He walked into the bar with his guitar in hand. He was a tall man with a beard and long hair. No one seemed to notice him as he blended in with the crowd. He saw a few bikers throwing down shots and a couple playing pool. ZZ Top was on the jukebox, and the smell of cigarettes and stale beer behind the bar was all too common for him. He went to the bar and asked for the manager, and the guy behind the bar said he was the manager, the bartender, and the cook when he felt like cooking. Names Ben, he told the stranger. Well, Ben, I'm looking for a gig for a night or two and was told you might be interested. Ben wiped down the bar as a biker chick elbowed her way in and asked for three beers and three shots of whiskey. So what kind of music do you do Ben asked. Mainly my own songs, but I can play just about anything requested. Ben slung the bar towel across his shoulder and pointed to a cage around the small stage. You see that he asked the stranger thats to protect the entertainment from getting hit with beer bottles if the crowd didn't like his music. The stranger was silent for a minute, then asked for the chance to play that night. Well, if you're not what they like, I can't be responsible for any injuries you may sustain. Pays one hundred from nine to closing. One fifty, the stranger said, and we got a deal.
He had time to kill, so he found a diner and had a meal. As he ate, he looked through his notebook of songs he knew well and others he was still working on. He made a list he thought was worthy of any audience, and in the case of this bar, he knew he better play what they liked. His waitress brought him a piece of apple pie and said, "Anyone facing what you're about to face deserves a piece of pie." What gave me away, he asked. She pointed to his guitar case, smiled, and walked away. When he walked back into the bar, he noticed a lot more people than before. A dozen bikers who were clearly in charge and groups of rowdy drunks pushing their way through the bar, hoping somebody was brave enough to fight. A minor scuffle was happening by the pool table, and two bouncers threw them out onto the street with a stern warning not to come back in. There were scantily dressed biker chicks watched closely by their men, and one small pat on the but or groping them in any way would probably end up with those farm boys on a one-way trip in the meat wagon.
The stranger took the stage, and it took a few minutes to notice him as he tuned his guitar, looking over the crowd that kept growing until Ben put a guy at the door letting some in as others left. Day drinkers, he thought to himself. He spoke into the microphone as it squealed, so he distanced himself from it and introduced himself to the uncaring crowd. " What's going on he asked in a booming voice that drew some attention from the crowd. I go by the name John, and I'm here tonight to play for you. Oh yeah, asshole, well, quit talking and play. How about you start with some ZZ Top? I can do that, he replied. His fingers glided across the frets with such precision that the crowd went almost silent as John's booming voice rang out the song, "She's Got Legs."No bottles were thrown, just whistles of approval and a never-ending stack of requests. When he had finished his first set, John went to the bar, greeted with a huge smile by Ben, who said he had never seen anything like that. Not one bottle was thrown, and no fights either. He cut short his break as the crowd chanted his name over and over until he walked back on the stage to do his second set. Much like the first set, he was bombarded with requests, but one particular song was requested by dozens of people. The devil went down to Georgia. He knew the song well, and each time it was requested, the crowd knew it took a fiddle to make it sound right, and this was their chance to launch bottles when John blew it. What happened next is still talked about.
The song started out with John making his guitar sing as he sang the words to perfection. When it was time for the devil to play, John worked his guitar magic with a slide and his extraordinary talent, playing what sounded like a fiddle. The crowd went crazy, and Ben just stared at him, wondering what planet he came from. As the night came to an end, John had exhausted his playlist and dozens of requests. Almost everyone wanted to buy him a beer, which he politely refused, as he hadn't touched a drop for five years. Ben paid him the one hundred fifty as agreed and also did something he'd never done in all his years running this place. He gave John half the tips, which meant another two hundred dollars. So you'll be back tomorrow he asked John. Deals a deal, see you tomorrow.
Outside and around a corner, John climbed into a limo. " How did it go his driver asked. Well, he said everything went well. The rest of the band will fly in tomorrow. He told John, "What are you going to do about playing here another night?"I'm going to give them a show they will never forget. The following night, as John was greeted with hoops and hollers welcoming him back, five other men followed, carrying guitars and other equipment. " What's all this Ben asked I can't afford all of you. On me, John said. They set up their equipment as customers watched, wondering what was happening. But they didn't have to wait long before they heard the guitars' screams and the drums' beat as the band tuned up. John grabbed the microphone and drew everyone's attention. Hello, friends he began. I'd like to thank you for hearing me play last night, but I got to thinking: if you liked just me doing my thing, then I knew I had to bring my entire band here to play for you. So, without further delay, may I introduce my real name, which is John Melecamp, and my band.
That old biker bar with all its charms became well known for the story of the John Meloncamp band. Dozens of pictures lined the walls, and every time they were around those parts, he made a stop to visit Ben and some of the same bikers he had become friends with. It still smelled like cigarettes and stale beer, occasional fights, and everything else that inspired him to play music.
Mike 2025 He walked into the bar with his guitar in hand. He was a tall man with a beard and long hair. No one seemed to notice him as he blended in with the crowd. He saw a few bikers throwing down shots and a couple playing pool. ZZ Top was on the jukebox, and the smell of cigarettes and stale beer behind the bar was all too common for him. He went to the bar and asked for the manager, and the guy behind the bar said he was the manager, the bartender, and the cook when he felt like cooking. Names Ben, he told the stranger. Well, Ben, I'm looking for a gig for a night or two, and I was told you may be interested. Ben wiped down the bar as a biker chick elbowed her way in and asked for three beers and three shots of whiskey. So what kind of music do you do Ben asked. Mostly my own songs, but I can play just about anything requested. Ben slung the bar towel across his shoulder and pointed to a cage around the small stage. You see that he asked the stranger thats to protect the entertainment from getting hit with beer bottles if the crowd didn't like his music. The stranger was silent for a minute, then asked for the chance to play that night. Well, if you're not what they like, I can't be responsible for any injuries you may sustain. Pays one hundred from nine to closing. One fifty, the stranger said, and we got a deal.
He had time to kill, so he found a diner and had a meal. As he ate, he looked through his notebook of songs he knew well and others he was still working on. He made a list he thought was worthy of any audience, and in the case of this bar, he knew he better play what they liked. His waitress brought him a piece of apple pie and said, "Anyone facing what you're about to face deserves a piece of pie." What gave me away, he asked. She pointed to his guitar case, smiled, and walked away. When he walked back into the bar, he noticed a lot more people than before. A dozen bikers who were clearly in charge and groups of rowdy drunks pushing their way through the bar, hoping somebody was brave enough to fight. A small scuffle was happening by the pool table, and two bouncers threw them out onto the street with a stern warning not to come back in. There were scantily dressed biker chicks watched closely by their men, and one small pat on the but or groping them in any way would probably end up with those farm boys on a one-way trip in the meat wagon.
The stranger took the stage, and it took a few minutes to notice him as he tuned his guitar, looking over the crowd that kept growing until Ben put a guy at the door letting some in as others left. Day drinkers, he thought to himself. He spoke into the microphone as it squealed, so he distanced himself from it and introduced himself to the uncaring crowd. " What's going on he asked in a booming voice that drew some attention from the crowd. I go by the name John, and I'm here tonight to play for you. Oh yeah, asshole, well, quit talking and play. How about you start with some ZZ Top? I can do that, he replied. His fingers glided across the frets with such precision that the crowd went almost silent as John's booming voice rang out the song, "She's Got Legs."No bottles were thrown, just whistles of approval and a never-ending stack of requests. When he had finished his first set, John went to the bar, greeted with a huge smile by Ben, who said he had never seen anything like that. Not one bottle was thrown, and no fights either. He cut short his break as the crowd chanted his name over and over until he walked back on the stage to do his second set. Much like the first set, he was bombarded with requests, but one particular song was requested by dozens of people. The devil went down to Georgia. He knew the song well, and each time it was requested, the crowd knew it took a fiddle to make it sound right, and this was their chance to launch bottles when John blew it. What happened next is still talked about.
The song started out with John making his guitar sing as he sang the words to perfection. When it was time for the devil to play, John worked his guitar magic with a slide and his extraordinary talent, playing what sounded like a fiddle. The crowd went crazy, and Ben just stared at him, wondering what planet he came from. As the night came to an end, John had exhausted his playlist and dozens of requests. Almost everyone wanted to buy him a beer, which he politely refused, as he hadn't touched a drop for five years. Ben paid him the one hundred fifty as agreed and also did something he'd never done in all his years running this place. He gave John half the tips, which meant another two hundred dollars. So you'll be back tomorrow he asked John. Deals a deal, see you tomorrow.
Outside and around a corner, John climbed into a limo. " How did it go his driver asked. Well, he said everything went well. The rest of the band will fly in tomorrow. He told John, "What are you going to do about playing here another night?"I'm going to give them a show they will never forget. The following night, as John was greeted with hoops and hollers welcoming him back, he was followed by five other men carrying guitars and other equipment. " What's all this Ben asked I can't afford all of you. On me, John said. They set up their equipment as customers watched, wondering what was happening. But they didn't have to wait long before they heard the guitars' screams and the drums' beat as the band tuned up. John grabbed the microphone and drew everyone's attention. Hello, friends he began. I'd like to start by thanking you for hearing me play last night, but I got to thinking: if you liked just me doing my thing, then I knew I had to bring my entire band here to play for you. So, without further delay, may I introduce my real name, which is John Melecamp, and my band.
That old biker bar with all its charms became well known for the story of the John Meloncamp band. Dozens of pictures lined the walls, and every time they were around those parts, he made a stop to visit Ben, and some of the same bikers he had become friends with.It still smelled like cigarettes and stale beer, occasional fights, and everything else that inspired him to play music.
Mike 2025 He walked into the bar with his guitar in hand. He was a tall man with a beard and long hair. No one seemed to notice him as he blended in with the crowd. He saw a few bikers throwing down shots and a couple playing pool. ZZ Top was on the jukebox, and the smell of cigarettes and stale beer behind the bar was all too common for him. He went to the bar and asked for the manager, and the guy behind the bar said he was the manager, the bartender, and the cook when he felt like cooking. Names Ben, he told the stranger. Well, Ben, I'm looking for a gig for a night or two, and I was told you may be interested. Ben wiped down the bar as a biker chick elbowed her way in and asked for three beers and three shots of whiskey. So what kind of music do you do Ben asked. Mostly my own songs, but I can play just about anything requested. Ben slung the bar towel across his shoulder and pointed to a cage around the small stage. You see that he asked the stranger thats to protect the entertainment from getting hit with beer bottles if the crowd didn't like his music. The stranger was silent for a minute, then asked for the chance to play that night. Well, if you're not what they like, I can't be responsible for any injuries you may sustain. Pays one hundred from nine to closing. One fifty, the stranger said, and we got a deal.
He had time to kill, so he found a diner and had a meal. As he ate, he looked through his notebook of songs he knew well and others he was still working on. He made a list he thought was worthy of any audience, and in the case of this bar, he knew he better play what they liked. His waitress brought him a piece of apple pie and said, "Anyone facing what you're about to face deserves a piece of pie." What gave me away, he asked. She pointed to his guitar case, smiled, and walked away. When he walked back into the bar, he noticed a lot more people than before. A dozen bikers who were clearly in charge and groups of rowdy drunks pushing their way through the bar, hoping somebody was brave enough to fight. A small scuffle was happening by the pool table, and two bouncers threw them out onto the street with a stern warning not to come back in. There were scantily dressed biker chicks watched closely by their men, and one small pat on the but or groping them in any way would probably end up with those farm boys on a one-way trip in the meat wagon.
The stranger took the stage, and it took a few minutes to notice him as he tuned his guitar, looking over the crowd that kept growing until Ben put a guy at the door letting some in as others left. Day drinkers, he thought to himself. He spoke into the microphone as it squealed, so he distanced himself from it and introduced himself to the uncaring crowd. " What's going on he asked in a booming voice that drew some attention from the crowd. I go by the name John, and I'm here tonight to play for you. Oh yeah, asshole, well, quit talking and play. How about you start with some ZZ Top? I can do that, he replied. His fingers glided across the frets with such precision that the crowd went almost silent as John's booming voice rang out the song, "She's Got Legs."No bottles were thrown, just whistles of approval and a never-ending stack of requests. When he had finished his first set, John went to the bar, greeted with a huge smile by Ben, who said he had never seen anything like that. Not one bottle was thrown, and no fights either. He cut short his break as the crowd chanted his name over and over until he walked back on the stage to do his second set. Much like the first set, he was bombarded with requests, but one particular song was requested by dozens of people. The devil went down to Georgia. He knew the song well, and each time it was requested, the crowd knew it took a fiddle to make it sound right, and this was their chance to launch bottles when John blew it. What happened next is still talked about.
The song started out with John making his guitar sing as he sang the words to perfection. When it was time for the devil to play, John worked his guitar magic with a slide and his extraordinary talent, playing what sounded like a fiddle. The crowd went crazy, and Ben just stared at him, wondering what planet he came from. As the night came to an end, John had exhausted his playlist and dozens of requests. Almost everyone wanted to buy him a beer, which he politely refused, as he hadn't touched a drop for five years. Ben paid him the one hundred fifty as agreed and also did something he'd never done in all his years running this place. He gave John half the tips, which meant another two hundred dollars. So you'll be back tomorrow he asked John. Deals a deal, see you tomorrow.
Outside and around a corner, John climbed into a limo. " How did it go his driver asked. Well, he said everything went well. The rest of the band will fly in tomorrow. He told John, "What are you going to do about playing here another night?"I'm going to give them a show they will never forget. The following night, as John was greeted with hoops and hollers welcoming him back, five other men followed, carrying guitars and other equipment. " What's all this Ben asked I can't afford all of you. On me, John said. They set up their equipment as customers watched, wondering what was happening. But they didn't have to wait long before they heard the guitars' screams and the drums' beat as the band tuned up. John grabbed the microphone and drew everyone's attention. Hello, friends he began. I'd like to start by thanking you for hearing me play last night, but I got to thinking: if you liked just me doing my thing, then I knew I had to bring my entire band here to play for you. So, without further delay, may I introduce my real name, which is John Melecamp, and my band.
That old biker bar with all its charms became well known for the story of the John Meloncamp band. Dozens of pictures lined the walls, and every time they were around those parts, he made a stop to visit Ben, and some of the same bikers he had become friends with.It still smelled like cigarettes and stale beer, occasional fights, and everything else that inspired him to play music.
Mike 2025 
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