Surviving the Soul Survivors

Playing Hammond organ with the Soul Survivors began pleasantly. I joined them in March or April, 1968, and stayed until the end of May, 1969.

I was flattered that two of the guys, Ronnie (bass), and John (drums), thought highly enough of my playing to call me for an audition. I had formerly played with both of them in large soul bands with horn sections.

The band I played with just before the Soul Survivors was 11 members: 4 rhythm section, 5 horns, and 2 front singers.

Previously, I'd spent about four years on the road, playing large clubs and showrooms all over the country, five to seven nights a week, approximately 48-50 weeks per year. That's a lot of hours of playing, and a lot of practice.

I was young, but I wasn't 14 years old anymore. I was 18, and by this time in my musical life, I'd started to gain some real confidence in my playing ability. I knew how to play good soul music.

	I left home a few months before 14, and went on the road. I think I looked like an 11 year old, but I had a fake Alcoholic Beverage Permit, which allowed me to play in places that served alcohol. This club was in Boston, in October, 1963. Click the picture - does this really look like a 21 year old to you?
	Almost 15 years old (1964), this picture was taken right after a WNJR "Hal Jackson Soul Show" at Palisades Amusement Park. Besides doing our own show, we backed up many major soul artists at these shows, worked hard, sweated a lot, and did live radio interviews. We did a lot of shows for WNJR.
	15 years old (1965), playing with an 8 piece soul band in Lowell, Massachusetts. We played this club for months at a time, then went to Revere, played those clubs for a few months, then back out on the road.
	16 years old (1966), on Rush Street in Chicago, playing with a 9 piece soul band. Like Boston, NYC, and many other large "club" cities, we played almost every club with a stage large enough to hold our group. We had an amazing horn section: trumpet, tenor/alto, baritone, and trombone, plus a 4 piece rhythm section, and front singer.

{{ momentary interruption: I truly wish I still had a few dozen pictures of the old soul bands. We had stage outfits which could only be described as "rainbows". Suits, shirts, ties, socks, suspenders, shoes, and boots were always color coordinated. The colors were almost all pastel: eggshell blue, light burgundy, lemon yellow, ripe orange, flamingo pink, lime green. We had iridescent suits, too - they changed colors depending on which angle you saw them from. Soul bands in the 60s used to have huge wardrobes - and huge dry cleaning bills, too! }}

I was excited! I went to Long Island to audition and thought, "Oh, man, yeah! This is it - this is big time!" The Soul Survivors recently had a hit record called "Expressway To Your Heart", and I liked it. They were managed by Phil Basile and Audrey, of Breakout Management, who also managed Vanilla Fudge. There was a rehearsal studio at their office - I believe it was on Ocean Boulevard in Oceanside.

The audition went fine. I met the three singers, Kenny Jeremiah, Charlie Ingui, and Richard Ingui, and they played some tapes of their songs. They were excellent singers. Ronnie and John were there, but no guitar player at that time. No dope, either. I learned their songs immediately, and was hired on the spot. I recall a lot of positive energy in the air that evening.

We rehearsed for about three hours, and the six of us could have easily gone out and played a show that night. It was as simple - or as natural - as that.

I had plenty of experience with the bass player and drummer - we had no problem communicating musically. The singers didn't play instruments, so they told us what they liked and wanted to hear. It was basically like playing in the old soul bands, Ronnie, John, and I, doing much different material, but quite a bit busier, especially without the horn section.

We did the usual round of auditions, rehearsals, replaced the guitar player a few times, then a guy named Steve was hired. He was the guitar player during my stay with the Soul Survivors. At that point, we had a working band: Ronnie, Steve, John, and I, plus the three singers.

We tried out some horns, and soon went out to do live shows. We did a lot of live shows.

During this year, all my Hammonds and Leslies were badly damaged or wrecked by the "roadies" employed by Breakout Management. At the time, a new Hammond B3 and 2 Leslie speakers cost about $2800. I had to pay cash for mine - I was too young for credit or loans. I hope you'll never know what it feels like to see your nearly brand new Hammond B3 flying out the back of a truck from about 4' off the ground. I watched one of mine "fly" in State College, Pennsylvania, and it didn't survive. I'm not even sure where the remains went.

{{ momentary interruption: Hammond organs and Leslie speakers are, essentially, furniture. They were never designed for travel, they were designed for permanent installation in a home or church. Unlike other musical instruments, there weren't any velvet lined cases to protect them. The keyboard cover on a Hammond can be broken off just by leaning on it too hard. The legs can break if you shove the Hammond across a door threshold. They're truly great instruments, and they are sturdy, but they require just a few minutes of care and respect if they're to be moved from place to place. }}

I think that was a form of logic back then: the more stuff you destroy, the harder it seems like you're working, so you must be real good at your job. Several sets of padded covers and ROKs (special organ moving equipment) disappeared, as well as some of my suitcases and clothing bags. Enough dope can do strange things to people. And these people smoked some dope.

As the months dragged on, personality clashes and arguments began to increase. For all the good it did, Kenny was the peace keeper. Charlie, Richard's brother, could be counted on to side with Richard, no matter what the situation was. Blood is thicker than reality or sense, and Charlie had very little sense. If Richard said the sky was maroon, Charlie would agree. Can you say "puppet"? Except for Kenny, who didn't smoke dope, everybody stood around, smoking dope, watching the eruptions and waiting to see where they would lead.

At the core of the clashes were problems between Richard and myself. Directed at me, more than anyone else, Richard was a control freak. He constantly tried to run my life, make my decisions, and convert me to his way of thinking. His mouth never stopped running. Richard had the tendency to wear you down to his way of thinking, no matter how long it took.

Besides playing Hammond, my other responsibility was conducting rehearsals. That's probably because I was the most musical and least stoned, knew what a Bb chord was, where to find one, and what voicings were needed. (Keyboard and guitar players play chords - other musicians play one note at a time.) Most rehearsals focused on the correct method of cleaning dope on a screen, rolling joints, and getting high as the ceiling while "being creative". Pot was always a major component of our rehearsals. The more dope Richard smoked, the more preposterous he got.

One of the main problems was music. I loved soul music - STAX music. My words can't adequately describe it, it's something you have to feel. It's a very simple, powerful, tight - yet relaxed - rhythm section under strong vocals.

I always brought a small, portable stereo and a large collection of STAX records on the road with me, and I'd play them constantly in my hotel room.

Long before the Soul Survivors, I bought a small "suitcase" stereo. This is approximately what it looked like.

It folded open in a second, ready to play. Then, the turntable folded inside, the speakers snapped closed to pack it up, ready to go. Besides my Hammonds, it was the most important musical tool I owned. It was so small, it could sit right on the Hammond, in front of me, so I could move the needle back to learn a part - over and over again. Nobody would ever believe how many hours of education that little inexpensive stereo provided.

Since Richard and I never stayed in the same room, he must have spent a lot of time listening through walls. Too much STAX, too much Otis, Eddie Floyd, MGs, Sam and Dave, Pickett, James Brown, and all the rest of the R&B I lived on. I was told off, put down, lectured, and ridiculed for this endlessly - I mean endlessly. I don't remember too much friction with anyone else in the group. Friction was Richard's job.

When the real soul acts were in the area - James Brown, Aretha, William Bell, Solomon Burke, Chuck Jackson, Ben E. King, Maxine Brown, Joe Tex, Sam and Dave, Wilson Pickett, or any STAX, Chess, or Motown show - I'd go almost anywhere to see them if it was possible. New York, Newark, Baltimore, Philadelphia, Washington, Boston - if I could go, I went. That was the music I wanted to hear. Richard would ridicule that, too - he never got tired of belittling me and putting me down.

I regularly went to the Apollo, RKO, Small's Paradise, Mosque, Howard, Paramount, and plenty of other black show rooms, clubs, and theaters. Factually, white boys from NYC typically didn't go to those places back then. Keep in mind, this was 1968, near the time Dr. Martin Luther King was assassinated, on April 4, 1968. 1968 was a big year for Civil Rights movements, and there was a lot of racial tension, including riots, all across the country. People try to say it doesn't exist, but racism has been around for a long, long time.

ADDENDUM - December 1, 2003

I'm being straight: I was not an innocent bystander - I was a contributor to the arguments. I may have caused some of it it myself, because my real love was STAX music. I wanted to play exactly like what I heard on all my STAX records. Since 1963, I'd spent years learning to play STAX keyboard parts, note-for-note. I learned to feel that musical groove, and it became automatic and natural for me.

I didn't love Soul Survivors music. Aside from any personal differences, the music quickly became too frantic and busy. I contributed by arguing that we were losing what we started with - we were getting busier every time we played. What seemed at first to be "slightly busy" music progressively became frantic. It really wasn't the songs, it was the way we played them. It just got crazier, week after week - and the music fell apart.

Leslie West (Mountain) rehearsed in the same place on St. Marks Place that we used in New York City. Richard loved that music. I couldn't even listen to it. I'd get out of there and stand around outside the building instead of going deaf. So - as expected - I was all wrong. Nobody would ever believe how loud those guys could play inside that rehearsal room - and the place was only about 15 feet by 20 feet! I'm talking about seriously, incredibly loud.

I vaguely remember some "songs" that Richard was "writing". They did nothing for me, they were nonsense. I couldn't relate to Richard's "musical direction", because he had no direction. He was trying to learn to play guitar, and was about twenty years out from that goal. He just didn't make sense to me, musically, so there wasn't too much to get enthusiastic about.

How do you fake having enthusiasm for something that doesn't make sense? I was hired to play Hammond organ with the Soul Survivors. I always played my best, I took my responsibility very seriously. I wasn't hired to book concerts, move equipment, drive trucks, or model myself after Richard and agree with everything he said. I wasn't impressed, and didn't kiss his ass, telling him that his "songs" were going to be tomorrow's smash hitS! (They weren't.) His idea of "music" wasn't music at all - he was just looking for anybody else to write something that he could hook his lyrics into. That left either Steve, the guitar player, or me to "write" with.

I knew the difference between playing stoned and playing straight, paying attention to the other players. My interest in real soul music didn't agree with Richard, my dope consumption didn't match his, and I wasn't eager to waste time, writing nonsense songs with him.

ADDENDUM - March 18, 2008

Right after Steve was hired, intense rhythm section rehearsals really started. Richard left us alone at first. The musicians created the foundation for the singers. The songs were no more difficult than brushing your hair. We were experienced players, we didn't need any help from anybody. Our early shows proved that.

I had no problem conducting rehearsals as long as Richard didn't interfere. When we had horns, I had to arrange parts that let the horns do their parts. The rhythm section had to make space for them.

We rehearsed until we were so tight, a drop of water couldn't leak out. As musicians, we worked together to compliment each other. Musicians have plenty of tools at their disposal: we understood dynamics, we knew when to play unison an octave apart, stop time, when to put 7ths or 3rds or 5ths on the top, how to anticipate accented upbeats - we were musicians. We knew how to back up singers - that was our job.

Any musician that reads this can understand.

Richard couldn't understand 5ths, inversions, dynamics, and arranging rhythm or horn sections if they all fell on top of him. But Richard had to get himself involved - he had to be in the middle of everything. He had to be in control.

A trombone player, a nice guy, came in from Boston to audition. We played part of "Tell Daddy" for him. I played his part, to show him what we needed. We ran it down, and repeated it. Musically, things were going along just fine. The guy could play, and he had a memory for the lines and the accents. That guy should have been hired.

Then Richard opened his mouth. I don't remember what he said, but within 3 minutes, the guy packed up his trombone, and said, "fuck this!". Out the door he went. If my memory is correct, Richard's mouth ran off the tenor and trumpet players, too. They wouldn't take the verbal abuse, either.

Richard constantly wanted more. Louder Marshall amp stacks, distortion, Jimi Hendrix guitar parts, fuzz tones, more bass lines, busier drum parts - more. Richard wanted me to start playing Vanilla Fudge/Mark Stein type organ. He wanted to turn something rock solid into chaos. In time, that's exactly what he did.

Richard couldn't stop pushing - he never shut up - and he didn't have a clue in the world what he was talking about. Richard didn't shut up long enough to know he had exactly what he needed, and he demolished it.

We played a show someplace way up north - New Hampshire, Maine, or somewhere. The roadies got the Hammond out of the truck in sub zero weather, and it wouldn't even start. Its moving parts were literally frozen. Richard went completely berserk, right on the stage, in front of a sold-out club full of hundreds of people. Maybe screaming at me would make the Hammond organ start? If he would have stuck his mouth inside the back of the Hammond, he could have defrosted the damn thing himself. I had to listen to his ranting and raving all night long on the trip back to New York City.

Playing Hammond and putting up with his aggression wasn't enough - I should have been able to control the weather, too?

If it seems as if I didn't like Richard, that's right. I learned how to dislike him. Over many months, he taught me how.

Richard was in the habit of inviting himself into hotel rooms without knocking. If the door wasn't locked, he strolled right in and made himself at home, like he owned the place.

On one momentous occasion, the Soul Survivors played a concert for Vassar College. I'm almost positive it was Vassar's annual Christmas party. I believe it was at the Bellevue-Stratford Hotel, on Broad Street, in Philadelphia. This happened in late December, 1968.

About an hour before the Vassar College concert, Richard walked into my hotel room uninvited. I was wearing my socks, underpants, and undershirt, trying to get dressed for the stage. His girlfriend was right behind him.

I guess he felt the need to protect her from such an offensive, disrespectful situation.

Richard smiled at me, then sucker punched me in my face, and opened a gash over my left eye with his ring. Instantly, blood was pouring out of the cut. I tried to crawl under a bed, but I couldn't. I locked myself in the bathroom. I weighed about 103 pounds at that time, Richard weighed about 190.

Outside the bathroom door, a small riot was taking place. His girlfriend was screaming, the guys in the band, the roadies, and some other people had come into the hotel room. They were all yelling, arguing, and taking sides. I could hear everything through the door.

Richard argued and shouted, trying to justify sucker punching me. Richard might have convinced himself and Charlie, but I don't think anyone else agreed with him. This went on for quite awhile.

Richard hit me hard enough to knock the diamond out of his ring. He was complaining and whining because he couldn't find his diamond in the carpet.

I refused to come out of the bathroom until everyone left the room, including John, who was sharing the room with me. I tried to stop the bleeding with towels, but couldn't. I made a real mess in there, and ruined the hotel's towels.

After about 30 more minutes of yelling through the bathroom door, everyone did finally leave the room. I came out of the bathroom and double locked the room door with the deadbolt and the chain, and I put on pants and a shirt. In a few minutes, they were bloody, too.

Then I called the police, and asked them to please send somebody up to my room. I wasn't going to open the door for anybody until the police came.

I had never been injured before, and I was scared stiff at the sight of so much blood. I'd left a bloody trail to the bathroom, blood was all over the bed, walls, carpet, inside my suitcase, and the bathroom looked like a disaster area.

The manager of the hotel joined the rest of the people in the hallway, but I didn't let him in, either. The manager really didn't want the police involved in "the incident", and I really didn't care what he wanted. There was quite a large crowd out there in the hall.

When the police showed up, I let them in, and explained what happened. I guess it was pretty obvious. There were about 30 people - most of them strangers - in the hotel room within minutes.

Exactly What Does "Sucker Punch" Mean?

Imagine .... you're minding your business, concentrating on a shirt in your hands or something, and Richard walks up to you with a smile on his face. Without a word, you're punched in the face, and knocked on the floor. A sucker punch comes from nowhere. It's completely unexpected, there's no warning, no chance to avoid it, no chance for defense, and no chance to escape.

Now you know what a sucker punch is.

How about it? Would you like to see what one looks like?

CLICK

the man being punched in the video is about twice my size. he was punched in his jaw, not his eye. but I'm sure you'll get the idea.

Then Richard was suddenly repentant. "I'm so very sorry, I'm so sorry ...." Everyone was talking at once, it was chaotic. Blood was running down my face and neck, dripping on the floor. Richard was apologizing non-stop while the police were there to hear it, and he was very convincing. He turned on the tears and performed a miraculous crying act.

It was a miracle. Less than an hour earlier, Richard was trying to convince a whole roomful of people that sucker punching me was the right thing to do!

An icepack, more towels, and a doctor appeared from somewhere. The hotel had a resident doctor, or one on call. The doctor wanted me to go to the hospital, but I was petrified of hospitals, and I refused. He said I should get the cut sutured right away, and offered to do it, there in the hotel room. Novocain injections around my eye? More pain? I was entirely too freaked out for that. I don't think I was very calm and logical at the time, I was probably in shock and an inch away from being unconscious. My most powerful memory is that I'd never seen that much blood before.

The police wanted to arrest Richard, but I listened to the rest of the band, and said I didn't want to file criminal charges. The band wanted to play the show and get the money. If Richard went to jail, we couldn't play the show and get the money.

I had to get changed again for the stage, so I got blood all over those clothes. Sunglasses were used to get me to the stage without anyone in the audience seeing my face. I was "escorted" to the stage by some band members and the roadies - I wouldn't let Richard anywhere near me.

Predictably, we made it onstage about two or three hours late.

I played with my right hand, an icepack and a bloody towel in my left hand. I think it was the longest 60 minute show of my life. I've always wondered what the audience thought of that. Maybe they were all too drunk to notice.

As soon as the show was over, I escaped as quickly as I could. I took a train out of Philadelphia with the bloody towel. I wouldn't stay overnight in the hotel with the rest of the band, and positively would not ride back to New York in the van with Richard. I was afraid to go back to my hotel room to get my suitcase.

Has this strange feeling ever happened to you? Your world seems to be traveling at 200 mph - things seems to happen very fast. But at the same time, everything feels like it's moving in slow motion, and you can see every detail? It's something like watching a slow motion movie of a glass breaking - and you can see each piece shatter very clearly? I could feel it.

I remember the train ride. It was about midnight when I left Philadelphia, and about 3:00 am when I arrived in Rahway, New Jersey. That train probably stopped everywhere along the way. I called Lynne, my girlfriend, and she came to pick me up at the train station. She wanted to take me to a hospital, but fear prevented that. We went to her apartment, she stayed up with me all night with ice packs on my eye, and washed dried blood off me. We ruined some of her towels, too.

{{ momentary interruption: in 1968, there were no cell phones, pagers, computers, Caller ID, or answering machines. Phones still had rotary dials. Communication was a lot different then. Disposable plastic syringes hadn't been invented yet - they were still made of glass. }}

Dr. Abramson, my own doctor, did his hospital rounds in the morning, so we couldn't reach him until mid-afternoon. As soon as we contacted him, he told Lynne to bring me in immediately - she brought me to his office as fast as possible. I was still wearing the same bloody clothes I left Philadelphia with. From the amount of blood on my clothes, the doctor estimated I lost about a quart of blood.

He gave me an injection to make me unconscious, then put twelve sutures in the cut over my eye. I'm not sure what he did to the cut on my eye. When I woke up, he was taking x-rays of my head. He said I might have a concussion, and wanted to put me in the hospital for a day or two. That was too frightening. Because he was my doctor for many, many years, he understood my fear, and the reasons for it. Throughout my whole life, hospitals have always terrified me.

Lynne volunteered as a "nurse", and he gave her prescriptions and instructions. He told me to stay in bed as much as possible, and instructed her to bring me to his office almost every day for injections and checkups, even on Sundays. The doctor decided to leave the sutures in for several extra days.

Lynne had to go to my apartment to get clothes for me. We threw the bloody clothes away. It took several days to get all the caked blood out of my hair, because I couldn't take a shower or get the bandages wet.

Since that day, I've had vision problems with my left eye. Every time I look in the mirror, the scar reminds me of Richard and his ring with the diamond. These are not very fond memories. I don't know if he ever found his diamond in the carpeting.

For about 3 weeks, nobody knew where I was. I disappeared completely.

I didn't answer Lynne's phone, and when anyone called there asking about me, she told them they had the wrong number. For about 2 weeks, I couldn't open my left eye at all. About half of my face was blue, black, green, and purple during those weeks, and I didn't want to be seen like that by anyone.

Lynne took me to the doctor, helped me with putting medicine in my eye, icepacks, pain prescriptions, and she changed my bandages. I wouldn't let anyone near me except her and my doctor - she was really, truly kind and caring to me. The only times I went out were to go to the doctor's and once we went to the bank. I stayed at Lynne's apartment in Westfield, New Jersey after the sutures were removed and the swelling went down.

By then, I knew the Soul Survivors wasn't for me. I phoned the band I used to play with, and wanted to rejoin them, but they had another Hammond player.

To make things worse, all my Hammonds and Leslies were in the control of the Soul Survivors. I couldn't find anybody to go pick up my instruments for me. In the condition I was in, I wasn't going anywhere near them. Lynne offered, but I wouldn't let her rent a truck and try to load that much equipment by herself. More importantly, I didn't know what kind of confrontations she might face. Lynne had already been subjected to so many degrading, insulting remarks from Richard that she wouldn't even come to our shows anymore.

I'd saved enough money to buy a new Hammond B3 and two Leslies. If I could have found a different band quickly, I would have joined them.

After about 3 weeks, I called John and told him I was finished with the band. That started a major war. John argued, screamed, and accused. No matter how much he argued, I wouldn't tell him where I was or how to call me. He'd met Lynne, but had no idea where she lived.

He talked about an "official executive meeting" between management and the band, right after "the incident". I wasn't present at the meeting, of course. I didn't know anything about it, and wouldn't have gone anyway.

He talked about how much money the Soul Survivors were losing while they tried to find a new Hammond player, and how much more money they would lose during rehearsals, if they could find one. He talked about the shows they cancelled, and the ones they would have to cancel.

John was very helpful. He made everything perfectly clear to me:

♦ He told me I was all wrong.

♦ He told me everything was my fault.

♦ He screamed and accused.

♦ He blamed "the incident" on me.

♦ He told me to call Richard and apologize to him.

I thought he was my friend. Yeah, he sure was. He never even asked about my eye. If you hadn't considered it yet, John was Richard's puppet - another manipulating control freak.

John guaranteed me that Breakout Management would make absolutely sure that all the confrontations and conflict would stop. Everything would be fine - I should come back to work with the band, they couldn't do shows without a Hammond player, we had a lot of shows lined up, we'd all get along just great.

Foolishly, I believed him, and went back to New York. Being foolish is easy when you're almost 19 years old. By this time, it was about the end of January, 1969.

For a month or two, things seemed to be peaceful. Richard pretty much just left me alone.

But it didn't take long for Richard to go back to his aggressive, confrontational, combative ways. Naturally, nobody from "management" was around to control him. Each week, the confrontations escalated. "Inevitable" was approaching.

John and I used to drive to rehearsal together, and we always stopped for a hotdog and soda at the same curbside vendor near the rehearsal room. One day, on the way to rehearsal - in the middle of a hotdog - I snapped.

For the first time in my life, I didn't go to rehearsal. My suitcase was in the back seat of John's car, and instead of going to rehearsal, I took my suitcase. I didn't say a word, I just walked out in the street, and got into a taxicab.

John stood there with his hotdog - speechless.

I'd reached my limit. No more for me. No more.

♦ No more intimidation.

♦ No two week notice.

♦ No more worrying about what might happen to me next.

♦ No more loud-mouth, aggressive arguments.

♦ No more senseless confrontations.

♦ No more being controlled like a puppet.

♦ No more jive, hyper-frantic "soul" music.

♦ No more daily pot smoking.

♦ Most importantly - NO MORE RICHARD.

I couldn't - no, that's wrong - I wouldn't - take any more. Not even one more minute. NO MORE.

If this was soul music, I'd rather wash cars. I didn't collect my last paycheck, but I didn't care.

I had about $1500. in my pocket. I didn't even slow down long enough to go to the bank and close my account that day.

I abandoned my Hammonds and Leslies, my covers and moving equipment, some suitcases and clothing bags.

The taxi took me to the airport and I got on the next flight to Memphis. "Inevitable" arrived at the end of May, 1969.

I survived the Soul Survivors

and went to STAX Records - Soulsville USA

The next day, I was inside STAX Records.

The following day, I played Hammond organ on my first STAX session.

Within about a month, after my audition period, I was on salary as the staff keyboard player at STAX.

I didn't run away from home - I ran away TO home. (See STAX Memories)

I played REAL soul music, with REAL soul players, and REAL soul singers

	Since I started to play, I've had photo albums, scrapbooks, and shoeboxes full of old photos, documents, etc. It's strange how you collect these things. Years ago, I used to have dozens of old Soul Survivors photos, and plenty of admission tickets, which I kept for some unknown reason. Over time, through the years, things just seem to disappear.


	This was the last show I played with the Soul Survivors. About 48 hours later, I was home. At STAX Records.

This picture was taken several months after I joined the Soul Survivors.

This was the Hammond B3 I tried to keep "private", the one for me to practice on.

I didn't want to take this one out to travel, but it ended up on the road anyway.

A Soul Survivors show in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, on March 8, 1969. This Hammond was badly damaged within about a week. The roadies went through either five or six of my Hammonds. Nine or ten Leslies didn't live very long, either. I had to buy new Hammonds and Leslies frequently. I probably helped to keep my Hammond dealer in business.

Playing Hammond with the Soul Survivors was - for me - miserable. The only material we did were the songs on the album and a couple of old songs. Every time we played "Expressway" it sounded more and more like Jimi Hendrix on a double dose of LSD. They destroyed Rufus Thomas' "Funky Way". The best song they ever did was Etta James' "Tell Daddy", and even that got too psychedelic to believe. Try and imagine a year of this?

For years, Ronnie and John used to be good R&B players - before joining this band. In this environment, they both went absolutely crazy. Everything musical just turned hyper-frantic, frenzied. Can you say "musically berserk"?

"Oooooh Beato! Ah dig de way ya MOVE!" Soul music? Richard showed these guys that smoking more dope equals "better music"?

The only member of the group with any sense was Kenny, and he was out-talked and out-controlled in every situation. It was all a waste of time and effort in my mind. I feel certain that I lost more money in wrecked instruments than I earned. To this day, I have no idea who "inherited" all my Hammonds and Leslies, my covers, moving equipment, or my other belongings. Somebody, somewhere, owes me a LOT of money.

I'm glad I walked out when I did, sorry I didn't have Richard arrested when I had the chance, and even more sorry that I wasted a whole year of my musical life in this way.

All I ever wanted to do was play good soul music

It's brutal, it's honest, and there you have it

October, 2002: Steve Cropper made this remark in front of a large group of people at a live STAX show we played in Memphis.
"Sandy, if you didn't play your ****** ass off the first time we heard you, you never would have been allowed back inside STAX the second time."

Words like that, coming from someone like Steve Cropper, are the kind you remember for awhile.

I've received many messages about Richard Ingui and his "star-for-a-day" attitude. This one is pretty good.

From: HMARKTITUS@aol.com
Date: Thu, 30 May 2002 11:41:27 EDT
Subject: Soul Survivors
To: prokeys at sl-prokeys dot com

Enjoyed your article on the Soul Survivors. I played keyboards for them for about 6 months in 1991. I had the same kind of trouble with Ritchie -- a really miserable human being and a total control freak.

My last gig with them was when we were playing in a very hot club in early summer at the Jersey shore. It was so hot I couldn't get their Ensoniq sampler to make the honking horn sounds at the beginning of Expressway. Ritchie came up to me after the set and told me not to worry about it. It was the only time he was ever nice to me. Little did I realize that he had already decided to fire me.

It was the best thing that ever could've happened.

Keep the faith.

Mark Titus

Richard and Charlie knew about this page in December, 2002. Richard and Charlie claim they "just read" it in 2003, 2004, and 2005. (located further down the page)

Both of them may have "forgotten" they had a Soul Survivors website with a guestbook. Unsurprisingly, they put words in my mouth, just like the old days. Below is my BLUE response to an email referring to that guestbook.

BURY THE HATCHET

Date: Thu, 26 Dec 2002 08:29:06 -0500
To: philysoul@aol.com
From: Steve Leigh <steve at sl-prokeys dot com>
Subject: The Hatchet

Comments: Some people like myself cannot ever bury a hatchet............I guess I Survived the Survivors and just never grew up.

I didn't write the above, but maybe it's a good idea.

Richard, why don't we meet someplace.
Let me sucker punch you - once - in your eye - just exactly like you did me - wearing a ring with a stone in it. Knocking the stone out of the ring isn't necessary - I'm not that strong, anyway. You wait a full 24 hours before you get sutures put in it, just like me. And we'll consider the hatchet buried properly and fairly. I'll even buy you a drink, and we can sit around and talk about soul music. I've done some interesting things over the years - I bet you have too.

You probably won't have the scar and problems with your eye that I've had for over 30 years, but I probably can't punch nearly as hard as you could. I'm still just a 120 lb. weakling.

As long as you're editing on my behalf, go ahead and put the right address in there. too.

http://sl-prokeys.com/prokeys/survivor.htm

Sandy

Steve Leigh
steve at sl-prokeys dot com
www.sl-prokeys.com

ADDENDUM - December 1, 2003

Amazing as it may be, on November 28, 2003, Richard Ingui sent me an email, our first contact since May, 1969. Emails were exchanged, and phone calls began.

He acknowledged his past actions and apologized. The impact on me was very powerful. After all these years, I never would have expected to hear from Richard.

In 1968, we lived in a different world. We said things and did things that aren't acceptable anymore. We were more impulsive, and it follows logically that we've both matured through the years.

My opinion of Richard has changed. Richard is no longer the same Richard I knew in 1968. He's a father, a grown man, and his communication with me has shown that the "1968 Richard" no longer exists.

When Richard read of the death of Rebecca, my wife, he's shown kindness and empathy.

It's possible that a real friendship could develop between us. We've even discussed playing some music jobs together, which I might like to do someday.

I think it took a lot of personal character and fortitude for Richard to write to me. I'm grateful that he contacted me in the way that he did.

I'm sorry that we ever had conflicts.

My only wish would be that Rebecca could have read the letters, spoken with him, and known this, too.

ADDENDUM - March 18, 2008

Now it's March, 2008.

Manipulation is synonymous with control, as any dictionary will show. As I've written, Richard constantly tried to control me. Another person, Mark Titus, wrote exactly the same thing, above.

Is it more than a coincidence that 2 musicians - complete strangers - would refer to Richard as a control freak, referring to 1968 and 1991?

Since contacting me, Richard has repeatedly tried to control and manipulate me to remove this webpage. I saved most of his emails, many of which have something to do with this page.

Previously, he claimed to understand that this page represented an honest description of an important part of my life in music. He claimed that he understood why it should remain online.

Conversations with Richard immediately resulted in December 1, 2003 changes being added. At the same time, I also made several changes to "sanitize" several other parts of this page. I made a sincere effort on Richard's behalf.

The December 1, 2003 changes indicate that I feel no hate. If I hated Richard, I wouldn't have made any effort. I would have left the page as it was - and it was ROUGH - a lot rougher than it is now. I removed all the descriptions of the verbal abuse which Richard subjected my girlfriends to. I had several girlfriends - Richard's degrading, unprovoked insults ruined those relationships, too.

In an effort to compromise, I suggested several times that Richard rewrite this page in a way that he felt was acceptable. I only requested that he maintain truth and honesty. Richard ignored the suggestions.

Even the March 18, 2008 additions indicate that I feel no hate. I'm just tired of Richard's attempts to manipulate and control me.

Apparently, my efforts were inadequate. Over time, I've come to realize that Richard's "friendship" isn't friendship. Richard's "friendship" is only based conditionally on "remove the webpage".

I'm beyond caring what Richard wants. I'm not going to compromise any longer, I'm not going to be manipulated and controlled.

My comments, rebuttal, and corrections of facts are in BLUE text.

There are also a few highlights.

If you question my honesty I will forward any or all original messages. My email link is visible. I saved a whole collection. In some places, I used the "Enter" key to make smaller paragraphs from a very large one. I did not change any of Richard's words. Dates are bold.

MANIPULATION

added March 18, 2008

From: GOGOOTS@aol.com
Date: Fri, 28 Nov 2003 13:20:09 EST
Subject: To Sandy
To: prokeys at sl-prokeys dot com
X-Mailer: Thunderbird - Mac OS X sub 207

To Sandy
Someone told me about your site about a year or so ago, I never did see it until about two weeks ago when I came upon it while doing a search for something else.

This is not the truth. I've illustrated it (above) with Richard's message from December, 2002.

It was very difficult and painful to read through it. First, I would like to ask you to please accept this letter as an attempt to speak from one man's heart to another. I ask you not to make this a public letter. I would like it to be between you and I.

It takes many years and many hard lessons to become a human being, one who is sensitive to other people's lives and situations. I made a choice many years ago to turn my life around and work towards that goal. I have realized and tried in many ways to make penance for people in my past who I have hurt and offended. Reading your letter was a stone cold reminder of the "person" I was, and the direction I was headed for as a man. It was and is ugly and very humiliating.

I'm not trying to make any excuses by this statement but the truth is at the time you and I met I was barely eighteen or nineteen years old

The truth is, this is not the truth. I was 18 about one month before meeting Richard - the same day I joined the Soul Survivors. Richard is approximately 4 or 5 years older than me.

Now Richard can explain - without trying to make any excuses - what he did to me.

and knew nothing else except my upbringing on the streets of New York. I went for weeks on end fighting everyday. We had many gang fights and personal fist fights, everything was settled by fighting. No one from my neighborhood settled anything without force.

I guess that explains it. Except I'll never understand what needed to be "settled".

My reaction to you in that hotel room was like auto response, my twisted interpretation of you getting changed in front of a girl I was with was taken as if it were an insult and that was my stupid reaction.

"Auto response", "twisted interpretation", "an insult", "my stupid reaction"?

Richard chooses his words well. He probably doesn't want to remember he hit me so hard that he knocked the diamond out of his ring.

I have an inquisitive mind. I'm curious about almost anything.

What was I supposed to be doing in my hotel room about one hour before I had to go onstage and play? Wasn't I supposed to be getting showered, dressed, and presentable - ready to play a show? Wasn't I doing my job? I believe I was fulfilling my responsibilities to the Soul Survivors. I was hired as a Hammond organ player, not a street gang fighter. Am I delusional?

How would Richard feel today if "the incident" in that hotel room was different? I'm curious about possible alternatives.

♦ What if "the incident" wasn't completely one-sided?

♦ What if I wasn't a 103 pound weakling, and I could and did kick the shit out of Richard for sucker punching me?

♦ What if I weighed about 90 pounds more than Richard, and I was physically able to slam his face through a wall after he punched me?

♦ What if Richard lost about a quart of blood and was permanently damaged if I attacked him with no warning or provocation?

♦ What if I had a knife on the day he sucker punched me, and I stabbed him to defend myself?

♦ If I had stabbed Richard, could I use "my neighborhood" and "my upbringing" as a reason, or would "auto response" explain it?

♦ Would Richard have gotten on the stage - bleeding - and done the show?

♦ How would Richard feel now about the permanent damage?

♦ Why didn't Richard beat up anyone else in the group?

Sandy I am truly, truly sorry for having affected your life this way. I don't know how it is possible to go back and change that moment and replace my ignorance with maturity and common sense.

When Richard figures that out, he'll revolutionize the world.

That person you met over thirty years ago no longer exists. By the grace of god that part of me is gone forever.

Some of it may be gone forever. The manipulating and controlling behaviors have grown stronger. I'll illustrate that in a few minutes.

Haven't you ever done things in the past that you are ashamed of?

Yes.

I did, and I have made every effort humanly possible to right those wrongs by my everyday actions.

I don't want to bore you with all my personal hardships (I know we all have them)but I would like to relate one story to you if I can. " The sins of the father are visited upon the son". I have been blessed to have children in my life. Three years ago when my son was just eighteen years old, he was assaulted, and beaten almost to death. After he had regained consciousness and made it to his feet, he was again beaten down and lost consciousness again. He suffered many bruises, a severely broken jaw and a concussion. I don't understand why things happen,

I'm truly sorry about Richard's son.

perhaps the curse you had on me

WHAT??

or maybe gods way of putting me in another man's shoes in order to learn a lesson had something to do with it. All I know is my son suffers constantly with back and neck pain and migraine headaches. I can do nothing about it, nothing to help him, I wish it would have happened to me instead, it would have been easier to accept. I know from your letter how much hate you feel for me and what happened back then, but I certainly hope you do not rejoice in this story.

I definitely do not rejoice in it.

I want you to understand that I have learned many things through life lessons. Sometimes they have been very hard and painful.

I am deeply troubled by the effect of my actions on you. I have not spent one day since I read your letter without thinking about it. I have been praying sincerely that somehow, someway, something I say can reach your heart and you can begin to accept my honest apology.

If Richard is specifically apologizing for injuring me, I accept his apology.

Please believe me that person no longer lives. It is very sad that I must live with the ignorant and unconscious actions of the past. The one thing I remember about you is your ability beyond your years to play a great organ. I regret I wasn't cool enough to receive that in my life and make the best of it, when it was in front of me. I'm sorry.
Richard ingui

Richard sent the following email, containing the red quote shown below. The quote is from an internet DJ. I spoke with the DJ regularly, and made sure she had Richard's new CD, "Released". I promoted Richard's CD to her, and suggested songs which she played frequently on her radio show.

I tried to help him get airplay, popularity, exposure, and CD sales.

MORE MANIPULATION

added March 18, 2008

From: GOGOOTS@aol.com
Date: Sun, 7 Mar 2004 13:24:31 EST
Subject: (no subject)
To: steve at sl-prokeys dot com
X-Mailer: 7.0 for Windows sub 10709

"I red on prokeys site that you don't care much for Black folks...I hope that has mellowed some because they are the main buyers right now and I have some Black networks I'd like to get you on to help sell your music. So hit me back on that."

Sandy
This is the stuff I'm gonna be subject to. It really blows. It is untrue and it is not right that someone who I consider a friend and who considers me a friend would keep this out there for people to read and get a horrible impression of me.

I haven't written ANYTHING which even remotely implies that Richard ever disliked black people. Absolutely nothing.

I even hate to defend this. I have worked with black folks forever and have shared so much love for there music and culture. I have had so many great times with black musicians and freinds. I beg you to take that stuff out of there, no matter what you believe I said or did back then, I don't really remember.

And I DO really remember. Until November, 2003, I used the words "nigger music" in four (4) locations on this webpage. (Yes, I counted them.) The words were clearly used in context as just a small illustration of Richard's verbal abuse directed at me. They had nothing to do with black people.

Following Richard's first call to me, November 28, 2003, I made my own decision to compromise. I cleaned up and "sanitized" this page. Those words were deleted within two days, along with several other descriptions of verbal battering from Richard.

But this is killing me today and it's just not right.

This isn't "killing" anybody.

Please rethink this post and try to realize how hurtful it is to me. That story doesn't do any good for anyone.

What Richard really means is he doesn't want me to write a truthful page about a period of my life in music, because it doesn't COMPLIMENT Richard. In 1968, Richard justified everything. In 2003 he doesn't feel justified anymore. Does that change any facts?

I can't even read it. My brother came across it a few nights ago and said "why doesn't he take it off, it's horrible".

Sometimes the truth is very nice and pleasant. Sometimes it isn't.

I know you will do whatever you will do, but think about it, what's the worst possible thing you can say about a guy who supposedly sings soul music? He hates Black People.

I never even suggested anything like that. Richard's conflicts with me had nothing to do with HATE or BLACK PEOPLE. If that isn't perfectly clear, then Richard, and some other readers of this page, desperately need language tutors.

I don't appreciate Richard - or anyone else - trying to put words in my mouth, as shown above.

If I intended or wanted to say "Richard hates black people" that is EXACTLY what I would have written. I didn't write that.

I'm exceptionally intelligent, extremely articulate, and my words should be crystal clear to anyone who can actually read and understand English. If someone chooses to misinterpret perfectly clear English, it illustrates their inability to read or comprehend the English language. Some people might read this page and think it's about space aliens. If there's anything here that's confusing, ask somebody that understands English for help.

I CHALLENGE ANYBODY to find anything I've written on this page which indicates anyone hating anyone.

STILL MORE MANIPULATION

added March 18, 2008

From: soulsurvivors@comcast.net
To: steve at sl-prokeys dot com
Date: Fri, 22 Apr 2005 15:41:02 +0000

Dear Sandy

I need to write to you at this time, there is a good possibility you may go into a fit of rage and call me a lot of names.

No fit, rage, or names. As my following comments show, I'm not angry. I am losing tolerance with Richard's attempts to minimize, manipulate, and control me.

In 1969, I quit the Soul Survivors because of Richard's behaviors. In 1996, I wrote that Richard was a control freak. Above, I wrote, "Richard had the tendency to wear you down to his way of thinking, no matter how long it took." In this regard, nothing has changed. 1968 to 2005 - THIRTY SEVEN YEARS - Richard is still trying to control me.

I truly hope it doesn't make you never want to hear from me again.

Actually, enough is enough. Richard has worn out his welcome in my life.

I must get this out.

Richard "must get this out", and I've grown tired of his continual attempts to control and manipulate me for his own purposes.

I have experienced a very distressing night. I was at a local restaurant where some friends and family went to eat and gather for a small reunion. Charlie and I and Kenny Jerimiah were there and we were asked to sing some doo wop songs. Every thing was a nice time, the food was great the songs and old friends felt good.

Toward the end of the evening a group of friends of mine sat me down and started to tell me about the "page on the internet" about me. I knew immediately what they were talking about. I told them you and I were in touch and that we have come to a new relationship. I defended your right to put it there, saying that this is your recollection of what happened and you feel strongly about telling that story.

If Richard "defended my right", then why has he constantly tried to manipulate me to remove this page?

I mentioned the addendum at the end and they said they read that too, and they really don't understand why anyone would write the first page especially after reading the addendum. They told me it was slanderous and I should do something about it. One friend looked in my eyes and said "they were sick to there stomach as they read it".

Slanderous? That's absolutely outrageous!

♦ Richard's friend was "sick" about a webpage? How "sick" was Richard's friend about my trauma?

♦ I lost about a quart of blood. Did that make Richard's friend "sick to there stomach"?

♦ It required 12 stitches to close the wound over my eye.

♦ I was so intimidated, I had to wait - and bleed - for almost 24 hours - to get to my own doctor.

♦ I was afraid of hospitals, the hotel doctor - a total stranger - or any other doctor.

♦ For about 2 weeks, I couldn't even open my left eye.

♦ I was cut over my eye, and the cornea, or whatever it's called, was cut, too.

♦ Blood was coming out of my eye for days.

♦ Since 1968, my left eye has permanent damage.

♦ I did NOTHING to deserve getting punched in the face. Was Richard's friend "sick to there stomach" about that?

Richard and his girlfriend invited themselves into my hotel room. They walked into my room without knocking, without invitation, without permission. They invaded my privacy.

In less than 5 seconds, my blood was all over the room. The only one that was injured was me.

If I had known that Richard's GIRLFRIEND was there,

I would have been too EMBARRASSED to be seen in my socks and underwear.

Does it take a GENIUS to comprehend that most people would be

too SELF-CONSCIOUS to allow anyone to see them in socks and underwear?

HOW ABOUT YOU?

Do you change your clothes in front of the people you work with?

Do you change clothes in front of their boyfriends or girlfriends?

When's the last time you allowed someone you work with to see you in socks and underwear?

I played in bands almost daily for the preceding FOUR YEARS. Somehow, in all that time - months after months on the road - hotel and motel rooms by the hundred - ALL OF US - that means 8 to 11 band members - showed enough common courtesy and respect to knock on a door before walking into someone's room. Changing clothes and getting dressed is not a public event - it's personal and private. Most rational people should understand that.

Last summer, in about May our friend who manages Felix Cavaliere, was in contact with an agent who he does alot of bookings with. We did two dates through this guy and they went very well. He seemed to be interested in using us. One day while I was at work Bob (the manager) called me on the cell and started to tell me that this agent had googled my name and your story came up. He brought this up to Bob and Bob could not explain anything about it. Bob told me the agent seemed bothered by the article and he asked for some explanation of it. So far-we have never heard from the agent about any work since then.

This page is responsible for a booking agent's actions, too? NO - I'm not going for that. I'm not accepting any blame if an agent doesn't want to book Richard. I'll never believe that a webpage controls a booking agent's business decisions.

About a year ago you asked me to ask Charlie to call you. Well I have not told you this before,

I didn't need to be told. I'm very perceptive.

I have gained much respect for you over so many conversations - and I respect what you feel and believe is right, therefore I am not comfortable trying to influence you, or trying to tell you things that atempt to influence your actions.

Richard denies the obvious, which is absurd. This is nothing but another attempt to influence, control, and manipulate me. As anyone can see, guilt is being applied, but I refuse to accept the guilt.

Any way at this point you should know that someone at that time forwarded the page to my brother to read. He was really pissed, all he ever says when I bring you up is "did he take that fuckin thing off the web?"

Now we use Charlie to manipulate and apply guilt.

(NOTE: Richard claims they first saw this page in 2002, 2003, 2004, and 2005. That's amazing.)

One more thing I need to express, and I want you to know I have been up all night very unrest and upset. I have managed to keep my wife from finding that page, my son and daughter have not come upon it either.

The manipulation never ends. Now it's Richard's family.

Richard doesn't want his family to read this? Instead of facing it honestly, like a REAL adult would, Richard prefers to try and hide. Deception and secrecy are preferable to truth and openness? Not in my world, thank you.

It is just a matter of time, my son's name is richard ingui. He will hear about it or find it someday. I have tried very consciously to be a righteous man to my friends and family and even strangers.

I discussed this with him several times, and made it clear that I forgave him years ago. Many times, I offered to get on the phone with his family and make my thoughts clear. My offers to help Richard discuss this honestly and openly with his family were ignored.

That doesn't mean I forgot - it means I forgave. There's a difference.

Now who knows I may die tomorrow, and this is the story I leave behind.

This page factually represents about one year of Richard's lifetime.

It hurts to read it, and I have read it many times - it hurts any reputation of integrity that I try to build in my life

That's ridiculous.

and it hurts my reputation as a singer.

That's ridiculous, too.

I just have one more thought and request and that is that you read the article through and replace my name with your name and see what it feels like after you're done reading.

I made a copy of this page and substituted Richard's name. I didn't "feel". I KNOW I could never attack someone like Richard attacked me, unless I was forced to defend myself or my life was in danger.

I will not write with anger. I believe Richard should receive the same as he gave. "Do Unto Others As You Would Have Them Do Unto You" - that's known as the Golden Rule.

Get a java-enabled browser.