The BBB's were born in a former drug-drop biker hangout known as Knightly's Pub in Easthampton. It had been taken over by a jolly giant known as "Big Marty." He had hands the size of pizzas and a big face with a permanent grin. Marty was a generous, gentle giant, full of optimism and enthusiasm. Though I once saw him empty the small cellar club of a biker gang who strayed in at closing time. After politely asking the shag-sacks of Budweiser, lard and Lynyrd Skynyrd to please leave, he began slowly walking the length of the narrow basement, his tree-trunk arms stretched wide, pushed everything in his path: tables, chairs, bottles and small-town desperados to the back door. The tsunami impersonation was followed by a simple "Good Night. Please don't come again soon!"
Marty's Cellar was a bawdy little scene, where anything might happen, but between his wife's displeasure and freeloaders intent on drinking his generosity and inventory dry, he was forced to close. It was turned into a frilly pizza place and checkered tablecloths covered the old Guinness-stained tables. But not before my band and a pair of giant panties received a good airing out.
