“Oh,” he said breathlessly. “I forgot to give back your album. Didn’t want you to leave without it.”
That was our first live radio interview. It turned out pretty well I think.
That evening’s concert was at a fairly large, open air, football stadium. That can be a little tricky in Seattle, where it rains about every fifteen minutes. When it’s clear, though, Seattle is pristine. We were fortunate because that evening Seattle was clear. There was no rain at all. It was summertime, so the sky was still somewhat light well past 9:00 p.m.
We made it over to the stadium around 7:00 p.m. A local band started its set at 8:00 p.m., then we followed them at 8:45. After our set the pastor of the church sponsoring the event was slated to speak and bring a message to the audience. One of the elements that made this concert a little different was they rented a lighting system for the stage. As hard as it is to imagine, in the beginning days of Christian music most of us played under the house lights. The kind of stage lighting we are so accustomed to today wasn’t available back then. That night was different. There were trees of red, blue, yellow, and green stage-lights along with a couple of spotlights. We were excited about playing under the “Big Lights.”
The stands at the stadium filled to capacity on the side we faced from the track and field. There must have been a couple thousand people there. We played our songs and shared a few words in between a couple of songs. We talked about who we were and where we were from. Occasionally we threw in a spiritual anecdote. We were to leave the preaching to the pastor.
We had a good time playing. The crowd went nuts over our southern blues and our drawl. After we “warmed ‘em up” the pastor spoke for about forty-five minutes about every reason possible to get right with God. It was a good message, but, truth be told, a little too long.
As we were meeting people at the foot of the stage at the end of the night, I noticed over to the side there were about fifty people gathered. They seemed to be waiting until there was a clear path to us so they could meet us as a group. None of them looked too happy, either.
A bit of a line formed with this big bulge of people inching closer every minute. When they finally reached us, a woman from the group took the lead and walked up closer to us.
“How dare you?” she snarled.
“How dare you use flashing lights? I could see the demons rising up from the smoke and lights while the devil’s rock music was blaring!”
I thought to myself, that was probably Terry, our drummer, actually. I was glad I didn’t say it out loud. She might have hit me. She was pretty upset and ready to wrestle. She had the snarl to prove it.
While she was cranking up for more, several of the others in her group chimed in.
“The beat is of Satan himself!”
“You guys are doing the devil’s bidding!”
Had it been a century earlier, they probably would have tried to burn us at the stake.
I was just grateful that they didn’t throw stuff. We have had people throw stuff at us before. That had been in the Deep South, though. Down there they figure they’ll get your attention better if they hit you upside the head with something.
We knew better than to get into a public rock-n-roll justification debate with these folks. We politely asked them to pray for us and then reminded them “God loves you,” to pour some hot coals on their heads just in case.
It wasn’t uncommon for us to stir up anti-rock protests when we came to town back then. It was a hot topic in those years. Even highly respectable pastors and speakers would sometimes preach against the “Jungle Beat.” A few times we generated enough controversy with the opposition they hosted “record burnings” outside our concerts. I always thought it was a bizarre phenomenon, but it happened and the press loved it. People have loved seeing Christians dancing around fires for centuries.
One night, a few years later, in Pekin, Illinois, some protestors were having a record burning outside the civic auditorium where we were performing. I had had enough of it. I stopped at our merchandise table, grabbed a bunch of records, and walked outside to the group burning our records. I offered to sell them more records if they wanted to burn more! I even offered them a bulk discount. I guess I looked pretty crazy marching around the fire with an armful of records screaming, “Buy your record here. Only ten dollars. Burn ‘em while I got ‘em!”
Needless to say that freaked them all out badly. They slowly walked away in fear of Crazy Eddie!
Often times, when we were booked to come to a city to perform, the local papers would write a story about whether or not it was acceptable to play rock music about Jesus. I guess that was sensational. Years later someone found a huge file of old D&K newspaper and magazine articles in Capital Christian Music Group’s archives when I worked there long after D&K. They thought I might want them. As I thumbed through the various articles and newspaper stories, I was amazed at how many of them were about the controversy around whether Jesus liked rock music. Did Jesus Rock even have a moral right to exist?
As I look back, I realize the controversy was the press and publicity engine God used to get our music out there. With the exception of a few small but loyal radio shows that played rock music, the majority of Christian radio and TV broadcasters wouldn’t touch rock music in those days. Those scandalized articles were sometimes the only PR we got.
SEVENTEEN
Every Day a Celebration
After the concert in Seattle we drove back down through California. We had a concert scheduled south of Fresno and then the tour finale at Calvary Chapel in Costa Mesa. Many people considered Calvary Chapel to be the Jesus Movement’s Ground Zero. It certainly was the epicenter of the Jesus Music culture. Stories of the packed Saturday Night Concerts made it all the way back to Memphis. We also knew the show would be broadcast live on “Maranatha Radio” and on local TV. We were very excited and honored for the opportunity. There could be no better place to close out our first West Coast tour. Also, after feeling like strangers in a strange land, we were really looking forward to being with like-minded folks.
A few miles north of Fresno I began to hear a squeaky sound from the rear of Happy Truck. It kind of sounded like a hamster spinning on a wheel. As we drove the noise grew louder and louder. Eventually we decided to find a repair shop. Fortunately, we made it into the north side of Fresno.
The mechanic at the garage took the truck for a drive around the block. When he got back he advised us that he thought we had “spun” a wheel bearing on the rear axle. Of course, the replacement part was nowhere to be found in Fresno, and he would have to order it. It would take a day or two to get it. Maybe more.
I asked the mechanic to take us to a motel to wait it out. He graciously agreed and dropped us in front of a Motel 6 on a major boulevard. There were even restaurants around that time. I had a little bit of cash from t-shirt sales and booked us a single room for all five of us again. We were used to cramped quarters by then. It was kind of like being in an Army barracks or camping out.
We had a couple of days to kill before our next concert and four days before we were due at Calvary Chapel. We ended up spending that whole time in the Motel 6. We made the most of it, though. The motel manager greeted us each morning with a knock on our door and a demand to be paid in cash before we could stay another night. One morning we returned from an early breakfast to find all of our stuff sitting outside the door on the balcony. No cash, no room. I guess I understand that, actually. We were a ragged looking bunch of longhairs carrying guitars around and all piled up in one room together like savages.
One nice discovery in Fresno was a sizeable Christian book and music store called Fresno Bible House. It was walking distance from our motel, so we darkened their doors several times. I practically haunted the place. I had never seen a store like that before. It was very professional looking and well stocked. The owners, Stan Jantz and his son Dan, were extremely kind to us. They gave us a grand tour of the store and treated us like real friends. I m
ust have asked them a million questions over those few days.
I wanted to know everything. Who orders the product? How did they manage promotions and advertising? Where did the merchandise come from? The Jantz family gave me my first crash course in Christian retailing. That education proved invaluable to me in the years that followed. I’m sure I must have worn them out showing up day after day with all of my questions, but they were never anything but kind. That meant a lot to me.
On the second day of breakdown number two, we were scheduled to play a concert about a hundred miles from Fresno. It fell to me to call the pastor of the church to inform him of our predicament. “Sir,” I said over the hotel phone, “I realize we are supposed to be at your church to play a concert tonight, but unfortunately we have broken down in Fresno and don’t have enough money to rent a truck to get over to you. I’m very sorry.”
“Where are you guys staying?” he asked.
“We are at a Motel 6 in Fresno waiting on the part to fix our truck. We hope we have enough money to pay the repair bill, but we don’t have enough to do that and rent a truck to get to you.”
Then the pastor said something remarkable I’ll never forget.
“If you guys can’t come to us,” he said cheerily, “we’ll just have to come to you. See you in a few hours.” Then he hung up the telephone.
I went back to the guys and relayed the conversation.
“I guess a few of them are coming to see us,” I said, astonished.
At around 7:00 p.m., two big vans and a small church bus pulled into the Motel 6 parking lot. I ran downstairs to greet them.
The pastor, who looked as big as an NFL lineman, came toward me with a huge smile on his face. “We came here tonight to praise the Lord and to hear you guys play!” he shouted. He then bear-hugged me so hard I couldn’t breathe.
That night we crammed about fifty or sixty people into our motel room. We got out our guitars and played and sang for them. When we were done they prayed over us and anointed us with oil. Being raised Southern Baptist I was never anointed with any oil that hadn’t come out of an old hot rod in our driveway as a kid. It was a powerful experience.
I’ll never forget that night. As the folks were piling into their vans to leave, the pastor handed me an envelope full of cash.
“What’s this for?” I asked.
“We agreed to pay you guys for a concert and that’s the money.”
“You don’t owe us anything,” I protested. “We couldn’t even set up our equipment and play properly for you.”
With great authority and grace the pastor said, “You guys have blessed us tonight, and now it’s our turn to bless you. Take the money. Besides, it looks like you could use it more than us.”
In many ways I think that unplugged Motel 6 set was one of our best concerts ever. And yes, the money came in handy. It turned out our truck would not be ready to drive to Calvary Chapel, which was about five hours away. But because of that church’s generosity we were able to rent a van, load our essential equipment up, and hightail it down to Costa Mesa for another unforgettable evening playing in front of 4,000 people. That was the grand finale of our first real, extended tour.
We heard numerous stories about the energy, music, and even miracles surrounding the Saturday night concerts at Calvary Chapel. We were excited beyond belief to get a chance to be a part of that scene.
A peculiar thing happened when we arrived at the church that afternoon. There was no one there; no one we could find, anyway. We circled the enormous building a few times looking for a load-in door for our equipment. We finally found a set of doors leading to the back of the auditorium. Fortunately, they were unlocked. I got out of the van and we all went inside and walked around a bit. I found the stage close by, but still couldn’t find a single person. We just wandered around the facility looking to raise a soul or two. We arrived at 4 p.m., which was the time we were told to be there to set up. I finally found a lady in an office. I introduced myself and told her we were scheduled to play that evening.
“Just go ahead and set up,” she said politely. “Someone will show up before long.”
Not that it was a huge thing, but usually a few folks would be there to help us unload, set up the microphones and equipment, and get a sound-check. That day was different. Nobody was there except our band. We were using the sound system in the building, so I figured somebody would eventually have to show up to turn it on.
We unloaded the van and moved our amplifiers, instruments, and my Hammond B3 into position on stage. We found electricity and set everything up. We played a song or two without the sound system. Then we waited. A few guys showed up about a half hour later. Then a few more trickled in. Before long the place was humming like a bee’s nest. Audio techs and video techs were setting up their gear and folks with clipboards were asking us all kinds of questions about our performance. They wanted to know the length of each song, who sang what, and who talked between songs. This was a live TV broadcast and a live radio broadcast and they wanted to make sure everything was perfect. It was like a well-oiled machine. It was also overwhelming. We played a couple of songs and sound-checked through the sound system to make sure everything was set properly. I was told the room would seat between three and four thousand people and that it would be filled to capacity. That was a huge crowd for us at that point in our career. We were nervous for sure.
Right before we walked on stage a fellow came up to us and introduced himself as the speaker for the evening. For reasons that shall soon become apparent I’m going to give him an alias; let’s call him “Jack.” He shook our hands and welcomed us to Calvary Chapel. He let us know he would be delivering the message for the night so we could keep our comments brief. That was nice. Then they introduced us and we took the stage.
That night we played for one of the most enthusiastic audiences we ever saw. The packed auditorium surged with a special energy, and we felt an immediate connection with the crowd. We rocked the house and loved every minute of it. It was truly everything we dreamed it would be.
After our forty-five-minute set we went backstage and Jack took the microphone and began to speak to the crowd. I could see several TV monitors as every word and image was being captured and broadcast across the city and beyond. Right as Jack began to get to the heart of his message, a guy and a girl approached us and introduced themselves as staff from Maranatha Radio, which was the radio station on the church campus that broadcasted our performance live on-air. They asked if we could walk with them across the patio to the station so they could interview us on the radio show. I didn’t know if they planned to record the interview or interview us “live” after Jack finished preaching.
It was an official invitation from Calvary Chapel’s radio station. No questions were asked. We followed them to the radio station, which was just a short walk, and had a great time talking to the DJs on air. It was a very different experience than what happened in Seattle. For the first time we felt like we were on the same planet with a Christian radio station. It was a great feeling.
After the interview, we headed back to the auditorium. Jack was finished speaking, and the crowd was gone. We packed up our equipment and had plenty of help loading it into the van. We were still uncertain about where we were supposed to be staying overnight. I found a lady who seemed to be in charge and she pointed me to a motel down the street where all of the bands stayed. She said the church had rooms reserved for us there. I was thankful.
When we checked in to the motel I was very surprised the church reserved us all private rooms. That had never happened before. Peace! Again, we were thankful—especially after spending the last three weeks with all of us crammed into one room. It was like heaven!
Everything was great until around midnight when the phone rang in my room. I was already asleep and groped clumsily for the receiver.
“Hello?” I mumbled.
“Is this Eddie DeGarmo?” the voice on the line asked with a definite tone of irritation.<
br />
“Yes,” I said, still confused.
It was Jack, the preacher. “How dare you leave the backstage area while I was preaching?” he shouted. “You were supposed to be praying while I delivered the message. You have quenched the spirit! There are people that are going to burn in hell because of what you did tonight!”
“Huh?” I grunted, still gathering my wits. “I didn’t know that. We were invited to go to the Maranatha Radio studio by some folks at the church. We didn’t realize we weren’t supposed to leave.”
“Well, you weren’t supposed to leave!” he pressed. “I can’t believe you would be so insensitive to the Holy Spirit and not stay and pray.” He scowled. “You guys are so into yourselves and your own egos that you quenched the Spirit of God!”
This was beyond weird. “Look,” I said calmly. “I’m sorry we offended you. I would love to talk this through. Would you come by tonight so we can work this out face to face?”
“I would love to,” he said. “I’ll be right there. I know where you are staying.”
I got up from bed, put my clothes on, and stumbled to the lobby to wait for Jack. I felt awful about what happened. I also thought his reaction was bizarre. A few minutes later I saw him walking up to the glass doors. I hurried to meet him outside. I didn’t want the night clerk to hear this weird conversation.
As soon as he reached me he laid into me again.
“I can’t believe you guys would do this! Because of your insensitivity to the spirit, there are people that are going to burn in hell tonight,” he insisted—again.
I looked back, straight into his eyes, grimaced, and said, “Put up your dukes!”
His eyes widened. “What?” he stammered. “Are you crazy?”
“No, I’m from Memphis,” I said plainly. “Put up your dukes. I see no other option than to beat you up! You won’t listen to reason, and I don’t take kindly to people saying that we send folks to hell! Put up your dukes!” By then I was shouting.
Rebel for God Page 14
