Uncle Bogun

by Doug Lang

billybob and buddy mazappa he's the only mazappa old enough to remember mom and dad's first days in the new world after coming over from russia. not that uncle bogun can remember, but he's old enough to. none of the mazappa children knew where he was for many years, three decades almost. we remember him as kids, coming around with that fiddle of his, playing tunes that put tears in our elders' eyes, tunes from the old country i guess. to us kids, though -- billybob, cletis, bruno and buddy -- those same tunes caused us to jam our fingers in our ears. i don't know, but i suppose they were polkas or something, and the slow ones? they were so mournful that we had no idea, being too young to have enough feelings to understand. i'm not sure that billybob or cletis have any of those feelings even now. bruno? he's the one who always seemed to get what uncle bogun was all about. as for me, buddy, i could just as soon go walk to the river until the old guy put that fiddle away. funny, now, that we're playing music that in a lot of ways comes from the same resonant place that bogun's old fiddle was sawing back then when mom and dad were raising four kids on dad's dirt wages from the woolen mill.

we'd played some of the bars up near indian wells, east of barstow into the foothills of california, on the edge of the desert. we played the old navy bar in ridgecrest one night. i sang merle haggard's song 'today i started loving you again,' and this old guy sitting in the corner got up, came to the stage, and said, "did you boys know that after he got out of prison and stopped living with his parents in a boxcar, merle played his first paying gig here in the old navy bar?" no, we didn't know that. the old guy started singing, "from now on all my friends are gonna be strangers, i'm all through ever trusting anyone..." another of hag's early tunes. his name was sam featherstone. he's probably dead by now, but he bought us a round after we did a whole medley of haggard tunes to close the second set.

bogun mazappa in vegas it was in needles, near the fort mohave indian reservation, that we were having a few drinks, when we saw this old guy wearing a hat and glasses thick as ashtrays, pouring back shots of bourbon like tomorrow had been cancelled. we were listening to him jabbering happily away at the waitress. seems this old dude had won a whole lot of money the day before up in vegas, which was only a two-hour drive north along the colorado river. we watched him slap down twenty dollar bills like they were sheets of toilet paper, and then when the waitress, lindy was her name, tried to give him change he'd blow her a kiss and say something suggestive, his eyes crinkling up to slits behind those ashtray glasses. cletis, billybob, trixxie and me were into our sixth or seventh shot ourselves and too full of ourselves to notice much, but bruno had grown silent and was eyeing this old man. we figured he might be thinking of rolling him outside later. then bruno stood up.

"BOGUN! uncle bogun mazappa!"

well, that old man turned as slow as one of those old bobble-head poodles people used to keep on the back dash of their cars. he looked over. i doubt he could see us fifteen feet away, so he got up and walked toward us. bruno meet him halfway. when they got about five feet from each other, uncle bogun broke into a smile.

"bruno?" and they hugged and the rest of us joined the hug, whooping like we'd just discovered america. uncle bogun mazappa and his four nephews all showing up at the same time in needles, california. what are the odds? trixxie got right in there, too, and ol' bogun gave her a salacious squeeze as i eyeballed the table he was sitting at to see if there was any sign of a fiddle case. god help us.

bruno and bogun puttin the squeeze on lindy trixxie grabbed her camera and got bruno and bogun into a shot, then the rest of us, and then she got the waitress lindy to squeeze between bruno and bogun. they kept the bar open late. naturally, when you're getting seventeen dollar tips with every shot of bourbon, you want to stay open all night. turns out bogun had won about $15,000 in vegas. he'd been living in boulder city, nevada, with some wealthy old gal he'd met on vacation an earlier time in las vegas. after winning this money, he drove home to boulder city but, at the last minute, decided to keep driving, figuring he had enough to live it up a while. it got dark near needles, so he pulled in and started partying by himself. now, we could all party, on his nickel.

i have to admit it was my idea to invite uncle bogun to be our agent. fifteen grand was more than buddy & the mazappas would make in a year. with bogun's money we could maybe get us a record out, buy a bus to travel in, do it up in style. i guess bogun had had it with his girlfriend, 'cause he agreed. he was willing to put in ten thousand dollars, he said, long as he got 50% of any money we made through the music. he was pretty drunk at the time, so we got him to sign a napkin saying he'd give the band the ten grand for 50% of future earnings.

buddy opens with an acoustic solo set in jerome arizona it was a few days later, in jerome, arizona, that we noticed old bogun couldn't pay up after a big late-night meal after the gig. we'd run up about a $200 tab. we searched uncle bogun's pockets and tote bag, but there wasn't more than thirty bucks in there. turns out cletis had to use one of his credit cards. later that night, driving because we had no money for a motel, uncle bogun told us that it must've not been $15,000 that he'd won, that it was only $1500...

that's mazappa luck for ya. so we used cletis' credit card again to fill the car with gas, and we drove bogun up to boulder city. bogun had been away ten days by this time. we sent him in to see if he could get some money from his girlfriend. turns out she'd found another honey and he was no longer welcome. she kicked him out. he had nothing but a suitcase with a few clothes, and his fiddle.

we pitched the tents that night near the hoover dam. built a fire, fried up weiners and beans. uncle bogun still had the napkin in his pocket. "it's a binding contract," he said, "and besides, i'm family." we all got out our instruments and began to play. uncle bogun tuned up his fiddle and bowed a little on the uptempo merle haggard and hank williams, and was all over a sad red sovine tune. later, bruno asked him to play something from the old country. he did. it sounded as bad as ever to me, though i have to admit that my eyes were tearing up all the same... we were all crying... tears in the nevada desert.

back to buddy and the mazappas