12 Step Program, part two, chapter thirty-two.
Whatever happened to Ray Bedouin and Tonio Valdez.
Although they never crossed paths, Ray Bedouin was aware of Bob Jansen.
He always felt Bob was watching him, judging him, using his Grantchesters as a gauge.
When Bob suddenly went missing, Ray inexplicably felt relieved of some unknown pressure. He didn’t worry anyway; Bob Jansen had no right. So he was forgotten easily although Ray still kept an eye and ear on his possible fate.
Ray’s own fate was better than Bob’s.
The son of a film editor and his assistant, he could have made a comfortable living in the film industry. He learned he had a good singing voice and could write sharp observations that could double as song lyrics. He sought the adulation of being a rock star a la The Beatles. To that end, he took the name The Grantchesters because it sounded English. In truth, it was the name of the street on which he grew up. Ray had the name before he had a band. He recruited his Grantchesters at clubs or parties, hand picked not only because they could play but because they looked English. Ray even had them try to adapt English accents but it soon became apparent The Grantchesters weren’t British. They were L.A. based, but weren’t born in L.A. One was from Texas and found it more naturalto say “Y’all” than “I say.”
He never did break up The Grantchesters. There possibly might be a few more singles and an album, but Ray felt the need to step back, assess the band’s future before making another record.
It had hit a wall with I’m Me, forcing him to think about its next step.
When Al Berk took over The Grantchesters’ management, he begged Ray to write from personal experience. The subsequent single, Who Am I, was the band’s biggest hit and gave it the credibility that went missing by Bachbeat, the single before.
That worked, he thought. I’ll give them more.
Against advice, he wrote Still Searching, which didn’t go as high in the charts but got more radio play.
OK, Ray mistakenly assumed, I’m on a roll.
I’m Me was too pat. If the prior singles were a search for identity, I’m Me closed the door, any search was over. Basically, Ray had used the theme once too often and the public was tired of it.
Al kept on him to draw from experience but Ray couldn’t do it. Self-analysis wasn’t in his character; observing cultural trends was more comfortable, even if he didn’t live the life about which he sang. Before long, the public saw the calculation and rejected it.
Feeling exposed, Ray didn’t know what to do next.
The answer came when he was asked to sing on a commercial jingle. He liked it and it paid well. He did more and let The Grantchesters slip. Ray then wrote a jingle for a car dealership and liked that even more. He discovered that he was good at it, was well suited to it. He had an ear for a catchy melody. Paired with a straightforward message, the commercial was wrapped up in 30 seconds or less.
For Ray that was perfect.
He subsequently started his own ad agency and thrived.
He sang the praise of anti hay fever pills.
The virtue of a floor cleaner; the allure of low-cal beer, the sex appeal of a car.
Need a song about crisp, crunchy pickles? Ray was the man to write it.
But don’t ask me to write a three minute song about God, Ray declared. Leave that to Nora Washington.
He knew about Nora. Al kept him informed about all of Barb’s acts, which is how he knew that Bob Jansen was gone.
While with Barb, The Grantchesters toured with The Hi-Steppers/Steppers.
Bob and Ray never talked, never even met though the opportunities were plentiful. Nonetheless, Ray had the feeling that Bob was judging him. In Bob’s view, a band such as The Who was intelligent but emotional and therefore authentic. The Grantchesters were Ray’s puppets, contrived and plastic. Therefore phoney.
Ray told himself he didn’t care, but he couldn’t help wondering.
Somewhere there is a coffee cup with Tonio Valdez’s name on it.
He grew up in Boyle Heights, one of the largest neighbourhoods of East L.A, where his father ran a small coffeeshop. It wasn’t much more than a greasy spoon but it specialized in three things: Breakfasts, pie and especially fresh coffee.
As a 14 year old, Tonio learned to make a fresh pot. He enjoyed meeting the customers, particularly those who asked for him and “one of his special brews.” There was nothing special about it but he was flattered.
Upon graduating from high school, he could have enrolled in university or taken over the family restaurant. Tonio did neither. Instead, he borrowed money from family and friends and opened a coffee shop on Sunset Boulevard, not far from Pandora’s Box.
It wasn’t an immediate success. Just a hole in a 20 mile wall.
The shop represented a challenge to which he rose when he learned that as soon as you think you know how to run a business, there is more to know. Like peeling off a layer of the onion. There is another layer. And another. That, he realized, is what I’ll call my coffeeshop.
The name appealed to a growing beat culture, which could order a coffee and recite poetry to similarly inclined friends. Tonio wasn’t fanatical about poetry but did like the beats. He summarily created an open mic night for aspiring or established poets. They sometimes traded off with folk singers. Both would pass the hat and would divvy the money in the hat at the end of the night.
In 1964, Tonio sensed a teenage uprising, inspired by rock and roll, especially the influence of The Beatles. He saw in the kids the rebellion he’d experienced initially with the beatniks and folkies. He wanted to be part of it.
That’s when Layer Of The Onion became What’s New on weekends and he hired The Hi-Steppers. Both thrived for a few years. They had their ups and downs, What’s New surviving a riot, The Hi-Steppers indifferent radio play. The bogus “live” album didn’t hurt either the club or band. All Berk had it pulled soon after it was released, making it another collector’s item.
What did hurt was that Tonio’s “kids” grew up. They now had jobs, family, responsibilities.
They had turned into young adults and had neither time or the money for a soda pop and a slice of pizza. They could vote; they could drink.
Tonio got a license to serve liquor and seemed to have bounced back.
Tonio wasn’t happy, though. He’d had too many scuffles with unruly drunks, some of whom he knew when they were teenagers.
Besides, he said of his “kids”, they keep me young.
An earnest attempt to return What’s New to being a teen club didn’t work. Teen clubs were passe in the 70s environment. Belated hippies didn’t come, new born glam-rockers had their own hang outs. A band such as The Hi-Steppers seemed to be of another era, even if it wasn’t long ago. Layer Of The Onion became a cafe open seven days a week.
Tonio still liked to stand in as a barista, as he liked to call himself, but he’d had enough of the responsibility of running a club.
Eventually, he closed What’s New/ Layer Of The Onion and reopened his defunct site as the latest branch of a coffee franchise. Nothing to it, Tonio chuckled to himself, as sandwiches and desserts arrived daily along with a multitude of blends of coffee and teas. Right up to his retirement, he could be seen pouring coffee for customers in need of a jolt.
Now, if only I could find that damned coffee cup, he thought. Find that and probably I’d find Bob Jansen.
