Peck's Bad Boys Written by John David Castellano A personal recollection of the discothèque era and the “Crazy World” we lived in It was the '60’s.   Social and political turmoil was the norm.  But there was also a musical revolution going on as well.  I was just one more guy singing and playing a guitar trying to “make it” in a rock and roll band.  I started playing gigs with different musicians in different venues upon my return from the military just to make a buck and to enjoy music.  I played the “Borsht Belt” in the Catskill Mountains in New York State, as well as Bar Mitzvahs and sweet sixteen’s.   But there’s not much chance of “making it big” doing that stuff…even though I did have the opportunity once to open up for The Ronettes in Monticello, New York at the world famous, but now defunct, Concord Hotel. But, lo and behold, in my neighborhood in "da" Bronx was this group of guys with raw talent.  I was walking by a house one day when I heard some incredible sounds coming out of a basement – and they were filling the street with raw, high powered, electric energy.  I didn’t know it then but it was the basement of our future drummer Scotty.  And it would be the place where many, many rehearsals would soon take place.  Peck's Bad Boys at Maxim's Chapter One: Our Genesis (We are The Love Ones; No - We’re Elliot James and The Love Ones) I was three years older then the rest of the guys.  That doesn’t mean much today with all of us being adults but, back in late 1966, I was 21 and they were almost 18 - and that made a difference when dealing with owners and the like. The guys had no “polish” or stage presence, but the sheer excitement and energy that Scotty, our drummer, exuded was simply mind blowing.  Joey, the bassist, was just “drop dead good looking” - not my opinion, mind you, but it was relayed to me many times by several girls.  Every band needs a guy like that...and he had a Fender Jazz Bass which he played quite adequately.  Great instruments are important!  George was just plain mysterious; he played his solid body Zimgar, eyes always darting around and taking things in, wanting to learn as much as possible.  He hardly ever spoke but he always assessed the situation.  I was the gregarious one and the guy with the most musical experience and probably the largest ego...though that would change.  I couldn't read music (I still can't) but I was a pretty decent guitarist and I played a Gretsch semi-hollow body.  I was blessed with the ability to listen to a song a few times and figure out the chords.  I didn't mind doing the vocals, and I loved being on stage!  In my mind, I was going to take charge and we were going to make some noise.  Talk about ego. So there we were.  Scotty, Joey and George already had a name for their group.  It was Little ‘Tater & The Spuds.  We soon put our heads together and decided to choose another name...We decided on The Love Ones because, as Scotty said back then, “They’re gonna love us”.  We bounced around playing very primitive music…and very primitive venues as well.  I can remember how we started to “build” a following within our neighborhood.  The Police Athletic League was trying to hold dances in the “school yard” and churches and they asked us if we would offer our services.  We jumped at the chance because we wanted the exposure.   We also played dives in New Jersey, Connecticut, all over the tri-state area.  All of those gigs we procured ourselves.  But we were just “jumping” around with no direction. Back home in The Bronx, we knew some “people” who consorted with a certain element; translated that means there was a club owner who, with his friends, were “connected”.   They wanted to be in the music business and needed a group to manage.  His club wasn’t exactly the kind that would get big name acts.  It was a small intimate joint with a certain ambience that could only be found in certain types of neighborhoods.  And of course we weren’t exactly a big name.  What new group just starting out wouldn’t want a manager?  So we agreed to allow him and another “friend” to represent us as our managers.  Then they presented us with a contract.  They were going to start “making sure” we were treated right and would help us with expenses.  Just about everything we did back then was on an impulse.  So I signed for all of us.  For the most part our new “managers” did absolutely nothing to further our careers. I think the one thing that stands out in my mind is how they made sure to have one or two of their “associates” travel around to all the spots with us.  They never let us out of their sight, and on several occasions there would be trouble.  Here’s an example: Once after finishing a night’s work at a club in The lower Village, we were walking along the quiet streets at three or so in the morning minding our own business when a couple of guys walked past us.  One of them reached his hand out and slightly touched Georges’s hair and made a negative comment about it being too long.  Next thing we knew, our two companions (who happened to be walking behind us) started beating the crap out of the two “offenders”.  It was surreal.  We had to actually plead with them to stop.   This happened on more than one occasion.  They acted like bodyguards.  We certainly didn’t need them and quite frankly, they scared the hell out of us.  So for the most part we let our new “managers” think they were managing by letting them know what clubs we were in and keeping them up to date.  They never asked for any percentage.   We had managed to always find work ourselves so we insisted that the two goons stay at home and protect someone else.  The trade off was that we would play their small little club once in a while for no money just to keep the peace.         Our “friends” bowed out gracefully and told us that if we ever needed anything to just holler.  They even ripped up the contract.  I’ll say this; no one ever tried to stiff us by not paying what we were owed.  A few tried, but all it took was the mention of a name or two and they changed their minds.   People like that can come in handy in all walks of life and at any given time.  We were young and there were many lessons to be learned.  You built credentials by working.  And you never turned down a gig.  Never!  There were a few you wished you had, but still, you had to build a resume.  So when our “friends” asked us to do them a favor, we said yes.  It became a gig I will always remember.  Our “associates” knew someone who owned a small “spot” in downtown Manhattan. They were looking for “live entertainment."  Well, if that’s what they wanted, then that’s what they’d get.  And like I said, we couldn’t say no. And we wouldn’t.  Let’s just leave it at that.The place was called The Dew Drop Inn.  Located in the heart of Little Italy, it was near Umberto’s - the famous (or perhaps infamous) restaurant where mob man Joey Gallo was shot with a pistol in the dining room while eating and took a dive face first into his linguine and clam sauce.   The place was tiny and smoke filled....and there were lots of crooked noses and pinky rings that surrounded us.  Plenty of attractive women too.  We stepped out of midtown Manhattan’s nightlife and into what felt like a bad film noir movie.  I can remember the faces on the people in the place when we first entered the room.  They looked incredulous.  I think we had the same look on our faces.  Here we were, four young guys with long hair, mod clothing, giant amplifiers and with, of all things, electric guitars.  When we would play, the owner would constantly ask - I mean tell - us to play softer.  Softer?  We joked to each other that we were a rock band - not Tony Bennett’s back up trio!  Yeah the bartender said; play softer so that the customers can hear the juke box.  I thought about politely reminding him that the standard routine was to turn off the juke box when the live music started to play and then turn it back on it when it stopped.  I decided not to.  And as the saying goes: discretion is the better part of valor. You can’t play guitar with a bandaged hand or sing with a broken nose!  So there we were, playing music in the underbelly of nightlife in lower Manhattan’s Little Italy.  The crowd asked for many requests…mostly for songs by Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin.  In the music business, gigs are politely known as engagements. This wasn’t an engagement, I thought.  This was imprisonment!  This was one gig we would remember, I thought to myself as we tried to fake that famous Frank Sinatra standard, “Witchcraft”.  But, after a few nights, we started to “learn” the crowd.  Not the requested songs, mind you - but the crowd.  They were regulars.  And they warmed up to us.  Those same guys with the crooked noses and pinky rings were giving us fifty dollar bills to play their favorite song.  Some even gave us a hundred to stop.  Soon they asked to hear songs by Dylan and Sly.  And they sang along as well.  What was supposed to be a fast weekend gig turned into four weekends!  Looking back, it was a good experience.    I suppose that in the glory days of nightclubs right up into the discothèque era the owners of clubs and cafes were a closely knit community.  If a club owner didn’t care for an act, word spread fast.  Auditions stopped. You found it hard to find work.  But it was quite the opposite if you were liked.  Sometimes talent didn’t even play into the mix.  The word was out on us.  We were the guys who were willing to work in small clubs, not just the big name places, and we could be mindful of the owner’s stipulations.     We needed some big name night clubs of importance to put on our skimpy resume - Perhaps something different in our makeup or appearance.  One day while in the audience at the Wagon Wheel in Manhattan (we often went to different popular clubs to check out what the other bands were doing) we spotted a guy on stage whose voice blew us away.  His name was Elliot James.  He was up there in front of some average band singing his heart out!  He was also black.  I mention his race only because the music we liked to play was mainly being performed by black artists like Eddie Floyd, Otis Redding, Joe Tex, and Sam & Dave.  You get the picture.   Elliot’s singing reminded me of Lou Rawls. After his final set we introduced ourselves and asked if we could talk a bit.  Later, after some rehearsals together, we decided to ask him to be the front man for our group.  And that led to the formation of Elliot James & The Love Ones.   Elliot told the owners of the Wagon Wheel that he was quitting the band he was with and wanted them to audition us.  They said ok, hired us and that was the first big time venue we played.  Now we were cookin’.  From there we played many big name clubs - Places like Arthur’s, Joe Ronga’s Purple Onion, the Peppermint Lounge, the Night Owl, and the Café Wha.  You name it and we played there…with the exception of the one place that had the reputation of being a hang out for “record people,” Trude Heller’s.  Our sound was good.  We got tighter and tighter every day!  Elliot was a gifted performer.  When he sang he gave every song his all.  Scotty, Joey, George and I were quite familiar with and the music that was being recorded on the Volt and Stax labels.  We revered it as well.  We did many tunes by great R&B artists before Elliot joined us, but he gave a new dynamic to the group.  He was total ENERGY.  And he took some pressure off of me; now I didn’t have to do all the vocals anymore.  But he had a habit of “taking off” a song or two.  And, from time to time, he would slip away to the bar and order his standard brandy stinger during a set.  That would prove to be his downfall.  This started happening more frequently.  He started ordering more and more stingers as well.  We would be left to play the remainder of the set without him. In those days, before a group had a manager, the owner or bouncer would pay the band’s leader.  They considered Elliot the leader because he was the front man.  Consequently, they paid Elliot and told him to divide the rest between us.  He decided to pay himself more.  I remember how the rest of us complained amongst ourselves about how he would get the bigger cut of the pie simply because he sang most of the vocal parts.  But he wasn’t singing as much anymore.  He was drinking and flirting with the girls at the bar.  Large or inflated egos between band members are a normal occurrence and for the most part things can be ironed out.  But not in this instance.  Changes had to be made.  Only in this case we didn’t know that they would be made by someone else. Elliot didn’t have any representation and he was looking for a manager and a record deal as were we.  Who the hell wasn’t back then?  So, we continued to use our combined talents and limited influence to land gigs.  When you have a good sound that part gets easier.  But great groups were playing all over this area.  And just because we had played some big name spots, we couldn’t take anything for granted.   You had to audition for the next gig; and keep on auditioning for the one after that.  The fact that one club owner found you acceptable didn't guarantee that the next one would, too.   Conversely, if you bombed out, the word spread and it was accepted as gospel.   Chapter Two: The Divorce of Elliot James & The Love Ones  Elliot was beginning to make noises about going out on his own.  He wanted to try and find a manger by himself.  I guess we wanted that too.  His constant drinking and showing up late for rehearsals was beginning to wear thin as well.  We decided that it was time for a separation.  Elliot found another band that did not have any vocalists.  That made him top dog.  It was just what he wanted.  The breakup was quick and painless.  We were back to being The Love Ones again.     In retrospect, playing with Elliot was a learning experience.  I kind of enjoyed being in the background playing my guitar, blending in blues and rock licks while watching a completely professional singer captivate an audience.  It taught me quite a lot.  It taught us all.  I tried to emulate him while we “manicured” and fined tuned our own act. Returning to the circuit without Elliot wasn’t that much of a problem.  There were literally dozens and dozens of venues.  When we would ask for work at some club, most owners and managers would remember us and give us a gig. It was beginning to get easier now as well.  All along we had been developing a following.  We had a reputation.  And it was a good one.  I can’t tell you how many stories we were hearing about groups that didn’t show up on time or didn’t show at all. There were bands that played stoned and stayed stoned while annoying the female help - All that kind of crap.  Whatever trouble we got into, it was while we were not on stage.  In the beginning that is.    You must understand that all through this period it was a learning experience for us.  We didn’t have anyone to guide us.  Just about every move required a gut instinct. There were essentially three different types of clubs during that era in and around the metropolitan area.  There were the ones that were constantly looking for “live entertainment”.  Why?  Because they couldn’t or wouldn’t pay after the gig.  The owners of these types of clubs were always complaining that your music was too loud or that they heard you were doing some type of drugs, anything to get out of fulfilling their obligation.  It wasn’t hard to recognize and stay away from them because just as the owners had a grapevine, so did the groups and acts.  Most of the groups trying to break into the nightlife scene stayed in touch with each other.   Then there were the midtown Manhattan clubs who wanted a sound that was in sync with what was popular on the radio.  We called them “Bubble Gum” clubs.  They were the places where you heard bands that sounded great but were quite similar.  Think of it.  Didn’t The Rascals, The Vagrants, The Pilgrims and Vanilla Fudge all sound alike?  They were great but they still sounded alike.  But that’s where they appeared.  One thing though…those clubs were packed.  Always.  And they paid the best.  And lastly there were the Village clubs who were eager to hire new talent that might be considered avant garde or willing to work for less money, or sometimes, for no money at all just for the exposure.  So, we pretty much knew where to look for work.  The city was exploding with clubs.  New ones seemed to open up every week.  Staying employed wouldn’t be a problem if you possessed two essentials: perseverance and talent.  We believed we had both.  Of course, that’s a subjective opinion. Chapter Three:  You Can’t Reach Stardom by Taking the Subway, But You Can Sure as Hell Try!    We didn’t have our own transportation in those days.  All we had was money to buy subway tokens and bring all our equipment with us to every audition.  I’m talking big amps, guitars, drums, mics and changes of clothing.  It looked like a comedy scene.  Passengers would look at four guys dressed alike, lugging around all this equipment and just stare.  Some had the look as if they’d seen us somewhere.  Maybe they had.  We didn’t mind the stares.  We kind of enjoyed them.  Maybe we were getting “famous” and didn’t know it.  For non-New Yorkers, you need to know that “the city” is big in area - Much like Los Angeles, Chicago or any other city.  A trip to lower Manhattan is not “right down the street” from The Bronx.  As we traveled underground, for perhaps an hour at a time holding on to our belongings, making transfers along the way, we could only hope and pray that we’d make a good impression at the gig, get hired and sign for at least two to three weeks.  That way we could at least leave our equipment in the club, travel home without it all and return empty handed.  We lined up an audition at The Cellar in Greenwich Village in fall of 1965.  The audition went well and we had our first returning gig as The Love Ones without Elliot.   I can’t quite remember how long we played there but it was a success and we moved on to another and then another.  Back then, Fender amps were the mainstay for electric guitars and basses and mics.  But when Vox and Marshall introduced theirs, the size kept getting bigger and bigger.  We once played a gig along side The Mothers of Invention.  They had Vox amps that looked like refrigerators.   We decided to stick with Fender amps.  Yeah, taking your stuff from gig to gig was a challenge.  But somehow we managed.    There was another concern as well.  The owners never accepted responsibility if anything happened to your equipment. Guitars stolen? Tough luck.  Drums broken?  Too bad.  Like I said, choices were made by gut instinct.  We found out the hard way about poor choices.  I can remember one time we stopped by a club during the week that we were playing in to speak to someone.  One of the waitress’s boyfriends was playing Scotty’s drums like he owned them.  He was just banging away to the sound of music on the juke box.  Scotty got upset and the boyfriend got indignant.  A fight almost broke out.  And the owner just yawned.  But that usually only happened in places that were dives.    Many clubs weren’t quite sure as to what music they were looking for.  They wanted your sound to be eclectic.  The competition between clubs and bands was cut throat.  Your band couldn’t just be a “one trick pony”.  If you wanted to work constantly and be in demand you needed to have a well rounded repertoire.  This meant learning all the types of music that was popular on the radio and listening to other groups as well; maybe even “stealing” their songs.   Plenty of times we would run out between breaks and catch another act up the street.  (The proximity of the clubs in New York at that time was incredible.)  There was one or two on almost every block in Manhattan.  There would be plenty of time to narrow your style into a niche and then play the places that catered to your sound if you made it.   So we had to constantly adapt the music we played to the clubs we played in.  We did the very popular Beatles-type music and consequently, appearance playing a major part of your group’s chances of being hired, we dressed the part.  We bought mod clothing to compliment that sound.  Shiny satin blue sport coats and tuxedo type shirts were in order when we played Motown and R&B type gigs and jeans and sweatshirts for country places.  Yeah, we played those too.   It all was part of the learning process.  We played some more name spots such as The Phone Booth, where the gimmick was having telephones at each table so people could talk to each other.  Good concept back then.  You saw a couple of good looking girls sitting at a booth, so you and your buddy called them up.  Ungano’s was a hot spot too, as was the Night Owl Café in the west village.   I’m sure that’s the club where we shared billing with an incredible act called The Chambers Brothers.  Man, what a sound they had!  They’d do a number called “People Get Ready” and the room would get quiet.  You want to play soul?  Then learn The Chamber’s Brother’s music!  They too were racially mixed.    As a side note, I must say that looking back in time, almost every single act we ever shared billing with or opened for was kind and generous to us.  Many gave advice, some loaned money, some offered to share their “weed” and some even asked if we wanted to sit in with them. A few went on to have successful careers; some didn’t, but all of us had one thing in common…we were working in New York City!  And that was where you wanted to be during those early days of discothèques!    (Point of interest: the first discothèque American style, opened in Los Angeles.  It was called the Whiskey a Go Go, and started the craze).   And all the while we continued to bolster our reputation as a hard working band, full of energy and with a good sound.  However, the one place that you had to play if you were ever going to go get noticed by a record producer was Trude Heller’s.  It must be said however, that Trude’s wasn’t the only place where bands were “discovered”.   Although that place did have a “mystique” all it’s own, the city was teeming with agents, producers and A&R people.  They went where the music was.  However, if you went to a club for an audition and were asked where you had played, if Trude’s wasn’t on the list…that was a negative!  If it was, it was considered stature.  And of course, making a record was the goal!  Trude’s club was really starting to be the number one hot spot in New York.  Big names were always appearing there.  Sure the other clubs had name acts and good crowds, but you simply had to play at Trude’s.  The place didn’t pay any better or worse than others.  But it was a must!   She was a very tough owner to please as well.   Many groups that we knew and had heard in other venues and were quite good couldn’t make the cut!   We needed that gig.   Or so we thought.  At that time she booked all the acts personally.  The place had a very interesting and strange location geographically.  It was just across the street from The Manhattan House of Detention for Women.  I can remember hearing the inmates yelling into the street at us from the top floors when we would go outside and take a break.  And they’d throw paper plates out the barred windows with notes written on them.  Notes that sometimes made us blush.  Months had gone by.  We were still using the subway.   And even if we had owned a car, you couldn’t park in the city anyway.  By this time a lot of groups were using the B3 Hammond sound.   We didn’t have an organ player and didn’t want one.  How the hell would we carry an organ on the subway?  The thought of working an organ player into the group hadn’t ever occurred to us, although we did like the sound of the groups using it.  But now it became something to really think about.   We continued to play various spots in and around New York.  A lot of times we’d bump into Elliot.  He seemed to be working steady.  But there still wasn’t a record deal for him either.    Most gigs were played on Thursday through Sunday.  On many Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons we’d return to Manhattan, by subway of course, and look for new places to play.   You’d stand in front of a nightclub, gather your courage, go in and hope that the owner would be on the premises.  Once inside, there was that old familiar stale beer, tobacco and alcohol aroma.   The glare of sunlight would find its way through the front windows.  Afternoons in those clubs were totally different than they were at night.  Night time tends to camouflage the seedy and steamy side of things but daylight exposed the true nature of the people who ran the nightclub circuit.   One particular sleazy maneuver an owner would use to get around paying for entertainment was to ask you to audition for a weekend.  That way they would get to have live entertainment for free.  This maneuver was used when another act was booked ahead and there were some empty dates in between.  Or he could simply let you play the weekend and then say your sound wasn’t for his room.  So you got paid for two or three days only.  We soon caught on to that ploy.  In any event, you really didn’t have the upper hand and you were glad if you got the opportunity to get an audition.   So, a lot of the times you took a chance.  Again, those gut feelings.   Jazz clubs were still popular but losing ground to the discothèque craze that was taking over Manhattan at that time.  Many were still only booking jazz acts.  One such place was the Blue Note lounge.  Then there was the Village Gate, where it seemed Herbie Mann or Latin superstar Mongo Santamaria was booked indefinitely.  Another famous spot was called the Metropole.  Located on Broadway, it was once one of the premier places that featured jazz.  They, too, wanted in on the rock and roll phenomena taking over New York.   But as they came to find out, you can’t be all things to all people.   One day, as we walked by this famous landmark we decided to take a shot and ask for an audition.  It wasn’t really that outrageous an idea.  They had already booked a few rock acts in between some jazz.  Sure enough we were told if we wanted to audition we could come back on the weekend and try out.  As I said, we were already hip to that trick, but...hey...this was the Metropole!  The stage seemed like it was twenty feet high and it was in back of the bar.  If you looked to either side you saw topless dancers.  The back wall was a continuous mirror.   If there was a dance floor I can’t remember.  In front of you were the bartenders, and in front of them were typical bar flies.  They were loud, mostly drunk and not at all interested in listening to music.  They weren’t the kind of people we had been used to playing in front of.    We played there for about two weeks.  I look back now and remember the feeling I had playing there…  Looking around at the people my thoughts were bittersweet as I remembered the rich history of this club.  Jazz greats such as Gene Krupa, The Modern Jazz Quartet, and Gerry Mulligan had played there and held court to a packed house, without topless dancers.  They weren’t needed.  Now we were on that very same stage.  I was playing my guitar in the very spot some of the greatest musicians had played.  The feeling was eerie.  After the gig was over, we were happy to leave.  I don’t think they stayed open much longer after that.  The Metropole had tried to be something they weren’t, and had become just another bar.    It was, in retrospect; a sad ending for what was once one of the greatest jazz clubs ever in New York.  It must be said, however, that a few spots did manage to not compromise.  The Village Vanguard is but one example.  True jazz aficionados could always be found there, listening to the likes of Miles Davis and Sonny Rollins.   The “Live at the Vanguard” recordings are still much sought after.  The Village Gate was just the opposite.  Different styles ranging from Bob Dylan to the legendary Latin percussionist Tito Puente would often appear there.  And I can remember running out on breaks between sets at the Café Au Go Go to catch Herbie Mann perform his famous “Comin’ Home” up the street at the Gate.   What a great time it was for music.  Imagine…playing in the same clubs that Richie Havens, The Lovin Spoonful and The Blues Magoos were appearing.  Wow!  After the Metropole gig, we finally auditioned for Trude’s.  It was still the in place.  We felt we were ready for “prime time” so we went there and asked for another audition.  By now we had a name that club owners recognized.  I remember that day like it was yesterday.  She said she didn’t have an opening for a single act, but if we wanted to play alternate sets with the house band we could.  For less money than the usual fare of course!   I should mention that alternating sets between bands was a common practice back then.  Very common…but a pain in the butt.    You had to leave your equipment up on stage and hope that the other group wouldn’t knock over your guitar or kick a hole in your amp’s speakers.        We agreed on the spot.  And I’m damn glad we did.  But we were curious. Trude’s never had an official house band before (if you ask people today who were in the middle of it all, many will disagree on that point.)  I can only say that I was there and I don’t know what else to call a band that had an open ended contract to appear whenever they wanted.)  There were literally dozens of acts from all over the country playing in New York at the time.  They came from as far away as Chicago, Detroit and Miami.  Her place would be booked for months on end.   So who was so good that they could convince her to be hired indefinitely? We would soon find out.  Their name was Baby Huey and The Babysitters - five extremely talented cats from Chicago.   And that’s how we wound up playing opposite one of the greatest “never made it, but should have” bands of all time.  They were a five-piece group that filled the room with incredible sounds using only a bass guitar, lead guitar, drums and trumpet.  They sounded like they had twice that amount of instruments.  Baby Huey himself weighed about 300 pounds.  His voice boomed throughout the room.   It was a gas.   Looking back I think that they were the blueprint for Blood, Sweat and Tears and Earth, Wind and Fire rolled up into one group.  They played funky soul and psychedelic music.  (Just listen to “Got To Get You Into My Fife” the Beatles song recorded by Earth, Wind and Fire and you’ll hear what I mean.)  They had moves that were outrageous, and sounded like a studio band while at all times being gracious as they watched us do our renditions of Wilson Pickett’s “Mustang Sally” and Otis Reddings’ “Try A Little Tenderness”.  They smiled and winked at us and told us that we had a pretty decent sound for some “white boys”.   They also told us that if we were ever in Chicago to look them up.  I don’t think they ever expected that to happen.  We sure didn’t.  But it did!  Only the other way around!   (A sad note must be included: Baby Huey died at the young age of 26 before he ever got to hear a record of his played on the radio.)  At that time all we wanted was to be able to put Trude Heller’s on our resume.  We got more than that!   We left Trude’s after two weeks and played various clubs in the city.  There wasn’t a need to audition anymore except for the occasional one.  We were known. We were building a reputation and a following.  We went from one club to another, then back to the first club for a short stint, then maybe a few weeks in New Jersey, or Long Island at the now famous Barge.   While you were playing at one club, you needed to think ahead about where your next gig would be. That was important.  You didn’t want, as the saying goes, to be between engagements.  No work…no money.  If you were fortunate enough to get hired, you wanted the longest possible stay.  But not too long.  Most gigs ran about two to three weeks in length.  If they wanted a longer contract, you’d try and say you were already booked in advance.  The reasoning for this is quite simple:  Looking back, I remember that the owners of clubs weren’t usually there at night so they only heard you for one or two nights at the most or at an afternoon audition.  Every night you’d see the same bartenders, waitresses, and bouncers.  When you were first booked and you had a fresh sound those people would listen to you.  Then they would get reaction from the audience and relate it to the owner.   In a sense they were the eyes and ears of the owner.  If you stayed too long your sound would become stale.  The crowd would thin out.  Then you’d find it real hard to return to that club.  If you limited your bookings to a couple of weeks, and blew the doors off, you’d be asked back.  A lot!  You could play a few dates anywhere else and return to the club that liked you the most.   That’s how a lot of groups became known as “house bands”.   We were for all intents and purposes becoming just that - a well known roving cover band; we were opening for other acts that had more name recognition.  We pretty much became one of the house bands for the Wagon Wheel ourselves.  But it was tiring. Chapter Four: A Homecoming of Sorts & Reuniting with Elliot The remainder of our bookings and where we played during this period are a bit hazy in my mind.  Time was flying by.  It was becoming a blur.  I do remember one of the last places we played in the spring of 1966 was the Wagon Wheel.  It was a two week gig.  It felt like it went on forever.  We had committed to that gig while at Trude’s and thought that after we fulfilled our obligation, we could find a club closer to home and become a house band for a while. It was just a way to chill out for a bit.  Besides, a record deal didn’t seem on the horizon.  We were beginning to feel a little burned out.  The music was starting to sound the same.  When you performed constantly, there wasn’t time to try and write new material. You wanted to try out new tunes and moves on an audience but it had to be fully “prepared and cooked.”   It cannot be stated any more emphatically than this: original material brought out the people who mattered in the business.  Why would anyone with clout want to listen to the same thing done by different groups over and over?  That got old quick.  But we never seemed to have sufficient time to rehearse.  We thought we were starting to sound just like every other group.  So we contacted our “friends” in the Bronx and asked them to arrange for an audition at a very popular place called Maxim’s after we finished our stint at the Wagon Wheel.  Maxim’s said it wasn’t a problem.  If the owner liked us, we could play there for a couple of weeks. They were always packed.  The booze was cheap and many of our personal friends hung out there.  We were certainly ready for that because it was agreed that we needed a chance to slow down a bit and to try and identify just who we were and what we wanted to be.  Some friends in Manhattan questioned our decision.  They said we were foolish to leave “where it was happening”. But, a change of scenery was in order.  Not a permanent one…but a change none the less.  Maxim’s would afford us the opportunity to gather ourselves, widen our repertoire, write new material and just get focused.  We could go home each night and sleep in our own beds, and just walk to work.  We could see our families and friends again.  Manhattan had been the spot for so long.  But clubs in other areas in and out of the city were having great success hiring local bands. The pay was a bit less but the jobs were closer to home and there were people you knew: The Riviera Lounge in New Jersey; Long Island had the Barge where The Young Rascals got their start (as did Leslie West).  Brooklyn Heights had some nice quiet “wise guy” joints and Queens had a few, too.  There was also the Jumping Jack in Yonkers, where some great bands were playing.  Another reason these places were doing well is because many people just didn’t want to travel into Manhattan and pay the inflated prices.  Sure, you wouldn’t see the top acts like The Spoonful, or The Blues Magoos - but the music was no less great.  And liquor tastes the same anywhere! But first we had to complete our obligation to the Wagon Wheel.   While we were there, Elliot would come by every couple of night to say hello. They owners liked him and it had always been one of his favorite spots for working and socializing.  The topless girls and free booze may have had something to do with his choice of hangouts.  And he had been instrumental in getting us hired there way back when we started out.  So every couple of nights, as was the common practice then, and as a courtesy, we’d call out his name and “ask” him to come up to the stage to do a couple of tunes.  We liked it, he liked it and the crowd loved it.  We did that shtick with lots of singers, lead guitarists, horn players, etc.  It was expected.  And sometimes, it happened to me as well when I was a spectator.  Then fate stepped in.  Doesn’t she always? Like I said, that last two weeks at the Wagon Wheel seemed like it would never end.  It was the beginning of June, and we were looking forward to coming home.  Thanks Herbie!  It was like we had been on the road for almost a year but we now had a following.  The boys from the neighborhood had made good in the city.   On the very last night, at the end of our last set, a gentleman came up to us and asked what club in the city were we going to next.  (Manhattan was always referred to as the city, even though the actual city is the entire five boroughs). Before we had a chance to answer, he said that he just caught the last fifteen minutes of our set and liked what he heard.  He said someone had mentioned to him that he should see us live.  We of course asked him who he was and why he was interested.   He said his name was Art Trefferson.  “I’m a personal entertainment manager and a record producer for different labels,” he said.  “I was asked to catch your act”.  The problem was he caught it with Elliot sitting in on a set.  And he liked it.  In fact, he mentioned it.  Something like: “nice touch with two lead vocalists” or something to that effect.  Try to imagine how we felt after spending all that time in midtown, uptown and Greenwich Village, going from club to club, doing whatever it took to get an audition or gig and finally playing Trude Heller’s only to have him see us for fifteen minutes on our last night in Manhattan at the Wagon Wheel, and with Elliot James, no less.  (We didn’t tell him that Elliot wasn’t with us officially; he didn’t need to know that yet, if at all)   We informed that him that we were going to play the next weekend at Maxim’s…   Up in the Bronx.  You can catch us there, we told him.  He politely said that we were lucky he was there that night and expecting him to visit us that far away from the center of his universe was perhaps asking too much.  But he didn’t say no.    A “music industry” person walking in on a gig and catching our act is what we had worked for all along.  We were now faced with a serious dilemma as to what would or should be the next move.  Elliot hadn’t been made aware of what that little meeting was about, at least not by us.    The night was over.  The gig had ended.  It was about three a.m.  Elliot was at the bar, just hanging out.  As we prepared to pack up our equipment, and call it a night, I’m sure we all knew instinctively that our name was about to change…again.  We said our goodbyes to the staff, and told Elliot that we needed to talk as soon as possible.  He could either come up to the Bronx or we could go see him but I knew we’d be back in Manhattan talking real soon.  I’m pretty sure that the one of the bartenders or some dancer let him know what had transpired.   The fact that he just “happened” to be there on the very night (our last) a record executive showed up was quite a coincidence.  I’ve always been a bit cynical about that whole episode.   Especially after I found out that Elliot wasn’t singing with any group at the time.  Manhattan was big, but it was small as well.    And some say that there are no coincidences.   What we had to do, was to let Maxim’s know that there was one more “mouth to feed” so to speak, get the ok, ask Elliot if he wanted to get back together again and do the audition.  Actually, it was all pretty easy.  The next day was Monday.  I can say that with certainty because all club gigs ended on a Sunday night (unless of course you were fired). Mondays were a good time to find owners in their clubs.  They’d usually be counting receipts, stocking the bar, repairing walls from fights that took place over the weekend or having an audition or two. We went over to Maxim’s and spoke to Sid the owner.  See, we already knew him on a casual basis because his club was in our neighborhood and we would go there and hang out when we were free. We saw some pretty good acts there too.   The Vagrants had played there as did The Seven of Us.  Sid was one of those owners who never left the place.   From the early morning to last call, he’d be there.  And we had mutual “friends”.  We informed him that there was one more band member and that we would work out the money part if it presented a problem.  Sid was a decent guy.  He simply said that if he liked what he heard at the audition, he’d pay for the extra man.  That was an unordinary response for a club owner.  But Sid wasn’t an ordinary man.    We told Sid to expect us the next day.  Well, true to form for club owners, he wanted us to audition the following weekend.  But he did say that he’d know if we were hired immediately after hearing the first tune.  We agreed.   We never mentioned that Elliot wasn’t Caucasian.  It didn’t matter to us and we knew it wouldn’t matter to Sid.  Music was to us and to those we knew, color blind….to a point of course.  After all, we were living in the sixties. Next, we had to find Elliot and sell him on the idea of working way the hell uptown.  I personally didn’t think it would be hard.  He had been looking to be “discovered” just like us and here was a possible chance.  Plus, he was out of work.  And, Maxim’s had a great bartender!  Still, you never knew with Elliot. Elliot lived in a hotel on Broadway in Manhattan.  He didn’t like using the subway.  He traveled by taxi everywhere he went.  But a trip to Maxim’s and back from his hotel four nights a week would cost a ton of money.  One of us would have to let him crash now and then. Or perhaps help financially.  After leaving Sid we hopped on the subway and went to Elliot’s hotel.  True to form he was drinking some coffee and smoking a cigarette in the lobby.  We told him about the gig, and about Art Trefferson who just might make a trip up to see us.  He didn’t seem surprised.  We didn’t know how much the pay would be but it was better then nothing.  He agreed in less then five minutes.   All in all I felt good.  We were a group that sounded good with him and good without him.  But it would be nice once again to hear him sing those mellow Sam Cooke tunes and have me and him trade verses on Sam and Dave’s “Hold On I’m Coming’.  Yeah, we felt good.  We didn’t need to rehearse because we had just played with him so many times before.  So we made arrangements to meet at Maxim’s the next Wednesday afternoon to setup our equipment and to do some sound checks and be ready for the weekend.  We started playing Maxim’s that next Thursday night and it was relaxing and exciting at the same time.  We were home again.  It felt like we had been out of town forever.  Our friends could come to see us if they wanted – and on our first few weekends they all came out.  The place was packed.  Cars were double parked all over the place.  When we finished Sunday night, Sid came up to us and asked what are plans were and then offered us a deal right through Labor Day. That would be a two and a half month gig.  Being as we had no other commitments, we accepted.   He didn’t normally book that far ahead but you could see that he liked what he heard.  I also think that perhaps the fact that the packed house was rockin’ may have played a part in his decision.   Liquor sales would definitely increase.  In the entertainment business as in life, everything is about the bottom line. So, disregarding what we had learned and knew about accepting long term bookings, we said yes and wondered if we’d ever see that guy record executive again.  At least we’d be working and eating steady. To be honest, the crowd loved us.  There was standing room only for weeks on end.   Not just because we had friends who came, but because we brought a different kind of sound and crowd there.  A lot bands were feeding the clubs that weren’t in Manhattan a steady diet of Eric Burdon and The Animals, The Kinks, Gerry and The Pacemakers, and even Freddy and The Dreamers.  Over and over again.  It got old quick.  If anyone wanted to hear “My Girl” by The Temptations, they’d have to travel to the “right” neighborhood. Yeah, we played that British stuff, but we also played The Four Tops, Temptations, Sam & Dave, Joe Tex, Wilson Pickett, Jerry Butler and James Brown.  And we mixed in some blues as well.  With Elliot it was even easier.  The gig was going good.  One thing I have to say about playing intimate clubs: They were the greatest venue of all.  We always enjoyed being in one.  There was no comparison of those spots to the eventual huge discos we would play and the college tour dates we did later on.  When you get up on a stage and watch people get up out of their seats, move away from the bar or table with their significant other, and try to find room on a small dance floor so they can really enjoy your music is indescribable.  The bartender knows when to turn the stage lights dim, you make eye contact with a “special” couple and start playing Otis’s “Try a Little Tenderness”.   Taking requests, flirting, and making eye contact - That’s what it’s about.  To me that was enjoyment.  That was being an entertainer.  Yeah, concerts are cool.  You play some, get applauded and take a hike.  It’s not up close and personal.   But to mingle and have a few drinks with the people who admire your work is really gratifying.  Later in life, after having become a chef, I would realize the same feeling after preparing a special dish for a guest and being asked to have a drink with him or her when I was finished for the evening.   Of course Elliot was up to his old tricks by leaving the stage once we started playing something he didn’t like or care for.  And he headed straight to the bar and ordered his standard fare, a brandy stinger with green crème de menthe. Some things never change.  A week or so into the gig, the bartender told me I had a phone call.  I answered it.  It was Mr. Trefferson.  I could hardly hear him over the noise at the bar and the jukebox.   He said he was coming the next night to hear us and he was bringing a friend with him.   To say we were anxious and excited is an understatement.  We knew then that it was “Showtime” and that we had better sound the best we had ever sounded.  The following night, as we played our first few sets, our eyes darted around the room to look for him.   I personally was nervous.  I’m sure the rest of the guys were, too.  Here it was, our one shot.  We had to make it the best.  Sure enough, at about 8:30 that night he walked in.  He was dressed like a business man and accompanied by a middle-aged woman who certainly didn’t look like a person who enjoyed the type of music we played.   He took a seat off to our right near the stage just as we were finishing a set and motioned for me to come over.  As I approached him, he stood up and said “I’d like you to meet Florence Greenberg, the owner of Scepter Records”.  He then said that they could only stay for a short time. I politely thanked them for coming and returned to tell the rest of the group just who it was Art brought with him.   As we stood at the bar waiting to go back on stage, we wondered what numbers to do.  We all started to make suggestions.  This was a time, like so many others I thought to myself, that I would have to take charge and just lead the way.  The guys didn’t resent that about me.  If they did they never told me.   “Let’s do few numbers they’ll recognize” I said.  We looked at each other and winked.  George, Scotty and I had this uncanny knack of knowing just what each other felt, wanted or was thinking.  We were on the same page!  Elliot was smiling that “watch me now” smile.  We climbed back up on stage and as the lights went dim we started to play “I Don’t Want to Cry”, a song recorded by Chuck Jackson.  Jackson was on the Wand label – a label owned by Scepter. “I Don’t Want to Cry” is a really up-tempo, hard driving R&B tune that gave Elliot a chance to really belt one out.  We then did “Louie, Louie” by The Kingsmen, who were also on Wand.  As Art and Florence were watching, I noticed they showed almost no emotion.  They just stared.  I wondered to myself if I had led our group into doing the wrong numbers.  This was supposed to be a showcase of our talent, not Scepter’s.  Perhaps we even should have played our own original music.  I quickly turned around and said, “let’s do ‘Room 76’”.  As we played our third number, I watched Art and Florence both get up and walk towards the door…right in the middle of our set.  Out they went and, with them, perhaps our one chance at a recording contract. Chapter 5: “Sign on the Dotted Line, Boys (Heh, Heh, Heh)” and the Divorce of Elliot, Par Deux   The rest of that night and the following days are hard to describe as far as our feelings and thoughts go.  Was this turning of events just another example of people just blowing smoke?  Were we just not what the “big” record producer had been looking for?  Or, God forbid, were we not as good as we thought we were?   I didn’t have Art’s telephone number so I couldn’t call and ask why he and Ms. Greenberg had made such an abrupt departure without even waving goodbye.   We spent the next week wondering what might have been.  Then in the middle of the following week he called and asked if we wouldn’t mind coming to his office in midtown Manhattan to have a talk about doing a few studio sessions at Capital Records.  It’s funny how despair can turn to hope as quickly as the other way around.  “We’ll be there tomorrow”, we said.  We were in Manhattan the next day.  We met in a rather plain looking office building on Broadway.  But, upon walking up to it and seeing “The Brill Building” etched on the front, I must admit I was a bit in awe.  Everyone in music knew that building.  Here we were; four ordinary guys from the Bronx and one dude from Harlem possessing what could be described at that time as just average, raw talent.  A friend of mine once said that it was ok to be anyone you wanted to be, just as long as you know who you really are.  We knew who we were and it wasn’t Big Brother and The Holding Company and Elliot wasn’t Lou Rawls!  But, we had been a popular crowd pleaser for some time and; we had been called down to talk.  Someone was interested! The talk lasted just a few minutes.  Art wanted us to go over to the recording studio and do some master tapes.  He asked if we had any original material.  We really didn’t have much in the way of original tunes and in all honesty, we had the distinct feeling that Art wanted to showcase Elliot.  We didn’t want to give what little material we so we said we’re working on some stuff.  We showed up at the recording studio a few days later and did remakes of “Stand By Me”, the Ben E. King hit, where Elliot and I traded verses and “For Your Precious Love” by Jerry Butler.  To our way of thinking, the session didn’t amount to much.  I suspect no one thought it did.  And I think there was an underlying problem as well.  Elliot was trying to “work” Art behind our back.  He wanted an exclusive deal.  Without us.  Gee…What a preposterous thought in this business.   Art said he’d be in touch after he had a chance to listen to the masters.  He said nothing else.  And so it was back to work at Maxim’s and contemplate our next move.  And dwell over what we thought had certainly been a bust.  Meanwhile, Elliot’s drinking was getting worse, as was his attitude.  He was always a gregarious person but extremely self centered…as was I back then I suppose.  Sid, the owner didn’t like the fact that he was paying a full cut to a guy who did a few songs when he felt like it.  And he didn’t like seeing him hit on the girls there.   Neither did the “wise guys” from the neighborhood.  This was after all, the sixties.  We tried talking to Elliot about it but he didn’t think he was committing a crime as he put it.  I had a talk with Sid and told him I would work things out.  The way things stood at that point, we didn’t want to be fired because of some stupid crap and have no recourse.  What does a band do when they’re fired… call the labor board?  I didn’t have to do anything as it turned out.  Sid called Art and Art called me.   As I can remember, his words were, “sorry I didn’t get back to you right away and oh yeah, get rid of Elliot.”  He also told us that he had a few engagements in Manhattan that he wanted to have us play as soon as possible.  But we had that long working contract with Maxim’s.   We told Sid of our new manager’s request and he worked with us by releasing us from our commitment.  It was on good terms.  He knew there were plenty of bands out there just dying to work.  He wished us luck and said if we ever needed a gig to give him a call.  We would.  We were happy but sad to leave Maxim’s.  It was actually a relief to hear Art telling me to let Elliot go.  We were all pretty much tired of him.  I really didn’t have a problem calling Elliot up and saying goodbye but the right thing to do was to see him in person.  So we contacted him right away, and headed back to his “office” - Right back to the hotel we had met in just a short time ago.   I think Elliot was already prepared for what we had to say to him that day.  There wasn’t any bad vibes at the time.  He knew that he would have to find another group that was more into being a backup for him.  So we parted company for the last time and considered what our next move would be.  Art had two jobs lined up and he said we could start either one first: The Peppermint Lounge or the Barge in the Hamptons…two really nice venues where many very good acts had recently played.  The Young Rascals (as they were known at the time) and The Vagrants had recently finished gigs there.  Both groups used an organ.   It seemed as if everyone was using the B3 sound.   I guess it was a natural evolution for us to get one too.  We decided to work the Peppermint Lounge first, probably because we were familiar with it.      Back in the neighborhood, we had a friend who played some keyboard.   On a few occasions, he would travel to a gig with us and sit in the audience.  Previously, the thought of him becoming part of the group never came up.   Now it was time for us to ask him.  But he didn’t have an organ.  You can’t let a little thing like that stop you.  We just had to find him one.  But Hammond B3’s were pretty damned expensive.  They were in demand as well and used ones were hard to find.  Then, as always, opportunity knocked.   Joey Dee & The Starlighters happened to be playing at the Peppermint Lounge just before we were scheduled to start.   We were to start the weekend after they finished.  As it happens, we went there to catch the act and say hello to the management.  We got there on their last night.  When they were finished, Bruce went up to the organ player and asked if he knew anyone who might be selling one.  You guessed it.  He was selling his.  He didn’t own a Hammond.  His owned a Lowrey.  And it had a Leslie speaker.  Yeah!  That’ll work!  Bruce asked the guy who was selling it if we could come back the next day and buy it.  He agreed and we simply left it there at the gig.  Bruce worked out the payment details and we added an organ and another musician.  Just like that! The addition of Bruce fit in well with the four of us.  After a night or two it seemed like we had been together for quite a long time.  After all, we all were friends from the neighborhood.  It was really just a matter of adding some more material to our set lists.  We could now do songs like “Good Lovin” and The Vanilla Fudge’s version of “You Keep Me Hanging On”.   We played the gig calling ourselves The Love Ones once again. Right about the time we kicked off the gig at the Peppermint Lounge Art paid us a visit and told us to be at his office during the week.  He said he wanted to go over our management arrangement.  As I said earlier, his office was in the Brill Building on Broadway.  That building was the “factory” where hits by the likes of The Shirelles, Dionne Warwick, Joey Dee, The Rocky Fellers, and BJ Thomas (I’ve probably left out a few dozen more) were turned out like automobiles on an assembly line.  I can’t help thinking that it was New York’s version of Hitsville in Detroit.  Writers such as Carole King, Burt Bacharach and Hal David had created songs that wound up high on the charts, sent out from here.  And now, it was our turn.  Or was it?  As we rode the elevator to Art’s office we agreed that we’d say yes to just about anything that he requested.  It’s that simple.  You don’t argue with success and success just oozed from this granite monument.  Upon entering Art’s office, I remember he stared at each of us individually for what seemed like an eternity.  “First thing we do is get you all haircuts and different clothes,” he said.  “And we’ll need to change the name of your group. How about Peck’s Bad Boys?  It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it”?  He then proceeded to write down an address on a piece of paper and handed it to me. It was for a hair salon and a haberdashery.   “Tell them Art Trefferson sent you. If there’s any problems have them call me.”  Surprisingly, he left the choice of clothing up to us.  He also told us we needed to have some papers signed, so we should talk things over.  Was this a dream?  Papers signed?  New clothes?  Photo shoots?  This was really happening fast.  “By the way,” he called out as we were about to leave, “I’ve got some more bookings lined up”.  This guy was acting like the contracts were already signed and we were his property.  I guess you were considered property in those days.   “We have a few questions, Art”. (Just what were these papers he wanted us to sign?)  “Hey, do you boys want a record deal or not?” he asked.  Before we could answer, he said that if we did, he’d have to have an exclusive management contract and be our only agent. “And, oh yeah, one more thing: Don’t ask any more questions!”   But I did have one more question.  “Why did you and Florence leave so quickly when you first heard us without even saying goodbye?”  He replied that they had heard what they needed to hear and the fact that we were in his office should suffice.   I think back now and wonder if us giving him carte blanche to handling our careers was the tradeoff for him making the trip to the Bronx.   He said that the contracts should be signed as soon as possible. The way I saw it, there wasn’t any question that we would.  What difference would signing with him or anyone else make?  Managers weren’t exactly lining up to sign us.  He was offering us a shot at the big time.  We had worked our collective asses off for what seemed like forever to get this chance.  Now here it was.  If we rejected his offer (it wasn’t really an offer, more like a demand) we could go back to jumping from club to club and keep hoping a break would come our way.   And if it didn’t, we might regret it for a long time.  One must remember the rest of the guys were three years younger than I and consequently they were minors.  They needed a parent’s permission and signature.  But it really didn’t matter.  The guys were already playing in bars, topless joints, and had all fraudulently obtained the requisite (at that time) New York City cabaret card by faking their ages.  What could their parents say?  They already knew these what type of places we were playing in.  But up to and including the present, I had been signing all the contracts pertaining to bookings.  Now it would be a collective agreement.  As we headed for home, somewhat dazed and in amazement about what had just transpired, we all knew that we were going to sign whatever Art put in front of us! And pretty damned quickly too, before he changed his mind!   The next step was convincing Scotty, Joey, George and Bruce’s parents to allow the contracts to be signed.  It was pretty easy.  We were working steady, we were staying out of trouble and we were earning decent money.  And now we on the verge of making some big money!  I called Art up the next day and made arrangements for me, Bruce and George to pick up the paperwork.  We brought the contracts home, they were signed by everyone and their parents, notarized and we brought them back.  Now here’s the bottom line:  Not anyone, including our parents actually read the contracts completely.  If we did we would have noticed that it called for a guaranteed eight song deal. This information would have come in handy later.   We would have also realized that Art Trefferson was an independent record producer with ties to a few different labels.  Looking back, I’m positive of the following:  We were young and impressionable We would believe any bull that was thrown our way There had to be an ulterior motive for Art to have us exclusively and not allow Scepter (Florence Greenberg) in on our management Forty years later, George noticed that the contracts are made out for The Love Ones.    Yet we recorded as Peck’s Bad Boys.  Why would our photos have Peck’s Bad Boys printed on them and why would advance fliers be sent out to various venues announcing our coming to town using that name?  Why indeed.  Perhaps it was all an oversight.  But I think it’s doubtful.   Our manager was a slime ball and wanted to rip us off as was the custom back then.  As it turned out, because of a threatened trademark infringement lawsuit, the spelling of Peck’s Bad Boys had to be changed to Pex Bad Boys when we recorded our second record.  There had been a country and western group in the 1920’s called Peck’s Bad Boys.  They were and are a Texas treasure.  Their estate was pissed. In addition, Art had never actually produced a “hit”.  But there were plenty of other talented producers and A&R men in Scepter’s stable.  I believe he didn’t want anyone having access to us. Perhaps had Florence Greenberg paid a bit more attention to us she might have not allowed Art to have exclusive rights to us.  Then there’s the little problem of possible royalties.  How could we get royalties for recording songs under the name Peck’s Bad Boys if we were signed as The Love Ones?  The whole scenario reminds me of that great song entitled “The Games People Play”.   Or that other Motown hit: “Backstabbers.” And boy did we get played!  All of this was brought to my attention only just recently, thanks to George, our guitarist whose mom, bless her heart, saved every little piece of our history.  But to my dying day, I’ll never understand why we didn’t take the time to read what we signed.   Meanwhile we went and had our hair cut and got new clothes.  It was the first time I had ever sat in a professional hair salon.  What the hell, I thought?  “Hey, give me a manicure as well... As long as Art’s footing the bill,” I said.  Now it was time to get the photo shoot done.  We went there to get our first 8”x10” glossies made.  One thing must be said about Art…he was detail oriented.   I remember him saying that you can’t get known if your picture isn’t out there.  We went to a studio called Bruno’s of Hollywood.  They took a few different shots which I later found out were quite expensive.  How couldn’t it be with a name like “Bruno’s of Hollywood”?  There were photos of various entertainers that covered the walls. Georges’s dad also set up a “casual photo shoot” where he followed us around while we acted naturally.  Except we had to pose.  This was all done in a matter of days in a very popular and famous landmark in the Bronx, Van Cortlandt Park.  George has since reminded me that one of the pictures that has Bruce on one bicycle and George and I on the other came about after George’s dad - seeing two girls riding aimlessly along - asked them if they wanted to loan their bikes to a rock and roll group soon to become famous.  They did and we gave them autographs.    Well, we were finally Peck’s Bad Boys. Chapter Six: After a While, it All Starts to Look and Sound the Same!  The “Big Time” and Coming Home Again   The club scene in Manhattan had some more clubs that were devoted to a more upscale clientele and more selective of the talent that appeared there.  The venues became more opulent.  When groups such as The Rolling Stones or The Allman Joys (later known as The Allman Brothers) could be sitting in the audience at any time, the clubs can afford to be.  Talent like that gave credence and a sense of importance to the club.  And of course the wages were better. My previous statement pertaining to the record deal shouldn’t detract from Art’s ability to move around Manhattan and make bookings.  The contract fiasco was our own fault!  What’s that saying…Caveat Emptor?  But one of the most important things that having Art as our manager gave us was a perception of legitimacy within the music circles of Manhattan and in the business in general.    Throughout this story I’ve mentioned some of the clubs we managed to play in. Most of them required an audition.  Some didn’t.  Perhaps we played those clubs based on our talent or perhaps we were lucky.  The reason didn’t matter anymore.  We were now represented and playing in rooms that had previously passed on us.  There is no question in my mind that before we signed with him, we would have had to occasionally audition from time to time and put up with the usual grief from club owners.  “Armed” with a   manager and a record label, auditions were strictly a thing of the past.  Art was no Sid Bernstein and we had some doubt as to his being a major player in the business but we were smitten by his office in the Brill Building and that was enough for us.  Doors were beginning to open up.  Whether it was the Club Cheetah, Ondine’s on W. 59th street, Ungano’s or Harlowe’s we were now given the opportunity to play in these chic spots.  They definitely were a step up from the likes of the Wagon Wheel and the Peppermint Lounge.  Without the credentials management afforded us, we never would have had any clout, such as it was.    There really isn’t any need to list all the clubs we appeared in, or who we played with or who we made contact with.  That just amounts to a big “so what?”  And it could be misconstrued as bragging.  What’s important to convey is the excitement of the times we were living in and how we got caught up in them.  We were working the “Big Time”.  That’s what we had wanted all along.   Then came another turn of events.  Art picked up a new client that needed a backup group.  He called us into his office and told us about a person named Monti Rock the Third.  He was an extremely flamboyant but talented singer who wore lots of lace, tight pants and a long cape and was “going to be the next big thing”.  It sounded absolutely ridiculous.  But we were now someone’s exclusive property. There was no need to try and say no.  Art had the last word.  As it turned out, Monti Rock was the perfect addition to our group at that particular time.  He was getting significant promotion which meant we were too.  He was electric, and had a great stage presence.  He taught us a lot of new material and incidentally, he picked up the tab at the Brasserie.  (There wasn’t any point in fooling ourselves as to who earned more money).  Ahh…the Brasserie…that wonderful chic but overpriced respite in mid Manhattan where you could go after a gig in the wee hours of the morning, have your breakfast and see the likes of John Sebastian, The Blues Magoos and others mingling.  I remember our first time there and seeing the menu.  Eggs Benedict for $12.00.  What the hell were Eggs Benedict?  I never saw that on a menu in the Bronx!   There was a lot in Manhattan that one didn’t see in the Bronx.  But the Brasserie went on to become a must stop and a late night hangout for just about every Manhattan act for a long time to come.  We made many friends there.  And we spent quite a bit of money as well.  And not just on breakfast! Art saw to it that an updated bio was made and that it and our photos were advanced to any possible venue we might appear in.   Monti had his own promo photos and they were sent out as well.  We started playing just about everywhere: In Manhattan, Long Island, New Jersey, Connecticut and colleges in upstate New York.  We were using Scotty’s dad’s station wagon for transportation.  I remember thinking how we never saw the daylight much anymore except when driving.  And what used to be at least a two to three week stay at a club was now being reduced to a week or even three nights.  I suppose the reason for that was so Art could get us as much exposure in as short a time as possible.  I’m still trying to figure that one out.   Hindsight being 20/20, perhaps the right thing to do was what Sid Bernstein had done with The Rascals.  He gave them plenty of time at the Barge in the Hamptons to showcase their talent, polish their act and to allow them to develop with guidance and to secure enough original material for recording sessions.  Then when he thought they were ready, he made a major splash with them.  Don’t forget, he’s the guy who, when The Beatles arrived in New York City at Shea Stadium ran a banner with the words “The Young Rascals are coming”.  I don’t intend for the reader to think that we ever thought we were as talented as The Rascals.  There is no comparison.  But they were brought along slowly.  And their manager took advantage of it.   I’m just making the analogy because one manager knew what he was doing and kept promoting while the other we soon learned, was getting his on the job training with us.  After some time, Art decided we needed to go back to being Peck’s Bad Boys without Monti.  We then started playing what would turn out to be some very interesting out of town dates.  Then it finally happened.  Art called and told us to be at his office the as soon as possible.   Once there, he brought us into Florence Greenberg’s office. I remember seeing pictures of The Shirelles, Chuck Jackson and Dionne Warwick on the wall.  Ours will be up there too, I thought to myself.   Florence told us we were going to be allowed to do some takes in the studio and that it might become a record.  She also insisted that we use our own material.  “Try to make it relevant,” she said as she escorted us out of the room.  “What the hell does that mean?” we thought.  The Viet Nam war was on…maybe we should smoke a joint and run away to Canada to avoid the draft before we recorded.  That would be relevant to the times.  Then again, maybe not. Studio time was and is expensive.  You have to make the most of it.  The session was to take place in a few days.  We didn’t dare think of asking for a delay.  But we really didn’t have any material that we had worked on for any period of time, had truly liked and had tested or tried it out on a consistent basis.  We were much too busy being all things to all people and having fun.  We were more of an adlib type of group.  We did other groups’ music for sure, but we played it our way.   We could do a song by The Kinks and then slip directly into a tune by The Temptations, including the chorography.  We might even throw in some Lloyd Price or Lou Rawls for good measure!  And it felt natural.  We weren’t boxed in to a certain style. A lot of time while on stage, we just jammed.  People liked it. That’s how one of our original songs, “Cloud 76”, came about.  We played it all the time.  It gave us a chance to just groove and let loose.  The eventual recording didn’t do it justice.  When done live, Scotty did a great drum solo and Joey kicked ass on the bass.  The title was originally supposed to be “Room 76”, alluding to a motel stay we had while out of town, but somehow I allowed Art to change the title.  I think that the Stones’ mega hit “Get Off Of My Cloud” may have had an influence on the name change. Once again, everyone was doing whatever it took to climb to the top, even mimicking.  Hammond sound, anyone?  So, honestly, at that time, we didn’t think that we had something kick ass which would make history.  In fact the whole session had proved to be anti-climatic!  Our original goal was to secure a record session and a manager.  We never gave thought to what we’d do if we succeeded.  I wrote “Crazy World” on the subway ride home from Art’s office, and we played it for the first time in Scotty’s garage the next day.   We all agreed that “Crazy World” would be the A-Side.   Now we needed another tune.  Like I said, I had already written “Room 76” and we’d been doing it for quite some time. It was always well received.  And although “Crazy World” had been literally written “on the fly”, we realized that both tunes represented our special style of music.   I do remember that we “tested” out “Crazy World” before a few people at rehearsal.  (The neighborhood crowd often stopped in on our sessions). The energy level was high.  People liked the song.  So, we went into the studio, recorded the tunes and went home.  It had been our second foray into a real recording studio, counting the Capital sessions and there wasn’t a great deal of attention paid to it by anyone, including us.  The recording sounded raw and in need of some serious re-mastering.  It wasn’t what I’d call our finest moment.  How strange now to think that we had worked so very hard for a chance to get into a real top notch studio with a major label and didn’t realize the moment had arrived.   It was in a strange kind of way…anti-climatic.   We should have insisted that more care and time be given to the recordings.   But, destiny has a way of taking over.  I’m 60 years old now and when I listen to the music we made 40 plus years ago, I’m not ashamed to say I was part of it.   I’ll be eternally grateful for the opportunity that was given us.  And as a side note, I must say that never in our wildest dreams did we ever think “Crazy World” would become a favorite of so many people around the globe for so many years.  It is now considered a classic “garage band” tune and has played on countless play lists all over the world, as well as been reissued on several compilations.  When we first heard the masters, we just sighed and said, “We’ll do better the next time, just give us another shot at it.”  At any rate, we now could finally say that we had recorded a legitimate “45” for Scepter Records.  Art now decided it was time for us to promote our new record.   I mentioned the fact that we owed Maxim’s a favor for releasing us early and it might be a good idea to return for a short time to let everyone know of our recording session.  Art agreed.  He called Sid and before we knew it, we were back at Maxim’s with a completely different groove: An organ player, new clothes, 8” x10” glossies for the marquee and a new record to push.   It was the greatest.  Better than the first time.  We were treated like stars.  Chapter Seven: The Road Experience, the Silliness and … A Really Stupid Decision  After a few weeks Art told us it was time to go on the road for exposure.  First stop…Chicago.  We were going to Chicago!   We were finally going to leave New York and travel further than New Jersey or Connecticut.  We all looked forward to the trip, although we weren’t allowed to bring our own equipment along.  That luxury we soon found out was afforded to groups that had clout and a bigger budget. We would fly in at night on coach and have to go out the very next morning to a music store and rent equipment.  I guess we were lucky not to have flown in the baggage compartment. George, Joey and I were allowed to bring our own guitars, but the organ, amps and drums would be someone else’s.   That’s a hard thing to deal with.  You get very familiar with your own stuff and it’s tough to adapt to new equipment so abruptly.  For the most part I had lived in New York all of my life and I thought I knew what cold weather was like, but man…the night we got off the airplane in Chicago it was raining ice.  It was literally sticking to anything it touched on the way down.  They don’t call it the windy city for nothing.  I will never forget that bone chilling feeling.  Never! As we took the cab to our hotel (read motel) near the airport, I remember the driver asking who we were and why we were there; it was a great feeling telling him we were a band out of New York and on “tour”.  He asked what type of music we played and we told him just about everything.  Make sure you guys visit Old Town and check out some jazz, he said.  He told us that “Old Town” was Chicago’s Greenwich Village.  We did follow his advice one night and it was worth the trip.  The club we were playing in was actually just north of Chicago proper in a town called Lyons.  It was called Club GiGi a Go Go.   We took a cab to the club the next evening to introduce ourselves.  I vaguely remember it being extremely huge.  It had the look and feel of a pretty “rough” room - The kind we had played so many times before.  It was also very nondescript.  There were a few people at the bar.  A juke box was playing and there were topless dancers.   Back in New York, the only clubs that had used topless girls were usually seedy, except for the Wagon Wheel.  I personally never liked working in places that had live music and topless girls…with the exception of the Wagon Wheel.  Which performers were supposed to be featured?   Besides, it made it hard to concentrate.  We had worked those places from the start, and for the most part they usually were always dives.  From my perspective, Club GiGi A Go Go was no exception.  The owner reminded me of a few people we had met back at the Dew Drop Inn.  There was no doubt in our minds that the owner or owners were “connected”.  He arranged for us to have the equipment we needed brought out to the club and we set up the equipment.  He actually asked us if we were any good.  We all felt like leaving right after he made that wise crack.   I had the feeling that this was going to be a long two weeks.  Back at the motel, which incidentally was just as seedy as the club, Bruce and I shared a room, while the other three guys shared another.  From the very first night something strange began to happen.  Bruce started hiccupping.  It went on continuously…At night, during the day and while we performed.  The rest of us thought he was kidding around.  But when it didn’t stop after a few days we became concerned (while continuing to laugh, of course).  We later found out that the motel’s heater was gas operated and there was a leak in our room which affected the air we were breathing.  It never bothered me.  It sure bothered Bruce.  During an interview some time ago I was asked if I could remember any funny stories from when our band was together.  That’s the one I related.  Meanwhile the gig started out to be much like the others.  Art, acting as a promoter, sent out flyers and a “press release” before we arrived in town stating that Peck’s Bad Boys would be appearing there.  When we finished our first set, the owner came over and said he liked what he heard but…we’d have to turn the volume down.  Again, shades of the Dew Drop Inn.  I don’t ever remember us as being a “loud” band.  We rarely had anyone tell us to “lower it”.  To me, even Jimi Hendrix needed a volume check.  I personally never cared for mic or amplifier feedback.  But we didn’t argue the point, just acquiesced to his request, and remembered our “training” at the Dew Drop Inn.   Besides, it was work and we were getting paid a nice sum.  After the initial feeling out of each other, things went well and we were having a pretty good time.  One night, as we were on stage I noticed a pretty large guy standing at the bar, looking at us.  When we finished the set, he walked over and said something to the effect of “Damn, if it ain’t those white boys from New York”.  It was Baby Huey!  And he brought all of the Babysitters too!  That was so exceptionally cool.  All those miles away from home and we wind up seeing him again.  He saw an ad in the newspaper and decided to drop in on us.  It was an incredible compliment coming from an incredible talent.  Believe me, those who heard him would agree!  We found out that Baby Huey was a regular there and played sometimes opposite a group called The Next Big Thing.  They went on to change their name to Chicago.     The gig was finished and it was time to return home.   A short stint at the Club Cheetah was waiting for us in Manhattan.  We were amazed to find out Jimi Hendrix was playing there as well.  It was now getting close to Christmas.  We wanted to stay home and be with our friends and family for the holidays but we had another gig to work out of town.  Way out of town - In Satellite Beach, Florida to play for three weeks.  We were going to be the house band and were to back up a one time celebrity named LaVerne Baker who had some success with a recording of “Jim Dandy”. We rented a car and had a trailer put on so the equipment could be hauled.  Man, what a drive it was going down there.  The interstate system was pretty bad at that time, so we had to weave in and out of small southern towns.  Talk about an education.  Man, the south was really something back in those days.  You could really see the inequities between blacks and whites.  It was an eye opener.  There were so many decrepit shacks that sat on dirt roads right next to the main highway.  Even in New York’s Harlem I hadn’t seen such squalor. Scotty, Bruce and I were the only drivers.  We weren’t given any money to stay in a motel so we decided to drive straight through.  Traveling on those lonely roads at night was pretty damned scary from what I can remember.  By the time we reached South Carolina we were extremely tired, almost broke, and hungry.  So we stopped in a small town named Florence.  Yeah, it was a town to us back then.  It was about three in the morning and we were lucky to find a place to eat.  I think it was a Waffle House.  There were a few big rigs out front.  When we entered about ten or fifteen people stopped what they were doing in unison and looked directly at us.  Two of the customers were deputy sheriffs (the typical “good ol’ boy” type).  We were about to sit down but before we could even say a word the cops came up to us and told us that before we could order we needed to show them how much money we had.  They started to question us and they asked for IDs.  So there we were…fumbling through our pockets pulling out crumbled dollar bills.  I can’t remember how much we had but it wasn’t enough to satisfy the “man”.  Then they told us that we had to either leave town or come up with fifty dollars each or we’d be arrested for vagrancy.  They did however point us in the direction of a Rexall drug store that had a Western Union inside.  It was closed.  So…we drove out of the city limits, found a side road and fell asleep in the car until sometime later.  We returned to town and the Rexall drug store and went in and called Art.  He wired us some cash and we were out of there pretty damned quick.  We never did get to eat.  Looking back on that particular episode I am amazed at how lucky we were.  Had the cops decided to search us and our car, we probably would have spent some time in the slammer.  We had brought along some weed to smoke for our long drive.  We drove to Florida without making any stops other than the South Carolina fiasco.  Finally we reached our destination: The Vanguard Lounge on Satellite Beach. The place was right on the water.  We had never seen anything as beautiful as that sight before.  We were impressed.  Because we were young, lots of things seemed impressive.  After introducing ourselves we checked in to the motel that had been booked for us.  It too was on the water.  Our rooms were nice.  Each one had a kitchenette and was just a short walk away from the lounge.  We had arrived early in the week so we had time to enjoy the beach and the area.  A day or two later we were introduced to Miss Baker.  She gave us some sheet music for her act.  Man was she surprised to find out we didn’t read music.  I figured she’d go ballistic but she just said “we’ll work it out”.   I had heard her one hit and played it for her.  She liked it and so the plan became for us to do that one song as a starter and improvise with some blues and Top 40 hits for the rest of her stay (she only did two sets a night).  We all enjoyed the opportunity to back her and to socialize with her.  A couple of the guys shared a bit more than songs with her as well.  Ok, it’s time for some brutal honesty here.  As stated, this was the sixties.  I had watched the sun go down on “the summer of love” in San Francisco.  I had personally spent some time in the Haight-Ashbury district getting my groove on.   I went to my share of a few free Big Brother and The Holding Company concerts as well and even met Janis at a free concert.   I worshiped Michael Bloomfield as a guitarist and I met him too.  I had my share of tie dyes as well.   In other words, I had been around the block more than a few times.     But many of them were the wrong blocks with the wrong addresses.  I was no stranger to drugs at the time.  None of us were.  So when I returned to New York, to set out on my musical journey, I thought all you needed to help you sound better were a few hallucinogens.  You couldn’t be in the business we were in and not be susceptible to those influences.  We all thought the music sounded better “under the influence” and we certainly didn’t mind laughing a lot.  So, between breaks, except for the dedicated drinkers of alcohol, people went outside after a set to “fire one up”.  Everybody did it.  It was almost like it was legal.  No hard drugs, no methamphetamines, no heroin, just some weed, hash or the occasional Thai stick and a few diet pills to “help” you play all through the night and do it again the next day. But man, it became a staple.  The same way we made sure we had extra strings for our guitars and extra sticks for the drummer; we made sure we had an ample supply of hemp or something else wherever we went.  I could mention names of people, who were pretty damn big back then, who we shared a doobie with - but why bother.  It’s not so unbelievable.  All you had to do was be there!  Man, this was the sixties!  This is not told for shock value or to be bold.  I write it because it’s part of the story and part of who we were.  Its revelation is meant to educate because as we found out, it was all just plain stupid.  No one ever mentions the lost auditions due to being so wired or forgetting dates.  Or the fear of getting pulled over by some cop with your car full of equipment worth thousands of dollars and losing it all due to forfeiture because there were drugs in your guitar case.  Or watching people you admire make fools of themselves on stage.   Nope, no one mentions it, but it happened.  Trust me!  And I know this much now…it never helped us play better.  Never!   We were treated like stars in Florida.  People in the audience would ask for autographs.  Art had made sure that plenty of advanced publicity had preceded us.  Our picture was in the local newspapers and flyers were all over town.  We were having a blast.  Here we were; a hot band from New York with a record.  There was always a crowd present and LaVerne and we hit it off great.  We’d wake up early in the morning; go for a swim and the then get to the club a bit early to rehearse.  It was all good.  The owner loved us, we were having fun and we were getting paid.   One morning a week or so into the gig while we were in the club playing around with our instruments a man casually walked in and asked to see our union cards.  He was from the musicians union.  Huh?  What union cards?  The owner came over and told the guy he didn’t want union musicians.  The representative simply said that if we didn’t join he would have a few people picket the front of the club.  This made the owner freak out so we were forced to drive to Orlando and search for the union hall and join.  We did – but, man, we were pissed.  We had been able to work for so long without any union problems in New York at some of the biggest name clubs.  Then we get to some out of the way place and bingo, we get our chains jerked.  But we did get to see Orlando and the surrounding area.  You could see signs all over regarding the future building of Disney.  It’s funny how I wound up retiring in Orlando. We were scheduled to stay until right after New Year’s Eve.  But that seemed a long time away.  In truth; we were getting board with the gig - and with LaVerne.  I can’t explain what we were going through emotionally but we wanted out of there.  And fast.  We had never broken a gig by leaving early.  We had never been fired either.  That was about to change.   Now we had to figure out a plan to get home before our contract expired.   I can’t   remember who came up with the idea but it worked.  It was pretty dumb and nonprofessional but hey…we were young.  The owner insisted that we always appear in our best stage clothes and we had been obliging him.  Then for a couple of days we started arriving in cut off jeans and tee shirts.  He wasn’t too happy.  In fact he had warned us to make sure we showed up on New Year’s Eve in tuxedoes.  We didn’t make it.  A day before New Year’s Eve we showed up in clam digger pants and tee shirts and …wearing cooking pots from the kitchen in our motel rooms on our heads.  The owner looked at us and demanded to know what the meaning of this display was.  We told him we had decided to change the name of our band immediately to “The Pot Heads”.  Our subsequent firing didn’t take more than five minutes.  He gave us about an hour to clear out our equipment and motel rooms and hit the road.  So, unprofessionally or not…we were free from our contract and left for home. Of course we found out that Art was required to hire an attorney to mitigate our monetary liability.  We hit the road and drove nonstop just in time to arrive in New York City to watch the festivities in Times Square.  Truth be told…it wasn’t worth the nonstop drive and the aggravation we received from Art. We were in deep trouble with Art.  He was pissed.  We wound up having to work a gig in Manhattan for free in order to pay back the money owed from the Florida fiasco. Chapter Eight: Another Recording and the Beginning of the End Ok…we could tell that things were starting to go downhill.  Our hearts just weren’t in it anymore.  The drugs were beginning to take its toll and we were burned out.  We told Art that after the gig in Manhattan and after we paid our financial obligation, a rest was in order.  He responded by telling us that he had secured another recording session with Scepter.  Only this time it was to be something special.  It seems that a movie was about to be released and Art had negotiated for us to do the title track.  Well, that brought a new found excitement to our collective emotions.   Maybe we had decided to take a hiatus too early. The name of the Movie was Girl on a Chain Gang.  It was a really bad black & white “B” bomb.   It was scheduled for release almost immediately so we were called into the studio as soon as we could make it - again with no time for rehearsal.  The writers of the song were there to sing it to us and provide input.  It was recorded after two or three takes.  The A-Side was “Girl on a Chain Gang” and the flip side was called “Silver Dawn”.   Now that the recording session was completed, Art asked us if we would like to go on the road once again - this time armed with a new recording and the possibility of having a real “hit”.  We agreed.  But first we wanted to take a trip back to our beginnings and perhaps work Maxim’s again so we could “chill” out.  As it turned out…Maxim’s was booked solid for about six months but Sid was able to get us a gig at a club in Yonkers called the Jumping Jack.   That turned out to be one of the best clubs we ever played.  People knew us, our friends were coming in all the time…and the scenery was fantastic.   We were having a blast.  Meanwhile the radio was promoting the movie.  Things looked good and we played the Jumping Jack for about three weeks.  Now it was time to hit the road again.  It was still the middle of winter, so where better to play than in Lake George, New York - Where the temperature rivaled that of Chicago?  There was no rental car this time.  A greyhound bus was in order.  (Art was still smarting from the Satellite Beach fiasco).  Off we went to upstate New York to play in what has to be described as the worst gig we ever did.  The booking was for one month.  It was a hotel resort.  The room was huge and the guest list sparse.  Hardly any people showed up as walk in guests.  To add insult to injury, our accommodations were pitiful: No heat, bad food and bad vibes.  We decided right then and there that it would be the last time we played a gig for Art Trefferson.  When it was over…we all took a bus back home and sadly… Peck’s Bad Boys disbanded.  But, all in all the time we spent together playing, bonding and just being friends was worth all the work.  We were doing something other people only dream about.  No, we didn’t make it as stars, but we had memories.  And…we were there at the beginning of a musical movement.  And part of it too.  We don’t regret a thing.   At least I don’t! Just listen to the words of “Crazy World”:   “I’m sick and tired of spending all my time here; I got to cop my plea. No more hangin’ ‘round on corners, I’m ‘bout to set me free. Everybody’s just tryin’ to help me, ain’t no good.  ‘Cause everybody that’s tryin’ to help me…they ain’t no good!”   That should tell you something.  The Love Ones