Fifteen Minutes of Fame

My pilot was

Operation Big Double

I was agent/manager for a band in the Middle East called Fools Goal and occasionally played a little blues harmonica with them. This story/blog was prompted by Richard "Crawdaddy" Dance and I reminiscing about a night when I booked them for two gigs, to be done simultaneously for the US Consulate and the Aramco Oil Company's employee Golf Club. Richard is still active in the music world and is very accomplished musician. You can check out his tunes on myspace.com/mycrawdaddy . The following is a military parody on the night of the Big Double.

Like Rommel when he rode deep into Egypt, with his tanks and armored battalion, we rode deep into Dhahran when the legend of Operation Big Double began. The US Consulate Marine guard and hundreds of Aramcons swinging golf clubs posed a big challenge to a band of brothers called Fools Goal. What does one do when confronted with this onslaught. I'll tell what you do! You call in Captain Tombstone Johnstone, the commando of gigs, the special ops expert and Ninja of deployment.

We were to engage our audience on two fronts, not a good idea tactically speaking , unless you are with a band of men called Fools Goal. My orders were to take command of Fools Goal, as soon as possible, in order to kick our enemy of boredom in the ass on two fronts. The US Consulate and the Aramco Golf Club. The Golf Club presented a special challenge in that we were to engage them on an island, in the middle of a man made lake, on the golf course.

Musical instruments were our weapons of choice. The hopelessness of resisting our rock and roll tactics soon became evident. Here is how Operation Big Double went down.

We had two Disco DJ's dug in at each location. They were deployed in the rear and would cover our lightning maneuvers between each gig. In our first engagement the US Consulate Marines had already been hit hard by our DJ spinning back up tunes by James Brown, the hardest working man in show business.

Our first onslaught lasted 45 minutes. We layed down a barrage of tunes that staggered them. Many of them surrendered, or fell to the rear. Simultaneously the 2nd DJ deployed at the Golf course, began to soften up our target with his tunes. The golfers there were startled to see us charging over rocks that led to the island, in the middle of the lake. I had wheeled our band of brothers from the Consulate to the Golf course in 15 minutes flat. We jacked into our equipment already set up there. We inflicted heavy losses on them and were virtually unopposed.

Spearheading our mission I wheeled Fools Goal back and forth as our attack continued. Our band of brothers were gallant under fire and we didn't sustain one loss. Comic relief came when the Master of Ceremonies at the golf course fell into the lake, while trying to get to our position on the island. How could any one oppose us? We were not even there half the time.

As we bounced along the road between gigs, I realized that my men were exhausted and abandoned my plans for the Big Triple. I got a few looks that told me these type of operations were over. If I would have had my way Fools Goal band members would have all been awarded the Distinguished Musicians Flying Cross. Operation Big Double is still highly disputed by historians, but the success of their daring do is supported by the fact that half the time our audience didn't even know where we were, in this unconventional operation. Exhausted from our onslaught , I can still see us pursuing the audience as they broke and fled for home.We were an invincible band of men called Fools Goal. Our impact on the world is represented by the common phrase we all hear in adventure films and police epics when they say "Lets Rock and Roll" they have inherited our legacy and know the legend of Fools Goal.

I'm old now and nodding by the fire, but to my ear from far away, I can still hear Fools Goal play on the night of the Big Double.

Captain Tombstone Johnstone

Operation Big Double

The following story/blog was prompted by Richard "Crawdaddy"Dance, an accomplished blues and guitar player, reminiscing with me on a night that we booked our band Fools Goal, for two gigs , while working in the Middle East. The logistics were complicated, as these two gigs were done simultaneously with two disco DJ's covering for us, as we moved back and forth between the US Consulate and Aramco Oil Company's island in the middle of a golf course, on a man made lake.
I composed this tongue in cheek paraody as

Clouds On Angel Beach

The following was written with a "Magnapoem". A device produced by "Illuminations". It gives a limited set of words and letters that you attempt to create a poem with. They are all magnetic and one must stick them in sequence on the receptacle sheet. My poem is about the end of time.

CLOUDS ON ANGEL BEACH


Man rides a giant blue ball, of sea land and sky, a yellow magic moon walks above........

Together they run from from a white hot sun star, its awesome power pulling at them... as
Mermaids cry and Dragons fight.........

They crash in a beautiful bright glow of fire light..........

Lost in time , a dark still winter night whispers over cold black wind.........

A smart fly flew home...........


From the midnight ramblings of Tombstone Johnstone

Clouds On Angel Beach

The Endless Face

Perhaps it was your in the face attitude that made me face up to things, or maybe this Paleface didn't want to lose face when you faced off with him. Believe me when I say that I've faced up to a lot of things in my life, but I did an about face when I faced you on facebook. If I ever do meet you face to face, I want you to put on a happy face. I don't want you to be just another face in the crowd, just another one of those faceless people who put on another face in public. Turn your face to the wall and ask yourself, is a sad face worth it all? Just look who's facing you now. After all you must be careful, you could be faced out. Then you may be required to face the music. We don't want to be two faced about this.

The endless face for facebook, Tombstone Johnstone

Memories Beaucoupe

The memory fades with time, but to me, when I ran across these photos, it was only yesterday. To my ear from far away, I can still hear the whoop whoop of those chopper blades and see some of the faces, of those gallant young men who flew them.

It was 1966 and my first assignment on a DOD contract in Vietnam was at Cam Ranh Bay. Our projects there were the largest military construction Endeavour in history, with 47 projects throughout the length and breadth of Vietnam, from Quang Tri in the north, to Bac Lieu in the south. It was the largest assembly of heavy equipment ever known. I lived in a construction camp of 600 men where we had 12 Vietnamese waitresses working in the American dinning hall. One was named Dang and we became fast friends. I was always super polite to her when she waited on me. One day she came to my living quarters and told me that she would have to go to Ba Loa, a small village in the Central Highlands. She had received a message that her Mother was sick and she must return home. She was worried that she may not be given the time off, but must go at the risk of losing her job. This trip would take more time than expected, because there was a curfew imposed by the military and you couldn't travel at night. Also the roads were dangerous and unsecure.

My DOD identity card gave me an officerʼs equivalent rating and
gave me access to both the Army and Air Force officer clubs in Cam
Ranh Bay. I took great pleasure in drinking with the Aviators and
often they would regale me with stories of their missions that day.
When I told a chopper pilot of Dang's plight, he advised me that he
flew out of an Army chopper base in Su Chin across the bay. He
went on to say that they made frequent flights to Da Lat, an old
French resort town in the Central Highlands. Da Lat was close to Ba
Loa and the pilot told me that if I filled out a set of travel orders, he
could give us both a ride there and back. This would greatly shorten
Dang's trip and require less time off. I expedited our travel orders and
also received approval from the Camp Manager for her
time off and signed her travel orders. I also was granted the time off
and we boarded the Huey Chopper the next morning.
I wish you could have seen her eye's as she looked over the chop-
per. She had never flown in an airplane, or any kind of aircraft. It was
a beautiful flight into the mountains and we landed near a lake, on a
chopper pad near the Continental Palace Hotel in Da Lat. I checked
into this old colonial hotel and she took off for her village. I was more
than a little worried as I watched her board the dilapidated bus (the
type you see in Mexico) and head out over the unsecured roads of
the Central Highlands, but thanks to the chopper ride, she was only
a few hours away.

After a couple of days she reunited with me at the Hotel and we
had dinner, sitting among the wealthy, French & Vietnamese in the
dinning room. She had never used silverware before and only ate
with chop sticks. I showed her excessive affection, as I doted over
her and gave her instructions on there use. I was her hero and we
were lovers,much to the chagrin of those staring at us. I don't think I
meant more to anyone in my life, as I did to her at that moment.

These are my Memories Beaucoupe......

This story, Memories Beaucoupe is only part of an
upcoming story of Vietnam. He has granted permission for the VHPA to run it under
the terms of our retaining the First North American Publishing Rights Only

Road King

I am Jack the Compassionate. The freeways, highways, streets and alleys of the San Francisco Bay Area are my royal dominion. My throne is the drivers seat of a Crown Victoria Ford. I hold court there.

A lady-in-waiting, running late for a job interview, asked me one day, "who made thee king?" In a regal and modest manner I responded.
There are many pretenders to my throne. They know not when to open the door for the old and disabled. They know not when to take the short cut, when a subject is running late. My faithful subjects and regular riders pay homage to me, they recognize me as monarch. These
are the jewels in a sovereign's crown.

When a serf, knave or buffoon plays the court jester and fails to pay proper tribute---I have yet to send one to the gallows. It's pretentious for others to claim my crown, yet I have not sent one of them to the dungeon.

I am no tyrant, but hold sway over the troubled masses in my kingdom. Late for an appointment, trying to catch a plane, giving birth, pacemaker going bad? Need a recommendation on a hotel, a restaurant,
or just someone to talk to? Only the most seasoned Road King can help you. When I grant you an audience, in a down pouring rain, you will recognize my power.

His Majesty
Jack the Compassionate
Cab Driver

Antique Advertisements Old San Francisco

Disappearing fast from the urban landscape, old brick building advertisements are vanishing from the San Francisco skyline. Less than a block from the Pyramid Building, the most familiar building in SF's skyline, is an advertisement for"Bull" Durham tobacco. Bull Durham was trademarked in 1860. Back then it was 5 cents a bag. It came in a soft white muslin bag with draw strings and you could roll 33 cigarettes from it. It is a matter of legend that a real cowboy could roll a smoke with one hand while riding hard in a strong wind. No self respecting cowboy would be seen without his Bull Durham bag, with strings hanging from his front pocket.As one of the oldest old west towns, SF still has an old Bull Durham add at the beginning of Columbus street, near Montgomery.

Not far from this tobacco add is one for the Europe Hotel on Clay street just after you cross Kearny. With rooms starting at 25 cents per night, $1.50 per week. This included hot and cold water with free baths. A cowboy, or miner could come to town with $20 dollars in his pocket and party down. He could get his tobacco, room, a fifth of whiskey and a hooker for a song.He could dream away his time in one of the opium dens. The good old days are gone now, you can't smoke hardly anywhere, it's illegal to drink on the street and the bordello's along with opium dens have disappeared. What's a fellow to do?

Jack Johnstone Note photo's courtesy of Tom Peck under Tombstones direction.