In the ‘70s and ‘80s, I had a thing for Cybill Shepherd. She also had a thing for me: a signed napkin.
In the spring of 1980 I learned she would be singing at the Bijou Café in Philly. Via an album entitled Cybill Does It…To Cole Porter, I became aware of a book simply called Cole, which was a fascinating compilation of all his lyrics, including the censored verses of songs that are classics in the so-called American Songbook. In turn, that book, chock-full of Porter’s clever double-entendres, had a big influence on my lyrics. Knowing the actress-chanteuse would be within 50 miles of me, I was determined to meet her, and so on April 11, I was Bijou-bound.
There was no meet-and-greet, but after the first set, I struck up a conversation with Cybill’s music director/band leader and veteran jazz artist Lou Levy. He asked if I was a musician and when I said yes, there was a nice instant rapport as we chatted about music. I thought I detected some Oscar Peterson in his piano playing, but he said, “Only a little.” Oops! When I finally got around to mentioning my desire to meet Cybill, Lou said, “Come on with me, I’ll take you up” and kindly ushered me upstairs and into the dressing room. He introduced me to Cybill, who offered champagne and an invitation to sit beside her on the sofa. She was beautiful, friendly and gracious to this party-crasher-with-permission.
Around the same time, the Sunday edition of my local newspaper, the Reading Eagle, had recently launched a full-fledged Arts & Entertainment section helmed by Al Walentis. I wanted to be involved in some capacity and decided to write an article about my experience with the good Shepherd and sent it, along with a Humble Pie record review, to editor Al. When he called and said he’d like to publish both pieces, naturally I was thrilled, particularly since he confessed that he’d received submissions from would-be writers with no talent and was pleasantly surprised to receive something good. It was the very first non-fiction writing I’d ever sent anywhere for consideration. Up to that point, the only thing I’d ever had published was a poem in my college paper, so when Al asked if I’d like to contribute more pieces, I jumped at the opportunity and became the first freelancer in the Arts section.
I subsequently wrote hundreds of pieces for the paper and later for such magazines as Starlog, Guitar World, Guitar For the Practicing Musician, Prevue, and, most recently, Best Classic Bands and Playboy. I had the good fortune to interview dozens of famous names from the arts, many of them legends.
A partial list: Gore Vidal, Muddy Waters, Bo Diddley, Joey Ramone, Tony Bennett, Dick Cavett, Marvin Gaye, Carl Perkins, B.B. King, Steve Allen, Willie Dixon, Buddy Guy, Carl Perkins, Richie Havens, Jean Shepherd, Tanya Roberts, Peter Frampton, Steve Marriott, Jay Leno, Larry King, Susanna Hoffs, Marshall Crenshaw, Wolfman Jack, Mitch Ryder, Albert Collins, Rick Danko, Chick Corea, Junior Wells, Felix Cavaliere, Robin Trower, James Cotton, Steve Cropper, Nicolas Roeg, Stella Stevens, Joe Bonamassa, Edward Andrews, Clarence Gatemouth Brown, Eddie Rabbitt.
Had I not gone to see Cybill that night or had I not gotten to meet her, I would like to think I still would have come up with some other piece to submit to Al and the same doors would have opened. Maybe the record review would have been enough on its own. But who knows? What is certain is that the experience kick-started me into professional writing, and I’m forever grateful to Al Walentis, the late Lou Levy and the lovely Cybill Shepherd.
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