FiRSTTiME I MET HiM

he was sleeping under his truck outside The Joyous Lake in Woodstock. His ex-wife was a waitress there; I was the cashier. She took my hand and said, “You should meet my ex. You have the same sense of humor.” It was a Tuesday, dance night. He was taking a disco nap so he could stay up late.

The Joyous Lake was the center of Woodstock in the early and mid-1970s, a bar/restaurant where Taj Mahal and John Sebastian might be sitting at the bar, talking about old blues musicians;where harmonicageniusPaulButterfieldwould finish dinner and get up and jam with Rick Danko and LevonHelm;where JohnHall and Orleans played to packed houses; whereSteveGaddand Donald‘Duck’Dunn wouldjust be two guysgi ingon a Thursday night; where Peter Max doodled on napkins; where Timothy Leary might stop in for the homemade sangria; where it didn’t seem so annoying to explain to tourists that Woodstock the festival took place60milesawayinBethel,while Woodstock the town got the burned-out, tie-dye-wearing kids who spent their time spare-changing each other and generally getting on everyone’s nerves.

So the guy under the truck didn’t really seem that out of place. Until he rolled out. Killer smile. Hair down past his shoulders. Deep brown eyes.

He reached out a hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Steve Heller.”

Later that night we boogied to “Never Can Say Goodbye” and “Rock The Boat.” We slow danced to “Killing Me Softly.” He leaned in to kiss me when the Chi Lites sang “Oh Girl.”

I moved in with him the next day. Wewere opposites in every way. I’m gregarious and outgoing; Steve’s a quiet introvert. I’m wild about sports; he’s never watched a game. I have an addictive personality (I’m being kind to myself); he doesn’t.