DC's A Music Town by Mark Noone

In 1964 I went to Lafayette Elementary. This was a different time; DC public schools were places where learning actually happened. I still remember much world geography from Mrs. Jenkins’ fourth grade class, and English grammar from Miss Fernsner. When I started Lafayette, a couple of years earlier, the school still sported the ‘civil defense’ posters left over from the Cuban missile crisis. There was a bomb shelter in the basement of the school, which I illicitly explored, undetected. At some time in the year of sixty four, I also explored the attic of the school. I was 10 and incorrigible. Most DC public schools have a functionless, albeit appealing, steeple atop the building. I went up the tiny ladder to the very pinnacle. My name should still be up there. Upon returning to school in that Fall of ‘64, the black top conversation was mostly of the Beatles and the Beach Boys, but during the summer, a British TV show had replaced some forgotten usual show. It was also a hot topic of conversation. But it was not the show that had everybody’s consideration; it was the show’s theme song. I remember talking to Maury Abraham (who by the way sported a Beatle Cut) about the opening guitar lick. Maury and I were “in a band”. At the time I wasn’t sure what that meant. Maury did. Since I was clueless, he later banded together with a singer named Andy Williams, (not of Moon River fame) and a focused individual who played guitar, named Josh Bolton. They were called The Ocelots. Mr. Bolton is now the Whitehouse Chief of Staff. That kind of stuff happens in DC.

A DC greaser who lived on Legation St near Lafayette played guitar and taught me that opening lick. I wish I knew who that greaser was, he probably became someone famous. Maybe he was Link Wray. The opening riff, of Johnny Rivers’ hit of Secret Agent Man, should be in every rock and roll guitarists’ arsenal. That opening lick is still a staple lick for every guitar player. All this went through my mind yesterday as I taught the lick to Charlotte, who is one of my many high school aged guitar students. She actually practices. She writes songs.

Every town in America had kiddy bands back in those days, mostly inspired by the Beatles, DC was no different. I like knowing that playing the three chords on my acoustic Sears guitar in Maury’s basement was the beginning of something I might call my music career. Maury is just as much a part of that as Charlotte is. DC is not just the government or the political machine, or the law, or the murder capitol, or whatever anyone else knows it for. Most importantly, especially for me, it is the home of Link Wray, Trouble Funk, Mary Chapin Carpenter, Peaches and Herb, Duke Ellington, Minor Threat, Good Charlotte, Danny Gatton, The Flying Shards, Grin, Scream, Rummy and the Upsetters… This list can go on and on for days, and it will go on and on for years to come, because first and foremost DC is a music town. But don’t tell anybody, that’s our little secret.

There Are Fifty States But There Should Be Fifty-One by Lynn Thorp

In honor of my big birthday, here are 50 thank-you notes and random thoughts about Planet DC and its satellites:

1. I feel like I am really home in DC when I am at Ben’s Chili Bowl.
2. When we were buying our house in Mt. Rainier, we were also spending every night protesting the first Gulf War at the White House, so 2 year old Nicole thought we were buying the White House.
3. May 1993 – got arrested right there while handcuffed to Martin Sheen. Before he was President.
4. The pedestrian thing is okay, but I miss driving by the White House.
5. If it weren’t for one of DC’s homegrown industries, there would be no West Wing- television as an art form.
6. Thank you for MacArthur Boulevard.
7. Thank you for Fletcher’s Boat House.
8. I could drive MacArthur Boulevard with my eyes closed.
9. Newcomers can’t really understand what the Boulevard was like 30 years ago. But the spirits are very loud if you listen for them.
10. The squatters just can’t get the Marion Barry thing.
11. The Awakening belongs to DC, but at least my adopted county has it.
12. I can’t find anybody who remembers Hamilton Arms in Georgetown, but I am 95% sure it’s not a Brigadoon-type thing that I imagined.
13. The first time U2 came here they opened for the Slickee Boys. Three months later they were famous, and Slickees opened for them.
14. The first time the Clash played here, opening act Bo Didley asked me to introduce him to some girls.
15. Thank you for Garrett’s.
16. Thank you for DC rock and roll.
17. Thank you for The Raven.
18. In the days of DC Space, people were scared to go down to what is now the Gallery Place “whatever it is.”
19. Thank you for Lyn1.
20. Lots of people don’t know that the guy who wrote the piano solo for Layla is a DC guy who was in Nils Lofgren’s first band, even before Grin, and he has a bit of a sordid history. Look it up.
21. You could learn all you need to know about life at the People’s Drug Store lunch counters.
22. Sitting in DuPont circle with a coffee and a book is one of my favorite things.
23. I was taught to drive on the Beltway because there was so little traffic on it.
24. Because they grew up around here, my kids don’t see color, and they can spot b.s. a mile away.
25. Thievery Corporation could only come from DC.
26. The sign at the Wisconsin Ave. Little Tavern said “Buy ‘em [chunk of sign busted off] the Bag.”
27. My cat Kyoko and I used to share a roast beef sandwich across the street at the Georgetown Roy Rogers on pay day.
28. My sister Maude built Washington Harbor.
29. One year the Bullets won the championship, and the Kinks played. ( I thought the hollering and hoopla in the streets was for the Kinks.)
30. Sky King was jealous of me because he wanted my old friend Dan all to himself.
31. Thank you for all the local bands and the guitar heroes.
32. The best 4th of July fireworks are the ones rescheduled due to storms. Rare but priceless.
33. Piggy really did jump off Key Bridge and survive it.
34. Mom and her women friends lived above Duke Ziebert’s downtown in the last year of WWII. They would go on group dates with the few men left in town, and someone would stay behind to pocket the excessive tip for spending money for the week.
35. During WWII many women who were liberated ahead of their time came to DC and did all the jobs usually reserved for men, most of who were off in the military. These became some of our local and national heroes and paved the way.
36. My mom had an apartment at 14th and Harvard in the late 1940’s. Dad lived his teenage years at 16th and Harvard. My parents lived together at 18th and Kalorama in the 50s. They lived in McLean next to Robert Kennedy’s estate in the late 50s.
37. Thanks from a grateful nation for Chuck Brown.
38. If Congress would stop meddling with DC, it would have more enlightened laws than many.
39. My friend Dan never stopped considering NJ his home, but he loved DC as much as any native.
40. Half smokes are our thing.
41. Streets that are called “Roads” are the old farm routes used to deliver food to various parts of the area. MacArthur Blvd. was Conduit Road. There are still Canal Road, Loughboro Road, etc.
42. Baltimore has Mencken but we have Pelecanos.
43. Bistro du Coin is not a bad thing to inhabit the space of Food for Thought, karma-wise.
    
44. Pizza and bagels are a shortcoming, I have to admit.
45. It’s too bad you can’t sleep on the beach in Dewey anymore.
46. Someone must have a photo of the old House of Wig on F Street that I can buy.
47. Adams Morgan on weekend nights is like Time Square on New Year’s Eve. Rather frightening, not my thing but worth trying out now and then.
48. The hullaballoo over snow days is a deliberate way to get a mental health day. Don’t knock it, join it.
49. Until there was widespread AC, tons of people slept in West Potomac Park.
50. Flying into National (don’t call it the other name), is awesome every single time.
51. NO TAXATION WITHOUT REPRESENTATION. THE TIME IS COMING.

The Bishop's Garden

Thanks to Alice for that last posting, I'm reminded that The Bishop's Garden behind the National Cathedral is one of my favorite places in DC. You can reach it by a series of steps leading up from the parking lot or through the medieval type doors set in the stone wall at the top. I like to come in that way and walk the smaller winding paths down to the roses. One side features a large green lawn lined with trees where a dog can squirrel watch for hours on end. The flower garden on the other side combines open spaces and more private spots to sit.  These out door rooms made of stone feel ancient and cool even on a sweltering day in August.

We used to take the children there for elaborate games of hide and seek. Depending on the time of year and day, it can be crowded with tourists or you might have the place almost to yourself. I remember being there with my father and mother. We had scattered exploring the herbs or looking for the fish in the little man made stream. A young couple was standing in front of the roses having their picture taken by a passerby when my father jumped into the scene- long before the words photo bomb was a thing.

The couple was startled at first, but soon started laughing. He had that effect on people. I like to think that they still have that photograph stuck in an album somewhere, and maybe they still smile when they see that funny little man in the green checked suit standing in between them.

The Mobile Party Unit by Alice Despard

photo by happy monkey

When I set my mind back to my early teens, it seems to me that live music shows were at the center of my life. In the early 1970s there were plenty of places in DC for the young hippies to congregate and hang out. Cheap wine was plentiful, but you wanted to stay away from Strawberry Ripple and Boone's Farm Apple wine--those sickeningly sweet concoctions would make you ill in a heartbeat. (Marketing alcohol to the young is no new thing!)

I attended--somewhat sporadically and between bong hits-Maret School- but all my friends were from Sidwell Friends and St. Albans. We were all preppy hippies. We hung out at the
St. Albans coffeehouse every Friday night. Our "Mobile Party Unit" (as we dubbed ourselves)
would go to the local liquor store and buy a gallon of cheap Chablis wine. No problem, even though we were only fourteen years old! Times were much more relaxed back then. We would head for Bishop's Garden gazebo on the Cathedral close, and it was a perfect place to get high: hexagonal benches in a stone structure with arched open windows all around overlooking the rose gardens.

After awhile, we'd wander over to the coffeehouse in the parish hall at St. Albans where a light show was already sending wild patterns onto the ceiling, and the band was in full swing.
The light show artist was really into mixing the oil, water and food colors and swirling them around on the overhead projector. Wow, man! (This is how we entertained ourselves before the video age arrived.)

I remember the Alice Cooper cover band called Tinseled Sin playing there many times.
Other bands, I don't recall their names. It wasn't important because the main thing was just hanging out together with friends and enjoying the whole scene, and maybe snaking around a little bit (hippie dancing--I call it "snakin")

I remember a St. Albans student setting up a candelabra on the piano downstairs in the parish hall basement, and playing Keith Jarrett-style improvisation for hours. I thought he was brave to play solo by the seat of his pants like that. Nowadays, I'm so jaded, I'd rather be shot in the head than listen to pseudo-jazz improv on the piano. Back then, it was all new and full of wonder: "Wow, he's just playing music without any sheet music or even songs to hang onto!"

During the endless, muggy DC summers, we'd hang out at Ft. Reno Park-a major destination for the underage and street-wise. Bands cranked while we sat in the grass or boogied on the basketball courts, wine and weed travelling constantly through the sweaty, hazy throngs of youth. I heard many, many R&B and roots rock bands there---countless Little Feat and Grateful Dead hits were covered. Everyone knew all the same music back then, as it was much more homogeneous than it is now. DC was a Little Feat town, no question.

(Alice may be a reformed party unit, but she's still a wonderful musician.

See her at the Galaxy Hut October 12.)

New Life For Old Blog

There's that old saying that familiarity breeds contempt, but living in and around DC for most of my life has just led to... more familiarity. I run into someone at a party, and if they are of a certain age and demeanor-given fifteen minutes or so-I can usually find some connection. Just the name Cokinos can do it as my large Greek family has lived here since the early 1900s.

Then there are the circles. My friend Lynn grew up a block from where I live now.
(I actually met her Dad, Mat Thorp independantly of Lynn- he is a very active guy in my neighborhood and not hard to spot taking care of business in his summer suits with the pants cut down to shorts, plaid slip on shoes and yellow happy face socks.) In Lynn's circle there is a couple from her Georgetown University days who I already knew as parents from my son's school. Lynn said one of her Mt. Rainier neighbors was in a band, and when I saw him I realized I knew him from dc space days. Yet another friend of hers, a junk dealer, was a college housemate of mine. I was at a party a month ago, and I talked to a woman I'd never met before. After the aforesaid fifteen minutes or so she suddenly asked me- do you know Lynn?

That kind of thing.

So this blog started out as a homage to my parents and my hometown. It will continue on in that vein, but with the loss of my father it has become harder to keep on writing. So after turning this thing out to pasture for the summer, I hope to bring it back stronger with fresh horses so to speak with DC based guest writers. 

Look for the first guest post tomorrow.

Long Lost Cousin Nat and Bernie Schultz

F. Bernard Schultz in Hawaii

Strange and interesting things happen now that we have the internet to connect the planet. For example, a man in Tennessee recently decided to trace his family history- specifically his grandfather. He did not know very much about him- only that he had abandoned the marriage, leaving his grandmother to raise her children alone.  In fairly short order, however, the man landed here, on this very site. Why? Because my grandmother Bernice was the one his grandfather Bernie ran off with.

Here's the story from my new found "cousin" Nat:

"As you know, I didn't know much at all about my grandfather, barely his name. After my father's death, I decided to take a shot in the dark and googled Frank Bernard Schultz. Surprisingly, the first link was to a memorial from the Mamiya Medical Heritage Center in Hawaii. The article spoke extensively of his professional history, but very little about his personal history.

After reading that article, I went back to the same Google link pages and came across your Pearl Harbor tribute to your grandmother. Wondering how the name Schultz was related to her, I read the article and found out that the two of them had been married. Seeing that your last name was the same as the one in the Mamiya article, I decided to take a chance and to "introduce" myself to you to see if you might know about our family history. "

And so I found my new (step) cousin, Nat and was able to pass along not only information, but also letters and souvenirs from his long lost grandfather who had spent all of World War Two as an army doctor in Hawaii.

Dr Schultz was quite a character. Tall and handsome, he was an accomplished musician who played with Paul Whitman and once had his band Bernie Schultz and the Crescent Orchestra. (You can hit the link and listen. Sometimes the internet just kills me.) My grandmother met him when he played tea dances at the Broadmoor.

Bernie was also a talented actor, artist and writer, and quite the lothario.

He left my grandmother in the wake of multiple affairs and married a third time before his death so Nat and I had one more thing in common.

Mount Vernon Place Once Upon A Time

My father, George Cokinos and Billie Stathes became fast friends when he was six, and she was five  in 1922. Greek immigrants had put down serious roots here in Washington by then, raising families and funds for a church of their own which they wanted to call St Sophia. In 1922, Billie remembers the church was still meeting in an upstairs room rented from the synagogue on 6th and G.

Billie  (front and center)

As she tells it, my father loved to entertain the Sunday school class whenever the teacher had to step out. He would make silly faces and wag his fingers- anything to make everyone laugh. They remained good friends for life. My brothers both lived with her after she moved to Florida to teach at Miami High School. She became my sister's godmother, and she took it upon herself to make sure my children had books every Christmas.

George with the bow

Billie is 91 now, and she recently attended my father's funeral here in Washington. She flew in from Florida where she is retired though she still finds the energy to translate Greek verses which are published in a tiny book. She gave me this remarkable map of the St Sophia neighborhood - drawn specifically from her memories by her cousin, Nick Chacos who is an architect.



 Billie also included this narrative with the map:

 I called the two blocks of Eighth Street near Mt. Vernon Square where I lived from 1922-1933 "the village." Mount Vernon Square with its beautiful park and library was our landmark for an every day visit after school.

On the corner of 8th and L was the Greek Orthodox Church. There was a social hall in the basement where dances for teenagers were held every Friday night. You had to be fourteen to attend. 



 Next to the church was a small two story house where the caretaker Alec and his wife Koula Cokinos lived. Their home was always open for cookies and a visit.

All of the houses on the right were brownstones, three or four stories high. On the left was a row of small homes where the colored folk lived. We all played together.
Dr. Fred Repetti, the village doctor, lived on 8th and L, too.  Every family went to him for advice and medicine. During prohibition, he would give prescriptions for bourbon, Four Roses and rum. The drugstore at the other corner gladly filled them in medicine bottles. We made wine in our basement every year, and even the policemen would be waiting for it. Around the corner on M street was the grocery store and the Chinese laundry. 

Our pride and joy was the corner of 8th and M where there were four gas stations. We were very very proud of them. No one on our blocks owned an automobile. We would go to the corner every day to look at the marvelous cars which stopped for gas. Two blocks were torn down in the late 1930s taking our village with them.

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(9th and L today)

Most of the neighborhood is gone now, although the 1905 Carnegie library is still in tact. The new convention center has obliterated blocks of Billie's history with only a a historic sign to remind people of the past and preserve a few pictures and anecdotes of the way things were.

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St. Sophia moved uptown in 1951- just off Massachusetts's Avenue where it stands today.
Click on the maps above to see details of the gone away village.

GEORGE P. CORKINOS

When my nephew and I proof read the death notice for my father, George P. Corkinos, we both missed that extraneous "r" at first. Everything we have done as a family this past week has been in a collective state of disbelief. It is hard to accept that this man is no longer here with us. Usually when a human reaches the age of 91, people shake their heads and say how sorry they are, but the word shock does not usually come up as it has this week. My father was so vivacious and charming- no one believed he was as old as he was. He had a great run.

His name was actually George P. Cokinos. The 'P' is important. There is my cousin, George A. Cokinos, my nephew, George S. Cokinos and and my cousin Mark, who is actually George M. Cokinos. (He has a son named George as well- George N.) ( Or maybe it's Nicholas George) And that's just off the top of my head. Believe me, I could go on.

My father was on a cruise ship when he fell. My sister says he was wearing sneakers that were too big, but they were a bargain so he loved them. He had been in Florida since New Year's Eve, tanning on the roof of his condo every day that the sun shone. The ship was in port in Mexico when he tumbled down a short flight of stairs. He was airlifted first to a hospital in Cozumel, then to Fort Lauderdale, but he never recovered.

He went out doing something he loved, traveling with my mother and my sister, tanned and vibrant. Whether it was a brief meeting or a lifetime of friendship, he always made an impact on everyone who crossed his path.  (I've actually felt sorry for a car salesman in his presence.)

George was kind. His sense of humor was unique. His special name for me was Gunga Din. "Gunk" for short. What could be funnier than that?

Only about a million stories which I hope to keep adding here.

Do You Know What It Means To Miss...

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I'm sorry to report that Tom Sarris' Orleans House, a somewhat nutty DC area landmark, will soon be razed to make way for "progress."  The restaurant today feels like a cross between a traffic island and a time capsule caught as it is between Wilson and Clarendon Boulevards in Rosslyn. My father George was a friend of Tom's, and he told me the story of how the restaurant came to be.

According to my father, Tom grew up in Washington with Ulysses "Blackie" Auger, and they were good friends. Ulysses created his own landmark with "Blackie's House of Beef" which started with a Western theme, but when others started copying his style, Blackie built a New Orleans inspired courtyard.  Blackie's success and style inspired Tom to want his own "Orleans House," and his old friend gave him his blessing and advice.

Tom took what once was a Giant food store and transformed it into a two story New Orleans fantasy complete with antebellum columns and wrought iron. His claim to fame was a bargain prime rib served up with a brand new concept at the time - the all you can eat salad bar. Both the rich and famous as well as the little guy on a budget liked to dine here. Blackie thought giving away salad was a bad idea, but Tom stuck to his guns. My father always raved about the salad bar and called it "beautiful."

When my family heard the place was closing, we wanted to go back once more. Everything was frozen in time including one of the waitresses who had been there over 45 years. The salad bar was still tricked out like a river boat and still "beautiful."

The food, I have to admit, was just okay, but it was well worth the trip to memory land. Tom collected things you are unlikely to see in most restaurants these days. Chairs which resemble thrones and a knight in full armor. A clock from the Willard Hotel lives here, too. The Orleans House will officially close on January 15th which doesn't give us much time to say good bye to a lot of history and memories.

Remember Pearl Harbor

In our family, we learned to remember Pearl Harbor early in life because of my grandmother Bernice Calvert. She was an eyewitness to the attack, but her journey to Hawaii started here in Washington, DC.

In 1933 Bernice, a young widow, was managing the Broadmoor Apartments on Connecticut Avenue. She met her next husband when he was playing violin at the Broadmoor's afternoon teas. Bernie was from New York, but came to Washington to attend medical school at Georgetown. The gig gave him some spending money.

Bernie was a charming and talented guy.  He did this sketch of Bernice on the back of his business card. They were married on November 4, 1936.

When Bernie graduated from Georgetown, he accepted a commission in the Medical Corps Reserves and was called into active service in April of 1941 in the territory of Hawaii. Not knowing this trip would be much, much longer than anticipated, they rented out their house, climbed into their car and drove to San Francisco, stopping along the way to take in Old Faithful and other sights out West.

In California, they were stalled for weeks waiting for a transport ship. They killed some time in Los Angeles where they met movie stars like Marlene Dietrich thanks to an MGM studio pass Bernie had scored from his musical connections. A diary mentions lunch with "Spencer and Gable,"  and an encounter with Charlie Chaplin and his family at the bird zoo in Catalina. Bernie remembers chatting up Chaplin and being allowed to take a photo with Pauline Goddard.  (Boy, I wish I could find that shot.)

Finally a Matson Line ship became available. Bernice and Bernie arrived in Honolulu in early July. Back then travelers were traditionally greeted by Hawaiian women with armfuls of leis, but they also saw waves of P-40s and bombers dipping their wings to say "hello" to the new crew. As the ship docked, the Royal Hawaiian band played "Aloha Oe" and other native songs while crowds below shouted and waved. 

After watching a sunset near Diamond Head, Bernie wrote "It was like having walked all your life in a haze and in muck- then suddenly breaking through the mist and seeing a great panorama in front of you."

The attack came just before 8 a.m. on a Sunday morning, Bernie's day off. A neighbor woke them by pounding on the door and shouting. Bernie, in shock, turned on the radio to confirm the unbelievable news. A broadcast of a church service was soon interrupted with the announcement:  "The island of Oahu is under enemy attack...all officers report...all citizens stay off the streets. Keep calm. Everything is under control."  Bernie got dressed, and still feeling dazed, left for Tripler with the captain who lived next door. On the way they saw billows of black smoke rising from the harbor, and three low flying planes. The news became all too real.

At the hospital, the scene was pure frenzy. Wounded civilians and soldiers, both dead and alive poured in all morning.  One victim was carried in on a street sign. A bomb dropped so close to the hospital that a convalescing patient died from shrapnel wounds. Many young soldiers urged Bernie to take care of others before themselves. Towards midday Bernie went home to collect his surgeons' tools, but a crowd stood in the street, blocking the way. It took a moment for Bernie to realize that the front of his house was almost demolished. Most of the windows had been shattered by shrapnel.

The concussion of a bomb, which fell across the street from their home, had knocked Bernice to the floor, but amazingly, she only suffered a twisted ankle. Bernie found his wife at a neighbor's house and took her with him back to the hospital.  Bernice washed instruments and cut bandages while Bernie went back to the surgery. They worked through the day and most of the night.

I don't have a photo of the hospital, but I found the photo below with Bernie's things. He was an avid photographer so he may have taken this himself; there are no official markings on the back.

Almost all of the Army wives and children would leave the islands as soon as possible, but my grandmother wanted to stay despite the curfews, blackouts, and a new life which included gas masks always at the ready.

Bernice became a censor at the post office and volunteered with the Red Cross.

By February 1942,  she wrangled a full time position as a paid social worker for the Home Service of the Red Cross. Her evacuation was deferred.

Bernie and Bernice also organized a theater group and gave performances throughout the islands before the USO made the scene. (I wonder if she was rethinking her decision in this shot taken in their living room probably around Christmas of 1942.)

Bernice witnessed both the beginning and the end of the war first hand.  My mother told us that she was the only woman correspondent to cover the war in the South Pacific, and that she was aboard the USS Missouri when the Japanese surrendered.

 After the war, Bernice remained on the islands helping the Red Cross pick up the pieces of many altered lives.  She never lost her love for all things Hawaiian and stayed overseas for twenty years.

The Ambassador Theater and How It Rocked DC

Around 1927, my mother remembers walking with her Dad from Mozart Place to the Ambassador Theater on 18th and Columbia Road to see something new. It was "a talkie" featuring Al Jolson in The Jazz Singer. Now flash forward forty years to 1967 when the shuttered theater became a home to something new again - an amazing place to see rock n' roll. I, unfortunately, was only about eight at the time, but this past weekend, yet another forty years forward, I went to a reunion of those who made it happen. Jeff Krulik our local film maker (and hero) helped bring these guys together from all over the country for this event.

In 1967 Tony Finestra, Court Rodgers and Joel Mednick were three young guys selling fire extinguishers of all things when they heard about the Summer of Love out in San Francisco. Out there they went, and when they came back to D.C., they came with a vision to make things happen here. They rented the Ambassador Theater, fixed it up, and booked The Grateful Dead. The Dead's equipment arrived, but unfortunately the city pulled their permit at the last minute not wanting a hippie project to move forward when things were getting touch in the anti- war movement. But our boys fought back and finally opened on July 28, 1967 with a local band, Natty Bumpo, and headliner The Peanut Butter Conspiracy.

The Ambassador was an enormous space. All 1500 seats had been removed. The Psychedelic Power and Light Company took over the balcony and used multiple projectors and black lights to fill the room and cover the walls with colors and images- a stand alone show of its own. Tickets were $1.50 on week nights, $2.50 on weekends.

The mezzanine level boasted a head shop selling lava lamps, posters and well, you know, hippie stuff. What a scene it must have been. Not only was it a concert hall, but neighborhood kids were invited for special matinees. It was also used as a staging area for the march on the Pentagon. Even Norman Mailer showed up on stage
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A young guy named Jimi Hendrix had been touring with The Monkees that same summer, but his style didn't quite fit that double bill. His manager begged The Ambassador folks to let him play there for 5 nights that August, and Pete Townsend of The Who came to see him. (I'm not making this stuff up- ask Nils Lofgren) This all happened here.

More From Nils Lofgren:
"The room was humming, not only with the expectation of seeing the Jimi Hendrix Experience, but that Pete Townshend was in the audience, and it was just an extraordinary pivotal night for me. Hendrix came out and said he was going to dedicate the first song to Pete Townshend and he was going to do a rendition of 'Sgt. Pepper.' Now being naive, and being a huge Beatles lover, a lot of us thought 'well, you're only a three piece band, how can you play 'Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band,' there's all these other guitars and strings.' We just didn't have a clue of what Hendrix was really about. He counted off the song and I remember he kind of disappeared, he just did one of those things where he fell to the floor, sitting on the floor rocking with the guitar between his legs kind of doing a 'Purple Haze/ Sgt. Peppers' riff, then he sort of bounces back up and does an insane version of 'Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band.' And when he dropped to the floor everyone just jumped up to try to see him, and from that moment on everyone was standing and mesmerized by obviously the greatest rock and roll guitar player that ever lived... There were just a lot of inspired moments like that at the Ambassador; it was this dark, beautiful, haunted, inspired room that you could go to and get lost in the light show and friends and the camradarie and the excitement of being in the audience discovering all this great new music; it was this real pivotal place in Washington, DC for all of the music scene, young and old."

Canned Heat, Moby Grape, John Lee Hooker, Vanilla Fudge, The Fugs, The Paul Butterfield Blues Band and more all appeared at The Ambassador. Our own Joe Dolan of The Beatnik Flies mopped the floors there. His cousin, Patty made this hoe-down poster.

The sad thing, as often happens in this realm, the scene wouldn't last. It was partly a matter of bad publicity and partly the atmosphere of the times. (Even I remember how threatened people were by the hippie thing.) At the reunion, stories were told about police who gave parking tickets to legally parked theater goers and waited outside to arrest kids who had violated the D.C. curfew.

The experiment ended about six months later, and the theater was torn down not too long after. Today the site is occupied by a vapid, non descript plaza. The next time you are in Adam's Morgan, you might want to walk by there-and remember Jimi plus all the others that once played music or danced in the light shows.

Remember the ghosts that once were dreams.

P.S. Speaking of ghosts: The Ambassador once stood on the site of The Knickerbocker Theater which collapsed under the weight of snow in 1922. Ninety eight people were killed.

Old School Family Affair at Wilson

Our family has had a decent showing at Woodrow Wilson High School going way back almost to the very beginning when Wilson first opened its doors in 1935. My uncle Nick Cokinos, who graduated in 1939, was a running back on Wilson's inaugural football team in the fall of 1936 and helped win their first exhibition game against St Alban's played in the pouring rain. The team had only one experienced player that year, but somehow managed to win two games before their lack of experience caught up with them later that season. Never one to be to be daunted, once Spring came, Nick played baseball as well.

Nick seemed to be a stellar player. As far as I know he only got into trouble when he wore his brother George's beloved red football jersey from Western The coach gave him hell and made him turn it in.  My father told me this story many times. He must have really loved that shirt.

Nick seemed to be a stellar player. As far as I know he only got into trouble when he wore his brother George's beloved red football jersey from Western The coach gave him hell and made him turn it in.

My father told me this story many times. He must have really loved that shirt and now that I've found a picture of it I can see why:

Leaping forward my brother Pete Cokinos became a Tiger in 1952. Like his uncle, he signed up for as many teams as possible- in his case- football, track, and wrestling. The football team had plenty of experience by then and ended the year undefeated. The Tigers went on to beat Western for the Inter-high Title which took them to Griffith Stadium in December to compete for the City Title. In front of a crowd of thousands, Wilson trounced St John's 24-6 for its one. Our sister and future Tiger, Patsy was there to root them on.

Go team.

Pete Cokinos #37

Now my daughter Zoe is a Wilson Tiger, too, though soccer was about it for her.
Thus the reunion of the champions of 1952 and the Homecoming game this year became a family reunion for us. Brother Pete drove in from Michigan, while my parents who went to Western, my sister and my daughter all dug up their green and white gear. We convened in the bleachers at a school which structurally hasn't changed much since 1952 although Chuck Brown wasn't playing over the PA during time outs back then.  The bleachers and the field are in the same place, but a new "press box" has been somewhat awkwardly erected, and everyone tripped over the footings.

My brother Pete, and what was left of the team paraded out at half time.  Even a cheerleader was able to make it back. A lot may have changed over the years, but what hasn't changed is a stand full of kids cheering on their teams. Even though Wilson was trounced 34-13, camaraderie saved the day.

Ad from The 1953 Wilson High School Yearbook

A Sad State of Affairs

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Mayor Fenty just fired the contractor for the Hardy Middle School renovation. I guess it's one of those bad news good news things. The bad news is that Hardy Middle School, formerly Gordon Junior High and my kids' alma mater, is a year behind and a gazillion dollars over budget. The good news? The contractor was fired, but I'd heard they were doing a good job whenever they could get out from under DC's bureaucracy.

The renovations were supposed to be done in stages while the students remained at the school, but with all the delays the decision was made in 2005 to move the entire population out to a swing space so that the project could be completed on time- within a year. My son graduated last June in the half vacant Hamilton School, and this year's class will certainly not be graduating in the new building either. The truth about the delays, I'm sure is in its usual position- nestled down just out of sight, somewhere in the neutral ground between all that finger pointing.

The thing is I still can't help -once again- but look across town to that new baseball stadium.
I love baseball as much as the next guy, but groundbreaking there was in May 2006- a long time after the Hardy project was well under way. Of course it's all politics... and economics and apples and oranges. But can someone explain how all that works to the children of this city?

(And when they are done, could they explain it to me?)


(Hardy' s Moving Day 2006)

Go Tigers

Wilson's back to school night got off to a rough start yesterday. The doors stood open, and the auditorium was very warm not having the benefit of air conditioning. The first speaker urged every one to move up as there was no PA system. The principal seemed to be running a few minutes late. Lights kept blinking, and if you looked up, you noticed the large areas of plaster rotting up there in the ceiling. But then, with no press, photography or fanfare, up popped our new mayor, Adrian Fenty.

Fenty's voice was clear and strong while he gave the mandatory short spiel on making school improvements. It was such a morale booster that it really didn't matter what he said. The most important thing to me was that he was there with us in that stuffy room, and that it was not the first time he had been at this school. It is somewhat comforting that he is from this town as generally only people who are from here can understand things here, and even we find it A Challenge.

The rest of the night went well. The teachers, for once, were not complaining about a lack of books or other glaring oversights. There was even a glimmer of optimism. The stadium and field have been renovated, and the pool is finally under reconstruction.

Wilson was a brand new school back in the 1930s, when my dad's brother, Nick Cokinos attended. You can literally feel its age going up the stairs which are concave now like the steps of a Roman coliseum. It's still a beautiful building despite its age, but it desperately needs improvement- as do the vast majority of our city schools. Perhaps there is a tiny glimmer now,  just there at the end of this long dark tunnel, but it sure is amazing how fast that new baseball stadium is getting built.