The event had been billed as a reunion featuring nine 1960s rock 'n' rollers--including land surveyor and bassist Steve Burford, who joind the band Exits in 1964.  When tragedy struck on stage, the concert became a testament to providence, redemption and lifelong friendships.


By CHARLIE WATERS
REVIEW-JOURNAL

"What is a friend? A single soul dwelling in two bodies."
-- Aristotle
              
KINGMAN, Ariz.
 
The 1960s rock 'n' roll drummer and showman, now in his 60s, is living up to his nickname. His name is Bob, but high school friends know him as Boze, short for Bozo the Clown. He is back in his hometown, in his element and having a rollicking good time.
 
He finishes his solo in the rehearsal of the Surfaris' classic "Wipe Out," works his sticks on the paneled wall, then falls to his knees in front of the stage to rifle riffs and rolls on the hardwood floor, dropping down for a senior citizen version of The Gator. He even drums off his own butt. He climbs back to his drum set and tosses his sticks across the room at another drummer.
 
The song ends and he is back on the floor. Amid the laughter, one voice is heard: "You can get up now, Boze, the song is over." Another musician strolls over and nudges the facedown drummer with his foot.
Boze doesn't move.
 
He can't. He's dead.
 
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