Buck & Mug: Tell me your earliest memories , please.
Bob Thomas: Actually, the earliest recollection I have from my childhood was when a big, fat bufo toad wandered into the kitchen at Almayo St. In West Los Angeles.
B&M: Let's skip ahead a little. When was your first Renaissance Faire?
BT: My firsy Renaissance Faire was the first Renaissance Faire at, uh, Haskel's Ranch, which had been a child's day care center at Old Sepulveda Pass in the San Fernando Valley.I had run into Ron Patterson working advertising agencies in Los Angeles. I had happened to chance on him and he mentioned that he was promoting a fund raising event for KPFK, the FM Listener supported radio station in Los Angeles, and invited me to come play my lute.Um, I recollect that the Faire had much the aspect of a churchbazaar, with hastily erected booths right there in the suburbs with cars flashing by in the neighboring streets and everyone got up in their better Elizabethan costumes and some of them were rather fine. The entertainment was entirely volunteer; in fact, the entire thing was volunteer, and any proceeds that were obtained from passing the hat went to the radio station. It had been many years in Los Angeles since there had been any kind of gathering place for the artistic community, and this was the first emergence after the supression of the coffee houses and the eviction of the beatniks.
B&M: Do you have comments on the early Faires?
BT: Well, yes. The comment that comes to mind, of course, is the incredible difference between the early Faires, the Pleasure Faires, as I tend to think of them, and the present Renaissance Faire. The Pleasure Faire, someone once said, was given by one branch of the freak community for the rest. It was a scene made up of artists of one kind or anothe and fine craftsmen who were putting on a festival for the rest of the artistic, and educated, and, shall we say eccentric community in Los Angeles. Later, it reached the peak at Peacock Gap, a very rarefied atmosphere–some of the finest artists in California were exhibiting their wares at that time. It was the forefront of the ethnic and folk-music scene in both Northern and southern California, same as with the Folk-dance and exotic ethnic dance scene of those days. It was an unparalleled event. In fact, because of its high artistic merit and,shall we say incredible visage, the Faire exists to this day. In fact, it runs on the coups it earned in those times.
B&M: Tell me, How did the Golden Toad come to be?
BT: Oh, well, it's a bit of a story. As I said, in the first Faire that I did, I just played the lute. But, soon after the first Faire, I found a bagpipe in a pawn shop, Will Spires came back from Florida, and his friend, Charles Perry gave him a violin, and my wife at the time Julia, was drafted into playing the drum. We appeared at the second Faire which was going towards the ridge route, somewhere between, what is the name of that town?
B&M: Sylmar and Gorman?
BT: Thats it, up on the side of the mountain, and it was a rather dusty setting. I remember, they had some wonderful booths there. They had a "Ban the Ballistas" booth–that one I found rather amusing–back in the days when they had "Ban the Bomb" rallies, you know. At any rateWill Spires, Julia and myself appeared under the name "Pro Arte Submarine Band". The reason for this was what we did in the Faire was our Pro Arte bit, and the submarine band was a jug band that played sort of low level blues. It was at the Faire that we learned that busking is licrative. At the Faire, we realized it was wiser to count the money in the gulley than it was in the counting office. Im not telling you how much we made, but at that time you have to remember that gold was selling at thirty-two dollars an ounce.
B&M: And the coins were made of real silver.
BT: (chuckle) Yes, they were. Rthey had real dimes and quarters in those days, and they weighed a great deal. In truth we went into the gulley on that first Saturday and counted seventy-five dollars in change. I think we awarded the radio station fifteen. (More chuckles). Then we went on with the faire. The followin Faire, of course, was the first Faire at the present site down in Southern California, which od course, every year is going to be lost and that's the last faire at that site. Just like the Faire is always going under every year and is destitute, also they are always losing the Southern site. It's been that way since the first Faire there.
B&M: Fifth annual last Renaissance Faire at this site.
BT: Yeah, right; it's been like this ever since the git. It was at that Faire (or the one after that), that you, Don, joined up. We really needed a drummer, and you looked exactly like a drummer.
B&M: Thank you very much.
BT: I remember, we got you the largest, most akward bass Drum in all of Christendom. Boy, I'm sure you're slightly stoop shouldered to this day from carrying that thing. Originally, the band was called the "Pro Arte Submarine Band".
B&M: Then, how did it come to be called the Golden Toad?
BT: Well it was the first Faire at Peacock Gap across the bay more or less from where it is now (ed. Blackpoint is spoken of), over by San Rafael–an earthly paradise, a sylvan glade that should be entirely inhabited by Nymphs and Satyrs, if it isn't actually. I visited there not too long ago, and its every bit as exquisite as I remember it, truly beautiful. The little grove of redwoods down in thst glen is probably the eastern-most grove of redwoods in Marin county to the best of my knowledge.
It was the year that Carol La Fluer, who was then the entertainment director, suggested that we needed a name rather than just appearing under our own names. So, after wrangling and fooling around, I recollected a silly symbol from an alchemical book that I'd been reading, The Golden Toad. So I suggested that, and we agreed, and that was the end of that, and we were the Golden Toad from thence forth. In Fact, like warts, It's hard to get rid of that name. So we appeared as the Golden Toad, which was a quartet which usually appeared as a trio because one of the members was usually on the outs with the others. It went along like that for awhile. For the earlier Faires, both in the north and the South, we handled all the fanfare and rattling drums, crashing cymbals, bagpipes for dancing, and generally did all of the loud, out-door sounding music at the Faire. In Fact, we were the only musicians there capable of handling loud instrunments, had the necessary vigor and blow.
B&M: The Toad was justifiably famous for their memorable and endless fanfares. Can you recall any especially memorable ones?
BT: Well, there is the one, of course, about the famous rock and roll star who gave us our first toot, and none of us really had any idea of how much one was supposed to do of that sort of material, so we did a lot, and then I thought I would just take the last edge off of the jar which was adhering before screwing the lid on, and managed to get most of the contents of the jar in my nose on top of that. Then we ran up the hill like many jack-rabbits being late for our cue, paraded up onstage, where we had the greatful Dead's kettle drums, and all of our gear arrainged, proceeded to let off about an eight minute fan-fare which was pretty interesting and got rather evolved into melodic ideas. We had four trumpeters and eight percussionists. It was a deafening roar.
But the fanfare to end all fanfares...fanfares are something to aggrandize, to inflate the ego's of great princes, or those who wish they were. Then you figure that there should be opposites as it is above, so it is below where there is a fanfare of aggrandizement, obviously, there must be a fanfare of derision. The fanfare of derision was supplied by our dear friend, Elliot Gould, one of the drummers for the band. He'd gone forth to the moving picture auction, which brought forth the Dicken's Faire, by the fact that the Pattersons purchased a bunch of Victorian Clothes. He purchased what was billed in the catalogue as "Roman Military Trumpets". He bought four of them. These things appeared to be more on the order of brass lamp stands than musical instruments, being very short and having a steep conical bore, and a curiously configured mouthpiece that your entire mouth would fit inside. The tone quality was described by Mickey Zeekley as a "Mastadon farting". The day cameat the Southern Faire. It was about 137 degrees, as it usually is, no sun-shade, you could melt lead on the stage and in those days the, the Sherrif was L. Sprague De Campe, and he used to have the symbol of the yellow boar. I remember him well He was a kind of oily, bristly man of powerful visage and he was announced and we were cued , and we cut loose on these instruments that sounded like, my God! The entire Abyssinian Camel Corps, both man and beast, being fed on beans for eight months.
Rolling raspberries! Blazzing farts! Terrifying sounds came out, and we enjoyed it so much that we couldnt stop. We were possessed! The Devil was driving us foreward! Uncle Ron Patterson was on stage giving us his not very sotto voice "Cool it, damn it! Stop! Stop!", jumping up and down. Finally some of the Sheriff's men clambered over the railing and were making for us; so we beat a hasty retreat down the side stairs and menaced them with out gazach horns from a safer position. (General laughter and mirth).
There were a number of amusing pranks. Some terrible wag put a carrot in the Market Bell, terrible thing. Carol Le Fluer sent, what was that yellow, curly-haired girl's name? Carol Lee, from the costume department, down to ring the Market Bell to announce the opening of the Renaissance Faire, and there's a carrot in the bell instead of a clapper!
B&M: How many times have you been sacked by the Faire?
BT: Three. Iv'e been threatened with it more. The first time was at the first Dicken's Faire. In fact, they sacked virtually everybody at the first Dicken's Faire. There was a big meeting, security, part of the crew, entertainment were all on the verge of walking out. I remember both Richard Smith and I delivered an impassioned spiel, saying, "Think of the craftsmen!" So, for our troublein stemming the strike, we got sacked. The management of the Faire has always been very, ahem, "kind" in that way.
B&M: You and Richard both got sacked?
BT: Yeah, Richard got sacked too. He got hired back again, so did I. Then I got sacked again when Ernie Fishbach and I were dealing with Earleen, the entertainment co-ordinator at that time. We made an arraingement, we were going to do our own little bit, we were a trio at that time, Ernie and I and Lori Gilkerson. We had our own little european music bit. Ernie and I were going to be the oboe players in Jamila's Belly-dance orchestra. She had three or four drummers, and Ernie and I played the oboes. Earleen said "Oh, yues, that's cool. I'll tell Phyllis'. She went out promptly that evening and got herself broken in small pieces in an auto accident. The last thing she would have thought of to do was to remind Phyllis that Ernie and I were working two jobs. So we were making about eighty-five dollars a day.
One has to remember that in that period gold was about seventy dollars an ounce, so it was excellent money. It was well over an ounce a day. We were playing on the Main stage, and Ron and Phyllis were walking up and down kind of looking abstractly at all the hootchie-coo dancers They did a really comedy double take. They marched back around when we came off and Phyllis said, "Fishbach and Thomas, you're fired! That's too much, you can't work two jobs in the Faire. You're fired!"
Jamila says, "Fire my musicians, fire us all!"
And with that, Phyllis had to backtrack. But once the faire was over, she in fact, it was the only time that the faire had sent me anything but form letters. Well that's not true, Carol Le Fluer sent me a letter seventeen pages long recounting all of my sins and all of my friends' sins after the first Dicken's Faire. In this case Phyllis sent both Ernie and me letters with Ron's signature that said we were sacked. I didn't mind too much because I went to England after that where I worked for the National Theatre Company and Learned once again how wonderful it is to work for a professional theatrical company.
On coming back of course all was forgiven, and I was hired back at a very reduced rate for the Dicken's Faire a couple of years later. Then of course, the last time I was fired was at the Dicken's Faire Last winter. I arrived at work one day and was told that my services were no longer necessary. It would have been nice to have a post card or something.
B&M: You would have saved the bus fare.
BT: But unfortunately, that's the way the Faire has always done business. They sack you on the spot, and then when they want you to come back again, they send you a form letter.
B&M: If you were to be re-hired by the Faire again, what rate of pay would you accept?
BT: I'm a magnanimous and generous man. I would accept, for less than what I was originally paid, but an ounmce of gold, spot metal price, San Francisco, per day, which is about three hundred and thirteen dollars.
B&M: What are your present pursuits?
BT: Well, uh, I've a number of present pursuits. Maybe my most intense one is the development of the Institute for Traditional Studies., a non-profit organization in the state of California and currently moving for non-profit status with the federal government in Washington. The nstitute is a group of artists, scientists, technologists, and craftsmen who are coming together to attempt to develop and explore traditions, traditions which are dropping out of use; but it is not necessarily limited to the arts. We are involved also in technical and scientific studies. The Institute's major project, at the moment, is an educational program dealing with the development of the arts and social graces in early California starting with the indigenous Indian inhabitants running through the colonial and Mexican period, and gringo period, et cetera. It's coming to fruition both as a live stage show and a series of audio-visual presentations as an adjunct to the California History segment of the curriculum of the California School System. We also have on the boards a hydraulic works project utilizing water engines for both raising water and generating electricity and turning other tools in our technical aspect.
As a person, as an artist, at the moment, I'm ornamenting reproductions of antique Irish harps, producing bagpipes, writing articles and doing graphic art.
B&M: How do you feel about the Faire now?
BT: It is like one viewing an old girlfriend who one still loves very dearly, but due to the rocks and shoals of life, you have seperated. There you are, standing, and you look at her. She's beautiful and she's alluring, but there's no way to get it together again.
B&M: Do you have any regrets?
BT: Do I have any regrets? Yes, in the words of Alexander King, "I should
have kissed her more."