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PostPosted: Mon August 21st, 2017, 13:48 GMT 
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This was posted on Dylan's Facebook page today...

"On August 20th, Roland Janes would have been 84 years old. I got to meet him in Memphis on a recording session a few years ago where he was the house engineer at the Philips Recording Studios. He had given up guitar playing in the early ‘60s to concentrate on engineering and producing records for Sam Phillips. The records that he had played on in the ‘50s were the classic records of Jerry Lee, Billy Riley, Sonny Burgess, Barbara Pittman, Charlie Rich and others. He played no small part in any of those recordings. In fact, he defined those recordings as much as the featured performers. All through the years I’ve listened to Roland constantly on all those records he played on. I think his playing is unprecedented, and to me he was one of the most exciting players ever, both rhythmically and melodically.

It was a thrill to meet him and work with him even for the brief time we spent together. After the session, we stayed in touch and he sent me a story that he had written. I didn’t know that he was a writer but it was a beautiful story and very moving. This is the story. It’s a Christmas story." —Bob Dylan



https://www.facebook.com/bobdylan/posts ... 5307145696


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PostPosted: Mon August 21st, 2017, 17:18 GMT 
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Joined: Mon May 16th, 2016, 17:00 GMT
Posts: 286
Location: Malibu, CA (Point Doom) (prpslymspld)
Original document was blurry. I OCR'd it.

"HOUSE OF BROKEN DREAM'S"
By: Roland Janes
Christmas 2011

In my younger day's I fancied myself to be a fine guitar player and singer. In fact I
finally caught hold of the brass ring and had a pretty good career as an all around
musician, singer, and songwriter. Although I never made it to the top, I enjoyed
limited fame and fortune. I rubbed shoulders, and performed on the same stage
with some of the greatest.

Of all the great memories of back in the day, my most treasured is the memory of
my very first professional experiences. Along with another aspiring talented young
steel guitar player, we rented a sleeping room upstairs over a pawnshop called
"THE HOUSE OF BROKEN DREAM'S". The pawnshop owner was a kindly old
gentleman named Mr. Oscar. Mr. Oscar catered to people of all descriptions, who
were down on their luck. Some were self medicating drug addicts, some were
musician's while others were simply having a run of bad luck due to various
reasons, such as unemployment, under employment, broken relationships etc. My
friend and I were barely surviving by performing in a run down bar for five dollars
a night, plus tips and as an extra bonus, four drinks free.

Fortunately neither of us took advantage of the free drinks so we were able to
garner a fairly good amount of tips. The real story and what created such a vivid
and long lasting memory for me was the sadness I felt for the folk's who were forced
to swallow their pride and come to "THE HOUSE OF BROKEN DREAMS" for
some much needed relief.

I was amazed to learn from Mr. Oscar the number and description of the enormous
quantity of valuable items he had in stock. A great many were musical instruments,
plus televisions, typewriters, tools, jewelry including wedding rings, engagement
rings and class rings. One unfortunate soul had even pawned his family bible which
had been passed down from generation to generation and included his family
history from many years back.

Being the wonderful man he was, Mr. Oscar held each pawned item well beyond the
expiration date allowing each person every opportunity to reclaim their prized
possession. Some did, while many did not. As time passed my friend and I moved on
in separate directions while Mr. Oscar and his thousands of pawned items
remained. As you might imagine, kindly old Mr. Oscar was well known and
respected in the music community and had at one time or another been benefactor
to many who had later attained stardom. His name came up quite often during
conversation among his many music friends. It seemed that Mr. Oscar had no living
relatives as most of his family had been victims of the holocaust of the 1930's and
beyond. The many customers who patronized his "HOUSE OF BROKEN
DREAM'S" were his adopted family. Therefore when he passed from this life on a
snowy Christmas Eve, it came as no surprise to anyone when it was discovered that
on each pawn ticket he had handwritten these words, paid in full, to be returned to
their rightful owner's.

To no ones surprise the funeral procession stretched for miles as friends came from
far and wide to pay their final respects to this gentle man.
On his tombstone were written these words; "DEAR MR. OSCAR HAS VACATED
HIS "HOUSE OF BROKEN DREAM'S" FOR HIS BEAUTIFUL MANSION IN
THE SKY.

What a wonderful gesture from this kindly old gentleman. Wouldn't it be nice if
each of us could follow his lead and grant a kind deed, or forgive and forget a past
wrong done to us, or ask for forgiveness for something we said or did to someone? I
know that I'm going to do this, so won't you join me and from this day forward let's
all do our best to follow this great mans lead and practice the teachings of the good
book by doing unto others as we would have them do unto us.

In closing, let me wish a Merry Christmas to one and all and to all, A GREAT
LIFE.

With much love and respect;

Roland James


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PostPosted: Mon August 21st, 2017, 19:45 GMT 
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Location: In the land of the midnight sun
http://www.bobdylan.com/news/roland-jan ... guitarist/


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PostPosted: Tue August 22nd, 2017, 12:40 GMT 
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Location: Merrimack, NH
Hank Snow - "Old Doc Brown"

He was just an old country doctor
In a little Kentucky town
Fame and fortune had passed him by
But we never saw him frown
As day by day in his kindly way
He served us one and all
Many a patient forgot to pay
Altho' doc's fees were small

But Old Doc Brown didn't seem to mind
He didn't even send out bills
His only ambition was to find
It seems, sure cures for aches and ills
Why nearly half the folks in my home town
Yes, I'm one of them too
Were ushered in by Old Doc Brown
When we made our first debut

Tho' he needed his dimes and there were times
That he'd receive a fee
He'd pass it on to some poor soul
That needed it worse than he
But when the depression hit our town
And drained each meager purse
The scanty income of Old Doc Brown
Just went from bad to worse

He had to sell all of his furniture
Why, he couldn't even pay his office rent
So to a dusty room over a Livery stable
Doc Brown and his practice went
On the hitchin' post at the curb below
To advertise his wares
He nailed a little sign that read
'Doc Brown has moved upstairs'

There he kept on helpin' folks get well
And his heart was just pure gold
But anyone with eyes could see
That Doc was gettin' old
And then one day he didn't even answer
When they knocked upon his door
Old Doc Brown was a-lyin' down
But his soul - was no more

They found him there in an old black suit
And on his face was a smile of content
But all the money they could find on him
Was a quarter and a copper cent
So they opened up his ledger
And what they saw gave their hearts a pull
Beside each debtor's name
Old Doc had (*writ) these words, 'Paid in full'

It looked like the potter's field for Doc
That caused us some alarm
'Til someone 'membered the family graveyard
Out on the Simmons farm
Old doc had brought six of their kids
And Simmons was a grateful cuss
He said, Doc's been like one of the family
So, you can let him sleep with us

Old Doc should have had a funeral
Fine enough for a king
It's a ghastly joke that our town was broke
And no one could give a thing
'Cept Jones, the undertaker
He did mighty well
Donatin' an old iron casket
That he'd never been able to sell

And the funeral procession, it wasn't much
For grace and pomp and style
But those wagon loads of mourners
They stretched out for more than a mile
And we breathed a prayer as we laid him there
To rest beneath the sod
This man who'd earned the right
To be on speaking terms with God

His grave was covered with flowers
But not from the floral shops
Just roses and things from folks' garden
And one or two dandelion pots
For the depression had hit our little town hard
And each man carried a load
So some just picked the wildflowers
As they passed along the road

We wanted to give him a monument
Kinda figured we owed him one
'Cause he'd made our town a better place
For all the good he'd done
But monuments cost money
So, we did the best we could
And on his grave we gently placed
A monument - of wood

We pulled up that old hitchin' post
Where Doc had nailed his sign
And we painted it white and to all of us
It certainly did look fine
Now the rains and snow has washed away
Our white trimmings of paint
And there ain't nothin' left but Doc's own sign
And that is gettin' faint

Still, when southern breezes and flickering stars
Caress our sleeping town
And the pale moon shines through Kentucky pines
On the grave of Old Doc Brown
You can still see that old hitchin' post
As if an answer to our prayers
Mutely telling the whole wide world
Doc Brown has moved up stairs


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