Valentine's Day Aftermath
by Julio Martinez

During the winter and spring of 1972, I was touring the mid west as one half of a musical duo. I played the guitar. My partner, Al Jarreau, did the singing. We worked as an opening act for such musical groups as Three Dog Night, The Jefferson Airplane, Caned Heat, as well as comics like George Carlin, Robert Klein and Bill Cosby. The financial ethic was always the same. Al and I got 500 dollars to split and the headliner got 10,000.

On Valentine's Day of 1972, Al and I opened for Steppenwolf at Centennial Concert Hall in Winnipeg, Canada. Winnipeg….the groupie capital of the world. Steppenwolf….the most drug laden musical organization since the advent of Amplified sound.

We all stayed at the Holiday Inn. Steppenwolf occupied suite 1202. Al and I shared the crampt hotel room, 202. After the concert, Steppenwolf had a party in its suite. Al and I weren't invited. Al went off with the tour manager and I planned to spend the night alone, practicing some Bach on my classical guitar. Instead, one of wayward groupies found herself knocking on my door, thinking it was the Steppenwolf party. We ended up spending the night. The next morning she was gone. I couldn't begin to remember her name.

Skip to Valentine's Day 1984. I am married, packing for of us to move into our recently purchased condominium in West Hollywood. The phone rang and it turned out to be the nameless groupie from 1972. She said she had gotten my number from calling the Musician's Union directory. She wouldn't tell me her name and when I finally asked why she had called, a young girl's voice came screaming over the phone. "Mom wanted me to at least hear the sound of your voice." The receiver went dead..

In 2003, I told this story at a gathering of storytellers known as Story Salon, which met weekly at Jennifer's Coffee Connection in Studio City. That session was recorded and released on as CD called "The Mario Sessions." I also told this story at I Love A Story last year, which is still being podcast.

It seems a lot of people have heard the story. Last July, I got a phone call. The voice at the other end asked if I was the same Julio Martinez who told the story, "Valentine's Day." I said I was. She replied, "I am Elizabeth, I was the voice that yelled, "Mom wanted me to hear the sound of your voice." I thought this was someone joking with me. I didn't respond. She continued.

"My mom's name is also Elizabeth, but she called herself Beth." I didn't recognize that name either. "I don't disbelieve you, but I would like to know why you are calling me."

"I was 11 when mom called you. I am 34 now. I have a daughter who is 14. There are some health issues. We are both here in Studio City staying at the Beverly Garland Hotel. We don't want to interfere with your life; but would you be willing to do a DNA test to determine if you are actually my birth father?

I arranged to meet them at a lawyer's office the next day. As I was leaving the house, my wife Irene called me from work. She asked me what I was doing. I told her I was about to possibly meet my daughter and granddaughter. She told me that when I was finished, we needed butter. I did the DNA test, administered by a nameless medical technician, witnessed by a lawyer who had been retained by Elizabeth's attorney in Winnipeg. Elizabeth was friendly but detached. Her daughter, Marianne (after her great grandmother) just stared at me. She bore a solid resemblance to my 22-year-old daughter Corrie.

As we did our goodbyes, Elizabeth said she would send me the results immediately and once again assured me she wanted nothing from me but a clarification. When I asked her about the "health issues" she alluded too. She said she did not want to go into it at this time. Four weeks later I got an official response from the Winnipeg attorney. Elizabeth is my daughter. Marianne is my grand daughter. Along with it, was a medical history form and a request that I fill it out and return it. There was also a personal note from Marianne. "Dear Mr. Martinez. Thank you for meeting with us. I thought you would look like a rock musician. You like a grandpa. If you wish to write us, here is our address. By the way, my grandma Beth wanted to know, "Do you still play Bach on he guitar. Sincerely, Marianne.