Charlie Brown’s was on Kenneth street in Pontiac, MI. off of Telegraph Rd. by Dixie Hwy. Dennis, Marshall, Rick Boehms and I played there for 16 weeks; five nights a week, probably four sets a night, the year I graduated from high school (1976).

When our friends or family would initially come up, the first thing they would say is “Oh, this isn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.” I’m sure, though, after experiencing a Friday or Saturday night at Charlie Brown’s, they felt differently.

I’m guessing the building was built in the mid 1960s when GM factories poured out cars and trucks in Pontiac running three shifts. It had a tall, vaulted ceiling, and I recall that the wall where the stage was had a nonworking fireplace built into it.

There were two big gas grills, and the cooking and food prep area could be seen from the bar. I bet in its day, they had steaks and burgers with baked potatoes and salads covered in blue cheese or thousand island dressing. Maybe chocolate mousse or cobbler with ice cream for dessert. I bet it was 1960s nice.

By the time we got to Charlie Browns we had changed the name of the band to Denny and the Robots from Fonzie and the Happy Days. After we loaded in for the first night, we thought it would be a good idea to put the name of the band up on the roadside marque they had out front advertising the drink specials. We asked the owner Kathy where we might find the letters for the signage and she pointed us to a box on a shelf in a storage room.

When the box was taken down, we realized that it was a bit short on letters. There were certainly not enough letters to spell out Denny and the Robots, or Fonzie and the Happy Days. So, Dennis and Marshall began to brainstorm on what words and/or phrases could be put up with the letters in the box and settled on FLOG ME. Not the new name of the band, but somewhat fitting for the vibe of the club for sure.

Eventually, I think Kathy got around to reading the sign and asked that it be changed, but for a week or so, people did respond and come in to see who or what they may have the opportunity to flog.

By the time the cosmos had brought us to Charlie Brown’s, or ‘Chuck Brown’s, as we called it, the place was filthy. The kitchen was closed. At its most base, the plumbing was out in the men’s room and there was a 5 gallon bucket under one of the urinals where the drain used to be. One of the workers had to empty the bucket from time-to-time. For a couple of nights, the heat was out and the owner turned the gas grill way-up to heat the place. The joint filled up with so much smoke the fire department came. I couldn’t make it up any crazier if I tried.

Like many bars of the time, they used to have two-for-one drink specials early most evenings, and one night of the week was Pitcher Night, where 64oz glass pitchers were filled with draft beer; Pabst Blue Ribbon, Miller, Stroh’s or Budweiser for a bargain price.

One night, some motorcycle gentlemen were sitting at a long picnic style table that faced perpendicular to a wide/tall brick wall. Perhaps the service was particularly slow that night or they were just in a care-free dangerous mood, but someone took a glass pitcher and sailed it high into the brick wall, smashing it into a thousand pieces. The crowd went wild.

This was one of those times, like in the movie Titanic, where the band just kept on playing. There were a lot of times back then when crazy stuff was happening in front of us and the best (and only) thing to do was to keep playing and hope not to get drawn into the mayhem.

Pitchers just kept on flying every so often and the crowd would erupt like when an exciting play is made during a football game. I don’t remember anyone being cut, but that’s only because of random, amazing good luck that drunk people sometimes have, like miraculously not killing anyone driving home.

There were a lot of dangerous scenes there. One night Marshall and I cut out before the last set because some motorcycle gentlemen calmly inform me that they were going to have to kill me. It was the strangest thing. They said they didn’t want to do it because they liked the band and said I was a good drummer, but apparently I had insulted someone in their club and they had rules. In all transparency, it did involve a woman and universally bad behavior, but it CERTAINLY wasn’t worth dying for, especially at 17. I called the booking agency and they called the sheriff’s department, he next night, the police were there to broker a treaty, and we shook hands after I apologized.

There were a ton of characters there. There was an old guy , I think maybe he held the note on the bar, that used to come up and sing ‘SHOW ME THE WAY TO GO HOME. I’M TIRED AND I WANNA GO TO BED,WITH YOU!!!” and the guy from the Crusader car club followed us over from the Stock Exchange and continued to do a pretty good Dion impression.

Halloween

One of my favorite nights there, though, was Halloween. If you’ve ever worked at a bar, Halloween is a night when all inhibition is lost. Put someone in a Frankenstein suit, they very well may become an actual Frankenstein. This was 1976. Gerald Ford was president and the ghost of the disgraced Richard Milhous Nixon was still present in the public mind’s eye. The year’s top selling Halloween costumes were, in no particular order: The Fonze from Happy Days, Evel Knievel, and Richard (Tricky Dick) Nixon.

At the bar, Nixon had never been so well represented. There was short Nixon, tall Nixon, fat Nixon, small Nixon. A dozen Dick Nixons, all with the same soft rubber faced mask.

We had a friend, rest his soul, name Michael Butkavich. I think Michael was the first guy I knew who graduated in the top of his class from a University. A great, smart, and funny guy.

Most of my stories about Butkavich, and most anyone’s stories about Mike Butkavich (as a young man) begin with “Mike and I went to this weird bar shaped like a boat on John R. Road one night” and end with “ and I begged God, if you get me home safely, I will never drink again.” He was a “fun loving guy.”

It is the custom at every bar on every Halloween night where people don costumes, that there be an obligatory Halloween costume contest. What usually happens is the contest judges walk around the bar and pick out what they deem as the ten or so best costumes in the room, and the contestants are brought to the stage, wherein audience response determines the winner of contest.

Someone must have made the poor decision to have one or two of the band-members be judges, because what I recall is ten nearly identical Dick Nixons ended up on stage.

The first Dick Nixon points a finger at the audience and mouths the words “ I am not a crook,” and all of his friends hoot and holler out their support. The second Dick Nixon points a finger at the audience and mouths the words “I am not a crook,” and all of his friends hoot and holler out their support. The third Dick Nixon, same thing, four, five, six, seven, eight, and then Butkavich, naturally our favorite Nixon. Butkavich’s friends cheer him on, but then Mike reaches into the pockets of his trench coat and pulls out two 7” reels of Memorex magnetic recording tape. The crowd went wild! It was great.

The other thing I like to mention about Butkavich is that he used to come up and sing “Six Days on the Road” and “Soul Man.” We had a lot of fun with that guy.

I remember a million bits and moments of the smoky dream that is Charlie Brown’s. Funny things like “Rubber Band Man” by The Spinners and “Squeezebox” by The Who being on the jukebox, but I remember, after the 16 weeks, packing up our equipment to move back to the Moravian Lounge. It felt good to be moving on, as if somehow we had survived what they call a near miss in the industrial trades.