Take the Tour

The accounts that follow have coalesced over time from my best recollections of the people, places and events that have fashioned my reality; and are shared to offer a perspective to be enjoyed, to provide a point of reference from which to re-build your own memories, or simply set aside.

This is my side of the story; told in as an unadulterated a manner as I am capable. The story of how the paths of five teenage boys converged; of how they became united in mind and purpose; to build a band, State of Mind; the life celebration it was then and remains today.

Bill Sissom

The Enlightenment          

It was July back in...ugh! 1966, and another one of those carefree days of summer as most seemingly were in the life of a high schooler. And, for the two of us it was a day we determined would be best spent doing as little as possible poolside at the Aberdeen Proving Ground O’Club. We strolled in and casually surveyed the landscape before deciding to throw out our towels on a thick grassy spot just off the deck that offered two of the major poolside requisites of unobstructed views, and a place to "take a tan".

I had barely gotten my butt nestled into the deep grass and my mind lost in the moment when my buddy Bruce started jabbing me in the ribs while urging me to sit back up.

"Mr. Bill quick, check out the "babe" climbing out of the pool…dripping wet."

Now, I had been hanging out with Bruce Chapman long enough to have developed a general trust in his judgment, including taste in girls, so I figured what ever he was wanting me to see was most likely worth my effort.

"This better be good" I moaned as I pulled myself back up and turned in the direction of his gaze.

"Damn! We have got to come up with a better way to meet girls like her than what we’ve got" he noted, squinting harder to get a better look.

Then I watched perplexed…as he became entranced in a look that seemed to continue across the pool, on through the bikini and out to who knows where. For an instant I wasn’t sure if Bruce was hypothecating some deeper meaning to a concept that even if I spent the rest of my life trying to understand would still elude me, or was just getting ready to fart and then laugh like hell. I backed away just to be on the safe side. He finally exhaled and declared with indisputable conviction…"Bill, We need a band!"

"A band?" I responded somewhat surprised by his pronouncement.

"Yeah, Mr. Bill, a band! You know…money for nothing and chicks for free".

Geez, I had never quite thought about it in those terms before; my imagination spinning ever faster like a roulette wheel thru a multitude of exciting outcomes. "Money for nothing and chicks for free" I repeated. The more I thought about it the more appealing it sounded.

Bruce was a pretty smart guy; and always had a knack for putting two hundred and two hundred together and getting four hundred, and according to my Mom and Dad "had a real head on his shoulders", as opposed to the rest of us that had, well, something else…I guess.

"Hmm…a band?" I said as my head began filling with fantasies of pretty girls and fast cars….

Bill and The Ravens              

A year or so earlier I had been part of a neighborhood band we named The Ravens. This quintet featured drummer Larry Weimer, guitarists George Doss and Alice Berning, and Betty "Sis" Meyer on bass. I sang most of the leads, and while obsessed in the moment, beat the crap out of my leg with a tambourine.

For me, The Ravens provided an entrée into the music business, and from the "git-go" my indoctrination was both seductive and fulfilling. I quickly realized how much I loved playing music, loved playing out of the house on school nights, and how unbelievable it felt to get paid for doing something that I loved, or Bruce so aptly phrased it, "money for nothing".

The Ravens gigged regularly at local teen haunts and Services clubs where GI’s would pack the place not only to enjoy the band and its music but to become hopelessly infatuated by the girl players. Imagine that! The Ravens was not only providing me with an entrée into the world of music but also into the world of business. And right there I was being introduced to Marketing 101; cool!

As a result of this "on the job training", later while enrolled at the University of Maryland when I actually took Marketing 101, there really was no need to attend "repetitive" classes of what I had learned during my Ravens experience. So I deemed it "acceptable" to skip that day; or week, or what ever it ended up being.

Additionally, I think I might have "clepped out" of a "few other classes" when I felt my Ravens experience had provided adequately: i.e., I quickly recognized that at the end of the night, if I piled my gear up over with the girls, the lust filled soldiers who would trip over each other trying to be the one to help the girls with their gear, would schlep it out as well. That would still be Marketing, right? …Maybe Chapter 2-Packaging? …Yep…that’s probably it…Packaging…skip…skip.

Jim was already a friend of Bruce’s, both being Army brats whose families had earlier been stationed in Heidelberg Germany. Later, while attending the University of Maryland, Jim and I would share an apartment which served as our base to eat, sleep, shower, and on occasion study. It was from there we would launch nightly periodic excursions to the numerous Georgetown clubs and "watering holes" for the purpose of checking out local bands, local "talent", and spiritually refreshing ourselves.

Jim provided the ultimate "crash course" on D.C. night life, as reflected by my GPA which, despite the benefit of the aforementioned Ravens education, ultimately ended up looking something like D.C. bars =A University of Maryland =C.

Any way, The Ravens disbanded at the end of school a year earlier; the time high school bands often do, but not before Larry moved to New Jersey and had been replaced by Howard Latham. George, Alice and Sis graduated and went about their summer doing the things that graduates graduate on to. Howard joined another group, and I just decided to "rest up" until someone came looking for someone with my unique talents. I would probably still be "resting" today if Bruce hadn’t been entranced by the wet bathing suit and raptured by the karma of his revelation.

Deciding on a Keyboard Player                  

"We need a Band, Huh?"

"Yeah, Bill. Money for nothing and Chicks for free", Bruce echoed.

We sat quietly for a moment. The sun had long since dried out the bikini and Bruce and I had returned our focus to the topic of conversation: We were going to have a band!

"Ok! So I didn’t get run out of town with the Ravens, so I’m assuming I’m getting your vote for the vocalist part?"

"You’re in Bill", Bruce noted matter of factly.

"Great! That takes a load off my mind".

I knew the next step was to ask the question that had been lingering in the back of my mind ever since his ‘we need a band’ proclamation. "So…Bruce, if we are having a band, well…how do you see yourself fitting in?"

Bruce paused for a second and looked back in the direction of the dried bikini; perhaps again seeking some additional form of enlightenment. I sensed he was about to "spill his guts" with a secret he had harbored at least for as long as I knew him.

"You see Bill…when I was a kid my Mom made me take piano lessons."

I considered teasing him but just felt relieved to finally have gotten a glimpse of his aspirations, and then watched as he continued to orchestrate the sharing of his dreams and musical ambitions, which began with elevated forte and transitioned into a more deliberate and muted pianissimo during the section of how he hated lessons and practice.

We both laughed when we realized neither of us could name a kid that didn’t hate lessons.

What sealed the deal for me was his trump card; while he couldn’t sing he could scream; and pretty much "like James Brown".

Perfect!" I muttered, trying to imagine the endless possibilities this skill set created.

But, we were confident we could make something positive happen if we set our minds to it, so with little further debate, we penciled him in for keyboards, and enthusiastically continued our discussion, agreeing that while he probably had to "shake off some rust", from this point on we would use his experience and qualifications as "minimum standards" for future band members.

Wow! We weren’t even sun burned yet and the band had a singer, and a keyboard player who could scream. We looked at each other, smiled and said out loud in unison as if we had been cued, "Money for Nothing and CHICKS FOR FREE!"

Tom Triplett      

We were off to a good start and the band already had two members. So what if they were just Bruce and I? No big deal; we figured as long as we could add others who could actually play and sing, then their credibility would in fact turn our enterprise into something of perceived value, and not lend itself to the allusion of merely putting lipstick on a pig.

Anyway, being at the O’Club made it easy for us to think of Tom Triplett who, like Bruce lived just a few minutes walk away. For one thing we knew Tom was a pretty good guitar player but also, and only as a minor, secondary consideration, we figured having him in the band wouldn’t hurt our chances of being invited to his older sister Trudy’s frequent Hootenannys; that while they began at the Triplett house, would by sunset relocate to the 7^th green of the golf course across the street and morph into "make out" parties. Or so we had been told.

We agreed that as young "rising stars" it probably made sense to become part of these outings; and besides the additional "hands on" experience was largely desirable, particularly in light of the barely manageable testosterone levels that were pulsing through our bodies...

We were ready, willing and able to take the next step and if it was going to take singing "If I Had a Hammer" instead of "Satisfaction" at a Hootenanny, then we would agree provisionally that this action would constitute an exchange we could live it. But, we also decided that these folksy fifties standards would have little or no place in the electrified, Rock and Roll world we were creating.

We knew that Tom listened to all styles of music and believed he would be able to stand on his own with an electric guitar, and decided to approach him. His joining the group would bring solid vocals for me to sing against (and Bruce to scream around) as well as a personality we knew would fit right in.

Tom and I had hung out together off and on every since he had moved to Aberdeen Proving Ground from Red Stone Arsenal in 1963. One of my favorite memories of Tom was the trip we made one summer to the Florida Keys scuba diving and generally creating a state of general confusion along the US 1 corridor between Harford County and Key West.

Tom was an integral part of the band until he left during the summer of 1967 and joined the Navy to get on track for an appointment to the USNA.

What was pretty cool: on our last gig of that summer Tom showed up as we prepared to play the last song the band would perform before we all moved on to "higher callings". It was a song that Tom routinely carried the lead vocal on, and we all could not have been happier to end the night and the season by having him "take us out".

As "We Gotta Get Out of This Place" resounded thru the room we all turned to each other and smiled, flashing back over all our earlier triumphs. When it was over we patted each other on the back, packed up our gear and headed over to my house for a farewell party. For us, our post high school summer had run its course. But it is only now by looking back that I realize it was that very night we all, save Howard, crossed that celebrated but indefinable threshold in time that separates the youthful ways of high school from the adulthood (?) of college. We had come to the end of an era, yet the beginning of something we believed would be bigger. And, we were all way past ready to take the next step.

Tom did head to the Naval Academy and during my days at the University of Maryland would occasionally rescue him and his Middie buddies from the "brig" in favor of some partying and adventures at my apartment and in and around metro D.C.

Tom became a husband, father and successful businessman, and here I believe I can not adequately serve to tell "the rest of his story".

State of Mind anticipates the day original band members reunite for a gig or two.

(Please find more on Tom Triplett under this site’s Band Members tab)

Jeff Fiehler                           

The field was crowded that day with children laughing, screaming and running in every direction. Moms and Dads totally bemused by the spectacle stood out of the way on the sidelines, making only half hearted efforts to control their kids and only when one happened to run by within arms length. Despite being billed as a community affair for the entire family, what I remember witnessing was more like herding cats.

I stood over with the rest of "the band" as we warmed up for our opening number, banging together the woodblocks I had been handed and feeling very troubled. I distinctly remember turning them down as they were handed to me, while passionately explaining that I had been practicing on the tambourine not woodblocks. How could I possibly go into my first big performance with the woodblock section?

But the lady insisted that I would "do just fine" with the woodblocks and that she had more important issues to deal with than me not getting "my little tambourine". While I some how managed to bite my lip (ergo: not cry) I remember searching for a glimpse of my Mom, because if anyone could solve the "wood blocks dilemma" it would be Mom. When I failed to spot her I frantically decided to expanded my search criteria to include any Mom that had even the slightest resemblance to June Cleaver. Boy Howdy, my options were fading fast…and faster than a speeding bullet my future and reputation as a tambourine player were about to be dashed.

Anyway, there, a couple of kids down, madly drumming the little snare that hung around his neck, and grinning like he had just pooped his pants, was Jeff Fiehler. This was Kindergarten, and it was the first day of May: May Day.

Like the jeans I so often wore in my twenties, other memories of that day have faded, but I seem to remember feeling after our finale that our performance wasn’t as good as it had during rehearsals; when I played tambourine. But parents applauded just the same, and the same lady that handed out the instruments gathered them up just as indifferently.

As she took the woodblocks from my hands she smiled and said, "You did a nice job." I looked back, head low in disappointment.

She walked off in one direction and I in another, hoping to find my Mom.

In retrospect, the comfort in this story rests in the fact that life has provided Jeff and I with a form of musical bookends; that being our band days seem to have started together that day in May and hopefully will end together years down the road in State of Mind; though I must add, I am much appreciative that he no longer plays drums and I the woodblocks.

That day at the O’Club pool as Bruce and I continued our band blueprint Jeff’s was the next name to come up for consideration. We felt that like Tom, Jeff would easily fit in with our group, and actually owned an electric guitar and could handle the lead solos.

While I do recall sitting on the floor of his bedroom scribbling out the words and music to "This Feeling", an original song we co-wrote and still perform, my real adventures with Jeff didn’t begin in earnest until our high school SoM days and later, where trips camping, boating, skiing, playing guitars or just hanging out become way too numerous to even begin to cover here.

I would like to add that when time allows I intent to share a few of these stories, including several about Jeff’s Mom and Dad, Rosie and Len, who had a front porch mat that read "Welcome", and who’s door opened into a home full of laughs, high spirits and kindness. Here’s to you Len and Rose!

Howard Latham                

The band still needed a drummer, and the choice was both clearly and painfully obvious. In our minds there was one, and only one choice that both appealed to us and met or exceeded our "minimum standards"; Howard Latham.

"The option here Mr. Bill is a "no-brainer". "Clearly it should be Howard" Bruce offered, and I agreed.

Howard was an awesome drummer and like Tom and Jeff an easy going guy that would fit right in with the rest of us.

Since our Ravens days, as I was "resting up", Howard had only gotten better; much better, taking lessons and playing out with some very good musicians. I recall one night I went out to catch his act. As he started playing "Wipe Out" I stood in amazement as the whole room stopped dancing and crowded around the stage to watch him play his solos. Impressive. We had to get Howard.

So, while the clearly obvious part of adding Howard to our wish list was complete, the painfully obvious part was "why would anyone of Howard’s talent want to play with a bunch of guys who not only didn’t own equipment but largely had never played out before?

We needed a plan to elevate Howard’s perception of our worth. So Bruce, Tom, Jeff and I secretly practiced for more than a month before inviting him to join us. I guess it wasn’t nearly as successful as we thought because Howard later confided to Bruce, after a few gigs, that he didn’t realize how bad we really were when he agreed to be part of the group, but after thinking it over had decided to stay because "he had never before had such a good time sounding like shit"!

While Howard’s remarks represented some deviant form of testimonial that perhaps was best left unexplained, we all got focused and productive fearing he might leave; and Jeff offer to switch to drums.

In our State of Mind days when we performed "Wipe Out" Jeff, Bruce and I would leave Howard at the beginning of his drum solos; departing the stage and sometimes even the room, allowing him to enjoy the spotlight but compelling him to carry the moment. Even though we thought it was pretty neat giving him center stage, I have to admit we also found a bit of humor in our actions: like the smug sense of satisfaction you get from doing something wrong, knowing that while you could get caught you probably wouldn’t, and there was little or no downside if you did….so what the heck.

So leaving the stage during "Wipe Out" was our modus operandi, until one time we stayed out a really long time and got back to find Howard "sorta" still playing his solo but now at almost half tempo, the people still left on the dance floor are slow dancing to "Wipe Out", which I believe was a historic first; and poor Howard…he is soaking wet, slinging sweat all over the place, puddles forming on the floor, gasping for air like he had just run the Boston Marathon on one leg, and…well…pissed off. Yeah, I believe "pissed off" would be a fair assessment of the look on his face when we nonchalantly wandered back in. Though Howard was consistently a pretty laid back guy, this time it was painfully obvious we had carried our prank a bit too far.

After the gig the band got together and talked about what had happened. Jeff, Bruce and I expressed regret for our actions and agreed that going forward perhaps 10 minutes was a bit too long to be gone, and that we would do our very best to try to get back on stage in say… five. Howard apologized for being upset and we accepted his apology but told him, and in jest, he knew what he could do if he couldn’t take a joke. We all laughed. Sorry Howard…tea leaves suggest the whole thing was Jeff’s fault.

I am uncertain what it ultimately took to persuade Howard to join us. Maybe it was the "money for nothing and chicks for free" carrot that Bruce had conceived and dangled, or perhaps it was the lure of the 7^th green, but he did, and has been a member of the group and life long friend ever since; for which we are all eternally grateful.

Professionally, Howard now goes by the name of Jesse Latham [due to a credit problem with the mob :)] and performs regularly with local bands.

Please find more on Howard under the Band Members tab.

Bill: Bass by default                        

After agreeing that Howard would be our target for a drummer and filling what we had considered as the band’s final personnel slot with Jeff, Bruce and I suddenly realized that we were still without a bass player.

"We are still without a bass player" I perceptively noted.

"Right" said Bruce, who was never short for words.

I couldn’t guess how long we sat, silently entangled in our quandary, but at some point I recall wondering "just how hard could it be to play bass?" I mean a bass only has four strings, and they are all big and fat so they had to be fairly easy to hit or thump or what ever it was bassists did; and mostly you only had to "thump" one at a time. Come on, how hard could it be?"

And before I could fully comprehend the depths of my foolishness I heard myself blurt out the words that I would ultimately live to regret… "You know what? I think I could play the bass".

Well, crap! I couldn’t play bass! In fact I never even touched a bass before. But I did see some one play one on T.V. and I did know we were talking guitars here and not fish. So I rationalized that despite these limitations, my qualifications for the bass job, with a good tail wind, where essentially similar in nature to Chapman’s with the piano; So therefore, and fundamentally speaking, weren’t my credentials "meeting or exceeding our established minimum standards". Ok, ok! He had taken lessons, but then I’m thinking "Isn’t taking lessons kind of like cheating?" I mean it’s almost like needing to read maps. Guys don’t read maps! That’s cheating! So, I just figured I didn’t need lessons! ...See! Minimum standards!

However, once we started rehearsing I was quick to discover that singing and playing the bass was indeed a challenge; like patting your head and rubbing your stomach; which I am pleased to report I have mastered over the years; though playing the bass and singing still remains fundamentally elusive.

Thankfully, when the band embraced the "and Friends" concept and added bassist Paul Ross to the group for the "Feed the World but Feed the Band First" tour, I was instantly relieved of my former responsibilities and "just plain relieved" to be able to focus on the guitar, now my primary instrument. Ahhh…no more thump, thump de dump!

The end of the day       

"Wow, what a musical genesis this day has been" Bruce offered, and then paused. "Hey! What do you think of that for the name of the band?"

"What? Musical Genesis?" I asked

"Or…just Genesis."

"That’s stupid" I said. "No one would ever call their band Genesis. We need something cool."

We grabbed our towels and headed off for home. I got into my car and watched as Bruce walked off, hesitated for a moment and then turned to shout back what had become the mantra of the day;

"Money for nothing and chicks for free Mr. Bill."

"Money for nothing and chicks for free Mr. Bruce."

I remember falling happily asleep that night. There were visions of sugar plums amongst other things dancing in my head and for that matter all over the bedroom. And while there remained the challenges of getting our A list guys on board it all still seemed like a big party just waiting to happen. And, it was.

Forty something           

And 40 years later, with a wardrobe loaded with shirts that not only button up but must have pockets to hold reading glasses, here I am, and we are; State of Mind, still having the time of our lives. Forty years later, and still with some of the best guys in the world, and with a life time of memories and adventures to share with anyone we can get to listen.

So, that was it…that one day …not the day the music died but rather the day it began; at least in the lives of five guys, and in the lives of those they have touched in some special way. Good Lord willing perhaps we will "tour" for another forty; ok, maybe twenty.

"Bill…"

"Huh? Whoa…Where am I?"

"You’re in Heaven, Bill"

"Heaven? …Really?...No way!"

"Way", she replied, making eye contact for the first time.

"Say, don’t I know you from somewhere?"

"You might…as here in Heaven we are all Brothers and Sisters in the eyes of the Lord."

"Hmmm"…I muttered, pausing to look around.

"Wow! I can’t believe this…Pearly gates….and gold everywhere…just like they said…and… Hey! Wait! Where’s that guy going with that guitar? That’s a Fender! A Solid Gold Fender Strat! …I can’t believe it."

"Well, Bill…not only are you in heaven, but you’re in Rock and Roll Heaven, and that guy is headed off to rehearsal."

"Rehearsal? Are you kidding me? You mean you still have to practice in heaven? I thought up here everyone could play like Jimi Hendrix or Eddie Van Halen…and with their eyes closed and their guitars behind their backs."…That’s a bummer, still having to practice in heaven…I guess you probably still have to take showers here too", to which there was no reply.

"Well, anyway…have you ever heard of State of Mind?" I asked.

"I believe I have, but I don’t think they will start touring for a while.

"And to be perfectly honest, we’re still not sure that one or two of your guys might not end up appearing regularly with the other band."

"What other band", I asked.

"You know…Old Nick and the Lost Souls." she stated quietly.

"Never heard of ‘em", figuring they must really suck.

I guess in the grand scheme of things it really didn’t matter when the guys got here or when we would start touring, I was just trying to figure out what the heck to do in the mean time.

"So, the guy with the gold Fender…he’s going to rehearsal, huh? Can I watch?"

"Well Bill, you can’t really watch…because we are going to put you right in the band."

"No way! Right in the band? This is Rock and Roll heaven and I’m going right in the band!"

"Yes Bill! And, until the rest of the guys get here and you are all ready to tour I have an eighteen carat instrument right here for you." Smiling, she reached down and pulled something from beneath her flowing white robe and placed it in my hand.

I glanced down only to find a pair of golden woodblocks cradled between my palms. I looked up and shook my head in disbelief.

She walked off chuckling… and I to look for my Mom.

Thanks for taking the time to share this adventure. Warm Regards…..Bill