Rock and Roll History -
The Rockin' Rodwell Story

It was June 1974. Dressed in our tie-died shirts, bellbottom pants, and platform boots, my sister, Vicky, her boyfriend, and I went to a Slade concert at the Ambassador Theatre in St. Louis. I remember the Theatre well. It was a beautiful old movie theater with no more than 3,000 seats. Unfortunately, the building is no longer there, but it will live on as one of the best places to see a concert.

No one had ever heard my CALL before in St. Louis, but they were about to. Before Slade could perform, the technical crew had to fix an electrical problem, which didn’t go too well with some of the fans a few rows behind me. One in particular had had too much to drink and yelled obnoxiously to pass the time. So, I responded to his behavior with my CALL. It sounded exactly like the eerie howl of Deep Purple’s Ian Gillan. People around me clapped and cheered, so I continued. After an hour of dueling with this guy, I finally got him to stop. And I got a standing ovation from the crowd.

Then Slade took the stage. The Theatre was electrified. Slade was on fire. During the middle of a song, Noddy Holder, decked out in plaid with a top hat covered in mirrors, asked the audience to sing back with a “yeh, yeh, yeh.” I did my CALL, and the band actually heard me over everyone else in the Theatre.

Noddy said, “Do that again,” so I did. “C’mon up here,” he replied back. A guy behind me gave me a little shove. I was on stage in a flash. I grabbed the microphone and said, “Are you f***ers ready to rock and roll?” I ended with my scream and the crowd went wild.

“Do it, man, do it,” Noddy said. I did my CALL again and Noddy nearly bought new speakers. “You’ve got it, man,” he shouted over the roar of the audience.

“If I knew the words to your songs, we’d really get these f***ers going,” I shouted back. Once I got back to my seat, a reporter asked for my name and address. But that’s not where this all begins.

No, it begins ten years earlier in front of my parents’ television set....

In the Beginning

Ed Sullivan was hosting the Beatles. I thought I Want to Hold Your Hand was the coolest song I had ever heard. My parents disagreed. They were loyal to Elvis. I was in love, though, with this new kind of rock and roll. My love affair with rock and roll continued into the summer.

In July of ’64, I shocked some neighbor kids who passed by my bedroom window as I jammed out to Glad All Over by the Dave Clark Five. They laughed so hard at the sight of me using my mom’s broom as my guitar they nearly fell over on the sidewalk.

I lucked out in the Army – I didn’t have to go to Vietnam. Instead I was stationed at Itaewon, just outside Seoul, South Korea, to work in a missile supply warehouse doing mostly paint detail.

When not doing paint detail, my roommate, Greg, and I led very social lives. We always kept a 12 x 12 x 3" wooden container full of pot nearby, so who ever came over just rolled a joint and got high. Pot was so inexpensive back then it would cost us about 2 cartons of cigarettes, which we black marketed. So a pound of pot cost us around $5.00. Fortunately, we were tight with a music house owner who came to our aid a few times when police wanted to search our lodgings for drugs.

We developed reputations as a Yom Che[a] (“man with no shame” or a playboy). Living our lives as playboys, we listened to Elton John, Cat Stevens, Crosby Stills & Nash, Jethro Tul, and, of course, Deep Purple.

It was during this time that Woodstock came to theaters. There was a little theater on the base, with about 10 rows of folding chairs, and we couldn’t wait to get there for our chance to witness history. A bunch of us partied beforehand, and by the time we got to the theater, we were pretty high.
In spite of my partying I was completely enthralled with the show. I only remember a few licks of my air guitar. But the girls we were with, well, that’s another story. They went crazy when The Who and Roger Daltrey came on. None of us had ever seen a show like this before. It was a far cry from high school when I was a nerdy wallflower. Even our buddy, the guy who owned the music house called The Nashville, approached me and said, “Rod, you’re the real Yom Che[a].” I guess word gets around.

With a few starts and stops (like me missing my flight back to the States on purpose), the Army finally did get rid of me. In fact, they escorted me to my second flight to make sure I didn’t “miss” it again. I wasn’t thrilled to leave the Army. I had had incredible experiences along the way. I had gained confidence, met awesome people, and done what I could to make a difference in the world.

I felt wanderlust after leaving, so I went to L.A. to visit my buddy Mario, who happened to be the real Yom Che[a]. Mario and I went to see Deep Purple in concert. I had listened to them while in South Korea, but I had no idea what I was in for until I saw them live. It was June 1972 at the Anaheim Convention Center. The place was wild. Some people were passing joints during the concert while others were doing much harder drugs. Mario was talking about how beautiful everything was. When I followed his gaze, I saw what he meant. 10 women had rushed the Deep Purple stage with everything but their tops. This was not only my rather informal introduction to Deep Purple but my re-introduction to civilian life. And yes, it was beautiful. Deep Purple’s song, Space Truckin’, will never be the same for me again.

The CALL

For as much fun as I had in L.A. it was time to continue my journey home to Iowa. I bought a red Volkswagen in L.A. and headed home, but not before stopping off in Boulder, CO to see The Rolling Stones in concert. Even the Stones couldn’t shake my dedication to Deep Purple.

Back on the road again, I finally made it to Newton, IA. I got pulled over, though, in Maytag Park. My guess is the cops thought I was another druggie passing through town. I hadn’t been surprised what with my out-of-state plates, disheveled looks, and general disdain for all things orderly. But Maytag Park would come to hold another significance for me. I got a job as a groundskeeper there in 1973, and it was around this time I started to develop my CALL. When Deep Purple came out with Made in Japan I realized I sounded just like their lead singer Ian Gillan. And it was here that I could really practice my new skill. So, I continued to practice my CALL on park grounds without bothering anyone (and therefore without getting fired).

But not everyone loved my CALL. The lead singer of ZZ Top told me during a set that either I needed to shut up or he would shut me up himself. Well, I didn’t listen, and fortunately, he didn’t follow through.

Back to the Middle

My life’s journey leading up to the ’74 Slade concert made the experience even better. The ’74 Slade concert rocked my whole world, no pun intended. I even adopted a dog I named Slade (he's with me on the pic above) and a cat I named Blackmore (in honor of Deep Purple’s Ritchie Blackmore) - it's the cat on this page.

Word spread that I joined Noddy Holder on stage. In response, I bought a microphone and some amplifiers and jammed out where it all began – at my parents’ house. I even bought a machine that took the vocals out of songs so I could practice more.

It came in very handy, too, for safety. I had a girl over one night to see it, but her boyfriend had other ideas. So when he saw her car in my driveway he came looking for us. We hid in the magic box in the basement while my mother backed us up by saying neither of us was home. Good thing, too, because this guy was my brother’s best friend and that could have gotten pretty awkward.

Now I had my Magic Box but something was still missing. While walking around Lake Red Rock one day, with my dog Slade, I found my answer – a piece of driftwood floating in the lake. To me, it looked like Moses’ staff. It became my rock and roll staff - see it here. Like when I was a child practicing with my mom’s broom, I practiced twirling my new staff and playing it like a guitar.

I imagined myself dressed in a white robe, sort of the antithesis to KISS’ dress-in-black approach. And don’t get me wrong here – I didn’t think I was better or purer than KISS. I was just as crazy as they were. In fact I partied frequently with my rock and roll staff on hand which gave me the nickname Rockin’ Rodwell.

The Final Set

I got to see Deep Purple again in August of 1974, this time at Arrowhead Stadium. Naturally, I had my staff in tow. Staying true to my crazy self, I tied my bandana to my rock and roll staff and lit it on fire during Deep Purple’s song Burn. It was dark by now and the light of the fire cut through the black like a knife through warm butter.

After the song I did my CALL, and again, I was invited up on stage. Unlike the Slade concert in St. Louis a few months before, I froze in my place and didn’t make it up there. I have often wondered if they asked me up on stage because my CALL sounded just like the scream of their former band mate, Ian Gillan. By the time we hit this concert, he was long gone, replaced by David Coverdale. And Deep Purple was doing all new songs with the exception of Smoke on the Water. Although I would have loved to go up, in retrospect it was just as well I didn’t. I had the image, the moves, and the CALL, but I didn’t have the vocals.

Eventually, I moved to Des Moines, IA for a better shot at joining a band. I sang at a bar one night with a buddy who was in a band. My vocals were terrible and my buddy was told never to let me get up there again. But I was told my moves were unique. So, I signed up for vocal lessons at Drake University, continued to audition wherever I could, and even traveled to Chicago looking for opportunities. I have lain awake many nights wondering where it all went. Although I don’t know, I do have the memories. I have learned to give up being scarred by the things that did or did not happen to me. The fear is too exhausting. I’d rather free up my energy for better things (like getting Slade and Deep Purple into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame with me as the one who introduces them!).

May the CALL be with you all.

And thanks for trekking back to the 70s with me. It has been a blast. People have asked me whether or not I’m crazy. My answer is no, but I was in the 70s. If you liked this story, consider building a site and telling your own. And don’t forget: there will be two more Rockin’ Rodwell sites coming in the near future.