He built a small log cabin on the bank of a small creek, in Kansas, in the early 1830s. Then, the U.S. government built some other lodges in the area. And one of those lodges was for Tonganoxie.

Well, I’ll answer both those questions. But you should know ahead of time that you might not be satisfied with my answers. If you’re OK with that, read on.

Tonganoxie was an Indian (not the kind from India) from the Delaware tribe. His real name was more like Tonqua-Oxie. But you know how white folks are. They just can’t leave out their privilege and supremacy. So, Tonqua-Oxie transformed into Tonganoxie. And I gotta say, that rolls off the tongue much more easily.

Anyway…

Tonga man was a member of the Turkey Clan. And from what I’ve learned about him, he seemed to be a pretty good guy. He lived at that lodge the U.S. government built. And he operated it as a stage stop and inn. Evidently U.S. Mail arrived and passed through the lodge. And apparently he was given the title of first Postmaster.

Mr. Noxie was also married. And he and his wife had his sister and his sister’s children live with them.

I read a short account of how Tonganoxie was known as a peaceful and kind man. The story goes that he “sheltered JWH Golden, who with two friends was chased from Leavenworth by Border Ruffians. All three were shot less than a half-mile north of Tonganoxie’s lodge. One died and two played dead long enough for the Ruffians to leave. Mr. Golden lived for several years and told how he was aided by Tonganoxie.

According to the short article I read, he went to live with a nephew (on allotted land) in the Bonner Springs area. And the area Tonganoxie left was named after him. And, later, Tonganoxie died in southern Kansas while traveling to Oklahoma.

OK, there’s the answer to who in the world he was. Now, as to why it matters.

Well, you might’ve heard that Kansas is one of those states with more than its fair share of tornadoes. But you might not have heard of the “Tonganoxie Split.” It’s supposedly “a phenomenon where storms and tornadoes coming across Kansas split north and south or dissipate as they reach Tonganoxie.” And that tends to ensure that the Kansas City area is saved from the worst effects of that extreme weather.

Now, would you believe that National Weather Service meteorologists don’t believe the Tonganoxie Split is a real thing? I know. It’s crazy to think. But at least a couple of them don’t. In fact, one of them was quoted as saying, “It’s not been seen scientifically to have any real impact, and there are storms that go over there all the time.”

And the other one explained that people believe cities are less likely to be hit by tornadoes. But he said this is “because cities just take up less land than rural areas.” Yeah, again, more crazy talk. So, I guess when it comes down to it, you just have to pick what you’re gonna believe. So-called “urban legends and myths?” Or so-called “science?”

And sometimes towns and people just get caught in the middle.

When you’re really in the middle

© 2013

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Tucson, Arizona. Central New Mexico. Music. Moonlight. Dan Fogelberg. Storytelling. All parts of “the road” from a long time ago. And, early this morning, I thought about an incredible, singular experience I had during a full moon drive. Strangely enough, it was a motion-sensor light that triggered that full moon memory.

Yeah, I got out of bed and started to get dressed in the dark. Just as I always do. Because a beautiful wife should have all the beauty sleep she can get. So, flipping on the overhead light would just be rude and uncalled for. And I’m nothing if not considerate and called for.

Anyway…

As I dressed, the motion-sensor light in back of the house suddenly lit up and seeped through the window blinds. It wasn’t as bright as the overhead bedroom light would have been. But it definitely gave the room a sort of moonlit glow. And I peeked out the window to be sure there were no prowlers or ferocious animals I’d have to slay. No intruders in sight. Probably just a bird flying by that triggered the light.

So, I finished dressing and went to the kitchen to brew some wake up elixir, as I always do. And as I measured out the dark-roasted coffee beans, and drew the pure water from our gravity filter, I kept thinking of how that fluorescent light reminded me of that full moon drive, years ago.

The memory of the wavy road, in the wee winter hours, reminded me of when I first learned about metaphors and similes in school. My English composition book shared examples of each. And one of the examples of a metaphor was “the road was a ribbon of light.” I remember thinking, “Hey, I’m on that road all these years later.”

Dan Fogelberg released his eighth album, Windows and Walls, in 1984 (the year of my full moon drive). And one song was called “Tucson Arizona (Gazette). He said he wrote the song based on a story he read in that paper. And the song is a little over eight and half minutes long. But if you like Spanish-sounding guitar riffs and percussion (I DO), the song certainly doesn’t feel long.

And that’s the song I played several times over as I drove my little Toyota pickup through the cold, New Mexico night. On a secondary highway heading north toward I-40. The full moon reflected on the road. And there were basically no other cars. So, I turned off my headlights and skimmed across that ribbon of light.

I could see almost as easily without the headlights. Because the reflection from the road seemed to amplify and magnify the moonlight. It was exhilarating. And obviously a sensory experience I’ll never forget.

None of that experience, nor any others like it, could ever happen without the love of God. Because, without Him, there would only be darkness and void. In fact, he inspired Moses to describe the light He made for us. So, Moses wrote this:

“Then God made two great lights: the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to rule the night. He made the stars also. God set them in the firmament of the heavens to give light on the earth, and to rule over the day and over the night, and to divide the light from the darkness.”

Think about that. Those lights RULE. You and I have zero control over whether the sun and moon will shine or not. So, in a sense, they rule their light over us. Day WILL be lit up by the sun. And the moon lights the nights. Well, the stars, too. But the main light is the moon.

And those lights in the sky are indicators of how important light is to God. Then, when you go to the other end of the Bible, you discover that, in Heaven, there won’t be a sun and moon. What? If light is so important to Him, why would Heaven have no sun or moon? Simple. Yet almost impossible to imagine. God will BE the light.

And that Ribbon of Light will wrap around anyone who chooses to be there. That includes you. Right?

If not, consider taking a full moon drive, out West, the next chance you get. Turn off your headlights. And think about what could happen if you accidentally ended up in a ditch because you missed something on the road. And think about if you ended up like Tony and Mary, in Dan Fogelberg‘s song. Where would you go or be?

But that could only happen if you had already chosen wisely. Otherwise, you could just be another side story in a small newspaper. And Dan won’t write a song about you. Because he left this planet years ago. And even I might not be around to write a song about you.

So, don’t put it off. Choose your Creator and you’ll feel (and be) more alive than you can imagine.

You’ll thank me later.

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You’ve probably seen or heard those so-called “influencers” who boast (as they insist they’re not boasting) about being able to work from anywhere. And maybe they even show you some tropical sights while a steel drum band delivers up some musical beach sounds. Come to think of it, that doesn’t sound half bad right about now. But I digress (or do I?).

Of course, most of that influencer stuff is hype and silliness. Sure, it can definitely be done. But most hard-working business owners and entrepreneurs don’t live that life. Because they’re too busy serving the needs of their customers and clients.

But I said all that so I could say this.

I used to live a life very much like that. I led the life of a full-time traveling musician. And there were plenty of times I found myself enjoying the beach sounds during the day, and making the music sounds at night. And thinking up new songs to write or learn. I wasn’t rich, but it sure felt like it sometimes. I can very distinctly remember how, sometimes, I’d pinch myself and say “Just think, Tony, someone is actually paying you to sing and play music!”

So, naturally, that’s what I played. Because I had to get paid. But during the day, I could focus on my original music. And I did a LOT of that. If you’ve followed my articles or podcast for a while, you’ve heard me talk about my Motel Sessions. There were lots of those. And today I found one of those songs from one of those sessions in a little beach motel near Padre Island, Texas.

Keep in mind, the emphasis is on Motel Sessions. No studio involved. No vocal booth. Just pure, raw motel room recording. So, when you check out the podcast version of this post, you’ll hear that it’s not a radio ready recording. But I believe it’s very listenable.

It’s a song about a girl (And the crowd gasps! What?! A musician writing a song about a girl?!). Yeah, I know. But hey, I was much younger, unmarried, and a musician. So, the songwriting trifecta. Anyway, it was a girl I only saw a couple of times. Before you jump to any conclusions, we didn’t have a physical relationship. And truth be known, I think bicycling in the salt air did more to inspire me to write the song than anything else.

Anyway I hope you get a kick out of this little peek behind the curtain of time. Below are the lyrics. And you can hear the song when you click or tap on the podcast player button.

She touched me for a moment and held my heart at bay
A feeling took me over more than just these words can say
She had a look about her that could make a man a boy
But she didn’t take advantage; she didn’t play me like a toy.

Now I often write her letters just to let her know she’s here
In the corner of my memory. In my mind; I hold her near.

Makenzie, make that moment ours again.
Makenzie, let me feel the rhythm of your heart.
I wish we could shut down the hands of time.
Why do I have to be apart from you…Makenzie?

She spoke of Colorado, and a light came to her face.
She said she’d never been there but still she loved the place.
And something stirred inside me ’cause we shared that pleasant thought.
And I think I ought to tell her that, for now, my heart is caught.

© 1987 (January 10)

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Several years ago I shared an old love song I wrote. It wasn’t for anyone in particular. I guess it was sort of a culmination of feelings and thoughts from different relationships. But I’d be willing to bet this melancholy art is a reflection of more than just MY experiences.

And I’m gonna share the only recording I have of it in the Rhyme and Reason Podcastversion of this post. The song’s called “Slipping Slowly Away From Me.” I recorded it on my old Yamaha MT 1X 4-track cassette recorder. And I used my Yamaha DX7 (the granddaddy of digital keyboards) along with my Yamaha RX-11and RX-21 drum and percussion machines.

Did I mention this recording took place in my motel studio? Yeah, when I was on the road full time, I’d have plenty of time to dedicate to songwriting and recording. But all the recording was done in a makeshift studio setup in whatever motel room I was in at the time.

And the technology of the day was my trusty 4-track cassette recorder. So, that meant that I had to ping-pong and bounce tracks. However, this song was just me singing, playing the electric piano sound in my DX-7 (to a programmed beat on the RX-11) and recording it all in one take. No ping-ponging. No bouncing. I think the song actually stands up pretty well. In fact, I might just do a makeover in my Mac studio.

It was just words that worked their way to the surface as I thought about a melody and rhythm I played. But they sort of remind me of some lines from King David’s Psalm 51. His terrible deeds had been discovered. And he didn’t want to lose his connection to God. Read those words here. And see how gut-wrenching his anguish was.

Anyway, here are the lyrics to the song. Be sure to tune in to the podcast if you wanna hear my raw version from over 30 years ago.

Even now I can feel your love slipping slowly away from me

It’s a paradox of my heart and my soul,

Day by day I can feel your warmth slipping slowly away from me

You can’t expect much from a person like me.

Slowly, you’re slipping slowly away,

© 1986 Tony Funderburk

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It would be a bit of a stretch to say I can see very well. At least, without my glasses, it would be a stretch. And even though I’m more vision-challenged now than when I was younger, my eyesight was never 20/20.

Now, I shared all that to lead into another snippet of my professional music history. Let’s adjust the Wayback Machine to the year 1981, Sherman, and be quickly on our way.

And, notice just down there, to the right, a well-known restaurant and live music establishment in Houston, Texas. The Railhead. Let’s go inside and check out the act, a four-piece variety band called Mhoon, Stone, and Greenlee. Yeah, I know that’s only three names. But, trust me, it’s a four-piece band. And I oughta know.

Because I was the fourth member.

Yep. That’s me. In the back. On the white drums. Keepin’ the beat. And singin’ every now and then. Matter of fact, the band just stopped, and I’m gettin’ up and comin’ out front.

The rhythm guitar player, Glen Stone, is playin’ a recognizable song. I’ve got a microphone in my hand. And listen as I start singin’…

There’s a boat on the reef with a broken back,
And I can see it very well.
There’s a joke…and I know it very well.
It’s one of those that I told you long ago.
Take my word I’m a madman, don’t you know.

Even if YOU don’t recognize those lyrics, the crowd sure did that night. And they started clapping the minute I started singin’ those words from “Madman Across The Water,” by Elton John and Bernie Taupin.

Glen and I did an entirely “unplugged” acoustic version of the song. Just him on guitar and me vocalizing. And when we finished, a couple of hundred people stood up and cheered. It was a surprise to me. Because I was the new guy in the band. The other guys were established performers in Houston and in Atlanta, Georgia.

They decided their trio of guitars and bass needed a drummer. And we all knew each other from paths crossing in the different venues around Houston. So, when they heard my duo act had split up, they invited me to join them.

And I thought about all that because I just saw that today marks 51 years since the release of Elton John’s album, “Madman Across The Water.” My brother bought me a copy of the album, way back in the 70’s, and it was the source of inspiration for me to teach myself the piano.

It had a simple, but cool album cover design. I just found out that embroidery, featured on the cover was created in a two-week span by Janis Larkham. She was the wife of the album art director David Larkham. And she did all that artsy needlework on the back of an old Levi’s jacket. Elton John got the original. But I had one of the first copies.

OK. Enough of the walk down memory lane. Just thought I’d share something a little different with you this time. If you’ve heard this story before, just nod and smile. I’m really not a madman. And, remember, I can see very well with my round glasses. Well enough to know if you’re laughing with me or AT me. (bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha)

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31 years ago, today, a beautiful, petite, slender, tan woman said one word that changed my life. Of course, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what that word was. But I’ll share it anyway. The word was “What?!” Just kidding. The word was “Yes.” Because I had just asked her if she wanted me to stop bothering her. Sorry, just kidding again. No, I had just asked her another, slightly different, kind of question. And you would not believe what I had to go through to get to that point.

Because this story is a true tale of persistence that paid off.

It all began, as stories often do, with a chance meeting. And I say “chance” because it wasn’t planned in any way, shape, or form. My four piece band had just been booked for an entire month in a snazzy Hilton Hotel overlooking Pensacola Bay in…you guessed it…Pensacola, Florida.

And we were all excited, naturally, to spend the month of June (1985) playing music at night and hittin’ the beach every day. By the way, those beaches, with sand as white as table sugar, and with water every shade of blue to green, are some of the best in America. If you’re an avid surfer, Pensacola’s not gonna light your fire. But the rest of it is pure coastal delight.

So, that set the mood for a great month.

And it was on our first or second night there, on a band break, when I spotted a beach babe I couldn’t take my eyes off. But I didn’t wanna look like a dork. So, of course I’d avert my attention anytime there was a chance she’d look in my direction. Gotta be cool. Right?

But I just couldn’t keep from watching her move around the room. She served drinks in the hotel’s posh, first-floor nightclub where our band played. So, naturally, there were lots of opportunities to stare. And I’m a guy…a musician type guy…so of course I stared. Duh.

Well, I could go on and on just with those kinds of details. But I know you want me to get to the good stuff. And I’m eager to share that with you, too.

So, I introduced myself to her one night on a break. And she was so easy to talk to. Not all beautiful girls are. But she was. And she even laughed (probably out of feeling sorry for me) when I made a dorky reference to the Chuck Berry song, Maybellene. (You had to be there, and I’m glad you weren’t.)

There were a few other bits of casual conversation during my month in the Pensacola Hilton. But that was that. Plus, the babe was married. And I had a girlfriend in another city at the time. So, booking ends. Band leaves. End of story.

Because about 10 months later, I was re-booked back into the Pensacola Hilton. Only that time I was a solo. And I was booked up in the swanky, intimate nightclub on the 15th floor. As a house act, which meant the booking was ongoing. And my room literally shared a wall with the nightclub. So, my commute to work was about a 10 yard walk.

But better than all that…

On my first night to play, there she was. The babe from the year before. And she worked full-time in the same place I played music. (Be still my incredibly rhythmic, beating heart.)

And guess what? She remembered me. And she was just as nice, and easy to talk to, as before. We would be “working” together a lot. So, that was a huge plus.

As it turned out, we became friends. Or at least friendly enough to feel like we were friends. And when the workers decided to “go out for a drink” or head to the all-night diner after work, she (and others) would invite me along. Uh…yeah…I wasn’t gonna pass up any opportunities to see more of her.

Now, before you start to think ahead to things you think we might have done. We didn’t. And that’s in spite of the spark we both began to notice. But, for some ridiculous reason (probably had something to do with paying attention to my moral conduct) I didn’t make any attempts to break down her resistance. And she did nothing to cause me to believe her resistance could be broken down.

We stayed friends only.

But, here’s a little catch. And a little curled up edge in the protective layer where I saw the potential for an opportunity that could lead to a chance. That chance a guy looks for when he believes he’s found “the one.”

And that little “catch” was I knew her husband. A part-time conga player and all-around cad. A ne’er-do-well. And you would not believe how much of a particularly stupid philanderer. I call him that because…well…”Have you SEEN your wife?” I thought to myself.

So, I knew…well…I believed in my soul…that the stupid conga player would eventually mess up his marriage beyond repair. And that’s in spite of his wife’s willingness to continue to try and work things out. By the way, that’s part of what appealed to me about her. She still believed in working on a marriage. And she lived out that belief.

I decided, before I left my Pensacola booking for good, that I wanted to be with her. Or at least somebody exactly like her. So, that meant her. Because nobody’s exactly like her.

And with that belief firmly established in my brain, I wrote a birthday card and note to her a month after I left to hit the road. I addressed it to the Hilton. And she got it. She later told me it made quite an impression with her fellow workers.

Then, every once in a while, I’d write another short note and mail it to her in care of the hotel. And I carried on like that for almost three years. Keep in mind, these weren’t love letters. In fact, I usually just sent funny cartoons. Or quizzes. Or drawings. Not to profess love and adoration. I’m not that weird. Just to stay on her radar and help her get to know my incredible sense of humor. That way she’d know I wasn’t just another incredibly handsome Adonis.

And only once in a great while would she reply. But only to tell me to stop writing. Or to tell me I should find someone in my own town.

Trouble was…for those three years…my “own town” changed about every week or two.

Finally, though, I got off the road and landed in the Denver, Colorado metro area. And I wrote to the girl in Pensacola to let her know I was off the road. And she wrote to tell me that I should be able to “find somebody local, now.”

So, I finally (and reluctantly) gave up. Except to send a Christmas card or some sort of card. I don’t remember which. Anyway…I gave up. And that was that.

A couple of months passed, and I received a letter from Pensacola. Yes, from her. And in it she said if I was still interested, her divorce had been finalized several months before. And she said she had been thinking about me because of all those cards, letters, and notes. Score one for the persistent paperwork.

She said I could call if I still wanted to and included her phone number. So, I played it cool and waited a while, till after lunch, and called. And our phone call turned into another. And another and so on. This was back when a long distance call could be a hard hit to the old budget. And our phone bills racked up into triple digits.

But I also started writing her more. Every day in fact. For months. Sometimes two and three letters a day. Until one day we decided I should go to Florida and see her. So, I hocked a keyboard, bought a plane ticket, and flew to Pensacola where I spent a few days discovering the amazing woman I figured she’d be. And she lived in the lower half of a house, on Perdido Bay, that she and her parents bought together. And one of her 5 sisters lived right next door.

So, I got to meet the whole family on that trip. In addition to her 5 sisters, there were 2 brothers, about 19 kids, the siblings’ wives and husbands, and even friends of the family. And I think they all wanted to see the long-haired mountain man who had come to call.

After that, she visited me, in Denver, on her way to California for another visit with friends out there. And by that time she was obviously hopelessly hooked. And she knew, whether she’d ever admit this or not, there would or could be no other for her.

So, on my final visit to her place in Pensacola, a couple months later, I offered her the opportunity to spend the rest of her life with me. And she said that one word I mentioned at the start of this story…yes.

That was August 7, 1989. And on February 16, 1990 we both said yes. And we’ve been together the whole 31 years since then. I can’t speak for myself. But I can say she feels totally blessed by it all. And because she does, I wrote her a song somewhere around our second anniversary. Here are the words…

Summer in those eyes;

Oh, I know that it’s not quite so,

Those Paris green delights

So let’s go…make the small plans grow

© 1992 Tony Funderburk

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At some point of the year in 1990 or 91, my wife and I lived in Tulsa Time for a couple of weeks. Tulsa, Oklahoma to be exact. And that’s because I was booked in a snazzy hotel to provide live music. It was a very pleasant stay. Because the people were so nice to us. In fact, there was a nice, retired couple, Tom and Norma, who came in several nights, during the booking, and danced. And they particularly liked to dance to a couple of my original songs. One of those songs was “Be Careful What You Wish For.”

And I’ll have to think about what the other song was. It’s not at the top of my mind right now. But I’ll go through my lyrics files and find it. And maybe I’ll share it later on.

Anyway…

If you’ve followed me for a while, you probably remember me saying I’m not a country music fan. And back when I was a full-time road musician, country music fans weren’t typically fans of mine either. Because I didn’t fit the stereotype. Cowboy hat. Boots. Twang. Country music repertoire.

In fact, my presentation was mostly the opposite. Un-country looking long hair and beard. Bright-colored Converse sneakers. Wild print vests. No twang. And a repertoire that went from western to rock to smooth jazz to pop to…well…just about anything but country. Or at least not country by definition at the time.

But Tom and Norma, in Tulsa, liked what I sang anyway.

So much that they’d make extra trips to the hotel lounge just to hear me sing. And to sit and talk with my incredibly beautiful wife. (No, that’s not the reason…I know what you’re thinking.)

They even invited us to their house on a couple of occasions. And made wonderful food for us. And they even kept in contact with us for a few years after we left Tulsa Time. I remember both of them told me they liked my “Be Careful…” song because the words fit parts of their lives so well.

And that’s the kind of compliment or story a songwriter likes to hear.

I think I’ve shared the lyrics to the song before. But here they are again. Maybe they fit into some part of your life. Or the life of someone you know. If so…

You’ve got a house and your privacy;

And so you work for your daily bread

Be careful what you wish for.

She feeds the kids and sends ’em off to school.

And so she spends what her husband makes

Chorus

Now that old world can get its hands on you,

Chorus to end

© 1990 Tony Funderburk

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In the early eighties I shared a townhome, in Houston, Texas, with my buddy, Jack. And it was a nice, secluded spot on the West side of the city suburbs. Jack worked days, and I worked nights. So, we typically only saw each other as we passed in and out. But I remember it was a great place for me to set up and work on my music. Plenty of space. And I could turn up the volume quite a bit without getting in trouble with the neighbors.

And I remember, one day I got home from some errands and was about to set up to rehearse. But Jack called down from upstairs and asked me to come up and listen to something. I went up, and he had a new device in his sound system. He said, “Check this out.” And he hit a play button. For a split second I thought, “Uh-oh, it’s not working.” But then…

And within a split second or two, pow! Drums, bass, and synthesizers crashed through. And what made it so surprising was a complete lack of hiss. Something we were totally used to from listening to cassettes for years.

Yeah, CD’s had just come on the scene. And Jack, who enjoyed staying on top of technology, jumped on that bandwagon with a brand new player and several disks. As I recall, that first one I heard was Chicago 17. And the sound quality was so clear. It’s still amazing to me how much digital recording increased the quality of songs.

And I found out, yesterday, that ABBA was one of the first bands to record digitally and manufacture on CD. They did that with their last studio album called “The Visitors.” And as history would have it, that CD became their seventh number one album. In fact, it went to number one on this date, December 19th, in 1981.

Just a little before Jack was able to surprise my ears with his new CD player.

Of course, these days, you don’t need special, shiny disks anymore. Because we’re so fancy schmancy now, that we can send and receive songs right on our phones. Which is pretty darn cool.

But I just had a customer order almost a hundred printed CD’s from me this past week. And I gotta say…I still like the ability to own physical copies of music. Because that way software and hardware companies can’t simply remove them from you with the touch of a button.

And yeah, that has happened to me. So, I know it happens.

Anyway…just felt like sharing that little digital walk down the musical memory lane.

You may return to your regularly scheduled programming…uh, program…and turn up the volume.

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Or how about some music for kids

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In 1982 I played a couple of times, for about a month each time, at a once famous barbecue restaurant in Atlanta, Georgia. It was just me and my Helpinstill Roadmaster piano, my microphone, and a small sound system. And I hadn’t done the solo thing in a while, so I was nervous. But, as it turned out, the managers and staff really liked me. So, I had a short, but successful run. And one thing I remember is how Hall and Oates were big back then. And somebody made sure their current hit, Maneater, played during my breaks.

Yeah, that was a number 1 song for Hall and Oates for four weeks. And they had a string of number ones. Five in a row at that point.

But that song was just one of the random and odd memories I have from my days at Jilly’s Barbecue. Because, as it turns out (and I definitely didn’t know then) Jilly’s was apparently a place for some, shall we say, less than legitimate bidness activities.

In fact, I just read an old article that said the “restaurant’s principals, who were franchising it, were later investigated for trafficking in marijuana and cocaine.” And the article also said, “Over the next decade and several apparently execution-style murders” the “feds” took the main owner to court and won a conviction.

And actually, I don’t doubt it.

Because I remember one incident, with a pretty young woman asking me to follow her to another room during one of my breaks. She said “everybody wants to meet you.” And as we arrived in the other room, she asked me if I’d like to “powder my nose.” I started to laugh, because, whether you believe this or not, I didn’t do cocaine. Never did drugs. I was just too darn boring for all that.

I politely refused the “free buzz.” And quickly went back to the safety of my Helpinstill. For me, it was nothing short of bizarre.

But this was back in a time when Atlanta also had “To-Go” cups for your drinks. And not just fountain drinks. I mean your margaritas, martinis, and manhattans, too. My favorite was the MelonBall. But that’s another story.

So, the moral of this story is this…

Stay on the straight and the narrow.

Stay tuned,

Get my Rhyme & Reason Podcast delivered (free) right to your player.

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Grab yourself an un-cool T-shirt

Or how about some music for kids

The post Maneater played while the room swayed in this escapade appeared first on Tony Funderburk.

I just read a funny and coincidental story about a band named Johnny and the Moondogs. And I know you’ll get a kick out of this when I share the whole thing. Because it’ll give you some ammo for making fun of me. But I’m totally confident in my own skin. So, get ready to load up because here’s the rest of the story…  

Apparently they made it to what was known as the “last heat.” And they had a chance to win it all just by getting the most applause at the end. But, as the story goes, they didn’t have enough money to stay in town that night. And they had to leave so they could make it back home for another booking.

So, since they couldn’t stick around, they didn’t win.

But no big deal. Who cares? Right? I mean…just another band of nobody wannabes.

Yeah, that would’ve been true. Except Johnny and the Moondogs soon became a slightly better known band. The Beatles. Ever heard of ’em?

And I have a similar story about a time my brother and I were in a talent competition in Houston, Texas. But we were able to stick around and actually win third place. Not bad, right?

First place went to a disco dancer on roller skates. And second place went to a guy who balanced a lawnmower on his chin. So, the deck was stacked against us. I mean, c’mon. Who can compete with all that awesome talent? No fair that we’d be tossed in with the upper echelon.

Yeah, life is full of unfair days. Who allowed that? After all…this is America. Land of the free. Home of the brave. And the great equal opportunity employer.

But such is life and circumstances.

Stay tuned,

Get my Rhyme & Reason Podcast delivered (free) right to your player.

My books are also on Amazon.com or Apple Books

Grab yourself an un-cool tShirt

Or how about some music for kids

The post Johnny and the Moondogs faded into night fogs appeared first on Tony Funderburk.