A Brief History of The Green Parrot Ukulele Association

The other evening, while The Parrot was hosting their monthly meeting of The Green Parrot Ukulele Association, I noticed a few folks stroll by, stop, peer quizzically inside and remark, "Look at all those people with ukuleles. What are all those people doing in there?"

That's a good question and one that has been asked more than once in the year or so since the Green Parrot formed the Green Parrot Ukulele Association and hosted its first monthly Uke Out.

The whole thing started innocently enough the morning I found a small vinyl gig-bag holding an inexpensive ukulele leaning against the side of the Green Parrot building. I first  thought it was a mandolin, but when I unzipped the case there was the uke, complete with a tiny digital tuner clipped to the headstock. I knew a chord or two, and strumming it, I found it in perfect tune. I strummed happily all the way to the Green Parrot Lost and Found, where it sat, unclaimed for one week, then two.

In the meantime my oldest son, a uke aficionado himself, planned a visit to Key West from his home in Miami and, true to form, arrived uke in hand. Taking his cue and hoping for some sort of weekend jam session, I brought the unclaimed uke home from the Parrot Lost and Found box.After the briefest musical collaboration, my son said to me, "You have got to do this at the bar."

As the wheels started to turn I thought of two things: number one was that the next week's scheduled entertainment was Dash Rip Rock, the New Orleans-based country-punk band fronted by my friend Bill Davis.

Number two was remembering a conversation I had with Bill last year. I asked him casually, "Bill, whatcha been up to?" "Teaching ukulele," he said.

Bill was due to play the Parrot the following Friday so I called him right away and said, "Bill, if you could manage to get to Key West a day early would you be interested in fronting a Green Parrot Ukulele night?" Bill said, "Absolutely." And in a minute we had sketched out the format for the show: Workshop for beginners, followed by featured-artist Bill, followed hopefully by open mic and, god-willing, an all-out, everybody-on-stage-strum-along. 

The next piece of the puzzle came when I recalled a conversation I had had years before with Key West multi-instrumentalist Tim McAlpine where he mentioned  that one of his dreams was to have a Key West Ukulele orchestra. I called Tim next he assured me he was up for anything uke-like.

So Tim would be the co-host with Bill Davis on that first Thursday night and would continue in that role monthly along with Jeff Clark,  a local triple-threat singer/songwriter musician whose ability to engage the audience as both entertainer and teacher became a key ingredient to the eventual success of the Association.

The first-ever meeting of The Green Parrot Ukulele Association (GPUA) was held Thursday night, June 2nd.

Avid ukulele enthusiast and teacher Bill Davis of Dash Rip Rock hosted this first-ever Green Parrot Uke Out. Things kicked off as planned with a ukulele workshop for beginners, followed by featured artists Bill Davis and Tim McAlpine strumming some tunes of their own, then an open mic sign-up, and finally an all-out strum-along with at least 20 uke-toting participants.

It seemed that night that we uncovered a Key West ukulele scene simmering just below the surface. And The Green Parrot was the perfect vessel for this unique way for Key Westers to meet people and make music at the same time.

For folks seeking a little pick-me-up in these bleak times, ukulele night with The Green Parrot Ukulele Association seemed just the ticket. As singer-songwriter Louden Wainright III once said, "In terms of Improving one's mood and general outlook I consider the ukulele to be the big gun."

Now we encourage everyone to dig out that old ukulele from your attic or closet and strum your way into a four-string stupor at Green Parrot Ukulele Night, Key West's only ukulele-powered jam session. Come to just listen, or join in. All levels are welcome and spare ukes and instruction are available for those who want to try them out.

Noting the happy-making effect of the instrument, Manager John Vagnoni says in third person for this blog post: "I think we may be completely shocked to find there is a whole community of ukulele-ists out there. There's very little music by the ukulele that isn't joyful and playful, and that is part of the attraction," says Vagnoni, dismissing that awkward feeling of composing a blog post and quoting himself in said same post. "With just four strings, two octaves, a low price-point and diminutive size, the ukulele appeals to both amateurs and professional musicians alike."

Like so many of the good things that happen at The Parrot, the success of Ukulele Night is not the result of one person's talent or passion, but rather the result of a group of people taking a seed, planting it and nurturing it to fruition all with the same goal, just to have some fun. Charter members who were the hand-maidens of this included Ron and Charlie Bell, Will Thompson, Jay Gewin, Ashley Kamen and Gretchen Mills, Allison Withers Johnson, and Gary Zimmerman.

We are also proud to announce that for the first time, The Green Parrot Ukulele Association hosted a meeting outside the friendly confines of the bar when Sweat Records, the popular Miami indie music store, event space, and coffee house played host to The Green Parrot Ukulele Association, Miami Chapter.

It is also worth noting that John Lennon's first instrument was the ukulele, and by the end of George Harrison's life, he was carrying two ukuleles as his carry-on baggage. He was the most spiritual of musicians, and where did he end up in terms of enlightenment? Ukulele!

Meet some of the folks at GPUA, or better yet, join us!

Tim McAlpine

Jay Gewin

Gary Zimmerman

Ron and Charlie

Bill Davis mentors Eliot

Will Thompson

Beau

Tim Grandy

Pat Regan

A Group Shot

Ashley and Gretchen

Allison

Nick Vagnoni

A typical meeting

Smiling Faces

Jeff Clarke

Flying from the heart from the start

Flying from the heart from the start
By Bud Navero

On a moonlit night off the coast of Havana in 1521 Ponce de Leon, Spanish war hero and New World explorer, lay dying. As the poison of the Colusa arrow infecting his left thigh pulsed though his bloodstream, he envisioned the eerily beautiful island he'd named Cayo Hueso some eight years before, revisiting that remote bone-strewn place with a mixture of awe and fear. What went on there? How had it come to pass that so many had seen fit to inhabit its shores and choose that place to leave this earthly paradise?

The closest thing to an answer that his fevered mind could conjure was the haunting distant squawk of a lone emerald parrot piercing the palm swept night. Again and again the call of the green parrot seemed to beckon him to a world beyond the duties and ambitions of the life he'd been leading.

Ponce's heart pounded ever louder in his heaving chest and his body twitched wildly, as a luminous smile radiated from his face and the toxins shook him to his core, rattling his earthbound bones on the rolling Caribbean tide.

Green Parrot 1981

The ensuing years brought many a desperate dreamer to the risky uncharted edge of civilization. Slavers, pirates, treasure shippers, wreckers, rum runners, refugees, drug smugglers, shrimpers, treasure hunters, and solo sailors have all risked the shoals. Indeed, Ponce's shake, rattle, and roll continues to answer the Green Parrot's call. And Cayo Hueso, now known far and wide as Key West, continues to be its home, luring newcomers and old friends alike to a cool oasis of reverie where time takes its time as it has for lo these many years.

Perched on the southeast corner of Southard and Whitehead Streets, diagonally across from the courthouse and former jail, the low pitched roof harboring The Green Parrot had originally housed a grocery store owned by Antonio Sanchez, whose grandson Mario would go on to immortalize the building in one of his world renowned wood-cuts. There, the local Cuban and Bahamian transplants no doubt accompanied their staples with rum, cigars, the Latin rhythms of impromptu descargas, and the bones rattling through the conversations at the domino table.

After serving as a bunker-like Navy bar called The Brown Derby through many owners, the Green Parrot resumed its hold on the island, assuming its nom de guerre as "the Parrot" during Judy Sullivan's hazy heydays of the '70's when it took its place among the pantheon of what immortalized bartender Phil Clarke called the "inland island bars" -- those dark, off-Duval, away from the water's edge watering holes where modern "expeditors of dreams" could conjure their own New Worlds far from the eyes and ears of the law and the uninitiated.

"Colusa arrows" notwithstanding, many a brave or foolhardy soul set sail from such a meeting to test his dreams against Ponce's with a quest for an herbal remedy to a dead-end life. And many came back to their "northernmost city" financially re-born. Others were immortalized in song. While some sailed, most stayed behind and reaped the benefits from those who'd left -- either directly as girlfriends and bar owners or indirectly as friends of girlfriends and bar owners.

Off the books and out of the way, Key West (officially in receivership to the State of Florida) and The Green Parrot, prospered. This prosperity came naturally in the unspoken mutual respect shared by those who "survived the '70's" - a decade in ample evidence around the bar and increasingly on the ceilings and walls where, bathed in the gaze of the inscrutable "Smirk," anyone was welcome to savor a drink and to immerse themselves in the Parrot's cultural collage of altered states.

If these walls could speak, they'd lay down some Kerouac, throw in some tales of Vietnam, soundtrack Hendrix and The Stones, relate tales of ordinary madness and beatific visions, and articulate an understanding of universal brotherhood...or announce a drink special and repeat the process until the message was hopelessly clear.

Green Parrot 2011

This "hippie saloon" immediately became a hotbed for hi-jinks in an island noted for its eccentric local characters and, on sultry summer nights when "you could roll a bowling ball down Duval Street" and hear the footsteps of approaching customers echoing up the street, many a daring prank was hatched to liven up the malaise.

First among these were the fabled appearances of "The Invisible Men" whose silhouettes still grace the walls. Numerous celebrities sought refuge in its cool anonymity, and they got it. But by and large, life at the Parrot, as it always had, reflected the "live and let live" sleepy generosity that had come to characterize Key West -- a "last resort" whose tenuous connection to the mainland still more resembled the pre-Flagler days when it was indeed an island unto itself, or the Hemingway Days of the "poor man's Riviera."

Inevitable changes were underway.

With the widening of the Seven Mile Bridge, the enlargement of the water conduit from the mainland, the proliferation of international travel, and the steady output of books, photographs, and films, Key West and The Green Parrot were becoming better known, easier to reach, and less primitive.

As the shrimp fleet sailed away, the Navy pulled out, and smuggling history took another hiatus, they were increasingly replaced by visitors determined to experience a little bit of island life and spend some money in "the only Caribbean city you can reach by car." Enter the New Age of Tourism and the Golden Age of The Parrot as a bastion of living history.

Nothing more defines the "Bean Years" of the Parrot since 1983, and separates the Parrot from all but a few national bars, than its full blown explosion as a mecca for musicians and music aficionados. Locals who've received their free musical educations at The Parrot have come to realize that on any given evening or late afternoon they're likely, for the price of their beer, to hear a world-class talent turn it loose in virtuosic euphoria on a miniscule stage a few feet away.

Though the Blues predominates as the music of choice, virtually any music from any corner of the globe can find its way to the stage. It could be living legends like soca/calypsonian The Mighty Sparrow, "the human jukebox" Sleepy LaBeef, Hot Momma Candy Kayne or NOLA's Galactic. Perhaps Grammy-bound bands like Miami's multi-cultural Spam All Stars or young ensembles like Loray Mistik from Haiti. It might be Texas Swing, Delta Blues, Siberian Surfer, Jazz, Reggae, Zydeco, Chicago Blues, Soul, Southern Rock, Bluegrass, Salsa -- whatever it is, it's an experience unmatched in major cities where the same music would cost a pretty penny, you'd pay to park, and you'd be sitting somewhere in a designated seat, off in the distance.

It is the icing on the cake for The Parrot and an ongoing expression of gratitude from its owners to its customers. It goes without saying that navigating this whirlwind of daily derring-do couldn't take place without the steadying presence of an indefatigable captain at the helm, pacing the deck and keeping all hands at their posts. This rare personage has been none other than John Vagnoni, whose keen ear for music and dedication to his customers has guided The Parrot into the institution it is today.

Now, The Green Parrot is casting off to explore yet more uncharted realms under the enthusiastic ownership of Pat Croce -- a man made of energy and a genuine affection for Key West and its swashbuckling history. New Worlds will be discovered!

The Green Parrot has always been much more than a bar. In fact, it's thoroughly suitable that it and the courthouse opened in the same year. The Green Parrot is the jury of your peers. Through its many incarnations, it has retained a stubborn respect for rugged and ragged individualism - leaving behind a legendary legacy of stupendous misadventures, understated kindnesses, everyday miracles and shoestring catches snatched from the edges of forgetfulness.

For many a wayward soul caught up in the vagaries of modern life, it has provided a measure of hope, comfort, and camaraderie amidst "the tumult of too much," reassuring one and all that we're all in this together.

The Parrot's legendary Friday Happy Hours are the closest thing Key West has to a weekly Town Meeting. It's been the scene of all manner of human imagination on display, from poetry slams to Bingo, from memorial services to hurricane parties, from pet birthdays and humanitarian flotillas to tattoo contests, workingman's appreciation afternoons, and fund raising benefits too numerous to mention. The Parrot flies true, from the heart from the start, all the way through, and continues to... for you!

Bud Navero is a Florida-based freelance writer and editor.    

Father's Day

Here's a post I put up for Father's Day last year that I think bears repeating.

On this Father's Day I'd like to taken a moment to honor not only my father, God bless his gentle soul, but some of the the other men in our family who influenced me, each in their own special way.
In the photo above we see a group shot of some of the men in our family, fathers every one.

I can tell it's Christmas by the toy flintlock pistol jammed into my dad's waistband.

Sadly all of the men in this photo are now gone, a few of them way too soon.
On the far right is my maternal grandfather, John Cardona, from him came a strong work ethic, I'd watch him sit up at night at the kitchen table with a composition book and the stub of a pencil, teaching himself to read and write. He came to this country alone and worked for several years to save enough to start his own hat cleaning and shoe shine business, and finally bring his wife and his daughter, my mother, to this country. One of his favorite stories, retold time and again at family gatherings, was how, as a young Italian immigrant applying for a job in a South Philadelphia shipyard, he was asked by a foreman if he knew how a steam-driven stationary locomotive worked, to which he instantly, replied "More steam, more coal!" and the foreman just as quickly shot back, "You got the job!"
On the far left in the photo is his son, also John, and from him, well, he was in the stage-show business in Pittsburgh and as such represented to me a kind of a cool Mad Men sophistication which I had not seen in our family before: he drove a black 1957 Buick convertible, drank Heineken, married a Jewish woman, and threw parties to which he invited his interior decorator.
In the center of the picture, with the bow tie and pencil-thin moustache, is my maternal grandmother's brother, my great uncle, Carmen Donato. His sophistication seemed more rooted in old-country culture than fashion or current mores. It would be easier to picture him in a duel or a vendetta than cracking a Heineken. When he lived with us he would sit on the front porch in the morning impeccably groomed, complete with a fresh-cut flower in his lapel and a pint of Old Overholt in his suit jacket pocket, prepared to greet either gender of passerby.
On his right is my uncle Dick, and what did he bring to the table? Well, a lot.
First of all he showed me that not only was it ok to be not-italian, in his case German-Irish, but, beside diversity Dick provided some qualities that were not so apparent with other men in our family. He worked hard, as did all the men in our family, but the difference with uncle Dick was that at the same time had this richly textured parrallel life outside of work. He knew about fine art, played classical music effortlessly on a baby grand piano in his living room, and not only could he tune it or anyone else's piano by ear, but he could totally disassemble the thing, with its hundreds of springs and arcane innner workings spread out on newspapers on the living room floor, and then put it flawlessly back together again. He could just as easily put new windings on the generator of his boat or field strip his shotgun. He was an avid sportsman, actually the only sportsman really, avid or otherwise, in our family, and he shared it with my brother and myself. I mean I could picture no one else in our family going out, in dead of winter, before dawn, to shoot a rabbit for dinner. The only other stories of the men in our family leaving the house with a firearm were usually cautionary tales involving a pistol rather than a fowling piece.
And that leaves Al, my father.

I don't know what to say about him that would really do him justice. As I said earlier, he was the gentlest of souls. He was soft-spoken, patient, loving, and never-comlaining, all this in spite of the fact, or perhaps because of the fact that he had a childhood that is difficult for me to even imagine, His father died when he was just 3, in the Spanish Flu pandemic in 1917. There was no social safety net for anyone in those days, let alone newly arrived immigrants, except the meager help that other newly-arrived family members or paisans could provide , or what little charity the catholic church could offer to his young widow and her five children. Because his mother could not support them all Al was sent to a Catholic orphanage in West Philadelphia till he was 13. Years later when I was in college I volunteered to help chaperone field trips for kids in a local orphanage and when I told Al, he cried.

You would think that the residue of his childhood like his would be bitterness or contempt but instead he emerged to become a man with a deep well of humility, optimism and grace. As my brother once said of him, "It's as if the guy never had a bad day in his life".

It's a testament to him that in all my years growing up, literally the only time I ever saw him get in an argument with my mother was when they were watching a Phillies game together and when the game ended my mother had a very hard time accepting the fact that If the home team is ahead after eight-and-a-half innings have been played, it is declared the winner, and the last half-inning is not played. After many, many patient explanations, she still just did not get it and Al, weary and exasperated, stated simply, "I'm going to bed" and did. End of story.

Al behind the bar at Sharkey's.

This year is the first time I have not been with either of my sons for Father's Day. They both happen to be on the West Coast together right now. But even though they are a continent

away, just knowing where they are (with each other), and who they are (two amazing people), I have never felt closer to them than right now.

Green Parrot Ukulele Association Meeting on Wed. June 13th

Green Parrot Ukulele  Association June Meeting

The next meeting of The Green Parrot Ukulele Association will be held Wednesday, June 13th, with co-hosts Jeff Clarke, Tim McAlpine, and Jay Gewin.

Following the format as in past shindigs, the meeting will begin at 8 p.m. with a workshop for those just starting out on the instrument. Basic instruction will be provided, as well as chord and song sheets.

At 9 p.m. there will be featured performers, an open mic and a play-along in no particular order. For those who have missed the past meetings, try to carve out a few hours for this. You won’t be sorry.

Dig out that old ukulele from your attic or closet and strum your way into a four-string stupor at Green Parrot Ukulele  Night, Key West's only ukulele-powered jam session.

Come to just listen or join in. All levels are welcome and remember, spare ukes and instruction are available for those who want to try them out.

Green Parrot Bar Fiddler's Night to Feature Solares Hill String band

Continuing their series of Green Parrot acoustic music nights, The Green Parrot will host an Old-Timey Fiddlers’ Night on Tuesday, June 12, from 8 p.m. featuring The Solares Hill String Band

The The Solares Hill String Band was formed in Key West over 35 years ago is named after Solares Hill, the highest point in Key West. The The Solares Hill String Band plays an acoustic mix of Old Timey, Bluegrass and Traditional Country Blues.

The The Solares Hill String Band  is comprised of twin fiddlers Gary Zimmerman, a founding member, and special guest Rex Blazer, along with long-time Solares Hill bassist Cindy Jefferson and guitarist Beau Dobs.

The show will also serve as a bon voyage party for Bounce the Clown and Madmoiselle Oo La La on saw and accordion/spoons respectively, who will soon be embarking on their annual summer musical tour of the Northeast.

Dock Ellis' legendary LSD no-hitter

I love this story and animation so much, we need to post it annually

In celebration of the greatest athletic achievement by a man on a psychedelic journey, No Mas and artist James Blagden proudly present the animated tale of Dock Ellis' legendary LSD no-hitter. In the past few years weve heard all too much about performance enhancing drugs from greenies to tetrahydrogestrinone, and not enough about performance inhibiting drugs. If our evaluation of the records of athletes like Mark McGwire, Roger Clemens, Marion Jones, and Barry Bonds needs to be revised downwards with an asterisk, we submit that that Dock Ellis record deserves a giant exclamation point. Of the 263 no-hitters ever thrown in the Big Leagues, we can only guess how many were aided by steroids, but we can say without question that only one was ever thrown on acid.

Check out the youtube animation here


As Ellis recounted it:
"I can only remember bits and pieces of the game. I was psyched. I had a feeling of euphoria. I was zeroed in on the (catcher's) glove, but I didn't hit the glove too much. I remember hitting a couple of batters and the bases were loaded two or three times. The ball was small sometimes, the ball was large sometimes, sometimes I saw the catcher, sometimes I didn't. Sometimes I tried to stare the hitter down and throw while I was looking at him. I chewed my gum until it turned to powder. I started having a crazy idea in the fourth inning that Richard Nixon was the home plate umpire, and once I thought I was pitching a baseball to Jimi Hendrix, who to me was holding a guitar and swinging it over the plate. They say I had about three to four fielding chances. I remember diving out of the way of a ball I thought was a line drive. I jumped, but the ball wasn't hit hard and never reached me."[4]
The incident inspired the songs "Dock Ellis" by indie rock singer Barbara Manning, "America's Favorite Pastime" by folk singer Todd Snider, "Dock Ellis No-No" by Chuck Brodsky, and "LSD (The Ballad of Doc Ellis)" by Boston rock band Random Road Mother.