Coming out west
I grew up in Detroit, and I always wanted to head out west. I just happened to pull up in this town, and I didn’t know nobody. But I liked it here, so I stayed. That was ’03 or so.
A buddy of mine owned a bar on Main Street, and I was sitting at the end of the bar, and this fella said “man, that guy looks just like Doc Holliday!” That’s the Old West gunfighter, of course. That’s the name I go by now.
I went up to Glenwood Springs, where the real Doc lived, and up there in the Denver Hotel people were lining up to take pictures of me.
Good people and bad
I used to belong to a motorcycle club back in Detroit, and when I told them I was leaving, they beat me up pretty good. They don’t like when people leave. You don’t break ties — they frown on that. I keep my tattoos pretty covered up out here.
I get along real well here. I go to the bars around here, and people buy me drinks. I’ve been good to people, so they’re good to me.
Music man
I play harmonica and piano. I mess with the guitar too. Get me playing the blues and I’m just in heaven.
The first time I played on stage was here in Littleton. I was shaking like a leaf. I started playing with the band and it was just magic.
My mom taught me to play — she used to play fiddle for Chet Atkins.
You put a harmonica in my hands, and I just go wild. Believe it or not, I can only play a honky-tonk piano. You put me on a regular piano and I just don’t know what I’m doing.
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