ANY BAND WITH A NAME like that had to be the real thing. That was all Terry/Richie needed -- a real band to back him up so he could sing live at the sock hop to his adult radio audience. And so the usual deal was struck -- we would get no money, all the beer we could drink and free advertising for an hour each night on KSFO to Terry's growing fan base. All we had to do was wear matching blue coats and be the Blue Flames for a set backing up Terry McGovern and follow that with our own set. The pay off was nightly publicity for the rest of that summer. Every weeknight for an hour during KSFO drive time the name Butch Whacks & the Glass was blasted throughout Northern California.

Due to graduation casualties, we added a new Glass Pack for the Richie & the Blue Flames show -- Butch's younger brother -- Gary Murphy. Being in a band was the farthest thing from Gary's mind when the searchlight flashed the Glass Packs' logo in the sky. Gary, who hadn't seen as much of his older brother since he went away to college, had found new interests, serious interests, and had just returned from a volunteer eco-mission with the Sierra club pulling tires out of the Bay when the call to arms came; a call that went something like this -- "Hey I started this band called Butch Whacks & the Glass Packs and, guess what? You're in it. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon in Foster City. We're playing at a shopping center on the back of a flat bed truck. Bring my Block M sweater, its in my closet, and a pair of jeans. You can't miss us."

Loyal to the bone, Gary showed up with trepidation, a bag of jokes, a floppy hat of Dennis Wilson hair, and for the next five years hit the low end "Surfin' Ba Dit di dit di dits" in tune every time. Fast forward thirty years. The former executive producer of Night Court, and currently executive producer of Malcolm in the Middle, Gary Murphy aka Conway Twit, has written the gags for each of our 18 Annual Farewell Performances (see video page -- Lucky Strike Singers) and still finds the time every summer to "tell the teacher were surfin' ".

Meanwhile, no fools we, the Glass Packs had figured a way to make $60.00 a night more often and spent the next school year fine tuning our chops at Bay Area high school dances and local college concerts. One such show took us to arch-rival Santa Clara University where smart aleck stage patter led to classic breath mint-candy mint dialogue until a fight broke out, the stage was pelted with beer bottles and Julio and friends dove from the stage headfirst into the fray to defend their mothers. With the house lights on, girls screaming, fists flying, Julio swinging around on the back of some behemoth, the musicians played "Rock Around the Clock" until the power was shut off by security.

Later that night, while Julio was icing his swollen head, Laz was in serious negotiations with a foreign exchange student, one Arturo Castillas, son of the owner of the only capitalist brewery in all of communist Guatemala. Arturo thought Butch Whacks y los Glass Packs would be a perfect act to entertain the Café Society of Guatemala City, and so did we. Vows were exchanged and a trip to Central America was in the works. Sure Laz, we're going to Guatemala. The Mighty Quinn will actually surf before we go to Guatemala.

But first, the night life. Who says it ain't no good life? We had a blast in the Summer of '72 after graduation playing twice a week on Union Street in San Francisco and every weekend in Los Altos; a whole new world - older people who actually remembered our music, cocktail waitresses, the young adult singles scene. Quickly, the word of Butch Whacks & the Glass Packs' doing "I Get Around" at warp speed traveled around town like a fat man running down hill; and in no time, the Fire Marshall and the Musician's Union were screaming at the management about crowd control and a piece of the action, respectively. We turned the Mother Lode, and later the Coalyard, on Union Street into our own Peppermint Lounge, took the door and a cut of the bar, and made a cool $60.00 a night -- each.