Chuck The Great

I first saw Chuck Berry as part of a huge lineup at a bluesfest in White Plains, NY. I barely knew who he was, but I picked up on his spontaneous energy, his sense of humor, and his time-honored routine of duckwalking with his guitar on and offstage. A few years later, I was perusing the stacks at the Bunch of Grapes in Vineyard Haven when I came across "Chuck Berry's Golden Decade", a Chess double album collection that I bought without blinking, despite the fact that I was barely making money at the time. I held onto it for so long that a double course of duct tape was needed to reinforce the spine. One of the records disappeared.

Fortunately, the surviving album still had "Maybelline", "Johnny B. Goode", "No Particular Place To Go", and "Nadine", most of the best known Berry anthems. I was more excited over the lesser known tunes, like "Wee Wee Hours", the only blues song I ever heard Chuck Berry perform, or "Deep Feeling" with its expansive slide guitar. "Havana Moon" is Chuck's calypsoish homage to Cuba, a sad tale of missed love connections. "Thirty Days" and "Brown Eyed Handsome Man" are vintage Chuck, saucy, mocking, clever and energetic, as well as the time honored tale of the teenaged wedding - "You Never Can Tell" - and the fate of aging rock and rollers - "Too Pooped to Pop".

I finally met the living legend himself in 1986 at a concert for the state of Rhode Island's 350th birthday on a closed airstrip in Quonset Point. The heavily promoted event featured a hook driving the average citizen to his or her local Chevy dealer to obtain a coupon for alleged VIP parking at the concert. Needless to say, the alleged parking crew was quickly overwhelmed by the onslaught of vehicles, their ineptitude causing a miles-long backup all the way to Route 95. When I finally drove home around 4:00 AM the next morning, the road was a wasteland of abandoned strollers, upended coolers, broken glass, cans, diapers, malfunctioning cars, barbecue grilles, towells, clothes, general garbage and mountains of cigarette butts, a panorama of decimated consumer goods. It was Labor Day weekend, a sunny day unlike the weeks of dreary rain that had preceded it, and the lineup at the FREE concert consisted of Tommy James and the Shondells, Chuck Berry, Bob Hope and a "twin theatre" fireworks display by Grucchi.

In the midst of the chaos, a long, lean green Lincoln glided to a stop by the side of the backstage compound. Chuck himself got out from behind the wheel, and immediately asked for the promoter, which, in this case, was yours truly. I welcomed him profusely, surprised by how tall he was, and made sure he got a healthy handful of the towells and bottle of wine he requested. Chuck disappeared into his RV/dressing room with a redhead in tow, unaware it had been recently vacated by his designated backup band who had shown up way too early and spent the afternoon drinking and snorting.

Once Chuck and company finally mounted the gigantic stage, overhung with a ton of lighting gear mandated by Hope's presence, the crowd literally went crazy. Eight separate fights broke out in front between anxious bikers who had shown up at the last minute to crowd in on the picnicking families. By the time I had settled down enough to enjoy the incredibility fluid but traditional riffs that Chuck coaxed effortlessly out of the strings, word came back to me from one of the musicians that Berry was pissed because he saw people videotaping the performance out in the crowd. Being the promoter, I was supposed to stop it ASAP. At first, I was actually gearing up to wade into the mob and start batting away the minicams, but then I realized how incredibly stupid that would be so I devised another strategy. I waited about five minutes , then walked back to the player, and told him to tell Berry everything was cool.

After he had thoroughly punished the crowd, Chuck hung out briefly backstage, actually giving a few autographs before bundling the redhead back into the Lincoln. He beckoned me over at the last minute. Chuck the Great wanted to make sure he could still use the hotel room - for a couple of hours anyway - that we had set aside for him back in Providence.

I smirked as he drove off, since my lasting memories of seeing a rock legend up close and personal would consist of the towells and wine, the command to stop the illegal recording and the query about the hotel room. Nevertheless, Chuck Berry is a true original, with a hip attitude that was way ahead of its time, ensuring his unique place in the lexicon of rock and roll.