The afternoon of Friday, October 29, 1971 was an unseasonably warm one in Macon, Georgia. The air was thick with honeysuckle, and the leaves on the poplar and cherry blossom trees were still the stubborn green of summer. Houses along the sleepy streets were decorated with cardboard skeletons and witches for Halloween. Kids walking home from school were comparing notes on the costumes they were going to wear to go trick-or-treating: an astronaut; Fred Flintstone; a rock star.
If they needed inspiration for the latter, they could have glanced up at the front porch of the funky three-story house at 2321 Vineville Avenue. Sitting there, carving a jack-o-lantern, was a real live rock star. With long, red, wispy hair hanging across furry mutton-chop sideburns, he leaned over the pumpkin and cut out a jagged-toothed mouth with a sharp knife.
