Marty After Dark - Almost Live...From New York

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Saturday

Jul162011

July 16, 2011

I got an email from a friend yesterday that brought back a floodgate of memories. I’m’ going to write about that tonight. But first, a few pictures from a place I look at every night on my way home and love to hate.

They call this place the "Beer Parc." I hate the fact that they spell park, "parc" and it's located behind some fancy schmancy hotel on 6th and 30th, the block where I work. It's populated exclusively by yuppies/after work assholes and people I would really like to blow up. And blow them up good!

You have to buy tickets to purchase the beer and snacks here. It's like an upscale version of a Midwestern fair.

Most people here are dressed in their work clothes and I can't imagine any subversive or interesting dialogue is happening here.

And of course at some tables no dialogue is happening at all, just texting to other people. This place makes me want throw up in my left boot and stain my socks. But that's just me. Okay, onto my story.

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Rob Grill
June 12, 1967—My family and I were driving to a shopping center in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. We were on a family vacation and my dad was driving us there. My brothers, Tom and Jim and my sister Terry were in the back seat and I was up in front sitting in between my mom and my dad. I was hunched over in the seat twiddling the radio dial trying to find a rock ‘n’ roll station when in between the hiss, pops and static I heard someone sing out soulfully: “One two thee four...shalalalalalala, live for today...”

I turned the volume up and my dad turned it down. I immediately swirled around and said to my brother Jim, “Who is this?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, “but it’s good.”

I spun back around and turned the volume up and my dad turned it back down. I listened to the song intently and afterwards the disc jockey said in that nasally ‘60’s disc jockey voice, “That was the Grass Roots with their first top ten single, ‘Let’s Live For Today.’”

We got to the shopping center, a strip mall filled with clothing stores, variety stores and to the delight of myself and my brother Jim, a record store.

“We’ll be in the record store,” we sang out and ran over and into yet another vinyl wonderland of my youth.

We bolted in the door and walked straight over to the 45 racks and I flipped through the “G” section and found a tab that said, “The Grass Roots” in hand lettering. I flipped it over and there it was, “Let’s Live For Today,” complete with a picture sleeve. I remember studying the sleeve and saying to my brother, “They look cool, like a combination of the Beatles and the Rolling Stones.” He agreed with me and I carried it with me as we flipped through records and admired and inspected various albums and singles throughout the store until the rest of our family arrived and our folks said we were going back to the hotel.

I walked over to my mom, The Grass Roots single in hand and asked, “Can I get this?”

She made a face and said, “Why buy a record on vacation? There’s no record player here to play it on. You can get it when we get back home.”

“But the one at home might not have a picture sleeve,” I whined, holding up the record for emphasis. “Pleeeeeeease?”

After several years of childhood work, I had expertly honed the pitch-perfect, “Pleeeeeeease?” whine into a cringe-inducing tool to weaken my mother’s resistance when I would ask for something special. And once again it worked like a charm.

She slumped a little, pulled two dollars out of her purse and gave it to me. I ran up to the counter and bought, “Let’s Live For Today,” by The Grass Roots.

That wasn’t the only record we got on that vacation. The day before on June 11th, it was my brother’s 11th birthday and one of his presents was a copy of “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.” We couldn’t wait to get home and listen to it.

A week later we were home and the first thing Jim and I did after unpacking was run to the fake wooden stereo console with our vacation records.

“Let’s listen to The Grass Roots first, it’s just one song and then we can listen to the whole Beatles album,” I said to Jim as we stood before the almighty stereo console.

“Okay, give me the single,” he spat out anxiously. Then he put the record on, turned the speed on to 45 rpm and we listened to “Let’s Live For Today.” Then he put on Sgt. Pepper’s and it blew our everloving minds! That was a memorable day listening to some great music.

I’ve always associated the two records and listening to one always makes me think of the other.

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Sometime in August, 1987—I was living in Peoria at the time and working at a printing company. My girlfriend’s name at the time was Lynda and she worked for a company that produced festivals and fairs for small towns. I can’t remember her exact job title, but she more or less coordinated a lot of the small details and made sure everything ran smooth.

One festival they produced was in a small town in Illinois called Decatur. The event was called Decatur Days and I think it ran from Thursday to Sunday. It was your standard small town festival complete with greasy food, cotton candy, some half-assed rides and night time entertainment. Usually this entertainment consisted of bad comedians and bands you’ve either never heard of or one-hit wonders who play the small town fair circuit in the summer to milk money out of a hit that was popular eons ago and the band is currently filed in the “where are they now files,” to quote Spinal Tap.

We were hanging out at my apartment a week before the Decatur Days and I asked Lynda what band was playing the festival.

“The Grass Roots,” she answered, “Remember them? I had the single, ‘Bella Linda’ and used to say they spelled ‘Linda’ wrong.”

I dropped the magazine I was reading and shot up on the couch where I was laying down and looked at Lynda.

“The Grass Roots?” I said incredulously. “I thought they broke up years ago, are you sure this is the real Grass Roots?”

“Let’s look at the booklet,” she said while fishing around in her purse and walking over and sitting next to me on the couch.

She pulled it out and flipped to the page about Saturday’s entertainment and there was a photo of the Grass Roots. I grabbed it and looked closely at it.

I didn’t recognize three of the people in the band, but I pointed to the guy in the front of the picture and said, “That’s Rob Grill, he played bass and sang most of the songs. It must be one of those things where he put a band together and they go out as The Grass Roots and play all the hits. Even though it’s just him and three pick up guys, I can’t imagine them playing Decatur Days. The Grass Roots were huge in their day.”

“I guess it beats working for a living,” Lynda said while getting up and heading for the kitchen.

“I wonder if they’re opening up for the Puppet Show,” I said, referencing Spinal Tap.

“What?” Lynda said, turning around. She had never seen Spinal Tap.

“Never mind,” I said while laughing, “would you get me a beer?”

I drove to Decatur that Saturday and met Lynda in downtown Decatur where the festival was being held. I helped out all day doing odds and ends jobs and that night we were going to see the Grass Roots. Even though there was just one original in the band, I was still excited to see a slice of my youth live. I would’ve killed to have seen them back in the day. And at least the one original was Rob Grill, the guy who sang all the hits, so I was looking forward to it.

Around four in the afternoon Lynda and I were in a tent at the site of the festival that they used as an office for the company she worked for. There was a lot of folding tables and chairs and I was helping Lynda sort some stuff on top of one of them. I can’t remember what, I just remember sorting things on a table. At one point I looked up and saw a guy with an envelope in one hand and a bag of popcorn in the other. He had shaggy brown hair, was wearing sunglasses and he was wearing a black t-shirt and had white shorts on.

“See that guy over there,” I said excitedly while grabbing Lynda’s arm, “that’s Rob Grill of The Grass Roots! I’m going to go meet him!”

“Don’t make fun of him,” Lynda said, while looking worried.

“Why would I make fun of him?” I shot back.

She narrowed her eyes and shot me a look that literally said, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” I said while laughing and getting up.

As I walked over he put the envelope in the back pocket of his shorts and was eating his popcorn and just kind of staring blankly at the front of the tent. A glum kind of look was painted on his face.

I approached him and said, “Excuse me, you’re Rob Grill, right?”

He jumped a little because he didn’t see me coming, took off his sunglasses and squinted at me and said, “Yeah, what can I do for you?”

He was looking at me with an expression of confusion.

“Oh, I’m just a big fan and I wanted to say hi,” I said, all of a sudden feeling weird because he appeared to be uncomfortable with me coming up to him.

Once I told him that, he smiled widely, kind of cocked his head and stuck out his hand and said, “Oh, thanks, what’s your name?”

I shook his hand and said, “My name’s Marty,” and then I proceeded to tell him the whole story about hearing “Let’s Live For Today” in Florida and then coming home and listening to it before listening to Sgt. Pepper. He had a huge smile on his face the whole time I told him the tale. I was thrilled he appeared to enjoy hearing my story.

He told me he loved the story and asked if I lived in Decatur.

“No, I live in Peoria,” I told him, “my girlfriend works for the company putting on the festival. I drove here just to see you guys.”

“Really? You came here just to see us?” he asked. He really looked amazed that I drove from Peoria just to see the band play live.

“Yeah,” I told him. “I was only nine years old when I bought “Let’s Live For Today,” and I would’ve killed to have seen you live back then. I remember watching you on American Bandstand. I really can’t believe I’m standing here shooting the shit with you!”

He laughed and then looked both ways and then said in a low voice, “Look, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy that I’m still getting gigs, but this summer oldies circuit can get a little old sometimes. I was in a pretty shitty mood today and you really made my day and I’m not just saying that. Most people only know our songs from oldies radio stations and they have no idea of the history of the band whatsoever. It’s nice to meet someone who listened to our music back in the day. Thanks for taking the trouble for coming to the show today,” he said and then he stuck his hand out again.

We shook hands again and I said, “Man, I can’t wait to tell my brother I met you.”

“Tell him I said hi, okay?” He said as he started to walk away.

“I definitely will,” I said to him as he walked out the tent.

That night Lynda and I were seated in the outdoor wooden bleachers that overlooked the stage. The Grass Roots came on around 9 PM and blazed through all their hits: Midnight Confessions, I'd Wait A Million Years, Two Divided By Love, Sooner Or Later and on and on. Rob Grill looked pretty bored onstage and who could blame him? There was maybe 50 to 75 people there and he’d probably sung the songs thousands of times. I was waiting for “Let’s Live For Today,” I was excited to see him sing it live even if he was bored out of his gourd. After they played, “Where Were You When I Needed You,” Rob Grill just said, “Thanks, you’ve been a great audience, Goodnight, Decatur.

Then they walked offstage. I couldn’t fucking believe it. They didn’t play, “Let’s Live For Today.”

I turned to Lynda and said, “I don’t fucking believe it, they didn’t play “Let’s Live For Today.” I came here just to hear that song live. And they didn’t fucking play it. It’s the only reason I came to this stupid, shitty little fucking festival!”

Lynda grabbed my shoulders and said sternly, “They’re going to come back for an encore. Please don’t go nuts.”

“I’m going to go nuts...I’m going to go nuts...I’m going to go nuts,” I said repeatedly like the Rain Man on methamphetamine.

Lynda just put her hand on her forehead and closed her eyes and looked pained. She knew if they didn’t play that song I’d be talking about it all night long and probably into the week.

I think on about my seventh, “I’m going to go nuts,” when they came back onstage, just as Lynda predicted. I remember Rob Grill holding his bass up in the air while walking back onstage, the way Paul McCartney did at Shea Stadium.

I turned to Lynda pointed my index finger at her nose and said, “They better play that fucking song!”

She looked at me like I was completely crazy and she looked so nervous that I just started laughing and then she did too. Right then Rob Grill said into the microphone, “Okay, we’re going to do the one that started it all and then he ripped into, ‘One two thee four...shalalalalalala...”’

And unlike the previous numbers he was smiling and dancing around and he was really getting into it. I’ve always liked to think that maybe he was thinking of my story when he was singing it. I’ll never know, but it’s what I like to think.
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July 14, 2011—I was at work yesterday and checked my email. This came from my friend Mike Trent. Mike and I worked together in Peoria, Illinois and we’ve remained good friends. He lives in Tennessee now and I’m in New York, so we don’t see each other much, but we keep in touch via phone and email. We’ve always called each other Daddio (much like “Boris” and I do) and he had sent this email to me.

•••
From: mvt@hart.net [Add to Address Book]
To: marty wombacher <fishwrap@earthlink.net>
Subject: The Grass Roots
Date: Jul 14, 2011 3:27 PM

Hey Daddie,

I just read that Rob Grill the lead singer for The Grass Roots died.
They were one my favorite bands. Hope all is well. Take care.

DaddyO
•••

I hadn’t heard the news and called Mike up in Tennessee. I told him my story about meeting Rob Grill and he said when he read he had died he thought of me and we realized that maybe I had told him that story years ago. Then we shot the shit for a while and I went back to work.

When I got home, I found a YouTube video of them singing, “Let’s Live For Today,” hit play and closed my eyes and drifted back to 1967, when times were so different than today and the only things that mattered were record stores and picture-sleeved 45s. I really miss those days.

Rob Grill 1943 - 2011, R.I.P.