Now keep in mind, I was a hillbilly boy from Carolina with a major in jazz. I hadn't played much country for years but I didn't care. In a little over two weeks, the baby was paid for. That's all that mattered.

With good directions to Northeast 28th Street in Ft. Worth, I found the Circle A Club. I unloaded my amp and rolled it into the Circle A to be greeted by the owners, Gerry and Jerry. Twin brothers with belt buckles as big as a bread tray. Little did I know that Northeast 28th was smack dab in the middle of the stock yards in Ft. Worth. Without question, the meanest part of town. I discovered that when I rolled my amp into the dance hall to be greeted by a chicken wire covered stage. Yep! Chicken wire!!! Gerry unlocked the hasps on the floor and raised the screen up so that I could get my amp on the stage. He said, "Listen up! There are two rules you damn well better adhere to. Number 1- You don't mess with my wife...and Number 2- if a fight breaks out...Turn up and play louder and DO NOT STOP!!" Well, that sat the tone for the entire time I played there.

As the regulars began to drift in, I could see that this was not the crowd of folks I was used to being around. Mean and vicious, looking for trouble...and that was just the women!!!! The people had scars on their faces from fight in the stockyards where meat hooks were the weapons of choice. This bunch was rough. But you know what, as I got to know them, they were really pretty nice folks. Rough as cobs but they were very nice to me. One fellow, in particular, was very nice. Mr. Nice Guy. He always sat quietly in the corner, nursed his popcorn and beer, and requested two songs every night, "Easy Lovin' " and "Wildwood Flower". He never bothered anyone at all. But there were others that we the stereotypical Texas redneck idiots. One guy was about 6' 2" and weighed about 130 with greasy wavy hair, buck teeth, and deeply chiseled features. He was a real "Doofus" yuk-yuk type. He was loud and thought himself to be really funny and quite the ladies man. He was only one of the cast of characters there that could have been a western redneck mini-series.

Well one night about 11pm, Doofus is sitting at a table with his wife and four others. They were all loud and obnoxious and loaded. One of the waitresses there was know for wearing no "foundation" garments. She did take a lot of breaks and head out the back door. Anyway, as she was pouring beer into their glasses from a pitcher, Doofus decides to run his hand up her short skirt and pinch her. Let me tell you, Jimmy Conners never had a back hand like she did with that pitcher across his nose. His wife caught him on the rebound with a back handed Jack Daniels bottle and cleaned out those buck teeth like the were Chiclets! She cleaned his clock but good!! And that started the worst bar fight I'd ever seen. Oh yes, I turned up and played louder!! Well Doofus was catching from every angle and got thrown over on Nice Guy's table who simply pushed him away for Doofus to return to the bar fight. Nice Guy just sat there and drank his beer and ate his popcorn. Uh oh! Here come Doofus over on Mr. Nice Guy again. Mr. Nice Guy simply pushes him away again and continued to sit there and eat popcorn and drink his beer nonplussed about the whole ordeal.

Here comes Doofus again and knocks over Mr. Nice Guy's popcorn and beer! This time Mr. Nice Guy stands up and throws him back into the fight when Doofus turns on him with a broken beer bottle. As he comes toward him, Mr. Nice Guy just reaches behind his back and comes up with a 38 pistol and BLAMMMMM! Shoots Doofus right between the eyes!!! The back of his head flew off all over the chicken wire screen in front of me. Brain matter everywhere. All over the chicken wire, me, and my brand new Epiphone Sheraton!!!! The bullet went just above my head in the ceiling. I about died myself. I was not allowed to move until the police took pictures and got statements. Yep, blood and guts all over my new guitar and I had to stand there while it dried.

Mr. Nice Guy was not even arrested. Everyone told the police what happens and that he acted in total self defense. Needless to say that was my last night there at the Circle A. I had made enough weeks earlier to pay for the baby but I had kept on playing because the money was steady.

Pretty good story, huh? Oh no....that's not the end of it!!! About ten years later, after having played the Sheraton regularly for all those years, I found that guitar's sound unwanted in the mainstream of Nashville. The Fender Strat and Tele sounds were what everyone was looking for so it just laid in the case. Lo and behold, another baby to pay for....so I decided to sell it. I sold it to Spider Wilson who plays on the Opry. He took it to Hewgley's Music in Madison, TN, where we both lived at the time, to have the pickups rewound. He called me later that day and said, "Hey Pat, you know that guitar you sold me?" I said, "Sure!". He said, "I brought it here to Hewgley's to get the pickups rewound and when we took the pickups out, do you know what was in that guitar? A huge piece of a chicken bone stuck to a wire!!!" I said, "Spider that's no chicken bone. That a piece of a man's skull!" He reeled on the other end of the phone when I recanted the whole story to him and said, "For that story, I'd of paid you twice as much for it!!" However, he didn't send a check....hummmmm....

Oh yes! I HAVE paid my dues!!