Daddy was in the jukebox business - and it wasn't like Happy Days. South Georgia white juke joints with lime green cinder block walls and black juke joints with no glass in the windows and Red Rooster on the shelf behind the bar. Pure, down and dirty. Started with Johnny Cash and Joe Tex. Then a friend's sister smuggled home Woodstock. And my next door neighbor drove to Brunswick the first day Blind Faith came out in 8 track. And then came a night in Statesboro at Hanner Fieldhouse when another friend trucked me to see a couple of brothers named Allman play. I've had a copy of ABB Live at the Fillmore East in some form for 40 years. The Dead drifted in my life from the West, picking up Little Feat along the way. One Lambda Chi brother had Jerry Jeff Walker and another Tower of Power - at least until someone dropped a case of beer on the record stack. Thirty years later my son, the one who says he learned from me there is never enough time or music in a life, put Widespread Panic in the CD player. James McMurtry turned me back to grit and growl and Dumpstaphunk made me fill in my Sly Stone and James Brown collection. And a guy from my hometown named Randall Bramblett, who I watched from outside the window of the Jesup Rec Center when I was too young to go inside, is playing again soon at Eddie's Attic. Stevie Ray and Mrs. Mayer's baby boy stop me stone-cold every time. What can I say? My goal in life is time death and deafness to the second.