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Kearney, Neb.
THE stagehand needed another arm. Working alone, he had little time to get the Cowsills’ musical paraphernalia properly plugged in.
He wore khaki pants, an open-necked white shirt and a pullover sweater and chewed gum. He looked late-fortyish and a wee bit plump about the middle. He shouldn’t keep it long at that pace he worked.
“Call me Bud,” he said while manipulating control dials and walking away. “I’m just their father.”
He jumped up on the stage at Kearney State College’s Cushing Auditorium and adjusted a microphone.
“They won’t let me work with them. No talent or something like that.”
Back down at control center, he moved a few more knobs and plugged in another cord he had plucked from the maze that eventually would give the whole affair its electrical requirements.
The appearance of the Cowsills at a little after 7 p.m. was a lung-collapsing relief to the sponsoring Student Union Activities Committee. SUAC had thought the group was flying in from the west but the last plane into Kearney had landed in late-morning with no sign of the entertainers.
CONNIE CORNILS, social area director for SUAC, politely asked the elder Cowsill if he allowed photographs of the group during the performance.
“Fine, as long as no one disturbs the paying customers,” was the reply.
Miss Cornils, 20, a sophomore from Bushnell, Neb., passed along the information to several photographers. The okay surprised some because many musicians frown at the practice of popping flashbulbs while they’re performing.
Bud merely went on working, explaining that he was running a little late and had to hustle to get things ready on time.
“Music comes naturally to the kids,” the man with a New Yawk accent and a Rhode Island background said, matching another cord outlet to an inlet. “They were born singing. Mom’s not too bad, either.”
After socketing and re-socketing a stubborn plug, he said, ‘There. I think we’re about ready.”
Bob, Barry and John Cowsill went on stage. “Testing, testing,” they said periodically as Dad worked volume and tuning dials.
“John,” he said to the drummer, “test yours, please. There, now you’re coming through.”
In 30 minutes everything was ready for the 8 p.m. soundoff and Dad mopped his brow.
“We don’t make more than one or two personal appearances a week during the school yer. Don’t want to keep the kids away from school year. Don’t want to keep the kids away from school any more than necessary.”
Dad Cowsill said the children went to Catholic schools for eight years, but last year he decided a tutor would be better since they spend so much time in television studios.
“We also have a welfare worker out there with us,” he said. “That’s California law.”
HE LOOKED over the large auditorium rapidly filing to a 4,400 capacity.
“This is our type of audience. They appreciate our music. The college kids will listen while th younger ones spend all their time screaming at John and Barry.
“We’ve played Las Vegas a couple of times and have six more weeks there. We got a good reaction, but what do you go to Vegas for? To watch the skin shows and gamble.”
Dad said the reason for the odd arrival hour at KSC was because they flew into Lincoln form their Los Angeles home, rented a station wagon and a Hertz truck and motored to Kearney.
“Our equipment takes a lot of room and beating. Good thing it’s durable.”
The retired Navy career officer – he was a chief boilerman – smiled when the TV milk commercials for the American Dairy Association were mentioned.
“We made 22 of those and they required a year. Looks easy in front of the tube. Actually, it involves a lot of time and work.”
The Cowsills – Mom, Barry, Bob, Paul, and John, plus sister Susan – came on right at 8. Only a few in the packed house knew the group had arrived less than an hour before curtin time.
They got a nice round of applause for the opening number and then Bob said:
“The first thing we noticed when we got off the plane in Lincoln was the air. It was cool, especially since we had left the nice warm beach only hours earlier. Don’t worry, though; we’ve got on our long underwear.
“We’ve been to Nebraska before – Hastings and Wahoo. Wowie.”
He scored more heavily in the hee-haw department when he said: “Our new album has a release date for this month . . . but you folks out there won’t get it until the next.”
They played a selection from “Two by Tow,” their latest album, and Bob gave a little group background.
“Yes, Cowsill really is our last name. Some people frequently ask, ‘What is a Cowsill? Some kind of disease?’ Dad must have started some kind of epidemic (there are seven little Cowsills).”
A GIRL screamed wildly when John the drummer, 13, was introduced. Bob asked John, “Did you bring your own cheering section from home?”
Two Cowsills, Bill, 22, and Dick, 20, aren’t performing with the family. Bill is married and left the group last year and Dick is in Vietnam. Dick’s twin, Bob, commented:
“He has it made. He told us his main occupation over there is surfing.”
Sister Susan, 10, particularly delighted the crowd with her songs and enthusiastic dance routine.
When the show ended, Dad went to work unplugging everything to get ready for the trip home. He didn’t mind all the people milling about.
“I like traveling,” he said. “And the kids get a bang out of it. Gives them a chance to see a lot of the country.”
Some one said, “Bet you enjoyed this more than you enjoyed being a boilerman in the Navy.”
“Don’t bet a lot on it,” he said, wiping off the perspiration. “But I guess the life of a Cowsills’ stagehand isn’t too bad.”
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