The old man stood in the shadows, back stage in the large, historic theater, leaning on his push broom next to the wheeled cart that held his cleaning supplies, listening to the loud music and screaming crowd. His arthritis was aching bad tonight, his hands twisted and swollen, and although he could no longer make the chords on his guitar, he could still hold the broom well enough to get by. He was lucky the theater manager dimly remembered his theater history, when the old man had stood on that stage, sharing the show with Hank Williams, Sr, Red Foley and Minnie Pearl. Yeah, it had been 63 years ago, now, and he had just been 24 years old, but already had his number one song on the charts, hmmm…..man, it don’t seem more than yesterday. Those were the days, man, rolling high, drawing the crowds, selling the records. He would have to make a point to meet this young Star when he came off stage, tell him a few stories of where it all came from, this Country Music…..yeah, that’s what he’d do.
He had been hungry and cold, the day he came and applied for the Janitor position at the old theater, but then, seemed like he always felt hungry and cold, in his late 80’s, but able to lie and pass for a somewhat younger age, because he really needed to find work. The flop house where he had a bed was threatening to kick him out if he didn’t come up with some money. Come up with some money…man, that used to not be a problem…not for him in the glory years….now, it was old age pension, and a small retirement check each month from the Musicians Union which together just barely paid for the lumpy bed, a meal a day and a bottle of Thunderbird Wine about once a week.
He had watched the buses pull up in back of the theater, bus for the young Star, bus for the band, bus for the sound and lighting crew, bus for the Merch. Yeah, times sure had changed since he and his band traveled in a 56 Chrysler touring car, five people jammed together with instruments, bass fiddle tied on top, then later went to a station wagon and a trailer which was a heap better…and finally in 1962, he had enough hit records to buy his first bus, and old Flex that he had bought off of Carl Smith, a beautiful custom job that Carl had babied for several years during his Hit Period. Tour buses became the way to go and he moved up to an MCI in the years that followed, with a special stateroom in the back where he could go to be alone with his developing habits. He was the darling of Country Radio and he just knew it was never gonna stop.
But by the 70’s it did stop and fortune seemed to stop smiling on him. He had developed a pill habit in the 60’s and graduated to Coke and alcohol in the late 60’s and early 70’s. While he was drying out and kicking the habit in rehab, his old manager had run off with the secretary, taking all the singers money when he left. Never did see the old rascal again, heck he was probably laying up in some South Sea Island somewhere, but the real kicker was, he also did not pay the Income Tax he was supposed to be paying. They took it all. The bus, the record royalties, writer’s royalties, sound systems, instruments. Gone, all gone. The good times wife, became bad times gone, and took the house, which was all he had been able to save from the “come and take-it guys”. He tried to shake it off and get up and come back strong, all he had to do was clean up and get back to work.
He kicked the habit all right, but the run he was on had passed him by. The bookings stopped coming in, from the rep he had gotten during his pill and drinking times and shows he could not meet, cause he was just too sick to sing. By the 80’s, radio had completely forgotten him, he couldn’t get in the door of any of the old major record companies that used to be chasing him. He had a brief flare up in the late 80’s, but the Independent label he was on went belly up, owing him money. Boy, if only………
The old man snapped back from his memory trip, jerked back to reality with the loud music climax and pyrotechnics going off….the girls in the audience screaming and reaching out wanting to touch the torn jeans, fancy boots, that no cowboy would be caught dead in…or touch the body underneath, as the Star stood on the very edge of the stage, pelvis thrust out, proud and flushed with the applause…not even aware that he had been about a half note off on his vocal performance, but the old man’s ears had picked it up instantly. Dang, he thought, on-key must not matter anymore in this new music, used to be a matter of pride with us in the old days. I might be old and hard’a hearin’, but I could sure hear that bad note. The crowd was going crazy, screaming and hollering…encores taken, pelvis flashes more prominent…light show pulsing and sweeping….da..dummmmm! The drummer finished his frenzy and it was over.
As the Star headed off stage, the old man took a step forward to maybe shake his hand and share a few stories about how it used to be…kinda becoming music buds, maybe, or… but the moment was lost when the Star shouldered past him, almost knocking him off balance, never knowing or even caring that he was going past real country music history. The Star headed for the bus, with his security detail pushing fans out of the way, he, looking neither left nor right, ignoring the imploring hands reaching out to touch…
Yeah, sure different times, I reckon, why after the show we did here, those 60 some odd years ago, Red, Hank, Minnie and I went out and sat on the edge of the stage and signed pictures and autographed albums for over two hours after the show…..but, they are all gone now, all the greats that I toured with….I don’t know how I managed to stay on as long as I have….I sure miss those folks, the musicians and the fans…all gone…all gone.
The old man pushes the broom, picking up litter left by the show crowd…the crew has torn down and loaded up, the buses backed up and headed out to the next show, the crowd all gone home…and the theater is all his. As he is surveying the darkening theater, he feels a deep pain, almost like an electric shock, going up his neck and shoulders. He staggers a second, regains his legs and walks back toward the stage. A strange melancholy has taken hold of him….a yearning, for he knows not what…but, something that he’s had but is now gone.
He walks out on the stage….finds the very center, where he had stood before….he looks down at the old torn stage boots that he still wears under his work uniform, a remembrance of what was, as the pain in his chest seems to radiate throughout his body. He coughs a couple of times, trying to ease the pain in his throat…opens his mouth to utter the first line of his biggest hit, feeling it well up inside him, oh, to just sing it one more time…..” When you’ve loved…..” his breath runs out, leaving him reaching for the next words…which never come. He senses a presence on both sides of his body, he thinks of Hank….Red….Minnie….as the spirit departs the old worn body, and he feels a peace at last.
The old man slowly crumples to the floor, in the exact center of the stage, where he stood with the greats so many years ago….so many years ago….so many………….
Stan
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