Ah yes, the bad ol' days. Sometime in the very early 60s, I was out of work, and was supporting myself by being a paid accompaniast for a couple of folksingers. At the time, I was living in a loft on W. 17 St. in NY, just above Greenwich Village.

One evening, the doorbell rang, and I opened to see two clean-cut youngish men in suits with dark knit ties --(very suspicious in that neighborhood at that point in time. They identified themselves as FBI and asked me if I knew I was working with some subversive singers. I explained that I just played the guitar; had nothing to do with the words. They then asked me if I would be willing to serve my country by, er, observing and reporting on these singers.

I explained that that kind of behavior would make it very difficult for me to continue to earn a living. They looked disappointed, and went downstairs to their dark blue Chevy (a car that stood out like a neon sore thumb in that milieu.

Next thing I knew, I was being followed around when I went out. THis turned out to be much more of a problem for them than it did for me--I was riding a motorcycle at the time, and tended to avoid traffic lights by detouring through dome narrow alleys.

After a while, I began to feel sorry for them, so I'd drive aound the block, pull up to their car and tell them where I was going next. This seemed to embarrass them. They gave up after a few days.