Sleep well, Blues Man

The night froze around anyone stupid enough to venture out.  The bouncer waited just inside the painted wooden door to check ID and collect the cover charge- usually a few dollars.  The Skeller was packed, sweaty hot, stinking with smoke and stale beer.  People's shoes stuck to the beer muck as they did their best not to step on the occasional broken green glass from the Rolling Rock pony bottles dropped onto the stone floor.  Thread through the crowd to the bar for a pitcher of beer, then off to the left to the back room, where the small wooden stage barely stood in the far corner.  Speakers flanked it, and the crowd stood close enough to hug the band.

On the stage, four guys and one woman made music.  The Blues.  Blazing hot soulful Blues.  The woman was Tonya Brown, a bit overweight, enigmatic, with a voice that burned through the room and the soul.  On stage right stood a wiry man with a porn moustache wearing a "Blues man" Dobbs fedora, and his guitar sliced through the rhythms and told everyone there what it meant to be young and alive, if a little drunk.  Queen Bee and the Blue Hornet Band held court until the wee hours- the best band at Penn State in the late 80s, which is saying something given the great bands around at the time.

Mark jamming at Skull house, April 1988

That guitar player was a self-taught Blues aficionado named Mark Ross.  He'd play slide guitar using one of the ubiquitous Rolling Rock pony bottles.  He traded solos with a series of saxophone players over the years, loved the scene, loved the band, and, above all, he loved the Music.

I don't remember the exact date I met Mark, but I remember where and how.  Queen Bee and the Blue Hornet Band played at my fraternity house one of our Saturday night parties.  They set up in our "club room" on the ground floor, and their speakers rattled the windows.  The room was smaller than the bars they played, but just as packed and hot.  As they set up for the night, I introduced myself to him and we talked as he set up (after he refused my offer of help.)  We talked about music, both current and the blues.  I was still a Blues neophyte at that time, but knew enough to impress him.  And that night, he impressed me.  I made sure he had a steady supply of drinks.

They played our house many times while I lived there, and for a while, played no other fraternity.  Once I turned 21, I quickly became a regular at their shows.  During breaks, I'd talk to Mark when I could- he was always surrounded by fans.  I occasionally hung out with him on the nights the band was off, and usually it was at the Brick House.  We'd get drunk, and talk music.

Mark, 2018.  

Photo: https://www.collegian.psu.edu/news/borough/article_60d66332-9059-11e8-9037-cfe5da7ccaed.html

The band released albums, gained recognition, and toured constantly.  I graduated, and left Penn State behind.  When I visited, I'd always see if Queen Bee was in town, and would see them if they were.  Despite all the people he knew, all the fame the band gained, Mark always remembered my name.

The band broke up in 1999, so Tonya could go to New York City to pursue a solo career.  She died in 2001.

I saw Mark at State College over the years, and we'd drink together.  In 2014, after I transitioned, I reached out to him on facialbook.  I told him my dead name, and mentioned a bar fight we mutually prevented during Summer of '88.  He warmly accepted me.  We chatted on fb from time to time, but I never saw him play again.  He retired from music before I returned for my PhD.

Debut Album

He died last night of the pancreatic cancer he'd fought so hard for months.

Mark understood that to play the blues, a musician had to have heart, and they had to wear it on their sleeve.  Mark's had heart to spare, and he shared it with room after room; crowd after crowd.  He was generous with his time and smile.  He had love, and shared it with not just his family, but with everyone he met.

Skeller stage, January 2018, before Skeller closed forever

During the shows at my fraternity, or at any venue where the crowd could reach, Mark would allow them to occasionally take off his fedora, and fan his fingers with it during a solo.  It was a way of paying tribute to the man and his talent.  Tonight, being his first in heaven, I wonder which blues great will fan his fingers after he takes the stage, reunited with his soul sister Tonya, to share his heart and love to that celestial audience for all time.  Gonna be one heck of a show!

Sleep well, Blues Man.  Thank you for your friendship, your heart, and thank you for the music.

Queen Bee at Skull, April 1988