The Hackensaw Boys : Rob

“Pah! A soldier should be able to quaff great bumpers of brandy, swear good mouth-filling oaths and play a famous game of cards to win his comrade’s monthly wage. He should know how to loot a farm, sack a town and harry the thrifty civilian generally, ‘without regard to political affiliations’.”
- Ambrose Bierce (Civil War veteran, scribbler)

Salina (AHP) – They were slugs of men. The Hackensaw Boys, as they are collectively known, arrived in the otherwise trenchant community of Salina, Kansas on an otherwise perfectly executed Friday afternoon nearly 3 hours late for the first of five scheduled appearances at the town’s beloved Smoky Hill River Festival. The alleged cause of their tardiness: a surprise appearance to help kick off this year’s Bonaroo Festival in Manchester, TN and a sufficiency of distance to confound the most tenacious of drivers. “Blast and Damn!” one of the boys was heard to utter on their approach to Salina, “I knew we couldn’t make it on time and now we haven’t made it on time and I knew it! ”

“Blast and Damn,” indeed.

Perhaps the unshaven, odiferous Hackensaw I spoke to later in the day expressed the band’s sentiments best: “We left Bonaroo in a full party mode that quickly collapsed as the absurdity of our situation set in. I mean, there we were with backstage passes to free beer provided by girls in [expletive] golf carts, at an event where [expletive] Neil Young and Lucinda Williams and Sonic Youth and the [several expletives] Flaming Lips were going to play and we were driving to Kansas for a show we knew we’d miss.” “[Expletive]”

Kansas, however, would prove to hold more adventures and attractions than the boys had believed possible, though admittedly of a more pedestrian type than is commonly found at the Bonoaroo. It is this reporter’s opinion, however, nothing short of Divine Providence delivered the Hackensaws from the dangerous bohemian delights of the Bonaroo to those of the more homespun variety of Salina. This, I believe, was especially true for the Kooky-Eyed Fox whose Coffee County experience culminated in a series of pre-dominant rooster calls barked at unsuspecting festivalrians through the smoked glass of a crowd-locked mini-van.

This is not to say, however, that the Hackensaws entirely forsook debauchery during their Salinian idyll. As one noticeably disturbed resident later lamented: “They were the sort of men who did their dishes like dogs, I mean if dogs did dishes, which is to say that the Hackensaws did their dishes like dish washing dogs – on all fours without proper soap, hot water or clean towels. They were the sort of men who when they did eventually abandon their dish rag, they left it full of maggots, baking on the sun-fired asphalt fronting a mid-western fire and rescue building without even so much as a note of explanation.”

*(Note: Although the rag mentioned was never recovered there is little reason to doubt the veracity of this statement. The resident interviewed chose to remain anonymous, however, for fear of reprisals).

A grueling drive behind them, the boys gathered their wits long enough to play a set at the River Festival main stage that evening before returning to the Dirty Bird (parked conspicuously in a well-trafficked lot just opposite Oakdale Park). A beer fund was quickly established and the Kooky-Eyed Fox began preparing shrimp-scampi and pasta on the Bird’s ramshackle cooking apparatus.

Many cans of domestic beer and a fair quantity of brown liquor were consumed that evening. Mahlon, unfortunately, was drunk well before supper was ready and after falling to the ground trying to serve himself the KEF’s delicious repast, he retired early “to avoid throwing up.” Shiner also turned in for the night which did not seem to affect the remaining Hackensaws, including Big Toe (merch. guy for the tour) Hackensaw who elected to stay awake and get drunk.

After some time Pee Paw, sober in mind and resolute in purpose, realized that to forestall disaster and possible arrest it had become necessary to invent a diversion for the rapidly restless and inebriated bunch. In the ensuing sandbag throwing contest both Pee Paw and Smoky Fontaine distinguished themselves as particularly well-suited to the event while poor Big Toe flailed like an Ewok drunk on saki.

None of these activities, however, were working in the boy’s favor the next morning when they took the stage at 10am for their second appearance. Not surprisingly the performance was relaxed. The Salina residents, whose mean age and disposition was either 13 with a nose for trouble or 65 with a prescription for happiness pills, seemed to enjoy the Virginia whiskey drinkers and the boys reported having enjoyed themselves.

A third set that afternoon confirmed the Kansasian good will.

That evening the boys also got their first taste of the Waifs – an Australian band (also booked at the festival) that included two sisters and three boys who haven’t been home in a long time.

“Uhm, yeah, they were really good, the songs were righteous and they had a cool group thing going on,” observed the sunburned and grisly Hackensaw I interviewed later that evening as we hunched over the parking lot asphalt eating supper. Pausing to shovel in great forkfulls of sausage gumbo prepared by Dante J., he seemed to be thinking back to the Waif’s concert.

“Did I mention that the girls were hot?” he concluded.

Like their first night in Salina, a triumverate of Mahlon, Slavage and Big Toe took the long walk to the liquor store. The Hackensaws exercised more moderation than they had previously displayed, however, and the night culminated in a rousing Dirty Bird picking session with Daniel from the Bowery Boys who strummed old Pogues songs and played the hell out of Salvage’s rarely heard Bohran drum.

Although this reporter was unable to confirm any of the details, these being something the Hackensaws find it better not to dwell upon, a milk jug reserved for piddling was upset at some time in the wee hours. The spillage affected no less than four bunks and caused quite a stir.

The next morning the boys had to make a noontime show and, not willing to leave the Dirty Bird overly soiled, they wrapped all their bedding (both affected and unaffected) in large silver garbage bags and left them in the parking lot to await their return. Consider if you will this animal-like tendency to mark their territory thusly and you will get a fair idea of the Hackensaw ethic.

The afternoon’s performance went well and one elderly woman was heard to remark: “Oh, they’re wonderful. I love their costumes. I know they’ll all be back at work in front of computers and whatnot on Monday morning, but it really looks like they just got together on a Saturday night.”

Upon being informed that the boys were not actually wearing costumes and that performing music was their sole source of income, the septuagenarian seemed a bit shocked and commented that she had “two boys who would love to be doing that” in such a tone as to make it perfectly clear that she would strongly disapprove if they tried.

Their Smoky Hill River Festival responsibilities at an end, the Boys reconnoitered at the bus. An emergency stop at the Cumberland Avenue Laundromat rounded out the remainder of the afternoon. After being informed that beer could not be purchased in Kansas on Sunday, the Hackensaw Boys elected to roll west and see what further adventures, beverages and unsuspecting townfolk awaited them down the road.

Reported By,
Mahlon