It's a very peaceful morning on the rise where the old farm house sits
above the spring and the creek. Peaceful and quiet on this beginning of
a new week. Peaceful and quiet suits me just fine, at
this point of my journey, however, that does not describe the life of a
hillbilly singer in the 60's, when we were playing some of the tougher
joints and honky-tonks across America, along with all of our country
music artists. Country had not hit the big time, quite yet, we were
still kinda looked down on as hicks and to make a living at this thing
called music, we played our music wherever we could.August, 1968, The Sherman Club, Indianapolis, Ind.
This club, really a pretty nice facility, clean and in a reasonably nice part of the city, was owned and operated by an Indianapolis Police detective by the name of Sherman, a really nice man who loved country music. He had booked Little Jimmy Dickens and myself for a big Saturday Night show and dance. He made me welcome when I got there that evening, and told me Little Jimmy was back in the dressing room. I went on back and was visiting with Jimmy before the show, when Mr. Sherman came back to talk to us. He had one request, "Fellers, if a fight breaks out, just keep the music going, I will handle it, but to keep it from spreading, you just keep on playing."
Well, he was talking to two entertainers that had worked joints where the screen wire was around the stage to keep the beer bottles from conking you in the head while you were singing, so we both agreed, "Hey, no problem".
It was getting close to Midnight, and the Sherman Club was jammed full, everyone dancing and having a good time. I was on stage, doing a slow belly rubbin' song, when I saw this guy coming across the dance floor, heading for a couple that were dancing extra close right next to the stage...my defense radar said, "Uh oh, trouble's incoming!" Mr. Sherman, working behind the bar that ran the length of the place, was watching the guy, cutting across the floor, pushing people out of the way...when the guy got right close to the couple dancing in front of me, and who had not noticed what was going on...the guy pulled out a pistol and let out a wild Indian yell, pointing the gun at the couple who now realized they were in a heap of trouble....uh huh, and they were not the only one. Since they were dancing right in front of me, and he was pointing the gun at them..I was directly on the other side fixin' to get ventilated! Ok, ok...keep on singing Hitchcock...keep the music going the man said...yeah, but that was for a fight...this is fixin' to be a shooting, with me being the shoot-ee. All this was happening, as if in slow motion...The gun pointing at the poor couple (probably dancing with someone's wife, a little too close), me in the line of fire...well, Mr. Sherman, ace detective and defender of hillbillies large and small...made a leap over the bar, came out with a leaded sap about a foot long, slid across the dance floor, and popped the potential shooter up side the head, resulting in him dropping the gun on the dance floor, where it bounced a couple of times and finally lay still, all the while the guy was falling like a sack full of walnuts, ending up a pile on the floor. Mr. Sherman, grabbed him by the leg, drug him to the door of the club and threw him out in the parking lot...all the time while I was singing, and the band was keeping the music going, and the people just kept on a'dancing, and everything was well and good in hillbilly land...I looked over the crowd of dancers, and saw Little Jimmy's head stuck out the door of the dressing room, eyes as big as half dollars, as he watched the dance floor action. Meanwhile, Mr. Sherman had closed the club door, swung back over the bar and was popping a top on another Miller Light.
During the break, between shows, I went back to the dressing room where Little Jimmy said, "Hitchcock, you liked to have been playing for a killin', you know!" "Uh huh, Jimmy, and now it's your turn, except this time, when the guy wakes up, he's gonna be really PO'd, and come back in with a bigger weapon." "Stan, that ain't nothing new to me, I been duckin' bullets of some kind ever since I been in this business."
Well, the night's pickin' ended with no further blood lettin', the people starting headin' out the door, Mr. Sherman was happy and the old boy with the gun never did come back, as we all headed off to another adventure somewhere in some other town.
That was a show biz tradition....no matter what breaks out, keep the music goin'...don't let it stop. Sometimes easier said then done. And Mr. Dickens was a master at it. Stan
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