Detroit Rock City (8 page)

Scott Richardson:
I was right there in the middle of it, and my dad didn't think we were going to win in Vietnam, so anything short of declaring myself gay, he was okay. I 4-f'ed along with Ronnie Asheton and Iggy Pop, and under the direction—under the brilliant direction I might add, of Jeep Holland. It took a week of
speed and not changing clothes. When I went down for my interview, I went with this black shrink—pretty much like Bill Cosby—and he said, “Well, it's obvious you're not military material. But I would like to ask you, what is the main issue?” At which point I told him I was not going to be confined to this planet. He took his glasses off and said, “You mean astroprojection?”

Gary Quackenbush:
Jeep Holland coached ten of us on how to get out, including me and some of the Five. All ten of us got out. There was a written questionnaire, and Jeep was so wise that he said these are the questions you don't answer. Have you ever had any drug experiences? You don't put yes. It's too fucking obvious. If you were a drug addict, you wouldn't want people knowing. This is 1967, okay? Plus he knew what happens when you go down there. You ride on a bus from your draft board with people you went to school with. He says, “Don't talk to them, make sure you smell bad, stay away and see a shrink if you can.” I had to go to two draft physicals. I had so much speed in me for the first one that my blood pressure was off the chart. They wanted me to calm down and come back. The second time I went down there I got to see the shrink so fast I broke the house record for getting out. I dressed in wild clothes, I smelled bad, I did everything Jeep said times ten. I had little speed pills in the panel of my shirt in case they kept me overnight. That was my golden parachute. The shrink realized I was completely unfit, and I was outta there like that. Broke the house record. It was a good thing, too, because that was the day Jimi Hendrix played at the Fifth Dimension in Ann Arbor. I missed the afternoon show because I had to be at the draft board. Caught the evening show.

Steve Mackay (
Iggy and the Stooges, Charging Rhinoceros of Soul, saxophonist
):
A friend of mine told me about a psychologist who he said would write me some letters to the draft board. In the letters he kept making up this wife for me that didn't exist. I got to the draft physical, and they said this guy has written so many fucking letters, we could keep you all night you know? I said, “Keep me as long as you want, just don't send me to Nam.” I had to talk to a psych every morning, and as long as I still knew what a jones was, I was fine. That's what I told them I had. They didn't want that kind of thing in there. They gave me a six-month deferment for drug addiction, and then they were hounding me again, but my draft number didn't get called. I wasn't gonna go, but I wasn't gonna go to fucking Canada either.

Hiawatha Bailey:
You could get arrested more readily for not having a draft card than for not having a driver's license or a birth certificate. You could get held for seventy-two hours.

Mitch Ryder:
I got my draft notice and Jimmy McCarty got his in 1965. Both of us were able to get out because we were classified 3-A. He got out because his mother was disabled, and he had to care for her and the kids. My management had the best lawyers that money could buy and some connections as well, so I avoided being drafted.

VC Lamont Veasey:
I only went to high school for a month or so in the tenth grade, and I got drafted and went in 1965. I was kind of going through some emotional changes at that time, so I just kinda figured I would get away from that area and kind of, I don't know, get into a whole different scene. I didn't really think about it too much back then. I went to basic in Washington State, then I went AWOL in 1966 before I could be deployed. I was AWOL for eight years before they caught up to me. I was in Detroit. My former wife, she was living on the east side near Gratiot and 6 Mile area. One night she was saying, “Hey, why don't you go with me to the store.” I had heard on the radio that President Nixon had issued an amnesty for all the people who had gone to Canada to get out of Vietnam. It was the last day of amnesty, and they were saying just come in, no questions asked. You just get processed. So I get in the car with her, and we were riding down Gratiot. We see these white cops pass us down this side of the street. I said, “You know what, they're going to turn around and follow us 'cause they see me and you.” She said, “Oh, no they're not.” They turned around and came up behind the car. They got our IDs, and I stayed in the car and she got out. I see this flashlight flashing in the window. I opened the door and they said, “Come back here, sir! Come back here!” I get out, cop has his gun out, and I think he's going to shoot me. I put my hands up, walk up there, put his handcuffs on me and her, and put us in their car. They asked, “Do you know a Roosevelt Veasey?” because my birth name is Roosevelt. She was like, “No, that's not his name. His name is blah, blah, blah.” I said, “Just be quiet.” I said, “Yeah, I know who he is.” They go, “Were you in the Army?” “Yeah.” “There's a warrant out for your arrest.” They took us to this precinct on Gratiot. Finally the cop comes up and he goes, “We called the military. They said let you go.” The military gave me a bus ticket to Indianapolis and I got processed out. That's how I got out. It wasn't as easy as acting crazy to begin with.

Hiawatha Bailey:
The draft letter would be, “Greetings, this is Uncle Sam, you are notified to appear at . . .” wherever. I knew there were ways out. One way out was to be an only son, the other way out was to have psychological problems, another one was to be a CO—conscientious objector—which is supposedly like a scarlet letter. But I stole my younger brother's social security number, and when
I showed up and gave that to them and they checked me out. They thought I was too young.

Bill White:
I served. I felt it was my responsibility. And I probably didn't have the balls to do all that was required to get out. I got my notice at the Amboy Duke house on Middlebelt.

Ted Nugent:
I would do interviews with Lester Bangs for
Creem
, and all these stoned, drooling, unprofessional, idiot antijournalists. He printed that I played “Johnny B. Goode” on my umbilical cord, and then they printed that I shit my pants to get out of the draft. I went down to my draft physical, and I got a deferment because I was enrolled in the Oakland Community College. I've never shit my pants since I was eleven. And that I did because I couldn't get back from deer camp fast enough. I did not—I made that up too, by the way: I didn't shit my pants when I was eleven—I haven't shit my pants since I was one. I never shit my pants; I never pissed my pants; I never did anything to get out of the draft. And by the way, it's important to note, had I shit my pants to get out of the draft, you think I would deny it? That would be a funny fucking story.

Bill White:
What's he talking about? He never went to college. I got a lot of respect from the other soldiers because I was in a band. I was coming into Vietnam on a chopper, and we had just landed in camp. I was walking off and someone had a radio, and it was playing “Journey to the Center of the Mind.”

Scott Richardson:
I met James Williamson in a record store in Birmingham Michigan, called Marty's Records. I had the same impression I have of him now. An intellectual delinquent. He had other problems. His stepfather, the Colonel. You've seen the movie
American Beauty
, right? That's the Colonel. James was in the Chosen Few with me for a time. But James had to go to an institution. He was institutionalized. Not for delinquency, more like a perceived mental problem. He just didn't want to do what he was told to do, that's all.

James Williamson (
Iggy and the Stooges, guitarist
):
I started out in a juvenile home after the ninth grade, as I was truant and I wouldn't cut my hair. The principal and I were at odds, so no hair cut, no school. Once out of there, I went to high school at a place called the Anderson School in Poughkeepsie, New York, which was a kind of clearing house for fuck-ups. From there I went to Bloomfield Hills High School outside Detroit for the better part of a year. I finally cut a deal with the principal that if I finished my high school course work at night school, he would give me a diploma.

Gary Quackenbush:
James Williamson used to take guitar lessons from me. He later said, “Yeah, you taught me how to play ‘Ticket to Ride' in 1965.”

James Williamson:
He taught me to play “Help” by the Beatles. That's all I really wanted to know.

Scott Richardson:
I had the Chosen Few, and I get a call from Jeep and Ron Richardson separately, each saying, “Look, we wanna manage you.” And they're both located in Ann Arbor. They both said, “I can guarantee you this gig and this, that, and the other thing.” Now I have a decision to make. So I hitchhike to Ann Arbor to have a meeting with Jeep, who's also the manager of Discount Records down there. I walk in the store, and there's nobody there except this weird-looking guy stocking records on the shelf. I go, “Is Jeep here?” He goes, “No. Who are you?” I said, “I'm Scott Richardson.” He says, “Oh yeah. He wants you to hang around.” I go, “Who are you?” He says, “I'm Jim Osterberg.” And I shook his hand. So he goes, “I'm a drummer.” I go, “Oh cool. Which band?” “The Prime Movers.” So Jeep doesn't show and Jeep doesn't show. Iggy picks up the phone and calls Ron Asheton and says, “Hey man, you better get down here. There's this really cool guy here.” So twenty minutes later in walks Ron Asheton, Scott Asheton, and Dave Alexander. The three homeboys. They were never without each other. Iggy introduced us. Jeep never showed up and Ron Richardson calls Discount Records and says, “Is Scott there?” and Iggy says, “Yeah,” and he says, “Well, tell him to come over to my place.” So me and Ron Asheton and Scotty and Dave Alexander—Iggy was going to come over later—we all left and walked across the plaza to University Towers. A week later Iggy and I became roommates. Then he decided he wanted to become a lead singer. I got in a whole bunch of trouble because Iggy was a really good drummer. He was a fine percussionist, okay? The guys in his band, the Erlewine brothers, had big plans for him. They sent him over to Chicago to study drumming with Sam Lay of the Butterfield Blues band. I got held up in an alley and had a knife put up against my throat in Ann Arbor and was told to stop inviting Iggy to my gigs because he was going to quit playing drums and he wanted to become a front man after hanging around with the Chosen Few. I said, “It's not my fault.” They said, “Ever since he met you he doesn't want to play anymore. He wants to dance around on stage.”

Ron Asheton (
Iggy and the Stooges, Chosen Few, guitarist, bassist
):
I ended up playing in the Chosen Few with Scott Richardson, and that was our high school band. Those guys were in Birmingham, Michigan, and I was in Ann Arbor, and they'd come here and we'd do all the TGIF parties, frat parties on Friday night, then on Saturday we'd either do a frat or go do a teen set at a club. The Chosen Few played the very first night of the Grande Ballroom opening for the MC5. That was Scott Richardson on vocals, Richard Simpson on guitar, Al Clark on guitar, Stan Sulewski on drums, and I was playing the bass. We did that Stones EP where they ran together “Everybody Needs Somebody,” “Pain in My Heart,” and “Route
66.” That was a nice little EP that came out in England, and they had Bill Wyman playing that do-do-do doot-do doot-doot doot doot; they had the bass starting out “Everybody Needs Somebody” rather than guitar, so I am proud to say that I played the first notes at the Grande Ballroom.

Iggy Pop:
Finally we had the Stooges and needed a manager. At one point it was going to be Russ Gibb. There were two people that needed to help us for us to get on stage where the right audience could see us. One was Russ Gibb and the other was John Sinclair. I remember going out of my way to communicate with each of those guys personally. I went to Russ's home one day, sorta being kind of summoned, “Well we're kinda interested in you guys.” I think we already played once at the Grande. “Why don't you come over and talk about where it's going?”

Jimmy Recca (
Iggy and the Stooges, New Order, bassist
):
Russ Gibb had every intention of becoming the band's manager. Russ was wanting to take the band to England and play.

Russ Gibb:
At that time John Sinclair was hyping that band too. He was hyping Iggy because that was an Ann Arbor thing that he had going with the White Panthers, or whatever he had going along with the MC5.