The Ballad of Myles Connor
-by Barry Marshall
“Myles gave 10% to ten things and could do all ten
at anyone else’s 100%”
~Al Dotoli
“You’re Myles Connor.” “I know that. Who are you?” “I’m Al Dotoli, and I want to learn how to play guitar like you do.” Thus began a beautiful friendship in 1962. Through all of Myles’ triumphs and tragedies, through all of Myles’ musical career, and even through some of his exploits as an art connoisseur, Al was there, taking care of business, or Al least doing damage control. Myles taught Al how to play guitar (and then bass) and he joined the band to play at the Lewis Room on Revere Beach, six nights a week five sets a night. Myles was a great performer even then, having made his gigging bones singing and playing guitar at the Surf Ballroom and other fine establishments, opening for the likes of Freddie Cannon and Roy Orbison. He played for the wise guys and they loved him. They recognized a kindred spirit in Myles, and maybe they gave him a little too much advice.
Al Dotoli: “Every time we came close to major success, crime got
in the way.” The first time was in 1963, when, after a fracas in Maine,
Myles escaped jail with a soap gun (I’m not making this up!) and ended
up surrounded by cops while holed up in the woods. Just like in a Jimmy
Cagney movie, the cops enlisted his Mother and best friend (Al, of course)
to try to lure him out of his lair. Al thought fast and shouted over
the bullhorn: “Myles there’s more god dam' cops out here than Heinz
has pickles!” enabling Myles to escape for a couple more days. But soon
Myles was put away for six years in Walpole State Prison. He studied,
worked out, practiced karate (he was a black belt already), and kept
playing music while in prison, and when he was released was ready to
relaunch his career.
Meanwhile Al had established himself as a sound man and production/road manager. He and partner Tommy Walsh had the best live sound company in New England with All Sound Audio, and Al was touring the world as production manager with Dionne Warwick. As soon as Myles was back on the boards, Al came back as manager and general factotum.
Some of the recordings herein were recorded by Al live in Walpole Prison during this early seventies period. Myles is backed up by blues great James Cotton (Al was managing Cotton at the time) and members of Sha Na Na. He had played with many of them back in his Surf days, and Lennie Baker and the band were riding high as a major concert attraction and television stars. They wanted to help Al take Myles to national success and went into the recording studio in 1973 to start an album (“I Was the One” from those sessions is included here). Once again, crime interfered. Myles was sent up again, this time for eight to ten years for attempting to sell an Andrew Wyeth painting to a government agent. A couple of years later, Myles was suddenly released when a certain “masked man” returned a Rembrandt painting that had been stolen from the Museum of Fine Arts.
Al and Myles decided to get back in the rock n’ roll game again,
and Al put together another great band to back Myles. The “Myles Connor
1950’s Rock n’ Roll Review” featured Al’s hand picked players like P.J.
Justice (bass) and Joe Micarelli (piano) from the
Fat City Band, “Diamond” Jim
Baker (saxophone), Tim Sweeney (drums) from Golden Joe Baker’s band,
and Scott “the Cat” Anderson
(guitar and vocals). They started performing all over New England, but
some of their greatest shows happened in Quincy’s Beachcomber club.
Some of the live recordings that Al made there in 1977 and 1978 are
included here. The band’s future seemed assured as bookings got better
and better and Myles was starting to get radio play.
Once again, crime reared its ugly head, and this time it was crime that had nothing to do with Myles. He had made a lot of enemies among the cops over the years (after all, he did have a shootout with the Boston Police on a Beacon Street rooftop in 1965!). The various factions among the state, federal and local police were vying to catch him at something. And there were various organized crime factions working clandestinely with law enforcement officials who were trying to pin anything on anybody. When five people were found murdered in a drug deal gone wrong in the basement of the Blackfriar’s restaurant in 1978, the headlines screamed that Myles Connor was the prime suspect. It was all over for the career. It didn’t matter that Myles was performing out of state on the night in question and that he never was even a real suspect in the case. No one would ever book him again.
