Don’t Be Mistaken
Label: BYO Records
Mark Hickey – vocals
Henry Knowles – guitar
“Big” Bob Clark – bass guitar
Bruce. W – drums
1. It Can Happen
2. Brain Bondage
3. Non Person
4. Body Count
5. Money Machine
6. No Mercy
7. Don’t Be Mistaken
8. Intense Energy
10. Locals Only
12. Secret Sex
13. Stop the Clock
14. Cat Killer
I loved these guys on the Someone Got Their Head Kicked In comp that BYO put out in 1982. The energy, the vocals. Everything about them was hot.
A year later this album gets put out, and only half the energy is there. Something happened. Not a bad album, but it feels like two different groups.
If you get the chance to get a copy of this, go get it.
Rating: ** * two out of three stars
On to the story . . .
I read an article recently about a kid who was kidnapped outside of a grocery store, while sitting in his stroller and his mom was shopping inside. This happened in New York during the ‘50’s. There were 10 or 15 strollers outside all with kids. I guess this was common practice.
The mom came out and the kid was gone, huge manhunt. The boy was never found. Mom’s stopped leaving their kids outside of stores. In a way, it killed the innocence of that city.
Now, 50 years later a man emerged, and says he is that “boy” who was napped all those years ago.
It got me thinking about a time in which, I feel, my innocence disappeared. I was about 11 or 12 years old. Ready to start Jr. High, and I started to deliver a little, local, San Fernando Valley newspaper called The Chronicle. You delivered it to everybody (once a week) and at the end of the month you would try to collect. Some would pay; most would just say they threw it away.
There was one house in Reseda, on a street named Jamieson Ave., where every time I went to collect the dollar or two, the guy would tip me, like, $5.00. It made no sense, but I liked the money. This went on for a couple of months. Finally, he asked if I could do some yard work for him. Pulling weeds, shoveling dirt. I ask my mom, gave her the address, she said OK.
First day I arrive, he lets me into the place, I had only ever been to the door before, and the walls were covered with all these strange nude photographs that he had taken. Women doing gymnastics, nude joggers, very strange to me, but I acted like I didn’t notice them.
I worked everyday for about a week, digging out planters, pulling weeds, filling trashcans, the usual grunt work. On day five, a Friday, my mom packed me a lunch, sandwiches, yogurt, juice. So, around 12:30 the guy comes out and tells me to take a lunch break. So, I sit down and start eating, and he says come to the back and eat in the sun, so I stroll back. He tells me to take my t-shirt off and enjoy the sun, I tell him “I’m OK,” he says it again, come on, as he takes his off. I was too naïve, I should have seen the red flags, I took my shirt off.
He goes into the house, and comes back out without a shirt, and a pair of jeans that is torn up the back, and his ass is hanging out. I am getting so uncomfortable I am about to crawl out of my skin. I’m trying to act like I think an adult would and ignore everything weird, and carrying on with my lunch. Then he breaks out a backgammon board and sets it up and insists we play.
Then three moves into the game, my mom comes walking into the backyard. Apparently, she knocked on the door, no one answered, she walked in and saw all the porn shots on the wall, freaked-out, called out to me a few times, and nothing, ran into the backyard, me and the guy were shirtless, and his ass was hanging out. She almost had a heart attack. She initially came by to give me more juice, and now she tells the guy I have a doctor’s appointment. The guy says no problem, and that he has enough work to keep me busy for the rest of the summer. My mom says, “We’ll see, could you just pay him for his current work.”
My mom shook the whole drive home, all two blocks of it. Asking me about the pictures, the ass-less pants, etc. Was I touched? Finally, a day or so later, she drove me back to tell the guy I couldn’t come back, I was going to camp. He seemed bummed.
At the end of the month I came to collect for the paper, he paid, but no tip. Sitting in his office, with the odd photos was a former elementary classmate named Dale, Bonner I think. He was now delivering a rival newspaper, the guy was now giving Dale the same speech, pull weeds, and dig, etc. He was giving Dale a big tip. Apparently, he told Dale I quit, because Dale was shaking his head looking at me like I was an asshole. I grabbed the money for my paper route and left.
The next week when I came to deliver the paper, the guy’s home had six foot wood fencing all around the property. You couldn’t see what was going on inside at all.
I delivered the paper until the start of 8th grade. I don’t know what became of the guy or Dale.
LAST ONE TO DIE is officially out:Order at: https://www.createspace.com/3669330.