She Had a Great Walk

She Had a Great Walk by F.T. Rea

She never looked better than she did that day,
When she told me, she was made to walk away.
No doubt, she had a great walk. 

Was it a smooth glide?

She had a natural sway.

An eye-catchin' stride?

Can't even look away.

Was it bona fide?
It was a loose-walkin' way.

She never looked better than she did that day. 

When she showed me, she was made to walk away.
Hey now, she had a great walk.

She had a loose-walkin' way.

-- 30 --

Death Calls for Piggy

 

Note: Carl W. Hutchins (1924-2006) was a professional boxer in his youth. He claimed to have been a contender in his day. Most people called him “Piggy.” The piece that follows was written shortly after his 2006 death (references to dates have been updated).

*

Piggy Hutchins was known by three generations of Richmonders. They were mostly locals of a certain stride -- folks who ate, drank and shared their lives in his restaurants. Piggy’s most loyal patrons tended to use his dives/eateries as a clubhouse … except when a feud kept one of them away for a while.

A corner restaurant called “Piggy’s,” located at Mulberry and Cary (where the Cary St. Cafe is now), began the series of places he would own. The Attaché, at 5816 W. Broad St., was the last of them; it closed down in 2002.

Twenty-eight years ago for a short stint I was associated with the legendary Attaché (although for some reason Piggy was calling it William Henry’s that year). For my part, needing money pushed me across the Henrico County line, inquiring after a bartender position listed in the daily newspaper's want ads. That afternoon I met the one and only Piggy Hutchins. Prior to that I had known him only by reputation.

After a pleasant chat with Piggy, Pete (Piggy's older brother) gave me a tour of the decidedly suburban split-level facility. That entailed the restaurant itself, the after-hours club on the upper story and the basement tavern. Along the way Pete explained that Piggy was really looking for a fresh idea more than someone else to put on the payroll. He had advertised the job to attract someone who'd give him a new scheme.

Well, I needed money enough to jump-start my creative juices, which soon spawned a concept of how to use the basement space -- live music and comedy! So Pete, Bill (a nephew who had joined us) and I we went back upstairs. Like characters in a Damon Runyon story, we all sat at a round table to cut a deal over draft beer and coffee. 

Right away, Piggy liked it that I volunteered to take on the promotional costs and booking duties. He liked it even better that I wanted only a cut -- 20 percent -- of the bar receipts. No guarantees. Plus, of course, I would get tips as the bartender on duty.

Meanwhile, as I went on with my plan I could tell Piggy liked telling his colorful old stories to a writer. Piggy's other brother, Sonny -- a former stock car racer -- stopped by and joined us. As it happened, I left the place that afternoon nurturing an absurd notion that became the Underdog Room. For three nights a week, I presented stand-up comics and live music in the basement, which had a boxer's heavy bag hanging in it, leftover from the days when Piggy worked out and trained young boxers in that space.

To kick off the Underdog Room era, I booked the Vibra-Turks. Some of them were usually known as the Bop Cats. Others had been in Li'l Ronnie and the Bluebeats. Anyway, the Vibra-Turks were: Mike Moore (bass); Gary Fralin (keyboard); Lindy Fralin (guitar); Stuart Grimes (drums); Jim Wark (guitar). In one way of looking at it, we had a band with a fake name playing in a room with a fake name.

Nonetheless, a bunch of handbills on poles and good break, publicity-wise -- the RT-D featured a story about it -- helped to flush out enough barflies and aging scenesters to make for a good-sized opening weekend audience. When Piggy came downstairs to take check it out he liked the look of the room. He even seemed pleased with the Vibra-turks. However, some members of his staff remained skeptical about the direction of things.

On Thursdays it was comedy night. Usually seven or eight comics would show up. My old friend, John Porter, served as the emcee/recruiter. The performers split the cash from a cheap cover charge and drank beer for free. Hoping to establish to new venue for live comedy, several of the the area's comedians stopped by to do a few minutes on most Thursdays.

On Friday and Saturday nights a band played, usually the same band on both nights. The bands would take what came in at the door, but as the weeks wore on, getting my Fan District nightlife friends to venture into Henrico County grew more difficult. As the take at the door shriveled, from one week to the next, I gradually ran through the established acts I could easily persuade to give the Underdog Room a try.     

The Scariens, a local performance-art/rock 'n' roll act, stretched the culture clash aspect of my shaky gig to pieces. Piggy and his Attaché crowd of regulars were utterly baffled by the Scariens, who sometimes seemed to baffle themselves, too. They were led by another old friend, Ronnie Soffee.

To make matters more fractious, some of the comedians seemed to rub Piggy's confidants who ventured downstairs the wrong way; to say they didn't get the jokes is an understatement. After almost four months of it, I came to my senses and bailed out.

Leaving Palookaville on good terms, I limped back to the Fan. It had been fun working with the comedians and musicians. And, getting to know Piggy, to the extent that I did, was like living in a low-budget film noir picture from the late-1940s. 

-- Words and art by F.T. Rea.

-- 30 --

High on the Hog: The Gold Standard

Photo from the stage by Chuck Wrenn (2001).

Note: This piece, penned by yours truly, was first published in Style Weekly on Feb. 25, 2014.

*

The stage was a flatbed trailer parked in a cobblestone alley in Church Hill. It faced the back of Chuck Wrenn's house. The audience spilled into adjacent backyards and wherever else it could. With no licenses to legitimize it, the fourth annual High on the Hog had the edgy cachet of Richmond's freewheeling warehouse parties of the '70s.

On Oct. 11, 1980, Richmond didn't allow large outdoor events combining properly amplified rock 'n' roll music and alcohol consumption, especially on public property. When the Megatonz (Wrenn's band) opened the show, to think the cops would come eventually, made sense — which probably encouraged the crowd's collective desire to live in the moment.

Instead, a chilly rain came while the second band, Don' Ax Me ... Bitch, was performing. Rather than wait out the downpour, Wrenn, the irrepressible impresario, broke out large rolls of heavy-gauge transparent plastic. Armed with staple guns, he and volunteer assistants assembled an awning to keep the rain off the equipment and musicians. 

The audience followed suit by unrolling more plastic, to stand underneath while it was held overhead. Those dancing in the mud surely felt the power of rock 'n' roll to simultaneously express lamentation and celebration. With electric guitars wailing in defiance of the rainstorm, the sense of solidarity felt by those baby boomers was the stuff of legends.

The rain subsided. The Memphis Rockabilly Band finished the show. No real trouble from the cops appeared. It was a charmed afternoon.

*

The series of High on the Hog parties began in 1977 as a small, pork-themed gathering of neighborhood friends. No electric guitars. 

In the years that followed the event took on a life of its own. Along with Wrenn, those on the team organizing three decades of parties were Larry Ham, Bobby Long, Steve McKay, Dave O'Kelly, John Cochran and Randy Smith. In 1983 that group struck a deal with city authorities and went legit.

The transformation allowed the stage and festivities for High on the Hog 7 to move across the street into Libby Hill Park. On the bill were the Bop Cats, New Victims of Love, Evan Johns and the H-Bombs and Billy Price and the Keystone Rhythm Band. The turnout was huge, and the untainted success of the event paved the way for a new era in Richmond. It allowed for Jumpin' in July, Friday Cheers and the countless beer-truck-in-the-street and music festivals that followed.

In High on the Hog's peak years, it took some 350 volunteers to chop the pork, serve the beer, tend the stage. The Silver Stars, a beloved gospel group, set the record for most appearances with 10. While space doesn't allow for the complete list, here are some of the other acts that graced the stage in the park:

Barrence Whitfield and the Savages, Big City, Big Posse, Bill Blue and the Nervous Guys, Billy Hancock, Billy Ray Hatley and the Showdogs, Bio Ritmo, Car Bomb, Deanna Bogart, Dirtball, the Diversions, Evan Johns and the H-Bombs, Faded Rose Band, Glenn Pavone and the Cyclones, the Good Guys, Good Humor Band, Janet Martin Band, Marcia Ball, NRBQ, Page Wilson with Reckless Abandon, the Radiators, Steve Bassett, Suzy Saxon and the Anglos, Terry Garland, and the Wall-O-Matics. 

A Nor'easter drenched Richmond on Oct. 7, 2006. In the torrent the massive sound system couldn't be erected. Two of the scheduled acts couldn't perform in such conditions. Nonetheless, Lindy Fralin volunteered a scaled-down sound system. 

Tarps were lashed to the stage to block the wind-driven rain. Lindy's band, The Bop Cats, went on for a handful of dauntless regulars in front of the stage. 

Unfortunately, without the expected income from food and beer sales, the backers' rainy day fund was sopped up. Thus, High on the Hog 30 closed the book on a generation's gold standard for Woodstock-inspired parties. 

The Memphis Rockabilly Band, fronted by the late Jeff Spencer, finished the show. Its encore was Link Wray's "Run Chicken Run," with Bill Coover playing lead guitar for one last dance, with umbrellas, in the mud.

-- 30 --