One of my memories of Cletis is a certain restaurant in Fort Worth, when Cletis, June, John and I ate mountain oysters. (For you city folks, them are bulls testicles). That and his driving to the Kansas show in his pickup truck.
I think he played guitar one night out by the pool at the motel, but at my age, memories are less firm than they once were.
Anyway, Cletis, here's to you. A true Stovebolter for life.
