Duval Rey"Same Place New Day"“Duval was a special child. He was so special the Lord took his sight away in 1942 when he was 7 and I was 12. But Duval said that just made music 'sweeter' to his ears. He remembered every song he heard. He'd take a song in, an it'd come out different. Uncle Jean's banjo was Duval's first and favorite instrument. Jean, he took that banjo in some bad places full of evil and fornication. Duval started playing when he was nine. That banjo already sounded like an old man was playing it. I swear that banjo was haunted. Duval said he could feel the banjo purr when he was 'treatin' her right.Duval played all kinds of music. He played all kinds of instruments. Duval, he was fidgety. When he couldn't do enough with just the banjo he'd play anything else; kazoo, pots and pans, even clothesline pulley. He could get music out of anything and then he started playing them all at once.The neighbors got fed up with the racket so I started taking him down to the streetcar stop every day when I went to work. I'd help him carry his rig. That's what he called his instruments, his 'rig'.Duval played on that corner all day, every day. People loved him. Came there just to hear him.I cleaned house for a man – the New Orleans Symphony director. One day, he heard Duval, thought he was really something. The symphony man said Duval made great music. He gave Duval a bunch of records, and Duval's music changed. He made sounds before that would make people smile. Then it started sounding like an orchestra when he played his rig. Them sounds could make you cry. Finally, his music changed again, and this time, in a mysterious way. A stranger (Vernon McAlister) came by one afternoon and started playing along with him. A man in the crowd said he was a raggedy hobo with a beat up old metal guitar. Duval said it seemed like birds, bells, trains, howling animals, and a whole world of sounds came swirling out of that guitar. All those things, they got in Duval's music too. The stranger came and went like a dream.Duval got even more serious about his music after that day. Said he wanted to write a symphony. Course he couldn't really write nothing down, he just remembered how to play it. He quit playing on the street corner. He'd spend days and nights at the house, just worrying over his 'rig' and playing those songs 'til he'd pass out on the floor...just plain exhausted. One day, later on, he got these boys in Metairie to make a tape for him. That's what you've got here. The only record he ever made.”~Marie ReyRoscoe Houndstooth “Listen to the Sky” Roscoe is a Shoshone Native American Indian living on the Wind River reservation in Wyoming. He lives alone in a very modest cabin and is the only child of deceased parents. Roscoe is in his late 20s and has never ventured far from the reservation. In December of 1969 the subsidies from the feds were reduced significantly, forcing Roscoe and many others to look for work outside of the reservation. Roscoe found work in the nearby town, Riverton, at the Sunset Motel. He swept and kept the parking lot and area around the motel clean and free of trash. One day while sweeping the parking lot, a sleek sports car wheeled into the motel. When the car stopped, a well-dressed 30 something man, wearing a business suit, stepped out from behind the wheel and approached the motel office. As the dust settled, Roscoe could make out the passenger in the car. Through the road dirt and glare in the window, he saw a worn, weathered older man (Vernon McAlister), wearing a crumpled hat and staring straight ahead, as if in a trance. The driver came out of the office, opened the trunk to the car and grabbed a small suitcase and another larger rectangular case, about the size of an ironing board. The other man exited the car and they both went into the room, closing the door behind them. Roscoe continued his work until around sundown. He then took the shuttle bus back to the reservation. As usual, the bus driver was constantly dialing the radio, trying to find good reception. This happened regularly on the ride to and from the reservation. Roscoe found the random searches both entertaining and silly. Roscoe returned to the motel the next morning and resumed his routine of cleaning and sweeping. He noticed the two men from yesterday, walking from the diner across the highway, back to the motel. The driver nodded to Roscoe and Roscoe gestured in return. The other man (Vernon) remained stoic and composed, staring ahead and walking in step with the driver. The driver emerged from the room a few minutes later. He motioned for Roscoe to come over. Roscoe ambled over and stood near the man. The driver started to explain to Roscoe that he was a very successful attorney from New York City. He went on to describe how he became disillusioned with the rat race and decided to give up all of his worldly possessions and move to a commune in Oregon. Roscoe was clueless as to what the man was trying to say, but responded politely, simply saying, “good”. Then Roscoe asked, “who is the man with you?” The driver said, “Oh he's just a hitchhiker I picked up in Missouri. He's going with me to Oregon, he had all of his stuff stolen, so he has nothing to lose. He doesn’t say much but he is a good listener…I guess.” Roscoe nods and says “Okay”. As the man starts toward the room he turns around and says to Roscoe…”Hey, I have something...the last thing I own. I mean you might want it. Do you want to see?” Roscoe said, “Okay”. They walked into the room. Roscoe saw Vernon sitting on the edge of one of the beds. He also noticed a strange case lying on the other bed. The driver pointed at the case and said, “so what do you think?” He flipped the case open, revealing a strange-shaped sparkly thing, which was encased in red velvet. Coming out of this odd thing, was a long stick with silver strands. Inside the case were some round openings with what looked like little glass bottles. Roscoe looked long and hard at the thing and was just silent. The man said impatiently, “Well... so...do you want it or not!?” Roscoe replied, “What is it?” Shocked that Roscoe wasn't familiar with a Silvertone electric guitar, the man said sarcastically, ”Oh, it’s a radio!” Roscoe lit up and said, “Oh yes…I would like that.” The driver said mockingly, “Ok man, I hope you pick up some groovy receptions.” He walked out the door to the car and motioned for the other man (Vernon) to follow. Vernon got up and walked over to the guitar. He took the power cord and stuck it into an outlet. He flipped on the toggle switch, then went out the door to the car. The little glass bottles behind the round holes started to glow a deep orange color, and gradually the whole box began to howl, scream and moan. Roscoe was scared, but excited and mesmerized with his new gift. As the two men drove away, he remained fixated on the knobs, and the shiny keys at the end of the stick, as he watched the shimmering silver strands on the thing vibrate and hum.