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Copyright (c) 2002

StanRay Entertainment Group

thee Begyning

The Story of thee Wytches as Told by Frank C. to Roman Bornski

My name is Frank C. and I worked as the equipment handler for thee Wytches from late ’65 to ’67. It sounds like there ARE people still in the world who remember what a marvelous band they were. Because they had vanished so completely, I’d sometimes thought that the whole scene was just my imagination on overdrive. Now after 30 plus years, there seems to be latent interest the group, and rumors have gotten out of who these guys were and what they did.

This much I can say…there are no commercial recordings in existence because they never finalized a contract. There ARE studio tapes around, but God knows where. I thought all that stuff was back at wherever Roulette Records had their office. The only publicity shots ever taken of them were by Nikki Conant back in 1966, and I lost my only copies. The truth about what actually occurred is remembered by only a very few, because for whatever reasons the actual band members have disappeared as mysteriously as they had arrived. It’s too bad, because their story is actually much more bizarre than fiction.

Anyway…let’s start from the beginning. I grew up in the coastal town of Magnolia, Massachusetts, which is about 35 miles north of Boston. I was an unspectacular student, and I had no interests other than someday buying a Corvette and traveling cross-country. I also happened to be a big music fan, into everyone from Elvis to The Rolling Stones. I had a lot of freedom as a kid because my folks had split up and my mom just didn’t have the energy to give me a lot of grief after she’d been working all day. As a result, I was kind of tagged as a wild child when I was a teenager, and I was always getting into one form of trouble or another. Small stuff.

One thing I loved to do was go to rock and roll shows. This is before the big arena concerts. This would be the multiple bill shows with one well-known band and about three or four local groups. I would either get some of the older kids to drive, or I’d just start thumbing. One way or another I’d get there. I got to see The Stones with Brian, at the old Boston Garden with the Rockin’ Ramrods, and The Beach Boys when they had those dopey striped shirts! I never got in to see The Beatles at the racetrack in Revere. I was more of a Dave Clark fan anyway, so at the time I didn’t care.

I met thee Wytches back in May 1965 while thumbing for a ride into Boston to see an outdoor rock and roll showcase, featuring a bunch of local talent. While hitching for a ride down Route 1, a beat up station wagon pulled over, and inside were 4 guys with a load of musical equipment. I hopped in the back and the driver turned to me.

"You know your way around Boston?"

"Sure" I said, "I’m heading down to BU."

"See! I TOLD you he was lucky!" said the guy riding shotgun. "This is your big break, little buddy. That’s where we’re going. You’re the navigator." That was Eric and Ray. I was jammed in back with Jeff and Lenny. "Hey, man…you like to get high?" Jeff lit up a poorly rolled joint and away we went. Pretty soon we were having a blast, and next thing I knew I was working for a real rock and roll band. They were called The Sand-ells in those days, and told me they were looking for someone to help them get stuff on and off stage. I had the perfect qualifications…a strong back and a weak mind. In return, I could party and hang with them and make a few bucks in the bargain. Not a bad gig for a fifteen-year-old music fan that was sick of goofing off around the house.

As time went by, I sort of turned into the band’s right hand man. They practiced in a drafty old cellar in North Salem where Jeff’s aunt lived. She liked having the company and was as deaf as a post, so it worked out pretty good. I would occasionally haunt their rehearsals to see what I could do to help, which usually meant drinking the occasional Schlitz. After a while I got to know the guys pretty good. For instance, Eric Stanley and Ray Eastman came from a LOT of money. Serious money. Eric’s dad lived in this huge spooky house over in the exclusive neighborhood of Beverly Farms and was involved in the entertainment biz, like an investor or something. The family was originally from Connecticut and somehow associated with the Stanley Tools family.

Ray was from a very wealthy Salem family and used to tell us that one of his ancestors was hung as a witch. (At this point I should mention that both Ray and Eric were very much into the occult. Although neither would admit it, I suspect that they and their girlfriends Nikki and Pamela were deeply involved in some kind of coven.) Ray’s family, I am quite sure were the same family that started Eastman Kodak. He later claimed to have some connection with Linda Eastman who later became Paul McCartney’s wife.

Anyway, they met up at a exclusive prep school called Phillips Exeter Academy. Hitched up with a couple of other guys and called themselves the Sand-ells. Get it, sandals, beach, surf. The music had a raw quality that I guess could be described as pre-punk, mostly due to the fact that they were still learning to play. Eric and Ray did the songwriting and booking. They played the usual school parties and a couple of places on Revere Beach until the owner of one club found out that they were all under 18.

As the Sand-ells, they would do the Ventures, Link Wray, surf instrumental covers that would go on for hours on end. They did this for one summer before cutting a demo in the early fall of 1964. By this time the Beatles and the Stones where big time and blasting "Wipe Out" for 45 minutes was no longer in vogue. This was also the time for guys to head to college and the first incarnation of the Sand-ells to disband.