Memorial Tribute to Dr. Cheeko

 Memorial Tribute to Dr. Cheeko 

It must have been sometime in the mid-1980s in Wildwood when I first ran into Dr. Chico, as he was then known. 

I was writing a weekly Nightbeat music column for the SandPaper, mainly reviewing local live bands, when I checked out the music on the bayside deck at Urie's, then a large waterfront bar, restaurant and marina on the docks as you came into town. 

It was a Hawaiian band, led by a big bug muscled guy and complete with grass hula skirts swaying in the bay breeze. Not exactly what I wanted, so I went for a walk and hearing some faint musical notes, followed them to a motel bar attached to Urit's, but across a side street. 

Inside was dark, damp and smoky, with air conditioning and no windows, making it stuffy. At the end of the bar was a stage with Dr. Chico playing up front, decked out in his floppy straw hat and flower print shirt, and giant smile. It was an island trio, with a suit and tie electric keyboard guy to one side and a flamboyant guitarist on the other, playing some sort of reggae-calypso music, and I liked it. 

When they took a break I met Chico, with his never ending smile, and my life took a turn for the better, just knowing him. 

"What are you doing here?" I asked, meaning the soul less back bar away from the crowds. 

Chico explained that they had the main deck stage but after a few weeks this Hawaiian band came in and bumped them to the dingy, dark motel lounge. "They're really from Somoa," Chico whispered, as if it was a state secret. 

I gave them a write up in my column and kept track of where they were playing and they quickly became one of my favorite bands, where ever they played. 

Then one winter, when they were out of work for the season, I went to see Tino, the manager of the Mediteranian diner and lounge on MacArthury Blvd. in Somers Point, that is now a beach house furniture store. The diner was open 24 hours and the lounge had live music or dj most nights. I asked Tino - who was a suit and tie Greek, what the worse night of the week was in the Lounge. 

He said Monday, no music, no dj, so I asked him if I could four wall it - take the cover charge at the door and bring in a new band, one night a week. He agreed, so I took an ad out in the SandPaper and wrote up an article before hand, and put out flyers around Ocean City promoting Dr. Chico and Island night at the Med on Monday nights in January. 

At first I got a little scared, as very few people showed up early, and my brother Leo sat on a bar stool at the door taking in the $3 cover. The band took the stage, and Chico began to sing Marley, "Everything's gonna be alright," and sure enough, before the set was over the place was crowded, the dance floor was hopping and there was a line at the door. Tino was beaming a nice smile and opened a second bar. 

People got into it, with the girls wearing flower print skirts and the guys Hawaiian shirts. Chico brought out a pole and began playing the Limbo Rock and people lined up and danced under the pole, - "How low can you go?" Chico wanted to know. 

It may have been cold outside, but Chico made it hot, hot, hot inside, and people loved it - the music, the scene, the style, it just worked. Tino bought some fake palm trees for effect. 

I learned Chico was from South Jersey, but he spent a lot of time in Miami and the islands, and knew a lot of important people from down there, especially Ernest Ranglin and Sir Cedrick, who we flew up from Florida for $100 on Spirit airlines. 

While most of the people didn't recognize them or their significant roles in the development of island music, I did. Ranglin, a suit and tie guitarist from Jamaica is credited with inventing the Ska style of island music, that evolved into reggae. Island Records owner Chris Blackwell brought him to London where Ranglin arranged and produced My Boy Lolypop, the first ska song to make it to the top of the pop charts with a 17 year old Jamaican singer. Blackwell would become Bob Marley's producer and bring him into the London limelight. 

Chico picked up Ranglin at the airport and brought him to my family's Ocean City rooming house where we put him up. A quiet, easy going gentleman, Ernest let his guitar do his talking and we had one of the best Island Nights ever. And just checking, Ranglin is still alive and picking at 90 something, God Bless him. 

A few weeks later Sir Cedrick flew up from Trinidad, where he was the king of the pans - the Steel Drums, oil drums that washed ashore during World War II that were fashioned into percussion instruments by the natives. And Sir Cedrick was - is the best. Another fine Island night at the Med, and listening to Sir Cedrick play those pans with a sweet tap and swipe that can't make a bad sound. 

Island Night at the Med got so popular that summer the proceed eclipsed what Tino made on the weekends with his top forty band, so he started paying them out of the bar funds and we took Leo off the door, and there was no cover. 

When spring rolled around, Dr. Chico had a big following so it was understandable that the owner of the Waterfront on the bay, which had a huge deck, would hire Dr. Chico, who made Sunday night Island Night, and that remained popular for years, even after Chico had moved on up the coast to Point Pleasant Beach and other seaside resorts where Island music was embraced. 

Chico's band was always in flux, and Kenny, his original guitarist moved to San Diego where he began calling himself Dr. Chico and started another band with the same schick, so Chico became Dr. Cheeko, who has the cure for all your worries. 

I last saw Cheeko play on the boardwalk in Point Pleasant Beach, with a really tight band behind him, one that had been with him awhile, and saw how the tourist crowd, sprinkled with locals, reacted to him the same way I did when I first saw and heard him play in the motel bar in Wildwood. 

Although I had been out of circulation for a few years, I did go out of my way to catch Santana at the Borgata, and was really glad to accidently run into Dr. Cheeko and his wife Nancy. Cheeko called me "Brother Bill," as he always did, and gave me a big hug and a giant smile. 

Nancy was the backbone of the band, booking them, keeping track of the money, paying the band, and doing all the things that a successful group needs to have done. 

Nancy worked at Fred and Ethels in Smithville, where they held a memorial tribute to Cheeko a few weeks ago, and while I couldn't make it, I have been thinking about Cheeko a lot, and how he made my life so much better - richer - and I realized I wasn't alone. 

God bless Dr. Cheeko, and may his music live on and his smile remain planted in the back of my brain.