A Letter to Sue and Alex: June 10, 1978

Text © Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2021
Images from the Internet

 A Letter to Sue and Alex: June 10, 1978

While I was publishing my FFanzeen from 1977-’88, I had the chance to connect with many other fanzine publishers. Among my favorites were Sue Starstruck and her partner Alex, who ran the ‘zine /: The Fanzine Without a Name (sometimes subtitled The Fanzine for the Blank Generation). They started out living somewhere near Disneyland, and then moved to England, where their (punk) heart lie. Wherever they lived, we would write letters for a while, until I lost touch with them. This is one of the letters I sent them on June 10, 1978 (though this is slightly edited), about music I was seeing in New York at the time. In some places I have placed some clearly indicated explanatory comments written now, in [brackets]. I would love to hear from them again.

Dear Sue,

Yesterday, I finally graduated from college [Queens College – RBF, 2021]. YEAAH, eh-hem. Got carried away. Actually, it was quite boring. They read off all the graduates. All 5,000 of them. The worst part was we had to stand during the whole thing. Approximately 2 hours. Plus, the sun was out and it was real hot and muggy, and our gowns were black.

In my last letter, I told you how I was trying to arrange an interview with Crayola. I sort of did it Wednesday. I went down to see them at CBGB and started the interview rather poorly. When there is a new band that has only been around for a short while, it’s hard to think up some questions other than boring stuff like influences and how long the band has been around. After 10 minutes of these stupid questions, I gave up. However, I talked to the cute drummer, Hayden [Brasseur], who’s a writer, to do a story of the group for me (HERE – RBF). She’s from Michigan (the rest are from NY).

The week before, I interviewed the Sic F*cks [HERE]. That was a lot of fun. Jokes were being passed back and forth. [The jokes, which I added to the letter, were politically incorrect, so I will skip them – RBF] … Like I said, a fun interview!

Tonight, I am interviewing a r’n’r band called The Fleshtones. I had met lead singer, Keith [Streng, but I was mistaken at that time: Keith is the guitarist, with Peter Zaremba on vocals – RBF, 2021], at his Halloween Party [in 1977 – RBF]. I was invited by drummer Miriam Linna (ex-Cramps, ex-Nervus Rex, now of The Zantees). I met him gain at a Zantees concert at CBGB (I got in free, as a roadie for the group, though I’m not). Then, finally at a Dictators concert out on Long Island. But I’ll get to that.

The Dictators were second fiddling to the band called Flame (they have 2 albums out). To get to see the ‘Tators, I called up Flame’s company, RCA, and gave them all the bullshit about love I have for the group [After seeing them, I did become a fan – RBF]. They got me in. Well, actually, what happened was when I got there, my name was not on the list. I had to wait outside. In walked Keith, Miriam and Billy (Miller), lead singer of the Zantees. They were joined by the prez of the D*F*F*D (Dictators Forever Forever Dictators), the ‘Tator’s fan club. They had a little trouble getting in, also, but Handsome Dick (Manitoba) himself got them in. I asked him for an interview, and he said yes, the next time he was in NY ‘cause Adny Shernoff, Top Ten and Ross “The Boss” were heading out to California the next day to handle biz. So anyway, the guy from RCA comes over and I not only get in, but he hands me his chit for drinks and tells me to order what I want! I could have drunk all night (I drink Tequila sunrises [a brief phase – RBF]), but I had to drive, so I stuck with my usual two [over the night]. I sold a copy of FF(anzeen) to a guy at my table. The crew, Miriam, Keith, et. al, were at the next table. After Flame (they did a rendition of Bobby Lewis’ “Tossin’ & Turnin’”), I started talking to Keith and arranged the interview for tonight (they were playing Max’s with The Erasers).

Then the Dictators came on. Adny was on bass, so they couldn’t do “Steppin’ Out,” but it didn’t matter ‘cause they were so great! They started off with “Master Race Rock” and did a lot of neat stuff off their third and forthcoming album, Bloodbrothers (out in 3 weeks). After 4 encores, they came out for their fifth and did “Cars and Girls,” which I had never heard them do (live) before, and I have seen them a lot. Just great. I got one of Top Ten’s pics [which I still own…somewhere – RBF] that has his name stenciled on it. Also, I almost broke my hand on “Next Big Thing” [I also almost killed HDM during the song when they played at the Bottom Line; story is HERE – RBF] You know, the part that goes, “Da-da-da-da-da-DOM!? Well, I banged my hand so hard on the table, I thought I broke it. All’s well, it’s all for the love of Rock’n’Roll.

Want another story? Okay (all true, too). Last week, I went down to a club called The Great Gildersleeves to see The Marbles and The Brats. We got there and the guy at the door took our money ($4) and we had to practically insist they stamp our hands. When we sat, we mentioned what a shitty attitude the guy had (he weighed about 200 LB and had a moustache). When my other friends Freddie and Janet came later, the first thing they said was “Gee, that guy at the door is nasty!” Later, when the waitress came around, Janet, asked for a salad. The place didn’t sell any, but the waitress suggested we get some from the deli across the street. Janet and I went. She bought a yoghurt and I bought a small bag of potato chips (Wise, of course).

When we tried to get back in, the fat guy gave us a hard time.
He: “What you got in the bag?”
Me: “Yoghurt” (I could have lied but he could have looked to see).
He: “We sell food here!”
Me: “Not yoghurt.”
He: “I said we sell food here!!”
Me: “C’mon it’s yoghurt, man, it’s yoghurt. She’s on a diet.”
He: “What’s in your bag?!”
Me: “Potato chips.”
He: “We sell potato chips here!”
Me: (still calmly) “For $1.50 a handful. I bought a bag for 49 cents.”
Him: “You can’t bring – Look, just take your money back and get out!”
Me: “No, I came to see the show. I’ll leave the bag here.”
Him: “Why don’t you just take your goddam money and get the hell out!?”
Me: I want to see the show. Just hold onto the bag!”

With that, I went and sat down. After a long discussion of 2 minutes, we all decided it wasn’t worth it and leave. I walked over to the guy and said, very flatly, “I decided to take you up on your offer.”

* I was at work at the theater (when I wrote that), now I am home *

He threw the bag at me and then threw the money (I’m glad I caught it ‘cause I would have had to kneel down in front of him). I finally started to get mad and said, “You know, you’ve got a real shitty attitude.” He came after me and looked like he was going to hit me, so I said, “You touch me and I’ll sue you for every fucking penny you have!” He said, “I don’t have any cents.” “You’re right, you don’t have any sense!” With that, he pushed me hard out of the club. I turned around and said, “Keep your hands off me, you fuckin’ fat pig!!” He came after me and put those piggy little hands around my throat and started to choked me and did so for about 10 seconds. Then he left me and went back inside. It happened so fast. I didn’t know what to do, especially since he was about twice my size. My friends came out and asked what happened, and I told them. As I did, one of the club’s lackeys came out to (a) overhear me, and (b) make sure we did not come back in. I was, of course, steaming. I noticed a cop car across the street. I went across and told them, and they tried to turn it around so I instigated it. I persisted and finally the cop went over.

One of my friends commented that she didn’t get her money back though Freddie, Janet and I did. We were at least gonna get her money back if the cop wouldn’t do anything. I was at a dilemma: do I go in and possibly start another fight by showing up, or do I wait outside and let the cop handle it? On the other hand, if I just wait outside, does it look like I was afraid? The cop settled it by asking (or rather telling me) to wait. My friend told me that this guy got really nervous when he saw the cop. He gave her the money without any problem and even had the balls to ask, “You’re not going to stay?” My friend said, really snotty back, “What, are you kidding?” and walked out. I felt a lot better, but I will never, ever forget it. I just went to my friend’s house all night (talking).

I talked to this guy about it who owns a clothing store and he said it was not the first time it happened. It seems they pay the cops off. I was the first one who was persistent to the point where they went into the club. Nobody fucks with a Francos!!! [Note that I have told this story in a bit less detail in another blog.]

Have you ever bought a record because the group has an interesting name? I came across the group called The Cryan’ Shames. Don’t you just love that name? They do great stuff like, “Hey Joe,” “Sugar and Spice,” “I Wanna Meet You,” “Heat Wave,” “We’ll Meet Again,” and a fake live “We Gotta Get Out of This Place.” The record was recorded August 1966. They came from Illinois but sound English (a lot like the Ramones, who came from Queens, NY, and sound British).

The Troggs are playing next week at Max’s. I’m gonna try to get tickets.

I’m now in Max’s waiting for the Fleshtones to come on. It’s first come-first served seating for the Troggs. The night I can go, they are playing with The Fast. Should be a great show [It was – RBF].

‘Nother true story: Wednesday, when Crayola [at CBGB – RBF] were just starting, some drunk comes over to me and leans over my table and tells me, “If Diana comes, tell her I was here.” I said sure and after repeating it four or five times, he leaves. A couple of minutes pass and I reach for my camera to take some pictures, and the camera is gone! At first, I panicked and tried to look around, then I remembered the drunk. I ran outside and he was a few feet away, walking away (if he wasn’t drunk, he would be long gone – the camera was given to me as a birthday present last year). I walked over to him and saw my camera straps hanging out of the bottom of 

[This is where the letter stops, as I have lost the last page, but this is how the story ends:]

his coat. I stepped in front of him, and said, “That’s mine,” and grabbed the camera out of his hands. He looked confused. I walked back into the club, showing my stamp, and sat down at the same table. The band was hot that night.

As a footnote: I never stepped foot into Great Gildersleeves again. I also never mentioned them in FFanzeen.