I helped with the planning and set-up of the dinner … then just didn’t show up.

The show, of course, was wonderful. After it was over I bought an “I’m No Angel” t-shirt and happily headed home.

The next day I was still on a concert high, but by Thursday my conscience was nagging at me. I needed to confess.

I stayed after church Sunday. When everyone else had gone I approached Pastor Hiiva who was breaking down his musical gear.

“Pastor Mark, I have a confession to make. I didn’t come to the dinner Tuesday because I went to Minneapolis to see Gregg Allman. I’m so sorry.”

His response? “Don’t be sorry, Lana. I love the Allman Brothers Band. If I could have gone, I would have too.” With that he picked up his guitar and played a beautiful acoustic version of Whipping Post that made me happier than the concert had.

Pastor Hiiva moved on from our church and I, well, somehow became part of the Allman Brothers Band family. I like to think if Mark knew that he’d be happy too.

The ABB were playing a 3-night run, Sept. 24 - 26, at the Fox Theatre in Atlanta. Many members of the band and many fans were staying at the Georgian Terrace or close by. Saturday afternoon Oteil and I had the idea that maybe, just maybe, we could figure out 1) how to get to the roof of the hotel and 2) how to get people to join us there for a sunrise service Sunday morning. Finding the rooftop was fairly easy. Then we drew up and, early Sunday morning, taped up directional signs showing people the way.

Getting the word out was a little harder given the short time frame between Saturday afternoon and 9:00 Sunday morning. So we talked to people, who talked to people, and waited on the roof Sunday morning for them to show up. Which they did!

I honestly can't tell you how many ... a dozen? 20? I was kind of overwhelmed with happiness. There were no scripts, no rehearsed lines. Everything said came straight from the heart. Including Kirk shaking his head saying (from memory), "I thought I'd seen it all with this band ... and then there's the two of you."

Here is what Peach Corps member Josh Chasin wrote in the Forum about the Sunrise Service on the Roof: "10/24/2004 jchasin For the select few of us who were able to drag our happy but over-extended butts out of bed early enough, Sunday began with a 9 AM prayer circle led by Lana and Oteil, in a square on the roof of the Georgian Terrace hotel. Beautiful blue Georgia sky above, the Atlanta skyline all around, the city still, a brisk but gentle breeze hinting at the Indian summer day that was ahead. Cleansing, redemptive, and non-denominational. People can you feel it, love is everywhere. Say amen, brother Oteil."

 

Thank you, Josh, for sharing your beautiful thoughts and to Peach Corps member Lefty Collins for sharing his photo.

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We complied, but the minute we left her office we’d head to the Home Ec room and hem the garments to a length we liked. If any teacher questioned what we were wearing we’d look surprised and say, “But this is what Mrs. Mitchell gave us”.

 

So, yeah, most of the time I don’t listen when people tell me what not to wear. But one time I would have.

 

In 1989 I was part of a group of women from our church selected to go to a 3-day leadership conference being held at a university. We’d stay in dorms, eat in the dining hall and attend class on campus.

 

The first morning my roomies and I headed to the dorm’s shared bathroom/shower area in our pjs. Several other women were already there. Everything seemed cool until I noticed one woman staring daggers at me and another shaking her head in obvious disapproval.

 

“What’s going on?”, I asked a friend. “Do I have toilet paper stuck on my heel or something?”

 

“No … it’s your t-shirt.”

 

“My t-shirt? Practically everyone is wearing a t-shirt over pajama bottoms.”

 

“But not *that* t-shirt.”

 

“What’s wrong with wearing a Gregg Allman Band t-shirt?” I asked, pulling the front tight so she could see the perfectly innocuous image of Gregg and the band clearer.

 

“It’s not the front, Lana. It’s the back.”

 

The back? Omg. The image on the back of the t was a slutty angel in high heels accompanied by the text I’m No Angel. No Angels Tour. Definitely not the thing to be wearing at a religious retreat.

 

I wish someone would have told me not to wear it earlier. I would have listened and happily complied.

During the second trip Gregg said he might be interested in meeting the "Real Trippers." Sure enough, one night Stacey told me Gregg was up for doing it the next morning. Since the group knew so much about him, he wanted to know something about them. My task was was to write down everyone's name and brief bio for him to review overnight.

The next morning I got a call - I should have the Real Trippers all come to my hotel room, but not tell them why. Once the group was assembled I called Stacey. Soon there was a knock on the door ... Gregg, Stacey and Jasmine (their pup) had arrived!

The Real Trippers were astonished, but the experience got even better. Gregg and Stacey introduced themselves to everyone. Then Gregg told them if they wanted anything signed to run back to their rooms to get it. When they returned he also volunteered to answer any questions they had. You've never seen a happier group of people.

After about 45 minutes he said they needed to leave, but would we like a group photo first? Umm, yesss! That's the photo you see here, which Stacey took. Love you!

As a hostess, you learn to appreciate those things. For example, years ago the Allman Brothers Band had a day off in Raleigh before a show at Walnut Creek. That morning I asked Oteil if he’d like to come over for dinner and, if so, could I please invite a half dozen Peach Corps members to join us and meet him. He said, “sure!”, so I quickly put together a guest list and started extending invitations. Not surprisingly everyone said yes and offered happy thank yous.

 

Despite the short notice, guests arrived on time. With one notable exception. Oteil. I kind of wondered where he was but respected the fact that he was a busy person and something might have come up. If anyone else was concerned they were kind enough not to say it out loud.

 

About 15 minutes later there was a knock on the door. Oteil had arrived! He apologized for being late. He’d stopped at Kroger to pick up a salad to add to our meal as a hostess gift and that took longer than he’d expected.

 

Our guests! Oteil! Perfect examples of people being raised right. Love you!

Another fond memory is the pajama party scene at Frenchy’s house in the movie Grease. Rizzo, Jan, Marty and Sandy, the Pink Ladies, were there. They watched tv, smoked ciggies, ate snacks, talked, sang, and played with wigs and makeup.

 

But my favorite pajama party memory is of one at Sheyenne’s and my house. Our friends Derek, Todd and Yonrico had driven to Raleigh for a gig the next day and we invited them to stay with us.

 

Shey offered Derek the use her room but he laughed and said, “the old man” needed it more and gave it up to Yonrico.

 

We ordered pizza for dinner, then headed to the living room where Derek spotted our record collection. He sat cross-legged on the floor pulling out album after album, playing those he hadn’t heard before or really liked. We listened to music for hours, with very little talking.

 

Eventually, he and Todd fell asleep sprawled out in the living room on sofas we’d made into beds for them. Yonrico happily snoozed the night away in Shey’s room. Peach is the Word.

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When I leaned into Dickey for hug I knocked his cowboy hat off his head. Ohhhhh, things could have gone so badly at that moment. But before I had time to break into a sweat, he laughed, picked up his hat and said, "What's the matter with you, Lana? Haven't you learned how to hug a cowboy yet?"

Sometimes, though, life thrusts us into situations that are anything but low key. For me that happened at Red Rocks, a beautiful open-air amphitheater in Morrison, CO formed by red sandstone cliffs.

About 45 minutes before the ABB were scheduled to appear I walked onto the stage. The crew was busy getting it set for the band so I hung out in back by the rock wall, out of the way … and noticed there was a ledge that I could climb up to and sit on if I wanted to. And I did.

You wouldn’t think a rock ledge would be comfortable, but it was. Although the sun was setting the rocks were still warm, the air was clear, the scenery was beautiful. I closed my eyes and drifted off.

A blinding light woke me up. The band was coming on and a very, very bright spotlight sweeping the stage landed directly on me. Horrified, I jumped down and scurried away, hoping no one had seen me … except for, you know, the 9,525 people in the audience. Arghhhhh.

By now there were 15 or so chairs set up for family and friends on either side the stage. I settled into one, happy to be out of the spotlight, watching my Brothers shine. Love you!

When we arrived Stacey greeted us. She said we were going to watch the show from an opera box. We'd been to HOBs with Gregg many times before, but watching the show from a box would be a special treat.

 

I was giddy with excitement but managed to follow her across the floor, up the stairs to the box without tripping or otherwise humiliating myself. Cool, calm and collected. That was me. For about a minute.

 

When we entered the room I walked to the rail, checked out the stage, turned around ... and saw Mama A sitting in a chair. Mama A! I'd never met her before!

 

A normal person might simply have walked over to her, introduced themselves and said a warm hello. But cool, calm and collected moi walked over ... dropped into a full, deep curtsy and said, "I'm Lana".

 

Argghhhh. My humiliation was instant and paralyzing. I didn't know how, or if, I was going to be able to recover.

 

Fortunately Mama A came to my rescue. "Of course you are, dear" she said patting my shoulder, motioning for me to take a seat next to her. Her gracious understanding and kindness prevented that House of Blues from turning into my personal House of Horrors.

One night during the Real Trippers bus trip the unthinkable happened. Mugsy wrestled out of his collar and took off running under and between equipment trucks, tour buses and cars. No matter how many times Dickey commanded "Mugsy, stop!" or "Mugsy, come!" the little bugger kept running.

 

Many people joined the search. The dog was nowhere to be found. Finally one of the Real Trippers, long-time fan Alan, emerged carrying him in his arms.

 

Dickey was elated. He took Mugsy, carried him into his bus, then came out and offered Alan his heartfelt thanks. "I'd like to shake your hand", he said.

 

Alan hesitated. "Um, I don't think I should."

 

"Why not?"

 

"Because when I caught him and picked him up he peed all over my hands."

 

Dickey extended his hand,. "I said I want to shake your hand."

 

Alan didn't move until I barked, "Alan, shake!" He understood the command immediately and shook hands with Dickey. Good boy! I didn't have to teach that old dog a new trick!

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