As the year 1961 opened, I was busy recording as a member of two very different music groups. But within a month or so, I wasn't recording for either one.

Simon and I finished recording the second Nutty Squirrels record in January. When we submitted the album to Columbia, we gave them our suggestions for what might be the best choices for singles. We thought both "Yardbird Suite" and "Bye Bye Blackbird" had some potential. The label didn't seem overly interested in our feedback, but we didn't realize how little they cared until the album came out.

"Columbia decided not to release any singles at all," sighs Simon. "And I have never seen a promotional copy of the full-length album. This suggests that they did not give much of a promotional push to radio and retail. Evidence suggests that they fulfilled the absolute bare minimum terms of the contract, and then terminated it. It is my hypothesis that once the Nutty Squirrels cartoon did not prove to be a huge success, they had no further interest in our work."

And at just about the same time, the three of us stopped recording songs as the Chipmunks. The animation company had finally finished all the scripts for the cartoon. The musical segments had already been completed, so all that remained to do were the story segments. So our Sunday trips now consisted of us recording cartoon dialogue instead of songs.

Having both my musical pursuits suddenly vanish like that made me a bit nervous. After all, I was in my last semester of high school. I had sort of assumed that once I graduated, I would be devoting all of my time and effort to the Nutty Squirrels. Even when Columbia dropped us, I assumed Simon would simply approach another label about signing us. But instead, Simon dropped something of a bombshell on me - he was going to be headed to college in the fall.

"I had put my scholastic career on hold for two years," he explains. "Once Columbia dropped the Squirrels from their roster, I felt it an ideal time to resume it. I applied for admittance to UCLA, was accepted, and began preparations to recommence my studies."

So now the Nutty Squirrels were apparently going into mothballs, and I literally had no plans for after graduation. I was going to start earning some money from my trust, so finances weren't really going to be a problem. And part of me thought that doing nothing for a while sounded pretty keen - what eighteen-year-old wouldn't relish doing as little as possible right after graduation? But the other part of me was worried. What was I going to do with my life? Was I really going to be a washed-up musician before I even graduated high school?

This question began nagging me during the first few months of the year. And it must have been nagging especially loudly on a Saturday morning when I was flipping through the newspaper. I almost went right by it, but two words in the middle of an ad happened to catch my eye - "build confidence". I repeated the words to myself. "Build confidence". Yes, that was something I would like to do. I looked again, and realized it was an ad for a karate school. I sort of laughed at it, because of something that happened about a year previous.

I had overheard somebody at school saying how much they enjoyed taking karate lessons, so I had asked Mrs. Gorman to take me over to see about signing up. But the instructor had cut me down cold. "I don't train rodents," he had said, making me feel like garbage. When I got back to the car, I just told Mrs. Gorman that they weren't accepting any new students - I didn't feel like repeating what the instructor had said.

So the first karate school I had visited had punched holes in my self-esteem. And now this other karate school was offering to patch it back up again. Ironic, huh? I shook my head and jokingly tried to picture myself - a pudgy chipmunk - wearing a white robe, striking a karate pose.

Then I realized that I actually liked how that image looked.

For the next week, that image stayed with me. Enough that I began arguing with myself. Maybe this karate school was different, I thought. Maybe they'd train a chipmunk like me. Then I'd think, but maybe they won't. Maybe they'll laugh at me just like the last one did. A chipmunk learning karate? Ridiculous.

Ridiculous or not, by the next Saturday, I had worked up enough courage to make the long bike trek to that karate school. When I got there, I peered in through the window. Class was already in session, so I watched through the window until I started to feel uncomfortable. Then I turned around and headed back home. The entire way, I cursed myself for being "yellow". I should have waited until the lesson was over, I told myself. I should have gone in and asked about taking lessons. Alvin would've done it. Simon would've done it. Why was I such a coward?

Next Saturday, I promised myself. Next Saturday, I'm going there early and going in. I made this promise to myself several times a day for the next six days, And the following Saturday, I was up and on my bike just after nine-thirty, wanting to get there before they opened at ten. As I pedaled along, I kept muttering to myself, "don't be a coward, Theodore" over and over.

When I arrived, I was nearly shivering with nervousness, but I forced myself to walk in. There were a few people in the room, but it was clear who the instructor was. I set my jaw and walked over to talk to him. (Back straight, gut in! Pacing, pacing, pacing!)

"Hi...uh...are you the...guy in charge?" (Ugh. Way to make a good first impression, Theodore.) The man just nodded once, and I forged ahead. "Can I talk to you about...lessons?" Again the man nodded, and he led me to a small office in the back. He indicated for me to sit, then looked me over critically. I tried not to feel like a fat lump as he did so.

Finally, he asked, "Why do you wish to study karate?"

I thought back to the ad in the paper, and the mental image of me in a karate uniform. Embarrassedly, I mumbled, "Well, it's kind of hard to explain..."

"Do you wish to learn to fight?"

"What? Oh, no, nothing like that. I mean, yeah, I guess that'd be nice..." "Nice"? Did i just say learning to fight would be "nice"? I was beginning to think that coming here had been a huge mistake. "It's just...I saw your ad in the paper..."

"Yes?"

"...it said 'build confidence'. I'd like to do that. Build confidence."

He smiled and nodded. "Then perhaps we may help you with that. And perhaps you may help us, as well." Before I could ask what he meant by that, he introduced himself as Master Yoshido, and we discussed how much lessons would cost. He then led me back out of the office and, scanning the main room, he called to someone at the far end.

"Scooter! I think we have found you a new sparring partner."

I looked over to that end of the room where more students were getting set up. One student emerged from the pack and started walking over. One wearing a somewhat ill-fitting karate uniform...with a bushy tail emerging from the back. There was a squirrel taking lessons here! He held out his paw, and I shook it. I felt really uncomfortable doing so, because believe it or not, until that moment, I had never met another rodent other than my brothers. "Frederick," he said. "Morris Frederick. But everyone calls me Scooter." He was kind of boisterous but nice.

After the lesson - which I mainly just watched - Scooter took me out for a burger. He was in his mid-twenties, and owned his own plumbing business. He didn't exactly seem the type to be taking karate lessons, but when I asked him about it, he just tapped his forehead. "Discipline!" he said. "Got a tough time keeping calm when things don't go right. Terrible trait to have when you're in the plumbing business. Can't just go whacking on the pipes when you get frustrated. Someone told me to try karate. Gave it a go, and been at it for four months now. Good stuff. Look forward to it every week. Even more so now that you're there to spar with."

"Can't you spar with the other students?"

"Tough to do. They have to keep bending down, and all my straight punches are aimed right where they least want it." He mimicked tossing a punch, and collapsing in agony. "Much better with someone your size. You come early every Saturday. I'll get you up to speed."

By the end of the meal, we had decided that Scooter would pick me up and take me home every Saturday. He had had a plumber's van converted so that he could drive it - seat boosted up, pedals raised up high, smaller steering wheel and controls. It was something we three chipmunks had occasionally heard about but never actually seen. For the first few Saturdays, I was enthralled just watching Scooter drive.

I won't pretend that I was the ideal karate student - I was pudgy and kind of klutzy, and it was hard to do some of the moves that required a lot of leg motion. But I started getting the basics down, and it wasn't long before I started getting a bit of that self-confidence I had hoped to get. I felt a little more comfortable in my own skin, and didn't feel so ill-at-ease all the time.

"Actually," counters Simon, "I would be contrary enough to state that your self-actualization had already begun when you made that sojourn to the karate school. Despite the unwelcoming response you received at the first school, you found the courage to go forth and try again. That is something I would not have expected from Theodore Chipmunk back then."

"It was a change for the better, definitely," said Alvin. "You seemed to like yourself more. You were chattier, friendlier, more fun to be around. And your drumming got better. Not that it was bad or anything before - you were always good on the drums - but it sounded better. Simon and I both noticed it."

It was strange that karate would help my drumming, but without even realizing it, it began changing my approach. Since I was smaller than other drummers, I guess I felt the need to compensate, so I originally tended to smack the drums as hard as I could. My way of saying "I may be small but I can still play rock and roll!" This gave the band a loud drum sound but not a lot of finesse.

When I first started karate, I acted in much the same way. I threw everything into my punches and kicks, which had power but tended not to land very well. Doing so usually threw me off balance as well. Master Yoshido patiently taught me to not put everything into each attack. I slowly got better at keeping my defenses up even as I made an attack move. And as I did so, my technique got smoother, and I started landing more punches on Scooter.

And eventually, these lessons learned started seeping into my drumming. I still played loud, but each drum beat was smarter, if that makes any sense. Before I started karate, I often wore myself out drumming, even when playing shorter sets. Afterwards, I could play for a lot longer. I might still play until I was sweaty and tired, but my wrists wouldn't be killing me the next day. It was completely accidental, but karate most likely increased my useful drumming career by at least a decade or two.

As I pointed out, though, this improvement in my drumming happened just as my musical endeavors looked to be fizzling out. I hadn't forgotten what I had told Simon a couple of years before, - "I want to make music". And, since my two music groups were on hold, it appeared that I was going to have to find other people to make music with. I finally sat down and wrote a want ad - "Drummer Available" - that I was going to put up at the local music store. But before I did, I handed it to Simon to proofread. Simon looked it over, then rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Allow me to ponder this for a while, brother," he said.

"Really? What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing per se. But your ad has given me the germ of an idea. Let us see where this leads." He left the room with my ad, and with me feeling very confused.

The confusion didn't last long. The next day, Simon approached me with Alvin in tow. "I do not believe you will be needing your advertisement," Simon stated.

"Really? Why not?"

"Because I have located two musicians who wish to perform with you." He and Alvin both grinned at me, and I let out an excited whoop.

Alvin adds, "Simon hit me up out of the clear blue. He said there was still plenty of time before he left for college, and he was thinking about performing with you again. Would I be interested in reforming the live Chipmunk band? Hell yeah, I was interested. I had been jealous of you two performing together over the previous year or two, and I jumped at the chance to rejoin you. Also, like you, I was sort of half-wondering what I was going to do with my life after graduation. And although 'nothing' was tempting, being in a rock and roll band may have been even better than that."

But before we made a move, Simon had a talk with Liberty Records. "While I was not overly fond of the music we were recording, I was pleased with the financial renumeration, and did not wish to jeopardize it in any way. It felt a bit juvenile essentially asking for their permission to perform live, but it ensured we stayed in their good graces. They allowed us to do so under the stipulation that we not perform under the Chipmunks moniker, nor any other name that would directly tie us to the Chipmunk brand. This also omoeant they did not want us performing any Chipmunks songs, but that obviously was not going to be an issue. I explained that we would be primarily performing instrumental selections, and they gave their approval."

Once more, we retired to the basement and began working on material. "We had a couple more years' worth of instrumentals to choose from," remembers Alvin. "'Walk Don't Run', 'Asia Minor', 'Sleepwalk'. And of course we had to arrange them all for our guitar-bass-drum line-up. We'd spend about an hour working on a song, add it to the tail end to our set, then start on the next."

We revived "Chipmunk Rock", and wrote a few more instrumentals to beef up our set. During this period, it was usually Alvin's song ideas that got used. "Your time in the Nutty Squirrels sort of nudged you out of the rock and roll realm," suggests Alvin. "You were still sort of writing for Cannonball Adderley instead of Alvin Chipmunk. I kept saying, come on, brothers - simple melody, easy chord progression, big hook."

Since the songs had no lyrics, their titles usually came out of thin air. "My favorite original was 'Spanish Omelets for Breakfast'," says Alvin, grinning. "I've been trying to remember why we called it that. It did have a really vaguely Latin sort of feel, I guess." Another was called "Butter Pecan Twist". Maybe I was just hungry when I was trying to come up with song titles.

Naming the group itself ended up being far more difficult. "No band name using the word 'chipmunk' was open to us," says Simon. "And since we would be visible to the audience, we could not claim to be squirrels or some other creature - not that we would wish to, in any event. Nor did we wish to use the words 'rodent' or 'vermin', both of which had negative connotations. Given all of that, it appeared we would not be able to use our most defining characteristic in naming the group."

Alvin adds, "In those days, you couldn't be Panic! at the Disco or Margarine Tub Malfunction. Bands were always just 'The Somethings'. So for weeks, we were just throwing plural nouns at each other. The Ignitions. The Fences. The Waffles. I'm pretty sure that last one was your idea."

We finally found our band name while working on a new song. We had started writing an instrumental which was very melodic, so Simon suggested that we try to write some lyrics to go with it. I was the one who sang "we could all use a little rock and roll" for the chorus. Alvin immediately liked it like that, but the lyric made Simon think.

"I was originally thinking that that might be the title of the song, but it was a bit lengthy. So in my mind, I reduced it to 'A Little Rock & Roll'. At which point it struck me. 'Little Rock'. The capital of Arkansas. And also an excellent description of us." We discussed the possibility of taking it a step further and going by The Pebbles, but finally decided The Little Rocks would work better.

Just as we had a few years earlier, we went to a studio and recorded a promotional single. Not only do I not have a copy of that single in my possession, but the three of us can't even remember what songs we included on it. We all agree that a version of the Ventures' "Walk Don't Run" was one of them, but what was the other?

"Man, I have no idea," admits Alvin. "We cranked that one out pretty quick. Was it 'Spanish Omelets for Breakfast'? That's the one that's stuck in my head. I think I would've remembered writing those words on the records, though."

Simon has a potential solution to this little mystery. "I believe Alvin may be correct - it might well have been 'Omelets'. But it is likely the song had a different title then. I do not recall what that earlier title might have been, but very possibly that was what we inscribed on the records."

Whatever the two songs were, they did the trick. Simon took the records out to some clubs, and we were booked only three days later. A nice place called Junior's was just about to lose their house band, and they needed a replacement immediately. We played one fill-in gig, and were hired on the spot. And as soon as we were hired, we had to go do something we had never done as a band before - go shopping for clothes.

"In order to complete the disassociation between the Chipmunks and the Little Rocks," explains Simon, "a new visual presentation was in order. My original idea was to have us dress in identical sharp suits, which is what most rock and roll ensembles did at the time. However, we could only fit into suits made for young children, and such suits tended to have a very juvenile look about them."

After visiting a few stores, we were beginning to get frustrated. I was worn out as well, so I decided to sit on a bench outside while Alvin and Simon went in the last store on our list. When they came back out, Alvin grumbled, "Another bunch of sailor suits," but Simon noticed the look on my face.

"What is it, Theodore?"

I causally pointed at a group of college students across the street, who were busy looking in the record store window.

"Those," I said, indicating their varsity jackets. "Could we wear those?"

"Your idea was an excellent one," admits Simon. "Matching varsity jackets gave us an immediate visual identity, and as outer wear, they did not need cleaning as often as full suits would have."

Alvin also loved the jackets, but remembers the long process it took to get them. "We had to have them custom-made, since they didn't usually make them that small. That at least meant they fit really well when we got them. But we had to play our first few gigs as the Little Rocks in our button-down shirts and slacks, as we waited for the damn things to show up in the mail."

There was a fair amount of arguing before we placed the order. "Alvin was rather keen on obtaining a red letter jacket with a yellow A," recalls Simon. "In other words, his new look would closely mirror his cartoon television counterpart. This of course was precisely what we were instructed not to do." Simon finally convinced him that we all needed the same jacket, with the same lettering. And eventually, a few weeks later, we all had our blue jackets with a red LR on them.

"I have to say, those jackets were a blast to play in," says Alvin. "It was the only time we really had matching outfits while on stage, and I got a kick out of that."

I actually still own my jacket, somewhere. Probably in a box in the upper level of my bathroom, gathering dust.