Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: THURSDAY, July 20, 1995 TAG: 9507200013
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: CHRIS HENSON
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
The moon is sweating it out, shimmering like a mirage. Already waning a little. Turning its cool side toward us.
But, there's a full moon downtown. There's the collegiate guys in their khaki shorts, fresh from a J Crew safari.
Young women saunter by with an exaggerated swing in their hips. A guitar chugs like an engine, people wipe beer-bottle condensation across their foreheads.
And Randy keeps a hand on the bar. He's listening.
The Full Moon Cafe, at 107 Market Square in Roanoke, has been open since April. It's a cozy space, tucked into the Hartsook Building around the corner from Books Strings & Things.
They do the sandwich and salad thing, and sell beer by the yard. This involves a thin, three-foot-tall glass with a wooden stand to hold it up. It's 42 ounces of beer in a vessel you have to turn yourself sideways to drink from.
Brothers Bill and Jimmy Woodson own the restaurant. "We grew up in Roanoke," says Jimmy, 26. "When we both moved back to town, we had a place called Choice Salads," a downtown salad delivery business.
"We've always been good friends, we do a lot together," Jimmy says. "So we figured we might as well try to make some money at it."
After 10 months of salads, they decided to open the cafe.
"About half the people in here are old friends," he says. "We wanted to have a place where they could relax, maybe hear some blues or jazz."
Hunter Merritt is the evening's featured performer - a guy with a solid voice, booming guitar and a million songs in his book. He slips from one tune to the next, not waiting for the last chord to fade.
He puts a lot into each song, holding the odd notes a little longer to give them significance. He sings like a cross between Don Henley and John Prine, a big clear tone with an ironic twang. But it's his guitar that propels the music forward. He's not content to sit and strum; there's some serious picking going on.
When he asks the crowd what they'd like to hear, someone shouts "Jimmy Buffett" of Margaritaville fame. Merritt shakes his head. "I know it's summer, I know it's hot. And I know I'm playing guitar in the corner of a bar," he says. "But, I don't know any Jimmy Buffett."
Bartender Randy Peterson sits down next to me and asks, "Is he any good?"
"Oh, yeah," I say during a killer version of the Allman Brothers classic "Whipping Post."
At the bar Randy explains about the cafe's CD player. It's got maybe 100 discs. "People ask me all the time, "What's this music you're playing?''' Randy says. "I have to tell them I don't know."
Randy, now 40, has been deaf since he was struck by a car when he was 19. He could hear no more than a muffled background noise.
He was an interior designer in California. Bought a big house in Florida a few years back and lost it in a fire that claimed all his possessions. Then, three years ago, he awoke from a mild stroke to a world of complete silence.
His voice is clear. He signs with his hands as he speaks.
"I spent a lot of time feeling sorry for myself," he says.
His brother Allen wouldn't allow it.
"I would get depressed and he'd say, `OK, let's stop everything and feel sorry for Randy for five minutes.'''
Randy leans over to me at this point. "You know how some people have chips on their shoulders?" he asks.
"Yeah," I say, suddenly trying to make my lips readable.
"Well, he told me once, he said, `Randy, you've got a boulder on your shoulder and I've got the dynamite to blow it off!' And, he did. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him."
Randy has adapted by learning sign language and lip-reading. He has a text telephone and a hearing-ear Border Collie named Gracie.
Randy waits tables during the week and tends bar on weekend nights. "I love to meet people," he says. "I kid around with customers, I really put on a show."
"He's got more energy than both of us put together," says Jimmy Woodson.
Randy shows me a few things while I'm sitting at the bar.
"This is my name-sign," he says, crossing the fingers of his right hand to make an "R" in sign language and placing them against his left shoulder, where the sign for the heart is. "My deaf counselor, Judy, gave it to me three years ago. She says I have a big heart."
He and I talk about music. When he was younger he studied piano. Chopin was his favorite. We talk about how Beethoven was able to write such beautiful music without hearing it.
Dave Matthews is on the stereo. People are bobbing their heads to it.
"This is how I listen to music," Randy says, and he takes my hands and places them on the bar. "Feel that," he says. "That's the best spot in the house." Dave Matthews is there, in the wood, vibrating and warm.
"I still love music," Randy says.
He explains that his memory of music is kind of like a radio in his head. "It used to run on Duracells. Now it's solar," he says, rubbing his balding scalp and laughing. "And it only plays oldies."
Randy says he's glad to be in Roanoke. He's found an Episcopal Church that signs its service every week. He makes new friends every day. He likes his job.
"I'm happy to be alive," he says. "Even in this heat."
Shade is where you put something between yourself and the sun. By midnight the whole world is supposed to be blocking the heat. It's not. The Full Moon Cafe offers some relief. Just remember your moderation.
"I can't read your lips if you're slurring," Randy says.
Tonight the Full Moon Cafe will feature Heather Banker, doing some blues and acoustic numbers. Friday night it's the babes of Radar Rose, Jane and Anastasia, on guitar, flute and vocals. And Saturday is more music with John McCrady.
Hunter Merritt will be doing his impressive one-man show at Hurley's on Grandin Road on Friday night, 8 to 11.
by CNB