I walked out of Wimbledon Tube Station and looked left and right. Right went up a hill, so using my San Francisco nouse, I headed up the hill and at the top saw the huge Dog and Fox sign a block away. It was midday on a Saturday. I headed for the Dog and Fox, went inside and approached the bar. The place was empty but for one patron at the far end of the long bar. I ordered a pint of best and sipped it while I thought about the past six weeks, and wondered how I was going to get from New York to San Francisco tomorrow.

I finished the pint, and gazed about the pub, looking out the window. The bartender asked if I wanted another. "Well, actually I would, but I have no more money, so, no thanks." He smiled and walked away. About two minutes later he came back with a full pint and said, "Compliments of the gentleman," and pointed down the bar. I turned to look at this kindly person to thank him and was looking Oliver Reed in the face. Oliver smiled, but of course had no idea who I was or why I was there. When I walked up to him and said, "Oliver, you're not going to believe this, but you bought me both pints of beer this afternoon and paid my fare to get here." He looked at me quizzically and said, "What do you mean?"

When I told him the story, he couldn't believe it, beamed broadly and said, "Have another, old son, and then we'll go across the street to the Rawalpindi and have dinner!"

Oliver knew the owners because he frequented the place regularly, and also had a small office flat above the restaurant for when he and his firey Irish wife, Kate, saw things differently on occasion. Ollie ordered everything on the menu, treating the owners to their own food as well, and we all tucked in, washed down with liberal amounts of Indian ale. We stumbled back to his big house late that night, Kate opened the door, hurled a string of Irish expletives at us followed by what I think was a vase and slammed the door. We either slept in the garden shed because we couldn't make it back to his flat in our condition...we were giggling too hard....or maybe we did make it back to the flat. Anyway, the shed seemed a "capital idea, old chap!" Ollie always turning a lemon into a lemonade. When we came to, Ollie exclaimed, "My god, man, we've got to get you to the airport!" I seem to remember we were at his house when he bundled me into the cab...so maybe we did sleep in the shed. Anyway, Ollie called a cab and paid for it in advance--including the fare to the airport--I went to West Ken to pick up my gear, the cab took me to Heathrow, and later that day I landed in New York with that one thin dime in my pocket and my head just clearing from the previous night with that wonderful rake who was an endlessly charming, endearing, and very generous man. He deserved a posthumous Oscar for his supporting role in "Gladiator." Well done, Ollie, you were magnificent.

My first pint in any pub in Wimbledon will always be raised for you...for you are the reason I began my love affair with England, met some wonderful women there, and had a lovely son there. My life will always be connected to yours because of your generosity to Lenny. Thank you more than I can ever say. And now I live just down the road from Ollie's two houses in the Surrey countryside.

From top to bottom, Funky Sam, Funky Paul, and Funky Jack in the Allard Batmobile being regaled by Victor Moscoso
off camera at the Psychedelic Car Show at Muir Beach. Photo by Elaine Mayes, our "official" photographer
(maybe THAT'S why I'm not wearing pants in our official photo...she wanted to see my skinny legs!!!!!).
Creedence Clearwater Revival played for free (they couldn't yet get paying gigs) in the clubhouse just out of frame on left.

What the Allard SHOULD have looked like!
(thanks to John Allard in Oregon)

With my dime, I called Paul Krassner, who I had never met, but with whose friendly secretary I slept on my way over to England, and Paul said, "I'll pay for the cab, Paul, here's the address." I landed on Paul's doorstep, to be met by Abbie Hoffman, and we had a great afternoon in Paul's loft talking about women, politics, and the state of the nation. I called Jack and told him he had better meet me at San Francisco airport, or there would be hell to pay. Paul kindly fronted me the bread for the airline ticket, as well. When I arrived the next day, I was met by an entourage of 12 cars of all our friends, many of them beautiful women with a pressing desire to please and were looking forward to welcoming me back, led by our outlaw friend, Walt Voorhies, who possessed Martin Bormann's specially-built Horch automobile. This thing was a beauty! (how he got it was always a mystery Walt was very close-mouthed about). Jack had redeemed himself with his usual flair....and just in the nick of time (with his usual timing aplomb).

I hopped in, Jack smiled and said, "Welcome home, Paul! Wait til ya see the bike!" and laughed, as Walt threw the monster into gear and we motored into town like big-time gangsters.

Jack and I went to the Fillmore to see Cream on their first tour. We went every night and were devastated by these three incredible musicians who are still my favorite band of all time. I was mesmerized by Ginger Baker and wanted a set of drums. Jack wanted a guitar and amp. We traded advertising services for musical instruments at Don Wehr's Music City out on Columbus, where ALL the San Francisco musicians hung out. It was common to see Carlos Santana or Marty Balin in there. In fact, Carlos was there when I picked out my drum kit and gave some advice as to what to look for (I knew nothing about them...I just liked that sparkling green kit over there).

I formed a band the following week and we immediately got a gig at the Two Heads on 6th and Clement, where my dad used to drink when he was young...it was then called Simpson's, and quite a watering hole. Jack's wife, Susan, laughed and said we should call ourselves "Too Much, Too Soon," and the name stuck. Can you believe that after only two weeks of learning to play, we "played" (massacred, more like it) Hendrix's version of "All Along the Watchtower," "Purple Haze," most of Cream's stuff including "Spoonful" and the incredible Ginger Baker drum solo, "Toad" (I still don't believe it). Maybe Jack wasn't the only clown around here with moxie! Jack came down to one of our "gigs" (I say that loosely) and sat out in the alley on trash cans with his Revox tape deck and a set of headphones, and recorded us. He went on to own two recording studios and a booming business designing and installing state-of-the-art media rooms for the rich and famous. His business was called "The Media Room." He DOES have moxie!

Gary Brooker and his wife Franky stayed with me for two weeks while Gary wrote out the charts for the Stratford Symphony Orchestra gig he was going to perform with Procol up in Canada. This was the first time a rock band had performed and recorded live with an orchestra...and when I hear "Conquistador" today, it stands up mightily, attesting to Gary's musical genius. He will one day be rightly considered one of the greatest composers of the 20th century, and also one of the best rock voices in history (he's already got that one nailed). The fact that he and I spent most of our time jamming rather than him working really does attest to the man's genius.

Janis Joplin moved to an apartment a block away, and would drop in after gigs to cool out while I painted, finishing off her Southern Comfort straight from the bottle. One of the paintings I was working on when Janis was coming by was an enormous painting I did of Stonehenge I gave to Gary and Kieth, and which now hangs in Gary's barn a few miles away in Surrey. I dropped him in it truly, because he couldn't refuse such a gift, and had to pay horrendous amounts of money to have it shipped to England! Ha! He still mentions it with a wry smile...he loves the way I "got" him on that one.

Sam had known Janis from way back, and we made friends with Peter Albin, Big Brother's bass player, who lived across the street from the Funky Features house, which is how I met Janis. I always knew when she was approaching, 'cause you could hear her psychedelically painted Porsche screaming down the hill two blocks away followed closely by squealing tires as she braked to a halt.

Jack turned 142 into a recording studio, Sam bought us out and moved operations to Sausalito and ended up living in the house in Fairfax my aunt and uncle owned during the 40's and 50's. I landed in London and moved into 307 Portobello Road and was taken out to dinner by Gary and Franky where the waitress spilled my trout almondine in my lap when she banged the plate on the edge of the table and the whole thing flipped over, SPLOSH! The fact that she was gorgeous and screamed in delight at her gaffe impressed me greatly. When she saucily offered to clean up the mess and did so, I was smitten. Franky was loving it...she was determined to get me fixed up with an English girl in my new country and she managed it my first week there. Lesley moved in the following day, though took a month to make it final, bringing over a new change of clothes each day on her Honda 50 until her apartment was empty, and mine was full.

SCENES FROM 307 PORTOBELLO ROAD AND ABBEY ROAD

The legendary Ronnie Hawkins outside 307 Portobello Road, taking a break while the film crew changed the setup on one of the first-ever rock videos, made for his single "Down in the Alley," the interiors for which were shot in my room upstairs. For those of you who may not know, Ronnie Hawkins had a band in the 60's called "Ronnie Hawkins and the Hawks." The Hawks later became "The Band," all of whom later became great friends with Procol Harum.           My good friend, guitarist and record producer John Rewind with "American Pickle," his 335 that I painted up for him in the shipping room of Funky Features. John's current group in Marin is called the "Fret Cadets." Laughing with him is the mercurial Barney Bubbles, who sadly killed himself in the 80's. Again note the posters. Rick Griffin's FD89 is behind Rewind's head. A good portion of the collection was stapled to the ceiling, but I don't have a picture of them, unfortunately (if Keith Reid had been there, he would have taken a picture of them...he's fascinated with ceilings, and mine was a doozy!)             The most famous crosswalk in the world. Gary Brooker, Keith Reid, Chris Thomas (the first time he had ever posed on the crosswalk!) and John Rewind doing the obligatory thing. Abbey Road studios is the two-storey on the left, and the Beatles' studio was down the central hall to the right. I think there is still groupie graffiti posted almost daily on the front wall.

Typical scene of local musos jamming in my flat at 307. The famous English rock artist, Barney Bubbles, is playing the L5 (I think it's an L5...hey, what do I know? I'm a drummer)...as Gary is fond of reminding me, "Paul, what do you call someone who hangs around with musicians?" A drummer.     Keith Reid (lyricist for Procol Harum...blame him for 16 vestal virgins and ceilings flying away) in a headlock from Gary Brooker near Abbey Road Studios while Chris Thomas, George Martin's protege and producer of the Beatles' White Album points out the location of the nearest Cop Shop.   Rewind rockin' out   Sunday morning on Bayswater Road approaching Hyde Park (how do I know it's Sunday morning? All the street art and craft sellers are out on that day) fiddling with my hybrid Triton, which was a Triumph Bonneville powertrain in a Norton Featherbed frame. I think the fuel coupling kept coming loose. That ritzy-titzy alloy tank was real flash, but when filled with petrol in the wintertime, it was like embracing an iceberg with your inner thighs. Erk! English bikes are like women...temperamental. But when they're firing on all cylinders....oooohh boy!!

Lesley, my wonderful, wacky girlfriend at the time, Gary Brooker, and yours truly at 307. Note the Moscoso poster (FD46) over Gary's left shoulder...that's the one Janis spilled Southern Comfort on in my studio in San Francisco. Rick Griffin's FD89 is to the left, and Wes Wilson's classic image, BG029 is above the lamp. I liberated the "Gents toilet" sign from Sutro Baths in San Francisco, a week before it was torched. Tres cool Gary Brooker showing me "how it was done, old son" on my kit. Not only is Gary one of the greatest Rock singers alive, he's not a bad drummer, either! (he's not a great drummer, but with a voice like his, and keyboard skills that will rock your ass off, who cares?). Gary is one of those people who is good at whatever he puts his mind to. He now plays with Procol, No Stiletto Heels, Bill Wyman's Rhythm Kings, and Ringo Starr and the All Stars. In his spare time he builds "water structures" in back garden (water hazards, more like!) This is the kit Carlos Santana helped me pick out at Don Wehr's Music City on Columbus.       I don't know who this dude is, but you can see a few of the posters behind this guy that aren't covering the ceiling. Since I had the kit set up, and we could make as much noise as we wanted, many pieces of bands and many soon-to-be famous musicians played here...I just can't remember who they are! Reggie, Robin Trower's then future drummer who was playing with Quiver would stop by, as would many guitarists. Quiver rehearsed in the freezing dungeon of a basement at 307. It was a happening place, right next door to the hip Friendz magazine.

Gary, Alex (my son), and the lovely Franky Brooker at a gig Gary played in Guildford in 1998. Alex's first rock concert.
I think Gary is talking with Jens, the head of Procol's fan club, who made it over from Sweden for the gig. Alex has now moved to Australia with his lovely girlfriend. They grow up so fast!