Just sitting here by the jukebox thinking about best and worst Thanksgivings. The worst, of course, was the Thanksgiving that Terry died. I have always wondered why he left us on Thanksgiving. Knowing Terry, I'm sure there's some kind of message there. Maybe he was thankful to be free? I dunno. I sure didn't feel very thankful that he was gone. But Terry was also a big part of the very best Thanksgiving, too. Thanksgiving 1985.

Axel, Lightnin, Andrea and I were living in a big two-story house not far from Hobby Airport. We were house-sitting for Walt, who was in Holland/France for three years. Poor Walt. I'm not sure he understood what all was gonna go on in that house when he turned it over to us. I'll tell you one thing, though. We infused it with enough good vibes on Psychedelic Sunday alone to carry Walt the rest of his life.

This is the house where Rock & Roll Heaven was born. In many ways, it is the house where I was born. It was built in the 1960s. The rooms are large and airy, with lots of windows. The front yard is nice and large, too, with big trees and some lovely sago palms. And the house sits a respectable distance away from the houses on either side. There's an enormous back yard which we could have harvested for hay during the summer months. I often considered it in the leaner times.

A couple of weeks before Thanksgiving 1985 I got one of my brilliant ideas.

"Let's have a Thanksgiving celebration this year, Lightnin," I said.

"What do you want to do?"

"Well, I don't know. I don't necessarily want the usual kind of Thanksgiving thing but I do want to be together with all our friends and celebrate somehow. Why don't we invite them to come here? This is a big house. We have plenty of room."

"Here?", he asked, nervously.

"Yeah, sure. We won't go to any trouble. No cooking or any of that bullshit. We won't buy a thing except maybe a smoked turkey and some beer. We'll invite folks and tell them to bring their own alcohol and their favorite Thanksgiving dish."

He liked that "no trouble" aspect of it. He smiled and said yeah, that sounded like a cool idea. We talked it over with Axel and Andrea and they agreed. So we started spreading the word.

Axel told all his buds. So did Andrea. I called everybody whose telephone number I had. The rest I invited as I ran across 'em in the beer joints. Every night the band played I was there, setting up and tearing down and inviting people to give thanks with us on Psychedelic Sunday.

Everyone I talked to was enthusiastic about it. The word kept spreading and I kept inviting folks. If they stopped to say "hi", they were tagged for the party. Pretty soon Lightnin began to get uneasy.

"How many people are you inviting to this thing, anyway?", he asked.

"The world. I'm inviting the world."

"Damned if you ain't," he said, laughing. "Everybody I see says they're coming."

"Great! The more, the merrier." I beamed.

He just looked at me.

On the morning of the big day I made a small sign, gold lettering on black paper, and hung it on the front door.

Psychedelic Sunday
Sun 8 degrees Sagittarius 1985

Rock & Roll Heaven
Gives Thanks

WELCOME!

Door's Open ...

Then I tuned the stereo to 101.1, which featured '60s psychedelic music all day on Sundays, and cranked up the volume. Popped the top on a beer and waited for the crowd to arrive.

Arrive they did. They came on Harleys, Indians, BMWs, Hondas. They came in pickup trucks and jeeps and automobiles of every kind and description. Vehicles covered every inch of parking space up and down the length of the street. The front yard and driveway were filled with the finest motorcycles on the face of the planet.

They brought their kids, their dogs, their cats, their pet armadillos. They brought their favorite '60s music. They brought their guitars and amps. They brought their heart. Their esprit.

They brought food. So much food that we didn't have room for all of it in the kitchen and dining room. Had to spread it out all over the house. We had turkeys, we had hams, we had fresh fish, shrimp and crab; we had gulf oysters that Bert Rodney grilled on the barbeque pit. We had yams and mashed potatoes and green beans and baked beans and lima beans and carrots and peas and you name it. We had desserts of every size, shape, variety and fat content. And enough beer to float the Battleship Texas.

I think that Sunday was the greatest Fourth House experience of my life. For one magickal moment in time, I understood the feeling of family and home at its deepest and most meaningful level. I looked around me and saw family everywhere. The house positively teemed with life. The television room upstairs was filled with a contingent of folks eating popcorn and watching movies. The pool room had a lively game going on with onlookers and kibbitzers leaning up against the walls, sitting on the floor, beers in hand. The library hosted a lively discussion on the relative merits of Camus vs. Kafka. Every nook and cranny overflowed with laughter and lively conversation, love and friendship. The vibes were intoxicating.

I watched Lightnin move among the throngs of people; he who ordinarily feels so self-conscious in crowds. Yes, can you imagine? Mr. Show Biz is uneasy in large groups. But he was enjoying himself that day. I have never seen him have so much fun. His smile stretched a mile wide and the house resounded with his laughter. He walked around with a fork in his back pocket and sampled every dish in the house. He rapped and joked and ate and drank and met people he'd never dreamed he would know. So I also remember Psychedelic Sunday, Thanksgiving 1985, as the one day I made Lightnin truly happy.

Flashing back to Psychedelic Sunday always leaves me with the basics. It affirms that the gods did not necessarily hand me an easy path, but they make up for all the bullshit by filling my life with the most beautiful people in the world.

It is for those beautiful people, for you, that I give thanks every day.