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Guthrie Thomas
Autobiography
The Phone Call
I was sitting at home one afternoon practicing guitar when Arlo called me from the Howard Johnson hotel a few blocks from our apartment. He wanted to know if I could come over that evening and baby-sit his children while he and Jackie, Arlo's wife, went to an evening party. I said, "Certainly Arlo, Ginny and I would be happy to." Arlo and I agreed on a time frame and the conversation then drifted off in another direction. When Ginny arrived home from work, I informed her of the evening plans and we made haste in getting to the Howard Johnson hotel exactly on time. Arlo and Jackie greeted us kindly when we arrived and told us to order anything we wanted from downstairs in the way of cocktails or food. After a few short instructions from Jackie, Arlo handed me a phone number where he and Jackie could be reached in the event of an emergency. I asked Arlo where it was he was going to be, and he replied, "We'll be at Ringo Starr's house...so, give me a call if there is any problems." Soon the two made it out the hotel door and headed down the hallway to the elevator...
The entire evening was completely uneventful. The kids behaved perfectly and each of them dozed off while we all watched a television show. I don't recall exactly when Arlo and Jackie returned but, it was the following day. When they arrived, Arlo suggested Ginny and I stay in the spare room and catch some shut-eye. I thanked Arlo for the invitation but assured him that our apartment was but a few blocks away. Arlo, Jackie, Ginny, and myself sat around for a short time and talked but, I could see that both Arlo and Jackie were quite exhausted so, we bid them both a good morning and we headed back to our apartment...
Two days later, I was again sitting in the bleak, over lit apartment
practicing my guitar, day dreaming of things to come when the phone rang. I answered it in
my low, baritone voice only to hear Hoyt Axton on the other end of the line. Hoyt's voice
was rather direct and matter-of-fact..."Guthrie." he said, "Get your butt
down to Capitol Records right now and see Al Courey...he's the head of A&R at Capitol,
and he wants to sign you to a record contract!" I was dumbfounded, but I followed
Hoyt's directions to the letter...I grabbed a copy of "Sittin' Crooked", my
guitar, my hat, and I headed out the door as if an earthquake was crashing the
building in around me...I was moving quick. I sped down the Hollywood freeway at eighty
miles per hour and I exited the freeway at the infamous, Vine street. I zoomed in on a
parking spot, threw some change in the
meter on the sidewalk, and rushed across the street and in through the glass front doors
of the platter styled building of Capitol Records. I then walked casually up to the
reception desk and introduced myself to the guard sitting there, and declared to the
guard, "Hello my friend, Al Courey, the Vice President of A&R, is expecting
me.""Is that so?" the guard uttered in that, "Crap, another damn
musician."..."17th floor, and I suggest you take the elevator.." he said. I
walked over to the elevator with an air about me that said to everyone standing
there..."I belong here, I really do!"
I got off the elevator, and there surrounding me, was at least a'
hundred secretaries, art department people, mail clerks pushing baskets of mail around,
long hairs, short hairs, and about a million posters of famous musicians hanging on every
free space of the rounded walls. I approached the closest secretary I could find and
politely explained that Mr. Courey wanted to see me. She showed me to an office
over-looking Vine Street, asked me to sit down and, if I would like some coffee, and then
she quietly left. Moments later, Al Courey and another fellow entered the room and
introduced themselves. "Ringo tells me you are quite a talented young man!" Al
Courey exclaims. I was speechless. "Is that your latest album?" "Let's have
a listen!" Courey said. I handed him the album, knowing that it was just
"Okay" while seeing my chances going right down the tubes if Al was to play this
LP. He would then know, I could write but, I could not sing worth a damn. On went the LP.
He listened to it for no more than three minutes and took it off the turntable. I was
thinking to myself, "Oh well, so much for Capitol Records."
Courey and the other fellow excused themselves for a few moments and left the room. I was
extremely nervous, obviously. A short time later, Al came back in to the room and said,
"You've got a record contract with us here at Capitol if you want it, and what
producer did you have in mind?" Nick Venet was the first thing out of my mouth. Nick
was producing John Stewart, and I knew he would do a good job for me. "Okay, Venet it
is." Courey said. Courey and the other fellow got up, and said, "Guthrie, we'll
be in touch with you soon." He then personally showed me to the elevator, shook my
hand and said, "Glad to have you with Capitol." The elevator doors then closed,
and the next thing I knew, I was sitting by the phone in my apartment waiting for it to
ring. I sat there next to that phone waiting for Capitol to call for the next sixty-three
days.
When the call never seemed to come, I began to get a little nervous..I thought to myself..."Could I have come this far, in so short a' time, just to have them forget about me?" So, I called Hoyt Axton up in Lake Tahoe. Hoyt said, "Relax kid...let me give my attorney, Abraham Sommer's, a call and perhaps he can get the fire started over at Capitol. I thanked Hoyt, and once again, I found myself waiting for the phone to ring..."Damn..is this phone even working?" I worried..."I can't remember when the last person called me.." Oh yeah...Hoyt called me back..so, the phone is working fine...shit...surely, this isn't the way Dylan started out..."Did they even have phone service when Dylan started?" Idiot..of course they did...my mind was a bowl of red hot chili...I was obsessed with nonsense...and getting worse by the minute...No wonder Ginny and I were on the skids...I was so submerged in my vat of ego and the record business, that a wild badger probably wouldn't even chew on my leg if I were to step in its hole....sickening really...is it the pursuit of fame, or is it the quest for art...either way...both are deadlier than the disease itself..
A few days passed by when I received a call from the Abe Sommer's office. Abe got on the phone and asked me to come down to his office in Beverly Hills. This cat was "Big Time." He was one of the most influential attorney's in the music industry, and here I was.. driving my old, piece of junk, excuse for a car down to meet him. "I hope this guy doesn't ask me to drive him to lunch!" I thought to myself, as I weaved in and out of traffic on Wilshire Boulevard. My car wasn't worth the cost of one of the tires sure to be found on this Attorney's Rolls Royce...let alone the torn front seats..."Nah...this cat doesn't go to lunch with anybody unless they earn, at least, six figures..." Well, if we did go to lunch..he'd have to settle for the cheapest diner I could get my wheels to roll into...maybe we could go in his Rolls...I smiled.."Ridiculous, Guthrie...I'll bet the front seat of his Rolls has never seen the rear end of a real pair of blue-jeans...that seat is for satin butt's and Calvin Klein only..." Well, with all that was going through my mind, I can't imagine how I ever found Sommer's office, let alone the parking lot...but, I decided to park my car a few blocks from the entrance to his building, in the event Abraham's office over-looked the parking lot below...This was a very big deal..my first "top of the pile of shit" meeting in Beverly Hills no less, and I wasn't about to let an old, beat up Chevy ruin it for me...Looking back...that 1964 Chevy was probably one of the best cars I ever owned..It had a radio, a heater, and an engine...it's probably still running...
As I walked up to Sommer's building, I took a deep breath, brushed back
my hair, cocked my triple X Beaver Stetson in to the perfect position for meeting the big
wigs; I then pushed on through the most expensive walnut door my old, worn out boots had
ever tread through...I must have looked like Clint Eastwood walking into Macy's in New
York City...I just didn't fit into this painting at all..."Fuck all these suit and
tie freaks," I thought to myself as I headed for the elevator..."All you guys
would get fired if you showed up to work looking like me... And, all these girls..they
love it... maybe you guys ought to head on down to the local feed store and pick out a
hat..." In no time I found myself sitting in the reception room of Sommer's
office...my mind was drifting, wandering in and out of fantastic delusions of grandeur...I
could see myself on a stage with a thousand people waiting for me to play something,
anticipation written on each and every face in the audience...Suddenly, my conceited
daydream was interrupted by the the voice of a big titted fox whispering in my
ear,..."Mr. Thomas...Mr. Sommer's will see
you now..." My life was about to change...and I do mean change...
