Duck Donald and partner Cathy Fink got me a gig in Winnipeg at a bar that seemed to be populated by a few college types, heavy drinking hard hats, Native-Canadians and about a third folkies. I remember Tom What's-His-Name---a good Native singer who later did kid's TV in Canada, being there that night. This was a downtown hotel if I'm recalling right. Once a nice place these digs had long since sort of gone to seed. A fight broke out at one point between the folks that wanted to listen and those that were out to be raucus drunks. This was no kind o' fplk club at all----but folksingers worked cheap. I was a warm body with a guitar---and that's all that they cared about. I drank that night just to forget where I was. Generally I NEVER drank until I was done. In those days, then I'd drive home----hoping I'd get there. (Later I never drank and drove.) But I do recall seeing a chair sail past my eyes----from one end of the place to the other. Throughout, I just kept pickin' and grinnin'. Ended with. "'Tis the gift to be sinple / 'Tis the gift to be free... / You will dwell in the valley of love and delight." ------------------------ And Mitch Podolac came down that night, heard me, and hired me for the Winnipeg Folk Fest. That's the story of my life. One thing leads to another and on and on...and on and on. But the rent got paid----that's always the bottom line.

Later, that same trip, I did a show at the University of Manitoba with a 104 degree fever. Cathy & Duck were waiting in the wings all night to take my place when I fell off the stage. Happily, that never happened. I was told it was a real good show----but I don't remember much of it at all; only the amazing colors in the fever-filtered spotlights playing all around the room. Psychedelic, man, psychedelic!!
And then there was the night the guy in Chicago who preferred and ate nearly raw chicken ----- with blood all down his face and shirt. He (George) was singing a different song than I was right in front of me standing over a table where 10 amazed people were gathered with 12 pitchers of beer and I lifted my booted foot without missing the proverbial beat and pushed him headlong onto that steaming pizza.

It was wonderful. --------- The club owner gave me extra cash for chasing that guy out of his club/restaurant. After that he never would come in there when I was playing. That particular night was the first night of a 3 year Monday night gig for me. Monday night featured me doing the folksongs and all the chicken you could eat for $4.00. Those gigs bought the groceries every week for Carol, Chris and me. Good recollections !

Art Thieme