Or watching him play. That’s right. Leon and his band. Just when I thought he was done surprising me, he called me up and told me he was getting his old band together to record a demo.

“What band?” I had said. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s a rock-and-roll band. We used to play together in college.”

“At Lake State? You were in a band?”

“Yeah, we played in all the bars. Didn’t I ever tell you about that?”

“What was your band’s name, pray tell?”

“We were Leon and the Leopards back then.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“But if we really get back together, I’m sure we’ll get a new name.”

“Leon,” I had said. “You are something else.”

“Hey, if I can’t do the one thing I love the most…”

He didn’t have to finish the thought. I knew exactly where he was going. He even tried to do it on his own once. Rented the office, put his name on the door. The whole thing. It didn’t work out. He’d been working down at the custom motor shop ever since, selling snowmobiles.

“Well, music might be a distant second,” he had said. “Put it that way.”

He was the drummer, which made sense, I guess. If Leon Prudell was going to be in a rock band, it would have to be behind the drums. Just like I had to be a catcher back in my ballplaying days. It just seemed to fit my personality.

“Tell me the truth,” I said to Tyler. “Are these guys any good?”

“They’re a little rough. But they’ve got…something.”

“Uh-huh.”

“They do. It’s something.”

“You’re a master of diplomacy.”

“You gonna come back inside?”

“I was just getting some air,” I said. Truth was, I had already sat in the studio listening to them for an hour, until my head started to hurt. Between the bright lights, the noise, and for God’s sake the cigarette smoke. Either Tyler had people smoking in there in shifts, twenty-four hours a day, or else he was using the place to cure tobacco leaves. I’ve heard that they’ve all but banned indoor smoking in some states now, but the idea sure as hell hasn’t gotten to Michigan yet.