The 70's and 80's enabled boomers free reign on anything their parents didn't do or know of. Free hours entitled pushing all the limits on adult entertainment. Locally, it was live music or strippers and all the other usual boomer indulgences.

Music equipment was scarce in most smaller towns in the 60's. After Woodstock, new music stores sprang up. Now everyone could play Hank Williams music through a huge Marshall amp, rattling the mirror in the men's room.

After my son was born, Image Maker Printing closed its doors along with many other small printing shops. Businesses like printing and even farming became unaffordable unless they went big or were already big.

I was jobless.

On the way to the airport to pick up my sister-in-law, I popped into a little club and saw 30 people dancing to the music of a solo singing guitar player. Never had I seen so many dancing to the music of one guitar player.

His name was Brian Billings. He was a half Cherokee, half hard-ass white boy. His voice was perfect. Country music was his music. Arkansas back-picking was his style. Very full for one player.

I had previously been in a band with him. I had quit that band to pursue original music with a friend from the first band I had been in.

Brian was doing singles.

I was a drummer, sang harmonies, and was a fair harmonica and marimba player. At this time I was freelanceing with several groups.

I caught up with Brian out back of the club while he was on break.

"Hey Brian"

"Hey Bill, long time no see"

"Yeah, new kid, new daddy. My only job now. You sound great! These people love it."

Brian never talked himself up much. A rare humble guitar player (the only one I knew).

Then it hit me. An idea never tried around here.

A two piece country band!

Brian and I started rehersing every day for a month. Two guys can learn songs faster than four. Brian would hear a new song on the radio in the evening, we would learn it the next morning then play it that night. Took my boy to daycare at 7:00 am each day. Then went to Brian's place where we set our equipment up, practiced all morning, then went to different local venues in the area.

At 1:00 pm only the die-hard customers would be in the clubs. You know, the eight people who run the place ad-hoc. Experts in all things they hate. And they hate loud bands.

Loudness had become a real issue for everyone in the club. Brian and I would walk in with a guitar and a money bag full of six harmonicas, each one in a different key, and start playing while sitting at their table. We called this spontaneous audition "barnstorming". These afternoon regulars told their friend the hard-ass owner to "book these guys". "And we'll be here for once. They play good country music and they won't be too loud."

Country bands in the early 1980's were buying bigger equipment than country bands usually need. It seemed to the bar owners that the country players were now as loud as rock bands. Bartenders couldn't hear waitresses. Waitresses couldn't hear customers! Owners were mad at their bands.

This is where "Buckshot" came in to present their new approach to performing in clubs, minimalness. One electrified Ovation acoustic guitarist who was a great singer and a drummer who mic'd the bass drum, sang harmonies and played harmonica with one hand while playing drums with the other and singing back-up.

We had a small Korg drum machine, nicknamed Little Ricky, that I used when I left the drum kit to play marimbas and sing back-up vocals.

Club owner, Tom Fee, loved it. "I can finally hear the ice in my rum and coke." Open seven days and nights a week "The Golden Horseshoe" was one of the oldest and busiest clubs in the surrounding counties.

Our first booking was on what was usually the slowest night of the week, Sunday.

The bartenders and waitresses liked the change. "More tips when people are able to talk without shouting" one gal said to Brian. They all knew us from past bands as well as being customers.

Four and five piece groups would come out on Sundays because no other clubs had a band on Sunday. The only game in town. Some band's were pissed cause Tom hired us. "A two piece band, what a joke." Tom said to the loudmouth "Knock, knock",

"Who's there",

"You're fired",

"You're fired who",

"You're fired...you. Get out or shut up, your choice",

"You mean....?"

"Your band is too loud. These guys are playing Top 40 country songs three days old. New songs. They are playing one right now. "The Last Cheaters Waltz" had just been released. And we can hear each other talk. Got the picture yet?"

Tom booked us for every Sunday. The word spread.

Brian quit his good paying job and we focused on booking up to twenty nights a month. More bookings than any other bands in the area.

We played patio parties, barn parties, living room birthday grandma parties, weddings, you name it. Because we were small we fit in small spaces and we weren't loud.

We would "barnstorm" any new club within fifty miles of our town. That's how we replaced some of the "Van Halen" country bands. That was the nickname we gave the loud bands.

We were paid the same as the five piece groups and they were pissed but couldn't deny our success in fixing what they had broken. Eventually we all would get along as they realized people liked us for the same reason the owner liked us.

Tom said "I just listen to the singer anyway. My wife listens to the drums and loves to dance. Everything else is great if it isn't too loud!". And then he laughed. That was a first for me. I had never even seen him smile before.

Buckshot lasted several years.

Brian married a waitress from "the shoe" as we came to call the club and moved to Arizona to be with her family.

I stayed and repeated this two piece band formula with several other guitar partners. These bands were never quite as good as Buckshot.

Buckshot was Brian's nickname from birth. I thought of the name for the group "Buckshot"'. He never would have used it before. I insisted. The perfect name for a country band and everyone else agreed. He continued to use the name in the Sedona, Arizona area where he enjoyed great success.

He called and persuaded me to join him . So I went out there for awhile. But, Arizona isn't for everybody. So I returned to Kansas and continued playing live music until it was taken over by the younger players for the younger people. That's what we did in our day. That's the way it is supposed to happen. I had my way in my day. It's their turn now and thats OK.

Now my son's band practices in my basement. He plays drums. These guys don't realize how hard they are really working and how they are improving.

Actually, musicians work harder than people realize. You can't do anything worthwhile without do diligence. Any hard-ass will agree.

We have never regretted the life we made for ourselves during those barnstorming days.