My friend Bill Connor just showed up. After nine years he found me. He walked into the lounge and the first thing he said was, we used to talk five or six days a week for years. And he is right. Five or six days a week. On the phone. Not business calls. Just two guys talking about whatever needed talking about.

Bill was at the first marijuana march. May Day nineteen seventy-three. Washington Square Park. I jumped up on a park bench and started singing I Like Marijuana, because what else are you gonna sing at a marijuana march? But then I stood up on the back of the bench. The part where people rest their backs. I balanced up there with my guitar and kept singing and that is when the crowd noticed. That is street performing. You do not just stand somewhere. You stand somewhere dangerous. The danger is the advertisement.

And Bill was watching. He did not know about Lennon. Did not know about the records. Did not know about Apple or Elektra or Orange Records. He just thought I was the most fun anybody could have at a protest. That is the highest compliment I ever received. Higher than Lennon comparing me to Picasso. Because Bill liked me for the only reason that matters. I was having fun and it was contagious.

That is the whole secret of street rock. You do not need a stage. You do not need a record deal. You do not need John Lennon to discover you. You need a bench, a guitar, and the willingness to stand on the part that is not designed for standing. Everything else follows. Bill followed me for fifty years and he is still here tonight. The bench holds.

See also: Lennon Meets Peel — the day Lennon found me on the fountain. The Pope Smokes Dope — the album that started with a gift.