Guthrie Thomas
Autobiography

The Beginning

My trip through this maze called life with all of its problems and sacrifices began in Wichita Falls, Texas. This is not to say that everything in life is a major problem or sacrifice, although, there have been times when it has appeared that way…

I did not set out in life to be a folk-country artist or singer-songwriter. Actually, as with many of us, in my youthful days I did not know exactly what I wanted to do with my life. I only picked up the guitar initially to close a communication gap between my father and myself. As fate would have it, as fate always does, I fell in love with the acoustic guitar and the rest is history…
I quit school at fifteen; packed up an old 1955 Chevy station wagon, and I hit the road. I have not stopped since…

The first song I actually learned was taught to me by my close boyhood friend, Gary Brooker. Gary showed me three guitar chords and the song, “House of the rising sun.” I was ten years old. I learned later that this was the first song for many of the artists I would encounter over the years…

Out on the highway, I stayed with friends and future friends. I slept on couches, park benches, and even in a few corn fields. I made it a point to practice at least eight hours a day if possible. My fingers were so raw at times that I could hardly stand to finger the fingerboard of my Martin D-45, however, my fingers never became open wounds as some myths might have it. Also, I befriended anyone who could show me anything new on the guitar, from the easiest chord to the most complicated passage. I picked up as much as I could from these players and I traveled anywhere and everywhere to learn as much as I could. From the deltas of Louisiana to the Blue Ridge Mountains, and from one continent to another. I was always looking for new ways to play...and I found them.

One summer in the late sixties I befriended a fellow in Santa Barbara, California. He could finger-pick his Martin D-35 like no one I had ever seen. I don’t recall his name, but I asked him if he would show me how to play that way. He agreed, and for the next three weeks I spent every night at his place learning every trick he knew. I eventually adopted this style as my own. And, I knew after mastering this finger-picking style that I wanted to be a professional musician, somehow.

For several years I only played instrumental pieces. I perfected my fingering style while concentrating on speed and accuracy.
(Actually, I played so fast that Arlo Guthrie once told me that I played too fast; that I should slow down...and I did from then on..) I never played anything for anyone until I could play it flawlessly. It wasn’t until 1970 that I began to write lyrics to go with my guitar work. But, I was a terrible singer which made things even worse…

As I was nearing the ripe old age of twenty-one, I felt I might be ready to take on Hollywood, however, I was stuck in Rhonert Park, California teaching guitar classes at a local university. Then, while reading the morning paper over a cup of coffee, I chanced to see that Ramblin’ Jack Elliott was due in town the following night to do a show at a place called, “The Inn of the Beginning.” I had studied Jack’s work over the years and decided I would go down and see him play. His performance was excellent, as it usually is, and I knew at that very moment that I, too, wanted to be a rowdy, country-folk musician.

Somehow, I managed to get back stage after the show to meet Ramblin’ Jack and I sat down directly across from him. Jack looked up at me and said, “Who are you kid?” I told him some ridiculous story that He had met my family and myself
back in the mid-fifties when I was a young boy. Jack was not fooled for a single minute with this blatant lie, but he went along with it just the same, perhaps to humor himself and me. Jack asked me if I could play that beautiful D-45 I was toting around with me. “Sure!” I said. I then played a song that I had written for him the night before, “Song to ramblin’.” which I later recorded on my first album, “Sittin’ Crooked.” I told Jack after finishing the song that I wanted him to give me a job opening shows for him, but I don’t think Jack was too impressed with my talents as He politely thanked me and showed me the door…

Fate is all I can say. The following day I was driving into town and I stopped by the Inn of the Beginning for a cup of coffee. At a table in the corner Ramblin’ Jack was sitting with a friend so, I walked over and said hello. Jack asked how I was doing, and if I had a car and that he needed a ride down to San Francisco fifty miles to the south. I told him I had a VW van and I would take him anywhere he needed to go. We jumped into the van a short time later and we headed south to San Rafael.

Upon arriving at Jack’s managers office I realized I was in the main offices of the Grateful Dead. I was soon introduced to
Jerry Garcia, Bobby Weir, and the rest of the Dead. After this minor shock, Jack and I left for the Hyatt Regency Hotel in downtown San Francisco. We caught the elevator in the hotel up to the 16th floor. We meandered around the 16th floor until Jack located the room he was looking for and he knocked on the door. A few moments later, the door opened and Arlo Guthrie was standing there. “Hello Jack!” Arlo said, and we went in. We spent the next two hours talking and playing guitar’s and banjo’s with Arlo.

After leaving Arlo at his hotel, Jack and I ended up at Bobby Weir's house on Mount Tamalpias in Mill Valley. We stayed the night. I got to know Bobby rather well over the next few years. I recall asking Bobby straight out that night if he would produce a album for me, and to my surprise, he agreed. Although, it never did come to pass but, I was grateful he had even considered it…

After leaving Bobby’s beautiful home we headed south. I took Jack and his girlfriend to the airport. He told me as he was leaving, that if I wanted a job with him to meet him in Denver the next time he played there and he would consider it. Then, we said farewell and he disappeared down the ramp heading for his plane. I was in a state of shock and elation on my trip back to Rhonert Park and my measly guitar teaching position…

After some investigation, I found out when Jack would be playing in Denver. I then packed up my van and headed east to Colorado. Not only had I found out when and where Jack was playing, but I also found out what plane he was arriving on. When the door opened on the plane to disembark the passengers I was the first person Jack saw as he climbed off the plane. He said to me, “Your hired kid.” He paid me ten dollars a night, and room and board. This was the beginning of my professional music career.

Some weeks later after a short stay in Park City, Utah, Jack and I met up with Hoyt Axton in Santa Cruz, California. We all jumped into Hoyt’s Chevy   truck and headed south to Hollywood. Hoyt sang songs and played a small martin guitar as he drove the truck with his knee’s. A simple twist of fate and I was in fine company heading for Hollywood...I thought to myself,…”This is exactly where I want to be and where I want to go.”…My music career was moving forward... and all
thanks to Ramblin’ Jack Elliott, Arlo Guthrie, and Hoyt Axton. I owe each of them a great deal….

When we arrived in Hollywood, Jack and I had no place to stay. Arlo asked the two of us to stay at his rented palace in Laurel Canyon. Warner Brothers Records had rented the Boris Karloff estate for Arlo while he was recording a new album. Before arriving at the “Frankenstein” mansion, I had visions of macabre and dreadful dark hallways where ghouls abound but, as I stepped into the Spanish adobe layout, I was surprised to find only one picture of the great horror film star in what was once Mr. Karloff’s study. In any event, we settled in nicely and I was quite comfortable. This was quite different from living in a garage in Rhonert Park, California just a short time earlier. I was feeling on top of the world, but “Where to go from here?” I asked myself.

Eventually, we ended up at Arlo’s recording session down at Warner Brothers Studios. It was the first time I had experienced the making of a record in a “first class.” fashion. Everything, from the engineer to the musicians, was strictly professional. It
was great. I was learning every step of the way, but I was still a rookie in the world of music, and I wanted to be a professional quickly.. perhaps too quickly if the truth were known…

After the Arlo sessions we found ourselves at Emmylou Harris’ recording sessions, also at Warner’s ...she was delightful, and I was quite fond of her. She could really lay the tracks down to tape. Emmylou was just starting out in the industry but, a blind man could see that this girl was going places...and she certainly did… After meeting everyone at the sessions, and stopping by the main offices at Warner’s, we headed back to the Karloff mansion...It had been a great day...a really great day indeed…

A week passed me by at such a rate, that I hardly noticed the time passing at all. I was living that Hollywood dream. But, as with dreams, everything comes to an end eventually. At the end of this week in Hollywood, Jack and I found ourselves down at Paradise Cove near Malibu Beach on the California coast. Jack was meeting someone there, although, I don’t recall who that might have been. We sat down at the bar in a restaurant in the cove and waited for this person. After a few moments, a husky looking fellow with a beard sat down next to me and ordered a beer. Out of the blue, he turned to me and asked me if he could buy me a beer. I said okay, and we started talking. I suddenly realized that I was sitting at the bar having a beer and a conversation with Steve McQueen, the film actor. Steve and I would become good friends over the next few years.

After this great conversation with Steve, I wandered outside to the beach. A film crew was setting up to do a toy commercial, so I stood around and watched for a while. I had no idea where Jack had run off to but, I assumed he had located the friend he was looking for and would show up sooner or later. As I was standing there watching them shoot this ridiculous commercial about a toy race car, I started talking to one of the actors in the commercial between takes.. His name was Raynold Gideon. I told him I was a folksinger and he said He would like to hear some of my songs. To make a long story short, a few weeks after meeting Raynold I was in the studio recording my first album, “Sitting Crooked” and Raynold was the producer. Raynold Gideon is one of my closest friends, and has guided me in and out of many absurd situations, especially in the seventies. Ray is now one of the top screenwriters in Hollywood, and along with his partner, Bruce Evans, the fine film director, the two produce some really amazing film scripts and films. These films include “Starman”, “Kuffs“, and “Stand by me.” It was really surprising to me, that at every turn I made, I was going forward in my musical endeavors. It got to the point that I believed anything was possible, and it was...for me...The only problem that I had to face was...I could write good songs, but I couldn’t sing them worth a damn...

For the next few days Jack and I meandered around Hollywood. Jack had to go back out on the road soon and I had to decide whether to go with him, or stay in Hollywood to pursue my recording career. This was a difficult decision for me but, after careful consideration, I decided to stay in Hollywood, after all, I could not realistically find a recording contract if I was rambling around the country swapping road stories in bunkhouses and truck stops with Jack. Don't get me wrong, many up and coming singer-songwriters would jump at the chance to hit the highway with Ramblin' Jack Elliott, the education alone is worth a dozen recording contracts but, I felt my future lay in Hollywood and I just had a feeling that I should stay...and, as it turned out, it was the right decision in the end. So, I said farewell to my mentor and teacher as he climbed into the cab of a Peterbilt semi truck that was heading east, and he ever so slowly faded away down that highway he loves so much...so long Jack.. I'll see you later...

Now what was I going to do? Arlo had finished his sessions at Warner Brothers and I had no place to stay and I was running low on that essential building block of life... money! "No problem," I thought to myself. I had been stuck many times without cash and no place to stay and everything had always worked out before, something would turn up. Actually, I really didn't care... I was in Hollywood and my life in the recording industry was just around the corner. I mean, in my mind, I was not concerned with whether I "would" get a record deal...I worried about which company "I" wanted to sign me... boy, you talk about confidence... this was arrogance in its finest form...and I wasn't going to take "no" for an answer...

I ended up staying with Carl Clemens, my life long friend from my teenager rebel without a cause days. Carl was a writer and a piano player and, a terrible influence on me according to my mother. But, beggars can't be chooser's...(Truthfully speaking, Carl was actually one of the better influences in my life...) In any event, one Wednesday night, Carl and I went to a small club on Ventura Boulevard in Studio City. I don't recall the name of the club but it had an "Open Mike" night on Wednesdays and I thought I would go in and play a few tunes for the masses. I had kept in contact with Hoyt Axton who was still in town working on publishing deals with A&M records, and Hoyt recommended I stop into this place. I played my usual open mike standards, "Song to Ramblin," "Don't think Twice," and "The Ramblin' Talkin' Blues." After my set, I went back to our table and a young lady came up to me and said she had a friend who wanted to meet me. I wandered over to their table in my cowboy fashion and introduced myself to her. We talked for a few hours until the club closed down and she gave me her phone number before she left. Well, to cut to the chase, I called her the following day and moved in with her the following night. Her name was Ginny and she had the perfect apartment from which to pursue my recording career. The apartment was located on Beechwood Avenue, just four blocks from the infamous Hollywood and Vine, and just minutes away from every major record company in existence...

I took a job working the graveyard shift at an all night, sleazy adult bookstore in the worst part of Hollywood. I had no real education having quit school in the ninth grade so, finding a good job was out of the question and the graveyard shift, midnight to eight in the morning, worked well in my plans to relentlessly target the record companies in the daytime. Ginny worked for RCA records as an executive legal secretary and paid all the bills associated with the apartment. After each shift at the bookstore, I would sleep until about one in the afternoon and then I would hit the record companies with my pitiful, homemade cassette recordings. I had a little Sony cassette recorder that was nowhere near what I needed for presenting my material to the majors but, it was all I had... I was finally happy. I had a faithful, and very jealous lady, no bills to worry about, my VW van, a sleeping bag, my guitar, a few cassette tapes, a place to stay, Hollywood at my fingertips, and all the sex books I could ever possibly want to read... read! I mean... look at... I was the cat bird sitting in the cat bird's seat...

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