Waging Heavy Peace by Neil Young Read Free Book Online Page A

during that time, I started to see that he was not himself. Once I left him on one floor of the hotel in Dublin where we were filming with Jim, and he got lost. That was unsettling. Despite what my mom said, I know he was a cool guy. He was always doing what he thought was right for me.
    One beautiful morning in 1963 or ’64, Mort was parked in front of our triplex at 1123 Grosvenor Avenue in Winnipeg. We packed up Mort with everything we needed, and then we headed southeast to Fort William, Ontario. It was our first big road trip, and our first nightclub gig was booked at the Flamingo Club. I was eighteen. I felt on top of the world. (Mort had a straight-eight and a three-speed manual transmission. Mort was a good runner, and to save gas I used to go into neutral on downgrades, not knowing that this practice was putting unnecessary strain on the drive train, which I would pay for later. Even in those days, I was very energy efficient! Of course, Mort was a giant vehicle like Lincvolt, so nothing has really changed.)
    We made it to Fort William with no problems, and three wide-eyed kids were finally in the big time.
When we got to the Flamingo Club—a brightly decorated, multilevel supper club with a dance floor and long bar known locally as the Flame—we were ready to play, doing three to five sets a night for the $325 weekly salary plus meals at night. The first night we were nervous, but we did fine.
    We played six days a week. The money was great! It was the most money I had ever made at that point, and I was on top of the world. We lived at the YMCA for a small payment, so after food expenses we made a little bit of profit. There were three of us splitting it evenly. Bill Edmondson on drums and vocals, me on guitar, and Ken Koblun on bass. Ken, my school classmate and an original Squire from the very beginning, had been keeping a diary since our first gig.
    The Flamingo eventually put us up at the Victoria Hotel, and I was writing a lot of songs for the gig there. We were going Jimmy Reed–style big-time because I loved Jimmy and knew that kind of music would be perfect for the club. I wrote a couple of R&B songs in that vein right away, “Find Another Shoulder” and “Hello Lonely Woman,” at the hotel. I wrote a lot more then, too. One older song that was the same type of beat was resurrected. It was called “Ain’t It the Truth.” These tunes were all R&B-based and we did a good job on them. We did “Hi-Heel Sneakers” and “Walkin’ the Dog” and countless others of that type as well. A lot of local musicians came to hear us there, and local DJ Ray Dee also came to the club to check us out. Ray later recorded us at the CJLX studios and booked us in the area. He was a great help to the Squires in Fort William, offering his leadership and advice.
    We made friends with many of the local musicians, and they hung out with us. Danny Hortichuk of the Bonnevilles was just one of them, and I remember him as being a really good guy. Being from out of town was working for us big-time like I had hoped it would. There is nothing like having no preconceptions to live up to or down. Today my past is a huge thing. Everybody has an expectation of what I should do. There comes a time when these things start to get in one’s way. Expectations can block the light. They can shadow the future, making it more difficult to be free-flowing and creative. I need to find that freedom again today if I want to fly.
    Meanwhile, back at the Flamingo Club, we were doing “Farmer John” every night and tearing the place up with it. Writing songs at night and in the morning, playing multiple sets every evening at the club, I was living the life I loved and every day was a new opportunity. We were very successful there and got asked back with a raise to $350 per week. I woke up every morning with a clean slate. No expectations weighing over me, and no history binding me to the past.
    At night, I had something else on my mind. I was