Speaker 1: Disgraceland is a production of Double Elvis. This is a
Speaker 1: story about voodoo, not the Hollywood version of vudu, because
Speaker 1: this isn't a story about pincushion dolls and needles. Nobody
Speaker 1: worships the devil in this story, well almost nobody. This
Speaker 1: is a story about real Louisiana voodoo, the kind with
Speaker 1: the power not only to hurt into hecks, but also
Speaker 1: to heal. This is a story of Doctor John, a pimp,
Speaker 1: a drug addict, an outlaw, and a piano man who
Speaker 1: made great music. Unlike that music I played for you
Speaker 1: at the top of the show, And that wasn't great music.
Speaker 1: That was a preset loop from my melotron called nine
Speaker 1: and a half Fingers MK.
Speaker 2: One.
Speaker 1: I played you that loop because I can't afford the
Speaker 1: rights to the Lions Sleeps Tonight by the Tokens. Why
Speaker 1: would I play you that particular slice of no nut
Speaker 1: high note cheese?
Speaker 2: Could I afford it?
Speaker 1: Because that was a number one song in America on
Speaker 1: December twenty fourth, nineteen sixty one, And that was the
Speaker 1: day that a musician named mac Rebenak, who would later
Speaker 1: become known as Doctor John, was shot outside a bar
Speaker 1: in Jacksonville, Florida, in an incident that kicked off a
Speaker 1: heroin journey through the criminal underworld and ultimately to musical salvation.
Speaker 1: On this episode, a shooting, a car chase, a drug bust,
Speaker 1: time in a federal pen, musical healing and rebirth with
Speaker 1: doctor John. I'm Jake Brennan, and this is disgracing. It
Speaker 1: was the night before Christmas in New Orleans, in the
Speaker 1: city's third Ward, in a tiny shotgun apartment, A creature
Speaker 1: was stirring and it definitely was not a mouse. It
Speaker 1: was a woman and she was alone, swaying back and
Speaker 1: forth in a trance, filling the room with sound because
Speaker 1: she was chanting a mantra. She repeated it over and
Speaker 1: over until the words came roaring out of her mouth.
Speaker 1: In the corner of the room sat a small wooden altar.
Speaker 1: It was covered in black candles. The flickering candles sent
Speaker 1: menacing shadows stretching toward the ceiling. While the woman was
Speaker 1: doing her best to conjure up some menacing energy. She
Speaker 1: banged on a glass bottle with a stick until the
Speaker 1: rhythm built into a frenzy. All the while she kept chanting.
Speaker 1: The sound echoed through the narrow shotgun apartment it built
Speaker 1: until it felt like the wooden beams of the house
Speaker 1: were resonating with her voice. And just when it seemed
Speaker 1: like the sound could get no louder, she reached down
Speaker 1: to the paper bag at her feet and pulled out
Speaker 1: the object inside. It was a pair of scuffed, leather
Speaker 1: dressed shoes, size eleven. Still chanting, she grabbed a handful
Speaker 1: of dust from a bowl and sprinkled it across the altar.
Speaker 1: Then she placed the shoes on the dust and blew
Speaker 1: out the candles. But this was no ordinary dust. It
Speaker 1: was a special blend of three ingredients, dirt from a graveyard,
Speaker 1: grease from a church bell, and snake skin. It was
Speaker 1: goopher dust, a powerful conjuring agent. The woman used it
Speaker 1: to cast a hex on the owner of the shoes. Meanwhile,
Speaker 1: five hundred miles away, a man threw open the door
Speaker 1: of the back office of a tiny juke joint in Jacksonville, Florida.
Speaker 1: His mind was raising as fast as his fingers on
Speaker 1: the dial and the combination lock of the heavy room
Speaker 1: safe tucked into the corner of the office. This man
Speaker 1: was the only one who knew the combination. After all,
Speaker 1: He was the owner of this little club. It was
Speaker 1: a down and dirty job, and sometimes it was dangerous,
Speaker 1: so he kept a gun in the safe just in case.
Speaker 1: On the good nights, though it was worth it, there
Speaker 1: were piles of cash to be made. Like tonight, the
Speaker 1: holidays were approaching, and the crowd was in a festive mood,
Speaker 1: and the bar was already doing brisk business, and there
Speaker 1: was a hot New Orleans band set up on the stage.
Speaker 1: On a night like tonight, this man should have been
Speaker 1: seeing dollar signs in his eyes, but instead he was
Speaker 1: seeing red. He spun the knob on the combination lock
Speaker 1: to the final number and heaved open the heavy door
Speaker 1: of the safe. Loose bills flew into the air as
Speaker 1: he frantically rifled through the safe contents, but finally his
Speaker 1: hands made contact with cold steel. It was the long
Speaker 1: black barrel of his Colt revolver. He pulled out the
Speaker 1: gun and stared at it for a moment, and the
Speaker 1: memory came flooding back. He shuddered, and then he loaded
Speaker 1: the cylinder with six bullets. As the man pushed his
Speaker 1: way back out of the office, he left the safe
Speaker 1: wide open behind him. He had more important things on
Speaker 1: his mind, like finding the musician who fucked his wife
Speaker 1: and pumping a thirty caliber bullet to the bastard's skull.
Speaker 1: Mac Rebenac was relaxing in the club's dressing room when
Speaker 1: suddenly he felt the chill. It tingled all the way
Speaker 1: down to the soles of his feet, like he was
Speaker 1: walking on pins and needles. He reached down and rubbed
Speaker 1: the leather on his second favorite pair's size eleven wingtips.
Speaker 1: Up until this moment, he had been feeling mellow, and
Speaker 1: why not. He'd stolen his old lady Lydia's last bag
Speaker 1: of brown on his way out of town. He kept
Speaker 1: the small stash of heroin hidden in a few juicy
Speaker 1: fruit wrappers in his coat pocket, all except what he
Speaker 1: had already shot up during the drive to Jacksonville.
Speaker 2: That was the rule of every.
Speaker 1: Junkie musician Mack knew in New Orleans. Never carry on
Speaker 1: you more than you can eat, because he never knew
Speaker 1: when a vice.
Speaker 2: Squad cop would try to bust you.
Speaker 1: And if he didn't have enough bride money, then you
Speaker 1: might be doing forever in a day in Angola.
Speaker 2: But that was a worry for another.
Speaker 1: Time, because the heroin that was coursing through Max veins
Speaker 1: right now was doing its work. Mack was feeling knocked
Speaker 1: out loaded, ready to show these Florida fuckers what a
Speaker 1: hot New Orleans band could really do. Except for one thing.
Speaker 1: He couldn't find his lead singer. It was that damn kid,
Speaker 1: Ronnie Barron. Ronnie had a knack for disappearing just before showtime.
Speaker 1: Usually he was making time with some girl that he'd
Speaker 1: just met. Mack couldn't blame him. It was a kid's
Speaker 1: first time on the road, and after all, he was
Speaker 1: only seventeen, so Mack tried not to go too hard
Speaker 1: on him, even if he took longer to get ready
Speaker 1: for a show than the two dancing girls who were
Speaker 1: traveling with the band. Max stepped outside and fished into
Speaker 1: his coat pocket for a thin joint. It was one
Speaker 1: of a few he snagged from one of the girls
Speaker 1: that he was pimping out of a fleabag motel in
Speaker 1: the French Quarter. As the reefer smoke filled his lungs,
Speaker 1: the girl wasn't on his mind, and neither was Max's
Speaker 1: old lady. Instead, it was Ronnie Baron's mother. Just a
Speaker 1: few days ago, Mack had showed up in her kitchen.
Speaker 1: He wore his clean as dirty shirt and he was
Speaker 1: mostly not stoned. He promised Ronnie's mother that he would
Speaker 1: keep Ronnie out of trouble on the road, but the
Speaker 1: woman didn't buy a speech. Instead, when he finished, she
Speaker 1: just stared at him for a long moment. Then she
Speaker 1: grabbed a meat cleaver in front of her and she
Speaker 1: slammed it down on the counter, slicing a roast in two.
Speaker 2: She warned Mac that if Ronnie.
Speaker 1: Got in trouble, she would cut off Max Cajoni's the
Speaker 1: same way she sliced.
Speaker 2: The roast, and it.
Speaker 1: Scared the shit out of Mac at the time, But
Speaker 1: now five hundred miles away, Mac couldn't help a crack
Speaker 1: up about it.
Speaker 2: He wasn't scared of the old lady.
Speaker 1: Still, it was time to get the show on the road,
Speaker 1: so he flicked the butt of his joint towards the
Speaker 1: gravel parking lot and went looking for Ronnie. It was
Speaker 1: when he turned the corner that he heard it, the
Speaker 1: unmistakable sound of hard metal colliding with soft flesh. It
Speaker 1: was the sound of the club owner's pistol whipping Ronnie
Speaker 1: Barren in the face. The club owner was screaming that
Speaker 1: he was going to kill Ronnie. Mac launched himself forward.
Speaker 1: He jumped into the melee and tried to grab the
Speaker 1: club owner's gun. He clamped down on the cold steel
Speaker 1: and then he heard a bang, and that's when Mac
Speaker 1: realized that he was holding onto the barrel of the gun.
Speaker 1: Mac screamed in agony as a thirty caliber bullet tore
Speaker 1: through his hand. Blood was streaming everywhere. Mac lifted up
Speaker 1: his left hand, and that's when he realized his finger,
Speaker 1: not to mention, his future as a guitarist, were both
Speaker 1: hanging by a thread. The comedian was a little guy.
Speaker 1: He stood barely five five even with the lift from
Speaker 1: his shiny black dress shoes. He wore a white tuxedo
Speaker 1: jacket and an oily smile that matched his slick black hair.
Speaker 1: He looked like he came to Madame Francine's strip club
Speaker 1: in the French Quarter straight from Las Vegas, and for
Speaker 1: good reason, because Las Vegas is exactly where this point
Speaker 1: size comedian came from. No one knew how he landed
Speaker 1: this month long gig warming up the crowds at Madame Francine's.
Speaker 1: But even though he was from out of town, the
Speaker 1: comedian still should have known the rules, like stay away
Speaker 1: from the strippers working the stage and stay away from
Speaker 1: the bee girls working the crowd. They were all spoken
Speaker 1: for by the pimps who operated out of the club
Speaker 1: or the gangsters who owned it. But this comedian either
Speaker 1: didn't know that or didn't care, and he didn't waste
Speaker 1: any time because he was already messing around with one
Speaker 1: of the strippers.
Speaker 2: This guy moved quickly.
Speaker 1: Unfortunately for him, word got out just as fast, so
Speaker 1: when he arrived at the club on this night, he
Speaker 1: was greeted by two huge bouncers. They grabbed him by
Speaker 1: his lapels and his face turned almost as white as
Speaker 1: his tuxedo jacket. His smarmy smile melted away. He stammered
Speaker 1: out a few lame excuses, but the bouncers were in
Speaker 1: no mood to listen. Instead, they pulled him out to
Speaker 1: the street corner, and then one of the huge bouncers
Speaker 1: smashed his fists directly into the comedian's nose, and the comedian.
Speaker 2: Crashed to the ground.
Speaker 1: Blood was pouring down his face and onto his white jacket.
Speaker 1: The two bouncers then continued kicking the shit out of
Speaker 1: the comedian. On the street corner, in front of anyone
Speaker 1: who cared to look. After they were done. One of
Speaker 1: the bouncers picked up the comedian and screamed in his face,
Speaker 1: you want to be funny, Go be funny now, you
Speaker 1: little motherfucker.
Speaker 2: He pushed the comedian back into the club.
Speaker 1: Meanwhile, inside Madam Francises, no one skipped to beat. The
Speaker 1: card players didn't even look up from their hands. The
Speaker 1: dancers kept dancing, and on the bandstand, the band kept playing.
Speaker 1: This was French Quarter justice in nineteen sixty three. Laws
Speaker 1: didn't matter and the police.
Speaker 2: Didn't run the show.
Speaker 1: The gangsters who operated these New Orleans clubs did.
Speaker 2: Which wasn't all bad.
Speaker 1: In fact, it made the French Quarter twenty four to
Speaker 1: seven party, as long as you knew which rules to follow.
Speaker 1: Unlike this comedian, mac Rebenak knew the rules, so he
Speaker 1: knew better than to stop the music. He stared at
Speaker 1: the blood dripping down the comedian's face, but he kept
Speaker 1: stabbing at the electric organ until the band brought their
Speaker 1: set to a waring climax. Now, as soon as the
Speaker 1: band finished, the bouncers pushed the comedian on stage, still
Speaker 1: wearing his blood splattered white jacket. While the comedian was
Speaker 1: attempting to do his set with the broken nose, Mac
Speaker 1: hopped off the bandstand and headed out into the French
Speaker 1: Quarter at night. He needed to score. His left hand
Speaker 1: was absolutely killing him. Even two years after a surgeon
Speaker 1: successfully reattached his ring finger after that shooting, he could
Speaker 1: barely move it.
Speaker 2: When he did, it.
Speaker 1: Still caused him plenty of pain, so much pain that
Speaker 1: he gave up on playing guitar and he shifted to
Speaker 1: playing keys. That was thanks to his friend and bandmate,
Speaker 1: James Booker. James Booker was a local legend who was
Speaker 1: nicknamed the Black Liberacei for his flamboyant fashion as well
Speaker 1: as his devastating chops on the piano. He showed Mac
Speaker 1: a few tricks on the keys, and in return, Mac
Speaker 1: taught him a few tricks of his own, like where
Speaker 1: to find the best heroine in the French Quarter and
Speaker 1: how to score without getting caught. Max showed James Booker
Speaker 1: where to buy the Gregory bags and give them protection.
Speaker 1: He showed him how to lay a jack of club's
Speaker 1: face down under a black candle and then lighted when
Speaker 1: were citing Psalm thirty five, the ritual was.
Speaker 2: Supposed to make them invisible to the police. That was
Speaker 2: the idea, at least.
Speaker 1: One could never be too careful, especially in those days,
Speaker 1: because by nineteen sixty three, the French Quarter was changing rapidly.
Speaker 1: As mac walked down a wide avenue, he passed door
Speaker 1: after door that was chained up and padlocked shut. Just
Speaker 1: a year ago, nearly every one of these buildings would have.
Speaker 2: Been packed full of people.
Speaker 1: Tourists looking for a little Saturday night action, locals looking
Speaker 1: for a fix, brothels, speakeasies, strip clubs, none of them
Speaker 1: strictly legal. But in the French Quarter, a little bride
Speaker 1: money could go a long way and keeping the party
Speaker 1: running all night long, no matter what the law said.
Speaker 1: That's how it was, at least until the city elected
Speaker 1: a new Attorney general named Jim Garrison. Max spat on
Speaker 1: the ground and cursed Garrison's name. For years, Garrison had
Speaker 1: been a low level assistant district attorney. Mack seen his
Speaker 1: face darkened the doors of French Quarter bars and brothels
Speaker 1: more than once, But now Garrison seemed intent on getting
Speaker 1: his face plastered on the nightly news. He organized raids
Speaker 1: of strip clubs and illegal speakeasies in front of news cameras.
Speaker 1: He dramatically chained the doors and padlocked and shut. And
Speaker 1: with every club he shut down, that was one less
Speaker 1: stage for a gigging musician like Mac, because weiss live
Speaker 1: music went hand in hand. In New Orleans, Mac had
Speaker 1: one specific vice on his mind as he slipped through
Speaker 1: an alleyway and arrived at a familiar door. He rapped
Speaker 1: three times in quick succession, and the door opened a crack,
Speaker 1: pulling tightly against the chain lock. Mac nodded to the
Speaker 1: man inside and held up two fingers without saying a word.
Speaker 1: The door slam shut. A moment later it reopened and
Speaker 1: the man had two small bundles in his hand. Max
Speaker 1: slipped a handful of bills to the crack in the
Speaker 1: door and palmed the bundles. The door slam shut again.
Speaker 1: Mac carefully wrapped each bundle in a foil juicy fruit
Speaker 1: wrapper and tucked them in his coat pocket. He headed
Speaker 1: down the alley and back towards Madam Francines. Once he
Speaker 1: got back to the club, he could get his fix,
Speaker 1: and then he could find a better place to hide
Speaker 1: the rest of his stash. As he turned back onto
Speaker 1: the avenue. He could see the moonlight glinting off of
Speaker 1: the Mississippi River ahead of him, or at least he
Speaker 1: thought it was the moonlight, but as he kept walking closer,
Speaker 1: he realized that it was actually a pair of headlights
Speaker 1: and they were coming from a black Cadillac parked on
Speaker 1: the side of the road. Mac felt a cold shiver
Speaker 1: run through his body. He reached inside his coat and
Speaker 1: touched his fingers to the Gregory bag around his neck,
Speaker 1: and as he kept walking toward the car, he could
Speaker 1: see two men sitting in the front seat. A bad
Speaker 1: feeling was brewing in his gun, so Mac carefully slipped
Speaker 1: his hand into his coat pocket. He grabbed a pair
Speaker 1: of foil wrapped bundles and tossed.
Speaker 2: Them into a drainage ditch, but it was too late.
Speaker 1: The men jumped out of the black Cadillac and ran
Speaker 1: toward him, guns and badgers in hand, screaming at him
Speaker 1: to put his hands up. They grabbed Mac by the
Speaker 1: collar and began searching his pockets, and they came up empty.
Speaker 2: But one of the cops.
Speaker 1: Smirked at him, and then he asked a question, Hey, buddy,
Speaker 1: what's your favorite kind of gum? The cop gave a
Speaker 1: big shitty and grin is a juicy fruit, and the
Speaker 1: other cop pulled the two bundles out of the ditch
Speaker 1: and held them up. The headlights of the car reflected
Speaker 1: off of the foyle gum wrapper. Mack Rebenac knew that
Speaker 1: his mojo had just run out. After his bust, Mack
Speaker 1: was sentenced to two years in lock up, first in
Speaker 1: New Orleans Parish prison, next in a federal penitentiary in
Speaker 1: Fort Worth, Texas. When he got out of the slammer
Speaker 1: in Texas, the judge had just one piece of advice
Speaker 1: for him, don't go back to New Orleans. Of course,
Speaker 1: mac didn't need the advice. Jim Garrison's war on vice
Speaker 1: was killing the music scene in the French Quarter anyway,
Speaker 1: so mac Rebenac I already knew he wouldn't be heading
Speaker 1: east to New Orleans. Instead, he was going west to California.
Speaker 1: He hoped he could find a new scene, a new start,
Speaker 1: and he figured he might just need a new name
Speaker 1: to go with it. We'll be right back after this word,
Speaker 1: word word. The red and blue lights in the rear
Speaker 1: view mirror were large and getting larger. Max screened at
Speaker 1: the driver to step on it. But the rustbuck in
Speaker 1: sedan was no match for the police cruiser, and there
Speaker 1: was no doubt about it. The cops were closing in
Speaker 1: on them fast. The driver of the car was a
Speaker 1: skinny Mexican chick known on the street as.
Speaker 2: Gloria Hot to Molly.
Speaker 1: She had a talent for scamming drug dealers, and she
Speaker 1: could drive the hell out of a getaway car. She
Speaker 1: also had a soft spot for musicians, which was good
Speaker 1: news for Mac because after a year in Los Angeles,
Speaker 1: he was already an in demand session player for stars
Speaker 1: ranging from Aretha Franklin to Sonny and Cher. Still, he
Speaker 1: barely had enough cash for the fleabag motel room he
Speaker 1: shared with Gloria on the corner of Melrose and van Ness.
Speaker 1: Mac watched the police car creep closer in the rear
Speaker 1: view mirror. He thought about the trunk full of stolen clothes.
Speaker 1: He thought about the stash in his pocket, and he
Speaker 1: thought about the bag of cash and grass.
Speaker 2: If Gloria had just boosted from a Venice Beach.
Speaker 1: Drug dealer, If the cops caught them, they were looking
Speaker 1: at serious time. Max started pulling the stash out of
Speaker 1: his pocket. He was just about to eat it, and
Speaker 1: the car swore.
Speaker 2: Viciously to the left.
Speaker 1: The bundle in his hand went flying, and Gloria screamed
Speaker 1: as she ran the car into a concrete highway barrier. Instantly,
Speaker 1: the front bumper peeled off and the car sent sparks
Speaker 1: into the air as it slid to a stop on
Speaker 1: the asphalt, the tires skinning across the concrete, the car buckling.
Speaker 1: They nearly spun out. Gloria managed to straighten up the wheel.
Speaker 2: To the last second.
Speaker 1: She cut across the highway, heading in the opposite direction,
Speaker 1: flew down the first exit. Rent to could see as
Speaker 1: the Saddam was heading around the curve, Max on the
Speaker 1: cop car.
Speaker 2: Racing ahead into the distance. It was a narrow escape.
Speaker 1: Max should have been happy about it, but instead he
Speaker 1: was furious, not at Gloria, she was doing what they
Speaker 1: needed to do to survive, and not.
Speaker 2: At the cops. He didn't like the cops, but.
Speaker 1: At least he knew where he stood with him. No.
Speaker 1: After the adrenaline of the high speed chase had worn off,
Speaker 1: Mac's thoughts turned to his primary frustration. He was pissed
Speaker 1: off at record company executives, the rich dudes, in suits
Speaker 1: who were forcing him to live like an outlaw just
Speaker 1: to scrape together enough cash for a shitty seventeen dollars
Speaker 1: and fifty cent motel room in the worst part of town. Meanwhile,
Speaker 1: these record executives were raking in cash on the songs
Speaker 1: that guys like Mac were working themselves to death creating.
Speaker 1: And that wasn't an exaggeration. Mac himself had witnessed an
Speaker 1: overworked studio engineer literally dropped dead of a heart attack
Speaker 1: in the middle of a session. It was too much
Speaker 1: that something had to be done. So Mac thought of
Speaker 1: the worst defender, a manager at Mercury Records, a guy
Speaker 1: who'd stiffed him on payment more than once in the
Speaker 1: last month, and he decided to strike back the best
Speaker 1: way he knew how. That night, at midnight, an unlikely
Speaker 1: trio gathered on the rooftop of an LA Recording studio.
Speaker 1: A pale Englishman with dark black hair stood in the
Speaker 1: center of a pentagram drawn and chalk on the rooftop.
Speaker 1: There was an evil look in his eye as he
Speaker 1: muttered a series of dark incantations. Next to him, Mac
Speaker 1: lit black candles and incense. He scattered figurines of the
Speaker 1: graveyard spirit baron Somney. As the smoke from the incense
Speaker 1: rose into the night air, Mack kept chanting and singing. Meanwhile,
Speaker 1: a lanky Texan chain smoked cigarette after cigarette while he
Speaker 1: watched the other two with a confused look on his face.
Speaker 1: The tree were supposed to be working on a new
Speaker 1: album together. The Englishman was the blues rock musician named
Speaker 1: Graham Bond, who claimed to be the bastard son of
Speaker 1: the famed occultist Aleister Crowley. Mack was hired to produce
Speaker 1: the record, along with a Texas musician named Wayne Talbot,
Speaker 1: but the record executive at Mercury kept jerking them around.
Speaker 1: He changed recording dates, he refused to pay the musicians,
Speaker 1: and when they complained, he threatened them with bodily harm.
Speaker 1: So now they were on the rooftop of this recording
Speaker 1: studio trying to conjure up a death curse. Well, at
Speaker 1: least Mac and Graham Bond were. The Texan watched the
Speaker 1: other two worked themselves into a frenzy for a while
Speaker 1: before he casually reached into his pocket and pulled out
Speaker 1: a gun. If the curses didn't work, he assured them
Speaker 1: they could always just shoot the guy. In retrospect, Mack
Speaker 1: realized they should have used Wayne's plan first. Because the
Speaker 1: Greegrey failed. The record executive didn't have a heart attack
Speaker 1: in his sleep, and he didn't crash his car on
Speaker 1: the way to work either. The next day, Wayne managed
Speaker 1: to get himself caught up in a drug bust with
Speaker 1: the guns still in his pocket. With no Gregory and
Speaker 1: no gun, Mac knew he had to put his plan
Speaker 1: for revenge on ice. The cops were hot on his trail,
Speaker 1: and it was time to get out of town, out
Speaker 1: of Los Angeles, and back down to New Orleans. A
Speaker 1: few months later, mac Rebenac stepped into a tiny shotgun
Speaker 1: house in New Orleans' Third Ward. People were packed into
Speaker 1: the room, shoulder to shoulder in all four corners. White
Speaker 1: candles were lit, incense was burning, and people were holding
Speaker 1: broomsticks with bottle caps nailed to them, or glass bottles
Speaker 1: and sticks, and a few people had congress, some just
Speaker 1: use pots and pants and everywhere around him. With the
Speaker 1: rhythm pulsed and then gradual from all corners of the room,
Speaker 1: people started singing, and eventually the sound grew deafening. It
Speaker 1: was so loud Mac felt like it wasn't even coming
Speaker 1: through his ears, it was penetrating straight into his body.
Speaker 1: He watched an elderly woman step forward and lay her
Speaker 1: hands on a man seated in the middle of the room.
Speaker 1: Everybody called the woman Mother Shannon. She was just one
Speaker 1: of the people from Max's old third Ward neighborhood that
Speaker 1: he was reconnecting with these days. It felt good to
Speaker 1: come home and play these familiar New Orleans rhythms, to
Speaker 1: sing familiar songs. Even if the French charter was still
Speaker 1: reeling under the thumb of District Attorney Jim Garrison. The
Speaker 1: homecoming was enough to light a fire in his playing
Speaker 1: and make him want to bring that sound back to
Speaker 1: La And talking with neighborhood elders like Mother Shannon reminded
Speaker 1: Mac of the true voodoo, the way the music could
Speaker 1: vibrate the spirit, the way it could heal the body,
Speaker 1: the way it could bring people together. After the healing ceremony,
Speaker 1: Max stayed and talked to Mother Shannon into the night.
Speaker 1: She told Mac about a root doctor in New Orleans,
Speaker 1: a man who was born in Senegal. Some said he
Speaker 1: was a prince. As a teenager, the man was captured
Speaker 1: by Spanish slavers and shipped to Cuba. He spent twenty
Speaker 1: years in slavery before he finally gained his freedom. The
Speaker 1: man sailed to New Orleans, where a word quickly began
Speaker 1: to spread of a newcomer with extraordinary abilities. He served
Speaker 1: poor communities, the outlaws, the outsiders, and with their support,
Speaker 1: he became one of the most powerful men in the city.
Speaker 1: The man went by many names. Some called him Jean Montenay,
Speaker 1: some called him Gan Bayeux, but most people just called
Speaker 1: him Doctor John. Mac like the sound of this cat,
Speaker 1: seemed like the perfect character in front of new musical
Speaker 1: gumbo that had been cooking around in Max brain ever
Speaker 1: since he landed back home in New Orleans. Hey guys,
Speaker 1: we're gonna get back into our story here in just
Speaker 1: a few seconds, but real quick, I wanted to mention something.
Speaker 1: This episode focuses entirely on mac Rebinuc's early years before
Speaker 1: he was known worldwide as Doctor John, and as you
Speaker 1: can imagine, there are just so many insane stories that
Speaker 1: intersect with the world of true crime from the wildlife
Speaker 1: of Doctor John's. Stories that took place after the time
Speaker 1: period we're covering here, Stories like the one about how
Speaker 1: doctor John made a daring escape from a psych ward
Speaker 1: with a warrant on his head, and how that led
Speaker 1: to him writing and recording his biggest hit, Right Place.
Speaker 2: Wrong Time.
Speaker 1: We don't have time here in the full episode for
Speaker 1: that story, but you can hear all about it if
Speaker 1: you listen to this week's brand new mini episode of Disgraceland,
Speaker 1: which you can hear if you are a member of
Speaker 1: Disgraceland all access. To become a member, just go to
Speaker 1: disgrace slandpod dot com, sign up with Patreon or Apple podcasts.
Speaker 1: All right, now, back to this story about doctor John.
Speaker 1: It was a gorgeous fall afternoon into Pega Canyon. This
Speaker 1: kind of weather made Mac admit that there were at
Speaker 1: least some good things about coming back to the West Coast.
Speaker 1: The temperature was a perfect seventy two degrees, the humidity
Speaker 1: was zero. Mack sat at the bottom of the canyon.
Speaker 1: He was listening to a stream burbling along at the
Speaker 1: perfect volume. He couldn't complain, especially since he was actually
Speaker 1: getting paid for this rare day off. He and the
Speaker 1: rest of the New Orleans exiles surrounding him was supposed
Speaker 1: to be recording a new album for Sonny and Chaer today.
Speaker 1: In fact, in a rarity, they have been paid in
Speaker 1: advance for this session. But then at the last minute,
Speaker 1: Sonny Bono had second thoughts about some of the material,
Speaker 1: so he called off the sessions so that he could
Speaker 1: have more time to work on the music. And now
Speaker 1: word among their crew was that Sonny was going to
Speaker 1: call off the sessions for the rest of the week
Speaker 1: as well. Mac was glad for the break, but he
Speaker 1: was even more excited about the prospect of the studio
Speaker 1: being open for the next week. After all, Mac and
Speaker 1: the rest of these new Roman's cats had been jamming
Speaker 1: on some new material in between recording sessions for other artists.
Speaker 1: So far, everything had been extremely loose. They still hadn't
Speaker 1: tested anything in front of an audience, but Mac thought
Speaker 1: the material was already sounding great. He thought maybe he
Speaker 1: could convince the record company to let them lay down
Speaker 1: a few of the tracks.
Speaker 2: It would be an easy sell.
Speaker 1: The studio was empty and they were already getting paid
Speaker 1: to be there. All he had to do was find
Speaker 1: the right way to pitch him. That was a problem
Speaker 1: for tomorrow, though. Right now, Mac could just lay back,
Speaker 1: relax and enjoy a rare peaceful moment. He listened to
Speaker 1: the sounds of the burgling stream, and then he noticed
Speaker 1: the melody of the frogs chirping in the background. A
Speaker 1: moment later, as Buddy Charlie pulled out a small flute.
Speaker 2: Charlie was jamming along.
Speaker 1: With the symphony that the frogs were creating. Pretty soon
Speaker 1: somebody else was clinking a rock against the glass bottle
Speaker 1: in time with the rhythm of the rushing water, and
Speaker 1: then another person added to the rhythm with whatever they
Speaker 1: could find around them.
Speaker 2: Mac was moved by.
Speaker 1: The spirit, and soon he began singing a little improvised
Speaker 1: melody that reminded him of a healing song that he
Speaker 1: learned from Mother Shannon. There was nothing much, just a
Speaker 1: light afternoon jam session. Well, man, it felt good. It
Speaker 1: felt like a vibration through his whole body. Mac couldn't
Speaker 1: help himself. He dug in and began to sing louder.
Speaker 1: Soon enough, they started attracting a crowd. It seemed like
Speaker 1: hordes of half naked hippies were crying out of every
Speaker 1: nook and cranny in the canyon to come listening to
Speaker 1: this spontaneous nature cham People started climbing down into the
Speaker 1: water and once they were in the water, they proceeded
Speaker 1: to get down to the music. And the more the
Speaker 1: people got down, the more the musicians got into the groove.
Speaker 1: And the more the musicians got into the groove, the
Speaker 1: more the energy group it grew until everyone, the musicians,
Speaker 1: the dancers, the people watching from the top of the
Speaker 1: canyon were whooping and laughing and singing and smiling. It
Speaker 1: felt like a healing ceremony that mac had witnessed back
Speaker 1: in New Orleans. It made him think again, Mother Shannon.
Speaker 1: It made him think of the healing power of music,
Speaker 1: and it made him convinced that it was time to
Speaker 1: bring Doctor John into the world. And it's a good
Speaker 1: thing he did, because under the name Doctor John mack
Speaker 1: Rebenac recorded more than thirty albums, won six Grammys, and
Speaker 1: became a New Orleans icon, an unofficial ambassador for one
Speaker 1: of the greatest music cities.
Speaker 2: In the world.
Speaker 1: Because even today, the French Quarter is packed with music
Speaker 1: nearly every night of the week. And of course it's
Speaker 1: not quite the same as it used to be. That
Speaker 1: twenty four to seven musical party, the birth music icons
Speaker 1: like Doctor John, it's gone forever. But Doctor John, his music,
Speaker 1: his legacy. It lives on and will for a long
Speaker 1: long time to come. Mack Rebinac was healed through music,
Speaker 1: great music that inspired to use music to propel himself
Speaker 1: beyond the life of crime, beyond a life of disgrace,
Speaker 1: to become doctor John.
Speaker 2: Not just a New Orleans icon, but the music icon.
Speaker 1: I'm Jake Brennan and the Yes this Disgraceland. All right,
Speaker 1: thanks for hanging out with Listen doctor John down in
Speaker 1: the French Quarter and in Tipanga Canyon.
Speaker 2: Listen. There's so much more to this story. Doctor John
Speaker 2: had an incredible life.
Speaker 1: There's this crazy nuts story about an escape from a
Speaker 1: psych word. We couldn't fit it into this episode, so
Speaker 1: it's going to be in our mini episode for All
Speaker 1: Access members. Go to disgracelandpod dot com to sign up
Speaker 1: for All Access on Patreon or Apple Podcasts.
Speaker 2: Listen.
Speaker 1: Question of the week what music or musician or artist
Speaker 1: has made you feel?
Speaker 2: I don't know. Reborn might be too strong of a word,
Speaker 2: but this makes you feel great.
Speaker 1: It's really pulled you up out of those dark places,
Speaker 1: giving you life in new ways, just as Doctor John
Speaker 1: was reborn. Let us know six one seven nine oh six,
Speaker 1: six sixty three eight voicemail and text. You might hear
Speaker 1: your answer on the after party coming up right after this.
Speaker 1: All right, guys, here comes some credits. Disgraceland was created
Speaker 1: by Yours Truly and is produced in partnership with Double Elvis.
Speaker 1: Credits for this episode can be found on the show
Speaker 1: notes page at disgracelampod dot com. If you're listening as
Speaker 1: a Disgraceland All Access member, thank you for supporting the show.
Speaker 1: We really appreciate it. And if not, you can become
Speaker 1: a member right now by going to disgracelampod dot com
Speaker 1: slash membership, rate and review the show, and follow us
Speaker 1: on Instagram, TikTok, Twitter, and Facebook at disgracelampod and on
Speaker 1: YouTube at YouTube dot com slash at Disgracelandpod, rock a Rolla,
Speaker 1: He's an Land