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A more or less true account

Bob grew up in Southern California in a musical household. His father pecked at the piano with one finger, his mother supposedly once played the cello. In 4th grade the music teacher looked at everyone's teeth and proclaimed that Bob should play the clarinet. Orthodontics aside his parents were pleased and promptly bought him a flashy ring to highlight impromptu living room performances. Soon followed several years of tutelage under the direction of George H. Tyler, former member of the John Philip Sousa Band. 


After stints in high school orchestras and community bands Bob fell in with the wrong crowd and put his clarinet aside (later to become a lamp). Much to the dismay of his parents he took up guitar and began playing folk music in coffee shops and other dens of iniquity. Later, prompted by hallucinogens, he traded a rather nice Martin guitar for a rather crappy electric bass and switched to rock and roll.

Eventually he found his way to Portland, Oregon, joined Local 99 Musicians Union, began playing keyboards, and toured Canada with a Show Band. This was followed by Disco and Top 40 on the Pacific NW hotel circuit with bands sporting matching polyester outfits. After an ultimatum from his significant other he gave up the road and settled into the Portland music scene.


Bob kept busy in Portland working casuals, as house pianist for the Aero Club, backing an alarming number of Elvis impersonators, and composing forgettable sound tracks for low-budget video productions. 

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After being dismissed on more than one occasion for "never playing the same part the same way twice!" he decided to turn his attention to jazz and joined an original jazz fusion group, Ben Wa (don't Google this at work). Eventually, the Elvi stopped calling.


Bob's other interests include photography, tennis, motorcycles, and hiking. He has worked as a lab technician, theater manager, draftsman, paperboy and Forest Service archaeologist. He currently owns and operates several taxis within Radio Cab Company driver's cooperative.   His name is a palindrome, but certainly not very poignant, like for example, "Kay, a red nude, peeped under a yak".  He has been know to write about himself in the third person.

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