Ron's Rockouts

-

This is Robert Kinsey on drums, Ronnie's Rockouts.

This picture is from Portales, N. M. in the 1950's.  The guy on the drums is the father of a very good friend of mine, Robert Kinsey, the distinguished artist and stage designer out in California.  The tall guy in the middle is Ronnie Cox, of the Deliverance guitar and banjo scene.  The other guy with the telecaster is one of the Cox boys.  The cat on the scooter with the lovely black gutiar is Ricky Cox, and he cut a song with the Chantrelles.


Not at all shabby, huh? 
The man on the bongos is Pat Hunt, and him and his wife Suzy are good friends with my buddy Bob to this day.  He is a linguistics professor at SF state.


Ronnie Cox, Deliverance.


The song is actually played by Eric Weissberg and Steve Mandell on guitar, but that is Ronnie playing on film and you will notice the fingering is correct.  Not so the banjo, which is an open back and not the resonator banjo heard on the soundtrack.  In a "Stargate" scene Ron Cox plays a villainous guitar playing president of the United States named Robert Kinsey, a complete coincidence without a doubt!  Bob's dad met Buddy Holly in a record store once in Lubbock.  I went to Texas Tech and I had John Denver's old room in Carpenter Hall, which is not like meeting Buddy Holly but a hell of a lot like realizing that college was not for me.  They made that perfectly clear.


All good things must come to an end.

Rock on, Rock out!

Comments

  1. ClarkMarch 31, 2020 at 1:41 PM

    this is very good and I appreciate your effort.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Billy D BunnyApril 4, 2020 at 9:34 PM

    Good to hear Mr. Clark but what efforts do you refer to? Do you have a connection with this? Please let me know by all means!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Father's Last Escape

-
Image
It happened in the late and forlorn period of complete disruption, at the time of the liquidation of our business. The signboard had been removed from over our shop, the shutters were halfway down, and inside the shop my mother was conducting and unauthorized trade in remnants. Adela had gone to America, and it was said that the boat on which she had sailed had sunk and that all the passengers had lost their lives. We were unable to verify this rumour, but all trace of the girl was lost and we never heard of her again.  A new age began - empty, sober and joyless, like a sheet of white paper. A new servant girl, Genya, anaemic, pale, and boneless, mooned about the rooms. When one patted her on the back, she wriggled, stretched like a snake, or purred like a cat. She had a dull white complexion, and even the insides of her eyelids were white. She was so absent-minded that she sometimes made a white sauce from old letters and invoices: it was sickly and inedible.  At that t
Read more

Two Bad Men, Said Their Murderers

-
Image
John Choate, 25 August 1818 - 3 August 1869 Crokett Choate, 1842 -3 August 1869 This tells of a grave by the dashing wave A fond friends lip that did quiver Of an eye that's hid by a leaden lid And a voice now stilled forever. John on the left.  They were originally buried where they were killed but October of that year the Refugio Masons moved the bodies to Rockport.  This was all part of the Sutton-Taylor feud, the Suttons were backed by the U. S. Government and of no particular righteousness, they were badge wearing murderers and bullies.  The two story house with the porch running around the second floor in the left background belongs to my sister.  A lovely house and the best behaved neighbors possible! Photos by Steve Davis. The man who killed them.  Sheriff.  Regulator. Murderer. https://books.google.com/books?id=PUvanZiwzdUC&pg=PA64&lpg=PA64&dq=john+and+crockett+choate+death+jack+helm+gunfight&source=bl&
Read more

Roller Ball Murder

-
Image
The game, the game: here we go again. All glory to it, all things I am and own because of Roller Ball Murder. Our team stands in a row, twenty of us in salute as the corporation hymn is played by the band. We view the hardwood oval track which offers us the bumps and rewards of mayhem: fifty yards long, thirty yards across the ends, high banked, and at the top of the walls the cannons which fire those frenzied twenty-pound balls-similar to bowling balls, made of ebonite-at velocities over three hundred miles an hour. The balls careen around the track, eventually slowing and falling with diminishing centrifugal force, and as they go to ground or strike a player another volley fires. Here we are, our team: ten roller skaters, five motorbike riders, five runners (or clubbers). As the hymn plays, we stand erect and tough; eighty thousand sit watching in the stands and another two billion viewers around the world inspect the set of our jaws on .multivision. The runners, those bastards
Read more