Me and Penny are sitting here loaded and also have the sillies, so we wanted to tell you how we love you so, and miss you. When can you come? My daughter was born August 25, and she’s a beaut. Please have a little silent one for her just for luck.
ALBUM FINISHED,
ATCO 33-308 order number
Very Good
I love you, Duane
At the beginning of October, while I was still in the hospital, Duane went to Miami for a session at Criteria Studios and took Donna with him for a little vacation.
The hospital finally called a week later to say I was ready to go home.
Duane and Dickey walked into the hospital lobby with Donna. She went directly to a phone booth, called Dr. Grossman and asked, “What should I do?”
“Keep her fed, keep her clean, and keep her dry,” he said.
The nurse handed me to my father first, and my mother said, “Hey! I’ve been waiting for her for weeks!” and took me from him. Dickey and Duane went downstairs to take care of the paperwork. They were joined in the hospital elevator by a couple of rednecks who mumbled the word hippie a few times, like a dare. Something even worse was said in the office while Duane was handling our bill. Duane never told Donna what it was, but someone must have said something terrible to him; he was very upset.
Later, Duane traded his car to Joe Dan Petty in exchange for Joe Dan taking over the remaining monthly payments of seventy-five dollars for the hospital bill. Duane didn’t want the bills to remind him of the way he had been treated.
Dr. Grossman warned Donna not to tax me with too much contact. I needed to rest and get stronger. My worried mother listened, and set me in my little pumpkin seat on tabletops where she could look at me. Duane just scooped me up in his big hands, my diapered bottom fitting easily into one palm, and cradled me as he walked through the house, talking in a looping, goofy voice. I love to imagine his smile shining down on me like the sun, my legs stretched to the crook of his arm.
Mom would panic a little. “Du-ane! Where are you taking her? Let her sleep!”
Gregg was afraid to hold me, too, but Duane set me into his hands and said, “Come on, now. You won’t break her!” Sometimes Gregory still stretches out his forearm to me and cups his hand and says, with the sweetest smile on his face, “The first time I held you, you fit right here. You were so tiny.”
Jaimoe brought a Pharoah Sanders record over to Bond Street for Duane to hear, and held me in his arms by the speaker, whispering into my tiny ear, “What’s that? It’s music!”
The first time Mom left me alone with my father I had a crying jag. When she returned, I was wailing and Duane was sitting beside me on their bed, playing guitar, trying to soothe me. Mom scooped me up and refused to listen when Duane said he was just comforting me.
“There was an armchair in our apartment on Bond Street and I was sitting holding you,” she tells me years later. “I told Duane, ‘I could do this forever,’ and he said, ‘I’m so glad she’s a girl, ’cause I’ve been kissing her so much.’ ” A mother and a father together, kisses, and the word forever. This is every child’s first and most perfect wish.
A few years ago, I spent a rainy afternoon in Jacksonville visiting with my aunt Joanie, Linda Oakley, and Linda Trucks, Butch’s ex-wife. Big Linda, Little Linda, Joanie’s daughter Rachael, and I happily drank wine and listened to their stories. Big Linda even read a few of her letters out loud. The one she wrote to her parents about her surprise birthday party on October 29, 1969, was so vivid, listening felt like time travel.
Halloween (1969)
Dear Family,
I was really surprised this week. We were up all night Tuesday talking, drinking wine and listening to records, then Berry and I were going to bed at around 6 AM and who should wake up early but Beebop. She had her bottle, and I was trying to get back to sleep when BO walked in and handed me a package.
As the sun came up, I opened it to find a beautiful pair of pants. They’re like tapestry with pink, blue, black, and ivory woven into the material. I can wear my pink blouse with them, too. Nobody came around during the day except Callahan who brought me a bottle of wine, so I drank most of it and ironed and cleaned the messy apartment alone because Candy stayed gone all day. She finally came home that night after I fixed chicken and dumplings for supper which BO, Rhino and Callahan said were delicious.
So, BO and I went for a walk while Candy watched Brittany. Somehow we ended up at Duane’s house. Strange. We went up and knocked on the door and Duane said, “Who is it?” And BO said, “BO and Beeg Leenda.” After five fishy minutes the door opened to reveal a room full of streamers, balloons, music and everybody I knew and some I didn’t in Macon blowing horns and whistles. Duane grabbed me and ushered me into the dining room and sat me down to a table laden with many gifts and a large glass of Kool Aid and Port punch.
Duane and Donna gave me a small oriental rug, which now hangs above the fireplace in the bedroom. Carmella, the freaky chick, and Boz Scaggs gave me an antique blue dress, like from the 20’s with embroidery down the front. Butch and Linda gave me a large English teapot also antique with enamel scrollwork on it. Lisa from Jacksonville gave me a small glass and ivory bottle which now contains straw flowers and an old crocheted French handbag. Candy gave me a tiny teacup and saucer with a pearl enamel finish and Dolores gave me a silver antique salt and pepper shaker. Carmella made three cakes from scratch: tangerine, yellow and fudge and we had tacos and fruit salad to munch on. I sure missed one of granny’s good cakes, though. Twiggs gave me a wooden fish. Everybody was so sneaky. While BO was giving me a tour of Macon on foot, Candy had dressed Brittany and the whole crew from the yellow house as well as all the guys from the Boogie Chilin’ and assorted freaks rushed over to Duane’s. I didn’t know everybody cared so much. You and all the rest of the family as well as my Macon buddies really made this a super birthday. Just think! Next year I’ll be 21!
They’re playing cuts from the Allmans on the radio in Atlanta and Macon now. Pretty soon we’ll get some copies of the album to keep for ourselves and also to give away. How’s the weather? It’s been pretty cold here and sunny, except today is kind of foggy. Very appropriate for Halloween. I hope everyone has a nice Trick or Treat. Brittany is still her jolly, spoiled self. She’s been trying to crawl. Eats toast and jelly, grits and scrambled eggs, and other assorted tidbits. Her teeth bother her a lot so she chews on everything, including me. Those teeth really hurt. She sits in her crib and hangs her legs through the slats, and flops her feet. Her favorite thing besides drinking and chewing is squealing shrilly. With the money you sent me, I got Pudge some high meat dinners, junior custard and toddler cookies with vitamins in the icing. Some powder and lotion for her rotund little body and a yellow and blue striped t-shirt for me. It’s in the picture I am sending which I would like back. Bo’s hammered self, my hammered self with a mouth full of cake and a piece of green yarn which BO tied around my neck, and guess who? It was taken just before the shebang was over. The empty glass in front of me had previously been filled with punch. The Bugs Bunny cups were for use by the commoners. Ha! I still miss you all and hope to see you by Tuesday but I’ll call and let you know. Take care and be good. Say Hi to everybody. I hope Daddy can find work at home.
Love Linda, BO and
Brit.
Linda told us the band had been home for a good long stretch from September through mid-November, but after that, the traveling started in earnest.
“They’d head out on the road for three weeks, then come home exhausted for a few days and head out again.” Little Linda said, “That winter, they were gone for months.” My father was even busier than the rest of the band; Duane was still playing sessions.
When Duane heard John Paul Hammond was scheduled to record an album at Muscle Shoals Sound in November, he headed down to meet him. Hammond, son of famous record producer John H. Hammond, was a true blues player, and he was also white. He’d come down from New York City to cut a record with Marl
in Green, a producer who had worked with Aretha Franklin and Wilson Pickett. He didn’t know what to expect walking into the studio, but he felt an immediate chill from the musicians he had come to play with. He had expected the Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section to be black, and they expected the same of him. Duane showed up in the middle of this awkward realization that they were a bunch of white dudes. Eddie Hinton, the guitar player and songwriter, was the one guy who was nice to Hammond and understood what he wanted to do. He wanted to record Howlin’ Wolf and Muddy Waters tunes.
“I was getting very frustrated,” Hammond recalled. “On the third day, Duane arrived with Berry Oakley. Duane said, ‘I want to meet this John Hammond guy! I have one of his records!’ Everybody loved him, and when they heard Duane wanted to meet me, they looked at me completely different. The whole mood of the session changed; everything changed. Eddie Hinton turned to me and said, ‘This is Duane Allman. He’s a phenomenal player, and you’re really going to like him.’
“Duane started to play and my mouth dropped open, he was so good. There was a break at the end of the day, and I had an old National steel guitar with me. Duane had never seen one, so I gave it to him to play, and it was in open tuning. He said, ‘Gee what is this?’ And I told him it was an open tuning, an A. He played slide in a straight tuning.
“ ‘You know that Taj Mahal tune, “Statesboro Blues”?’ he asked me.
“ ‘Duane, that’s not a Taj Mahal song! That’s a Blind Willie McTell song,’ I said.”
They recorded four tunes the next day, and every one was a winner. In fact, Duane inspired the whole studio band to get it together.
“All of a sudden they understood exactly what I was talking about the day before,” Hammond said. “Duane was born with that magnetism.” It was the beginning of another important friendship for Duane.
Virginia Beach, VA
Holiday Inn
Thanksgiving Day
[November 27, 1969]
Dear Donna,
Well, our tour got off to a really great start, we didn’t even play our first date here in Virginia. I am not feeling too good at all about the whole thing tonight. I guess I’m pretty disappointed and more than a little homesick for you and the baby. I guess I’m tired, too.
Did you have turkey? I sure hope so. They had a giant spread here at the Holiday Inn and it was pretty good.
I’m too sad to write, I’ll write more later after something good happens.
All My Love Forever,
Duane
The Brothers left home for most of December and January, and even missed Christmas. In letters home, Duane and Berry both hedged, saying maybe something would change and they’d get back to Macon in time for Santa, but seeing as they were booked to play the following day at the Fillmore East, that didn’t seem likely.
Donna, Linda, and Candy would all head to their families for the holiday.
This was the first taste of what 1970 would be like: a constant tour with short runs home.
Donna’s dad, Gil, drove for eleven hours from St. Louis to Macon to pick Donna and me up and take us home for Christmas. He turned right around after we were loaded into his car and drove all the way back without a rest. Mom sat me in my pumpkin seat between them and enjoyed the funny faces her dad kept making at me, and the high, silly voice he used to talk to me while he drove. By then I weighed twelve pounds and had started to get little chipmunk cheeks that my daddy would squeeze, saying, “Spit out those nuts!” Mom was proud and happy to take me home to her brother and sisters. She felt like a grown woman.
On December 26 the Allman Brothers played the Fillmore East for the first time. Bill Graham’s fabled theater on Second Avenue and Sixth Street in Manhattan’s East Village was the perfect size, just over two thousand seats, with great acoustics and character. The theater had a high ceiling with a chandelier, a deep balcony, fancy gilded woodwork everywhere, and rows of velvet seats, all a little shabby and comfortable.
Graham was willing to take risks on musicians he believed in, and often paired rock and blues acts together. It could make your career to play well at the Fillmore East. The techs in the theater were mostly New York University students, and word of mouth in the city was a powerful thing; Bill Graham’s personal support was even better. He was the most influential and respected venue owner in America.
The Allman Brothers opened for Blood, Sweat & Tears, another band they had little in common with. As with Don Law in Boston, Phil had called in a favor with Graham, and he booked the band without hearing them. The outcome was just as disappointing as the Boston Tea Party shows with the Velvet Underground. The crowd even booed the Brothers, although they were happy with the way they played. Back in the dressing room, Gregg said, “Man, I don’t want to play if they don’t want to listen,” and Duane laid into him.
“What’s the matter with you? I don’t care if there’s a goddamn brick wall out there, you play to that wall just like you’d play to anyone.”
After the show, Twiggs went to collect their pay from Kip Cohen, the managing director of the Fillmore East. Kip told Twiggs he thought the band was great and everybody had enjoyed working with them. He recognized that the bill had worked against them. He wanted to have them back as soon as possible. Then he asked Twiggs, “Who do the guys like? Who are they listening to and influenced by? Who would they buy a ticket to go see?”
“Well, I don’t know. B. B. King … the Grateful Dead … Buddy Guy …,” Twiggs answered.
Within the month, Phil got a call from Bill Graham offering the band a gig at the Fillmore West with B. B. King and Buddy Guy. When Twiggs went to collect the money in San Francisco after that show, Bill Graham took Twiggs into his office and asked, “How did the band enjoy playing here? I love your band.”
“Oh, it was great,” Twiggs said. “Being able to work with B. B. King was like heaven. We never thought we’d be on the same bill with him.”
“He was your first choice, wasn’t he?”
“First choice? What do you mean?” Twiggs asked.
“Well, I asked Kip because I felt so bad that I put you on the bill with Blood, Sweat and Tears. I wanted to make it up to you. I asked Kip to find out who the Brothers like and he said the first band you said was B. B. King, and the second was the Grateful Dead. Well, you’ve got two weeks to get back to the Fillmore East. I’ve got you booked with the Dead.”
Twiggs couldn’t believe it. He had never known anyone in the music business to be generous. From then on, the Brothers had a strong bond with Graham; he was a champion for them. They called him Uncle Bill.
Driving from Macon to New York City in the dead of winter in that goddamn van was inhumane. Ice formed on the metal walls inside the van, and the windshield would fog and freeze. At one point, Red Dog had to hold his lighter against the glass, trying to melt a hole in the frost big enough to see through while he drove.
At the end of that cycle of shows, Twiggs told Donna and Duane he wanted to take Phil Walden at gunpoint and drive him to New York in the freezing van; that man had no idea what it was really like.
Duane had grown very comfortable in New York over the years of working there, and one of his closest friends there was Thom Doucette, a blues harp player he had met in St. Louis’s Gaslight Square. He could blow so fine, he’d kept pace on stage with Buddy Guy and B. B. King, among others. Duane loved playing with Thom, whose nickname was Ace, and he welcomed him onstage with the Brothers whenever their paths crossed. Duane’s own sound was influenced by the sound of blues harmonica players like Little Walter and Sonny Boy Williamson, whose improvisations had the same fluid, vocal sound Duane could get from playing slide. Onstage, Ace and Duane had great chemistry, leaning toward each other, bending low and rocking back and forth.
Ace was an interesting guy, with his finger in a lot of pies. He was into real estate, renovating raw lofts in SoHo into artists’ spaces. He was also a leather worker and made beautiful sandals. Ace seriously practiced yoga and meditation.
/> Ace knew everyone: painters, sculptors, writers, musicians. Ace thought Duane had a brilliant mind and a very clear eye; he never missed a thing. Duane loved hanging with him so much, Donna eventually came to see Ace as a rival for Duane’s time and attention. As soon as Ace showed up, there went Duane.
Duane asked Ace to travel with the band for a few more gigs and he agreed, but when Duane opened the back of the van, Ace couldn’t believe it. Six grown men crowded into that dark little space, sitting on a couple of mattresses, facing east and west. He told Duane he would drive him instead, and Duane reluctantly agreed.
“Ace, I didn’t know you had a car,” Duane said.
“I have eleven thousand and they’re all yellow,” he said, putting his hand high in the air, hailing a cab to the airport. You could buy an eighteen-dollar ticket for the flight from New York to Boston right from your seat after getting on the plane in New York.
Duane was a little embarrassed, as if he had not seen the conditions clearly until he saw them through Ace’s eyes. As soon as they were back home in Macon, Duane told Phil they needed a better mode of transportation. Blue Walden, Phil’s eldest brother, fronted the money for a Winnebago, purchased from Bud K’s Kamper Korral. It was a big leap forward. Elbow room and insulation, hallelujah!
And just in time for their commute from New York to California.
Everyone made it back home to Macon for New Year’s Eve. They threw a party at Idlewild, a rustic one-room cabin on the edge of a pond, deep in the pines in Forsyth, Georgia, where Dickey lived with his wife, Dale, and daughter, Christie. It was a country getaway for the band, and they gathered there for the peace and quiet, often practicing outdoors.
The women made a huge feast and filled the bathtub with ice and beer. At the turn of the New Year, everyone gathered in a large circle: the band, the crew, the wives, babies, and friends. Everyone held hands and sang “Will the Circle Be Unbroken.” It was a perfect way to mark the end of 1969.
Please Be with Me: A Song for My Father, Duane Allman Page 23