Bugs

Photo Courtesy Bass Performance Hall

Bugs Henderson passed away the other day.  Some of you will not know who he is and that’s fine.  But guitarists and blues fans here in North Texas will certainly know and love the memory of the California native, who called Tyler and Dallas home.

I had the chance to meet Bugs in a unique manner not long ago.  I was at the Dallas Guitar Show at Market Hall. I was wandering around looking at all the sparkling new selections and the crusty vintage ones, as well. (Like I needed another guitar!) I came upon Paul Reed Smith who I had had the honor of interviewing a few years earlier.  Smith remembered me and took me by the arm, turning me around and heading us toward the outside stage. “Come along.  Bugs is about to play and we don’t want to miss this.”

Sure enough there on stage in the parking lot Bug Henderson played his heart out.  Played the lights out.  Brought down the house (What other clichés can I use here?)  The guy was balls to the wall.  Out of sight.

After his much too short performance, he came off the stage and spoke with PRS and Smith introduced me.  I told Bugs I had followed him from Kilgore, Tyler to Dallas. Was a real fan.  He invited us back to the “green” room a place the organizers had put together haphazardly for the acts to get a little R&R before and after playing in the scorching Texas sun.

We sat on overstuffed sofas and drank Dr Pepper and I listened to Bugs and Smith tell tails about each other. The laughter was contagious. The stories were moving and personal. The time flew by. Then Smith asked Bugs how he was feeling.  (I had not heard about his illness.) Bugs shrugged and said, “I won’t have too many more of these left in me,” referring to the stage show we had just witnessed, “unless the doctors can stop this lump.” (Expletive used here and changed by editor). “But I will tell you this.  I’m gonna make music until the last day.  I’m going to pick up that damn guitar you made for me, Paul, and I’m going to play it until my last breath.”

Paul Reed Smith had a tear in his eye.  I did, too. Someone stuck their head in the room and said, “They’re ready for you, Mr. Henderson.”

“Mr. Henderson ain’t here.” He said.  “But tell ’em Bugs is on the way.”  With that he pushed up from the sofa, straightened up and stretched.  Someone handed him a candy-apple red, PRS double-cut six-string and he went back out in the Texas heat and joined in a line up of blues and rock all stars.  As Paul Reed Smith and I followed, the crowd was giving Bugs a standing O. He was in his element.  Happy.  Entertaining. Alive with the beat.

Don’t know for sure what heaven is going to be like, but I know this, when Bugs got to the Pearly Gates, St. Peter pulled out a six string and handed it to him and said, “You’re on in two minutes.  Welcome home, Bugs.”

Mr. Henderson, we are going to miss you.