Dear Ken:

I really appreciate your passing along all the remembrances our friends on
the list have been sharing about Dick and I'd like to share mine. It's
really kind of long, but once I started, I couldn't stop, so please indulge
me. Dick really meant a great deal to me.

___________________________

Like a lot of Beat Farmers fans I know, my first acquaintance with the band
was in 1985 with "Happy Boy." WHTG, an "alternative" radio station here in
New Jersey, had just changed formats and was playing music that previously
could only be heard on college radio. From the moment I heard Dick growl
out "I was walkin' down the street on a sunny day...", I was hooked. Lyrics
with a sense of humor and, of course, That Voice.

A couple years went by and it was 1990 when I finally got the word -- they
were playing at The Fastlane II in Asbury Park. The night of the show, a
nor'easter blew in. Driving the normally 45-minute trip to the club was a
nightmare as my car inched along through floods and high winds and
monsoon-like rains to get there, but nothing was going to stop me. I think
it took me about two hours to get there.

The storm blew over as I got out of my car, but apparently it already had
scared off a lot of people, but there still was a pretty good-size crowd
there. When I got inside, the first person I saw was the Big Guy, just
hanging out, alone at the bar, like he was just another fan there to see
the show. I walked up to him and asked him when his solo record was coming
out because I thought his cover of "Karma Chameleon" was brilliant. His
face lit up with that big Dick grin and he told me that I was "obviously a
woman of great intelligence and taste." I told him that when the Boy George
song first came out, I really hated it because it was wussy and because
everybody I knew would sing that to me and bastardize my name -- Camille --
Karma Camilleon -- get it? -- and I really appreciated his finally doing
justice to that song. He autographed the CD cover of "Tales" for me,
signing it to Karma Camille, then hugged me and gave me a kiss.

During their set, I was blown away. I have never ever seen a band have that
much fun on stage. There weren't as many people as there should have been,
but it was Joey (I think) who thanked the crowd for coming out in such
miserable weather. He really meant it, too, you could tell by the energy on
stage that night. They really feed off the love of their fans like no
other band I've seen before.

Less than a year later, my significant other, Al, a music writer, saw a
tiny ad announcing that the Beat Farmers were returning to Asbury Park. At
the time, I was editing a summer entertainment guide for Jersey Shore
tourists and figured I would use my position for my own selfish means --
plugging my favorite band. I got the phone number of "trail boss" Tom Ames
from somewhere and called him. Tom arranged for me to interview Dick that
day and also told me that the Beat Farmers also were playing a show on
=46riday night at the Lone Star in New York after an appearance on "Late
Night with David Letterman." A Beat Farmers weekend! I was psyched.

So there I was on deadline -- actually by then past deadline -- when Dick
called. I spent a good half-hour interviewing him and laughing my ass off.
When I reminded him who I was, he said that he remembered and even asked me
if I had gotten the letter he had written thanking me for a Christmas
package I had sent him. I had made stickers with his self-caricature
surrounded by the words "If it ain't country, it ain't Dick" and he told me
he really liked them. He told me again, that I was "obviously a woman of
great intelligence and taste." He wrote his return address on the envelope
as "Nicetanoya, California 69692."

When Al and I got to The Lone Star, they had just gotten on-stage and
fortunately for us, Dick's manic antics must have struck fear in a
well-dressed, middle-aged couple (most likely tourists who had just come
from "Cats" and thought they were just going to have a few drinks in a
cowboy bar). They had that deer-in-the-headlights look about them as they
got up from their table right up front and scrammed.

We sat down and watched an incredibly brilliant set. Al sat there with his
jaw dropped the entire time, and I went nutty with my camera. He was a fan
before we got there, but after the firm-handed musical spanking the band
gave, he became a believer.

After the show, we hung out and, as usual, Dick was mingling. I walked up
to him and asked if he would pose for a photo, he grinned and put his arm
around me as Al snapped off a couple of shots.

We had two sets of photos from the Lone Star show made up the next day,
including an 8-by-10 of me with Dick. The next day, we gave the band a set
of photos, which they really seemed to appreciate, and I asked Dick to
autograph the 8-by-10 for my Dad. The next day was Father's Day, so I
figured what better gift to give. Dick signed the photo "To Charlie, thanks
for your daughter!" That photo proudly hangs in my Dad's office today.

That was in the summer of 1991. Since then, we've kept in touch with the
band, mostly through Tom, occasionally through Jerry. In fact, we were in
pretty constant contact with him for a couple months in 1992, during the
Johnny Cash episode.

Sometime in early 1992, Al had to review a Johnny Cash-June Carter Family
show in Atlantic City. The people at the casino were really accommodating
and arranged for us to meet Johnny and June after the show. The publicity
dude took us backstage , but we had to walk for what seemed like miles
through the bowels of the backstage area. As journalists, we are fortunate
enough to meet celebrities from time to time, so, generally, we don't get
star-struck or goo-goo eyed, like 5-year-olds meeting their favorite Power
Rangers, but for some reason, this time, we did. With each step, we grew
more and more nervous. It was like meeting the Pope or something.

When we got the "receiving line," we waited our turn, but by then were
babbling, drooling idiots. Finally, we stepped up to have our audience with
Mr. and Mrs. Cash. We shook hands and the first thing of substance I said
to them was "Hey, I think you should record something with The Beat
=46armers." Johnny and June smiled, then the Man in Black nodded his head an=
d
said, "Maybe I should. They covered one of my songs, you know, 'Big River.'
They did a nice job. That might be a good idea."

I should have realized that Johnny was probably just humoring me, but, no,
I didn't take it that way and neither did Al. We pursued it for months,
trying to make it happen. We finally arranged for Jerry to send us a tape
of what he thought represented their best songs and a video of Hollywood
Hills and their appearance on Letterman. Johnny's people seemed receptive,
but Al and I were insistent about getting it directly into Johnny's hands.
Looking back, I think if Mr. Cash were paranoid, he could have had us
arrested for stalking because we pursued this like rabid bloodhounds.

That summer, we finally met Johnny's manager at the security office of a
venue where The Highwaymen were playing, and he promised to hand-deliver
the package. I believe Jerry finally got the word from Johnny's people that
it wasn't going to happen. We do know for a fact that the other Man in
Black listened to the tape and watched the video on the tour bus after the
show.

The funny thing about the whole episode is that Johnny eventually did do
that "stripped down" album, "American Recordings," in 1994, covering songs
by Danzig, Tom Waits and Nick Lowe, in what was supposed to be an attempt
to attract a younger audience. Although I love the album myself, I heard it
didn't do as well as he had hoped. I couldn't help but think how his career
could have soared if he had just taken our advice seriously and done a
joint project with the Beat Farmers. Yes, perhaps we were delusional, but
we couldn't have been any more sincere. I really believe the Beat Farmers
are the greatest rock 'n' roll band in the world.

Earlier this year, my full-time job really started to suck and by April, my
bosses really started messing with me, trying to make me quit. But I
wouldn't surrender. What kept me sane and strong was listening to the Beat
=46armers' music. I tell people all the time, they're not just my favorite
band, they're my spirituality. I can't explain it and I won't try; I'm just
happy to have something in my life that makes me feel that way. I now
measure every live performance that I see, using them as a yardstick. After
each live performance I see, Al will ask me if it fills the void, meaning
"Did it leave me as joy-filled as a Beat Farmers show?" The answer is
almost never yes.

On the first Friday in April, after dealing with an inordinate amount of
bullshit at work that week, I left work, looking forward to going to New
York that night to see Jonathan Richman at a show that Al was going to
review. On the drive home, I heard on WHTG's concert calendar that the Beat
=46armers were playing with Jason and the Scorchers that night at Tramps.
When I got home, I ran in the house and blurted out to Al that the boys
were playing in New York that night and asked him if he couldn't he review
that show instead. He got on the phone to his editor who approved the
switch, then called Tramps for press credentials. Everything fell into
place; the people we needed to talk to were actually there to take his
call. That almost never happens.

We got to Tramps and I immediately staked out a place at the front of the
stage where I could take photos. Their set was magic, and, like always, my
camera loved them as much as I did.

After their set, we went downstairs, talked to Joey and Jerry a while, then
wandered outside the dressing room and sat down, chatting with friends and
fans of the band. Dick was mingling, but as soon as he saw us, he sat down
to talk to us. He was giddy, pretty lit and obviously in a great mood. He
told us that he had just written a song and asked if would we like to hear
it. He apologized that it wasn't finished, but he said he really wanted our
opinion. "OK, it goes like this: Rock, rock...rock, rock, rock...rock,
rock...rock, rock, rock, rock, rock...rock, rock, rock...rock, rock...rock,
rock, rock, rock, rock...rock, rock, rock...rock, rock...rock, rock, rock,
rock, rock...rock, rock, rock...rock, rock...rock, rock, rock, rock,
rock...rock, rock, rock...rock, rock...rock, rock, rock, rock, rock...rock,
rock, rock...rock, rock...rock, rock, rock, rock, rock...rock, rock,
rock...rock, rock...rock, rock, rock, rock, rock..." Then he said, "It's
still a work in progress, but whaddya think?" We were laughing so hard that
I nearly fell off my chair.

Then he told us he wanted to do a CD box set of all anti-Newt Gingrich
songs and started singing something about the evil round Republican troll
that I wish I could remember. Like I said, he was pretty lit and gleeful
from a killer performance. I really don't remember much of what else he
said because he was mostly cracking jokes, free-forming song lyrics and
just free-associating in general about politics, music, being in New York,
etc. What I do remember was grinning like a fool and how much my face hurt
from smiling after hanging out with him.

After my bosses finally put me out of my misery at the end of August, I
took a vacation, traveling across country. I caught up with the Beat
=46armers at the end of September at Cabooze in Minneapolis where the crowd
greeted them like followers at a Billy Graham crusade. Somehow, I was able
to weasel my way up front to shoot photos again.

I saw them a week later on my birthday, when they played at the Club Ben=E9
in my hometown in New Jersey. I brought 10 people who had never seen them
before, all of whom had never even heard their music. When I invited them,
I promised that I would pay for their tickets if they didn't have a good
time. My friends were blown away. It was so cool to look around at them and
see their expressions -- all of them grinning and bobbing their heads. They
were hooked and it didn't cost me a dime.

The best part of that night was that the first thing that Dick said to me
when he saw me before their set was "happy birthday." It seems, Al had told
the boys that night and asked them if they wouldn't mind singing "Happy
Birthday" to me, which they did. Jill, who does their publicity, told me
the next night at another Tramps show that she even included singing "Happy
Birthday" to me on their tour itinerary. I don't know if she was joking or
not, but I really felt honored.

After the set, Dick came up behind me, put his hand on my shoulder and
wished me a "happy birthday" again. Later on, he posed for more photos with
me and when I went to hug him for the photo, he warned me that he smelled
bad and that he was all sweaty and beer-soaked. I told him that "I like the
way Dick smells" and he giggled. He also cut his hand that night, so I feel
really special knowing that I have a shirt stained with his blood.

The next night, when we saw the band at Tramps, I gave them a set of the
photos I had taken the previous night and from the Minneapolis show. It
really made me feel good to see their reaction, especially Rolle -- the
quiet one -- who immediately started taking some out of the book, showing
them to friends, before putting them for safe keeping among his personal
belongings.

When Dick walked in, and I gave him two 8-by-10s of him, including one
where I caught him spinning a beer bottle in mid-air. I told him that they
were for him and it touched me when he asked "Are these really for me?
Really, I can have these? Thanks." He seemed genuinely appreciative and I
smiled when I saw him showing them off to the other people in the room. It
felt really good to do something for someone who has given me so much
through his music.

Anyone who has been fortunate enough to spend time talking with the Beat
=46armers knows how open and accessible they are to their many fans, and how
they make them truly feel as if they are more friends than fans. And their
fans are like no others. There is none of that trendy, snotty attitude that
is so prevalent at most backstage gatherings. Just really cool people, as
happy as you are to be sharing some quality time with the people who bring
such happiness to their lives. I realize that I must sound like a gushing,
tripping Deadhead, but it's true. Their fans are as much a part of what
makes a Beat Farmers show such a beautiful experience as the band members
themselves.

When we finally decided it was time to hit the road, we said our good-byes
and as I walked past Dick, the last thing he said to me was "happy
birthday" -- again --  and briefly squeezed my hand and smiled. I left New
York feeling really happy and proud, knowing that he would be carrying
those pictures around with him for the rest of the tour. I had planned to
see the band the following week in Washington, D.C., but unfortunately, I
couldn't make it there. I took it for granted that the great memories I had
of them from this tour would tide me over until the next time.

Since Dick's death, my friends, and even my Dad, have been offering their
condolences. I kind of feel like a grieving widow. See, I had always joked
that if I couldn't convince Dick to marry me, at least I could get him to
perform the ceremony if I ever decided to get married again!

When I first learned of his death, after it sunk in, I thought about how I
would feel about listening to "Texas Heat" again. I thought I would have a
hard time listening to that song -- you know that line, "I never told you
how I loved you, I'm sorry for that now." Because of the emotions that song
stirs, I get choked up nearly every time I hear it. But in my initial
mourning period, I purposely played it, to hear That Voice and see how it
would make me feel. I didn't feel any of the sorrow like I feared I would.
I was content knowing that he knew how much he meant to me. I never told
him that I loved him -- OK, so I did tell him I was a stalker and that he
was going to be my second husband, but he seemed flattered and got a kick
out of that more than anything. I know he knew that I looked up to him,
admired him as an artist and  genuinely cared about him as a person. No one
has ever moved me musically like he did -- or like the entire band has for
that matter -- and I just feel happy that I have all these memories in my
head, good feelings in my heart and all those CDs to play on my stereo,
especially when I'm feeling blue. I'm gonna miss him. He made me a very
happy girl.