September, 1968, me and my bunch of gypsy music makers, touring through
Texas in the heat of Summer, stopping along the way for one night
stands at different, and hotter places, in South Texas and
the Hill Country. We had taken a couple days off between shows to do
some hunting while we were there, and we were winding up at a Texas
honkytonk just outside Dallas on a Friday night. As we were loading up
the Motor Home after the show, we were feeling the road strain of too
many all nighters. music makin' and fun seeking hillbillies that we
were. We knew that we had to drive out of Texas, across Oklahoma, cross
parts of Kansas and into the Northern part of Missouri for the last
show of the tour, a Saturday night at a new dance club. About 3 AM,
Saturday morning we headed North. Driving all night, all morning and
all afternoon....we pulled into the parking lot of the brand new night
club that had just opened and booked us in as the first guest star to
play three shows that night along with their local house band. We got there about 7PM, plumb wore out and buzzing from coffee and some kind of no-doze one of the boys had, unloaded our equipment, set it up on stage and went back to the dressing room to clean up and change into our stage
clothes,
We visited with the house band, got some inside scoop on the ownership of this new place, and kinda got our radar up, cause it sounded like maybe the owners were mobbed up. The club was beautiful, patterned kinda like a Vegas show room, with a big dance floor and plush interior. I didn't see hide nor hair of the owner, who stayed back in his office, but the guy that was the club manager seemed alright, and the waitresses were nice and friendly.
We had a good crowd, did our three shows and finished about 2AM. The crowd was loud, fun, boisterous and loved country music, so even tho we were wore out, we worked hard for them.
The boys in the band started tearing down and packing up, I put my J45 in it's road case, went back to the dressing room to change into my road clothes and went to find the office and collect my money. I knocked on the office door and a big guy, in a black suit, black shirt and white tie, opened the door and just kinda stood there. I said, "Uh, I need to settle up so we can hit the road to Nashville." The guy stepped aside, and I went into the room where another man, in another black suit, was sitting behind a very large desk, kicked back in his swivel chair smoking a cigar. I walked up to the desk and said "We need to settle up"....He blew out an awful smelling burst of cigar smoke and said, "We don't pay you a dime, you arrived 15 minutes late." I told him we were here in plenty of time for the shows, did our job and I needed the money,...now. Mr. Cigar motioned to the door guy, I turned around and big guy pulled his suit coat back to show his shoulder holster and pistol. Well, it was obvious I was outgunned, cause I had nothing in my pockets but some guitar picks and a pocket knife. I walked out the door and went to the Motor Home where the boys were waiting to go. I stepped inside and told Buck Evans, my band leader, harmony singer and bass player what had just happened. I forgot to mention, some of my boys were mean as junk house dogs....Buck was one of them and Vic Thomas, my drummer was another. Buck is an old Texas hardcase, not afraid of anything living, loyal to a fault and one of the best musicians I ever worked with. He looked like he was put together with baling wire and horseshoes and he didn’t suffer insults from anyone.
Buck walked to the back of the Motor Home, got his .30 .30 rifle that he had brought along and picked up my .12 guage shotgun that I always carried on the Road. He walked back up front, handed the shotgun to Vic and said,"Well come on, let's go collect our money". Now, Vic Thomas is from Indiana, as nice a guy as I ever met, had a build like Charles Atlas, and would fight a buzz saw, smiling all the while.
In about six minutes, Buck and Vic came running out and jumped in the RV and said, "Cut out, man, let's get the heck out of Dodge!"
I roared out of the parking lot and headed for Nashville wide open as Buck related what had happened inside. The two of them barged into the office, Vic leveled the shotgun on the dandy with the black suit and white tie with the matching shoulder holster and .45, while Buck walked over to the desk of which Mr. Cigar sat behind, thumped the .30 .30 down across the desktop, and quietly said, “We need to get that money you owe us, now.” The guy had been counting the nights receipts and had money piled up all over the desk, he reached in and started taking out money to cover our contract, counted it out for Buck, never saying a word, but just abut to bite the cigar in two. Buck and Vic backed out of the office and hurried to the Motor Home and we were off like Jesse James robbing a bank. Yessir, Buck and Vic just had superior negotiating skills that I didn’t have.
We made it back to Nashville without a shoot out and lived to sing another day, fortunately. We heard later that the club was probably connected to the Kansas City Mob, who were buying into quite a few nightclubs during the late sixties and into the seventies in Kansas City, St Louis, Chicago, Milwaukee, Minneapolis and down in Dallas and Houston.
I told my booking agent that if that club called and wanted to book me again….tell them Stan Hitchcock is booked plumb up, and send them someone a lot tougher than me, I’d already had my Jesse James day. About a year later the club closed and Mr. Cigar and Mr. White Tie probably went back to robbing old ladies of their pension money.
Country Music, real people doing unbelievable wild and stupid things just to sing another song somewhere. Stan
No comments:
Post a Comment