Fried Weasel Foundation
One of the most frequently asked questions we get, besides our recipe for Twinkie Sushi, is "How do you approach fundraising, charity, etc." There’s a pithy quote from Neil Simon’s California Suite —
I went to a charity luncheon in East Hampton to raise money for the California grape pickers. There was this teeming mob of women who must have spent a total of twelve thousand dollars on new Gucci pants in order to raise two thousand dollars for the grape pickers. Why the hell didn’t they just mail them the pants?
You won’t find us spending 12K to raise 2. Some studios institute scholarship funds in an effort to pay themselves to teach under the guise of charity. We don’t raise money just to afford ourselves publicity and the opportunity to do something charitable. We just do it. We give of our time, talent and resources freely. The Fried Weasel Foundation, in memory of Brad Hartman, is our go-to way of encouraging those who wish to make a contribution; to give of their time, talent, and resources freely. Bless is more.
Fried Weasel Fund
Those who prefer to sponsor a developing artist, an event, a production, or generally underwrite a studio expense or upgrade can do so by clicking here. We are a for-profit organization, so please note that any contribution is an in-kind donation.
In Memory of Brad Hartman
There’s no shortage of things I can write of my father. He was a remarkable man, my best man, taken before his time. I’m still discovering new ways to remember and honor him. Perhaps I always will.
I’ve been teaching for many years, now, and it’s safe to say I demand a nominal level of effort and autonomy. I subscribe to high standards and modest expectations. My father was a man of his word and I’ve little patience for those who aren’t—Do what you say, say what you mean.
I credit many influences and mentors. Mom, Dad, and my wife regularly inspire me more than most. There’s a great deal of comfort growing into the feet your father gave you and the shoes he left behind, awakening to his principles and values better recognized by those who need them most.
“Never give up, always keep your word, and never lose the person you were meant to be,” as encouraged by Dad and forwarded by one of Dad’s students. God’s providently revealing the person I’m meant to be. I always keep my word and when I gave up, Dad was there every week for a year—one of the very few folks who helped pick me up, dust me off, and ran alongside the bike while I regained my balance.
Thank you, Dad. Thank you, Matt, for projecting the strength of his otherwise fragile heart.
Jeff Hartman
Artistic Director
Mr. Hartman
by Matt Banks
In the summer of 2007, my dad introduced me to his long-time friend, Brad Hartman, who was to be my new golf coach. What started as a simple student/teacher relationship, soon turned into a friendship that could only be described as odd. Mr. Hartman was a detective with the New Jersey State Police and I was the laid-back southern kid. Mr. Hartman was an excellent teacher and was able to teach me more about golf in one lesson than I had learned in years, but he wasn’t just teaching me about golf. The lessons that he was giving me were lessons that were valuable on and off the course. He preached to me three lessons that would lead to success—“Never give up, always keep your word and never lose the person you were meant to be.” These all three sound like simple lessons that every kid has learned, yet I learned them in ways that only he could teach me.
During one of my first lessons with Mr. Hartman, I learned the lesson of never giving up. We were probably three buckets and two hours into practice when my meltdown occurred. I had hit the same shot all day and had yet to meet his standard for the shot. That is when I decided I had enough and was done for the day. Mr.Hartman grabbed my arm and stopped me from leaving. Our egos began to clash—the tough-as-nails cop versus the laid-back southern kid. After a discussion that would have put a drill sergeant to shame, I went back to do the drill. At that moment in time, I wanted to quit golf forever, but I proceeded to hit the best shots of the day. After another hour of the drill, we played nine holes and I shot the best score of my life. With open blisters on my hands and feet and having lost my temper more than once in the 90-degree heat, I learned the true meaning of giving it your blood, sweat, and tears.
A few years later, our friendship had grown and I was now calling him just “Hartman.” We played golf at least once a week and he was still my coach. It was at this time that he taught me the second key to success. I told Hartman that I would meet him at the course at 8:30. When I finally arrived around 9 o’clock, Hartman was infuriated. He explained to me that when you decide to do something, you do it. If you say you are going to be there at 8:30, be there early. He said that a man’s word is all a man has and once it is gone he is left with nothing. It doesn’t matter if the promise is big or small. Hartman was always a man of his word and he hated having to break a promise or commitment. My punishment for the day was that I had to walk all 18 holes as he rode along beside me. I blew off his little lesson and didn’t think much of it. What I hadn’t realized is that I had taken his lesson to heart and was later doing exactly what he told me. Others could see the changes when I couldn’t. I never got the chance to thank Hartman for that lesson because he passed away a short time after.
The third lesson Hartman taught me is the best one of all. Mr.Hartman was a man who always seemed out of place. While living in New Jersey, he pulled for the Miami Dolphins, and while living in the south, he thought my southern state of mind was lazy. Wherever Hartman was, he seemed out of place, yet he was always comfortable in his own skin. The day he caught me acting like a spoiled little rich boy, he lectured me far more than my own father would have. Hartman did things his way and never let anyone change him. He sucked up to no one but respected and treated everyone as his equal. He pushed everyone around him to the limit in an effort to make them the best they could be. He told me that God had a plan for his “small-town southern kid” as long as I stuck to working hard and kept being myself. I never knew how important that statement was until I attended his memorial. Every person there told stories about Hartman and it seemed he had taught every person some kind of lesson.
Mr. Hartman was a coach, a friend, and a father figure. He pushed me to my limit and made me a better person. The lessons he taught me were simple, yet they were lessons I needed to learn. Hartman was one of the first adults to treat me as an equal and one of the few to show a large interest in me. He was more than a friend and a coach. He was simply, “Hartman.”
Fried Weasel
Uncrowned Kings of Rock 'n' Roll
friedweasel.com
Origins
In 1971 Walter Rebele was set to marry Maureen McDermott. The reception was scheduled to take place at the Spotswood, New Jersey, Knights of Columbus Hall. A proficient wedding band was hired to provide typical wedding tunes; slow dance, elevator music, and Frank Sinatra classics. Two weeks prior to the wedding, Maureen's brother, John, also offered the services of his band and boldly so, since no such band existed. That offer was unexpectedly accepted, thus creating the urgent need for a musical collaboration among high school friends who had little or no musical background. Sure, Al Rothschild played drums and played them well, but mostly in his bedroom to annoy his parents. And Dave Ritter picked at his guitar, but quietly, without confidence. Bill Haller ashamedly played clarinet in the East Brunswick High School band. Don Sauvigne was tall. And no one could sing. Few could predict that these humble beginnings would give birth to the legendary rock 'n' roll band, Fried Weasel.
The Wedding
The Performance at Walt and Maureen's Wedding
The boys had practiced for their first gig, but to call their practices long and hard would hardly seem appropriate. In the confines of a dusty basement, they etched out a general itinerary, handed out song lyrics, beat on the drums, and tinkered with a few chords on the infamous and often unreliable "Pig" guitar. And on a summer evening in 1971, a wedding band took a pause for the cause, making way for Dave Ritter, John McDermott, Al Rothschild, Bill Haller, and Don Sauvigne, collectively known as Fried Weasel. The five young men proudly and loudly marched one behind the other to the stage with great fanfare, announcing their arrival to the rock n roll world with kazoos blaring the theme to the hit movie, Bridge Over the River Kwai.
The County Fair
In the summer of 1971, John McDermott hears some scuttlebutt about how Middlesex County Fair (MCF) is looking for a rock 'n' roll band to entertain the masses. The opportunity speaks to him. Why not get the band back together, again? Why not? And why not make the band bigger and better than ever before. Why not write and perform our own music. The problem is that the MCF is only two weeks away. Can the boys do it, again?
McDermott calls the MCF and convinces them that they oughta book Fried Weasel, which they agree to do. McDermott, Ritter, and Rothschild begin to map out a game plan. They need someone to play bass guitar. Ritter went to college with Chip Lee, a bass player extraordinaire. And Chip Lee has a friend, Dave Fenwick—he played a mean lead guitar and he could tickle the ivories, too. McDermott, Ritter, and Rothschild came up with the idea of writing a rock opera, thus "Dick Decent" was born. The Dick Decent story and the narration were developed, original songs were written and the musical parts were matched to the words on the two occasions when the band was able to get together in either McDermott's or Rothschild's cramped basements. Dave Ritter was going to be the voice of Dick Decent, thus he would do the narration during the performance. It was agreed that our roadies John Sherwood, Rich Westberg, and Muskie would manage the equipment, handle crowd control, and otherwise provide security for the band and Walt McDermott and John Ritter would record the performance for posterity.
And so came the evening of the performance. Were it not for a mysterious case of laryngitis, Dave Ritter would have performed the narration as planned. After all, he had rehearsed it so many times with pizzazz, personality, and crowd appeal. But alas, it was these rehearsals, when Ritter had given his all, that left him speechless when he was needed the most. And so an emergency plan was concocted. McDermott had helped to write Dick Decent. He knew the speaking part by heart. He would fill in for the ailing Ritter.
McDermott would narrate Dick Decent, Ritter would play guitar and somehow manage to sing Son of Simca—a song that he had written about his car. He might possibly have been the last man in America to drive a Simca. Rothschild would play drums, some guitar, and sing backup vocals. Tree Man Haller would sing and play his saxophone. Chip Lee and Dave Fenwick and Al Rothschild were the musical glue that would hold everything together. John Sherwood would also contribute background vocals and some narration between pauses.
Flight of "The Pig"
It all began with the forging of "The Pig." In the land of Japan, in the fires of Tokyo, Teisco forged an electric guitar. History became legend. Legend became myth. And for 42 years, "The Pig" passed out of all knowledge. Until, when chance came, The Pig ensnared a new bearer.
Jeff Hartman
November 21, 2013
So, was Dad ever in a band called "Fried Weasel?" The stories here vary and are fragmented.
John McDermott | Brad's Best Man & Best Friend
November 21, 2013
Fried Weasel, friedweasel.com, played 2 gigs—my sister's wedding and the Middlesex County Fair. I don't believe that your father played at either. Not sure why. It was his choice, as all of our core guys were welcome to join the band. He was always around, though, and a positive influence. Your father did attend practices (maybe we had 2 or 3) and in fact, one of those practices was over his house. As I recall, your father strummed the basic chords to a number of surfing songs on his guitar. That guitar, which is now spoken of in legendary terms, was used at the Middlesex County Fair and was later purchased from him by another band member for $25. That band member, Chip, still has the guitar. Chip's son plays it from time to time and I'm told that the sound it makes can be likened to a scream to the heavens. You can hear the guitar on the Fried Weasel website. I miss your father and I think about him a lot.
John McDermott
November 24, 2013
Carol Anne, Chip says that he's OK with getting the guitar back to Brad's family. We'd have to figure out how to make that happen. I know that Dave Ritter is going to be meeting him in Philly in about 3 weeks. Not sure how that helps, except that Chip could hand it off to Dave and then Dave to me. Not sure that this would get the guitar to you by Xmas. I believe Chip lives in South Jersey somewhere, so if you have anyone traveling to and from that area to where you live, you could always have it picked up. Other than that, it would have to be shipped/mailed, etc. We would have to figure out how to do this without putting Chip through a lot of time and expense. Let me know what you think.
Donald "Chip" Lee
November 24, 2013
I'll drive it somewhere if it's within reason. Somehow the idea of this guitar in a case doesn't seem right. Ha-ha. I hope they don't think they're getting a real or even useable guitar.
Donald "Chip" Lee
November 27, 2013
I don't think "The Pig" guitar ever was a real guitar. By the time it was dumped on me it had been rebuilt in a very amateurish fashion. I have also seen someone attempt (unsuccessfully) to smash it. I haven't played it and it has been in sorry shape for at least forty years. That being said, I'm totally up for returning it for sentimental reasons or any other reasons. Just let me know how I can help.
Jeff Hartman
December 25, 2013 | Facebook Post
My father, Brad Hartman, passed away almost 3 years ago. Unbeknownst to me was the existence of an electric guitar he owned 40 some odd years ago. Remarkably, it still exists! His best friend, John McDermott, and my wife, Carol Anne Hartman, tracked it down and got it for me for Christmas. Wept like a baby. Best present ever. #merryaxemas
John McDermott
December 26, 2013 | Facebook Post
Let me know when you record with it. Can't wait to hear it again. Merry Xmas!
Jeff Hartman
July 14, 2015
Hi, John. With Dad's birthday coming up tomorrow, I've naturally been doing a lot of thinking about him. I'd like to put together a memorial fund for disadvantaged students in his name. I'd like to call it the "Fried Weasel Fund." Donations would help provide kids with instruments and lessons that wouldn't otherwise be able to afford them. I know Dad wasn't technically part of Fried Weasel, but it was something he boasted about all the time. He felt like he was a part of it. With your blessing, I'd like to move forward with that and perhaps have you, Mom, and anyone who has a story, write a little something about how giving he was and any particular fundraising efforts he might have been a part of. We'll, of course, help further spread the legend of Fried Weasel. Lemme know whatcha think.
John McDermott
July 14, 2015
While your father did not perform at any of the Weasel events, he was part of our group and as such he was always around when we were doing Weasel stuff—practicing, planning, etc. So, I consider him to be a Weasel. And sure, I'm down with anything that honors your father and benefits disadvantaged kids. You're a great son!
