The woman at the front counter took our names and disappeared into the back. Minutes later, a man with thick white hair and wearing neat blue jeans, leather boots and open-collared shirt walked into the lobby, introduced himself and shook our hands. As we followed him down a long, narrow hallway, we passed three brightly lighted offices with doors propped wide. Inside one of the rooms we saw a man sitting at his desk with a phone receiver pressed to his ear. Another man nodded as he scooted past us in the opposite direction. Everyone we came into contact with, other than our host, wore pressed slacks and ties or business suits.
At the end of the hall, we entered what looked and felt to be another world. The room was cool and dark. A small table lamp provided just enough illumination for us to find our seats without tripping over them. We settled into matching, overstuffed chairs that faced an expensive looking dark wood desk. Except for a computer monitor, a phone, and the aforementioned lamp, the desktop was clear. When the door was closed, the hustle and bustle outside was silenced. Here, we heard only the sound of 50s and 60s music playing softly from speakers hidden somewhere in the room. Not surprising, since Bob and I were here to meet with the general manager of our local oldies radio station. He also books entertainment for "Cans and Clams," a summertime event that is held each week at a high-end spa and conference center called Traditions at the Glen.
As my eyes began to adjust to the change in light, I noticed several framed posters that hung side by side on each of the walls. Behind me was an enlarged photo from the cover of the first LP I ever purchased, Dion DiMucci’s Lovers Who Wander. The year was 1962 and I was 12-years-old. I probably chose the album for the striking photo of the sleepy-eyed, wavy-haired singer holding the blonde guitar and looking like a cock-sure lady’s man. Lucky for me the music on the inside of the record sleeve was even more impressive than the artist’s good looks.
The other poster that caught my attention featured the Beatles in their notorious “Butcher Boys” pose. (end part 1)
The Meeting Part 2
In the photograph, the four Beatles are wearing white, button-down smocks. In their laps and on their shoulders are decapitated baby dolls and slabs of raw meet. George, looking particularly sinister, is flashing an evil mad-scientist grin at the camera. The picture made it onto the cover of the 1966 LP release, Yesterday …and Today. But only briefly. Capital Record executives were not amused, and the albums were pulled from distribution after only a few thousand were released. (wikipedia.org.wiki/Yesterday_and_Today)
One day around that time, the station manager, Tom, was walking into HiFi Records and Tapes, one of the Binghamton area’s two great record stores (the other was a place called Woody’s, where I spent countless Saturday afternoons thumbing through stacks of 45s and LPs and where I bought every Beatle album released in the U.S. between ’64 and ‘70). As Tom was entering the store, a rep from Capital Records was leaving. While they chatted, the man explained that his record company was recalling all publicity items that featured the controversial photo. Under the rep’s arm were a few rolled up posters. He gave one of them to Tom.
“That must be worth a few bucks,” I said as I admired the beautifully preserved relic of rock and roll history. .
“I’ve never had it appraised,” Tom said.
Tom’s poster story was the perfect ice-breaker, and we spent the next 50 minutes discussing music past and present, local bands, and big-time acts. An hour had passed when we began to notice increased activity and voices coming from outside the door. Tom steered the conversation to business. “How much?” he said as he pulled out his calendar. We gave him a figure, he countered, and we accepted without further haggling. He booked our band for two Cans and Clams nights that season.
Bob and I left the office and high-fived in the parking lot.
