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Post by AlanC on Jan 19, 2018 11:20:23 GMT -5
Idiotjam some year or other. Kate and Lars were there along with many others. We were in the back room of the Ozone and I was sitting at a table with Jerry and Lars. Doug was playing a set and there were two couples of locals at the table behind us playing Pinochle.
Doug was well into his second or third ribald, biker bar song- a not-too-subtle little ditty about oral sex called "Daddy Was a Deep Sea Diver". One of the locals almost came out of his seat two or three times making exasperated noises and giving Doug an occasional glowering stare.
It was highly entertaining. Lar's facial expressions as he listened were also memorable.
I think we could safely say that Doug was unique.
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Post by fauxmaha on Jan 19, 2018 11:49:59 GMT -5
"Doug was unique".
Truer words have never been spoken. He was one of a kind.
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Post by mnhermit on Jan 19, 2018 12:18:57 GMT -5
I'll have you know that song was taught to both Doug and I by a sweet mother of two...after we stopped LOAO when she first played it at a party I gave in 1977 or 78.
I met Doug in the Student Union bldg at WSU in 1976 when he sat in as a 4th for our continuous bridge game. He was wearing a t-shirt with the Daytona speedway on it and regaled us with tales of his racing in preliminary races during Speedweek. I still don't know how true many of his stories were...he liked to tell stories, but they were all fun to listen to.
We tried to establish a dog ranch on 40 acres of desert in E. Washington. Living on potatoes, eggs and krusteaz pancake mix with water hauled in a used hot water heater in the back of the pick-up we both pared any excess weight we might have been carrying. We went to visit parents of a good friend up in Grand Coulee. The mom took one look at us and started pulling food out, 'you boys are too skinny...have some more' Doug weighed in at 127 that day and felt as healthy as he ever had, but we had the best meal of the summer that night.
it was good to know him.
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Post by AlanC on Jan 19, 2018 12:25:28 GMT -5
For some reason I did not know you guys went that far back.
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Post by dradtke on Jan 19, 2018 13:16:21 GMT -5
I'll have you know that song was taught to both Doug and I by a sweet mother of two...after we stopped LOAO when she first played it at a party I gave in 1977 or 78. Well then, Dennis, I guess it falls to you so sing it at the next Ijam. We'll be looking forward to it. |
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Post by mnhermit on Jan 19, 2018 15:04:53 GMT -5
I'll have you know that song was taught to both Doug and I by a sweet mother of two...after we stopped LOAO when she first played it at a party I gave in 1977 or 78. Well then, Dennis, I guess it falls to you so sing it at the next Ijam. We'll be looking forward to it.  If I can remember the words |
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Dub
Administrator
I'm gettin' so the past is the only thing I can remember.
Posts: 19,893 
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Post by Dub on Jan 19, 2018 15:09:49 GMT -5
I'll have you know that song was taught to both Doug and I by a sweet mother of two...after we stopped LOAO when she first played it at a party I gave in 1977 or 78. Well then, Dennis, I guess it falls to you so sing it at the next Ijam. We'll be looking forward to it. <You'll> |
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Post by Rob Hanesworth on Jan 19, 2018 15:36:21 GMT -5
Well then, Dennis, I guess it falls to you so sing it at the next Ijam. We'll be looking forward to it. If I can remember the words Doug gave me a copy of his digital songbook. I am sure the words are in there. |
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Post by mnhermit on Jan 19, 2018 15:46:35 GMT -5
For some reason I did not know you guys went that far back. I never understood why Doug chose to befriend me over the years but he never let me get out of touch for too long, bullying me in his good hearted way to visit, keeping in touch through miles and years. Many of our mutual friends have fallen by the wayside, distance and time being too much of a barrier to continue the bonds we once had, but Doug wouldn't let that happen with me. Over the years I've come to the conclusion it started one Friday night in '78 or '79. We'd been friends for a few years by this time, hunting buddies, pot friends, guitar players, bridge partners. I'd gotten into the habit of stopping by his place on my way home from swing shift work - there was usually a small party going on there any given weekend night. This was after he'd been divorced by his 3rd wife and Doug being Doug liked having people around. This particular Friday night I found him sitting on the floor of his ground floor apartment alone, pistol on the sofa and rifle across his legs. He'd gotten word from one of his exes that a biker gang he'd had a run in with in Florida had found out where he lived and was coming to exact revenge. I still don't know how true that story was, but I sat with him for a couple hours in the wee hours that night and told stories to each other and passed the pipe, drinking some coffee. I don't know if this was really the factor that changed our friendship, but I think the fact that I accepted his (possible) danger with equanimity and didn't immediately run off is what he saw in me. I'm hoping that I eventually lived up to that. I know my life would have been much poorer without him in it. He drug me to the music store and helped me pick my first steel string guitar (Takemine FS340) telling me the nylon string just didn't have the oomph I needed. If for nothing else that would put me in his debt forever. |
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Post by mnhermit on Jan 19, 2018 15:49:17 GMT -5
Doug gave me a copy of his digital songbook. I am sure the words are in there. Thanks Rob, I have several generations of copies of his songbook , I'm sure you're right. |
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Post by AlanC on Jan 19, 2018 16:14:23 GMT -5
For some reason I did not know you guys went that far back. I never understood why Doug chose to befriend me over the years but he never let me get out of touch for too long, bullying me in his good hearted way to visit, keeping in touch through miles and years. Many of our mutual friends have fallen by the wayside, distance and time being too much of a barrier to continue the bonds we once had, but Doug wouldn't let that happen with me. Over the years I've come to the conclusion it started one Friday night in '78 or '79. We'd been friends for a few years by this time, hunting buddies, pot friends, guitar players, bridge partners. I'd gotten into the habit of stopping by his place on my way home from swing shift work - there was usually a small party going on there any given weekend night. This was after he'd been divorced by his 3rd wife and Doug being Doug liked having people around. This particular Friday night I found him sitting on the floor of his ground floor apartment alone, pistol on the sofa and rifle across his legs. He'd gotten word from one of his exes that a biker gang he'd had a run in with in Florida had found out where he lived and was coming to exact revenge. I still don't know how true that story was, but I sat with him for a couple hours in the wee hours that night and told stories to each other and passed the pipe, drinking some coffee. I don't know if this was really the factor that changed our friendship, but I think the fact that I accepted his (possible) danger with equanimity and didn't immediately run off is what he saw in me. I'm hoping that I eventually lived up to that. I know my life would have been much poorer without him in it. He drug me to the music store and helped me pick my first steel string guitar (Takemine FS340) telling me the nylon string just didn't have the oomph I needed. If for nothing else that would put me in his debt forever. I like that the exact veracity of his tales didn’t distract you from enjoying them. He probably liked that also. |
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Post by drlj on Jan 19, 2018 16:15:26 GMT -5
I enjoy reading these Doug stories.
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Post by Rob Hanesworth on Jan 19, 2018 17:49:37 GMT -5
I like that the exact veracity of his tales didn’t distract you from enjoying them. He probably liked that also. I have another friend, coincidentally also named Doug, whose stories are like that. I have been with him when something happened and then later been with him when he told about it. The story was always better. |
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Post by dradtke on Jan 19, 2018 17:50:08 GMT -5
Doug gave me a copy of his digital songbook. I am sure the words are in there. I might have to ask you for a copy of that, if just out of curiosity. |
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Post by Rob Hanesworth on Jan 19, 2018 17:52:10 GMT -5
Doug gave me a copy of his digital songbook. I am sure the words are in there. I might have to ask you for a copy of that, if just out of curiosity. Absolutely! |
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Post by Village Idiot on Jan 19, 2018 21:23:40 GMT -5
Doug had crossed paths with several of you southerners, but when the first Idiotjam rolled around he was still an enigma up here, and I was the first to meet him.
This was back when people would stay at the hotel in Urbana, and we'd gather in Friday at that strange Ozone place in the same town. About half a mile from both was an RV park where Doug and Chris had parked their home a few days prior. He invited me out to visit them the Thursday before for coffee, so I took a few hours off in the morning to do so and stopped at the Casey's store, which was also nearby, to get some donuts.
But Doug had pulled up seconds before I had. He hadn't gotten out of his car yet, but the Florida plates gave him away. And when he got out, it was definitely him. A short guy with a pony tail and beard and a walking stick. Not a cane a walking stick. I got out of my car and said "you must be Doug!"
"Follow me" is all he said.
"How's it going? Nice to meet you."
No response but a shrug.
He walked into the store, I followed, the table of old farmers, half of which I knew wondering who the guy I was with. The guy with the hair, beard, panama hat and walking stick, giving the girl at the register a hard time as he had intentionally bought 14 donuts instead of an even baker's dozen so he could mess with her head and talking fairly loud in an accent that's not familiar around here.
I followed him to the RV park, fully expecting him to lead me to a converted school bus with kitchen curtains covering the long row of windows. Actually, I was hoping it would be a converted school bus with little kitchen curtains covering the windows so I could call Bill and say "it's a converted school bus with little kitchen curtains."
But it wasn't. It was a beautiful, well-kept RV. It was an ideal fall morning, the windows were open and the place was airy and neat and Chris, upon meeting me took the old coffee cup I had carried in from my truck and scoured it clean, and we had coffee in that lovely setting.
Chris was a sweetheart, Doug had all kinds of stories. He had 250 guns and rifles in the basement, which is apparently the term for the storage space under an RV, he had outlandish encounters with every oddball one can imagine in every state they had traveled through to get here, he had helped save a dog at a rest stop in Illinois.
I chose to believe about 1/8th of what he said, but it was an entertaining morning, time flew quickly, I wound up really enjoying my visit, and had lots to think about as I left to head to work.
And that's my story. The first time I met the irascible Doug Heard. I'll remember that guy forever.
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Post by coachdoc on Jan 19, 2018 22:29:10 GMT -5
I might have to ask you for a copy of that, if just out of curiosity. Absolutely! Me too, please. That would be a treasure. PM? |
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Post by xyrn on Jan 19, 2018 22:49:40 GMT -5
Doug had crossed paths with several of you southerners, but when the first Idiotjam rolled around he was still an enigma up here, and I was the first to meet him. This was back when people would stay at the hotel in Urbana, and we'd gather in Friday at that strange Ozone place in the same town. About half a mile from both was an RV park where Doug and Chris had parked their home a few days prior. He invited me out to visit them the Thursday before for coffee, so I took a few hours off in the morning to do so and stopped at the Casey's store, which was also nearby, to get some donuts. But Doug had pulled up seconds before I had. He hadn't gotten out of his car yet, but the Florida plates gave him away. And when he got out, it was definitely him. A short guy with a pony tail and beard and a walking stick. Not a cane a walking stick. I got out of my car and said "you must be Doug!" "Follow me" is all he said. "How's it going? Nice to meet you." No response but a shrug. He walked into the store, I followed, the table of old farmers, half of which I knew wondering who the guy I was with. The guy with the hair, beard, panama hat and walking stick, giving the girl at the register a hard time as he had intentionally bought 14 donuts instead of an even baker's dozen so he could mess with her head and talking fairly loud in an accent that's not familiar around here. I followed him to the RV park, fully expecting him to lead me to a converted school bus with kitchen curtains covering the long row of windows. Actually, I was hoping it would be a converted school bus with little kitchen curtains covering the windows so I could call Bill and say "it's a converted school bus with little kitchen curtains." But it wasn't. It was a beautiful, well-kept RV. It was an ideal fall morning, the windows were open and the place was airy and neat and Chris, upon meeting me took the old coffee cup I had carried in from my truck and scoured it clean, and we had coffee in that lovely setting. Chris was a sweetheart, Doug had all kinds of stories. He had 250 guns and rifles in the basement, which is apparently the term for the storage space under an RV, he had outlandish encounters with every oddball one can imagine in every state they had traveled through to get here, he had helped save a dog at a rest stop in Illinois. I chose to believe about 1/8th of what he said, but it was an entertaining morning, time flew quickly, I wound up really enjoying my visit, and had lots to think about as I left to head to work. And that's my story. The first time I met the irascible Doug Heard. I'll remember that guy forever. Thank you for sharing this. Honestly, it read like a Morgan Freeman narration of a film, like Shawshank Redemption. (Read it again and this time hear Morgan's voice in your head and tell me I'm wrong.) No bestselling fiction writer could come up with a better character intro than that, the plain old truth that was 100% Doug. |
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Post by xyrn on Jan 19, 2018 22:51:34 GMT -5
Me too, please. That would be a treasure. PM? Me three, please! |
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Tamarack
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Post by Tamarack on Jan 20, 2018 8:26:02 GMT -5
I too would like a copy of the Doug songbook. I had a version years ago that disappeared when a toddler messed with our former desktop computer.
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