In 1970, I left Fleetwood Mac in England to come to America to work with the Byrds. My newest friends in the US were the band members, especially Clarence White and his dad, and the roadies, Jimmi Seiter, Carlos Bernal, and Al Hersh. Jimmi and I rented a house in the San Fernando Valley, and, if we weren’t hanging out with our friends in the canyons, they were crashing at our place.

I’m not sure when Jimmi (whose brother John, now working for the NY Jets, was an early drummer for Spanky and Our Gang), first took me to meet Elaine “Spanky” McFarlane, but we hit it off right away. Anyone who meets Spanky marvels at how friendly, generous, and open she is. She first started making music in Chicago, near her hometown of Peoria, Illinois. By the time she was 18, she fronted a blues band that played Mother Blues in the Windy City. In her band at that time were Little Brother Montgomery, Wee Willie Dixon, and Booker T. Washington. After her hits with Spanky and Our Gang (“Sunday Will Never Be the Same”, “Lazy Day”, “Like to Get to Know You”, “Give a Damn”), she moved to the West Coast. When Jimmi introduced me, Spanky was living in Topanga Canyon with her two kids, DeeCee and Matt, near Michael Horse, a Yaqui Native American actor and activist who had played Tonto in The Legend of Lone Ranger. A few weeks before our visit, Matt had created some mischief at Michael’s house. He ended up tied to a small tree as Michael, in a full headdress of eagle feathers, wildly danced around him, shaking his bow. Matt didn’t know if he should laugh or cry, but he was scared, and after his release, ran home, eyes wide, to tell Mom, who tried to control her laughter. A few hours later, Spanky heard a loud whack at her front door. As Matt carefully opened the wooden door, she gasped and then laughed as she found a flaming arrow piercing the frame. Ah!!! Topanga Canyon back in the day!

I have been friends with Spanky since that first visit. In 1981, Carlos and Al were working with John Phillips to resurrect the Mamas and the Papas. Spanky was tapped to sing her hits as well as the Cass Elliott parts, and I got the call to do the sound. After a reunion in New Jersey, we spent the next few years touring with the new group, which now consisted of John Phillips, Denny Doherty, Mackenzie Phillips, and Spanky working clubs, concerts, and stints in Vegas interspersed with TV shows and studio recordings of John’s new material. It was quite the family affair—besides Mackenzie, John had his son Tamerlane and daughter Bijou on the road with his wife, Genevieve Waite. Denny’s family pretty much stayed in Canada, where he now lived, but from time to time his wife and children, Jessica, Emberly, and John, would join us. Spanky had DeeCee and Matt at a lot of the shows, and during the summer, my daughter Amanda would show up.

When the band separated in 1993, Spanky retired from music, becoming a caregiver for her friend Mama Blue, whom she had known since her early music days in Chicago.

Ten years later, Spanky called me again.

“Hey, Dinkster, are you coming to Denny’s opening in two weeks?” she asked.

Denny Doherty had written an autobiographical, one-man show, Dream a Little Dream: The Nearly True Story of the Mamas and the Papas, which was opening at the Village Theater in New York. He had called me earlier that week with the invite. We had a great reunion the night it opened—Denny and his kids; Spanky, DeeCee, and Matt; Bijou and her significant other, Sean Ono Lennon; Scott McKenzie, and John Sebastian. Denny was splendid—we laughed, cheered, and cried as he took us on an amazing journey though the ’60s and ’70s. After the post-show party at the Bitter End, some of us headed to Spanky’s place to continue the celebration. Gentleman Denny had gone ahead to take care of preparations, but his son John, Bijou and Sean, Spanky, DeeCee, Matt, and I crowded into a little elevator to get to the Greenwich Village apartment where Spanky was staying. Entering the lift, we were all giggling and laughing, talking about Denny’s sparkling performance. The elevator lurched, moved up a floor or two and then stopped. The lights went off. No doors opened. The chattering stopped. It became very quiet.

“Where are we, guys?” Spanky asked in a small voice.

“I think the lift is stuck,” I replied, pushing the up button in vain. After a few seconds, I pushed the red emergency button. BUZZZ… BUZZZZZ… BUZZZZZZZZ. We heard some rattling above us.

“What’s up? Are you okay?” came a voice floating from above. “I think the elevator is stuck, but don’t worry, it happens. We’ll call the firemen.”

“Okay,” Spanky replied, “But hurry, we have a party to go to.” We all laughed, nervously. So we sat on the floor and made small talk. After 10 minutes, it was obvious, we were not comfortable. The talking stopped.

“Anybody got a joint?” Suddenly, three spliffs materialized in three different hands amid some laughter.

“Anybody got fire?” One lighter popped up, and we were in business. Soon we were having our own party in the lift, laughing and singing. About 15 minutes later, we felt the elevator move upward. As the doors opened, we heard Denny say, “You didn’t!” We greeted the waiting, rather surprised, firemen and friends with huge smiles as we made our exit through undulating clouds of smoke with an “Oh, yes, we did.”