MIKE TAYLOR: ’Scuse me while I kiss this guy

I played my first “professional” gig 55 years ago, at the Degage Coffee House in Grand Rapids. With my buddy Bob (the Garfunkle to my Simon), I took the stage confidently. We were armed only with garage sale acoustic guitars, an amp we’d built ourselves from an old record player and speakers salvaged from a non-working Philco TV. I just knew there would be a record company executive in the audience, which at this point was just four haggard-looking souls slurping decaf and reading poetry. The exec would recognize my obvious greatness and offer me a million-dollar contract.