After the Steppin’ Out! rehearsal at Hub’s, Reid and myself headed to Mollies’ across the street from Godfrey’s. Reid is one of my favorite friends to play with, though we have some vastly different performance skills. Seems we fit well together in many ways.


So, we ordered up some grub, lined up a beverage and launched into the whole “Brother, I’m tired of women” rap, which was quite satisfying. Food came, we watched football on the TV. I took a trip to the facilities and came back, sat down, and voice piped up, “Dave Fry?” Thinking, I really don’t want to deal with some SouthSide slob while I’m with Reid, I turned to see Bill Staines right next to me, with drink in hand. Bill Staines? THE Bill Staines? In a bar in Bethlehem on a Sunday night? Of course!


Here I was, between two of my comrades and road players, both from different schools of music, both living in New Hampshire, miles from their homes, on a Sunday night at a bar. Dave Fry in the middle. “Bill, meet my very close bandmate, Reid. Reid, meet one of my folk heroes on the folk circuit, Bill.”  Cool.


Bill said he had heard the music talk coming from us, and turned and thought he had seen Dave Glover (a folk legend, himself), but it was me.


So, the three of us launched into a glorious rant on what we do, how we deal with life on the road, the strange and wonderful situations we end up in, the influences of players, culture, psychodelia, friends, and the business economy on our art.


Tales of girls stripping to St. James Infirmary, a murder in Alaska, heavy metal Viking bands, lost gigs in the Carribean, and more, and best forgotten, apparently.


I was sitting between two of my highly respected musicians (and increasingly drunk), communicating on a level that I was priviledge to witness, and to be accepted as an equal. That is what made this a very special evening for me.