Painted Black (15 page)

Julius was the missing link.

According to Preston, Julius did all his big hits, “Waiting for My Child to Come Home,” “How Far Is Heaven?” and finished with a rousing version of “Morning Train.”

During his encore, “Almost Persuaded to Turn My Back on God,” he told a rambling story about how they were trying to get to California back in the 1950s where they would be “backgroundin'” Sister Rosetta Thorpe. They ran out of money in Tucson, and a man with a nightclub offered to give them enough money to get all the way to California if the group would just sing for the crowd.

Julius's voice was ravaged from singing his heart out. He shouted out the message.

“You mean sing the devil's music? I was almost persuaded! I thought about it! But, what a mistake I would've made!” According to Julius, God led them to California. The program was timeless. Bobby had no idea how long they had been in the church. When Julius Cheeks opened his mouth, the most amazing sounds came out. Nobody wanted it to end.

Walking out of the church, Dust Bin Bob, Clovis, and Brian Jones were in a daze. The galvanizing performance by Julius Cheeks had blown their minds. Now that Brian had felt the presence of the Holy Ghost, he wondered what other ghosts were out there. Something in Julius Cheeks's sermon had struck a chord with him. A spiritual seed had germinated somewhere in his heart. He felt as though he were walking a foot off the ground.

“That was amazing,” Brian said.

“Amen,” Clovis muttered.

“I told you you'd get sanctified, didn't I?” Preston said. “Now, who's got the spirit of the Lord in them?”

They all replied at once.

“I had no idea places like this existed,” Brian said. “That was life-changing. We've gone beyond blues, beyond R&B, beyond everything …”

“Now you know where the music comes from.”

Preston took them back to the Hi-Dee-Ho Soul Shack and reached behind his desk. He pulled out a quart jar full of clear liquid and poured four shots.

“Here's to your health,” Preston said, and threw it back in his throat.

The others did the same.

“Who-eee! What is that shit?” Clovis howled.

“That's genuine White Lightning. Here, have another slash.”

Preston poured another four shots and threw it back even quicker than the first set.

Dust Bin Bob's eyes watered.

“That's some strong hooch.”

“Damn right it is. Now, are you ready to hear old Preston's story?”

“Yes,” said Bobby. “I really want to know.”

Preston nodded slowly.

“Well, now that you been sanctified, I can tell you.”

He took his time, making himself comfortable in his office chair and loosening his tie.

“Bruce Spangler has a thing for young black women. It's gotten him into trouble more than once. As Baltimore's number-one narc, he had a chance to make many deals with the city's biggest players. Believe me, these aren't the kinds of guys you fuck with.”

Preston paused and sent the quart jar of White Lightning around the room again.

“Are you with me so far?”

They all nodded. Preston's voice lowered to a very un-Preston-like whisper. “Listen up.”

They all moved in a little closer.

“The Gambino family runs this town from New York, and they've been affiliated with Angelo Arnello for many years.

“Doing business in Baltimore requires a certain … shall we say …
relationship
with Angelo, which I have. I knew his father.”

Preston swallowed another sip of the powerful fluid and cleared his throat.

“Bruce Spangler became involved with a sixteen-year-old street pusher named Anita. He got her an apartment, gave her money, jewelry, dope, kept her hidden from his wife and family, and for a while everything was all right.”

“What happened?”

“Driving home about three in the morning, he rolled his car into the black waters of the inner harbor with Anita in it. He got out; she didn't. It looked like his career was over. It was a huge scandal. Do you know what Anita's last name was? It was Washington. She was my niece. Now she's my dead niece.”

Brian's eyes got big.

“So when he swept it under the carpet, I kept quiet. I knew the score. Later on when he busted me, I called Angelo. He told Spangler to back off. When he didn't do it fast enough, Angelo sent him a message. He threatened to expose the whole thing. Then he kidnapped one of his kids and sent him one of the boy's fingers.”

“Holy shit …”

“He threatened to blow the lid off the whole thing.”

Preston paused, letting the story sink in.

“Needless to say, Bruce Spangler got right in line before further surgery was required.”

Brian, Bobby, and Clovis were spellbound by the story. They hung on every word.

“So, if you have any problems with Bruce Spangler, I can always give Angelo another call. He knows where all the bodies are buried. Believe me, Spangler's got no friends among those guys. Now that he's a fed, they hate him even more.”

Brian said, “Can we get him to leave me alone?”

Preston looked at Brian long and hard.

“Yes, I believe we can.”

Chapter Twelve

Monterey Pop

Baltimore's Friendship Airport was sparsely populated as Dust Bin Bob, Clovis, and Brian Jones made their way to the gate. Erlene, Cricket, and Winston were there to wish them bon voyage. They hugged in the jetway.

“Take care of yourself, hon,” Erlene said. “And watch out for Brian.”

“We will,” Clovis said.

Brian's clothes always drew stares. He never wore anything normal anymore. His wardrobe was as colorful and exotic as a Moroccan prince. He walked through the airport like an emissary from outer space.

They flew from Baltimore to San Francisco, rented a station wagon and drove south to Monterey with Clovis behind the wheel. Bobby rode shotgun, and Brian sat in the back. As they neared the fairgrounds, they began to see groups of long-haired rock fans streaming into the venue.

“I've never seen so many freaks in one place,” Clovis said.

“This is going to be great,” Brian said.

They drove slowly through the crowd to the VIP parking area. Californian sunshine poured down from the sky. The smell of food cooking drifted through the air. Marijuana smoke wafted freely across the grounds.

It was a glorious afternoon in every sense of the word. Clovis had believed the trip would be good for Brian, and so far they had already witnessed a life-changing performance by the Reverend Julius Cheeks thanks to Preston Washington. They couldn't wait to see Ravi Shankar, Janis Joplin, Jefferson Airplane, the Who, Hendrix, and of course, the great Otis Redding.

As soon as Brian got out of the car, he was inundated with fans. Most of the musicians at the festival admired and respected Brian. Here, at Monterey, he was a conquering hero. His problems were behind him here.

Brian wasted no time. He wanted to walk through the crowd and soak up the atmosphere. Bobby realized he'd left his camera in the car. And while he and Clovis went to fetch it, Brian wandered away.

Bobby retrieved the camera. As he did so, Clovis grabbed his arm.

“Look!” he whispered, and pointed across the parking lot to a white van. Getting out of the van were none other than Bruce Spangler and Acid King Leon Silverman. Leon had his brown leather briefcase, the same one the cops didn't search at Redlands. It was generally believed by Mick and Keith that Silverman was the snitch and had been working for
News of the World
.

His disappearance after the Redlands bust was suspicious enough, as was the fact the cops had not charged him with anything. To see him here at Monterey was a shock.

Bobby raised his camera and took half a dozen pictures of the group.

“Holy shit! What are those two doing here?”

Fascination turned to consternation when Renee got out of the van behind them. Bobby took a few more pictures of her alone and with the group.

Clovis gasped.

“It's that chick that Brian had in Morocco. Something's going on here.”

“I know who she is. I've met her. She's obsessed with Brian.”

She walked briskly away from the van and the three men.

“They're working together. We better warn Brian.”

They had only been gone five minutes, but when they returned, Brian had already left the backstage area to wander free among the hippies.

Clovis and Bobby searched for Brian. What they didn't know was that Brian had his own agenda, and her name was Nico, the exotic blond German chanteuse of The Velvet Underground, one of the hippest New York bands. Nico was part of Andy Warhol's Factory scene and Brian had met her briefly the last time he was in New York. She was just his type; tall, blond, German, and bitchy. Her high cheekbones and aristocratic German accent more than reminded him of Anita. They made plans to get together at the festival. Nico hadn't forgotten.

Nico found Brian before he could find her. Brian had been on her radar screen since they first met. To be seen and photographed with Brian Jones at Monterey would only make her a bigger star. Brian was only too happy to oblige. He couldn't wait to get her naked back in the hotel at night's end.

A small crowd of people gathered around Brian. They moved through the fairgrounds as one. People offered Brian joints, hash pipes, and pills of every type, and he accepted them all without reservation.

Renee came out of nowhere and slid close to Brian. He looked up, surprised to see her. Her hand snaked its way around his waist and caressed his butt.

“You're here?”

“I'm here for you, Brian.”

Brian spoke softly. “Well, I hate to disappoint you. But, I'm with Nico for the weekend.”

Renee spat. “Nico? She's just another one of your playthings. I came all the way here to be with you. I'm the one you really want; you just don't realize it yet.”

“I don't think so, darling.”

Renee walked away, clearly upset. Brian and Nico found it all amusing, another muse for their common schadenfreude.

Clovis and Bobby found the crowd that followed Brian.

“Dust Bin Bob! Clovis! You must meet Nico.”

He introduced them, and she promptly ignored them.

“Have you seen Jimi?”

“He's backstage looking for you.”

“Oh, I'd better go.”

Brian and Nico walked away like royalty. The backstage scene was lively. All the San Francisco bands hung out together. The Grateful Dead and Big Brother
hung out with their Berkeley counterparts Country Joe and the Fish
smoking joints. The Southern California groups stuck to themselves: The Byrds, Buffalo Springfield, the Association, the Mamas and the Papas. They didn't fraternize much with their NorCal cousins. The San Francisco bands loved smoking dope and dropping acid. There developed a subtle rift between the two camps. Then there were the English bands that had nothing to say to the Californians.

Organized by John Philips of the Mamas and the Papas and producer Lou Adler, the event looked incredible on paper. Rumors about who might perform continued to swirl right up until show time—which no doubt fueled the ticket sales. In truth, the lineup kept changing as more groups dropped in and out.

The Beatles were coming! The Stones were on their way! The Doors! Cream!
No-shows included Donovan and the Kinks, who had been refused visas, and the Beach Boys, who were battling the government trying to keep Carl Wilson out of the army. Everybody was talking about Jimi Hendrix and the Who. Excitement was in the air.

Monterey was the first major rock event of its kind, and it generated tons of interest all over the country. Modeled on the Newport Folk Festival, it featured three days of concerts, a virtual who's who of rock and pop. In addition to the rock acts, several interesting additions piqued the crowd's curiosity, like Indian sitar master Ravi Shankar, folk duo Simon and Garfunkel, funk masters Booker T. and the MG's, African jazz trumpeter Hugh Masekela, and R&B legend Otis Redding.

Indeed the three-day concert featured everyone Bobby and Clovis had ever wanted to see in one place: Lou Rawls, Eric Burdon and the Animals, Big Brother, Canned Heat, Quicksilver, the Electric Flag, Moby Grape, Steve Miller, Butterfield, Booker T., The Big “O”, the Grateful Dead, Jefferson Airplane, and of course, the Who and Hendrix.

“Brian, can we talk to you privately for a minute?” Bobby asked.

Brian looked surprised.

“What is it?”

They led Brian away to a quiet part of the hospitality tent and gave him a Budweiser.

“Drink this.”

He did.

“We just saw Bruce Spangler.”

Brian drank the beer too fast, and it foamed up and wet his front. He coughed. “Spangler? He's here? In the fairgrounds?”

Dust Bin Bob whispered. “
Shhh!
Keep it down. It was Spangler all right. He got out of a white van with Silverman and Renee. Somehow, those three are connected. I think there's a conspiracy going on.”

Brian's face went white. “I saw Renee just a little while ago. She said she came all this way to be with me. When I told her I was with Nico for the weekend, she got pissed off and walked away.”

“And what about Spangler? How could they possibly know each other?”

“I'll tell you what I think,” said Clovis. “I think Spangler hired Silverman and Renee to infiltrate the rock world to set people up and bust them … or worse.”

“What do you mean ‘or worse'?” Brian asked.

“You know what I mean,” Clovis snarled. “
Or worse
. They don't want people like Brian Jones becoming heroes to their kids.”

Bobby said, “They obviously don't want these dope-smokin' hippies ruining the youth of the world. The government is against it. They'd love to put all the rock stars in jail and throw away the key.”

“So, it's a conspiracy, then?”

Clovis nodded.

“Sure looks that way. I tell you one thing. We better keep an eye on Brian at all times. Spangler obviously knows he's here and he's looking to bust him.”

“Not necessarily. Brian's not listed on the official program. He won't know for sure until just before Hendrix plays. Until then, it's just a rumor.”

“Except Renee knows. Shit! She's liable to tell Spangler that Brian's here. And I was looking for a mellow time sunny California.”

“As long as Spangler, Silverman, and Renee are around, we have to be on our toes. Better change hotel rooms too.”

Just then a black man dressed in a Sergeant Pepper–inspired faux military jacket with a rainbow of colored scarves with a wildly teased afro hairdo ambled up. He reached out for Brian.

“Hey, man! It's good to see you!”

Brian Jones hugged Jimi Hendrix. The two men circled each other for a moment like two dogs.

“I'm introducing you on Sunday night.”

“Yeah, man. Oh, wow. I'm gonna do some STP for the show. I got some special stuff from Owsley.”

“STP?”

“It's a new form of LSD with a little speed mixed it. It's powerful stuff, man. I'm tripping for the show. You want to join me on the other side?”

“The other side of what?'

“The other side of reality.”

“You're going to trip onstage in front of all those people?”

Jimi grinned. “Yeah, why not?”

“I never knew anybody who could play a concert while tripping their brains out. You might forget how to play.”

“I never forget how to play, man. Besides, the San Francisco bands do it all the time. It's no big deal.”

“We'll either catch lightning in a bottle or melt down like a short candle.”

“Hey, that's a great lyric, man. Can I use that?”

Brian shrugged. “Be my guest.”

“You know, I'm in the ‘Lightning in a Bottle' business,” said Hendrix. “Just keep the jar screwed tight so it won't get away.”

Noel Redding, bass player for the Jimi Hendrix Experience, passed by. He saw Clovis and shouted a greeting.

“Clovis!”

Clovis hugged him like a long-lost brother.

“Good to see you, man.”

“We're gonna tear this place down.”

“I don't doubt it.”

“Jimi said Brian's supposed to introduce us. Is that true?”

“Yeah, we're here with Brian, as a matter of fact.”

“Are you staying at the same hotel? We have to party together tonight.”

He handed Clovis a slip of paper with
Leon Gnidder
written on it.

“Who's Leon Gnidder?”

“I am. Look, see? It's Noel Redding spelled backward. That's the name I'm registered under. Call Leon Gnidder on the house phone.”

Clovis laughed.

“What a great name, Leon Gnidder!”

“Just call me Lucky Gnid. Come on over to my room around midnight. We got some incredible chicks dropping in. I think you'll enjoy it.”

“Hey, I'm a married man. If it involves chicks, I gotta beg off.”

“Jimi draws chicks like you wouldn't believe.”

A gaggle of wild West Coast peacock-plumed groupies walked by slowly enough for Noel to notice them. Noel watched them pass.

“I gotta go. See ya tonight.”

Brian drew a crowd wherever he went. He visited Big Brother and the Holding Company's tent to meet Janis Joplin. He was welcomed like a hero. Even his drug bust and bad boy persona gave him additional celebrity status among this crowd.

He met Steve Miller, Paul Butterfield, and two guys from Booker T. and the MG's that he had always admired, Steve Cropper and Donald “Duck” Dunn, who along with drummer Al Jackson on drums, comprised one of the greatest rhythm sections of all time.

Brian remained chipper and carefree all afternoon. He stayed for parts of the evening concert. He caught Steve Miller, High Masekela, Booker T., and the grand finale—the great Otis Redding—the “Big O” closing out the night.

Brian watched Otis Redding closely while Otis gave the show of his life at Monterey. His performance caught the hippie audience (“The Love Crowd,” he called them) by surprise. They had never seen a seasoned R&B legend like the Big O before. Otis had been doing this on the chitlin' circuit for years. These young white kids were a lot easier to impress than the drunken two a.m. crowd at a sweaty Georgia roadhouse.

Otis was absolutely brilliant. He paced his set like a pro, from ballads to shouters to rockin' sing-alongs and timeless riffs. He opened with “I Can't Turn You Loose” and it brought the house down.

Brian, zonked out of his brain on a cocktail of recreational drugs, watched every moment through the lens of his American experience.

He saw Reverend Julius Cheeks. In fact, he saw Julius Cheeks in everything Otis did. He wanted to kiss Preston Washington for that connection. Julius Cheeks
was
soul music. And nobody outside of the Gospel world knew who he was. It blew Brian's mind that absolutely nobody knew about Julius Cheeks in London. His friends would freak out. His blues purist buddies would flip out. This man was
the source
, and he was unknown.