Dad Stories™-- Sly and the Family Stone

The first of an on-going series that details my dad's connection to music and how it shaped me:

My father loves Sly and the Family Stone. I grew up listening to Sly records, but it wasn't until a few days ago that I gave them a listen with adult ears. I must say, I see what my dad (and millions of others) found attractive about the music. Sly's voice is uniquely engaging, and sounds equally at home on party-starters and reflective tunes alike. The funk is undeniable, and I can only imagine how fun a live show must have been. Which brings me to a Dad Story™:

It was some time in the 1970's and my old man must have been about my age. He was working at a local greasy spoon that specialized in fried foods. Sly and the Family Stone were playing at Rupp Arena in Lexington, Kentucky, a few miles away from where my dad was stuck cleaning tables and wiping down counters. The concert had a 7 pm start time. At 9 pm, a tour bus pulls up outside. The doors opened and a cloud of smoked rushed out, and a few seconds after an Afro'd figure emerged. It was Sly Stone.

My dad, being a huge fan, pulled a cartoonish double-take and fixed his tie as he moved back behind the counter. He assumed the band must be lost, as they were two hours late and a long way from home.
Sly strutted through the door wearing the same clothes that he was prone to wearing onstage (that wasn't part of the act, dude was just about that life) and walked up to my father. My dad extended his hand and told Sly that he was a big fan. Sly graciously shook his hand, but looked baffled when my dad asked if he needed directions.

"Nah, not at all. We're just hungry. We need some food before we take the stage."

My dad gave them their food on the house, Sly dapped him up and the bus rolled away. Apparently, they didn't take the stage until sometime after eleven.

The bus stopped by again after the show in the wee hours of the morning and the same transaction took place. My dad gave them their food, pleasantries were exchanged and the band rolled on.

So, while he didn't get to see the concert in person, my father did get to meet one of his favorite musicians twice in the same night.  That was one of the few times that the smell of chicken grease and french fries was worth the minimum wage pay.