WELCOME TO BIGGSANDGUSTIN.COM
WELCOME TO BIGGSANDGUSTIN.COM
Signed in as:
filler@godaddy.com
What follows is an excerpt from a staff writer's column found in a recently unearthed edition of the Woodlawn Weekly, date unknown
". . I have a booth, well, I call it mine. I get to the diner early enough to make sure it's mine. It's been mine for a while now, long enough to properly crease the red and white vinyl button-tufted seat to fit my frame. My writing pad, black Cross 2502 pen and what's left of a #2 pencil, Musgrove brand, await me center table, flanking my cup of Nell's best coffee, straight up. My cup is different than the house cups, shorter, stouter, thicker, meant for keeping coffee hot longer, steadier in a shaky hand. Mental note - bring in a new pencil! I prefer a pencil rather than a pen . . this one's run it's course. A Musgrove is the best, particularly the #2 Single Barrel 106, hexagonal shape, black end cap, made of the finest Tennessee red cedar and purest graphite, humble yet indispensable, not too soft, not too hard, perfect for my grip, delicate or rough work the same. Down to my last 3. Mental note - get more! Not gonna get much work done this morning.
I do my best work in this booth, far corner in the back, sheltered from the busyness but positioned well enough for a view of all but the 3 companion baker's dozen booths tucked around the corner, and all 8 stools at the counter. Curiously, the outside stools are rarely taken. Being on the end doesn't seem to appeal to the weary-eyed come for fuel for the day. Nell's is full up today, and the rhythm of the ringing of Chef Camshaft's "orders up" bell is a sedative for the complacent. I almost sense the Seeburg Wall-O-Matic 200 in my booth is different this morning. Some cards now have a red border around the titles. Ah yes, new tunes! C4 - I Ain't Broke But I'm Badly Bent by Old And In The Way; C7 - Diesel On My Tail by Jim and Jesse McReynolds; F4 - Ricky Scaggs on I'll Stay Around; H11 - Two Lane Highway by Pure Prairie League; N1 - Lonesome Standard Time by Larry Cordle. ery Nice. Need to follow this discovery to the end. Not gonna get much work done this morning.
Food's up now. Little in this world can equal hot breakfast at Neuchatel Nell's Dinner Diner. Buttermilk biscuits and sausage gravy today, with Maine Russet hash browns and wild blueberries fresh from the barrens of Cherryfield on the side. J5 seems about right for the mood in the air, Lee Ann Womack doing Buddy Miller's tune Don't Listen To The Wind. There's something about a sad tune sung by a heavenly voice that leads you through the darkness. You hang on every word, then it's done and all is well. There's R5, Buddy Miller with a tune he or partner Julie Miller wrote, not sure who, So New, There's Still No Title, with Bill Madeira on Hammond organ. Sounds like a B3 with a Leslie cabinet. Simple, elegant, perfect when a little is a lot. Nope, not gonna get much work done this morning.
Further installments of life at Nell's through the lens of our writer will follow. Read at your peril, you might not get much work done.
Good news! It seems the complete archives of the Woodlawn Weekly have been found, thanks to some intrepid searching. Of particular interest is The Writer's Column, found in the Our Neck Of The Woods section, pg 4, right below the picture ad for Underwood Deviled Ham, "the original all fine zestfully seasoned ham perfect for sandwiches, snacking right out of the can, or to mix with cream cheese for truly satisfying flavor", or so the ad proclaimed. You be the judge of that. We continue now with the next installment . .
"It occurs to me life begins here, right here, right in this booth. Every day, like it did yesterday, and will tomorrow. If not with me, someone else I suppose, but frankly it's gonna start somewhere, so why not here?
I don't worry a great deal about waking up until I pass through those swinging doors at Nell's that herald the first sounds of this day's life. "Order up", DING DING DING . . three, quickly announcing Chef Camshaft's time with someone's breakfast has expired, and it's now in the hands of the very capable Verl, the lone waitress at Neuchatel Nell's Dinner Diner. After these many morns at Nell's I still didn't know if her real name could be Verlaine, or Waverly or what, nor the story behind that Mandolin tattoo on her right forearm. MENTAL NOTE: find out sometime. She wore a mint green uniform this day with a matching paper hat. I like it. Has a sort of freshness to it with a hint of zip. Pink, or baby blue, or that yellow that yawns, they don't have that zip. Guess they're meant for calm, not waking the senses. Someone sprung for Doyle Lawson and Quicksilver on the Seeburg, She's Walking Through My Memory, perhaps a nod to the prior eve? I'd recognize Russell Moore's voice in a choir of dozens, and this classic Doyle tune is one I know well. A nice start for the day, hinting that all will be well.
Time spent in my booth, the one I always sit in, the one I call mine, is one of the great pleasures of my day. It just fits, almost like wearing the same pair of old boots or gloves for so long they've darned near become second skin. I don't mind the time it takes to lace up my old boots. They've held me up through troubled times and walked me through some blues. And these old gloves that warm my hands have protected them for years, they're tired and worn and a little torn, but still I keep them near. The coffee's warm and waiting, right beside my tools.
If familiarity brings comfort then it all makes sense. How this came to be, me here in this booth, is anyone's guess at this point. I cannot recall. I know every tune on this Seeburg Wall-O-Matic 200; A6 - Heartbroke by Ricky Scaggs; H3 - One Of These Days by Emmylou Harris; L4 - David Grisman's Cedar Hill; T12 - Angel Eyes by Newgrass Revival; D8 - Sugar Hill by Tommy Jarrell; and G1 - Hello Mary Lou by Ricky Nelson, yes, every tune. The diner laid out before me is like a Rockwell painting I know it so well, the regulars too, maybe too well. I know the timbre of their voices, who wears flannel or t-shirts, waders or tool belts, hats, and who SHOULDwear hats. And I know that Nell always has my booth ready for me, fresh cup of Slap-Me-Silly Coffee center table, flanked by my paper and pen and #2 pencils. A comforting start, then a filling breakfast, and I begin.
Just a few notes at first. Sometimes they become something more. Sometimes they just become a wad'a paper. But usually something presents itself worthy of a few words in the Woodlawn Weekly, the local read of these parts that caters to folk whose biggest care of the day is just getting through it. It was my initial article about Nell's, spawned right here in my booth, that got me the gig for The Writer's Column. Think I'll stick with it, mornings in my booth at Nell's, the one I call mine at the back, where life begins, and all will be well.
from The Woodlawn Weekly, installment 3 of The Writer's Column, Our Neck Of The Woods section, pg 4, right above the Gilman Quilter's Circle report from Agnes Snoop, this edition seasoned by Slim Tim's Torrid Hot Sandwich Spread . . .
"To truly understand you have to listen between the words. That's where the good stuff lives, best first thing in the morn, before the fullness of the day rests too heavily . .
Ahhhh . . The Cox Family . . Everybody's Reaching Out For Someone, a comforting beginning to this day. I would thank whoever plugged the Seeburg 200 in my booth (the one I call mine) ahead of my arrival, though I know not who. By design I'm sure, though I know not what. Accept the gift with grace. I play the B side once in a spell, Backroads (E6, if you care) penned by Sydney Cox. Gotta plug the juke early if you want some say in what's heard here in the diner. Tunes stack up faster than griddle cakes in the kitchen!
Lots of music types around these parts, all hungry too. It's sort of a clearing house for reviews on venues and pay from a player's perspective, Neuchatel Nell's Dinner Diner, where opinions matter and tall tales grow. Nearby I overhear Nucklenose Nick (MENTAL NOTE: found out how that name was birthed) and Emile LeBateau, guitarists for Crawdaddy Momma and Snood, respectably, discussing pick direction. Pick direction? Fallen Eagle, from the Manassas double album (K3), has just come on the Seeburg. Good tunes this morn. Seems Emile is a forward slanter and uses a pick with a right hand bevel. Hmmmm. I've learned a bit about pick material and shape here in the diner but this is a new wrinkle. Nick apparently is right handed but uses a left hand bevel. He must angle his pick with the back part, the part toward his wrist, leading the pick attack. Interesting. Important too as Emile was demonstrating what he meant with his pick over the tines of a fork as if they were strings on a guitar. Amazing what you can learn if you listen real well to how things are said. His enthusiasm for his style is more convincing than his reasons for playing like that.
So do guitarists or mandolinists have a preferred way to hold and use picks, or are these two the few in the crowd? I suppose the grip is also a matter for discussion for some? And where in relation to the bridge and fretboard they pick is no doubt important too. MENTAL NOTE: figure out why this is such a big deal! Might be I should just ask Rooster, the busboy. He says little but surely knows all. If you want the skinny on something around here, ask the one cleaning up after folks, getting tipped, or not. They remember a lot.
There it is, Tryin To Stay Live (And Keep My Sideburns Too) has finally come up in the tune rotation. Leave it to Leon Russell and Marc Benno to stiffen a back or two around here in the morning, a perfect complement to the Western Omelet just served up by Nell herself, bright smile and hello eyes. It's always a treat to see Nell first thing in the morn, before the fullness of the day rests too heavily . . .
Now from the year-end edition of The Woodlawn Weekly, The Writer's Column, Our Neck Of The Woods section, pg 4, just left of the Dormeyer's Model 9500 Portable Mixer ad, "the only portable mixer with 9 full power speeds, completely redesigned and styled like a new car, in white, pink, turquoise or yellow with chrome trim." Yes, a bargain's a bargain in any color. Now, for the next installment . .
"There's no such thing as a good plan . . it's just a plan, up, down, roundabout. You start, you continue, you're done. It's where you find yourself after that matters . . or not . . . "
Packed in fuller than a Holstein that needs a milkin'! Should'a counted on that I suppose, what with all the townsfolk's kin visiting for the holidays and all. No better treat while home than breakfast at Neuchatel Nell's Dinner Diner. Specials all week too. Today it's Belgian waffles with Black Raspberry sauce, a side of buckboard bacon and a fruit cup, with all the hot jitter juice you can down, and today only - a new variety to test, Hammerhead Hank's Slow Roasted Campfire Chicory And Ginseng Blend, freshly roasted and ground, direct from the Crow Creek Coffee Company near Irving. Fortunately, I got here early, just as Verl brought my cup plumb full to my booth, the booth in the back I call mine.
Someone's in a nostalgic mood today. The Ballad Of Davy Crockett by Bill Hayes, C2, is on the Seeburg juke, following I Wan't To Be A Cowboy's Sweetheart, by Patsy Montana and The Prairie Ramblers, L5. Better get a few in quick while I can . . J1, the Louvin Brothers If I Could Only Win Your Love, M6, Guy Clark's Desperados Waiting For A Train, and D8, an old favorite, Navajo Rug by Ian Tyson. Killer music, 5 star food ready to order . . life's best pleasures, and specials all week.
If I were a bettin' man, and mind you I'm not, never have been really, though I will admit to having wagered a quarter or two on old Leonard's pet Guinea hen Bill in the annual Fleet Footed Fowl race on Founder's Day in Fidelity (a bad investment by the way - who knew Guinea Hen's could fly, Bill's first and last flight, both on the first day of hunting season). But if I were a bettin' man, I'd say that dobro there, the one hung above booth #3 right next to an old pair of spurs and a bullwhip with no popper on the end, is a 1937 Model 27 Dobro, two screens above the cone, slotted headstock, sunburst finish on top and on the back of the neck too (rare, indicating it was made in California, not Chicago as most were), and it was owned by "Greaser" Ham Bone, slide man with Flitz Pickleroy And The Possum River Ruffians. I'd seen it in his hands many times before. I'd heard he's playing a different dobro, a pretty thing with a big sound found somewhere out west, a 1937 Model 37 Dobro, in natural finish. Must be he likes it better than the Model 27. Not sure why his '37 is here though. Maybe I'll catch Greaser here some morn and find out.
There's always something to discover at Nell's, sitting here in my booth, the one I call mine anyway, cup of jitter juice in hand, full view of life before me, and blank paper to go. Should maybe get down a few notes to finish out this year. Lotsa people in here this morn, home to visit and hungry I suppose. Specials here all week . . .
Gee whiz Gilbert! We had no idea the excerpts from the long lost but newly found Woodlawn Weekly would be so popular! Seems the "Writer's Column", Our Neck Of The Woods, has roused the eye of our readers. Many thanks to Amelina Skeen for sharing these treasures, found in an old seaman's trunk hiding in the shadowed recesses of her attic, potentially the sight of great fortune yet to appear.
I suppose we should have foreseen this. A glimpse of life at Neuchatel Nell's Dinner Diner is entertaining, perhaps more so than any time spent otherwise, informative maybe too. So on with the next installment, from page 4, just below the monthly notice from the JOP (Justice Of The Peace) . . "Marriages performed ONLY on Thursdays, between 9 and 11 am with divorces following between 1 and 3 pm, nuptials must be approved in advance by the CCCCC (Concerned Citizen's Compatible Cohabitation Committee), and fees are still just $5 if accompanied by a fully cooked Black Forrest ham or half-ham of at least 5 lbs, or ten 45 lb bales of 1st cutting alfalfa delivered to the County Corral, or a coupon for 2 breakfast specials at Neuchatel Nell's Dinner Diner" . . and just to the right of the ad for the "NEW Wright And McGill Mirracle Minnows Gold Or Silver Metallic Finish fishin' lure -- No. 52J Jointed lure offered at $1.35 each -- for spinning, casting, trolling, side to side swimming action -- at your dealers or ordered direct." Wow! No more worm wranglin', shad smellin', liver loppin', shiner stickin' or bobber bloopin'! A real boon for the advanced angler! It appears the JOP had a problem with fish. Better get down to business . . installment 5 . .
"To learn we must simply listen, watch, and sense, lest lesson and circumstance slip away unused, the opportunity forfeit . . . "
Ahhhh . . nothing like the warmth of hot coffee on a chilly January morn, hardy and fresh, a proper beginning. This has the feel of a fine day indeed. Verl is beaming, brilliant as ice glistening on the pond behind Pout Whitfield's barn, lime green gingham uniform with contrasting white collar and sleeve trim, matching hat above, white and black saddle shoes below, smile wide as Main street. She'll soon return to freshen my cup and relate today's special. No matter, I'll have whate'er it may be, a gift from Chef Camshaft's griddle and grill.
I'll admit to some distraction. I'm drawn to an unfamiliar tune, Brandy Station by Tony Trischka, L8 on the Seeburg Wall-O-Matic mini-juke in my booth in the back corner, the one I call mine anyway. Scant crowd this day, yet it is awfully early. A handful of regulars attend to fuel up, some just for coffee and the morning's canards. A good listener with a good eye can hear and lip read enough to catch any news fit to be news, right here in the diner. Voices travel freely under the elaborate copper tiles overhead. It's rare to find privacy beyond a soft spoken word, but it's not expected here.
A Kenny and Amanda Smith tune is on the Seeburg now, How Many Rivers, G7. Three booths forward, opposite side, John E and John D (no relation far as I know, although pedigree and lineage matter little to me) are filling holes in a tune they're fleshing out. It's inspiring such talent calls this home, always working to better their craft. There are more, like Canfield Jermaine, lead singer and 4-string banjomeister for local Skaffle band Snivelin' Crabby (a unique blend of Skiffle and Ska), and Gilly and Gert, a red dirt duo recently relocated from the fertile flats of the Arikaree River near Devil's Canyon in Western Kansas, or Wilamina McCafferin, teller of tall tales in song, homegrown and never to leave Capioma save for her annual tour during county fair season. I caught "C6 to Em7/9 to D6 to Am7/9 then back to C", of John E's demonstration, depicting chord changes left hand over right forearm. Nifty trick. And I could almost hear a melody as John D mouthed "I didn't see it coming or believe that she would go, Please help me now my friend, say it isn't so".
That's Sail To Australia by New Grass Revival starting on the Seeburg, E5. Someone has nice taste, a tune I would guess unfamiliar here. Ahhh, breakfast arrives . . a French waffle big as my plate, home-churned butter and dark amber maple syrup direct from northern Maine with fatback bacon and a mixed fruit cup on the side. Thank you Verl, and to the unknown patron of tunes. This will be a fine day indeed . . better get down to business.
From the short month edition of The Woodlawn Weekly, (thanks again to Amelina Skeen for so generously sharing it), we offer the 6th installment of Our Neck Of The Woods taken from The Writer's Column section, page 4 top left, bordered to the right by the White Goose Corn Meal ad (recipe for fried corn meal biscuits courtesy of local baker Marge Confiseur), and directly above the weekly County Livestock Sales report from Pete "Pork" Fritter, clerk.
"There's an old saying about forgetful men . . if we remember it we'll share it. "
The smell of savory food is intoxicating - freshly baked sourdough bread becoming french toast in real time, right over there beyond the counter, just for me. With a side of country ham, two eggs over neat and my own carafe of Nell's Sunrise Special coffee this day will be off to a fine start. Just a few souls here today. Few distractions.
I'll plug the Seeburg for a few tasty tunes while I wait . . O18 - Money Honey by Ry Cooder, and J45 - IIIrd Time Out with Thanks A Lot. My booth, the one I call mine anyway in the back corner, is toasty warm this winter's morn and I find the lack of customers and their hustle and bustle comforting, the better to take in subtleties of the diner and appreciate a few moments of solitude. Marsh Thistle and his dad Musk are in booth #4, energetically sharing some plan for their next gig, maybe a tune list. It's not lost on me the Stainer fiddle on the wall of their booth belonged to Musk, who gave it to Nell in appreciation for her intrepid support for the family band. It's a pretty thing with a dark amber finish, now silent in it's place of honor on the diner wall. Musk has another, almost identical he uses now.
D21 - Church Street Blues by Norman Blake is finally on the minijuke. I always smile when I hear Norman's simple but masterful picking, impressive in it's musicality without pretense or flash, just great, soulful picking. At the front a lone patron sits at counter's end, left side protected by the window affording a view outside, agitated to some degree over who knows what. Verl seems to know him though I do not. I'd heard that "Luckless" Limual Long, aka "The Moonville Minnesinger" or "The Batchelor Bard Of Buckthorn" (depending on your locale or interest in esoteric historical stuff) was around town, so could be him. It's said he traveled the better part of a year one summer searching for his former love, with a rosewood bodied big necked 1937 Washburn model 5246 boomer in hand, it's deep voice and stout physique fit for just such a man. Passing through, still searching and hungry? Some come to Neuchatel Nell's Dinner Diner merely to feed. Maybe some come to find lost things? No doubt others come to hear or even create the latest stream of gossip. And some I suppose come just to touch the life found in this small haven for a brief moment, where the weary find strength, the forlorn gain comfort and all eat well. You certainly could do worse.
Breakfast arrives just as I Am The Bravest Cowboy by Ron Kane and Skip Gorman comes on the Seeburg - A12. Think that's Nell's favorite tune. When you're at Neuchatel Nell's Dinner Diner you get a little extra. Good food, good service, good music, and sometimes a good view into the soul of the community if you pay but a bit of attention. Fix your senses just so and your hearing improves, your eyes better decipher words from distant lips and furrowed eyebrows expose emotions. All are amplified by a shoulder's shrug, a head tipping to the side, a shift forward or to the rear of a seat betraying interest, or lack thereof. That's where real truth is, residing between spoken words, illuminated by simple, innocent movements of the body. It would be fair I suppose to believe others will also interpret my solitary existence in this booth and the smile I wear. Yes, that would be fair.
Just as well this morn to enjoy the simplicity of this moment, no pretense, no flash . . just like Norman's Church Street Blues. Camaraderie no matter how limited, with savory eats and tasty music, right here where it's toasty warm. Yep . . you certainly could do worse.
We've greatly enjoyed the old Woodlawn Weekly papers found in Amelina Skeen's attic, and the installments we've featured from The Writer's Column section, specifically the Our Neck Of The Woods piece, sharing a peek at early morning life through the lens of the back corner booth of Neuchatel Nell's Dinner Diner. We're now 7 installments deep in the well of yesteryear, or is it this year, or maybe both, in a Diner where the expanse of time has little to do with much of anything, really. It's just life.
Installment #7 of Our Neck Of The Woods follows, smack dab in the middle of page 4 bordered at the top by a Notice Of Public Works advising townsfolk town street lamps are being converted from gas to 'lectricity due to an unavailability of fuel since Lem Brahma sold off his herd, and at the bottom by an ad for Mickey's Most Majestic Moustache And Goatee Wax ("A little can'll do ya, good for daily greasing and styling, with a hint of Mature Melon").
" . . the true measure of value is neither intrinsic nor indelible, but rather how well it travels through time . . . "
Oh, what have we here? ". . try the new omelet, not even on the menu yet . . ", handwritten on the back of a lipstick smudged napkin (Poppy, no mistaken' it, Verl's favorite, a bit wild with a dash of sophistication, not too brazen, not too subdued, the perfect hue for the perfect smile) . . "don't ask, you'll love it." 'Nuff said! Ordered with just a nod, acknowledged with that smile . .
What a morning! Tunes on the Seeburg 200 to fit the mood, pretty cheap investment to hear the best. E5 - It Doesn't Matter by Manassas, L7 - Paul McCartney's Every Night, and P3 - Sugar Hill by Tommy Jarrell. That'll do for now. Verl is ushering in two folks to the booth in front of mine. Wow, Fatback Burns on the far side, facing my way. I'd heard he was still in town taking in the sights and considering property here. His recent appearance at Nell's stage on the bill with Gigglebone Gunther And The Whipplesnip Pipers had been a huge hit. Come now to enjoy the true treasure of Nell's, breakfast. Not sure who's with him, but it's not J.E. Berly. Reputed as the more reclusive of the duo, I suppose he returned to his home nest to work on new material. Supposedly he's the brains of the operation and chooses their material. Burns . . what do you call such a person . . Fatback? Mr. Burns, or just Burns? No matter, I don't intend to find out today. He's showing a new mic to his companion, a small mic used by all the great harp players, a Shure 520DX Green Bullet mic, perfectly designed to be clasped in one hand freeing the other to hold the harmonica. Awfully proud of it too. Must be better than the old Electro-Voice 605 mic he used. Perhaps it had one too many falls to the floor. Me too, but fortunately the ground breaks my fall every time. Hard to snap a mic back on a stand when you're as animated as Fatback is. There, it's settled. He's just Fatback.
My surprise arrives, an omelet of magnificent proportions. Must be 4 eggs! And, my fav pumpernickel rye toast with crispy hash browns, baked beans and a small cup of fruit on the side, and cranberry juice. Verl gave a wink with a hearty "Enjoy" as she left, leaving me with this delicacy and a fresh cup of Nell's new coffee variety "Kick In The Keester" from the roasters down the road. Great tunes, interesting company, a breakfast like no other . . wow . . what a day 'tis!
This week - Installment 8 of Our Neck Of The Woods from the Writer's Column in the Woodlawn Weekly. A look back, or forward, can be illuminating, helping us see that this moment is the one that matters most, and, what you make of it. Life at Neuchatel Nell's Dinner Diner is seen from the booth in the back corner, this glimpse from the far left column of page 4 of the Weekly, bordered on the right by the ad for Ricky's Ruggedly Handsome Jeans (tailored for the ladies, portly cut for men), and below that a notice from the township engineer reminding that trash burning is only permitted in an approved container, such as the Montamower Mobile Blitz Burner, "specifically designed for the efficient collection, storage and disposal of burnable household, lawn and garden waste . . Light it and leave it." BBQ accessory available.
" . . you cannot know the value of effort until you've done the work . . ."
Do For The Others, by Stephen Stills - G8. There could be no better greeting as I near my booth in the back corner of Neuchatel Nell's Dinner Diner, the one I call mine anyway. Verl's already there with a welcoming cup of fortitude, perhaps necessary this day more than others. It matters not what it is or it's pedigree, it's always the right fit for the right need.
I prefer being first in, first to hear Good Morning and see the day's first smiles, first to feel the rhythm of the songs escorting me to my booth, first to embrace life in the diner, as comforting as the hug of an old friend. Nell's never disappoints. I've yet to learn who selects the first of many tunes with only a coin or two and some well favored choices, but the Seeburg mini juke is always humming before the green light in the vestibule is switched on announcing the door is open. Chance McCoy And The Appalachian String Band is now on the Seeburg, Yew Piney Mountain - M2. Sounds like the Lester McCumber version, old-time fiddler extraordinaire.
Simple sounds best today . . yes . . Western Omelet with Pumpernickel Rye toast. Won't take but a few minutes. The counter is fully occupied now, as it happens in short order most morns. There's a handful in the booth just up from mine a ways. Lively for so early too. It's clear they're all musicians . . piled instrument cases in the neighboring booth. Good idea. Cold weather is bad news for acoustic instruments, quickly rendering them to sticks, wire and bone if left to the vagaries of the cold in vehicles. The large tweed case would house a dreadnought acoustic no doubt, and the smallest, an F shaped mandolin, betrayed by it's form. Same for the banjo case, worn to extremes, likely evidence of long years of use and an instrument inside surely to have provided many hours of pleasure to it's owner. And the last for a fiddle and bow. No indication who these tunesmiths are, but they've either had a good night prior, or are fueling up for a good night to come. Maybe both?
Of all the things to be found in Neuchatel Nell's, musicians are almost routine, and aside from breakfast of course, the most treasured. Some I know. Some I know not. But all are the same, for the evidence of their success lies in talk of tunes, remembrance of dates gone by and plans borne for those yet to come, and a hand resting on a case to the side, keeping it close. Now this is fitting . . Creedence Clearwater Revival's Travelin' Band - D41.
This week - installment 9 of Our Neck Of The Woods, culled from the Writer's Column in the Woodlawn Weekly. Some things defy adequate description, they just are. Time passes in slices like individual cells in a Super 8 movie reel, little remaining as evidence that we are, or perhaps were. From Neuchatel Nell's Dinner Diner, a brief peek at life from the back corner booth, as related on page 4 of the Weekly, right column top, just to the right of the photo of the Hooter family reunion, all modeling their new line of Boots For Night Owls ("Give A Hoot, Or Get The Boot", so say billboards about town), and just o'er the ad for Orville's Premiere Blue Solaise Leak Sets . . "a hardy and highly aromatic French variety with blue-green leaves, strong stalk traits and intense flavor, perfect for whole hog roasts, wedding receptions, proms and quilting bees."
" . . nothing is ever as real as it seems, until the bill comes due . . "
Nasty weather, just terrible stuff out there. Probably will be for awhile. But here in the confines and comfort of my booth, the one I call mine anyway in the back corner of the diner, it's dry, toasty warm, and safe from what missiles strong winds hurl about like insults at a Groucho Marx remembrance. Bear's Brew, Nell's newest house blend, hits the spot today. From the Cruel Canyon Coffee Company, it's a bold roast with a tinge of chocolate and chicory, stout enough to warm innards, gutsy enough to down reluctant thoughts, and tasty enough to begat more. Verl always knows what will partner best with the day's breakfast special - today it's biscuits and sawmill gravy, country cut hash browns, patty sausage and fresh squeezed OJ. Kenny Baker is on the Seeburg minijuke now, Denver Belle - K2.
The counter's full of early birds. Clearly all can hear the excited revue of last night's shindig, even over the dreadfull storm outside. On the right, Bundy Potford, bassist with local band Trouble In Hand, is reliving the night with Rowdy Rudy to his left, the "Batman of Bluegrass" with a seemingly endless supply of tools he unleashes on guitar on stage. Wilton Mix, fiddler, mandolinist and primary vocalist of the group seems content to listen and give a nod now and then, an effective means of conversation participation requiring little participation in the conversation at all. He seems to have some interest in the dark sunburst Stainer fiddle hanging over the open serving window, returning to eye it as he graciously shifts away from the conversation and back to his meal. It's seen better days, but the shape is unmistakably Stainer, or Stainer like. It, like the light brown Hopf with more squared shoulders over booth #3, the reddish hued Guarneri with the curious bullet hole below the bridge in booth #6, or the all black fiddle with no strings or tailpiece but a rather large orange 4 painted on it hovering over booth #8, are clearly copies of their namesakes, some better than others. Some in better shape than the others. Nell's wallside collection of instruments tells of her love for acoustic music, hinting at knowing more of the art and it's practioners than she lets on. Someday we'll learn of her past in music.
Harlan Man is on the minijuke now - G3. Steve Earle joined the Del McCoury Band for this tune, taking them all into new territory, kind of like early morning here at Nell's where familiar and unfamiliar faces bring concerns through the door one cannot anticipate. Weather is often predictable, not clientele, or what weighs heavy on their back or light in their smile. Randall Collins plays now, A11, a Norman Blake tune of hard work and harder times, done here by Kenny and Amanda Smith. Others have escaped the cold and driving rain to find refuge in the diner now. An animated couple here, trio of workin' men there, all seeking shelter from the storm, a satisfying meal and a bit of friendly conversation. It's so clearly seen in the view from here, back here in my booth.
This week - installment 10 of Our Neck Of The Woods, gleaned from the Writer's Column in the Woodlawn Weekly. A simple sliver of life from the back corner booth of Neuchatel Nell's Dinner Diner, on page 4 of the Weekly, top column left, beside the Notice Of Quick Sale for "Two mule drawn honey wagons, low mileage, fresh leather reins, recent spoke tune up and alignment", and above the ad for Uncle Orv's Big Bib Overalls, "available in vertical or horizontal pinstripe, with quick release gallus clasps and fold down bib/ food tray and cooking platform, complete with mini-sterno burner and beanpot." Onboard suppresant foam Ministinguisher available directly from Uncle Orv. Bargains abound. Installment 10 . .
" . . in time, is on time . . or thereabouts . .
Can't argue the process, really . . the door get's unlocked, you come in, find your spot, and enjoy the first relaxing moment of perhaps a long day, a variety of Chef Camshaft's delectables yours for the choosing. I've taken a place in my booth in the back corner, the one I call mine anyway, many times, each more rewarding than the last, every meal more satisfying, every minute in The Diner enlightening, entertaining, and unforgettable.
My choice was made as I entered the foyer, the sweet smell of french toast and vanilla riding unseen currents in the air. Today's special - double french toast with Maine maple syrup, thick slice bacon, cheesy scrambled eggs, a cup of peach yogurt and fresh squeezed apple juice. Verl is inbound, carafe in hand, lime green uniform almost illuminating her approach. Everything seems in sync this morning.
Grant Gordy and Ross Martin on the Seeburg Mini-Juke 200, C7 - Beacon. Two great young acoustic pickers with a flair for jazz embillshments, a nice way to get a day started. "Order UP!" I see I wasn't first in, as Verl serves three at the booth up to the side of the counter. It's a lonesome booth, perfect for animated and private discussions alike. I can pick up enough to discern they're debating how best to get the best live sound of acoustic guitars through a sound system, and clearly they have opinions. Tall guy inside is plying the merits of soundhole mounted pickups. Another prefers the convenience of undersaddle transducers. The third is mostly silent, but his hand gestures seem to depict mic placements. I wonder what Grant and Ross used to record Beacon. Colorado by Ozark Mountain Daredevils is on the Seeburg now - G3. Now that is the sound of a well recorded acoustic guitar, with vocals to match.
Verl delivers my meal just as a crowd enters. Something strange happens in a diner when it's invaded by a dozen or more at one time. All take note as the sound level increases several fold. Several booths fill, and Nell surely sports a smile now. Will see what pops up on the mini-juke now. Do they come for the food, the experience or to ogle over the great old instruments strewn about above the booths . . a Martin Tiple, probably early 50's or so near the entryway, 40's Maple Epiphone Zenith acoustic with F-holes over the serving window behind the counter, sunburst Harmony Stella 1/2 size acoustic with yellowed pickguard in the front corner, vintage Dobson fretless banjo on the wall to my side, a couple of folk fiddles over the door to the kitchen, and a mahogany Martin O-18 two booths ahead. Me And My Guitar by Tony Rice comes up on the Seeburg, D8, voice and guitar ringing out through the din, that voice and guitar work unmistakable.
You go to Nell's for breakfast for many reasons I suppose. As in real estate parlay, location is everything. My booth in the back, the one I call mine anyway, is the best perch, bar none, even better than the Helmsman's vantage point on Bogie's African Queen. The Diner can crowd up in a beat, so best not be late. Soon I'll corner Marie Clammerin here and catch up on her new musical path without The Bluesbirds. Someday. She's usually late, but for the famous . . "in time" is "on time".
What a find! Thank you Amelina Skeen! Discovered two more editions of the Woodlawn Weekly tucked inside the sleeves an old Pea coat in the seaman's trunk in her attic. We have a bit more of the writer's glimpse of life through the lens of Neuchatel Nell's Dinner Diner. This week - installment 11 of Our Neck Of The Woods, from the Writer's Column in the Weekly, page 4 center, just below the ad for Ollie's Oil-less Linament, "a dry cinnamon and sage rub created to soothe troubled muscles, and the perfect seasoning for your weekend brisket BBQ", and above the weekly activity report from the Concerned Citizen's Community Security Complement, Eve S. Dropper, Chairperson. Now, installment 11 . . .
" . . success or failure is merely a function of your tolerance for variance in outcome . . "
Oh wow . . that's Clara! I'd heard she was coming to town to help inaugurate the grand opening of Sturgeon Milvine's EMU Trading Post and Acoustic Instrument Emporium, where all things EMU will be offered at a special rate during the event, and weekly weekend jam sessions will be hosted by Sturgeon himself, an endless reservoir of tunes. But to have scored Clara Net and The Blue Shoe Revue, the pre-eminent swing combo in the whole muddy river basin, that's quite a feat. Had I been a sec later Pud Ward's Holstein herd crossing for their morning milking would have blocked the street and I would surely have come too late to get my booth, the one I call mine anyway, in the back corner of the diner. To be two booths down from Clara and her group will make breakfast truly special this morn.
Someone fed the Seeburg with music fitting the occasion, as I hear Chattanooga Choo Choo by the Andrews Sisters start up, C3. I can see Clara's shoulders swaying to the beat. I wonder if Speedo Kline, well known guitarist beyond the Revue, picked that booth cause of the 50's Guild A-50 archtop guitar hanging above the booth, faded light sunburst, a couple strings still on it, archtop back and missing the pickguard with attached pickup. It's a looker. Speedo is known for playing a 1949 Gibson L-7, sunburst venetian cutaway non-pickup model. It mates well with Clara's 40s Silvertone, an S-40 sunburst archtop, well worn and perfect for those jazz rhythm chunks she does so well. I was first awed by their interplay when I saw them some months ago at Pout Whitfield's barn, before it was damaged. What a treat to see them here, probably planning the upcoming gig at Sturgeon's place. B8, Deep In The Heart Of Texas by Gene Autry just scrolled up on the Seeburg.
Simple breakfast today . . hotcakes with dark amber Maine maple syrup, 2 eggs over medium, thick slab bacon, and fresh apricots, all tied up with this week's special dark coffee, Tennessee Thunder River Blend. I wonder if it's from the Crow Creek Coffee Company, the Cruel Canyon Coffee Company, the little roaster down the road a bit, or maybe that new coffee roaster from the Bar Z Ranch up near Capioma, the Jitter Juice Junkies. Big Iron is on the Seeburg now, H1, Riders In The Sky. Nell must be in the kitchen today. Always plugs that tune when she's cooking with Chef Camshaft. Verl can manage any crowd alone, in a light blue uniform today with white flats, a rose pinned to her lapel (I see it got here early as I requested), and hair up and behind in a small wrap. It's a nice look.
Always something interesting here at Nell's, and no better way to start the day. You watch, you listen, you eat, you drink, and life unfolds before you. There's a lot to be said for the comfort one's favorite spot can give, as in my booth, the one in the back corner I call mine anyway. A fresh cup'a joe helps too. This has been a good gig with the Writer's Column. Now if this old black Cross 2502 pen can hold out just a bit longer . . .
We use cookies to analyze website traffic and optimize your website experience. By accepting our use of cookies, your data will be aggregated with all other user data.