David Schuessler: dkswb@cox.net
   Jack Hayward: jhcomm1@comcast.net
   Robbie McRae: rmcrae@aif.com
   Randy Sharron: sharro_r@bellsouth.net
   Tom Hutchison: hutchtom@aol.com
   Sammy Tedder: tedderins@nettally.com
   Stan Gramling: stang@nettally.com
 

Ode to the 8 of Us - 2004 Seventeen sons and daughters of Tallahassee did gather to play To five hundred fine sons and daughters Of this town and on this day. Three months of preparation were nothing to compare To the years of dedication That began some three decades 'ere. Then other sons and daughters entire came, and filled the Legion Hall To celebrate a city so fine Of oak and pine so tall. The music bragged of power, shouting spirit and heart and soul Challenging the heat of summer That makes one pray for fall. Four troubadours from far and wide did travel here to sing To five hundred sons and daughters Of one voice we did ring. The band known as the Eight of Us had grown to seventeen To welcome and meet five hundred friends Two generations did bring.    Two big collegiate saxes with mighty riffs did fan the crowd And seventeen great troubadours All together cried out loud. Hey!! The silky solos Sammy spins somehow cool the clime Hot burns the first hour with Tower of Power As McKenzie commits the crime! By second set the house was packed, no sign of giving in To match the mass gathered up on stage Of associates, friends, and kin. You heard Big Jim bring the big house down with heartfelt Summertime, Cooling the heat from eight strong horns Of Rhythm & Blues sublime. Now David, Mister Melody, thirty five years from the start Had been my host these past five years I merely played my part. And Robbie, rock of ages, he built risers for the day After writing and arranging four hundred parts So seventeen could play. You had to be there from the start, and also at the end Then walk away, able to say You took the whole thing in. That woman with the funny hat, who grabbed at us last year? To some it was funny, to some obscene Well, this night she didn't appear. Yet between the sets, like wailing jets Low Flying Planes did hover To save the day; get ready to play The next venue we cover. Two singers, two vocalists, two bass guitars, two keyboards and two trumpets With deuces wild the deck was stacked Get back on stage; let's trump it! So then commenced the third set as a blazing sound attack That sent the timid packing But it brought the family back. To hell with the set, to hell with the list, and to hell the bloody parts We played our asses off and then The whole band stuck with Jack. With searing strings from Stan the Man, and bari punches from Chris You decided as one to have some fun; You knew it would come to this. The best laid plans of mice and men were left at Madison Avenue One last chance for the Attitude Dance That Hall was glad to have you.    Ah, after The Eight Of Us, La Bamba, Riverbreeze, Wakulla, Scuzzy Like mustard seeds bands multiplied The count is always fuzzy. Lord knows we got our butts up there, we played our cares away; And as for the mighty big family... Our gift, to make their day. Yes, seventeen sons and daughters of Tallahassee did gather to play To five hundred fine sons and daughters Of this town and on this day. Three months of preparation were nothing to compare To the years of dedication That began some three decades 'ere. - Rene Arbogast