Tales from the Trails of a Rock ’n’ Roll Bus Driver

by Jerry Fitzpatrick

  Hotels want business from entertainment groups. More rooms booked equals more people equals more resources used and more money made for the hotel. They solicit entertainment travel agents with promises that rarely are kept. I’m not the only one who just wants a hot shower and a fluffy pillow to lie on for a brief rest from the road. Roadies just want a relaxing day off to catch up with the world. Many times the promises made at the corporate level and the needs of tired travelers don’t translate to a hotel’s front desk person. To them, we’re just another batch of faces that cause them more work.

  There are ways to let your disgust known, not that I condone these actions. One night after seeing a drunken roadie lift the lid and piss on the ice inside, I realized it was probably a bad idea to get ice from a machine that wasn’t sealed. Shoving a pizza between the mattresses must give a hotel a problem at some point after the roadies are long gone.

  Chapter 25 Get A Grip

  The year was 1995 and the family and I were having dinner at our house with the in-laws when my father-in-law, an avid tennis player, announced to me that he felt I needed to take up a sport or hobby of some sort. Burt, a California Jewish man, liked, really liked, to get his way. I’d been too busy to really take the time to do anything sporty. He explained that I probably couldn’t learn how to play tennis and become good enough to enjoy the sport at my age. So he offered up a spare set of golf clubs he had and strongly suggested I give golf a try.

  They were a nice set of clubs, and I took them to the driving range as he suggested. I started hitting balls and reading books and magazines. Went to the range with friends who gave me pointers. I dove into it, and the more I did it, the more I wanted to do it. The pro at the range explained that I needed to put new grips on the clubs.

  Soon after taking up the game, I left the house heading to Cleveland to pick up the Aerosmith crew. I was one of about six or seven crew buses. I left home a couple of days early to give myself plenty of time to get there and have the bus and myself in order. After spending the day driving to Corinth, Mississippi, to the bus shop to get things together, it was a long day. I got out of Corinth late and made it north on Highway 45 to I-40. A few miles east from Jackson, Tennessee on I-40 is a parking area where tired truckers usually park to rest. There are no facilities or anything. I grabbed a spot out of the way of trucks. I awoke to the sound of someone beating on the side of the bus. I was on the back couch and opened the rear window and stuck my head out.

  A Tennessee Department of Transportation officer, the highway police for commercial vehicles, came walking to the window.

  “Sir, you have to leave. We are using this area for inspections.”

  I jumped right up and got out of there not wanting to have to deal with them first thing in the morning. After getting on the highway, I’d gone maybe five miles, just getting up to speed when an American Eagle Motor Home passed me going well above the speed limit. As he went by, I noticed something about grips on the side of it. I accelerated and caught him to get a closer look at what was on the side of the camper.

  “Grip it and Rip it” was on the side, and in my weird way of thinking I concluded that this guy was selling golf grips, thinking he was probably following the golf tour or something. I tried to get his attention on the CB radio. No luck there and he was hogging the left lane so I moved up on his right to get the guy’s attention in the jump seat. He opened his window, and we were screaming at each other out of our windows driving 70-plus miles per hour.

  “Are you selling grips on the tour?” I screamed.

  He yelled back, “NO! It’s John Daly” and pointed at the driver. New to golf, I had heard his name but really didn’t have a clue what he looked like. I was more concerned with my grip idea.

  He screamed back at me “Whose bus is that?”

  “Aerosmith!” I yelled back.

  We’re still driving 70-plus, and he started to slow down. We rode up the road a bit and pulled into a rest area. We introduce ourselves. I’m not timid with people who think they’re famous. We had a minute of good conversation. Donnie, John’s friend and assistant, and a third person were in the camper with John. John was on his way up to Custom Coach Corporation to see the new MCI Motor Home he was having them build.

  Custom Coach was one of the premier builders of very expensive motor homes. John Madden, the football guy, used a Custom Coach for years. They built mostly on the MCI chassis. Some incredible equipment has come from their shop. I’m not a fan of MCI; I’ve been spoiled by the quality of a Prevost, so I made a joke and apologized when he said he was buying an MCI. We made laughs for a little while, and I invited John to ride with me for a few miles to get the feel of a Prevost.

  We left the rest area with John in the jump seat and Donnie driving the camper. I enjoyed talking to him. We are both Arkies, so we had a few good laughs. I appreciated his genuine nature. After we had traveled for a while, he said he was going to be driving his own motor home and that he wouldn’t hire anyone to drive it. As I drove, we discussed my opinions and differences of the MCI and the Prevost we were riding in. He got up a few times and walked through the coach as we rode on. Finally, I asked him if he wanted to drive. When he agreed, using a trucker’s trick, I got out of the seat and he slid in while we traveled along at speed. He seemed to be a pretty good driver after he got the feel of it. Much different than driving the 35-foot camper he was traveling in.

  In Kentucky, we slid into the McDonald’s he said he had stopped at when he was racing last minute to get to the tournament in Indianapolis from Memphis. John invited me to go to the factory with him and see his coach. I was going through Columbus to get to Cleveland, so I made the stop at Custom Coach in Columbus. John and his gang went to dinner while I stayed in the lot at Custom Coach, did some cleaning and got some sleep. John’s camper was parked next to mine in the Custom Coach parking lot. When everyone awoke the next morning, I went in with John and the guys to see the new bus.

  The salesman who was handling John’s bus had been a salesman for the Eagle Bus Corporation in its hey day. I had met him several times over the years at bus shops. He was now selling for Custom Coach. He was curious why I was there. I joked I was there to encourage John to go with a Prevost. Not a good joke to him. I went through John’s bus with him and was impressed with the design and quality of work being done. I asked him why he didn’t have a club bay for his clubs and shoes and other golf stuff. Not sure if that idea ever came to pass.

  Several weeks after I had that encounter with John, I received a package in the mail. Several pairs of Oakley sunglasses, one of John’s sponsors at the time, an autographed book by John and a complete set of golf grips with “John Daly” imprinted on them.

  Thanks, John.

  Chapter 26 The Road Is A Harsh Mistress

  Some of the happiest times in my life have been in a crowd escaping and enjoying the music, forgetting the troubles in my life, dancing and singing with thousands of “Shiny Happy People.”

  Some of the lowest lows have also been at these same type of events, watching couples and families in love with one another enjoying the excitement, walking, holding hands, glowing, hugging and cheering. I see many every day. Families holding hands when they enter the event, dads chasing kids, moms trying to keep them all organized. The joy and stress of it all brings to mind my own family memories and desires. Seeing a family doing things together puts a knot in your heart when you are away from your own family trying to make wages.

  Saratoga Performing Arts Center (SPAC) in upstate New York is a grand place to see a concert. I’ve driven into the beautiful park many times over the years with bands and crews. The venue, north of Albany, is a regular summer stop for many. The golf course next door is always fun and handy to play. The trees and woodsy feel make for a great evening under the stars when concerts are performed there. The place is the summer home of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. The old venue built in the ’60s has typical orchestra rooms behind the stage where in one room
an old upright piano sits. I’ve noticed it a few times over the years. Folklore has it that Jonathan Cain, the keyboardist for the band Journey, wrote “Faithfully,” a song about missing loved ones, on that old piano. The song describes the relationship of a “music man” on the road, the difficulties of raising and maintaining a family, two strangers having to fall in love again and staying faithful while touring. The powerful lyrics relate to many emotions felt by those in the touring industry.

  Marriage and the touring business are not a good fit. Having a family waiting and depending on you at home takes comprehension of a way of life that is not always easily understood. It seems in this modern age that many have to travel more and more and be away from their families for longer periods of time. From soldiers to salesmen, many do it because they have to.

  My first marriage fell apart soon after I discovered how to make a living in the transportation business. The misunderstandings of what one or the other might be doing at any given time can put questions and doubts in your mind and heart. Having never traveled or toured, my first wife didn’t realize what men and women do out on the road. It’s hard to believe that hard work goes on 24/7. Of course, like many, she thought it was a big party all of the time.

  For me, meeting someone who worked in the business and understood the lifestyle was a lucky break. My second wife was somewhat of an entertainer. She wrestled with The Powerful Women of Wrestling. She walked through the door of my bus when I was assigned to drive The POWW tour in 1987. As a passenger, she was able to view me and my approach to the business before we had a romantic interest in each other. We became friends doing fun things as we traveled the country.

  When the POWW tour was over, we kept seeing each other.

  Michelle traveled to many cities to visit me and continue our fun, challenging life together. There can be lots of good times when you spend time under the umbrella of an entertainment tour. With lodging taken care of in major cities, there are occasional days off to spend with your significant other. Nothing compares to a romantic weekend exploring the sights of San Francisco, the mountains around Denver or the streets of New York City. Meeting up after a tour is over and riding home together in a half-million-plus motor home or to the next pick-up point through America on your own time is a unique opportunity. Bring the kids and it can make for an even more exciting trip. Opportunities for adventurous quality time can be rare, but they are meaningful when they happen, and the memories last forever.

  In 1988, while on tour with Sting, Michelle and I were married on a bus backstage at a concert in Nashville. Funny, the Starwood Amphitheatre where we married was torn down the year we divorced. Faye Cox, a close friend in the Nashville bus business, helped arrange a license and a preacher. The crew and everyone got into the bus, and we stood in the front and said our vows. That night at the show, Sting told the crowd and sang “Be Still My Beating Heart.” Michelle rode the bus with the crew and me to Chicago for a couple of days off, then she went home, and I kept working.

  A Jewish girl from Los Angeles, she wanted to escape the crowds, smog and grit of L.A. to raise a family. We ended up in Arkansas where a more conservative life was possible. A beautiful girl born by the end of our first year of marriage helped grow our ideas of family. We wore out the doctors playing Sting on a portable stereo while Michelle was in labor. I went to the hospital and brought her home in a bus for fun. No matter where we were, we were always bus people. There are plumbing people and electric people and so on. “Us kids,” I would tell my children, “We’re bus people.”

  All marriages and families have their ups and downs. Imagine putting thousands of miles between the problems. We struggled with all the issues that a traveling spouse and separation can bring to a relationship. In the beginning, working 300 days a year on the road and trying to get a secure hold on the financial world was a tough journey. Missing family functions and milestones and sacrificing togetherness to provide for family wants and necessities are an industry standard. Quality time instead of the amount of time is the best approach one can have when travel separates the family.

  Michelle helped us gain custody of my daughter from my first marriage whose mother fell apart at the hands of childhood abuse, the bottle and drugs. She practically adopted her and helped her to grow into a wonderful woman, who’s now a loving mother herself. Our own daughter grew into a bright young woman, who developed my traveling bug, and we have a son who’s going to conquer the world someday. He admires his mother’s history of having wrestled in the big ring.

  As our life together grew, we had good times, especially during the times of travel we did together as a family. I’ve been lucky that my many touring employers allow family members to occasionally travel for a few days. My daughter’s traveling with me on a political awareness tour was educational enough for her to miss some school days and learn from real life experiences.

  A trip to the Caribbean, Disneyland, the millennium celebration in New York City, four-star hotels in Chicago and Hollywood – our family has been everywhere together. We took spur of the moment trips to Memphis for barbecue dinners and to sleep in the railroad cars at the Chattanooga Choo Choo. Traveling and experiencing places together was our way just like sporting events or farming may be a way of life for another family.

  While working on the road, nothing is more important to me than my children moving forward and having their needs met. Separation doesn’t always help, and being apart for what seems like forever sometimes eventually takes its toll on future dreams. I was lucky to have found love and share a true connection with a strong woman I admired. Our family had a unique way of life. After 18 years, the good times finally were overtaken by the pitfalls of the road, and Michelle and I divorced. I think of family memories often when I see other families at concerts. Sometimes I smile and enjoy their escapades. Sometimes I just turn away.

  A Few Bus Driver Jokes

  How many bus drivers does it take to screw in a light bulb?

  One. The world revolves around them.

  What’s the difference between a puppy and a bus driver?

  A puppy usually stops whining after six months.

  Trucker on CB radio:

  That’s the third time today that fancy bus has passed me.

  Bus driver on CB radio:

  Yes, Mr. Trucker, ALL this luxury and you still have to stop to piss.

  Part II

  The Road Taken My Path To The Driver Seat

  I didn’t have a plan when I was young. How could I? With an abusive upbringing and no support, I wasn’t given much direction. Instead, my young life became a constant exit strategy, always looking for the next escape.

  The stories between the lines are like the dotted lines on the interstate. They come and go, and I keep leaving them behind. Music has always been there for me to escape to or to enhance the atmosphere of wherever I might be and make it a better place. It can change my attitude and it can fulfill my heart, relieve my sadness and suppress my anger. From the first moments I discovered how music could lay peace on my soul, I have reached for rhythms to ease the tension. It hardly matters the genre.

  Discovering the entertainment/transportation business altered a life that seemed to be heading in the direction of drugs, alcohol, jails and prison. I may have made some bad judgment calls, but overall my travels provided guidance that I missed out on as child. As a boy, I can remember envying the other children whose parents seemed to provide comfort and security. The various tours I’ve worked on have became little pieces of family to me, providing much comfort. Music and the people behind the music have taken me to the next town, next tour and new friends. These destinations, people and sounds are a part of my soul.

  The emotions felt when a tour is ending is like leaving a family over and over. When it’s the last time to tear down the stage, there is much sadness that time together is ending. There is also a feeling of anticipation of what will happen on the next tour when you build the new stage. New working companions
, a different genre, differently dressed fans.

  You wonder how that tour will be different, even though we will all be doing the same jobs. You may wonder if you will ever work again with the people you’re working with now. Fans don’t see or maybe even think about what really goes on backstage – the hard work, the dedication and the camaraderie of the team doing it.

  Like a poetry scholar absorbing the carefully crafted use of words, I have found the same type of intensity in music. Music is poetry in motion to me. In 1975, lyrics from Bob Seger’s song, “Beautiful Loser,” pinpointed many of my desires about life. As the lyrics express, I want to live a dream, have faith, wisdom and a home base, but I also have freedom to roam.

  I was a young man when the record came out, still looking for answers to life. All of that appealed to me as something to pursue. Mickey Mo Johnson, a good friend and a bus driver, used to hand out little cards for folks to remember him by. They read: “No one ever said the life of a Rock ’n’ Roll bus driver was going to be easy.” He’s right. It’s not an easy job.

  I can’t imagine doing anything else at this point of my life. Perhaps I have been traveling the original path for me all along.

  My young life was an uncertain journey on an unclear path until I sat in the driver seat for the first time. Before discovering my career calling, I became a Marine after making it through troubled times as a teen, and before that, an abusive and confusing childhood. I appreciate the lessons I learned during my brief time as a Marine – the protocol, how to be organized and on time. I didn’t like the in-your-face yelling because it reminded me of my abusive past, and ultimately, the military life wasn’t for me. I came home, where another bad choice put me behind bars. I crossed some more bumpy roads before I figured out the best direction for me. I found success by physically getting away from my troubles, traveling to other places to escape abuse and the influences that were making me want to rebel against life. I discovered that by leaving I could be a more focused person. The map I followed while driving, all centered on the music, helped me to get a grip on life. I could have taken a different path, but my life wouldn’t be what it is today.