Ianthe McGuinn - In the Wings: My Life with Roger McGuinn and The Byrds

Text Only First Edition

Published2017

NEW HAVENPUBLISHING LTD

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The rights ofIanthe McGuinn, as the author of this work, have been asserted inaccordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

No part of thisbook may be re-printed or reproduced or utilized in any form or byany electronic, mechanical or other means, now unknown or hereafterinvented, including photocopying, and recording, or in anyinformation storage or retrieval system, without the writtenpermission of the Author and Publisher.

CoverPhotoCyril Maitland

CoverdesignPete Cunliffe

Copyright 2017 Ianthe McGuinn

All rightsreserved

ISBN:978-1-910705-85-8

* DestinyTrain*

We are allgiven choices. Decisions must be made, goals must be set. Howoptions affect our lives has always fascinated me. Riding in atrain through the Italian countryside in 1968, we passed a smallbrick cottage. A young woman stood in the open doorway. It wassummer. She wore a white shirt and pale blue skirt. Her left armrested against the doorframe. She watched the train as we passed. Iimagined it was something she did as a daily ritual, longing to bea passenger in a train that would take her away, dreaming of exoticplaces. What had been her destiny? She probably married a boy fromthe same village and had a brood of wild-haired children. I couldhave been that woman. It was me in the train, though, going fromRome to Calais. I was there with my husband, the man I loved. Hewas a member of the Byrds, a rock and roll band popular in theSixties. They were on a European tour.

We had met inLos Angeles in late 1964. He was a struggling musician and I was astudent and part-time waitress at the Ash Grove, a coffee housethat featured traditional folk music. I was in love the moment Isaw him. He had a halo around his golden hair. That was enough of amessage for me.

He came in,sat in the back of the room, and listened to the music, quiet,pensive. I brought him coffee and plates of spaghetti. We used myevenings tips to fill the gas tank of an old Renault I had justbought. Wed drive around Los Angeles with other members of theband squeezed into the back seat. They were heady times.

In the summerof 1965, the Byrds first record hit the charts. Girlfriends becamehistory as the bands wallets were filled and groupies clamored fortheir attention. Jim and I managed to survive the turbulence of thechanges and got married after our son, Patrick, was born in 1966.How we both made the choices that brought us to that moment in timeis a mystery. Fate evolved and we connected.

We reallydont know what guides us through life.Sometimes we live our lives ignoring messages and missing events.Overwhelmed by the acts of daily living we forget the Now.Stop... listen to your heart and body. Weigh your spirit. They holdthe answer and the key.

(from ajournal entry, November 8, 1995)

* Prologue Arizona Snapshots*

Arizona was part of the New Mexico Territorywhen my family settled in the region. Gold and silver finds in theChiricahua Mountains lured young men, including Wyatt Earp.Grandfather Quireno Montoya constructed his stone house in thoserugged hills between Dos Cabezas and Mascot. The nearest city wasWilcox where a train station had been built in 1880. He wasoriginally from Santa Fe, New Mexico. He had stern, handsomefeatures, his Spanish heritage evident. Seeing old photos of him,it is certain you did not want to be on his bad side.

Mother,Esperanza Montoya, was born at home in 1915, three years afterArizona gained statehood. Esperanza means Hope in Spanish. By then her father had becomenight watchman at the Mascot mine. She was the second to youngest oftwelve children. Her mother, Dolores, was a midwife and essentialto the community. I was named after her. My grandparents were true pioneersof the old American West. Because of Mother's history, character anddetermination, she was featured in a popular nonfiction book aboutMexican-American women titled Songs My Mother Sang to Me written by Patricia Martin in1992.

My father, MarcusDeL eon, wasdebonair, sophisticated and well dressed, compared to the boysMother knew in Globe, Arizona. They met in 1930. He drove a Lincoln Zephyr his motherbought him. Dad had a stylish presence that was irresistible to Mom'ssmall town reserve. They met at a dance. He whispered in her ear that she would behis wife. He had instantly fallen in love with her shy, sweetgoodness.

Mother had a beautiful face,wavy brown hair and an hourglass figure; some said she resembledKay Francis, a 1930s actress. Esperanza was only fifteen when she metMarcus. It was a whirlwind romance. They had to lie about her ageto marry.

I was the fourth child, bornNovember 3, 1942 during World War II. By then Dad was working for a copper minein Ray, Arizona, an essential worker for thewar. My siblings, Bernice, then nine, Marcus, eight years old,and Hugo, seven, were not sure what to make of me because I criedall the time, only stopping when Mother was in my line ofvision.

When I was a toddler, myparents grew unhappy. A failing business venture led to Dad'sexcessive drinking. The death of Grandma Dolores and my unexpectedarrival complicated the relationship. My parents divorced in1945. Mother took her kids to the dusty town of Tucson, Arizona,where her sisters lived and where I grew up.

I was too young to remember my parents beingtogether. I would later see my father on summer visits to Miami,Arizona, where he lived in close proximity to his mother andsister. His mother, Rumalda, owned a Mexican restaurant andboarding house there, which had been a staple of the community, andhelped the family survive during the Great Depression. My AuntElojia eventually took over the business.

My earliest childhood memory was of a bighouse in Tucson divided into three apartments, where my aunts livedabove and below us. I lived with my mother and three oldersiblings. The Santa Cruz River was on the west side of the complexand along the banks were rows of cottonwood and tamarixtrees.

During the summer monsoon season, the riverwas full and ran wildly. We could hear the roar of water and thecroaking of frogs. My uncle Manuel had a fenced-off area where heraised rabbits. He occasionally used them for food. I rememberrabbit pelts on the roof of the pen, salted and laid out to dry. Heworked for the Southern Pacific Railroad.

Attached toManuel shouse was a cellar, probably used by bootleggers in the Prohibitiondays. The floor was packed dirt. In the corners of the cellar werelarge bullfrogs, or Colorado River toads, as big as salad plates,lying still in the cool earth, their yellow eyes reflecting in thelight. Manuel had baskets of dry goods on the shelves: onions,potatoes and other root vegetables. He had a small leftover VictoryGarden where he grew corn, melon, carrots and radishes.

Since my mother worked, my auntSarah, Manuel swife, took care of me in the morning when my older siblings leftfor school. She gave me breakfast, usually a bowl of Cream of Wheator oatmeal. Sarah prepared a large bowl for me too large to finish. You re not leaving the table until you finish yourbreakfast, she scolded. By that time, the cereal had turned cold andlumpy, and I dstare into it, knowing I couldn t finish.

She forced me to sit andsquirm, until Uncle Manuel came to my rescue and said, Now, Sarah. Let Dolores go out and play. Youcan tforce a child to eat.