You know, the center stage is a perfect vantage point to observe the behavior patterns of this cross-section of the human animal. “People watching” has always been a favorite sport of mine and I have had the opportunity to observe some mighty peculiar happenings from that country music stage. For instance: The Sherman Club in Indianapolis that was owned by the toughest ex-cop I ever met. In 1967 Little Jimmy Dickens and myself were booked there on a Friday and Saturday night and the first thing the owner told us was.....”If a fight breaks out, stay on stage and keep the music going, don’t stop no matter what.” Well, that first night it was my time on stage and right in the middle of my set the damnedest fight broke out on the dance floor, right in front of where I was singing.....blood, teeth and eyeballs flying.....we just kept playing, trying to get them to fight in tempo, but they didn’t seem to have a bit of rhythm...the owner, who was behind the bar pouring drinks, reacted immediately...he vaulted clear over the bar and arrived at the fight just as one of the guys pulled a gun and was just bringing it up to shoot the other one who was standing right in front of me..
(I’m still singing....but it’s hard to sing and keep your body functions tight at the same time). The owner had a black jack about a foot and a half long and he whopped the guy with the gun on the wrist....there went the gun across the dance floor (keep singing fool...don’t worry bout that dampness in your jockey’s) Mr. Sherman than proceeded to beat this guy about the head and face with the black jack until his face looked like silly putty... then he stood up and knocked the other guy down (an equal opportunity beating) and drug them both off the dance floor just as I ended the song. Never once did the crowd stop dancing, they just moved a little away from the action and kept rubbing bellies together while the massacre was going on. Right in the middle of the fight, while singing my little song, I glanced over at the dressing room door in time to see Little Jimmy peeking out and watching the action. He later told me he thought my voice went up at least an octave when the gun came out.
One time we were playing a show down in Georgia at an Air Force Officer’s Club that had a stage that was only about six foot by six foot....I mean postage stamp size for a singer with a four piece band. I had hired a guitar player named Bruce Osbon who was a great picker....but with one weakness....he was goosey.....if anyone touched him from the shoulders down to his knees he had an immediate reaction...he would lash out at anything in front of him. Well, we were so crowded on this little stage that we were practically on top of each other. The drummer was clear back against the wall, then the steel guitar player was on my left, the new guitar player right behind me, and Buck on bass to my right. Because of the small space the guitar player was just about 20 inches in back of me as I stood center stage at the mike. This crowd of officers and their wives were not really Country Music fans so we were on our best behavior, but we had not considered the uncontrollable practical joking weakness of Vic, the drummer. It was toward the end of the night and I was into a big ballad, eyes closed, head reared back just singing my heart out....the crowd was mellowed out and filled the dance floor...one single spot light on me, the star, when Vic, dang his joking heart, reached out with his drum stick and stuck it in the rear end of Bruce, the guitar player. Bruce exploded...hit me like a jack-hammer and knocked me clear off stage and into the second row of dancers...with visions of sugar plums dancing in my head....I was totally cold cocked, sucker punched and loose as a goose as I hit the dance floor and headed through those dancers flat on my back like I was sliding into home base..still holding my guitar as I wound up staring up at that darn revolving mirror ball that some of those dance halls thought was so cool. I slowly picked my bruised pride up off the floor and turned just in time to see Buck, the guard dog, start reaching for Bruce to probably kill him or something as I rushed back to the stage to break it up. Meanwhile, Vic, the drummer was scrambling off stage, realizing how bad his joke had gone over, and just knowing he was fixing to get beat to death by Bruce, Buck and then me while the Steel Guitar player would play something sad and haunting like Danny Boy, or Faded Love. Well, by the time I reached the stage...the humor of it all hit me and I just broke out laughing while stopping Buck from his planned attack. We broke and went back to the dressing room to try to regroup....and I discovered that while we were on stage someone had broken into the dressing room and stole all our stuff....clothes...boots...jewelry....even my shaving kit with all my goodies. So much for the Officer and Gentlemen crap.....give me the plain old joint’s where only the crowd got knocked around and they might shoot you but they would never think of stealing from you.
Yep, memories of the good old days on the ROAD with a bunch of musical gypsies.
Stan
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