by Jerry Honigman


A few of you know, though most of you don’t, that I was born Gerald Dea Calhoun, Jr. A lot of my family and a few old friends still call me “Jerry Dea”. When I was three years old, my mom married Dr. Alvin Honigman, and I’ve been Jerry Honigman ever since.

Jack McCall was known to many as an on-air television personality at KNOE-TV in Monroe, Louisiana. But, before that, he served a stint at Alexandria’s KALB. One of his roles was “Cactus Jack”, host of an afternoon kiddie cowboy show.

My friend Bobby Beck’s fifth birthday party was held on the Cactus Jack show. The format was typical of the time. Jack would play a few minutes of western serials or bits of Roy Rogers or Gene Autry, and after a commercial would come back and ask each of the kids their names. Our crew – a slew of new buckaroos – consisted mostly of boys with normal, punchy names like Tom Smith or Dick Jones, which took all of about half a second to say.

It did not escape my attention that each kid’s TV time was commensurate with the length of his name. So, when Cactus Jack pointed the mic at me, I reared back and gave him everything I had. “My name is Gerald Jerry Dea Calhoun, Jr. Honigman!” thereby dominating a good four seconds of broadcast air time.

Already a ham.



Life can be very entertaining.

I was in line at Church’s Fried Chicken, and the gentleman in front of me recognized the young lady working behind the counter.

“Hey, girl! Where you been?”

“I been at school. I’m still in college.”

“Yeah? What you studying?”

“Criminal Justice.”

“What’s that? What you do with that? What can you be?”

With her hands on her hips and her head cocked, she fired, “I could be your paROLE officer!”



In the late 70’s/early 80’s there was an in-vogue Chinese-American restaurant in Hollywood called Roy’s on Sunset Boulevard. It had great food and a loosey-goosey atmosphere while staying open until 2:00 a.m.

The restaurant also had booths with curtains, a feature ostensibly provided by the establishment for the privacy of their clientele so that cocaine could be snorted off of the tables. Did I mention Hollywood and the late 70’s/early 80’s?

One night after dinner, I went around to the back of the joint to where my car was parked. As I walked up to my car, I recognized Art Garfunkel and Penny Marshall sprawled across my hood engaged in a seriously amorous make-out session.

I hated to interrupt, but I said, “Uh, excuse me guys. I admire both of you very much, but could I maybe
get you to find someone else’s vehicle upon which to snog? I really gotta go home.”



It was August 1, 1985, and Jimmy Buffet was playing at the Universal Amphitheater in Los Angeles. Bud Albright and Ellene Owens were at the house where Dan Diefenderfer and I lived, along with Zigaboo Modeliste, New Orleans musical legend – drummer for the Meters and Keith Richards’ New Barbarians, who had been spending a great deal of time hanging at our house.

We all journeyed to the Amphitheater that night for the show in which George Porter, also of the Meters, was playing bass in Buffet’s band. They had George costumed in an all-white, short-panted sailor outfit, replete with white tennis shoes and socks and epaulets on his shoulders.

The show was pleasant, as expected, and Buffet even brought “Let’s Make a Deal’s” Carol Merrill and Jay Stewart out of retirement for a little skit showcasing his song, “Door Number Three.”

After the show, we went backstage to see George and meet Jimmy (I had actually met him ten years earlier at a notorious party thrown by Stader Richardson and Doug Ellis in Baton Rouge – but that’s another story). Gathering George up in our coterie, we retreated back to our house and commenced to while away the hours jamming and grooving – Zig on drums, George on bass and now in long pants, Dief on guitar, Ellene on keyboard, and Bud (who had joined our band, The Romeos on vocals for our most recent sessions) and I on background vocals to Zig’s lead. We cooked up a nice funky little song called “Feels So Good to Me,” and a fine time was had by all.

Thanks for throwing the party, and RIP Jimmy Buffet.

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