Chris,

Just one unique night comes to mind. Me and Don Wilson (the cover artist on Robert Johnson's second LP of reissues released on Columbia) were standing by the curb somewhere around where Rush St. and State St. come together in Chicago--near a below ground folk club called the Fickle Pickle. A car screeched to a stop right where we were standing. It was Bloomfield, manic and excited, and he yelled something like, "Come on, John Lee Hooker is in town for one night." We headed out to a dance hall somewhere on the West side of town on W. Roosevlet Road (12th St.) Up a long steep flight of stairs was a really basic large space where things were happening. John Lee was doing his thing, folks were dancing and drinking and, as the night wore on, somehow, John Lee heard that his harp player was getting more money than he was because he was also taking tickets at the door there. John Lee was pissed and held a one-man work stopage; said he wouldn't play until he was given more money for the gig. As a result, Mike was asked to play a some. (It seemed that he was well known in that dancehall.) Well, he did that--and everyone loved him. Folks didn't want him to stop, but Mr. Hooker thought twice about his one-man strike in the light of this new scab labor. He made it known that he wanted to be back on that stage!! Mike moved graciously away and John Lee continued right from where he left off, I think. But it's hard to say because everything John Lee Hooker does sounds alike---at least it does to me--anyhow.

I don't think the problem with the pay went anywhere after that. All seemed forgotten---and/or forgiven.

Several years later after the Electric Flag and other ventures I had to write the obituary for Mike Bloomfield in Come For To Sing Magazine. It was one of the hardest writing jobs I ever did. All I really remember about it was how damn mad I was with Mike---for, seemingly, tossing it all away. Same with Butterfield and so many others. Just a huge damn waste.

Still, it's fun remembering this and writing it out. I can almost smell rhat place...

Art Thieme