Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, October 10, 1993 TAG: 9310100115
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: C-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: DWAYNE YANCEY STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
In the small Southside town of South Boston, Andrea McMoon read the notice in the record company's newsletter maybe a half-dozen times before she finally picked up the phone.
"I thought, `What if he turns out to be a real jerk? What if he's just out trying to scam dates?' "
But something about the item in the Record Exchange's monthly newsletter sounded so . . . sincere.
"I love music, and I love to go see it live," said the letter from James Mullins of Salem. "The problem is I am legally blind. . . . Since I cannot drive I would like to know if any of your readers would be interested in providing transportation in exchange for a ticket or gas money."
Finally, the 27-year-old textile-factory worker and sometimes-singer and bass player decided to make the call. What the heck, she figured, maybe I'll get to go to some shows.
Two hours later, when Andrea finally hung up the phone, she knew she'd found more than just a passenger. She just didn't know yet she'd found her future husband. That would take another week.
For James Mullins, the letter to the Music Monitor, the monthly publication of the Charlotte, N.C.-based Record Exchange chain, had been almost an afterthought.
Growing up with congenital cataracts that have left him able to see only dim outlines, he had always counted on friends to take him to rock shows.
His favorite: The Grateful Dead.
But by the time the 22-year-old finished Virginia Western Community College last year, most of his friends had moved on - and moved away. "I couldn't find anybody to get rides to concerts with."
Indeed, only one caller answered his plea in the Music Monitor.
But it was the only one he needed.
For two hours that Thursday night last November, James and Andrea compared musical notes. "She sounded real nice," he says, "and I knew she really liked music."
Did she ever - many of the same kinds, too. "We found out on the phone we were both huge Todd Rundgren fans," she says. "I thought `God, this is the first person I've ever met who's into Todd Rundgren as much as I am. I've got to meet this guy.'"
The next day, she did. Andrea drove to Salem to visit James for the weekend and talk more about their musical likes and dislikes.
"He's more into classic rock," she says. "I'm into new, alternative music. But he's got me listening to some old music, and I got him listening to new music."
Between them, she says, their musical tastes - and collections - ranged "from Abba to Frank Zappa."
That Sunday, on the way back to South Boston, her car broke down in Lynchburg. Frantic, she called James for help.
"She said she was at a 7-11 in Lynchburg," James recalls. He rustled up a friend with a car to ride to the rescue.
"There are dozens of 7-11s in Lynchburg," Andrea discovered. By the time James found her, the simplest thing seemed to be to drive her back to his father's apartment in Salem.
"Basically," she says, "I came up for the weekend and never left" - except for a quick trip home to quit her job and pack up her stuff.
"We talked about getting married that first week," she says.
Of course, "my friends thought I was crazy. They said, `We can't believe you've only know the guy a week, and you're going to move in with him.' They thought I was nuts."
No, just in love.
In June, James sent another letter to the Record Exchange newsletter. This one was a wedding announcement.
When James and Andrea's whirlwind romance culminated with wedding bells, it wasn't just a family affair.
Record Exchange executives wanted to celebrate, too. They asked the manager at their Salem store to see what kind of music the couple liked - then arranged for Rundgren to send an autographed picture.
It now occupies a place of honor on an apartment wall otherwise decorated with album covers.
There's only one sour note in this harmony: Andrea never did get a chance to drive James to any concerts.
Now that they're married, money's too tight, they say.
He's working part-time at a telemarketing job, while hoping to find something in the radio business. She hasn't found work in Roanoke's tight labor market, so for now, she says, "I'm just a boring old housewife" - one who chauffeurs her husband to and from work four times a day on his split shifts.
"We haven't even been to hear any local bands," James says. "I thought we might at least get to go to the Iroquois."
by CNB