

With a "nudge, nudge, wink wink," I'd remind him how I much I needed him to return to Montana to buy me that cowboy hat. Apparently, that's where the hat came from when he was younger and had once visited his newest faraway place.

Defending in a rather befuddled way, he'd tell me about the latest abuse his wife would bestow on him.

"It... it don't matter much. She doesn't know what she's doing!"

I guess we all have a need for that special place here on earth where things are bound to be better. Some dreams do come true. It will be interesting to see if indeed, Badass leaves it all behind and return to the "badlands of Montana"...

And, buy me that hat!

First cup

Copyright 2022/Ben Bensen III

"Baby, Please Don't Go"...Te

Twenty something...

 Good Wednesday Morning, all bodies.

Two days ago, we went grocery shopping. Somewhere between the organic pineapples and the eight dollar a basket strawberries, I heard a song that I normally would never hear played on the "Muzak" system.

"Bada-lom, bada-da-lada da-dah lom" the guitar riff continued. Pleasantly surprised, I started to sing those lines. Oh yeh, I said to no one. I used to be able to play that tune. I wondered if I still could.

"Well, your mind done gone,

Well, your mind done gone.

Well, your mind done gone,

Left the county farm.

You had the shackles on,

Baby, please don't go"...

It was a band known as "Them" singin' a version of the 1935 blues song. Seems like every time that song is recorded, the lyrics are changed. Twenty minutes later, standing in the checkout line, I'm still humming the guitar riff and singing the opening lines...

"Baby, please don't go!"

Then, the cashier chimes in... "To the county farm, you know I love you so, baby please don't go!" Or something like that. It was kinda hard to hear her version of the lyrics through the Covid mask.

"Whoa, I said to the twenty something year old girl. You know this song?

With a boogie in her shoulders as she rings up the produce, she tells me that she loves the songs of her parents.

"You know...Sixties music!"

"Yeh, my mom and dad always played that kind of music at home,"she said.

"That's pretty darn cool," I replied. I thought about telling her that I used to be able to play that riff on guitar, but decided to keep those days more to myself... As much as possible!

"Yeh, I don't even like my generation's music."

"You're kiddin'," I asked.

"No really. I prefer the music from those days. My mom and dad are in their seventies and still play it!"

"Uh, huh!"

"Yeh, I'm kinda a renegade in some things," she said.

Handing us the receipt, she shimmies her shoulders again, smiles and gives me a thumbs up as we both continue to sing,""Bada-lom, bada-da-lada da-dah lom"...

First humpty-dump cup, y'all.

Copyright 2022/ Ben Bensen III

"I'm From Texas And Visiting For The Mardi Gras!"

Just thinkin'...

 Good "early morning Monday" Day, y'all.

Looks like another change in the weather... again, and change comes in so many shapes and sizes!

About a week ago or so, I was having a late breakfast in New Orleans when a couple is escorted to a table across from me. When I saw the woman, I began to freak out. Oh my gosh, that face looks awfully familiar.

Attempting to not be too obvious, I scanned over her entire face. With long dirty blonde hair that surrounded and embraced her rather Germanic features, I tried to place that face in some strange foreign timeline.

Who is she? Where did she come from, I thought, as she turned toward me and smiled. Her blue eyes caught mine and then glanced away.

"You idiot," I said to no one but me... "Stop staring!"

With her husband's back toward me, I don't believe he even noticed our momentary contact. But, it wasn't enough.

It wasn't enough!

So I asked the waitress, who never seems to make any eye contact, to pour me another cup as I got up out of my seat feigning a run at the restroom.

From a distance, I could better see the whole woman, her posture, the graceful use of her hands assisting her expressions between bites. She appeared to be in her late thirties wearing jeans and an untucked blouse that flowed down past her waist.

She was beautiful...

I returned to my seat and continued with breakfast occasionally glancing over to the couple's conversation. If I was a woman, I'd be eavesdropping, but my brain could care less and was transfixed on the visual and not their chit chat.

Well into my fourth or fifth cup of coffee, her beau, her friend, her husband... whatever, excused himself and headed for the restroom. She then looked up at me...

"Well, put up or shut up, Ben," I said, once again to no one. Not knowing what to expect, I figured it was now or never.

"Excuse me Miss, you look awfully familiar. Is it possible that we know each other?" I asked.

Looking a bit taken back, she smiled and replied rather softly," I don't think so!"

Flustered, but determined I asked her, "Is your last name Vaz, by any chance?"

"No, she said. My name is Courtney... Courtney Taylor!"

Feeling like an idiot with a "come on" like that, I tried to ease my way out by asking, "Are you from New Orleans?"

"No, she replied rather casually and with complete composure.

"I'm from Texas and visiting for the Mardi Gras!"

"Cool, I said. "Laissez les bon temp rouler!"

"Nice talking to ya!"

Her friend returned as my waitress, with her head turned away, plopped down my receipt and walked away.

Later, seated in my car and looking back at the restaurant, I couldn't help but think about that woman which I was certain I knew. It suddenly came to me. I just knew I'd seen her before...

In another life?

You idiot, I thought. She looked exactly like a childhood friend, Susan Vaz. And, Susan has to be my age or older. What makes you think that she is somehow on this earth exactly as you perceived her to be... young!

Honest... I sometimes scare myself!

Third thoughtful cup, y'all.