A Pilgrimage to Macon 2008

By Bill Ector with Ron Currens and Joe Bell.
It was a trip we had long discussed, but it took a spur of the moment decision at a local bar to set the date and make the commitment. We had gathered at Mike & Angelos to start planning for the upcoming First Annual Southern Revival, when we made our decision: we would visit Macon on an upcoming Saturday, two weeks prior to the Revival.

Stories had long been shared about the farm, the big house, Rose Hill, the recording studios, College Avenue, and the magic that had existed in Macon many years ago. All of us wanted to relive what had been very special times in each of our lives. Now the appointed day and hour had arrived, and the four of us — Ron Currens, Joe Bell, Neil Scott, and Bill Ector — climbed into Joe's van, loaded down with cameras, coolers, tapes, and other mementos. Little did any of us know the pleasant surprises that this hot day would hold in store for us. Our plan was to share the common experience of a day dedicated to Friendship, Music, and Brotherhood. This — Saturday, June 15, 1991 — was that day.

We met at Ron's house in North Atlanta around 7:30 a.m. and shortly thereafter began our journey. Ron had brought a box of special tapes to listen to, and we selected a collection of Allman Joys studio cuts from 1966 to begin the day. As familiar as each of us were with the Brothers' music — having listened to everything we could get our hands on over the years — shouts of joy erupted in the van as we realized that the tape which Ron had selected contained material that none of us had ever heard before! We quickly would identify the songs and marvel at the interpretations that Duane and Gregg had given some old classics. There was so much promise in those early days that would eventually be fulfilled, but still leave us wanting so much more. With smiles across our faces, listening to new notes of music, off we headed down I 75. Our first stop was at High Falls, a lovely spot and an understandably inspiring place for an oft forgotten but truly fine tune. We trekked down the path to the scenic overlook and asked a couple of bemused locals to take our picture with the falls in the background.

We continued south on the expressway listening to Duane's hilarious interview from WABC–FM, 12 9 70, and wearing wide grins. We took the Forsyth exit, then headed left onto Juliette Road toward the old farm in Jones County. As we passed through Juliette, we noticed that an old train station had been renovated and that there were camera crews and antique cars lined up for a film shoot. We later learned that the movie "Fried Green Tomatoes" with Jessica Tandy was being filmed on location.

It was 15 or 16 years since Bill had last been down that old road, but amazingly almost nothing had changed. None of the rest of us had visited there before, so Bill was very pleased to share this beautiful location with us. Soon we arrived at the property and parked the van. Our small but adventurous group ignored the chain across the entrance and the "No Trespassing" sign, stepped around the gate posts, and walked down the long gravel road serving as the driveway. We were hoping for a chance to see the old house where Dickey once lived — immortalized in the cover photograph of the Brothers and Sisters album.

Just as the house came into view, a white-haired man stepped out of his parked pickup truck and came walking toward us. Initially intending to turn us back off of the private property, he warmed to us after we told him of our mission and of our desire to take a few photographs. It turns out that the land now belongs to a couple of prominent Macon physicians, and this fine man, Mr. Ron Stephens, is the caretaker. He looks after a 300-acre tract which contains the house — now newly remodeled — a couple of ponds, a quail run, a dog kennel, and the faded yellow double wide trailer where Butch once lived, now Mr. Stephens' residence.

Out among the pastures and the trees here in Juliette, we could really sense that this good day was rapidly becoming a great day. Mr. Stephens graciously extended his hospitality to us, cautioning us not to tell anyone — the doctors would have a conniption if they found out. He rode us around the entire property in the back of his old Ford, invited us into his trailer, and then showed us the house. We took pictures on the deck, where the album cover had been shot, and spent a few moments just drinking in the serenity and beauty of this special place.

Not wanting to overstay our welcome and knowing that Mr. Stephens needed to get back to work, we bid farewell to our newfound friend and he drove us back up the driveway to our van. Next stop — the Allman Brothers Archives at the Washington Library in Macon. After reading in Les Brers of the good work that Peer Ravnan is doing as curator and hearing from friends like Russell Cotney and Pat Velkavrh of the fine collection that was accumulating, a visit to the library was an essential part of our trip. We arrived at the library late in the morning and were joined by Russell, who introduced us to Peer and then continued on with us for the remainder of the day.

It would take a week to peruse all the articles, pictures, handbills, tapes and other items which have become the Archives, and any Brothers fans who find themselves in Macon should avail themselves of this incredible resource. They contain everything from Gregg's High School Yearbook picture to the Police Reports from Duane's and Berry's accidents, including material from all the incarnations of the ABB, GAB, DBB, BHLT, and Sea Level. We left a few things with Peer to add to the collection, and we encourage all fans to share copies or originals with the library so that someday everyone can have access. As Duane once said, "We're spreading a religion here." So spread the word!

After our all too brief stay with Peer, we were beginning to get pretty hungry. Needless to say, the only restaurant in Macon that we even considered was the H & H Restaurant — "Vittles: Mama Louise." Bill has spent all his life eating good Southern cooking and feels qualified to say that no place on Earth compares to the H & H. As we entered the small, unpretentious building, what had been a mild hunger quickly became a ravenous craving. The fragrant aroma of fried chicken, ham, turnip greens, snap beans, creamed corn, rice & gravy, cornbread, and bread pudding stimulated both our olfactory senses and our appetites! Soon these delicious morsels would be filling our bellies.

After ordering our meal, we had the great pleasure of being joined at our table by none other than Mama Louise herself. She hugged us each and welcomed us with a sincere "Hi, Honey!" Even though she has told these same stories hundreds of times to other visitors, we felt very privileged to talk to her about our heroes. She smiled and recalled those very early days with a quiet sense of pride. She seemed to remember them as though they were 2 weeks ago instead of 22 years. What a marvelous woman — and the food was the best Southern cookin' any of us had ever had (except before at the H & H!).

After lunch, we viewed all the photos and memorabilia hanging on the funky orange and yellow walls and then read all the framed clippings in the bookcase near the kitchen. The H & H is an important part of Macon's history — it was the first integrated restaurant in this part of Georgia. Finally we bought "H & H Soul Food" T shirts and then headed to the Big House on Vineville Avenue. There would be more to come at the H & H, but that would be getting ahead of our story. 2321 Vineville Avenue, Macon, Georgia: known simply as the Big House. This is where Berry, Linda, and Brittany Oakley lived, as well as other members of the Brothers' extended family from time to time. The current residents were kind enough to let us shoot some footage, take some photos, and mill around on their porch — the same porch where Duane carved a Halloween Jack o lantern the last night of his life.

As we walked around on the driveway, it occurred to us that this was probably the last piece of God's Earth that Duane Allman had walked upon. A lot of history is stored up inside the walls of that grand old house — Dickey says that he wrote "Ramblin' Man" in B.O.'s kitchen about 4:00 a.m. one morning. We finished our visit here with a group photo and jumped back into the van.

Continuing down Vineville, we turned left onto Pio Nono, and then right onto Hillcrest. As we approached the intersection of Hillcrest and Bartlett —the site of Duane's fatal accident — a slow rain began to fall. Elmore James' tune "The Sky Is Crying" came to mind and the significance was not lost on us.

There are no words that can say how much Brother Duane continues to mean to us, for he truly was a hero. No matter how often you may stop at this place, it's hard to believe that such an inconspicuous spot should be of such significance to music lovers the world over. And only a couple of blocks away is the curve on Napier where Inverness intersects — the site of Berry's accident. Although neither of these men reached the age of 25, their places in history both musically and in the spirit of Brotherhood are indelibly etched. Their memories are kept alive in the hearts and souls of those who love them and their music.

While at the Archives, Peer had given us copies of the Police Accident Reports. From these, we learned the addresses of Duane's and Gregg's houses. The rain continued to fall, harder now, as we went by the house where Duane had lived at 1160 Burton Avenue. We then drove back down Vineville to the Muscadine Recording Studio and the Peach Cobbler, hoping to run into Paul Hornsby and Joe Dan Petty. Unfortunately neither one was in, and this turned out to be the only disappointment of the entire trip. Our next stop was 309 College Avenue — the ramshackle house with the two room apartment where Twiggs and the band camped out on mattresses in the early days, when Mama Louise was feeding them. Next door to the apartment house is a restaurant called Beall's, the front steps and porch of which are famous as sites of some of familiar photographs from the band's first album cover and the booklet from the Ludlow Garage CD.

Right smack in the middle of one section of sidewalk in front of 309 College there is a Brotherhood Mushroom etched into the concrete, a lasting memorial to the dreams of some really good men. As the rain began to let up, we searched for and finally found what was once Gregg's house at 839 Orange Street. By now the five of us were anxious to get to Rose Hill, but first Ron wanted to take his video camera back to the H & H. We had been so busy eating that we had forgotten to shoot any video during lunch! So around 4:00 p.m. we walked back in again, and there at the counter sat the familiar skinny image of Rock & Roll's most famous roadie, Mr. Joseph Campbell, a.k.a. "The Red Dog"! What a gracious man, too, as he consented to talk on camera about his experiences with the band. Mama Louise joined our group, and with the two of them swapping stories, we hung on to every word. The most telling part of the conversation, however, was the absolutely pure and total love which these two people continue to have for each other.

Every time Red Dog spoke, Mama Louise watched him like a proud mother watches her son, and when she was talking, he smiled, touched her arm, and became completely immersed in her words. It was beautifully obvious that these two people (and the rest of the band as well, I'm certain) would do anything in the world for each other with no questions asked. This is what people are talking about when they refer to unconditional love. We bid farewell to the H & H, Red Dog, and once again to Mama Louise. Winding our way through town, we got onto Riverside Drive and soon we turned in to the main entrance to Rose Hill Cemetery, both sides of the driveway lined with a beautiful mass of blooming rose bushes. We went through the archway and down the narrow, winding lanes toward the railroad tracks at the rear.

All the way from the H & H, we were listening to "Mountain Jam" from the Warehouse, 3 70, and as the van rolled to a stop on the hill just above the gravesites, no one had any thought of leaving the vehicle until the final note was played. Many fans consider this particular rendition to be the finest available version of this signature tune. During Duane's solo, we could distinctly hear the angels singing along with his slide — how appropriate for where we were. After a final moment of silence, we left the van and walked down the hill to the graves of Brother Duane and Brother B.O., all of us ready for some quiet and peaceful contemplation. Then each of us spoke aloud of our love for the music which the Allman Brothers Band has given to us and of our particular love for these two dear cats. Each one — Russ, Neil, Joe, Ron, and Bill — had a unique perspective, and it was very moving to share our feelings and to remember our first encounters with their music. Special thanks are due to Joe for prompting us.

Later, a couple of younger Macon locals stopped by for some smoky reflections and we all talked together for a while longer. We then headed on toward Elizabeth Reed's grave, where a carload of fans stopped and asked us directions to the Brothers' gravesites. Next Russell took us to the stunningly beautiful statue of a twelve-year old girl who had died in 1896 — Martha Ellis. Legend has it that this statue was the inspiration for the name of Duane's tune, "Little Martha." Though only a beloved child when she died, her spirit inspired Duane's hauntingly beautiful composition some 75 years later.

Next we found the location of the partially vandalized Bond-Johnston monuments overlooking the river, famous as the location for the first album's back cover picture. Two husky young men who work as security guards for Rose Hill drove up as we were preparing to leave, and they told us of a few instances where they and others had heard Allman Brothers music wafting through the cemetery when no one else was there. It had only happened on nights with a full moon, and we have no reason to doubt that such things can indeed happen.

As much as we all didn't want this day to end, evening was approaching and we had to turn the van back to Hot'lanta. Bill had met Russ a few weeks earlier, and now Neil, Ron, and Joe had the great pleasure of getting to know him too. So it was with great reluctance, but also with a feeling of great accomplishment, that we dropped Russ back at the library to pick up his car for his ride home. It was a very happy and peaceful drive back, with the familiar strains of our favorite music playing in our ears and memories of a truly great day in our heads. Ron captured much of the trip on videotape, which will be a great reminder of this day in years to come.

For those of you who have ever had the idea to make a similar trip, don't hesitate for one minute — do it! You just never know until you try what may be around the next corner. In our case, new friendships were formed, old ones were strengthened, and the music and spirit of the Allman Brothers Band were celebrated. There is a certain kind of instant trust among true devotees of the Brothers, and we are thankful every day for the friends who made this pilgrimage together, as well as the countless others who were there in our thoughts.

A quote from author Jack London sums up our particular idea of what these friendships, this band, and their music is all about: "I would rather be a meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. The proper function of Man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time."

Amen, Brothers and Sisters. And play all night!
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