What’s Your Sign, Li’l Richard?

A loose-limbed, late blooming hippy I met the other nite between sets my band was playing at a diabetes benefit asked me what my sign was. I told her, but I didn’t tell her my famous astrology story. You are not so lucky.

Late one nite, in the summer of 1969, when I was trying to build a reputation for myself as a studio guitarist, I got a call from someone whose voice I did not recognize. This was a little unusual because of what time it was and that it wasn’t a friend. This was in the days before telemarketing and robocalls.

The voice on the other end of the line was Negro, or colored-take your pick: white people didn’t say “Black” in those days and “African-American” was still years away. But the guy’s first few words, and their inflection, “Hey, you Country Al?” said it, for me at least. Plus, as I said, it was very late. Most folks would have been in bed long before that. Sorry if that’s politically incorrect, but this was in the days before that, too, was an issue.