In the early 1980's I lived almost next door to Casey in Front Street in Memphis.  The Mighty Mississippi was our front yard.  Casey lived in the basement of a parking garage and I lived in an ancient cotton warehouse a couple doors away, both hippie artists/musicians playing on the street for a living.  Beale Street had been closed, abandoned, empty for more than a decade, but in the summer of 1983 it was fixing to reopen.   There were just a few bars, most of it was still vacant, but the two of us were there, every night, the first street band back on Beale Street in many years.  Others played with us as well, but it was Clyde Casey and Alex Wilds, me on a National Guitar belting out the blues, and Casey doing percussion, jokes, and balloon toys.      In those years Casey was still doing "musical necklace" - several wooden slot drums and assorted cymbals, whistles, airhorns - so we could march, and march we did, getting a second line going from one end of Beale to the other many times each night.  That or use the old Daisy Theatre as our personal stage.  At first we thought we might get run off, but the opposite was true - merchants would pay us to play in front of their stores to draw customers.    In November, 1983, I took off for Minneapolis, a better music scene for me.  I reckon Clyde moved to NOLA about that time.   R.I.P. to the best bandmate I ever had.

How do you describe someone as unique as Clyde Casey? He was one of those people that you would remember. Even a chance encounter with Clyde would be one of your strangest and most intriguing moments in life. Often found in the Quarter, banging away in on one of his crazy One-Man-Band contraptions, he spread music and joy like a trail of breadcrumbs.

Clyde's creations became a very significant part of my entire career. As I began performing and lecturing in the world of magic, other magicians noticed and adored my fancy fork bracelets. Across the globe, fans and friends requested that I carry Clyde's unique art with me so that performers I encountered had the chance to become a "fork Brother"! I remember arriving in MontPellier, France and being greeted by three magicians already wearing fork bracelets. I asked Clyde to create a special fork pin I presented to Shawn Farquhar when he was the guest of honor at 4F. Eric Roumestan and I wore our forks with such pride that my web designer decided the "fork de Lis" design was so indicative of my style, he should make it my logo! It's difficult to find a photo of me over the last 15 years when I'm not sporting my favorite piece of jewelry.

So, if you were lucky enough to cross paths with our resident alien life form, admired his gypsy drum mobiles, been greeted by the colander on a spring fedora, or have called yourself a fork brother or sister while showcasing one of Clyde Casey's pun-filled, lovingly engraved pieces, then join me in celebrating everything that was the life of the one and only ForkMeister!

You may all know or not know this, but the magical and ever ebullient Clyde started Another Planet on skid row in downtown LA around 1985-86, which was a safe space for the homeless, at the corner of Wall and Boyd, to leave their stuff, get some food, watch a movie, or find some day work. He got it funded in a small but meaningful way by the city of LA. Sadly, the very day his funding was to be extended to a third year a homeless guy burned the place down, and the LA Times, with a photo, had something like the following headline: Another Planet Burns to the Ground. Sort of feels that way now, learning of Clyde's passing. I first met Clyde when he was the "security guard" watching the parked cars at night when Scott Kelman's Wallenboyd Theater was nearby. The last time I saw Clyde was at Zatar's in Hollywood at the open mic "Big Talk," probably way back in 1990 or 1991, though I remember it vividly, where we had a birthday celebration for him, whose life was all about celebration. New Orleans seems his perfect city. Safe travels on soft wings, Clyde.

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Casey explains how Starbucks got its name. :-D

When I moved to New Orleans, on Saturday mornings I could hear the drums like an ice cream truck slowly coming up the street. I would run outside like a child chasing that sound. I would think, who are those drummers? What's that kind of rhythm? It was Clyde Casey. I followed him until he took a break and I could talk to him. From then on we were friends. He will always have a place in my heart.
Love,
Dale