I never expected to meet the people I have, or to have done many things I've done,some of which was far from good. But when it all comes down to it, it is the experience of getting to know  talented, interesting, even great people that is most rewarding.  In this regard I have been blessed over and over.  It was a crazy, ignorant, fearless, and even somewhat narcissistic move to start up the Armadillo.  But one the the base rationales was to bring my musical heroes and friends to Austin, besides helping to continue the local scene into another generation and dimension.  One of those heroes was the great Indian sitarist, Ravi Shankar.  In fact, he played twice at the dillo.  The first time everything went perfectly.  A beautiful rectangular garland outlined the stage area where the musicians would be sitting.  An Indian student had prepared a feast which was served in our bandroom by the stage.  Ravi was busily serving other people; I must admit, I ate quite a bit of it myself.  The only thing I couldn't do was the buttermilk, which our celebrated friend drank quarts of.  Ravi was convinced that he could only ride in a station wagon; he didn't like putting his sitar in a trunk, it wouldn't fit in most anyway.  So i had a station wagon at the time, and I picked them up at the airport and took them to the, then quite new, round Holiday Inn on Town Lake.  They did complain a bit that in their country people would put them up in their own homes and act as servants for them.  I explained as politely as I could that we didn't have servants ourselves, and small homes to boot. Yes, he said, Americans make lousy servants.  I said something like, don't ever forget that!  It was a wonderful concert that they played at the armadillo, and one of the most satisfactory memories I have.  And then the feast!  The next morning I got a call from Alla Raka, the tabla player.  Ravi and he wanted to get something to eat and see some of Austin; he wanted me, because I had a station wagon, to pick them up ASAP from the motel.  It was 9ish, kind of early for an Austin musician.  I hadn't had my morning joint yet so I rolled up a fatty to smoke on the way.  I pulled in to the lot and put out the joint, threw it into the ashtray which was already overpacked with roaches (the only thing allowed in my ashtray).  I never counted on these guys being already out in the lot and walking around in a line like ducks.  Before I had a chance to air out the car they had jumped in.  Ravi took the shotgun seat; he looked over at me and said, "My friend, it is all right to do something once or twice a day, but all day is no good!"  When I took them to an Indonesian restaurant in Buda they freaked out, they were convinced that all the food would have pork in it, which they don't eat.  So I took them to Lung's on Red River.  This was one of two Chinese places in Austin at that time, and sometimes the food was pretty decent, and sometimes not; but they were very impressed with my guests and tried hard to please.  Ravi was happy with the extra-hot dishes.  His tamboura player was a forty year old guy.  Ravi kept teasing him for still being a virgin.  He said to the waitress,"Do you believe this man is wirgin?"  Later we rode around town with my daughter, Sativa, who was 2.  She sang "hare krishna" with them as we cruised.  Of course we had to stop at a liquor store so Alla could buy ciggs; he claimed he could only buy the brand he wanted in liquor stores, but everyone knew what was really going on.   Back at the motel Ravi asked me to call the airport to confirm their reservations.  They had ajoining rooms and with the door opened in between they had both tv's up way loud and were running back and forth from one room to the other, tripping and laughing hysterically at the commercials.  I had to ask them  to settle down if I were to get this done.  We had fun and got close, but Ravi could not fathom why I was playing pop music when I'd had classical training.  He reminded me, warmly I might add, of my older relatives who were more orthodox, in both belief and culture.  The second time they came;just after our expansion, didn't go as smoothly.  They arrived tired.  I think Shawn picked them up this time.  Someone, Ed or Mike, called to see if we could videotape the concert.  Ravi said no.  On our way in the door at the dillo some young black kids were hanging out.  "Hey Pops, you gonna blow that thing, you jammin!".  Ravi asked, "Why are American students so wiolent?"  In front of the stage a video camera had been set up.  Ravi turned to me, "My friend, do you think I am so backward I don't know what a video camera is?"   I apologized and, to Eddie's chagrin, had it removed.  As we stood I became aware of another person behind me; I turned to see avery black, short and stout man with a turban and robe outfit on.  This was my first meeting with the great Nubian oudist, Hamza El Din.  So here three musician's, Hindu, Jew, and Moslem stood in the AWHQ in Austin, Texas, USA. Met in this desert oasis, nomads in a strange and backward land.  Hamza wanted to jam, but Ravi isn't a jammer.  Hamza inferred he believed there to be ethnic prejudice, but I don't think there was.  Ravi Shankar and Yehudi Menuin had recorded an album, maybe two, together called East meets West; and while the sentiment behind it was genuine enough, the music wound up not blending well.  The reason being that the violin still had a much greater string tension than the sitar.  At any rate, it didn't really work, and that was enough for Ravi to shun other experiments. Also, this time we had no feast and some well-meaning idiot had placed several giant pumpkins on the stage, not exactly the most meditative color unless you're a Longhorn. There were some cookies backstage (which was our offices at the time) and Ravi wanted a 7 up.  When I gave it to him he said, where's the towel? By this time I knew not to ask, but just observed.  He wrapped the towel around his neck as if to shave, then, extending the drink upward as high as he could, he turned the bottle completely over at once, splashing what portion didn't hit the mouth all over his face, until the entire bottle was drained.  He then gleefully wiped his face with the towel. The oudmaster was another kind of person, not as uptight, as we would say. Hamza was teaching at UT for a year, then a year at Ohio State, then back here, again.  We got to know each other pretty well; we would get together for a little something before his local concerts.  There was a recent article in the Daily Texan (UT student paper) about the re-release of his album, The Water Wheel.  Look how the Muse has blessed us, look what a power for peace and love we are!  Three wandering princes of the East met in the western oasis to feed the spirit of mankind. I happened to be playing for the city council meeting (Spencer Perskin day, whoever that is) the same day as the 50th anniversary of independence for India; some of the same folks were there who had attended that first Shankar concert at the dillo.  At that time, they said, there were 600 Indians, mostly students, living in Austin. Today there are 6000.  Ain't that cool?!  And isn't it a blessing that we live in a community thatvalues musical and cultural diversity?  My buddy, the late Doug Sahm, always promoted the idea that music is in the forefront of inter-ethnic appreciation.  If you can have enough peace for a concert you have the beginnings of communal peace.  After all, what would American music be without the influences of black, brown, red, and yellow people; not to mention all the European contributions; Irish, German, French, Czeck and so much more.  And where else could a little Jewish boy, a little Hindu boy, and a little Moslem boy wind up talking about what else but music?