David Simon and I were room-mates in the very early ‘60s when we shared a dish-washing gig at the Cafe Figaro. David was the proud owner of two non-running Indian motorcycles then and survived severe head injuries in a motorcycle crash shortly before I met him. He was a fun guy to be with. Fine singer, diligent blues guy and always somewhat wacko. We hitch-hiked to the Newport Folk Festival one year and snuck in as prone passengers in the black hearse which brought Joan Baez through security. He passionately declared that he would obtain Bhutan license plates if he ever got one of the Indians running. We both liked our dishwashing gig because it guarante clean fingernails.

David Barry
September, 2019