Party # 57

Catfish played his twelve string on State.  He wore turquoise jewelry and cowboy boots, a shy man who lowered the brim of his hat to cover his eyes.  I got up the courage one day to ask between songs if he would be willing to come to our place to play, just a few songs for Chuck D.'s birthday.  We'd pay him, of course.  Chuck D. honored the man like a mythological hero.  We couldn't think of a better birthday present.  Catfish said he'd think about it.

Four of us lived on the second floor of the carriage house on Gorham. From the porch we could call out to friends who lived on Gilman. It was a small place and filled up fast. The party was rolling along. We hadn't said a thing to Chuck D. not knowing if Catfish would show or not.

Right around 11, we heard Chuck D. yelling, "You guys are never going to believe who is walking up the driveway right now with his guitar!"

Catfish told me years later, that he remembered that party because he was afraid the floor was going to cave in after we all started dancing.  R. did the candle dance.  Chuck D. couldn't quit smiling.

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