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sl-prokeys was born April 5, 1995


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On August 21, 2003, at 2:45pm, my wife of 34 years, Rebecca, died in my arms in an emergency room.

The last words we spoke were in perfect synchronization: "I love you with all my heart."

 

 

Surviving the Soul Survivors

this is real, and it ain't pretty

throughout this page, DATES are bold

WARNING: There is a lot of PROFANITY on this page.  If PROFANITY offends you, please leave right now.

Please do not subject yourself to being offended.

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This page is completely truthful.  It was added to my website very early in 1996.  I tried to avoid expressing anger when I first wrote this page, and made an effort to write clear, mostly unemotional facts.  But there is anger.  The more you read, the more you'll understand the reasons.

 

On November 28, 2003, a very unusual event took place - an email, followed by two (2) phone calls.

On December 1, 2003, I took many parts out of the original webpage, "sanitized" it, and added two (2) ADDENDUMS

 

From December 1, 2003 until approximately March, 2008, other events took place, which influenced my thinking very strongly. 

On March 18, 2008, I reorganized this page, and added more ADDENDUMS

Note: all ADDENDUMS are clearly marked and dated.

 

This is a very long webpage.  Please read the entire page.

If you don't have time to read it, come back when you do have time.

 

Soul Survivors Secrets

Kevin The Groupie

May, 2012 UPDATE

another email arrived - with a video!

 

The Soul Survivors are well on their way to an amazing "comeback"!

Watch this spectacular 1999 LIVE Soul Survivors video

(or download soulsurvivors.zip - it's in .flv (Flash) format - it's so spectacular, YouTube removed it)

 

PROLOGUE

Life Before the Soul Survivors

A few months before age 14, I left home and went on the road to play R&B music.  I think I looked like an 11 year old.  Very soon, I had a fake Alcoholic Beverage Permit, which allowed me to play in places that served alcohol.  It showed my age as 18.  Does this really look like an 18 year old to you?  I'm pretty sure this was one of my very first real road jobs as a full-time member of a group, probably in upstate New York, or Connecticut.  Our management was usually very good at scheduling us - we could finish one job, and have time to drive to the next, with one day off, maybe even two or three, to relax a little.  

I don't even want to remember how young I was.  I think I weighed about 95 pounds then. 

Over time, this group changed and transformed many times.  Some musicians left, others replaced them.  Sometimes, we had one singer, sometimes two - usually one. 

Sometimes we were 8 pieces, sometimes 9, 10, or 11.  That's a crowd on almost any stage. 

We also changed our name - there was another "Maze", and our management didn't need the conflict - so "The "Maze" became "The Action" overnight.

With all the changes, I eventually played with a completely different group. 

None of these musicians or singers, except me, were involved in any way with the Soul Survivors. 

This picture was taken after a WNJR "Hal Jackson Soul Show" at Palisades Amusement Park, New Jersey.  I was approximately 14 years old.  (The young lady is not Lynne or Laurie.) 

Besides doing our own show, we backed up many R&B artists at these shows.  Most of them had at least one hit record. 

We worked hard, sweated a lot, and did live radio interviews, too.  We did a lot of shows for WNJR. 

The groups I played in, from 1963 to 1968, ranged from 8 to 11 pieces.  We always had horn sections: sometimes as few as 3, sometimes as many as 6. 

Nothing compares to a full horn section for R&B music.  To me, once you've experienced a good horn section, you're hooked forever.

Playing with an 8 piece R&B group in Lowell, Massachusetts, outside of Boston.  I was approximately 15 years old. 

This club really liked us, we kept the place full.  Sometimes, they'd extend our booking if management could arrange it. 

We played this club regularly, as part of our "Boston circuit".  Then we went to Newport or Providence, played those clubs for awhile, then back out on the road.

We worked in a kind of "pattern" - 8 weeks in this state, 12 weeks in that state.

Playing with a 9 or 10 piece R&B group, probably in Chicago.  I was approximately 16 years old. 

We worked Rush Street a lot.  Like Boston, Chicago, NYC, and many other large "club cities", we played almost every club with a stage big enough to hold our group. 

It takes quite a sizable stage to hold a large horn group, with everyone choreographed. 

Naturally, the drummer and I (sitting down), didn't do dance steps, but everybody else sure did.

Long before the Soul Survivors, I bought a small "suitcase" stereo.  This is approximately what it looked like.  It was barely larger than a briefcase. 

It folded open in a second, ready to plug in and 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.

 

Surviving the Soul Survivors

In The Beginning

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

The group 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 4 years on the road with a few different R&B groups with horn sections.

We played large clubs and showrooms all over the country, 3 to 7 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 R&B music.

 

I was flattered that 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 two large R&B groups. 

 

I was excited!  GODDAMN was I excited!

 

I went to Long Island to audition and thought, "Man, yeah!  This is it - this is big time!" 

The Soul Survivors had a hit record about a year ago called "Expressway To Your Heart". 

They were managed by Phil Basile and Audrey, of Breakout Management, who also managed Vanilla Fudge. (do a search on Phil Basile - you'll find it) 

There was a rehearsal studio at their office - I believe it was on Ocean Boulevard in Oceanside, Long Island.

 

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 very good 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 3 hours, and the 6 of us could have easily gone out and played a show that night. 

 

It was as simple - or as natural - as that.  

 

I had 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 R&B groups, doing much different material, but quite a bit busier, especially without the horns.

 

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 group: Ronnie, Steve, John, and I, plus the 3 singers. 

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

"Roadies" are the guys who moved, set up, and transported our musical equipment.

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 B3 can be broken off just by leaning on it too hard.  The legs can break if you shove the Hammond across a door threshold too hard.  I'VE WATCHED IT HAPPEN.  They're truly great instruments, and they really are sturdy, but they require just a few minutes of care and respect if they're to be moved from place to place.

 

During this year, all my Hammonds and Leslies were damaged or wrecked by the "roadies" employed by Breakout Management.  At that time, a new Hammond B3 and 2 Leslie speakers cost about $2,800.00.  Used, I could buy them for about $1,600.00 to $2,000.00 - if any were available when I needed them.  That was pretty rare.  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.  It did not survive.  I'm not even sure where the remains went.

 

I think that was a form of logic back then.  The more equipment you damage, the harder it seems like you're working.  So you must be real good at your job. 

Several sets of (very expensive) padded covers and ROKs (expensive, special organ moving equipment) disappeared, as well as some of my suitcases and clothing bags.  

 

A Hammond B3 weighs about 280 pounds.  A Leslie speaker weighs about 175 pounds.  I had 5 or 6 Hammonds and about 9 Leslies in a period of 13-14 months, while playing with the Soul Survivors.  That's insanity.       

 

My damaged instruments needed repair, and were stored "somewhere".  I never knew "where".  They might have been in Breakout Management's office/rehearsal room in Long Island, but I don't know.  Maybe that's where all my padded covers and organ moving equipment (ROKs) were, too.  When I asked where my belongings were, nobody knew for sure. 

 

I had an empty garage/workshop available, where I could store and repair my instruments.  The old man who owned the building was a Hammond electronic tech.  I'd known him for years.  He helped me work on my equipment many times - long before the Soul Survivors.  He was much too old to ask him to go and get my instruments.  I asked Breakout Management, several times, to please drop off my damaged equipment at his garage for repair.  What I got was excuses.

My previous four years were spent on the road, constantly traveling and playing in R&B groups.  I owned ONE Hammond B3 and TWO Leslies.  They were never seriously damaged.  A few nicks and scratches?  Of course.  Some repairs?  Yes.  Replacement?  No.

 

Control and Abuse

Have you ever been backed up against a wall?

As the weeks dragged on, abuse, personality clashes, confrontations, and arguments really increased - Richard Ingui loved conflict. 

For all the good it did, Kenny tried to be the peace keeper. 

Charlie, Richard's puppet brother, agreed 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.  If Richard argued the Hammond organ was really a Goddamn coffee table, Charlie would agree.

 

Except for Kenny, who didn't smoke dope, everybody stood around, getting more stoned, watching the eruptions, and waiting to see where they would lead.

Almost all of the confrontations were between Richard and me. 

The horns got their share, but they quit almost immediately, so they didn't have to put up with Richard's abuse for very long.   

 

Directed at me, Richard was a TOTAL CONTROL FREAKHe constantly tried to run my life, make ALL my decisions, and convert me to his way of thinking

My apartment.  My girlfriends.  My hair.  My clothes.  My stereo system.  My records.  Food I liked.  The amount of dope I did not want to smoke. 

He even tried to control what bank I had my account in - and this is just part of it.   

 

Continual confrontations - violent, intimidating arguments, threats, screaming in my face, backing me up against walls.  That's how things were with psycho Richard.  

His mouth never stopped running.  Richard's confrontations had a purpose: wear me down to his way of thinkingForce me to agree with him.

 

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 sky while "being creative". 

"Creative"?  No.  STONED.  Pot was always a major component of our rehearsals.  The more dope Richard smoked, the less sense he made.

 

One of the major problems was music.  I loved BLACK, R&B SOUL MUSIC - mainly STAX music.

My words can't adequately describe it, it's something you have to feel. 

Listen to one, complete Otis Redding or Sam and Dave album, and you'll feel what I can't put into words on a computer.

 

My choice of music offended Richard.  I was supposed to like what he told me to like.  I was supposed to be a puppet

But I didn't want to listen to Iron Butterfly, Frank Zappa, Vanilla Fudge, Mountain, or Jimi Hendrix.  I had a mind of my own.

 

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

Richard and I never stayed in the same room, so 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 real R&B I lived on. 

I was verbally abused, put down, and ridiculed for this endlessly.  I mean endlesslyALWAYS PUBLICLY. 

 

I don't remember any major confrontations with anyone else in the group.  Differences of opinion?  Yes, of course.  But never anything serious.

The exception was Richard.  Confrontations were Richard's domain.  He lived for CONSTANT conflict.

The ABUSE that came out of psycho Richard's mouth was unbelievable

 

When the REAL R&B acts were in the area - James Brown, Aretha, William Bell, Solomon Burke, Rufus Thomas, Chuck Jackson, Ben E. King, Eddie Floyd, Maxine Brown, Joe Tex, Sam and Dave, Wilson Pickett, or almost any STAX, Chess, Atlantic, or Motown show - I'd go almost anywhere to see their shows if it was possible.

This started when I was 13 years old.

 

New York, Newark, Baltimore, Philadelphia, Washington, Boston, Providence - if I could go, I WENT

Trains, planes, bus, restaurants, overnight hotel cost - I didn't mind at all.

 

Ever since I was 15 (almost 16), I had 2 special girlfriends - Laurie and Lynne. 

We met in a club I was playing in NYC, and we were very close, like a family, for many years.  They were about 3-4 years older than me, they both had cars, and they loved real R&B music as much as me.  When our groups played "fairly close" to NYC, sometimes they would drive to Boston, Hartford, Springfield, or Newport, and spend the weekend. 

 

They would also go to the big (theatre) shows with me.  I remember them getting so excited the first time they ever saw Joe Tex - his horn section was bigger than a music store! 

 

Often, I was the only white person at these venues, or - with Laurie and Lynne - 3 white people.  We didn't go looking for trouble, we went for music

I think our enthusiasm was obvious - we really wanted to hear those great R&B shows.  And we never had any trouble with anyone.

 

Everyone's skin color was exactly the same: R&B

 

We were always treated very nicely.  Many people were kind and considerate to us, offering us seats, moving around to let us sit together.  Once we were seated, we talked quite a bit with our "new neighbors".  It wasn't unusual to suddenly have 20 "new friends".  What really surprised our "new friends", is that we already knew almost every song the artist would do.  We could sing along, sing the horn parts, and knew exactly where the rhythm breaks were. (I don't think our "new friends" realized I played most of those songs almost every night with the groups I worked with.)      

 

Sometimes, we'd arrive early, and I'd find a stage manager, or someone in the group.  I'd tell them I was an R&B Hammond player (and actually played for some of them), and before you knew it, we were invited backstage to watch the shows from the side wings.  This happened at least 3 times at James Brown's shows.  At the Mosque in Newark, we sat right next to his Mother, who wanted to adopt us!  For some reason, she really took a liking to us.  I'm not joking about any of this. 

 

I regularly went to the Apollo, RKO, Small's Paradise, Royal, Mosque, Howard, Uptown, Paramount, and plenty of other black theatres, show rooms, and large clubs.

Whenever possible, I'd bring Lynne or Laurie - or both.  The three of us LOVED good R&B music - and we were white.   

 

We (one, two, or three young white people) made instant new black friends - they weren't prejudiced - we weren't prejudiced - and they made us feel welcome. 

 

Sometimes, they were amazed that we'd traveled so far from NYC to hear these great soul shows - and more amazed that I had auditioned for James Brown, Joe Tex, Wilson Pickett, Maxine Brown, and Chuck Jackson when I was 14-15 years old!  We'd been going to R&B shows for years.  Occasionally, after some shows, I could bring a few new friends backstage - to get autographs!  This is NOT a joke, either - the stars remembered me, even though they didn't hire me as a keyboard player.    

 

We'd get INTO the music - and got our "neighbors" slamming their hands exactly like we were - clapping on the backbeat - just like the drummer.            

 

If we were in bad neighborhoods, people sitting nearby - our new friends - would offer - sometimes insist - to walk us to the train station, or to a taxi after the shows, so we wouldn't get into trouble on the streets.  Can you believe that?  It's true.

 

Prejudice?  None.  Love for REAL R&B music?  Absolutely.  Mutual respect?  No question.       

 

Everyone's skin color was R&B music  

 

That was the music I loved

That was the music I wanted to hear 

THAT WAS MY "COLLEGE EDUCATION"

But that didn't meet with Richard's approval. 

Richard constantly abused, humiliated, and ridiculed me - always in front of other people. 

He never got tired of belittling me, insulting me, and putting me down - making me feel like a piece of shit, because I knew EXACTLY what music I wanted to hear.

 

Factually, white boys typically didn't go to "those places" back then. 

Keep in mind, this part of the page mostly refers to 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.  As far as I'm concerned, racism is for racists.  It's certainly not for me.

ADDENDUM

added December 1, 2003

I'm being straight: I was NOT an innocent bystander - I was definitely a contributor to the arguments.  I probably caused some arguments myself.

My real love was STAX music, not busy, frantic, psychedelic music. 

 

I wanted to play more like what I heard on my STAX records: simpler parts, and a more powerful groove. 

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.  Ignoring 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.  So - as expected - I was all wrong.  I'd get out of there and stand around outside the building instead of going deaf. 

I mean that literally.  Nobody would ever believe how loud those guys played inside that rehearsal room - and the place was only about 20 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 away 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 even 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 shows, 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!  (And they weren't.) 

His idea of "writing music" wasn't music at all - he was just looking for anybody else to write music that he could hook his idiot lyrics into. 

 

That left either Steve or me to "write music" with.  Steve was out of the question. 

I think chemically (drugs), Steve existed on another planet.  He constantly stayed high.

 

I knew the difference between playing stoned and playing straight.  I paid attention to the other players - that's why I could do arrangements that worked. 

My interest in real R&B music didn't agree with Richard, so I was belittled, put down, and verbally abused for it.

My dope consumption definitely didn't match his.  Naturally, I was ridiculed for that, too.  I liked pot sometimes.  I just didn't want to smoke it daily.

I wasn't eager to waste time, smoking pot, and writing nonsense songs with him. 

And the personality clashes, intimidation, confrontations, and arguments went on and on.

ADDENDUM

added 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 left me alone.  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.  Musicians have plenty of tools at their disposal.

We understood dynamics, we knew when to play unison lines, or play 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 real 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.

THAT'S when the music started falling apart.

 

Richard constantly wanted more

Louder Marshall amp stacks, more distortion, more Jimi Hendrix guitar parts, more fuzz tones, more bass lines, busier drum parts - always more. 

Richard wanted me to play Vanilla Fudge (Mark Stein) style organ.  THAT'S un-Goddamn-believable. 

He wanted to turn something rock solid into chaos.  That's exactly what he did.  From a powerful R&B group to fucking CHAOS - in just a few months. 

 

Richard couldn't stop - he just NEVER SHUT UP - and he didn't have a clue what the fuck he was talking about. 

Richard didn't shut up long enough to know he had exactly what he needed.  And he demolished it.

 

I CLEARLY remember a trombone player - a very 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.  Things were going along just fine.  The guy could play, and he had a memory for the lines and the accents.  That guy DEFINITELY should have been hired.

 

Then Richard opened his abusive, psycho mouth. 

I don't know what was said, but within 3 minutes, the guy packed up his trombone, and said, "Fuck THIS!".  Out the door he went. 

 

Richard's mouth ran off the tenor and trumpet players in a very short time, too.  They wouldn't take his verbal abuse. 

They just packed up their horns and walked out - no notice, just gone.

I should have done the same, after Richard's first few abusive confrontations. 

 

Unlike the horn players, I had a huge problem.  The kind of problem which requires a truck with a hydraulic lift gate.

Obviously, it wasn't very easy for me to "pack up and walk out" like the horn players.

Below, you'll read how I solved the problem.  I solved it in about 2 seconds. 

 

Two Unforgettable Soul Survivors Shows

starring Richard Ingui - the psycho coward

We played a show for Annette Funicello. (one of Walt Disney's original Mouseketeers) 

It was a private, outdoor party, and it was definitely in the springtime.  It wasn't like a "buy your ticket and come in" show. 

This was obviously an invitation-only, private type event.

It might have been a birthday or anniversary party, or it might have been a wedding reception.  I really don't know.  There were hundreds of people there. 

All the guests were dressed formally: beautiful, expensive clothes, suits and ties, gowns - even tuxedos.  This was really a high-class gathering.    

It was definitely not like most of our shows.  We looked like we just climbed out of a Dumpster.  None of the musicians even dared to light up a joint.

 

Approximately 15 minutes before we were supposed to start playing, Richard got into some confrontational shit with one of her bodyguards. 

In a few seconds, there were about 10 bodyguards surrounding Richard.  They "escorted" him behind the stage, and kept everyone else away. 

Those bodyguards were NOT playing around - some of them had blackjacks in their hands.

From where we were, we could VISUALLY SEE they were seriously pissed off about "IT".

 

The strangest thing was, nobody had any idea - not a Goddamn clue - what the hell "IT" was ABOUT. 

Only Richard knew what "IT" was.  He was about 150 feet away, over behind the far end of the stage, surrounded by a crew of furious bodyguards. 

Kenny, Charlie, and the roadies were nowhere to be found, so we couldn't ask them. 

We (the musicians) couldn't hear a damn thing, and all we could do was ask each other, "What the hell happened?" - but nobody knew.

 

Whatever "IT" was, Richard ran his mouth off to the wrong guy THAT day.  He really fucked up.     

We were lucky Richard's mouth didn't get the whole group thrown out of there on our asses.

Richard's lucky he didn't leave in an ambulance, with a blackjack jammed down his throat, and another one shoved up his ass. 

Those bodyguards watched us like hawks every second.  They never took their eyes off Richard.

 

We did play the show - late, of course - and got out of there as soon as we finished playing.

You can bet your ass we were never hired by Annette's manager again. 

Kenny and Charlie might have known, but the musicians never found out what the hell "IT" was about.


I remember another show - this one was someplace way up north - in New Hampshire, Maine, or somewhere.

It was something like 30 DEGREES BELOW ZERO outside.  Man, you could DIE in that kind of cold!  That shit was LETHAL.

The roadies - late, as usual - got the Hammond out of the truck.  It wouldn't even start.  Its moving parts were literally frozen. 

(Hammond organs use a motor to drive the tone generator.  No other instruments use a motor - there's nothing to freeze.)

 

Richard - the psycho - went completely fucking berserk, right on the stage, in front of a packed club, full of hundreds of people. 

Maybe screaming at me would make the Hammond organ start? 

If Richard would have stuck his mouth inside the back of the Hammond, he could have defrosted the fucking thing himself. 

 

All night, on the trip back to New York City, I had to listen to his ranting and raving. 

I wish I could have taken a Goddamn plane, bus, or a train - anything to get away from Richard's psycho mouth.

 

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

Do I look like a thermostat?

If it seems as if I didn't like Richard Ingui, THAT'S RIGHT

Things didn't start out that way.  Everything began with real enthusiasm on everyone's part.

Even management - Phil and Audrey - were amazed at what we accomplished, and how quickly we did it.

We had an ass-kicking group at first - everyone who heard us knew it.

It took several weeks for Richard's abusive confrontations to begin.  Richard became a nightmare.

Richard was also a nightmare for Lynne and Laurie, my girlfriends - who never said anything to him, except a polite "Hello."

I learned how to dislike Richard.

 

Something VERY Serious Happened In Philadelphia

Richard was in the habit of walking into hotel and motel rooms without knocking on doors. 

He invited himself in, without permission.  This happened frequently.

If a door wasn't locked, he just strolled right in and made himself at home, like he owned the Goddamn place.

 

On one momentous occasion, the Soul Survivors played a show 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 show, I was trying to get dressed for the stage. 

I was facing away from the door, taking a shirt and slacks out of my suitcase. 

I was wearing socks, underpants, and an undershirt.

 

Richard walked into my hotel room.  His girlfriend, Cheryl, was with him.

They did NOT knock on the door. 

I HAD NO IDEA THEY ENTERED MY ROOM. 

I didn't see or hear them enter.

I did NOT know the door was unlocked, or HOW it GOT unlocked.

About 20 minutes earlier, when I took my shower, I DEFINITELY, ABSOLUTELY, POSITIVELY LOCKED THE HOTEL ROOM DOOR.

 

 LOCKING my hotel/motel room doors has ALWAYS been a CONSTANT HABIT for me since I first went on the road, in 1963.

 I learned that at age 13, due to a very embarrassing situation in Newport, Rhode Island.  I never forgot that lesson.

I believe that Richard had a hotel maid unlock my door.

 

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

 

Without a sound, Richard came up behind me, 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 (at the most) - about 103 pounds at that time.  Richard weighed about 190.

 

Outside the bathroom, a small riot was taking place.  Richard's girlfriend was screaming - which attracted a lot of people.

The rest of the group, roadies, and other people - strangers whose voices I didn't recognize - were in my hotel room within seconds. 

They were all yelling, arguing, and taking sides.  I could hear everything through the bathroom walls. 

 

Everyone was trying to talk me into unlocking the bathroom door.  I kept TELLING them to LEAVE - GET OUT.

They could have their fucking arguments someplace else - just get out of MY room.     

 

Richard - the psycho - shouted and argued, trying to JUSTIFY sucker punching me.  Richard might have convinced himself and puppet Charlie.

I don't think anyone else agreed with him.  This went on for about 60 minutes.   

 

Richard hit me hard enough to knock the diamond out of his ring.   

I could hear him whining and complaining like a little three year old - he couldn't find his tiny fucking diamond in the carpet. 

 

I refused to come out of the bathroom until everyone left my room.

I tried to stop the bleeding with towels, but I didn't even come close. 

I made a real mess in there, and ruined the hotel's towels and washcloths.

 

After about 30 more minutes of yelling through the bathroom door, I suppose they got the fucking message.

I'd said, "GET OUT OF MY ROOM" about 4,000 times.  Is it humanly possible they misunderstood the FIRST 3,999 times? 

It took awhile for them to believe - I was NOT opening that bathroom until everyone got OUT of MY fucking room.  Finally, everyone left.   

 

I came out of the bathroom, and immediately got my knife out of my suitcase.

A serious knife - some kind of K-Bar military combat thing, about 16" long - made to do real damage.

 

I locked the room door with the regular lock, deadbolt, and the chain. 

 

I was not completely rational at that moment.  If anybody tried coming through my door, I probably would have used the knife. 

 

I put on slacks and a shirt, but I needed both hands to do that.  That meant I had to put down the bloody towel. 

That meant there was no pressure on my wound.  That meant more blood was flowing.

Jesus Christ, what a mess.  In a minute, the shirt and slacks were all bloody, too.

 

I called Philadelphia police, and asked them to please send police up to my room - without any delay. 

I wasn't opening the door for anybody until the police came.

In those days, you had to call the hotel switchboard and have the lady dial the number for you.

 

I had never been injured before, and I was really traumatized at the sight of so much blood - my Goddamn blood. 

I'd left a bloody trail to the bathroom, blood was all over the bed, walls, suitcase, doors, and carpet. 

The bathroom looked like a disaster area.

 

Multiply this by about 50 times, and you'll get a better idea.

 

Apparently, the hotel switchboard lady told the hotel manager I called the police. 

 

Within minutes, the manager was outside my door with the crowd in the hallway. 

He tried to persuade me to unlock the door so he could "talk" to me.  "TALK" to me?  About what?  I refused to let him in. 

The manager explained he really didn't want THE POLICE involved in "the incident". 

He said the hotel might get a bad reputation from "the incident".

 

Is that what it's called?  "THE INCIDENT"?

 

I had already called the police - they were on the way. 

   

I didn't GIVE a shit about "reputation".  I didn't give a shit WHAT he wanted.  At that moment, I cared about ME

I believe he would have NEEDED God if he tried opening my door with his Goddamn hotel passkey. 

I had to stand there with my knife, bleeding, leaning on the door, in case somebody tried to open it.

 

There was a very large crowd out in the hall - I could hear them.  A lot of people were yelling through the door. 

 

When the policemen arrived, I let them in, and explained what happened.  I guess it was pretty obvious.  They told me to put the knife away.

There were about 30 people - almost all of them strangers - in my hotel room within minutes. 

Soon, two more police officers arrived.  IT WAS CHAOS.

 

Richard voluntarily admitted what he did to me in front of 4 police officers and at least 12 credible (unassociated) witnesses.

 

Then Richard was suddenly SORRY.  Richard was apologizing non-stop WHILE THE POLICE WERE THERE TO HEAR IT

He sounded like a broken fucking record.  He was very convincing - if your IQ is below 51. 

He turned on the tears and performed a MIRACULOUS CRYING ACT.  He almost had ME believing his shit.

 

It really WAS a fucking MIRACLE 

Less than an hour earlier, Richard was trying to convince A WHOLE ROOMFUL OF PEOPLE ....

 

SUCKER PUNCHING ME WAS THE RIGHT THING TO DO

 

Everyone was talking at once, it was pandemonium.  Blood was running down my face and neck, dripping all over me, the chair, and carpeting. 

 

An icepack, more towels, and a "doctor" appeared from somewhere.  The "doctor" wanted me to go to the hospital.  I was petrified of hospitals.  I refused. 

 

The brilliant "doctor" said the cut should be sutured.  SUTURED?  I knew THAT an hour and a half ago! 

He offered to do it, there in the hotel room, and explained about Novocain injections around my eye. 

 

Jesus Christ

 

I'm not a fucking doctor, and this was not a Goddamn cavity in my tooth.  Even I could figure out Novocain wouldn't do shit under those circumstances.

That asshole "doctor" had less medical knowledge than a dead dog. 

 

I was probably in shock (confirmed later by my own doctor) and almost unconscious.  My heart was slamming. 

 

What I really needed was CALM.  That's what I needed.  20 or 30 minutes of fucking CALM and QUIET.  I just wanted to lay down with the icepack and towels.

All I needed was a little time to calm down - and quiet.  But they all kept talking and talking and talking and talking.  Then they started all over again.

 

The police wanted to arrest Richard.  BY LAW, they required me to sign a formal complaint, and agree to testify in court.

Richard was apologizing, crying, begging, and pleading with me not to sign the complaint.

 

{{ Laws have changed considerably since 1968.  Today, the police would have automatically arrested Richard, with or without my agreement.  My attorney explained they had two required elements: an obvious crime scene, and multiple voluntary verbal confessions, made in front of at least a dozen witnesses and 4 police officers.  Even a Miranda warning would be unnecessary under those circumstances.  If you question the Miranda warning, the police did not interview, question, or interrogate Richard.  They were just witnesses to his own statements.  The police did question me. }}

 

Like a stupid fool, I listened to some people in the group and the roadies, and said I didn't want to file criminal charges. 

They wanted to play the show.  If Richard went to jail, we couldn't play the show.  (And get the Goddamn money, of course.)

 

I was also too Goddamn stupid to follow through at that moment, because everything was ABSOLUTE CHAOS - I had no time to THINK about it.

There were approximately 30 people wandering in and out of my hotel room - all talking, yelling, and arguing at once: 

A hotel manager, assistant manager, police officers, a "doctor", the other group members, roadies, girlfriends, some groupies, plus a few more hotel employees, several other hotel guests, a CROWD of strangers - it was total insanity. 

 

Everyone seemed to be talking to me at one time.  In that situation, it was impossible for me to THINK CLEARLY. 

How the fuck can anybody carry on 20 conversations at once - with constant interruptions from everybody?  I can't.

 

I had to get changed again for the stage, so I got blood all over those clothes. 

Sunglasses and my Navy pea coat were used to get me to the stage without anyone in the audience seeing my face. 

I was escorted to the stage by some group members and the roadies. 

 

My knife was on a belt, in its sheath inside my slacks.  Anybody could see the grip, sticking up out of my slacks, outside my shirt, near my belly. 

It was really uncomfortable, but I could get to it very fast.  The roadies stayed close to me, and I'm grateful for that.  I didn't want Richard anywhere near me. 

Predictably, we made it onstage about two or three hours late.  I've always wondered what the audience thought of that.  Maybe they were all too drunk to notice.

I played with my right hand, standing up, an icepack and bloody towel in my left hand.  The roadies kept giving me clean towels and icepacks.

 

I was afraid to go back to my hotel room to get my suitcase.  As soon as the show was over, I put on my pea coat, and took a clean towel.  I escaped as quickly as I could.  I had my warm Navy pea coat, my knife, wallet, keys, and money - that was all I needed.  I literally RAN out of that Goddamn hotel.

What Does "Sucker Punch" Mean?

Imagine ....

You're minding your business, concentrating on a shirt in your hands, putting on a tie, manicuring your fingernails, etc. 

Your mind is focused on whatever you're doing at that moment.  You're not "mentally multi-tasking".

Two examples:

(1) You're reading the menu in a restaurant, deciding what you'd like to eat. 

You're not thinking about getting an oil change for your car, you're thinking about the menu. 

(2) You're onstage, playing a song with a group.

You're not thinking about a shirt you almost bought last week, you're thinking about this song.

 

Your mind is focused

A sucker punch changes thatWithout a word - you're punched in the face, and knocked on the floor.  A sucker punch comes from nowhere - you never saw it coming.  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 at least twice my size.  He was punched in his jaw, not his eye.  But I'm sure you'll get the idea.

Normal Groups - No Psychos

Before the Soul Survivors, I spent 4 years traveling constantly with really good R&B groups, all of which were 8-11 pieces.  I probably worked with 40-50 different musicians - most likely, quite a few more.  Almost every one of them were easy to get along with.  A few had major ego problems - they were usually "jazz players" and were "over-educated" for our kind of music.  They were replaced quickly, without animosity.     

 

EVERYONE in our groups ALWAYS argued.  That was a normal part of daily road life.  We'd argue about anything.  You wouldn't believe the names we called each other - and we were all friends again 10 minutes later.  Our arguments were insignificant - what diner to go to, what color suits or shirts we'd all buy, an arrangement for a song, the bass player wasn't playing his parts right, who should pay for the singer's new microphone?  Usually, we voted, and the majority ruled.     

 

And NOBODY EVER put a hand on anyone else

If I remember correctly, Penn RR station was right across the street from the hotel.

I didn't go into the station.  I got into a taxi, and told the driver I wanted to pay him to wait with me for the next train to Rahway, New Jersey.

 

The driver wanted to know why I wanted to pay him, just to sit and wait for a train?  What happened?  Why did I have blood all over me? 

He probably asked me 2,000 questions.

 

I told him what Richard did to me, and he went a little crazy.  He wanted to go in the hotel and beat the fucking shit out of Richard. 

He seemed absolutely serious - and he had a baseball bat.

 

That taxi driver was definitely my kind of person.  An eye for an eye.   

If I could have laughed, I would have, but I was hurting.

 

The taxi driver didn't charge me, although I tried to pay him.   

The towel was soaked with blood, and he brought me into the station, we rinsed the blood out of the towel, and he wrung it dry.

All I wanted was to get to Rahway - to my girlfriend Lynne, and to my doctor.

He got me on the train, and waited until the train started moving before he left.  He made sure I was safe. 

Whoever and wherever you are, THANK YOU, Mr. Taxi Driver.

 

It was after midnight when I left Philadelphia, and about 4:00 am when I arrived in Rahway, New Jersey.  That Goddamn train stopped everywhere along the way. 

I called Lynne, my girlfriend, and she came to pick me up at the train station.  She took one look at me, and almost fainted.  I was a real mess.

Lynne wanted to take me to a hospital, but my fear prevented that. 

We went to her apartment, she stayed up with me all night with icepacks on my eye, and washed dried blood off me.  We ruined a lot of her towels, too.

 

{{ In 1968, there were no cell phones, pagers, computers, or Caller ID.  The doctor's "answering service" was almost prehistoric.  Phones still had rotary dials.  Communication was a lot different then.  I'm pretty sure disposable plastic syringes hadn't even been invented yet - they were still made of glass, sterilized, and used multiple times. }} 

 

Dr. Abramson, my own doctor, did his hospital rounds in the morning, so we couldn't reach him until about noon. 

As soon as we contacted him, he told Lynne to bring me in immediately.  I was still wearing the same bloody clothes I left Philadelphia with. 

From the amount of blood on my clothes, Dr. Abramson estimated I lost at least a quart of blood - probably more. 

 

He gave me an injection to make me unconscious, then did the surgery.  He put 12 sutures in the cut over my eye. 

I'm not sure what he did to the cut on my eye, but I was cut there, too.  When I woke up, he was taking x-rays of my head. 

He said I might have a concussion (he used the word "probable"), and wanted to put me in the hospital for a day.  That was too frightening. 

Dr. Abramson was my doctor for many years, he understood my fear, and understood the reason for it.  Dr. Abramson knew exactly why I had such a fear of hospitals. 

 

Lynne volunteered as my "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, even Saturdays and Sundays.

He gave me injections and checkups, took quite a few more x-rays, and decided to leave the sutures in for several extra days. 

 

He also told me the hotel "doctor" was completely wrong.  Putting sutures in my EYELID required general anesthesia to make me unconscious. 

Novocain wouldn't do a thing, considering where the sutures had to go.  He later explained exactly what he'd done, and it scared the daylights out of me. 

Thank God I was unconscious.      

 

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 real shower or get the bandages wet.

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

 

I didn't answer Lynne's phone, she did.  If anyone - except Dr. Abramson - 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. 

Half of my face was blue, black, 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 constantly. 

I wouldn't let anyone near me except her and my doctor.  She was really 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 called the group 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 drive a rental truck, or try to load that much equipment by herself.  I wasn't even sure where my equipment was. 

 

More important, I didn't know what kind of confrontations she might face. 

Lynne had already been subjected to so many disgusting, abusive, degrading insults from Richard that she wouldn't even come NEAR our shows anymore.     

 

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

 

After about 3 weeks, the sutures were out, nearly all of the bruising and swelling was gone, and I was mostly recovered - except for my stupidity.

I'm amazed at how STUPID I was: I called John.

I thought he was my friend.  I thought he might be concerned about me.  I thought he might be worried that I was in a hospital.

 

WRONG STUPID AGAIN.

I told John I was finished with the Soul Survivors.  That started a Goddamn WAR.

John argued, screamed, and accused.

He told me I was all wrong.

He told me everything was MY fault.

He blamed "the incident" on ME.

He told ME to call Richard and APOLOGIZE to him.

Call Richard?  APOLOGIZE? 

Apologize for WHAT?  For NOT bleeding to death in the hotel bathroom? 

For NOT having a cranial hemorrhage

Or for NOT having a fractured skull?

JOHN NEVER EVEN ASKED ABOUT MY EYE

No matter how much he argued, I refused to tell him where I was or how to call me. 

He'd met Lynne, but had no idea where she lived.

He told me about an "Official Executive Meeting" between management and the group, right after "the incident". 

I wasn't present at the meeting, of course.  I didn't know anything about it, and couldn't have gone anyway. 

He talked about how much money the group was losing while they tried to find a new Hammond organ player. 

He talked about 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.

He guaranteed that Breakout Management would make absolutely sure that all the confrontations and conflicts would stop.

You think I believed himYou think I'm 20 feet tall?

I called Breakout Management, and spoke with Phil and Audrey.  They assured me everything would be fine.

I should come back to work with the group.  They couldn't do shows without a Hammond player.  We had a lot of shows lined up.

We'd all get along just great.  They assured me they SOLVED the problems, and if there were any more problems, just call them. (that was pure bullshit, too)

 

The real problem is, you WANT to believeThat's when you make big stupid mistakes. 

Like a Goddamn fool, I believed, and went back to New York.  Being a fool is too easy when you want to believe.

 

By then, it was almost the end of January, 1969.  I was almost 19 years old.

For the first time since late 1963, I had been unable to play, with NO Hammond to play ON, for close to ONE MONTH. 

 

Unknown to anybody, I bought a very heavy switchblade knife.  It only had a 6" blade, but it was super sharp, and strong enough to butcher a hog.

After Philadelphia, I never went near Richard without it.  If psycho Richard ever touched me again, I KNOW I would have used it.   

 

For about a month, almost two, Richard pretty much just left me alone. 

But it didn't take long for Richard's mouth to go back to his abusive, aggressive, confrontational habits.

Nobody from Breakout Management was around to control him, even after a few phone calls. 

 

Each week, the confrontations escalated.  With each psycho confrontation, "inevitable" was approaching - faster and faster.

 

Sometimes, John and I used to drive to the rehearsal room together.

We almost 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.  I didn't say one Goddamn word. 

I took my suitcase, walked out in the street, and got into a taxicab.

It was Monday, May 26, 1969

John stood there with his fucking hotdog - speechless. 

I was 19 - and I actually made my own Goddamn decision - for myself. 

I REACHED MY LIMIT.  NO MORE FOR ME.  NO FUCKING MORE.

No more intimidation. 

No more being controlled like a fucking puppet. 

No Goddamn "two week notice" shit.

No more worrying about what might happen to me next.

No more abusive insults. 

No more aggression, confrontations, and conflict. 

No more worthless, bullshit, hyper-frantic "R&B" SHIT music. 

No more daily pot smoking. 

MOST important - NO MORE PSYCHO COWARD RICHARD.

There is NO WAY I would have even considered joining the Soul Survivors if I had ANY IDEA what I was getting into.

Of ALL the stupid things I've ever done in my life, THAT has to be right near the top of the list.

I NEVER met a psycho coward like Richard Ingui

I couldn't - no, that's wrong - I wouldn't - take any more. 

Not even one more minute.  NO MORE.

If this shit was R&B music, I'd rather wash Goddamn cars. 

I didn't collect my last paycheck - I didn't care.

I had money - about $1,500.00 - in my pocket. 

I didn't even slow down long enough to go to my bank and close my account that day. 

I ABANDONED my Hammonds, Leslies, covers and moving equipment, my other suitcases, and clothing bags.

IT WAS TIME TO GET THE FUCK OUT

"INEVITABLE" ARRIVED IN LATE MAY, 1969

The taxi took me to the airport, and I was on the next flight to Memphis, within about 60 minutes.

Back then, airplane flights were just like New York City busses and subways - they ran constantly.  If you missed one, there'd be another one within about an hour.

No reservations, no ID, no headaches, no security - just put your money on the counter, take your ticket, and get on the plane.

I survived the Soul Survivors

and went to STAX Records - Soulsville USA

The next morning, I was inside STAX Records.

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

Within about 5 or 6 weeks, after my audition period, I was on salary as the staff keyboard player at STAX

I played real STAX music, with real STAX musicians, and real STAX singers.

 

I didn't run away from home - I ran away to home

 

STAX Memories

Soul Survivors Secrets

 

Since I started to play, I've had a couple of shoeboxes of old photos, documents, etc. 

Years ago, I used to have many old Soul Survivors photos, admission tickets, and some other items. 

Over time, through the years, things just seem to get lost somehow.  These are the only things I could find. 

My REAL treasures - STAX documents, promotional items, my STAX watch, writer's documents, production agreements, and my Ike and Tina paystubs disappeared, too.

One entire shoebox got "lost" somewhere - and that really broke my heart.

  

The LAST show I played with the Soul Survivors.  About 24 hours later, I was on a plane - on my way home to where I belonged - STAX Records.

September or October, 1968.  I don't think I look very happy here, because I really wasn't very happy. (this picture was taken before I was sucker punched in late December, 1968) 

I tried to keep this Hammond B3 "private" - the one for me to practice on. 

I didn't want to take this one out to travel or get damaged - so it ended up on the road anyway.

A berserk "soul" show in Philadelphia.  The Hammond was badly damaged within about one week. 

The "roadies" damaged 5 or 6 of my Hammonds.  9 Leslies didn't live very long, either. 

I had to buy Hammonds and Leslies frequently.  Sometimes, I was able to buy a used Hammond or Leslie, but not very often. 

Playing Hammond with the Soul Survivors was - for me - beyond miserable

The only material we did were the garbage "soul" songs on the ATCO album and one or two other songs, including "Expressway". 

 

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 Mama" ("Tell Daddy"), and even that got too psychedelic to believe. 

Try and imagine a year of this?

 

Ronnie and John used to be pretty good players - before joining this group.  Then they both went absolutely crazy. 

I feel sure that the constant pot (and other drugs) had something to do with it.   

Everything musical just turned hyper-frantic, frenzied.  Can you say "musically berserk"?

 

"Oh Beato!  Ah dig de way ya MOVE!"  R&B 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'm 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.  I'm REALLY sorry I didn't have psycho Richard arrested when I had the chance. 

 

Since the day I was sucker punched in Philadelphia, December, 1968, I've had permanent damage to my left eye. 

Every time I look in the mirror, the fucking scar reminds me of psycho Richard Ingui and his fucking "RI" pinky ring with the Goddamn diamond. 

These are not fond memories.  I'm sorry that I didn't help that taxi driver beat the shit out of Richard with his baseball bat. 

 

I'm 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 R&B music

It's brutal.  And it's honest.

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

added May 30, 2002

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

 

added October, 2002

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.

 

Richard (and his brother, puppet Charlie) knew about this webpage in December, 2002.  Richard claims 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.  Below is my BLUE response to Richard's email referring to that guestbook.

 

BURY THE HATCHET

added December 26, 2002

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

added December 1, 2003

Amazing as it may be, on November 28, 2003, Richard Ingui sent me an email.  It was our first contact since late May, 1969

2 emails were exchanged, and phone calls began immediately, on November 28, 2003

 

He partially acknowledged his past actions and "apologized".  Initially, the impact on me was powerful. 

After all these years, I never would have expected to hear from Richard.  In 1968, we lived in a different world.  Logically, we've both changed through the years.

 

When Richard read of the death of Rebecca, my wife, he's shown kindness.  It's possible that a friendship could develop between us. 

We've even discussed playing some music jobs. 

 

ADDENDUM

added March 18, 2008

Now it's March, 2008.  Many conversations with Richard have occurred since November 28, 2003.  Too many.

I've had plenty of time to re-consider the sincerity of his words.  I've come to the conclusion that Richard has no sincerity.

 

Manipulation is also control.  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.  Most of his emails have something to do with this page. 

 

Richard initially 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 on my website.  But his own words repeatedly contradict this.

 

2 phone conversations with Richard immediately resulted in December 1, 2003 changes being made.  At the same time, I also made many changes (above) to "sanitize" most of the original page.  I erased about HALF of itI feel I made a sincere effort on Richard's behalf.  Apparently, my efforts were inadequate. 

  

Until December 1, 2003, this page was REALLY rough and filthy - a lot rougher than it is now. 

I removed large paragraphs of Richard's unbelievably disgusting quotes - language which Richard regularly subjected me - and my girlfriends - to. 

 

The March 18, 2008 additions illustrate my response to a FEW YEARS of continuous lies, manipulation, and minimizing.

 

If you've gotten this far, please finish reading this page.  You'll see that Richard constantly tries to use GUILT to control me.  Read his words carefully.  I think you'll agree.

 

Richard's "friendship" isn't friendship at all.  I want no part of it.  I'm just too tired. 

From November 28, 2003 until late April, 2005, Richard's emails, and far too many phone calls, illustrated his version of "friendship".

 

Friends don't lie, manipulate, minimize, control, and endlessly try to cause guilt

 

I don't care what Richard thinks.  I'm not going to compromise, I'm not going to be manipulated and controlled.  I'm not accepting any guilt.

 

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

Richard's text is BLACK, with plenty of highlights, italics, and bold highlights.  I did not change any of Richard's words.

All highlights, bold, and italics were done by me.  Dates are bold.

 

If you question my honesty I will forward any or all original messages.  My email link is visible - I saved a collection.

In some places, I used the "Enter" key to make smaller paragraphs from a very large one.

 

FAIRYTALE is a polite word for BULLSHIT

{{ For some unknown reason, Richard frequently refers to this webpage as a "letter".  I don't know why. }}

ADDENDUM

RICHARD'S FIRST EMAIL

THE MANIPULATION and FAIRYTALES BEGIN

November 28, 2003

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. 

Richard illustrates it (above) with his own "Hatchet" message "comment" - from December 26, 2002.

(This is the first sentence in Richard's first email.  He's already lying.)

 

Now the GUILT begins.

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'll think it over.

I ask you not to make this a public letter. I would like it to be between you and I.

I would like my eye to function normally.  Then I'll consider your request.

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.

I KNOW there's a whole crowd of "people in your past" who have been hurt and offended by you and your psycho mouth and actions.

I've received email and phone calls from plenty of them.  You really "turned your life around". 

Where and when is the "become a human being" and "make penance"?  All I see is a FAIRYTALE

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.

That whole FAIRYTALE is priceless.  You probably copied it from a book - word-for-word.

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 

NO.  This is NOT the truthI was 18 about one month before meeting Richard.  I joined the Soul Survivors the same day I met Richard. 

Richard is about four (4) years older than me, possibly more. 

 

Now Richard will 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 FAIRYTALE explains it - or does it?  I'll never understand what needed to be "settled" - EXCEPT THIS:

 

Why the fuck were YOU in MY hotel room, without knocking, permission, or invitation?

Answer that one.

 

Is this is the part where you "become a human being" and "make penance" - while you "turn your life around"?

 

Maybe SOMEBODY can understand "I'm not trying to make any excuses" - while he tries to make excuses.

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"?

 

YOU ARE INSULTING MY INTELLIGENCE, RICHARD 

I AM NOT MENTALLY RETARDED

 

Your EVASIVE, MINIMIZING words are worthless Goddamn FAIRYTALES

 

NO, Richard - "your reaction to me in that hotel room" was a CRIME - a FELONY

You sucker punched me for no reason.  I didn't even know you were in my room - and you shouldn't have BEEN in my room.

 

The "girl you were with" in my room was Cheryl.  According to you, you later married her. 

Your own wife was an eyewitness when you sucker punched me.  She was an eyewitness to all that followed. 

Your own wife's SCREAMING is what attracted the crowd of people into my hotel room

 

I'm already tired of Richard's FAIRYTALES

What was I supposed to be doing in my hotel room about an 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, fulfilling my responsibilities to the Soul Survivors?

Wasn't I hired as a Hammond organ player?  Or was I hired as a fucking street gang fighter?

How would Richard feel today if "the incident" in that hotel room 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?

What if I was physically able to slam his Goddamn face through a fucking wall after he sucker punched me?

What if I was able to get to the knife in my suitcase, so I could defend myself?  I damn sure couldn't defend myself with my fists. 

What if Richard lost about a quart of blood if I attacked him with no warning or provocation?  

Would Richard have gotten on the stage - with a blood-soaked towel - and done his Goddamn job?

Why didn't Richard sucker punch anyone else - is it because they were strong enough to kick his fucking ass?

Sandy I am truly, truly sorry for having affected your life this way.

I don't believe this FAIRYTALE, either.

I'd like to know exactly what you're "truly, truly sorry" for

I'd like to know exactly what "affected your life this way" really means. 

 

Whatever Richard's FAIRYTALES mean, they're too VAGUE and too EVASIVE to be considered a sincere apology.

 

I believe Richard wrote this very carefully and deliberately

I think he intentionally avoids facing any specific facts honestly

"Apologize" - but do it without any details - don't be specific about anything - be sure to leave out as much as possible

 

It took from December, 1968 until November, 2003 - almost 35 years - for Richard to "apologize" - without the police there, waiting to arrest him.

I believe that if this webpage did not exist, Richard would have never "apologized".  I could be wrong - but 35 years convinced me.

 

Richard carefully avoids mentioning he hit me so hard that he knocked the diamond out of his ring. 

If you think that's easy, try it yourself sometime.  Don't try it on a person - find something else to punch, like a chair.    

I don't know how it is possible to go back and change that moment

Richard - YOU are a FAIRYTALE.  You're wasting my time with your BULLSHIT

and replace my ignorance with maturity and common sense.

If Richard figures that one out, he'll revolutionize the planet. 

That person you met over thirty years ago no longer exists.

Another FAIRYTALE. 

By the grace of god that part of me is gone forever.

That's just a FAIRYTALE. 

Some of it may be gone forever - the manipulating, minimizing, and controlling behaviors have grown 1000% stronger. 

I'll clearly illustrate that as we continue.

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.

Another FAIRYTALE.

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,  (Richard just stated his son was 21 years old in 2003.  Now, in 2008, he's 26.) he was assaulted, and beaten almost to death.

Almost to death

After he had regained consciousness and made it to his feet,

Now that's quite an unusual recovery, regarding someone who is almost dead. 

 

I mean no disrespect to your son - none at all - but you're the one who just claimed he was "beaten almost to death".

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 very sorry about Richard's son, and I mean that.

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,

"Hate"?  "What happened back then"?  YOU caused it with YOUR Goddamn mouth and YOUR Goddamn actions. 

ACCEPT YOUR RESPONSIBILITY YOURSELF.  

 

Actually, I don't "hate" you.  I do not LIKE your "type".  I don't believe you're a person - I think you're a Goddamn psycho coward

You belong in the streets, with your gangs and fist fights - like the psycho coward you are - sucker punching people half your size.

 

It was a LOT OF FUN sucker punching a 103 pound 18 year old, who didn't even have a fucking chance of fighting back, wasn't it?

 

That shit is YOUR way of life.  It's not mine, and it never was.

 

You TAUGHT me to intensely dislike you .... I LEARNED what you TAUGHT me

 

What about everyone else?  The musicians, roadies, management, girlfriends, groupies, Kenny, and even your puppet, Charlie? 

They never gave me a reason to intensely dislike them.  But you did.  And you know it.

 

You can deny, lie, try to justify, and make excuses until you die - but you'll never change the truth 

You'll carry that around for the rest of your miserable, worthless life

but I certainly hope you do not rejoice in this story. 

I definitely do not rejoice in it.  I find nothing to be happy about, regarding your son being beaten up.  It makes me feel sad for him. 

In my world, there are other ways to solve problems - without violence.

 

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 sucker punching me, I accept his FAIRYTALE "apology".

If he's "apologizing" for anything else, I have no idea what he means - it's too vague and evasive.

 

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.

 

Another FAIRYTALE.

Ignorant?  Yes.  Unconscious?  ABSOLUTELY NOT

Richard's words and behaviors were deliberate and intentional - make no mistake about that fact.

Approximately 13-14 months of endless verbal and mental abuse, conflicts, intimidation, and confrontations was no Goddamn accident.

It wasn't "unconscious" at all. 

Richard knew exactly what he was doing, he knew why he was doing it, and he enjoyed it. 

THAT'S WHY HE CONTINUED IT.

I'm not buying this "unconscious actions" FAIRYTALE for one second.

 

YOU ARE INSULTING MY INTELLIGENCE, RICHARD 

I AM NOT MENTALLY RETARDED

 

The one thing I remember about you is your ability beyond your years to play a great organ.

 

4+ years (before I ever met you) is well over 35,000 hours. 

I probably spent about one half of those hours practicing alone, practicing with records, and constantly playing live shows with the groups. 

 

If I "played great", as you've told me on the phone more times than I can even remember, there was a reason.

It was the result of dedication and devotion to the music I loved.

That's the exact same music which you endlessly abused, belittled, and ridiculed me for loving.

 

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.

 

Do you "regret" making me feel like a piece of fucking garbage when I did nothing but my BEST for the Soul Survivors? 

You're "SORRY"?  NO.  You're full of SHIT.

 

Are you "SORRY" about the PSYCHO DEGRADING FILTH you subjected my girlfriends to - for absolutely no reason?

 

Laurie and Lynne refused to come anywhere near the Soul Survivors - several months before you sucker punched me. 

 

They never did anything to you.

THEY NEVER EVEN SAID A WORD TO YOU - except "Hello". 

But you used every disgusting, humiliating word imaginable to them ....

 

RIGHT TO THEIR FACES - NOT JUST ONCE - MANY TIMES

 

WHY WOULD YOU EVER TALK TO MY GIRLFRIENDS LIKE THAT?

 

You didn't even have the decency to make your filthy, derogatory comments privately - out of their hearing. 

Do you have any idea how often you made them cry - because of your Goddamn mouth

Did you LIKE making them cry and run home, not even understanding what they did to deserve that kind of abuse?

 

I NEVER called your girlfriend "a cheap slut", "a sloppy Goddamn pig", "a fucking whore", or "a filthy diseased bitch".

 

YOU publicly accused my girlfriends of having gonorrhea, syphilis, and other venereal diseases

YOU publicly accused them of being sluts, whores, lesbians, freaks, and all the rest of your SICK descriptions

YOU publicly humiliated my girlfriends with YOUR fucking BULLSHIT graphic descriptions of OUR sexual relationship

YOU ran your mouth publicly about specific, sexual parts of MY GIRLFRIENDS' bodies and WHAT MY GIRLFRIENDS DID WITH THEM

YOU used those words regarding MY girlfriends - and FAR, FAR worse - IN PUBLIC - DIRECTLY TO THEIR FACES 

 

THAT'S ONLY PART OF WHAT YOU DID

You must have felt like a REAL MAN, Richard

 

That bothered me.  Words like that still bother me.  I'm not referring to profanity. 

 

Profanity never bothered me.  I use it, too.  There's a time and place for profanity - but your words WEREN'T just "profanity".

 

Your words (above) are mild .... your OTHER words and descriptions were not mild.

I erased your sickening quotes and comments from the original (1996) webpage, and refuse to include them now.

I won't compromise my moral principles for the purpose of quoting your words. 

 

Those words were licentious 40 years ago - they're still licentious. (look it up in a dictionary) 

 

In my belief, NO man should EVER talk about ANY woman in that way.  I find that totally inexcusable.

 

I NEVER use those words regarding ANY woman, under ANY circumstances. 

I had more morals, ethics, dignity, and decency than you did in 1968 - and I always will. 

 

But I remember your words .... as clearly as if they were just spoken.

 

Why do you think my girlfriends COMPLETELY stopped coming to our shows?

YOUR DISGUSTING, FILTHY MOUTH is WHY

 

You think I forgot those confrontations? 

You think Laurie and Lynne forgot? 

 

We stayed in touch for YEARS after I walked out of the Soul Survivors and moved to Memphis.

 

They visited in Memphis at least a dozen times.  They were both friends with my future wife, Rebecca. 

Rebecca loved having them as our guests.  They were sweet, wonderful young women.

 

They had REAL-LIFE HORROR STORIES to tell her about psycho Richard from the Soul Survivors.

No - I can assure you they never forgot.

 

Laurie and Lynne absolutely fucking HATED you, Richard

 

For over 10 years, I never knew Lynne or Laurie to HATE anyone.  They rarely used any profanity. 

They were conservative, dignified, polite, college educated young womenThey were LADIES.

 

When your Goddamn name was mentioned, they dreamed out loud.

They dreamed about throwing gasoline all over you, and setting you on fire.

They dreamed they were in that hotel room when you sucker punched me.

They dreamed they threw you through the fucking hotel window - five floors down to the pavement.

 

THAT'S what they thought about you and your sick, psycho MOUTH, Richard.

IT'S TOO BAD .... THEY'RE JUST DREAMS

 

Richard, this worthless email is NOT a fucking "apology".

It makes no difference if you used the words "I'm sorry" and "I regret".  They're just BULLSHIT

Your email is a Goddamn FAIRYTALE.

 

YOU ARE INSULTING MY INTELLIGENCE, RICHARD 

I AM NOT MENTALLY RETARDED

 

Richard ingui

 

ADDENDUM

November 30, 2003

added March 18, 2008

From: GOGOOTS@aol.com
Date: Sun, 30 Nov 2003 11:33:42 EST
Subject: Dear Sandy
To: steve at sl-prokeys dot com
X-Mailer: 7.0 for Windows sub 10709
 
I just wanted to take a minute and send you this email. Talking with you the other night meant a real lot to me, much more than you can know.

 

I don't want to know.

I am so very saddened by your loss. I thought about you and your situation so much, I could not get it out of my mind. My conclusion is the only thing I can possibly do is send my love and prayers out to you. I know you don't believe in that stuff but I tell you it works, some how it does make some difference.

Oh.

I loved your stories about your life on the road and in the studios. You probably don't believe this, especially if I go by your letter about me, but the stax stuff has come to be my all time favorite music.

I really don't give a shit. 

I am in awe of all the sessions and material and super grooves and vocal talent. It is simply the best.

I knew that before 1965 - years before I ever heard of you.

Thank you for reminding me how precious my life with my wife is.

 

TRY and talk after she's dead.

 

You are a good man and still serve a great purpose, you do not deserve to be in so much pain. I pray time and grace will bring you back around.

 

I'm real impressed.

I tried to download the videos I am very anxious to see them, but they could not be opened by my computer. I am trying to get to a friends house who has a better knowledge and better programs. I will call you when I get to view them. I think they are gonna knock me out.

all the best
richard

 

ADDENDUM

MANIPULATION

December 6, 2003

added March 18, 2008

From: GOGOOTS@aol.com
Date: Sat, 6 Dec 2003 22:05:53 EST
Subject: Re: Dear Sandy
To: steve at sl-prokeys dot com
X-Mailer: 7.0 for Windows sub 10709

 

Well, Sandy I finally downloaded and viewed some of the pictures and videos. I just can't believe it, they are fantastic!! Seeing you and hearing you playing with all my favorites. You sound unbelievable.

 

(Richard is referring to this show.)

They may have sounded "fantastic" and "unbelievable" to you.  To me, I sounded like Sandy.   

 

I told my brother all about you and your playing, he was really into it. Maybe someday we will have a chance to play together.

 

Read your next message, dated February 7, 2004.

 

I also saw the earn you have been working on, it looks cool, what a beautiful piece of wood. It's gonna be something else when your done with it.

 

(You ought to learn how to spell.)

It's known as an URN I did my best.  I don't know any other way.

 

Yeah it was great talking and having you play some stuff over the phone, I can't believe how beautiful you made Mama Soul sound, God you made me proud.

 

Is that a fact?  We both know playing keyboards is (was) my whole life.  I remember thousands of songs. 

I don't know why you'd be proud that I remember that song, (in Eb), and I played it while you sang it. 

 

I remember almost everything, and I forget almost nothing.      

 

We have a load of snow hear and it looks like I'll be digging out for a couple days, sheeze what a drag.

 

(You ought to learn how to spell.)

Now you want to bore me with your weather conditions?

 

My wife and I will probably wind up in Florida someday, the hell with this shit.

 

Take your time - don't rush into it.  You should consider North or South Dakota instead.  Whatever you do, don't even think of moving anywhere near me.

 

Hope you are doing well. I will speak to you soon.

 

Thanks for the warning.

 

Rich

 

Richard wrote this on February 7, 2004.   I'm running out of tolerance for Richard Ingui's FAIRYTALES.

 

ADDENDUM

MORE MANIPULATION

February 7, 2004

added March 18, 2008

From: GOGOOTS@aol.com
Date: Sat, 7 Feb 2004 13:11:10 EST
Subject: dear sandy
To: steve at sl-prokeys dot com
X-Mailer: Thunderbird - Mac OS X sub 207
 

How are you doing my friend?

 

That's the wrong name to call me.

 

I have finally finished my long haul on the connecticut job. It was hell being away from home painting.

 

Buy some new paintbrushes.

 

I wouldn't mind so much if I was away playing music.

You must be dreaming.  It's not 1967 anymore.

But all alone in a hotel room at night with nobody around but the tv is kind of depressing.

 

Change the channel.

 

I am used to being around family and friends. I am home now, it is saturday afternoon and I am sitting at my computer listening and watching your tremendous performance with eddie floyd and steve cropper. Your organ playing is just unf--kin real. I 'm not shittin you, you are the perfect hammond guy, every lick is to kill for.

 

You'd NEVER BELIEVE what you DON'T KNOW about my life in music, Richard.  I could "drop names" all day long.  Stars and superstars.

I was always absolutely COMMITTED to playing and recording REAL R&B music. 

That's why I'm a STAX graduate. 

That's why I'm an Ike Turner graduate.

That's why I'm a Kingsnake Records graduate.

That's why I'm an un-fucking-real Hammond player. (read your own words)

That's why I'm a the perfect Hammond guy. 

That's why my "licks are to kill for".

(your psycho, violent mind even shows here - you used the word "kill" - you could have written "every lick is excellent", or hundreds of other descriptions)

Richard is referring to several videos and mp3s from a live STAX/Steve Cropper show in Memphis on October 14, 2002.

 

Go watch ALL the videos again, Richard.

For me, playing R&B was as natural as breathing.

 

I'd never played live with anyone at that show before that night - except - Duck and I played with the Rascals for about an hour at one show.

No rehearsal - sound check only.

I had no idea who was going to sing what, or in what key.

I'd never met (or even heard of) some of the singers before that show.

The last time I saw most of the people I did know was in 1972, when I worked at STAX.

I remembered almost every song we played from having heard them - most of them were songs I'd never played before.

One of my new life goals is to get your ass out there playing with us again. 

ReallyThat's a hell of an idea.  My manager is drinking champagne. 

This is a chance of a lifetime - a golden opportunity. 

Even my ASS thanks you. 

 

Maybe you better sit down and take ALL your medications.

 

If you can afford us (see TERMS), we'll seriously consider trying ONE show. 

Our TERMS are simple.  They are also non-negotiable.

(1)  I'll be accompanied by 4 armed security guards, 24 hours per day, as well as my personal manager - a total of 6 people.

 

(2)  I will not play in a bar or nightclub.  I'll only play a large, (capacity 8,000 or more) outdoor blues festival show.

 

(2a)  I require my own dressing room.  I will not share a dressing room with you, or anyone associated with you, under any circumstances. 

My bodyguards will enforce this.

 

(3)  The show must be located within approximately 1,500 miles (preferably less) of Tampa, Florida, or we're not available.

 

(4)  $25,000.00 per hour, payable 90 days in advance of the show. 

Our TERMS reflect 24 hours daily, from the time I leave my home until I return to my home.

This basic itinerary should clarify: 

 

Day 1 - fly to applicable city with security guards and my manager

Day 2 - play show (20-30 minute sound check, 90 minute (maximum) show, no rehearsal)

Day 3 - fly home from applicable city with security guards and my manager

 

(5)  For live shows, I require a vintage (1967-1973) Hammond B3 organ, 3 vintage model 122 Leslie speakers, and an onstage keyboard tech.

When we receive payment, we'll forward all additional details - ie; stage plot, setup, Leslie microphones, etc.

If the Hammond/Leslies don't sound or operate to professional standards, all funds are forfeited. 

I'll leave within a few minutes, escorted by my security guards and manager.

 

(6)  Communication takes place through my manager.  You do not speak to me, you speak to my manager.

I'm willing to consider playing music.  I'm not willing to converse with you, your brother, or anyone else, except the keyboard tech. 

My manager will take care of all communications.  That's part of his job. 

I'll do my job. (play Hammond organ)  You do your job. (try to be a soul singer)

If you fail to abide by these TERMS, all funds are forfeited.  I'll leave immediately, escorted by my security guards and manager.

 

(7)  $1,800,000.00 pays for exactly 72 hours (3 full days) of our time.   

No "overtime".  I'll walk out, escorted by my security guards and manager.

 

If you're ready to do business, just put $1,800,000.00 cash in a suitcase.

Overnight FedEx it to my manager, 90 days in advance of the show.

No checks, money orders, or certified checks.  Cash only. 

Include all the details - the name, address, date and time of the show, phone numbers, etc. 

I'm experienced.  I know what to do from there. 

My manager will arrange all details, and supply you with all invoices. 

Ready for some REAL R&B, Richard?

Did you know that sam moore was out there promoting a new cd?

Did you know that I don't give a shit?

I saw him on the oprah show this week. He has all new younger musicians, they are ok but no hammond and the keyboard player didn't really have the shit down. Why the hell didn't he call you? Your the real deal.

 

(You ought to learn how to spell.)

Why the hell didn't he call YOU?  You can sing backup, can't you?  "Your" the real deal - aren't you a real "soul singer"? 

 

Maybe you just realized I always was the "real deal".  Except for about 1 year. 

That would be early 1968 until May, 1969, when I had to play frantic, berserk, psychedelic SHIT music with the Soul Survivors. 

You remember that, Richard?  I remember.

 

Fortunately, in late May, 1969, I went to work at STAX Record Company in Memphis.

The real musicians and real singers at STAX rescued me.  They all helped me recover.

It happened so fast, it was magic.  It took about one day, and I was playing REAL music again. 

Anyway I'll give you a call probably sunday, I want to get your mailing address cause this cd of ours is gonna be finished next week and I want to send you a copy.

Then I can PIMP your CD to internet DJs - and be abused for it, with your Goddamn FAIRYTALES

That's illustrated clearly in your next message - (March 7, 2004) - just below.

 

I know it's not gonna be all the shit you love, but there a couple of songs I think you might dig. We have a load of stuff for another cd. If we can possibly get some interest from this new release we may be able to get some backing to go into the studio and record some of this other material that has alot more of that stax soul vibe to it. You will be on those dates when they happen.

 

I willNOMaybe I'll record. 

The same price basis and TERMS (above) apply, with some minor modifications.

 

As previously explained, our TERMS reflect 24 hours daily, from the time I leave my home until I return to my home.

Due to scheduling limitations, I can only record on 3 consecutive days.

This basic itinerary should clarify: 

 

Day 1 - fly to applicable city with security guards and my manager

Day 2 - recording (maximum 6 hours with 3 one hour breaks - 3 working hours)

Day 3 - recording (maximum 6 hours with 3 one hour breaks - 3 working hours)

Day 4 - recording (maximum 6 hours with 3 one hour breaks - 3 working hours)

Day 5 - fly home from applicable city with security guards and my manager

 

(1)  I record on a vintage grand piano (example: Baldwin or Steinway) and a vintage Hammond B3 organ. 

Any synthesizer parts must be agreed on by prior approval only, and a keyboard tech will be required anytime a synthesizer is used.   

 

(2)  You (including your brother, family, friends, relatives, or strangers) cannot be present in the recording studio while I work. 

I can record keyboard parts without you.  I've been doing them most of my life. 

I don't need or want anyone nearby while I work, except a recording engineer and a keyboard tech. 

Take a trip to Wyoming or someplace.  My security guards and manager stay with me. 

You have permission to call my manager any time you feel it's necessary.  Keep in mind, he'll be very busy, so don't abuse the privilege.  

You can listen to my keyboard tracks - on the phone.

 

(3)  The price for recording will - naturally - be higher. 

Recording takes longer than playing a live show, and requires considerably more recording skill.

I require a rough mix CD of all songs which you want me to record 90 days prior to recording, so I can study them.

Since you'll be distributing and selling these recordings, you'll be collecting enormous amounts of money for record (CD) sales and airplay, from all around the world - probably for many, many years. 

However, I won't be collecting these enormous amounts of money.

Because I'm just a keyboard player for hire, working on a one-time recording project, we require my payment in advance. 

My rate is $7,500.00 per keyboard part.  A piano part and Hammond part on one song equals two keyboard parts, or $15,000.00. 

Advise my manager exactly how many songs you want me to record, and which instruments you want me to play on each song.

My manager will have the contract, royalty waiver, and invoices prepared.

He will collect the entire recording amount, in cash, when he arrives on Day 1.

I will begin recording on Day 2.

By using this sensible, intelligent, royalty waiver approach, you won't EVER have to pay me any percentage from any sales or airplay.

(I'd like to thank my manager for his brilliant thinking.  He came up with the waiver idea.)

(4)  Regarding label credits, you can list yourself, or anyone else, as the keyboard player. 

I do not want my name in print on the same album (CD) with your name

Too many people might get the wrong idea.

 

If you're ready to do business, just put $3,000,000.00 cash in a large suitcase.

Overnight FedEx it to my manager, 90 days in advance of the recording date.

No checks, money orders, or certified checks.  Cash only. 

Include all the details - the name and address of the studio, date of the recording session, phone numbers, etc. 

I'm experienced.  I know what to do from there. 

My manager will arrange all details, and supply you with all invoices.

$3,000,000.00 pays for exactly 120 hours (five full days) of our time, but does not pay for my recording.   

No "overtime".  I'll walk out, escorted by my security guards and manager. 

 

Ready for some REAL R&B, Richard?

 

IMPORTANT FINANCIAL NOTES

 

If you believe our financial requirements are costly or unreasonable, consider our expenses. 

As stated above, our TERMS consist of my manager and 4 armed security guards, 24 hours per day. 

 

My manager must pay for:

 

The smallest, least expensive, chartered Lear jet available.

Security guards, ground transportation, adjoining hotel suites, room service, and all other expenses for 6 people. 

He provides all management services, and is responsible for setting up everything.

Complex reservations, hotel, food, transportation, itinerary, scheduling, paperwork, and any unexpected issues.

He's also responsible for all associated financial functions, for either (and/or both) of the above business situations.

After my manager pays all the expenses, I'll be lucky if I earn $1,000.00. 

 

I suggest you accept our TERMS quickly, before my manager reconsiders the tremendous amount of detailed work and increases our price.

 

Remember - WE'RE here to make YOU sound better.

We'll HELP YOU sell out a show, or sell millions of CDs.

 

I got a call from some guy who sings with the Crests (real old doowop group) they made sixteen candles and some other classics with johnny maestro.

Anyway he books tours out of Tampa fla. so far they are strickly doowop stuff but he now wants to start moving into some sixties acts. He said he books 60 dates a year, and may be interested in getting my brother and me on some of these shows.

 

(You ought to learn how to spell.)

You're making me laugh, Richard.

 

Who knows, ya got to be open to everything cause you never know what one little door might open up  and start a whole bunch of new shit.

 

Why don't you do the "little door" and "new shit" routine, and tell me about it later - in about 50 years.

I'll talk to you later. All my best
rich

 

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 HELPED Richard get airplay, popularity, exposure, and CD sales. 

Is that an indication of hate?

 

ADDENDUM

MUCH MORE GUILT and MANIPULATION

March 7, 2004

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.

 

More guilt, manipulation, and BULLSHIT.

This CLEARLY shows the internet DJ cannot understand the English language

It also illustrates Richard trying to dump HER Goddamn stupidity on me.

 

I have NEVER written ANYTHING which even remotely implies that Richard disliked black people

 

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.

 

(You really ought to learn how to spell.)

More guilt, manipulation, and BULLSHIT.

I DO really remember.  Until November 28, 2003, I used the words "nigger music" in about 15 places on this webpage.   

The words were clearly used in context as a small illustration of Richard's verbal abuse, directed at me - regarding the music I loved and listened to.

 

The words 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.  I worked all night doing it. 

 

Those words were deleted within TWO DAYS, and the "cleaned" page was online on December 1, 2003.

At the same time, I also removed unimaginable other descriptions of verbal abuse and battering from Richard.

 

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

 

More guilt, manipulation, and BULLSHIT.

This isn't "killing" anybody. 

 

Please rethink this post and try to realize how hurtful it is to me.

 

More guilt, manipulation, and BULLSHIT.

 

That story doesn't do any good for anyone

 

What Richard really means is: "That story doesn't do any good for ME."

BUT - IF this page was filled with COMPLIMENTS about how GREAT he was, he'd LOVE it, and probably read it every day of his life. 

 

Richard doesn't want me to write the truth - an honest page about a period of my life in music.

 

The truth reminds him of things he doesn't want to remember. 

He'd rather pretend they just never happened. 

 

In 1968, Richard justified everything he said and did. 

In November, 2003 he "suddenly" didn't feel justified anymore. 

Does that change any facts?  Does it cancel out the truth?  Does it repair the damage to my eye? 

 

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".

 

More guilt, manipulation, and BULLSHIT.

Sometimes the truth is 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.

 

(Richard got the "supposedly" part right.)

More guilt, manipulation, and BULLSHIT.

 

NO, Richard - THAT Goddamn FAIRYTALE is insane

 

YOU ARE INSULTING MY INTELLIGENCE, RICHARD 

I AM NOT MENTALLY RETARDED

 

I never even suggested anything like that.  Richard's psycho 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 do not appreciate anyone trying to put words in my mouth, as highlighted above. 

 

If I intended or wanted to say "Richard (or anyone else) hates black people" that is EXACTLY what I would have written.

 

Obviously, I did not write that.

 

I'm intelligent, 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 Goddamn space aliens and ink jet printers.

 

I cannot control other people's stupidity 

 

If there's anything here that's confusing, ask somebody that understands English for help.

 

I CHALLENGE ANYBODY to find anything I've written which indicates anyone hating any race

 

ADDENDUM

FINALLY, RICHARD COMPLETELY BURNS OUT MY PATIENCE

April 22, 2005

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

 

NEED?  No.  You WANT.

 

YOU ARE INSULTING MY INTELLIGENCE, RICHARD 

I AM NOT MENTALLY RETARDED

 

there is a good possibility you may go into a fit of rage and call me a lot of names.

 

The name I have for you is "PSYCHO COWARD".   

I don't go into "fits of rage" - that's your speed, not mine.

 

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

 

You can bet your LIFE I never want to hear from you again.

It didn't take you very long, either.  November 28, 2003 until April 22, 2005.

Your worthless Goddamn FAIRYTALES burned me out. 

 

In 1969, I walked out of the Soul Survivors because of Richard's behaviors.  In 1996, I wrote that Richard was a Goddamn control freak. 

Nothing has changed.  1968 to 2005THIRTY SEVEN YEARS.  Richard is still trying to control me.

 

I must get this out.

 

MUST?  No.  You WANT.

Go ahead and "get it out". 

 

I have experienced a very distressing night.

 

Who gives a shit?

 

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.

 

Yeah.  Who gives a shit?

 

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", why has he constantly tried to manipulate and control me to remove this page?

 

The Constitution of the United States of America allows me to express myself - it provides inalienable rights. 

One of them is Freedom of Speech.  I need Richard "defending my right"? 

 

What is this "your recollection" BULLSHIT

Am I hallucinating? 

Are you NOW ACTUALLY DENYING "what happened"?

 

YOU ARE REALLY INSULTING MY INTELLIGENCE, RICHARD 

I AM NOT MENTALLY RETARDED

 

In his first BULLSHIT email, Richard almost admits ONE SMALL PART of "what happened".

HE DID IT - the psycho KNOWS exactly "what happened". 

 

He KNOWS what kind of abusive insanity he put me through for 13-14 months. 

He KNOWS he verbally battered my girlfriends for no reason, and they ran home, crying hysterically.

He KNOWS they NEVER came near another show because of his disgusting, psycho, filthy mouth.

He KNOWS every detail about sucker punching me.

He KNOWS I didn't have any real problems with anyone else in the Soul Survivors - including roadies and management. (with the exception of my damaged equipment)

He KNOWS I didn't walk out of the Soul Survivors for no reason.

He KNOWS I didn't abandon all my music equipment and other belongings because I was tired of owning them.

 

Richard WILL NOT admit his actions and behaviors COMPLETELY - and just GET IT OVER WITH

 WHY?

He's not a MAN.  He's not even close to being a MAN.

He writes FAIRYTALE "apologies" and "I regret" and "I'm sorry" BULLSHIT.

He writes in the most EVASIVE, MINIMIZING way possible ....

.... then STILL tries to JUSTIFY his psycho coward actions.

I'm different than you, psycho

 

I'm a grown man - a responsible, truthful, conscientious adult.

When I do something wrong, I'm completely honest, open, and apologetic for my wrongdoing.

Unlike you, psycho, I ADMIT what I've done wrong - in straight, detailed, specific English.

I don't evade, avoid, transfer, minimize, or play guilt games - you do. 

I don't try to hide behind VAGUE, worthless, BULLSHIT "apologies" - you do.

READ the proof - they're your own words.  READ this, too.

I tell the complete truth.  You don't.

I'm not a psycho coward - you are.

 

Why would Richard "apologize" AT ALL, if this webpage wasn't THE ABSOLUTE TRUTH?

 

If anything I've written was bullshit, why didn't Richard COME RIGHT OUT AND SAY (or write) - "Your webpage contains a bunch of LIES."?

The psycho coward NEVER had a shortage of words .... he certainly could and would have contradicted me years ago.  BUT HE DIDN'T.  Do you wonder why?

 

YOU ARE INSULTING MY INTELLIGENCE, RICHARD 

I AM NOT MENTALLY RETARDED

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.

More guilt, manipulation, and BULLSHIT.

I can't believe this Goddamn stupidity.

If there was NO "first page", what the hell would an ADDENDUM refer to?  How does someone write an "addendum" to nothing?

 

THE FIRST PAGE

 

THE ADDENDUM TO THE FIRST PAGE

 

They told me it was slanderous

"They" told you wrong. 

and I should do something about it.

"Do something about it"? 

Is that a THREAT, Richard?

 

If you're THREATENING me, you better have a criminal lawyer on 24 hour call.  You're going to NEED one this time.

Do you UNDERSTAND that?  It's not 1968 anymore.

 

This webpage isn't slanderIt's the truth.

There is no reason, nothing to gain, and no benefit by slandering you. 

 

I KNOW, YOU KNOW, AND EVERYONE WHO WAS IN THAT HOTEL ROOM KNOWS THE TRUTH

 

Everyone from Breakout Management - who were NOT in that hotel room - knows the truth.

TOTAL STRANGERS - a whole fucking crowd of nosy, curious guests from other rooms in that hotel - came to see what all the screaming, noise, commotion, police, and excitement was about.  They know the truth. 

 

You ADMITTED the truth in front of about 30 people - INCLUDING 4 policemen

Many other music people know the truth.  Plenty of non-music people know the truth.  The list is infinite.

 

If this page isn't truthful, WHY WERE YOU CRYING, APOLOGIZING, AND BEGGING ME NOT TO SIGN THE POLICE COMPLAINT

Why wasn't ANYBODY ELSE crying and apologizing and begging me not to sign the complaint? 

One friend looked in my eyes and said "they were sick to there stomach as they read it".  

(You really ought to learn how to spell.)

Nobody forced anyone to read this webpage. 

Richard's "sick to there stomach" "friend" CHOSE to get "sick to there stomach".   

 

How "sick to there stomach" was Richard's "friend" about MY suffering?

 

OR DOESN'T THAT MEAN SHIT?

 

I lost about a quart of MY blood.

I required 12 sutures 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 the hotel doctor - a fucking Novocain lunatic - or any other doctor, except my own doctor.  I was terrified of hospitals. 

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

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

Blood was coming out of MY eye for days.

MY left eye has permanent damage since 1968

I did NOTHING to deserve getting sucker punched in MY face.

 

YOU DON'T KNOW WHEN TO SHUT THE FUCK UP

 

Go SUCKER PUNCH your "sick to there stomach" "friend" in the eye, Richard.

After your "sick to there stomach" "friend" EXPERIENCES the same fucking trauma as I did, THEN we'll discuss it.

Until then, your BULLSHIT FAIRYTALES are absolutely worthless.

 

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.  They trespassed - not me.  I didn't even know they were THERE until AFTER I was sucker punched and knocked on the floor.  

 

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 people you work with?

Do you change your clothes in front of their boy or girlfriends?

When was the last time you allowed someone's boy or girlfriend to see you in your socks and underwear?

 

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.  

 

More guilt, manipulation, and BULLSHIT.

Now it's a "booking agent".

This page is responsible for a booking agent's actions, too? 

 

NO - I'M NOT GOING FOR THAT FAIRYTALE 

 

I'm not accepting any Goddamn guilt if an agent DOES or DOES NOT choose to book Richard.

And - I'm not accepting any guilt if an agent DOES book Richard - and only pays 5% of what Richard THINKS he should be paid.  

 

I'll never believe that a fucking webpage controls a booking agent's business decisions. 

 

YOU ARE INSULTING MY INTELLIGENCE, RICHARD 

I AM NOT MENTALLY RETARDED

 

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

 

Sure you have .... NONE.

 

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.

 

(You ought to learn how to spell.)

More guilt, manipulation, and BULLSHIT.

This FAIRYTALE is nothing but ANOTHER "atempt" to influence, control, and manipulate me. 

 

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?"

 

JUST THREE SENTENCES AGO, your message claims, "I respect what you feel and believe is right". 

In the same sentence, your message claims, "I am not comfortable trying to influence you".

 

Then why are you DOING it?  You just can't stop your BULLSHIT, can you? 

 

YOU DON'T KNOW WHEN TO SHUT THE FUCK UP

 

More guilt, manipulation, and BULLSHIT.

Now we use Charlie to manipulate and apply guilt

Richard indicates they first saw this page in 2002, 2003, 2004, and 2005That's amazing.  It's impossible, too.

 

One more thing I need to express, and I want you to know I have been up all night very unrest and upset.

 

Just one more

I almost feel sorry for you, Richard - "up all night very unrest and upset". 

Smoke a couple ounces of pot, and you'll feel better.  If things really get critical, 300mg of Dilaudid will definitely calm you down.     

 

I have managed to keep my wife from finding that page,

 

How did you "manage" that

Did you sucker punch her, too?  Or just slap her around if she got too close to the Goddamn computer?

I'd like to know HOW "I have managed to keep my wife from finding that page".

 

my son and daughter have not come upon it either.

 

There's always tomorrow.

 

More guilt, manipulation, and BULLSHIT.

It never ends. 

Now it's Richard's family.

 

Richard doesn't want his family to read this page? 

Instead of facing it honestly, like a REAL adult would, Richard tries to hide the truth. 

Deception and secrecy are preferable to truth and honesty? 

Maybe in Richard's miserable life - not in mine.

 

OMISSION OF THE TRUTH is exactly the same as LYING

You LIKE keeping secrets, don't you?  Being completely honest is just too fucking much for you, isn't it?

 

It is just a matter of time, my son's name is richard ingui. He will hear about it or find it someday.

 

TRY SOME HONESTY.  Show him the Goddamn page and he can "find it" right now. 

 

I have tried very consciously to be a righteous man to my friends and family and even strangers.

 

That's another FAIRYTALE.

If you're righteous, so is every crack dealer in New York.

 

I made it clear that I forgave you for sucker punching me years ago. 

That doesn't mean I forgot - it means I forgave.  There's a difference.  If you don't understand the difference, use a dictionary.

 

That's IT: one sucker punch. 

There are too many other issues which I WON'T forgive.

 

YOU ARE READING ABOUT THESE ISSUES, RIGHT NOW, IN THESE ADDENDUMS

FAIRYTALES, GUILT, MINIMIZING, MANIPULATION, AND CONTROL

There is no forgiving this shit

 

YOU DON'T KNOW WHEN TO SHUT THE FUCK UP

 

Now who knows I may die tomorrow

 

You could have done that weeks ago. 

Be sure to let me know.  I want to write down the date.

If you're dying slowly, you really should sing "Expressway" just before you go flat line.  (That will impress the shit out of the nurses and doctors.)

But if you're going fast, at least sing the chorus.

After you're gone, Charlie could register the name "The HALF Survivors". 

If Charlie goes too, it could be "The NO Survivors".

 

and this is the story I leave behind.

 

More guilt, manipulation, and BULLSHIT.

Now it's the "story Richard leaves behind".

This page factually represents my experiences with the Soul Survivors during about one year of Richard's lifetime.

I haven't written anything about the other 62 or 63 years of Richard's lifetime, because I don't know anything about those years.

 

It hurts to read it

 

That's too Goddamn bad.

 

and I have read it many times

 

Have you memorized it yet?

You're just like your "friends" - you WANT to read this page.  Nobody forced you to read it.

 

it hurts any reputation of integrity that I try to build in my life

 

More guilt, manipulation, and BULLSHIT.

NOW it's "reputation of integrity".

 

and it hurts my reputation as a singer.

 

More guilt, manipulation, and BULLSHIT.

NOW it's "reputation as a singer".

 

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.

 

More guilt, manipulation, and BULLSHIT.

Just ONE MORE, Richard?

 

 

The guilt and manipulation are MORE blatant than neon signs.

 

Is there ANYTHING that Richard WON'T use to try to make me feel GUILT?

 

How would you feel if someone wrote that about some unfortunet situation that happened to you fourty years ago, and by the technology of 2005 it was in your face, now.

 

(You really ought to learn how to spell.)

 

STOP

What Richard MINIMIZES into "some unfortunet situation" was NOT "some unfortunet situation".

It was a GODDAMN TRAUMA - a physical, medical, and mental TRAUMA

 

I'm really tired of this BULLSHIT.  I'm really tired of the psycho coward.

Let's see Richard go through exactly what I went through and THEN call it "some unfortunet situation". 

 

Manipulation, control, and creating guilt are sometimes referred to as brainwashing.  I've read a lot about that subject.

The PROCESS - and it is a process - usually includes "MINIMIZING" and "TRANSFERENCE".

 

I don't see Richard MINIMIZING his son's assault, injuries, and trauma. 

Why does he MINIMIZE mine?  

(Read November 28, 2003)

 

Richard has written and spoken about lawsuits, arbitrators, and settlements, regarding his son's injuries.  Richard's son will receive some kind of financial and medical compensation, according to Richard.

I had nobody to defend me.  I had no lawyer.  No lawsuits, no arbitrators, no financial or medical assistance. 

I received no compensation for my "unfortunet situation".  Dr. Abramson was paid by me. 

Do you have any idea what about 20 office visits, surgery, frequent x-rays, injections, examinations, and treatments cost?

Add in the house calls at Lynne's, too.  Dr. Abramson came over numerous times.  

Nobody paid for MY injuries, surgery, or medical care. 

Richard never even offered a fucking nickel.

 

If I was hospitalized, as 2 doctors and 4 policemen suggested, maybe Richard couldn't MINIMIZE my "unfortunet situation". 

Maybe Richard doesn't MINIMIZE his son's "unfortunet situation" because he's Richard's son?

 

I know you have a strong will, and believe me I have a lot of respect for you

 

BELIEVE YOU?  You'll be 188 years old when I believe you.  You're a psycho coward

Your messages CLEARLY show how much Goddamn RESPECT you have for me.  ABSOLUTELY NONE.

 

YOU ARE INSULTING MY INTELLIGENCE, RICHARD 

I AM NOT MENTALLY RETARDED

 

your playing and the many things you have advised me on since we have been speaking.

 

My PLAYING has always been a known fact.  Your worthless opinion doesn't mean shit to me.  I've had superstars try to hire me.

 

But I don't think you realize the depth of the hurt that this story brings.

 

More guilt, manipulation, and BULLSHIT.

No - I don't realize, and I don't give a damn. 

 

YOU DON'T KNOW WHEN TO SHUT THE FUCK UP

 

Go cry and whine to your Mommy - maybe she'll listen to it.  I won't.

You don't know what HURT is.  I do.  40 fucking years of it - because of you. 

Every day.  Every night.  I'm afraid of addiction to pain medication.  I make do - I practically live on Bayer aspirin. 

And I HURT all fucking day anyway  - because of you. 

I know you have received many thousands of hits and that is something to encourage keeping it on there,

 

More guilt, manipulation, and BULLSHIT.

Now it's "thousands of hits".

This entire website has been viewed over 13 million times since April, 2003.

 

however it is a negative thing and people love to read bad shit about other people. Bad news sells - but my question is, is it worth holding on to this in spite of it's harmful and hurtfull effects

 

(You ought to learn how to spell.)

More guilt, manipulation, and BULLSHIT.

This webpage isn't harming or hurting anyone.

 

Richard is incredibly good at manipulating, but I'm not going to be manipulated. 

So far, he's used every guilt card in the whole fucking deck, and I see right through all of them. 

 

You told me one time from what I believe was the deepest part of you, that you truly forgave me for what I did.

 

If I said it, I meant it. 

I've clearly stated exactly what I've forgiven you for.  No more.  No less.

 

It meant so much to me, you really won't know.

 

I really don't want to know.  It's all BULLSHIT.

Sometimes, the truth is just what a person likes, sometimes it's not.  I made my choice: TRUTH.

 

Richard, I'm sure you'll ignore the advice I'm offering. 

Go see a psychiatrist and a counselorTalk openly, honestly, and educate yourself.  Read one or two psychology books.

You undeniably have problems.  You undeniably have A LOT of problems.  Learn the definitions and indicators of these behaviors:

avoidance - escape - denial & minimizing - transference - manipulation - guilt & blame - control & dominance

EVERY ONE OF THEM APPLIES TO YOU, RICHARD.  You NEED mental health professionals.

 

I'm pretty sure you don't commit Aggravated Assault on people half your size, weight, and strength anymore.

No - you probably don't sucker punch people who are physically smaller, and probably weaker than your wife.

In these days, you might get shot - but probably a lot worse.

 

So now for a friend, please revisit the reason you put that story up and see if it still needs to be there.

 

More guilt, manipulation, and BULLSHIT.  If you haven't figured it out yet, I'll break the news.

 

WE ARE NOT FRIENDS

 

My definition of the word "friend" is different than yours.  In my world, you're about 20 steps below nothing.  You're a psycho coward.

 

YOU DON'T KNOW WHEN TO SHUT THE FUCK UP

 

I've stated REPEATEDLY - on this page, in emails, and on the phone - you are forgiven for sucker punching me. 

How many fucking times do I have to repeat it?  You are not forgiven for anything else. 

 

I'm sorry Sandy

 

No, you're not "sorry".  You're trying to MANIPULATE me.  You've only done it about 10,000 times - what's a few more?

 

I probably would never have brought it up again, but it is haunting me in so many places.

 

More guilt, manipulation, and BULLSHIT.

Now it's "haunting me in so many places".

How many places are you being "haunted", Richard?  3?  28?  1,574?

 

YOU ARE INSULTING MY INTELLIGENCE, RICHARD 

I AM NOT MENTALLY RETARDED

 

NO, RICHARD

 

What you ARE doing is exactly the same thing as you did to me in 1968-1969.

You're trying to wear me down to YOUR way of thinking.

You're trying to force me to agree with you.

You're trying to control me.

You're trying every way you can think of to make me change my mind, and DO WHAT YOU WANT.

Your manipulating messages and phone calls prove it - over and over again.

 

The difference is now you're using email and the telephone.

You'll NEVER back ME up against walls, threaten and intimidate ME, or scream in MY face anymore.

You'll NEVER put a fucking hand on ME again.

 

Mostly I can't stand the thought of my children reading that stuff about there father after I'm outta here.

 

(You really ought to learn how to spell.) 

Your "children" (who are ADULTS, according to your emails and phone calls) should read this page.

Your ADULT "children" deserve to know the truth about "there" father - a PSYCHO COWARD.

 

In November, 2003, I was WILLING to try to be your friend.

All your BULLSHIT messages and calls completely fucked THAT up.

Your second chance expired.  There won't be a third chance.

 

THE LAST ADDENDUM

added March 18, 2008

Richard never contradicted a single word on this page.

He never said I was a liar.

He never said this page didn't represent the complete truth. 

He never even said I was exaggerating.

I believe I've shown phenomenal restraint and self-control in my comments and rebuttal to Richard's BULLSHIT.

 

The following 2 POSTSCRIPTS refer to Richard's BULLSHIT.

They are NOT replies, comments, or rebuttal.

 

POSTSCRIPT

FACTS and PROBABILITIES

TIME TO STOP THE GODDAMN WORD GAMES

added March 18, 2008

FACT: Richard intentionally, willfully committed Aggravated Assault on me.

FACT: Aggravated Assault is a FELONY.

FACT: I have permanent, lifetime damage. 

BULLSHIT won't ever change those facts. 

 

IF RICHARD'S ASSAULT HAPPENED NOW, IN MARCH, 2008, FELONY CHARGES WOULD UNQUESTIONABLY BE FILED

 

In Pennsylvania, Aggravated Assault may be prosecuted as a FIRST DEGREE FELONY, punishable by a maximum of 20 years in state prison.

Other criminal charges, in addition to Aggravated Assault, could be filed against Richard, as determined by the detectives and the State Attorney

 

VERY IMPORTANT NOTES:

 

Richard would be legally entitled to a lawyer following his arrest. 

Legal representation would never be a question - United States Constitution: Sixth Amendment. (very interesting reading)

Some of the following text - anything specifically concerning a Judge's ruling - must be considered PROBABLE, but not absolute.

My attorney (a State Attorney for over 20 years before retirement) made this point perfectly clear: 

It is impossible to state positively or exactly what the Judge and State Attorney would decide

until an actual court hearing took place

 

To clarify:

The State Attorney requests the Court to order $10,000.00 bail.  Richard's lawyer argues for $1,000.00 bail. 

The State Attorney requests the Court to order house arrest.  Richard's lawyer argues against house arrest.

They both present their reasons, opinions, and arguments.


THE JUDGE DECIDES


Detectives, and probably a State Attorney, would be called to the crime scene.  At that point, THEY would be in charge. 

 

It's almost 100% certain the detectives or State Attorney would force me to go to the nearest emergency room as part of their investigation.

 

Their investigative reason for me going to the hospital would be evidence.  That's their job - they collect evidence. 

They would require x-rays, photographs in the ER, the ER doctor's official, signed medical reports, nurse's written documents, orders, etc. 

That's evidence collection.  The above documentation is evidence.

 

I don't believe anyone could compel me to agree to surgical treatment. 

In December, 1968, I LEARNED from Dr. Abramson - my own doctor - how my surgery should be handled.

 

If I felt safe with the "hospital doctor", it's possible I would have accepted his medical help to slow down the bleeding - but that's it. 

I knew I needed sutures - I'm not Goddamn blind - but the sutures would wait until I got to Dr. Abramson. 

The pressure (from the towel and ice packs) slowed down the bleeding considerably, and there was no visible indication of hemorrhaging in my skull. 

Naturally, in December, 1968, I had no idea about the permanent damage.  Now, in 2008, I certainly do know.       

 

If the "hospital doctor" even mentioned "Novocain" to me, I would have been out of that Goddamn hospital like a lightning bolt. 

 

I would have requested a compassionate detective to stay with me, until I could safely get on the next train, and go to Dr. Abramson.

I TRUSTED MY DOCTOR.  I didn't trust ANY other doctor.


The 4 police officers would collect personal identification, separate the witnesses, and assist the detectives.

They would later write official witness reports, and would be required to testify. 

They all witnessed Richard's voluntary confessions, apologies, and begging me not to sign the police complaint. 

They were not only responding police officers, they were also material witnesses.

 

Photographs, video and physical evidence (including a pile of blood soaked towels and Richard's damaged ring), would be taken as evidence.

Preliminary statements would be taken at the crime scene.  Then the police would really get busy.

Everyone would be transported to police headquarters, separated again, questioned, and recorded, in individual interviews. 

 

"Everyone" includes the hotel manager, assistant manager, hotel employees, "doctor", members of the group, roadies, and girlfriends.

It also includes everyone who heard Richard's admissions, apologies, and begging me not to sign the police complaint.

(about 20 or more probable material witnesses)

 

Formal, signed statements would be taken.  A lot of people would be inconvenienced.  Philadelphia police would have a busy night.


The State Attorney would decide how he would prosecute Richard.  That's his job.

 

Richard would be arrested, handcuffed, and confined in a jail cell.

He could hire his own lawyer, or be assigned a Public Defender lawyer.

To qualify for a Public Defender, he'd have to prove to the Judge he was indigent, and couldn't afford to hire a lawyer. (I'm almost positive about this) 

 

He would be arraigned as soon as a Judge was available - probably early the following morning. 

Bail would likely be $10,000.00 - possibly more.

 

THERE WOULD BE NO SHOW THAT NIGHT

 

Criminal and civil trials would definitely follow.

{{ Laws have changed considerably since 1968.  Today, the police would have automatically arrested Richard, with or without my agreement.  My attorney explained they had two required elements: an obvious crime scene, and multiple voluntary verbal confessions, made in front of at least a dozen witnesses and 4 police officers.  Even a Miranda warning would be unnecessary under those circumstances.  If you question the Miranda warning, the police did not interview, question, or interrogate Richard.  They were just witnesses to his own statements.  The police did question me. }}

My attorney gave me his best PROBABLE information, based on prior experiences with the same (and similar) criminal charges.

He also educated me regarding similar civil lawsuits.

 

He explained these issues which would very likely happen at the arraignment, months before criminal and civil trials.

Due to overcrowding of Court calendars and the entire legal system, trials normally take place several months after the arrest takes place.

 

(1)  At Richard's arraignment, the Judge could order Richard not to leave the state of Pennsylvania.

The Judge would have the legal power to transfer temporary jurisdiction and supervision to Richard's city of residence. (New York City)

The Judge could place Richard on house arrest, pending his trial date, which would (typically) be several months later.    

 

My attorney mentioned 5 words regarding bail: "interstate traveling musician" and "flight risk". 

That's something to contemplate, although it might not mean anything.  The Judge and State Attorney would consider this.

Richard's lawyer would certainly have his chance to present his arguments.


THE JUDGE DECIDES


A normal condition of most bail bond companies demands that the defendant must remain in the same state where the arrest took place.  

Violation of this condition could result in arrest for bail jumping and forfeiture of bail funds.  Richard could be locked up in jail until his trial.

 

(2)  The defendant (Richard) would be legally prohibited from any form of contact with the victim (me).  

This is a "no-contact" order - a standard condition in a crime of violence.  "Contact" includes any kind of contact. 

Personal, as well as telephone, email, and other forms of communication. 

The Judge and State Attorney would define the exact terms - Richard could not come near me.

I believe the minimum distance is 200 yards, but the Judge would have the authority to write his Court order however he decided.

The Judge's order could remain in effect long after both trials.  I would have to ask the State Attorney to have the order extended, and give a valid, honest reason.

 

Consider what this would mean to the Soul Survivors if Richard was released on bail:

 

(a)  They instantly would have no Hammond organ player, via the Judge's "no-contact" order. 

Richard could no longer sing in any venue that I was playing in at any time I was present.

Example: I join a different group.  We're booked for a show on March 18.  Richard would be legally prohibited from singing at or attending that show if I was present. 

Example: I drive to Breakout Management's office.  Richard would be legally prohibited from coming anywhere near Breakout Management at any time I was present.

Example: I go to an R&B show.  Richard would be legally prohibited from going near that R&B show at any time I was present.

(b)  Richard couldn't enter the same building as me - restaurants, clubs, bank - even a doctor's office.  That would violate the Judge's order.

I could still play with the Soul Survivors, but Richard would be legally prohibited from singing with them at any time I was present.

 

(b1)  The solution to any violation would be to call local police, give them a copy of the Judge's order, and watch them take Richard away.

This would result in another criminal charge, and probable revocation of bail.

 

(c)  It's probable (again, not positive) that Richard could only sing in the state of Pennsylvania.

 

With these facts in mind, the Soul Survivors would very likely cease to exist.

 

According to my attorney, both Judges and both juries would determine the exact amount, but there is no question that Richard would pay. 

 

My attorney also explained numerous grounds for my civil lawsuit.

The hotel could also sue Richard for extensive property damages, among several other causes. 

Vassar College could sue for breach of contract.  The list goes on and on ....

My attorney researched this.  These aren't word games - they're facts of law.   

 

POSTSCRIPT

ONE SUCKER PUNCH: A LIFE OF PERMANENT DAMAGE

added March 18, 2008

Since December, 1968, my left eye has problems, beginning the day Richard sucker punched me.  I don't think medical technology (optical microsurgery, laser technology, etc.) existed in 1968 to repair the damage to my eye.  The problems are increasing. 

 

For about 40 years, my vision is blurred and my eye leaks tears for 1 or 2 hours after I wake up.  It feels like my eye is burning.  It's usually "back to normal" by about noon.  This occurs several times weekly, it's not (yet) an every-day symptom.  I also have pain in, behind, and above my eye, but my body has adjusted to it through the years, and I can mostly just ignore it and take aspirin.  I take quantities of aspirin, often 12-20 each day. 

 

The burning feeling has been increasing also.  Sometimes the burning lasts all day.  Sometimes it lasts for several days.  Doctors have prescribed medications to put in my eye.  None have had any effect.

 

It's 2008.  It's a fact of my life that my eye is progressively deteriorating.  I'm not 18 anymore - I'm 58, and I've been living with this since 1968

 

Several doctors have stated that within 3-10 years, I will probably no longer have a functional left eye.  That's what I have to look forward to.

Forgetting is impossible

 

The above (endless) text concerns my experiences with the Soul Survivors. 

 

The following was written almost THREE YEARS before Richard contacted me on November 28, 2003

That means it refers to the original page - not the "sanitized" page, which was put online on December 1, 2003.

 

What follows (below) could be considered a completely separate webpage.

Maybe I should have separated them, and made individual pages, but they are directly connected, and I made the choice to combine them. 

 

In this format, readers could have the opportunity to make comparisons, and subsequently draw their own conclusions about FACTS.

Using your PAGE UP and PAGE DOWN keys is basically what I'm referring to.

 

Kevin The Groupie

The two emails (below), were written to me by someone named Kevin, who claims "YOUR SOUL SURVIVORS TALE" isn't accurate. 

Without literally calling me a liar, he's trying to call me a LIAR.

 

Kevin's text is RED

I highlighted and CAPITALIZED some of Kevin's "discrepancies" and contradictions.  DATES are bold.

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

 

ADDENDUM

AM I HONEST?

added March 18, 2008

Date: Fri, 15 Dec 2000 19:10:15 +0000
From: Kevin <kkiley@home.com>
Organization: @Home Network
To: prokeys@tampabay.rr.com
Subject: YOUR SOUL SURVIVORS TALE
 
Hi
My name is Kevin Kiley. I am a 47 year old living in NJ. I sell antiques for a living, but sing part-time in an R&B/soul band. i have ever since I saw the soul survivors for the FIRST TIME when I was about 15.

Oh.  That's very nice.

My older sister used to date charlie, and her girlfriend dated Kenny.

Oh.  That's very nice, too.

They would get me into the clubs to see the shows even though I was underage. I saw them many times BEFORE and after expressway.

Excuse me?  You claim you saw them "many times BEFORE and after Expressway". 

You wrote this on December 15, 2000. 

2000 minus 47 years old indicates you were born in 1953

 

If you were about 15 the FIRST TIME you saw them, that would be 1968.

"Expressway" was released in early 1967.

 

It doesn't add up.  How did you accomplish this contradiction?  You claimed you saw them MANY times BEFORE and after "Expressway". 

 

Maybe I should call this "KEVIN'S SOUL SURVIVORS TALE", or "KEVIN'S IMAGINARY SOUL SURVIVORS TALE". 

 

For clarity, I'll interrupt your December 15, 2000 message for just a moment.  You wrote this publicly to the Yahoo southernsoul message group on December 31, 2000.  You are unquestionably referring to me and this webpage.  Download the screen capture.  Or read it online

I'll quote your message in red text:

For anyone that goes to that link, let me say this. I saw the Soul
 Survivors MANY times BEFORE he was in the band. The original group(minus
 horns)was fucking KILLER!
 
 I saw them once after the initial break-up(probably with this guy)and
 they weren't as good. I SAW THEM ABOUT 10 YEARS AGO and they STILL
 kicked ass,
 playing that "nigger music".
 
 KK

Sorry for the interruption.  Now I'll return to your December 15, 2000 message.

 

They were the greatest group that I ever saw.

 

They were the greatest group that you ever saw!  It should be no surprise I think you're a groupie.  You must have led a very sheltered life. 

You really didn't see very much back in those days, did you?  You claim you were underage - 15 years old - your older sister had to sneak you into clubs. 

 

Did you ever sneak into the Apollo, the RKO, the Royal, the Mosque, the Howard, or the Paramount?

Or was that just a little too much for a 15 year old groupie?

 

By the time I was 15 years old, I had already seen the James Brown Revue about a dozen times, and auditioned for him as a Hammond player. 

(I didn't pass the audition, but that's not the point.) 

Do you even DREAM the Soul Survivors could POSSIBLY compare to James Brown's show in the late 1960s? 

My sister used to say that Richie was a prick,

Is that right!  I wonder why? 

but I find it hard to believe that he gave you shit about listening to nigger music, because that is what they covered.

Kevin, what you find "hard to believe" doesn't change facts

You might find it "hard to believe" Richard gave me shit about my bank account, but he did that, too.

If it weren't for them, I would never have heard the original Knight brothers temptation's Bout to get me.

Kevin, I don't want to hurt your feelings too much.  But I DON'T GIVE A SHIT what you "would never have heard".

Except for the rascals, all they DID was black music.

Is that a fact?  Obviously, you were somewhere else when I played with them. 

Your logic is totally defective. 

I find no correlation between a group playing certain songs, and the abuse and violence which was directed at me.

 
I probably caught you ON THE LAST GIG THAT I SAW THEM DO.

 

The LAST gig you saw them do?  THE LAST GIG?

I walked out of the Soul Survivors in late May, 1969.  I've never seen OR played with any of them since.

 

I don't mind your FAIRYTALES, Kevin.

But you're CONTRADICTING YOURSELF AGAIN.

 

Just above, on December 31, 2000, you publicly wrote, "I saw them about 10 years ago" to the southernsoul group.

2000 minus 10 years would be approximately 1990.

 

Would you be kind enough to explain THIS Goddamn FAIRYTALE

 

It's questionable if you even KNOW when you last saw them.

You're really making a fool of yourself.

It had horns,Paulie, Joey, and Eddie were no longer there, and Kenny didn't sing ANY lead. It was somewhere in Jersey, not long after the Atco Lp came out.

You're again illustrating your ignorance.  The original group was long gone before the ATCO album was released.

We had horns for a few shows.  They packed up and walked out.  They were smart.  I wasn't.

  

Are you sure that your anger at his prickness in every other part of his life didn't cause you to exagerate the bit about nigger music? I can believe evrything else in your story, but I can't believe that part. And I won't.

 

What anger?  Except for your contradictions and Richard's FAIRYTALES - there are facts.

(That's inaccurate - I'm sorry.  There is anger.  It's limited to Richard's BULLSHIT, above.  This page was "assembled" over several days, as I decided how I wanted to organize it.)

 

You clearly acknowledge Richard's personality, although I've described it in a more reasonable way. 

I haven't exaggerated "my story" at all - but since you weren't actually there yourself, how would you really know?

 
Thanx for your time,

KK

 

ADDENDUM

YES, I'M HONEST

added March 18, 2008

Date: Sat, 16 Dec 2000 11:21:15 +0000
From: Kevin <kkiley@home.com>
Organization: @Home Network
To: ProKeys <prokeys@tampabay.rr.com>, sleigh@tampabay.rr.com
Subject: Re: YOUR SOUL SURVIVORS TALE
 
I'm telling you, before Expressway, they had an exciting show.

 

You're TELLING me?  Thank you for telling me. 

Obviously, you hadn't ever seen an exciting show in those days. 

How many times did you see Otis Redding?  Sam and Dave?  The Motor City Revue?  Aretha?  Joe Tex?  James Brown?  Wilson Pickett?   

I bet you NEVER saw them back in the 1960s - 1970s

I have seen almost every exciting band that you can name from the Who to Sly(pre-coke), and their show back then was unbeatable.

THE WHO THAT'S what you refer to as "exciting"?     

Sly (pre-coke)?  What the hell are YOU talking about?  1965

How would YOU know when Sly started with coke?  DID HE TELL YOU?   

 

You're a groupie.  Maybe in your "excited" 15 year old mind, the Soul Survivors were unbeatable

You have some really strange ideas of "unbeatable".  Most groupies do.

They used to do Knock, Midnight Hour, Tighten Up, Temptation Bout to Get me, Please Please, Change Gonna Come, When Something Is Wrong, Hold On Im Comin, You Don't Know, etc. They used to do 4 sets a night, rarely doing repeats. They did mostly Rascals, Righteous Bros.,and STAX stuff!

It's transparently clear that you don't even have a CLUE what transpired in 1968-1969

We NEVER, EVER played 4 sets.  We ONLY did 1 60 minute show. 

We NEVER played ANY of the songs you listed, above. 

We ONLY played the junk on the ATCO album, plus one or two other songs: a grand total of about 14 songs - including "Expressway". 

What they played before I joined them has no bearing on this webpage.

That is why it strikes me as really weird, cause they played that stuff for years. That is what they cut their teeth on. Hell, even the covers from the Atco LP were black tunes(Tell Daddy, Funky Way To Treat Somebody).

Do you actually believe that Kenny, Charlie, or Richard chose to record those two songs?  I don't think so.  I don't think they had any control whatsoever regarding that album.  I'll illustrate that as I continue.

So I KNOW they DID like black music.

Allow me to educate you.  You obviously need education - desperately.

 

The terms "R&B", "soul", and "black music" are - as far as I'm concerned - essentially interchangeable in the context of this webpage. 

If you think you have a better definition, illustrate your amazing musical brilliance, and enlighten me. 

This is NOT about "black" - as in a person's race - although you seem fixated on that.  IT'S ABOUT A STYLE OF MUSIC. 

The ATCO album (11 songs) you refer to was mainly cut at Fame in Muscle Shoals, AL, produced by Rick Hall. 

Rick Hall and Fame are world known for R&B. 

That doesn't mean the Soul Survivors categorized as soul or R&B artists - it only means that Fame could do magic with R&B artists and material.

Some other artists who recorded at Fame include the Osmonds, Paul Anka, Wayne Newton, and Liza Minelli. 

Would you call that "R&B", "soul", or "black music"?  I sure wouldn't

I'm certain Rick Hall did what he wanted.  I'm sure Charlie, Kenny, and Richard just followed directions. 

The singers, only doing 8 songs, were in the Fame studio for approximately two days.  In and out.

 

The Fame musicians played on all 8 songs

I specifically asked about this when I did sessions at Fame in 1969

 

Did you know I also played for Fame?  We could knock out 8 songs in one day, and did it regularly. 

I'm intimately acquainted with the recording procedures for "outside" acts. 

I'm also intimately acquainted with writers and artists signed to Fame, and the differences between them. 

 

Take note of who published "Tell Mama".  Calvin Arnold wrote/cut "Funky Way" - Detroit and Motown. 

Take note that the Soul Survivors were not signed to Fame - either as Fame artists or Fame writers

Three songs were produced by Gamble and Huff.  Rick Hall very likely did the mixes on those songs, too.

Consider this: Of the eleven songs, Richard and Charlie claim writer's credit on six songs.  They didn't play instruments.  How could they have "written" the songs?  Lyrics?  Yes, of course.  Music?  HOW?  Clearly, somebody had to co-write with them, somebody had to come up with chord changes - but nobody else was given writer's credit?  Even their own partner, KENNY, was excluded as a writer?  THAT'S BEYOND cold-blooded. 

If anyone - anywhere - anytime - can show me how a non-musician can write the chords to a song, it's time to put up or shut up. 

Just put your money where your mouth is, and let's see it.

Being new to ATCO, with no prior "track record" on that label, I'm certain that decisions were not made by the Soul Survivors, but by label management.  The single release (Mama Soul) did nothing.  Both the single and the album were - to be polite - losers.

Now, being from New York, it is very/more than likely possible that he referred to blacks as niggers, even though he played their music. I know. I used to. It was how I was brought up.

It's "how you were brought up"?  I wasn't brought up that way.  I'm from the New York area, too.   

I was brought up NOT to refer to black people with that word.

Do you still do that today?

 

Your logic is defective, along with your memory.  

Are you trying to claim that if a group plays songs which were recorded by black artists, they AUTOMATICALLY respect black people

I'm giving you another opportunity to make an FOOL of yourself.  You're so good at that, you deserve every opportunity possible. 

I have a theory.  My theory is that any group will play songs which will earn them money and popularity.

It was a different world then.

Thank you for repeating my words.  You have a profound grasp of the obvious.

Also, Kenny was a really nice guy and Richie and Charlie fucked him good.

I know a LOT more about that situation than you think I know.

I understand that he is doing very well in Atlantic City Casinos with a band called Full House.

Kenny IS what the Inguis can't even dream about.  Kenny is - and always was - a WINNER.

The Inguis ARE - and always were - LOSERS.

 

This webpage is not about Kenny, except in a peripheral way.  It relates my experiences with the Soul Survivors. 

 
I'm not doubting a word about Richie being a jerk-off. Even as a 15 year old meeting them, EVERYONE was nice and friendly to me EXCEPT Richie. He thought his fucking shit didn't stink.

Unlike you, I've described Richard in (slightly) more polite terms.

I just have a hard time accepting the fact that he gave you shit about listening to Stax stuff, cause they did it for years.

We'll get to that with your following paragraphs.

Again, I hope that you didn't take this letter as me calling you a liar.

You've certainly, undeniably inferred that I AM a liar.  Coming from you, it means nothing. 

I'm not a liar.  Why would I lie?  Where's the benefit in lying?  What do I gain?  Do I get some kind of reward?  

Factually, you were not there during the time period which this webpage describes. 

 

You were never at our rehearsals, never at our shows, never flying or traveling with us, and never in the hotels with the group.

Your actual knowledge does not exist

You can fantasize, assume, imagine, or dream whatever you want.  Most groupies do. 

If I'm in error, go right ahead and correct me.

I just wondered if perhaps all of the bullshit that you went through with him, and the weed, etc, didn't alter a little of the perception and the memory. There was NO harm meant, believe me.

My perception and memory aren't "altered" - they're extraordinary.  My memory and ability to recall details has always been incredible.

If you ever doubt that, just contact Richard. 

Discuss the hours on the phone: me playing Hammond and him singing. 

Ask about the songs on the ATCO album - I haven't even heard it since 1969, but I remember. 

Talk about dozens of old doo wop songs which I never played in my life. 

All he had to do was sing the first few words, I found his key, and played them - because I REMEMBERED HEARING them. 

 

Richard wrote an email (above) on February 7, 2004.  Go back and read it carefully - especially the reference to the videos and mp3s.

Read the email just above that one, from December 6, 2003, too. 

 

It was THIRTY YEARS since I last saw or played (in the STAX studios) with most of these people .... and you question my memory?

 

I question your sanity, Kevin.

 

The only thing that I can think of to explain it, is that he was getting into Hendrix, Cream, etc,(I saw them do Purple Haze, Sunshine Of Your Love with the original band a few times) and thus wanted to seem "hip" by putting down the stuff that went before. Yeah, I COULD just hear him "Fuck that nigger music. Have you heard the new Mountain album?"

 

Kevin, are you even AWARE of what you write? 

Are you CONSCIOUS?

Do you realize how often you CONTRADICT yourself? 

In your previous message, above, time stamped only about 16 hours before this one, you made these two statements.  I'll quote them in red:

"I find it hard to believe that he gave you shit about listening to nigger music

"Are you sure that your anger at his prickness in every other part of his life didn't cause you to exagerate the bit about nigger music? I can believe evrything else in your story, but I can't believe that part. And I won't."

With those words, you are calling me a liar. 

In this message you made this statement, again quoted in red:

"Now, being from New York, it is very/more than likely possible that he referred to blacks as niggers, even though he played their music. I know. I used to. It was how I was brought up."

And now, quoted in red, you state:

"Yeah, I COULD just hear him "Fuck that nigger music. Have you heard the new Mountain album?"

 

You sure do change what you "believe" fast, don't you, Kevin? 

It didn't even take you 24 hours! 

 

How often do you change what you "believe", Kevin?

Does it happen every 3 minutes?  Every 60 seconds?  Every 20 seconds?

 

You sure do CONTRADICT yourself a lot, don't you, Kevin? 

Do you have any idea WHAT you believe?

 

These are YOUR words.  READ what YOU wrote

 

Maybe someday in the next 47 years, you'll figure out what you "believe". 

I don't think anyone else ever will.

 

I think you write whatever comes into your head at any second, and completely ignore FACTS

I guess it probably did happen.

YOU can guess.  I lived it, day in and day out for just over a year.  There's no "guessing" or "probably" about facts. 

You seem totally fixated on two words: "nigger music". 

Although the words may be offensive to many people, they were used in Richard's endless abuse, intimidation, and control of me

In other words - and maybe you can actually understand this distinction:

 

THE WORDS WERE NOT USED IN A RACIAL MANNER

 

They were only used to verbally abuse and batter me. 

Richard couldn't exist without abusing me for reasons which he found compulsory and mandatory in his own psycho coward mind. 

 

Re-read this. 

 

For just a minute, consider this EXAMPLETHIS DID NOT HAPPEN, but the comparison should be clear enough for any 12 year old child to understand.  That may be asking too much for your limited mentality, Kevin, but we'll try.

 

Imagine I was very dedicated to COUNTRY music.  Imagine Richard telling me what he thought about that. 

 

Don't imagine a calm, sensible, controlled conversation.  Richard wasn't capable of calm, sensible, controlled conversation.

 

Instead, imagine psycho Richard screaming this directly into my face,

and making me physically back away, until there was no place to back up TO. 

FREQUENTLY, my back was literally against a WALL, with Richard's FACE inches away from mine - SCREAMING.

"Sandy, you little fucking redneck asshole punk.  You just LOVE that useless fucking garbage.  Fucking trash country music - that stinking shit makes me sick.  Why don't you go play that shit with some fucking cowboy bands?  You don't need another fucking Hammond, go buy some fucking cowboy outfits and a fucking horse.  Get some fucking cowboy boots, you little asshole.  Those fucking redneck cowboys would love you.  That shit blows.  I ought to shove your fucking cowboy hat down your throat, you asshole fucking redneck.  I'll find a new organ player - I'm fucking sick of this shit, Sandy.  I'm sick of you, too, you little bastard.  I should have kicked the shit out of you the day I fucking met you.  It was the worst day of my fucking life, you fucking asshole."

THAT'S WHAT IT WAS LIKE, Kevin. 

And that's nothing - it's just a quick, one minute example. 

 

NOW consider the FACT that this went on regularly, about almost anything.

Clothes, beard, hair, food, restaurants, apartment, girlfriends, records, dope, stereo system, old musician friends, jewelry, groups I played in previously, Hammond organs, Leslies - even my Goddamn bank account.  The list is endless. 

 

Richard couldn't STOP

He loved the confrontations.

He loved verbally abusing me and my girlfriends.

Richard LIVED for conflict.

THAT'S WHY HE CONTINUED IT

 

Do you misunderstand or misinterpret anything racial in THAT? 

I don't.  I just see it as Richard "expressing his opinion". 

Typical, average 1968 Richard communication: abusive screaming, confrontational, aggressive, intimidating words - directed at me.

A psycho coward exercising threats and dominance on someone half his size and less than one-quarter his strength.

 

And I recognize something more important and obvious - control

Richard's abuse had a definite purpose: control Sandy

 

So TELL me, Kevin.  You've known all about the Soul Survivors since you were FIFTEEN.

BEFORE your "I saw them many times BEFORE and after expressway" FAIRYTALE

I got the hell out of there after slightly more than ONE YEAR.  You're the Soul Survivors expert - not me.

 

EDUCATE ME, KEVIN

But I can tell you this: he "DID" love "nigger" music. And they did it extremely well.

And I can tell YOU this: Richard couldn't sing worth shit.  He was one of the WORST singers I ever got on a stage with. 

I spent 4 years working with WHITE R&B singers that would make Richard run home crying. 

If he ever sat in and tried to sing with us, he'd be so humiliated, he'd need 6 months to recover after everybody laughed him right off the stage.  

 

You're welcome to your ridiculous opinions from 15 years old.  Most 15 year olds know everything anyway, but you lived in a little bottle, Kevin.

 

The Soul Survivors were a THREE PIECE band with three singers.  They didn't even have a bass player!  

Compare that to an ELEVEN PIECE, dressed-like-professionals, totally arranged, organized, and choreographed SHOW GROUP.

 

You really should have seen our groups, Kevin.   

AND you should have seen Roger Pace, Wayne Cochran - (search the internet) - or dozens of other POWER groups - REAL R&B groups.

You might have had a heart attack.  You might have realized the Soul Survivors were a Goddamn COMEDY SHOW.  

Again, allow me to educate you.  Here's a little more truth.

Richard tasted success before I met him because of the hit record "Expressway". 

It went to #3 and #4 on Billboard charts. 

That is a hit record by anybody's definition. 

Any artist in the world wants only one thing - more hit records. 

At the time, other kinds of music were selling and were more valuable in terms of making money, doing shows, and getting a record on the charts. 

You mentioned some of them, above.

 

YOUR OWN WORDS show that Richard had personal, social, and psychological problems

LONG BEFORE I EVER MET HIM

 

Those problems increased over time.  I believe a contributing factor was the frustration of NOT coming up with another hit record. 

It must have been discouraging that the Soul Survivors booking contracts were financially diminishing. 

I ought to know - this fact was reflected in the group's paychecks. 

It may have been like slowly watching the Soul Survivors dying - one month at a time.

 

But you've completely missed - or intentionally misunderstood - a vital point. 

I never stated Richard hated black music or black people.   

I never stated ANYTHING about ANY race, OR HATE, regarding Richard.  My statements clearly referred to MUSIC - not people

 

I clearly explained that Richard resented ME. 

He resented my total commitment to the music I loved - BLACK, R&B SOUL MUSIC

I don't think it would have made any difference - black music, pink, green, classical, gospel, or Christmas music. 

I don't think Richard's confrontations, abuse, violence, and berserk, psycho behaviors were really based on my record collection. 

Re-read the EXAMPLE, just above.  This time, pay attention to it. 

 

Richard couldn't dictate what I wanted to listen to. 

He couldn't stop me from going to the Apollo four days in a row to hear the music I wanted to hear. 

 

It should be obvious that Richard couldn't control me - the clothes I bought, the length of my hair, the food or restaurants I liked, the apartment I rented, my girlfriends, or the amount of dope I did NOT want to smoke with him. 

Richard couldn't convert me to a Richard Ingui clone. 

I actually had a mind of my ownHe couldn't run my LIFE.  It's very simple.

 

At no time did we have a problem with my playing in the Soul Survivors - I played my ass off. 

I fit in perfectly from day one - in the worst conditions imaginable. 

Since November, 2003, when our phone calls began, Richard has told me dozens and dozens of times: I'm the best he's ever heard.

 

ABSOLUTELY THE BEST

Just ASK him, Kevin

Some of your thoughts are probably correct: loud, rock, "psychedelic type" music was making more money than the Soul Survivors.  Maybe Richard hoped to "migrate" towards that kind of music, dreaming that might bring more popularity to the Soul Survivors. 

But there's a MAJOR PROBLEM with that:

From day one - we put together a group that played R&B, and played it very, very well for awhile. 

It isn't logical, realistic, or reasonable to try and turn a strong R&B group into a psychedelic group. 

It just doesn't work like that. 

We weren't Pink Floyd or the Grateful Dead - we were supposed to be an R&B group, remember?  

Richard couldn't force me to love "psychedelic type" music - and that's exactly what the Soul Survivors eventually sounded like to me: we sounded like 2 groups playing 2 different songs at the same time.  As I've written, we began by playing busy - over time the music became berserk.

I think Helen Hersch's cover art (ATCO, "Take Another Look") was an accurate reflection of Richard's psycho mind. 

A person could get stoned just looking at the album cover. 

In my opinion, it's just as chaotic as the music we played. 

YOU were just another groupie, sneaking into their shows. 

YOU stated they were the greatest group you ever saw. 

I do not share your opinion.  I was a lot less impressed than you. 

We have vastly different ideas of an "exciting show".

     

YOU didn't have to put up with the daily insanity.  I did. 

YOU didn't have to have your eyelid sewn up and lose about a quart of blood.  I did.

YOUR eye wasn't permanently damaged by Richard.  Mine is.

 

I think some of Richard's social and psychological problems were based on the prospect that the Soul Survivors might never have another hit record. 

History has shown that to be a fact, hasn't it

A star today - and a nobody tomorrow. 

That's a very bitter pill for anyone who has ever experienced success.

 

The human ego can be a fucked up thing.

This page has almost nothing to do with ego.  It's about the 13-14 miserable months of my life spent with the Soul Survivors.

Have a Merry Xmas,

KK

 

THE SHOW NEVER ENDS

added April 14, 2008

APRIL 14, 2008: FRED WILHELMS and DROP WILHELMS .... good reading

 

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