Some folks are rich. Some are smart or sexy or strong. So what? I'm friends with Harry Hayward.
Remember that story about a young, drunk Mick Jagger pounding on Charlie Watts' hotel room door yelling for his drummer to come out and join him at the lobby bar for a drink? Story goes that the door finally swung open, Charlie punched the fool in the nose, knocking him down, and quipped, "I'm not your drummer. You're my singer."
Well, I'm Harry's singer. It's been a very long road. I don't have to make up stories. Happy birthday, dear, sweet friend.
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