In 1977, the core of the original unit had coalesced around LaSala, Stevens and Mateo. Brown was on bass, Zeger on alto sax, and Chris Trigs on traps. They then went by the name "Northern Lights".

At more or less the same moment in the winter of '78, Mssrs Mateo, Singer and Miller, and Mssrs Solomon and Edwards independently got it into their skulls to throw the party, if that's the right word, that might well end all parties at Union College. Thus was born the infamous "Dreadful Greed" conflagration; so named for the unfounded allegations of profiteering by the financially inept promoters.

Suffice it to say, no money was made, and at least one or two lifes inalterably were changed in those eight hours of serious fun and exploration themed by the music of what was about to become The Hooligan Band.

This was in many ways a seminal event in Hooligan's career. No photographs of the actual event are known to survive.

The vaporous apparition to the right would be Michael Dance a More, Impresario and amature dervish. This scene is captured at one of the band's favourite haunts, The Outback in Lake Luzerne, N.Y. Folks of all ages would come out from nearby Glens Falls, Lake George and Saratoga to have a good ol' fashioned hoot when the Hooligan's came to town.

Michael, by the way, was at one point recruited by the federal government and studied as part of a program to develop spontaneous human combustion as a counter-terror weapon. He was dischaged from the program after repeatedly refusing to combust, instead just glowing and shooting sparks from his head like the white-hot end of a July 4th sparkler.

The government today denies all knowledge of the nefarious super-secret endeavor.

Another view from The Outback, prior to a show. Next to Johnny is Rick Mills, an old pal. Don is seated at the left, and the saintly Mary Stevens, wife to Johnny, is at the right.

Historians may one day far in the future look upon this photograph and ponder; was Rick Mills' head actually as big as his hair indicates? Is this proof of an alien presence on earth in the late-mid-twentieth century?

A very hairy Roger Cooney here endeavors to hold together a piece of equipment that by all rights should have been retired prior to the birth-date of the band's oldest member. We were very poor, tho, and all we could afford was pre-war Soviet-block gear. Yes, somehow, with only spit and bailing wire, Ol' Rog kept our stuff in marginally working order; this despite the fact that it was in the hands of true maniacs, many of them with little regard for "this side up" and "do not soak in liquids" stickers.

Thus was invented the patented Cooney-Stevens Inverted Beer Bubble Reverb Effect, and the C. Zuck line of Personal Cranial-slap Beer-orb Helmets for musicians and non-musicians alike. Tho neither product was a great success here in the states, both continue to be sold used and traded for spare parts in many former Warsaw-pact nations.

Sadly, Roger was emotionally ill-equiped to deal with the rejection of his fellow state-side inventors and went mad. He is now confined to a sanitorium and prohibited from having laces in his shoes.

Joanne Mulhull, artist, jeweler, dancer. At lower right, her design for the 1981"Hooligan Wakes" cassette.

Joanne has been part and parcel of the Hooligan Family since day one, and has contributed many posters and designs to the cause. Indeed, I first made her acquaintence on the eve of the "Dreadful Greed". It had been decreed that the festivities should be presided over by our Mascot and Mentor, Dreadful Duck. Unfortunately he didn't exist and so he had to be created like some Dionysian spirit rendered incarnate.

Well, not incarnate, per se, as in meat. Rather, we set about fashioning a four-foot tall, thirty-pound duck out of paper mache. When we were done, thanks to Joanne, Dreadful sported a very nice hat, a coat of red, white and blue, and an oddly human snickering grin upon his beak. We had also originally planned to install a tape-player in the little guy's belly, and have him repeat Plato's Allegory of the Cave over and over again. Unfortunately we forgot to leave open a cavity for this bit of nonsense, and since we couldn't think of a good reason to subject ourselves (never mind our friends) to such an experience, the tape machine was nixed.

What became of the duck? We can't be sure. We do know that he hung around the Baccaruda Lounge at the Kappa Alpha lodge for a few weeks. Eventually, he may have dissolved in the beer-suds or taken an untimely tumble into the slop-bucket behind the bar. In any case, his pulpy, sodden remains were soon given their final rest sans ceremony in an end not befitting a handsome creature so lovingly created.

Bless you, Joanne, and fare the well, Dreadful!

Michael Dance a More sullenly considering our next move. As erstwhile Manager and Impresario, much of the blame for the whole thing can be laid at his feet. Oh, sure, you gotta have musicians and tunes and fans; but really, to achieve the kind of Ridiculometer ratings that Hooligan saw in those scant five years on the road, well- that requires Management!

Today, Michael continues to work in the field of music and big time entertainment. Supposedly, he's trying to line up a gig doing Pia Zadora's booking or something. You should call him yourself, if you've got an act you'd like to get out on the road.

I'm pictured here in '79. The Band then had two households. There was a downstairs apartment in peaceful Williamsburg, where four of us lived. The Manleys lived upstairs in the same house. Back in Noho, most of the rest of the crew, about a dozen, shared the big place at 149 Federal Street.

To open up that upstairs apartment and make it available for the Manleys, it was, of course, necessary to exorcise the original occupants. This was inadvertently achieved in one sustained assualt involving about thirty merry Hooligans celebrating my birthday over the course of nearly twelve hours. This came to be called the "Birthday Incident".

Johnny delivered the coup de gras to the irate and soon to be former upstairs neighbor. He merely explained to the purple-faced, near-violent fellow that he had to "understand that what we got here is a guy with a lot of friends who really love him and want to celebrate his birthday!" That was it! At Five AM, having pushed the cars of about a dozen incapacitated revelers out of his way, our nemisis and his stricken wife made their way to parts unknown forever.