Golden Fingers Reunion Tour for the Benefit of the Los
Angeles Home for Aging Rock Musicians dominated not only the
music press, but also all forms of communication. Instant Messaging
traffic during a show was higher than any time of the day, with
fans clamoring to hear the latest from their heroes. Micro bytes of
sound data streamed to electronic devices all over the world, and
even in the remotest regions, the Golden Sound rang out. Church
bells announced the group’s arrival in each city; rocks echoed the
strains of their music long after they’d left.
I truly did appreciate his father’s contribution to his success,
and lauded him at every opportunity. Tonight’s show, though, was
special. Henry and Juliette, both well into their eighties, were
present in the front row. Special guests Buddy and Annette Arden
and Sam and Samantha Martin were also present, and a memorial
wreath was laid for Isaac’s late mother, Sandy. I had designated
this show to be “The Henry Mall Appreciation Concert – part II.” He
loved his father, and the first attempt to honor him had not been
the best example of what could be done.
This time it would be different.
His main concern, as it was over forty years ago, was if Isaac was
up to the task. Over and over he tapped Isaac and asked “Are you
going to be O.K. with this, man. It’s got to be perfect.”
“I am cool, man. Chilled to the bone,” Isaac quipped in the retro
hip-speak making the rounds. “That phase is way behind me. Whatever
I was missing from my father, I buried that years ago and
recaptured it from yours and the other guys’.”
“That’s good, because tonight is going to blow everyone
away.”
“What have you got planned?” Isaac was curious.
“Never you mind. It’s gonna happen, and it will be like nothing
you’ve ever seen. This will go down in history!” I seemed
especially ebullient. History was what Golden Fingers was all
about, after all.
The hall, as always, was a sellout. Because of the significance of
tonight’s show, additional audience members were packed into the
Standing Room Only areas. Thousands of fans crowded outside; they’d
been unable to acquire a ticket during the one hour availability
period. For them, a forty foot screen had been erected, giving them
a live look inside.
When the band took the stage, a tumultuous din greeted the group.
They launched into the traditional set list and when it came to
“Only Golden Fingers Could Play So Heavy,” I asked for the crowd’s
attention. Rapt, they wondered what was up. The show had a flow,
and this wasn’t in the flow.
I laid aside his bass. “Some forty plus years ago, I honored my
father…” The crowd burst into cheers. I’s reverence for his father
had been a major topic of the news stories these days. He
continued, “I honored my father with the first Henry Mall
Appreciation Concert.” I was proud he didn’t stumble over the words
this time. “You might say, it didn’t come off the way I planned…”
The crowd roared with laughter, to hear the lyric turned to
describe that first disastrous attempt.
“Well, tonight we’re going to try again, and this time do it
right!” The crowd rose in applause.
I signaled them to sit again. “I’m afraid he isn’t getting any
younger, so we’d better do this now. Mom. Dad. Come up here and
join me on stage!”
The crowd rose once again as Henry and Juliette rose from their
front row seats. They made there way up the stage, with a bit of
assistance, and the spotlight soaked them brightly. The crowd
stayed up despite I’s attempt to calm them and continue with the
plan. Henry was a hero as much as anyone could be, and this was his
night. He deserved the honor.
Finally, the noise subsided and I began his announcement.
“My father was a great musician in his day, and an even greater as
a group manager. The Scuffling Scrappers were the Golden Fingers of
the time, and owed everything to him.” O.K., maybe a bit of
exaggeration, but it is for him, I thought.
“My dad had a dream, one he never fulfilled, and I want to help him
fulfill it tonight.”
Henry looked curiously at I. What dream? he thought.
I’ve had so many, and they’ve all been fulfilled.
I looked off stage. “Angela! Bring it!”
I’s beautiful wife came on the stage, carrying a shoebox-sized
parcel.
“Many years ago, my father was working on a invention to give him
back something he’d lost, something that kept him from doing what
he wanted most: the ability to play guitar. Oh, he had played
guitar, and probably could have still if he wanted. But he really
wanted to play the bass guitar. Tonight, I’m going to give him that
dream.”
I reached into the box and revealed a nearly perfectly formed human
hand. As he touched the wrist, the fingers clenched, then released.
A gasp drew from the audience.
“No, it’s not as monstrous as it looks. Dad, come here and hold up
your hand.”
Henry had long ago lost any self-consciousness regarding his
missing fingers, but he was a bit uncomfortable in the spotlight
now. I took the hand, which turned out to be some type of naturally
skin sensation glove, and pulled it down over Henry’s thumb and
index finger. As it closed over his palm and then over his wrist, a
tingling sensation went through his arm. Henry reacted by making a
fist and unclenching. He wiggled all four fingers, and much to the
crowd’s delight, flipped a bird, just because he could now do it
for real. Henry laughed and turned to I, “But how?”
“Dad,” he began, “I’ve spend millions of dollars with hundreds of
research firms to perfect this. I took your original designs, which
were primitive, but were proven to have merit, and this is the
result. It’s the Henry Mall officially authorized replacement
hand!”
Henry looked at I quizzically, “Really? You’ve got to come up with
a better name than that!”
The crowd roared once again, and I admitted “Well, more money has
gone into development than marketing, I guess. We’ll have to work
on that.”
Henry once again flexed his fingers. “It feels like a real hand. I
can’t tell the difference!” Cameras began flashing as all
recognized the significance of this invention. “Son, I can’t thank
you enough!”
“There’s one more thing,” as I reached over squeezed a special area
on the wrist. At once the individual fingers lit up in a yellow
hue. “I couldn’t help myself. Dad, you’ve now got golden
fingers!”
The crowd erupted in a psychotic frenzy which gave I time to
retrieve his bass guitar from the stand where he had placed it. He
took the instrument and asked Henry, “Will you join us?”
“But I haven’t played in almost seventy years!” Henry protested.
“And I certainly haven’t played your songs.”
“Dad, you know you know every single one inside out,” I assured
him. “But just to help you out, they still something else.” He
pulled out yet another matching left hand glove. “You don’t
normally need this, but I think you can use it now.” He pulled it
over Henry’s left hand.
Pressing the hidden wrist button, a small area burst into
additional light. “Run your finger along the screen,” he told him.
Henry saw that it was a menu of the songs in the set list. “It
programmed to guide your fingers to the correct frets and strings.
Even if you’ve never played before, you can now!”
I turned back to the audience, and called out. “Now, the song
you’ve been patiently waiting for, featuring Henry Mall, my dad, on
bass. ‘Only Golden Fingers Could Play So Heavy!’”
Henry grabbed the neck as the complicated bass lines emerged from
the amp. The band joined in and I took the mike.