By J.M. Dobies
Orlando Weekley
Published 10/2/03

Kurt "King of the Oldies" Curtis

Kurt "K.O.T.O." Curtis, the "King of the Oldies," started out in the '70s spinning records at Big Daddy's in Tampa and Daytona Beach. After spinning records around The U.S. at some of the top nightclubs in the Country he returned to his hometown of St. Petersburg, Florida. Curtis has combined exhaustive research with over 1,000 items of memorabilia from his personal collection to produce a labor of love entitled "Florida's Famous and Forgotten": The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Florida's Rock, Soul, and Dance Music 1955-1985: The First 30 Years, a massive, 1500-page illustrated Encyclopedia. Curtis's comprehensive study, which he refers to as "the Bible," has been in the works for 22 years (and counting), with pre-orders dating back several years. Like a Rock & Roll Sisyphus, K.O.T.O. has relentlessly pursued his dream, despite many setbacks. By the time a series of graphic designers had come and gone -- one absconded with $10,000 and a stack of rare 45s -- he'd already sunk $30,000 of his own money into the project. In June of this year, Curtis found a publisher, Florida Media Incorporated, who promises to publish the book by January 2004.

By DAVE SCHEIBER
© St. Petersburg Times, published September 5, 2000

ST. PETERSBURG -- The heart of rock 'n' roll may be in Cleveland. But it beats with a passion in a cluttered St. Petersburg condo filled with enough vintage memorabilia to film another round of sequels to Back to the Future.

Inside, a man with the live-wire energy of Doc Brown, the movies' eccentric time-machine inventor, labors over a small IBM computer monitor, shrouded in a cloud of smoke from his Marlboros.

It's just past noon and the self-proclaimed King of the Oldies, KOTO for short, is making another journey back to the days of drive-ins restaurants, bands that rocked around the clock and teens who twisted the night away.

With a click of his mouse, the King -- St. Petersburg native Kurt Curtis -- calls forth the information he has painstakingly amassed for the past 21 years.

Stored on his hard drive is a completed manuscript approaching 2,000 pages, accompanied by countless photos. It is his life's work: the history of Florida's rock, soul and dance music from 1955-1985, an encyclopedic effort he has titled Florida's Famous and Forgotten. Curtis is closing in on his dream of a published work for the world to see, even though there are no guarantees the world -- outside a core of Florida music buffs -- is waiting.

The guy with the swept-back black hair and Wolfman Jack goatee can hardly contain himself as he scrolls through the past on a well-worn screen where the type has gone blurry. His commitment to this project goes beyond obsession, and yet there is something beautiful in it. Every man wants something to call his own, and the history of rock in Florida, however specialized a subject, is unequivocally his.

"Some people like to lay around on the couch and watch Jerry Springer, but I've been working every day for two decades to make this book a reality, and I want that to be my legacy," he says, the words rushing out as if every moment counts. "This is my mission in life. I want to be remembered as the guy who saved the history of Florida rock music."

His living room has become a museum vault, his bedroom an office. Everywhere you look, the place is scrawled with the spirit of American Graffiti. Two fully-stocked jukeboxes stand like bookends on either side of a cherry-red Coca Cola machine that advertises Cokes for a dime. On the opposite wall hangs a rusting metal sign from a defunct St. Petersburg drive-in restaurant called Tripplett's, a place the Fonz would have loved.

There are framed album covers of Little Anthony and the Imperials, treasured concert posters of Bo Diddley, and a photo montage of Curtis with scores of rock 'n' roll greats he has met, such as Dick Clark, Chubby Checker, Del Shannon and Wolfman Jack.

Then there are the two huge wooden cabinets and old metal file drawers. By Curtis' estimate, they contain more than 200,000 vintage 45s. He stopped keeping count years ago.

But what matters most to KOTO is the information inside his little IBM computer. Curtis has meticulously cataloged the careers of more than 350 acts that had their start in Florida: the marquee stars, the one-hit wonders and the litany of groups that just never made it big.

Every Florida performer or band that ever landed a major record deal is listed alphabetically, from the Allman Brothers to Ray Charles, from Tom Petty to an obscure late-'60s rock band from Pensacola called the Zig Zag Paper Company. Curtis has compiled detailed biographies, full discographies and more facts than the bands might remember.

But he doesn't stop there. He has an all-time top 200 song list by Florida acts -- with No. 1 occupied by Forever and a Day, performed by an early incarnation of St. Petersburg's still-active Impacs. He has meticulously categorized every song that has ever mentioned a Florida city and listed the state's all-time greatest deejays, record producers, rock radio stations.

He delves into sacred rock places around the state: legendary drive-in restaurants and movie theaters, along with hallowed '50s-era roller rinks and nightclubs. His head -- and his encyclopedia -- are reeling with Florida rock trivia.

"You know, a lot of people don't know that the Twist, the most legendary dance craze of all time, was invented in Tampa," he says. "A lot of people think it was invented in Philadelphia or New York." Without missing a beat, Curtis clicks on his Florida Fun Facts folder and launches into his passage on how Hank Ballard came to write the song in 1957, while passing through town.

"Backup band the Midnighters were practicing in a small black club near a Tampa hotel. . . . He noticed his band members making up their own dance movements. When asked what they were doing, they replied, "Just twisting around.' While in Tampa, Ballard spent only 20 minutes to write the lyrics for this strange new gyrating motion. . . ."

Curtis is on a roll.

"Heartbreak Hotel -- another Florida song!" he says, reeling off the story of how Gainesville songwriters Mae Axton and Tom Durden wrote Elvis Presley's 1956 monster hit. Durden had read an obit in the Miami Herald of a man who killed himself, leaving behind a note saying, "I walk a lonely street." Axton thought it would be good to add a heartbreak hotel at the end of lonely street -- and the rest is history (including Presley's insistence that he get a writer's credit for cutting the song).

Curtis' favorite rare photo is a faded black-and-white shot of a 16-year-old Ray Charles, who grew up in Greenville, Fla., playing piano at an Ybor City honky tonk called the Cuban Patio in late 1947. It was one of the first professional gigs Charles ever played. Charles was hanging around outside the Ybor City club when reknowned singer Charley Brantley asked him to sit in with his band the Honeydippers.

"I got that shot when I was researching Charley Brantley for my book, and a guy who was virtually on his death bed handed me a Xerox of the photo and said, "Somewhere there's an original of this. If you're a good Indiana Jones, you can find it,' " Curtis says. "Years went by, and one of the Skyliners gave me a box of books to look through. I was just going through the books and this photo fell out. That was it, the original shot."

Curtis grew up listening to rock 'n' roll. He hid a transistor radio under his pillow as a child so he could tune in rock stations when he was supposed to be asleep. By the time he was 10, he often spent his allowance on two copies of every 45 he bought, so he could always have one in mint condition.

In his early teens, he started playing records at dances, drummed in a St. Petersburg rock band and then attended Northeast High. He later joined the Navy, where he was known for winning many a bet about rock 'n' roll trivia.

After the service, Curtis could have pursued his only other passion, martial arts. But there were all those bands that stirred his soul. He became a professional nightclub deejay and proudly refers to himself as a "grand mix master." Through the '70s, '80s and early '90s, Curtis worked in clubs from Miami to Houston to Philadelphia -- even overseas. He made a good living, his services as an expert music-club mixer always in demand.

He was married in 1977. He and his wife had a son, whom they gave the middle name Dion, after the rock 'n' roll great. (Curtis and his wife are now divorced.)

In 1992, he grew weary of all the travel. He continued earning a paycheck as a nightclub song-spinner in the Tampa Bay area but began focusing all his spare time on the project he had begun in 1979. He worked every weekend, traveled the state interviewing aging rockers, soul singers, anyone who was part of the scene. He made endless phone calls, spent spare cash on the rare collectibles that now crowd his home.

"I had to go back 40 years and track many of these people down before they died, or the history would have been lost forever," he says.

The King's computer monitor features an old shot of a Tampa rockabilly hero named Benny Joy, a prolific songwriter who had a few hits but never made it big. Curtis finally found Joy in 1989, just before the performer died from lung cancer at 52.

"He wrote so many incredible songs, but his whole life came and went and he really was never recognized while he was alive," Curtis says. "I told him, "Benny, trust me, if it's the last thing I do, if I do this book for any other person, I'm going to do it for you, so your story is preserved.' "

The work has been all-consuming.

"I've worked more 10-12 hour days than I can remember," he says. "Basically, I've worked seven days a week on this for 21 years, and probably spent about $250,000 of my own money."

Yet the obvious question remains. Why would a man spend half his life amassing so many obscure facts about one segment of rock history? Surely it's not for the money; the major publishing houses have made it clear they see no broad market for such a book.

Curtis ponders for a moment, as if locking in on a time 40 years ago when the music was magic and new, and a young kid from St. Petersburg wanted to be part of it all, to make a mark in his own way, to be king of something, too.

"There were just so many great bands, like the Tropics and the Impacs, the Birdwatchers, Wayne Cochrane, Vic Waters -- acts I loved so much when I was growing up as a kid," he says. "It was always etched in my mind how fabulous these bands were. I always wanted to write something about them. I thought about writing a book about the whole United States, but somebody else did that, and I would never have been able to tackle something of that magnitude by myself.

"And I thought, "What can I do? What can I possibly do?' I wanted to make my life count and have my legacy count for something. And I have so much love for music, it's a deep passion, more than the general person does. So I wanted to give back something and leave something behind. And I said, "Well, hey, there it is!' "

The King of the Oldies has been toting his opus around for more than a decade, trying without success to find a major publisher who shared his obsession. Undaunted, he plans now to publish the book himself.

Curtis estimates a limited early run of the encyclopedia will cost him about $75,000. It will be sold in two volumes, packaged as a pair for more than a hundred dollars. He wants to market it as a definitive reference book for radio stations, libraries, chambers of commerce, museums and serious music fans. Florida's Famous and Forgotten will have a cover proclaiming: "Illustrated Encyclopedia, History of Florida's Rock, Soul and Dance Music, the First 30 Years . . ."

The epic was supposed to have been finished by this month. But Curtis was thrown off track this summer in a dispute with a graphics artist, resulting, he says, in the loss of thousands of dollars and hundreds of photos and images.

The delay, which might cost him another three to six months of production, deflated him. Curtis and his book were to have been featured in "Follow That Dream, Florida Rock 'n' Roll Legends," a one-year exhibit opening Oct. 20 at the Florida Museum of History in Tallahassee.

"It was a huge disappointment," Curtis says. "I always felt that God chose me to write this book, because it's been amazing how many times I was able to find people when it seemed impossible, or people just found me. So I was thinking, "Why would God throw me a curve ball?' "

Curtis knows he has many people pulling for him. His biggest fan is South Florida music producer Henry Stone, the godfather of the Miami sound, who produced James Brown's debut record Please, Please, Please, recorded one of Ray Charles' first records, cut the original version of The Twist and nurtured K.C. and the Sunshine Band, among many other accomplishments.

Stone remembers the endless phone messages Curtis would leave for him 20 years ago. Finally, he returned the call, impressed with the young man's determination. Stone was amazed by Curtis' knowledge and his unfolding project.

"What Kurt has done is unbelievable," he says by phone from Miami. "He has tremendous energy, and his research is incredibly thorough. I've helped him through the years because he's so dedicated and what he's doing is a great thing."

Stone's affection for Curtis was evident in June, when he pressed 10 custom copies of his greatest producing hits to mark his 79th birthday. Nine copies went to Stone's family members. The 10th went to the King of the Oldies.

Recently, Stone offered substantial financial assistance, but Curtis has refused it so far. Stone also wrote the foreword to the book: "What you hold in your hands for the first time is the most comprehensive and detailed account of every recording artist or band that came from the state of Florida. . . . This is a must have for any music lover or aficionado."

He also recommended that state officials contact Curtis for the upcoming rock 'n' roll exhibit. Last October, Bob McNeil, senior curator of the Florida Museum of History, paid a visit to Curtis' home and was overwhelmed by the book and the memorabilia. McNeil later wrote a letter that Curtis keeps by his computer. It reads:

"Thank you so much for allowing me to come by and examine your outstanding collection of Florida popular soul and rock 'n' roll music. I was especially impressed with your manuscript of the encyclopedia of Florida's rock 'n' roll and popular music. This encyclopedia is without a doubt the single most valuable work on the subject of Florida's rock, pop and soul legacy. When it is published, the Museum of Florida History would be honored to have it available in the History Shop at the opening of its upcoming exhibit. . . . "

McNeil now says Curtis' vast knowledge helped the museum lay the groundwork for its exhibit.

"He's not a trained historian, but he has meticulously dug out the facts, the background, the actual documents, listened to the records, collected the photographs -- he has done all the digging and maybe in some cases more than a professional historian would to get the fullest picture," he says. "He's one of those truly dedicated people to his subject, and I admire what he has done."

"I think what drives him is a passion for the unsung heroes," McNeil adds. "He's got a task ahead of him, but I told him that I'd be the first one in line to buy a copy of his book at just about any price."

Even though his book won't be at the exhibit opening, Curtis will be. Meanwhile, he'll keep juggling his grand obsession with his job as grand mix master at Mako's Bay Club in Clearwater and his mobile deejay business. He has even laid the foundation for a follow-up book, Florida's Famous and Forgotten, 1986-96. There are hundreds of files in his computer -- this time with names such as 'N Sync, the Backstreet Boys, Mandy Moore, Creed and Sister Hazel.

But that project will have to wait its turn.

"Sometimes I think this thing is never going to happen," he remarks. "But I look at it like this: I'm rewarded either way. If I only sell one copy, I'm rewarded because I preserved this great history, so years from now a little kid can say, "Wow, these were the pioneers who made it happen way back in the '50s, '60s, '70s and '80s.' That'll be enough for me."

By Charles Passy, Palm Beach Post Staff Writer
Sunday, July 22, 2001

The ultimate fan:

Kurt Curtis and The List

If there was a patron saint for forgotten Florida musicians, Kurt Curtis would have the honors. Actually, if there was a patron saint for forgotten anything, he would probably claim the title.

Step into Curtis' "office" -- a ground-floor condo in a part of St. Petersburg that's seen better days -- and the past pretty much overwhelms you. There are collections of antique toasters, soda bottles, even refrigerators. There's a big old sign from a now-closed local drive-in. Heck, there's a bicycle from the '50s parked in the middle of the living room.

"This is the Smithsonian of the South," says Curtis as he opens the door, insisting that his real home -- where he lives, that is -- isn't half as messy as this.

But if there's an overriding theme to this one-man museum, it's music. You can tell as soon as you enter: A jukebox -- circa 1955 -- is blaring a forgotten ditty by Wilmer and the Dukes. "Listen to this organ work right here," Curtis says.

Listen indeed. For the last couple of decades, Curtis, who works as a DJ on the nightclub circuit, has been making his way through band after band, 45 after 45, to chronicle what he calls the real history of Florida rock 'n' roll. His efforts will eventually take the form of a multi-volume encyclopedia, dubbed Florida's Famous and Forgotten, covering almost every artist who played any juke joint in the state from the '50s through the '80s.

His theme is that for each group that made it, there were at least a dozen just as deserving of recognition. And he plans to tell their stories with biographies and discographies so detailed that even musicians say they've learned something about themselves from talking to Curtis.

A man who comes across like Wolfman Jack with a quadruple shot of espresso, the goatee-sporting Curtis sees his life's work more as mission than job. "It was almost like God designated me, like how he designated Noah to build the ark," he says, only half kidding.

But money isn't the real motivation. Curtis -- no age please, he insists in the name of career preservation -- is the classic pack-rat and trivia freak, gathering memorabilia and information as a form of religion. He takes you into the "bedroom" -- really, the room where he keeps his desk and more collectibles -- and opens a towering file cabinet. "This is a file copy of every record ever recorded in the state of Florida," he says.

And so you look, somewhat breathlessly, at the hundreds and hundreds of 45s and LPs. Among the buried treasures: A version of that surf classic, Miserlou, by a Clearwater band called The Romans that "blows Dick Dale out of the water," according to Curtis. And a song, Baby, by The Tasmanians, a '60s West Palm Beach group, that anticipates the punk era.

But then you make the mistake of asking for Curtis' favorite in the collection. That leads to a lengthy discussion about The List -- as in Kurt Curtis' "Florida/Florida-Related Top 200 Greatest All-Time Classics," which he's compiled for his encyclopedia (along with Kurt Curtis' "Top 40 Greatest Dance Classics," "Top 30 Greatest Rockabilly Classics" and so on). But if you're thinking the Allman Brothers or Jimmy Buffett have a shot at the Top 10, you still haven't figured out this scholar of the obscure.

Curtis plays you his top pick -- a song by The Impac's, a band out of St. Pete in the '60s. The room fills with what he calls "the lost innocence of the calypso cha-cha sound." It's a seriously good record and he knows it. "These are the real precious gems of the state," Curtis says.