Date: Sept 28, 1998 From: Anonymous In Florida Just found your page... I just found your page and wanted to express a belated thank you... for a couple different things. I first saw the Numbers Band when I was 15 at the Kove. With a fake i.d. (I always looked older than I am) and a red '64 Corvair (my $200 bought me co-ownership to my first car), I headed north on Rt 43 from Canton to Kent... to drink beer with the college girls and listen to blues... Numbers Band blues... a sound indiginous only to kent... a "sound" (no larger laudit available). With little more appreciation that I had garnered from muddy and John Lee's recordings with Canned Heat and others, I came to love the music that you and your band taught me. I'm not a musician, yet a devout listener. I've probably seen your band at least a hundred times since the late 60's... sometimes to sell-out crowds, and other times to maybe a dozen weeknight patrons. I never spoke to you... but wanted to. I guess I honored the sactimony of the stage... not wanting to look the groupie or something macho like that. I suppose, in retrospect, I didn't want be at want of something intelligent to say. No major loss... I was never much in the clever chit-chat department anyway. I did feel like there was a distant kinship of sorts that might have been shared. Much can be learned from a man's face... we both share eyes that look as if they've seen too much. The raw chi that seeths out of you (while performing)... the clenched teeth, head turning, et al came to symbolize a hard earned fuck you individualism that I have always enveyed. Singing for those sons and daughters of Firestone and Timken, you discard the judgemental, the road to riches/entitlements... there is purpose. It doubles as the glue that pieces together that gray watery imagery of n.e. Ohio that sticks like glue to the lobes... I've contemplated what my last gasping life's flashback might be and the sounds and smells of the Kove/JB's rank next to those of bone chilling browns games, and days spent at the museum (my mother found it cheaper to use curators as babysitters). The music, the blues has been my comfort. It drones in my head like white noise, like the Akron stamping press (or should I say extruder?) running 24 hrs, 7 days a week... quietly there, always there, to remind me of how base life will be. Other music helps enlighten... Mingus, Trane, et al can shape and clarify. But the constant reminder, the essence, sustainablity lies in the blues. You and your band got me buying my first Junior Wells album in 1970... since then, I can call Willie, Howlin Wolf, and all the legends my friends. I've been gone now going on seven years from n.e. Ohio. I call south Florida my new home. I'm still looking for that ellusive house band that will waken the chi out of a dead man... no luck yet. Thank you again.