BIG CITY BLUES June-July 2009 Issue Ace's Alley By Johnny Ace I’m always reflecting in my mind about my life—what I’ve done, what I didn’t do, what I’ve needed to do to make it better. It was a real hot—a hot boiling New York City summer day that was just getting ready to drip into the night. I felt like I was in a million burning pizza ovens with humidity like 2 million boiling Chinese sweat shops—where your clothes feel like wet, over cooked, soggy noodles that are dripping down like hot melting lava. But it was ok. I was out of the neighborhood and entering New York City’s gates to The East Village. There was no one around to hassle me, pull guns on me, etc., just because I had long hair. I was just hangin’ out by The Cube on St. Marks Place—a giant black mettle box sculpture where we young people used to congregate. I was sitting there with my bass watching the world go by, wondering why the whole world couldn’t be like this: everyone just grooving with no hassles. Then from the east this guy appeared. He looked like an urban Viking: real tall, about 200 pounds, wearing a beat up brown fringe Davey Crockett suede 3/4 length jacket with black jeans and black motor cycle boots. He had long, dirty blond hair, a big thick beard, and piercing steel blue eyes with a slight touch of craziness. Seeing my bass he came over and asked me in a real wise-ass Bronx New York accent if that was a bass. I answered back in a real wise-ass Brooklyn accent, “Yea!” He then asked me if I played blues. I answered “Yea." He then answered in a highly egotistical manner, “I’m the world’s greatest blues guitarist!” I was taken aback but amused as my whole life I’ve attracted these very strange people. I returned his unbelievable comment with "I thought B.B. King was the worlds greatestest blues guitarist!” He then said "I cut B.B!” Now I was really amused. He then put out his big right hand and said, "Hey man, my name is Larry, the Worlds Greatest Blues Guitarist!” I shook his hand and we became instant friends. . Larry lived on Willis Ave. at 144th St. in The Bronx, the south, a tough neighborhood, but that’s where Larry got his first guitar, one of many. He took his first lesson from an old black super in the building where he lived. Larry would travel 3 hours on the subway to Jamaica, Queens to study with The Rev. Gary Davis. Then, he played in a neighborhood group called “The Blues Messengers” who only played one gig at a wine-cough medicine party in the basement of his building. Larry and me spent most of our time in The East and West Village—many times at The Café Au Go Go on Bleeker St. where we grooved to James Cotton, Muddy, Paul Butterfield, all the other greats. Larry even got to meet B.B. in the kitchen at The Au Go Go. One time at The Au Go Go, the late Luther Tucker was singing a warm up number. Tucker was dressed in a pink rhinestone, Elvis Presley-style jump suit. His protruding basketball gut only added to the package. He was singing the old Brook Benton ballad “Endlessly,” complete with the cornball baritone vibrato. But Tucker was dead serious! We knew back then for Cotton that to be off the chitlin’ circuit and playing for all these white people was like playing Vegas, a huge move forward. And it was totally deserved. But as Tucker was bellowing away, Larry 'n me were laughing so hard that we were hitting each other’s arms black 'n blue. We were actually falling out of our chairs. Then one night B.B King was playing at The Generation in the West Village. It was real late and Jimmie Hendrix was jamming. B took a brake and Larry asked B if he could use his guitar and jam with Jimmie. B said "sure.” Larry walked on stage with real confidence and with the utmost respect picked up "Lucile" and then turned on B’s amp—but no sound came out. Meanwhile, Hendrix was in ecstasy blasting away through this huge VOX refrigerator amp. He was as loud as hell! The crowd was going wild! Larry was still struggling with the amp and finally got it to work, but Hendrix was so loud that you couldn’t hear it. Larry hit a few more licks, but to no avail. He reluctantly took the guitar off, and again with the utmost respect for B’s Lucile, he gently put it back against B’s amp. Then Larry turned around and glared at Jimmie Hendrix, the world’s greatest rock 'n roll guitarist, and flipped him the most vicious finger I’ve ever seen in my life—then stormed off the stage! I’m still rolling now! A few years later in 1970 Larry left The Bronx for the better life in Berkeley, California. Larry vanished out of my life. Then in 1994 while living in San Francisco I have a dream about Larry. He looks pretty much the same. He’s dressed in full black leather and he’s standing in front of a black Harley Davidson, a huge one. The next day I get a call from guitarist Steve Edmonson. He say’s “There‘s this guy who comes to my guitar store everyday who ries a Harley who’s asking about you—wants to know if your birth name is John Acerno.” Oh no. Anytime I hear that someone knows my real name, I worry. I ask Steve what the guy’s name is and he says, “Larry Mikska.” Well after that it was just like old times. Every afternoon Larry’d come over to rap, blast records, eat great breakfasts, reminisce, take walks, and just have a ball. He got me into the psychic program at The Berkeley Psychic Institute and it got me straight. Larry would bring over one of his many guitars and I got him back into playing. Yea, my man Larry was back and we were pals again. He was now “Magic Macio!” Well, about 6 years pass and Larry is still coming by the pad. He is in the house band at John Lee Hooker’s Boom Boom Room and jamming a lot. Then, we have a real big fight at Cathy and mine’s CD party. It wasn’t a physical fight—and it’s just between us what happened. Anyway, I tell Larry that I don’t want to ever see him again. Then, in April of 09 Cathy and me went to a jam session at The Little Fox Theatre in Redwood City. Steve Edmonson was there in the band along with guitarist Kenny Blue Ray. We all jammed and afterwards I was talking to Steve who told me that Larry had not played since that night we had the fight and that he had cancer. Steve asked me if I would I like to go see Larry. I was totally shocked and hurt. I said, “Of course I’ll go see him.” Well the end result was that Steve and his wife Judy took me to the suburbs to see Larry at the hospital. When we got there, I told Steve to go in first to make sure all was cool. Steve came back and said for me to go in. I walked in. I had my old original cover of Paul Butterfields first L.P (the one we both dug when we were kids). Larry was lying in the hospital bed; he was hurting real bad. I handed the old cover to Larry and told him not to worry, that the boys were watching after him. Larry very deeply stared at the old cover and totally understood the gift. Then I told Larry that I loved him and to forget the fight; I put my right hand on his heart and my other hand on his forehead and hugged him. The fight and bad feelings seemed to vanish. I told Larry I’d go get Steve and Judy and his son, David, who was there also and we’d all hang and Larry said very seriously, “John, there’s rules. There’s no talking.” I agreed. We were all there sitting quiet for a minute. The silence was killing me; I couldn’t take it any longer! I said, “Larry, remember the time ….” and I commenced to tell him a story from the old days. I had him laughing so hard he had to make me stop. He said, “John I’m going to shit himself!” Well, after 3 hours we all had to leave. I told Larry I loved him and I’d see him again. We went back one more time a week later—but Larry was out of it and suffering. Larry passed on that next morning. Try not to hold grudges—go visit an old friend—they’re precious. THE END