At least he hadn’t been high or in possession of marijuana. By some unusual state of affairs, there was no contraband in the van. Jesse had run out the day before and he was due to score from Rene at the gig.
Knowing what Amy would say was the worst part. His irresponsibility drove her crazy. She wouldn’t say, “I told you so.” She wouldn’t have to say that now. She had “told him so” a thousand times already.
Admitting to himself in the confines of a jail cell that she had been right was hard enough. Knowing he had let her down again was even harder. They were getting married in less than a month and here he was in jail again. Having a partner who cared was a good thing, he realized. It made him want to live up to her expectations. Unfortunately, he was living up to her worst fears.
Jesse spent the first half hour in jail on the pity pot, feeling sorry for himself. That proved completely unproductive. He had to think. He had to think his way out of jail. Or, maybe, he could sing his way out. He started singing the words to Hank William’s song, “Jambalaya,” at a fairly high volume. He guessed that country music might be his only connection with the jailors.
Sure enough, the skinny jailor came in and said, “I wouldn’t think a long hair would know any country music, much less all the words to a Hank Williams song. And, I hate to say it, but you don’t sound half bad.”
We play lots of country music, even bluegrass. We’ve got a fiddle player who will blow your mind.”
“What’s he play?” the jailor asked.
“Orange Blossom Special, Foggy Mountain Breakdown, you name it, we play it.”
“Foggy Mountain Breakdown’s a banjo tune,” the jailor said.
Jesse realized he was making a musical connection. “You should hear it with a fiddle and a screaming Hammond B-3 organ.”
The jailer looked at Jesse like he couldn’t believe the longhaired Yankee was making musical sense. “Tell you what. Sing one more Hank song. If you know all the words, I’ll let you make a call.”
“Are we talking about a musical bribe here?” Jesse asked.
“Call it whatever you want,” the jailer said as he sat down on a metal bench for a good listen.
Jesse sang “Your Cheatin’ Heart” for all he was worth, even throwing in hand gestures and dance steps. It sounded good. Not Hank Williams good, but good enough. The acoustics in the jail had a nice echo to them. Jesse was most surprised when the jailer started singing a wonderful high harmony on the chorus.
Jesse was amazed by how good they sounded. They laughed together when the song was over. Jesse stuck his head between the bars. “You’ve been doing some singing in your time.”
The jailer nodded. “My brother and I been singing together and playing in bands since we were kids. We always wanted to take it on the road like you’re doing.”
“Why didn’t you? Why don’t you? You sound pretty darned professional to me.”
The jailer was flattered. “Well, thank you very much. What happened was this. We both got married and had kids. And I’m not saying it happened exactly in that order if you know what I mean.”
Jesse backed off the bars. “I’m getting married in about a month.”
“Is she pregnant?” the jailer asked.
“Not that I know of.”
The jailer stood up and put both hands on the bars between them for emphasis. “Then don’t do it. Long as you can stay free, you stay free. Look what happened to me and my brother.”
“It doesn’t look like you’re doing so bad,” Jesse said.
“Don’t let the badge and the uniform fool you,” the jailer said. “I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat if I could.”
“You do remember you’ve got me locked up here for who knows how long,” Jesse said.
“Oh, don’t worry about this. All you’ve got is traffic tickets. Get your people here with money and you’ll be on the road again in no time.”
“Does this mean you’re not going to shave my head like you were talking about when you threw me in here?”
“We were just scaring you, seeing what you was made of,” the jailer said. “Course, if you’d been a real asshole, we would have given you a trim you’d never forget.”
Jesse got to make his call. He was hoping pretty hard that Rene’s father would answer the phone. The rest of the band would be on the road and unavailable by telephone.
Mercifully, on the fifth ring, Burt picked up the phone.
“How the hell did you end up in jail?” he asked.
Jesse explained the unpaid ticket from New Orleans and the new speeding ticket.
Burt did not sound pleased. “What did you think would happen if you didn’t pay the ticket or at least go to court?”
“To be honest. I forgot all about the red light ticket. I wasn’t trying to play games.”
“I’ll be right there,” Burt said as he hung up the phone.
In an hour and a half, Burt and Rene were welcoming Jesse out of jail.
Jesse was more than happy to see them. “How’d you get me out so fast?”
“It cost us almost four hundred to pay the red light ticket and the speeding ticket and the tow,” Burt said. “Once we paid, you were free to go.”
“Thank you so much,” Jesse said as he hugged Burt and Rene. “It’s good to be a free man again.”
As they were walking out of the jail, Jesse stopped and turned around to say to the singing jailer, “Come on up to the show tonight. We’ll put you on a microphone.”
The jailer laughed and waved. “Sing ‘em some Hank tonight.”
“What was that?” Burt asked as they walked out. “Old home week?”
“Just call it a little jail house rock,” Jesse said.
Rene didn’t laugh at the joke. He gave Jesse a look like he was more trouble than he was worth. “We’re going to have to hurry to make the gig. And don’t forget, the four hundred for your fines came out of the band account. You’ll have to pay us back.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
RUNNING ON EMPTY
The gig at Natchitoches went well. By Sunday, the band had enough money to think they might be ready to survive the wedding tour to Michigan, even though they only had two gigs booked. Louisiana to Indiana was a long way between bookings.
The Lunch on the Lawn performance near the capital building in Indianapolis was better than Jesse expected. The downtown park was packed with at least five hundred people. The government workers were surprised by the intensity of the music. They were not quite ready to be jolted out of their dress socks at noon by a hard-driving band. The crowd loved the surprise and cheered wildly after every song. It was Friday and people were ready to party.
The gig had been set up back when the band was playing on Bourbon Street at Fritzel’s. A half-drunk woman said she’d send a contract and, amazingly, the contract arrived in the mail about a month later. Jesse signed it, thinking the gig would be one of many on the band’s northern tour. That was well before the trip was all about Amy and Jesse getting married.
The band looked particularly heroic on the stage in Indianapolis, which was a flatbed truck trailer between two tall Oak trees. The wind was strong out of the south and blowing everybody’s hair like they were riding horses into battle. The Divebomberz had not had a gig or a rehearsal in more than a week, but they sounded tight and powerful. The time off had been an energizing break. Even Rick was complimentary after the gig. “I almost forgot how much fun it is to play with you guys.”
That was quite a comment from Rick, who had been bitterly complaining about the impossible logistics of what he called the “tour of fools.”
The performance was scheduled to last an hour, but nobody in the crowd seemed in a hurry to get back to work. The band played three encores, and people were still screaming for more when the organizers signaled the band to stop.
Amy was busy taking pictures of Jesse. Terri was doing the same with Butch, Loretta with Tim and Polly with Rene. Rick and Dale were the only two members of t
he band who didn’t have their girlfriends on the trip. Even so, they did their best to be in all the photos.
Amy had the women of the band organized into a t-shirt selling machine. The shirts were wildly popular since they said The Divebomberz and New Orleans. It was t-shirt profits that would keep the band in food and gas for the poorly scheduled wedding tour. Plus, each woman had money of her own.
After the show in the park, a friend of Jesse’s from college came up to say hello. He was wearing a coat and tie and seemed impressed by Jesse’s wild lifestyle. “Man, you guys look like you’re having so much fun up there, doing your very own thing. I envy you.”
“It’s not nearly as glamorous as it looks,” Jesse said. “We’ve got ten people on the road to Pentwater, Michigan, and not enough gigs to get us there.”
“What’s going on in Michigan?” he asked.
“I’m getting married,” Jesse said as Amy came up to join him. “And, here she is now, the girl of my dreams. Amy, meet Craig. We went to school together.”
Craig ignored Amy and seemed flabbergasted by the news. “You’re getting married? You’ve got to be kidding.”
Amy did not appreciate his tone. “No. We’re not kidding. And, no, I’m not pregnant.”
“It’s true love,” Jesse said.
Craig tried to back pedal from his total amazement that Jesse would be getting married. “Congratulations to the both of you. And I must say, Amy, you are one brave girl.”
“I know, that’s what everybody says,” Amy said to Craig. Then she turned to Jesse and asked, “Why do all your old friends act so surprised when they find out you’re getting married?”
“They’re jealous I found someone so beautiful as you,” Jesse said.
“Good answer,” Amy and Craig said in unison.
Two nights later, the band found itself playing an impromptu gig in a large event tent in Fort Wayne, Indiana, hometown of Jesse, Butch, Dale and Tim. All their old friends came out to see if The Divebomberz were as good as the rumor mill said they were. An organization called The Theatre for Ideas sponsored the tent as part of the city’s summer festival. There was no pay for this gig. The band would have to pass the hat in order to make any money. Dale knew the people in charge and had set up the last-minute performance. It was a happening. All the old hippies came out to party. The sixties didn’t die in the Midwest until 1979. Of course, they had been quite late in arriving.
As the performance got rolling, Jesse realized one of the fundamental truths about sound acoustics: everything sounds better under a tent. The cloth ceiling rising to a peak in the center gave the sound a gathered, rich feeling. Bass notes hung in the air like humidity. Tones from the guitar and fiddle wove dense, musical tapestries. The drums and vocals were perfectly compressed and mixed with the Hammond B-3 organ. Butch was playing a Les Paul guitar through a Marshall amplifier that was meaty and mean. The band filled the tent with all the power and joy of the rock revolution. Once they added their special blend of bayou funk and bluegrass to the mix, the musical canvas was complete.
“This is a dream come true,” Dale shouted in Jesse’s ear during an ovation break between songs. “Everybody’s loving it.”
Jesse felt triumphant and strangely vindicated. This was his hometown. He left town two years earlier as little more than an amateur musician. Now he was playing in a six-piece power band that sounded ready for the concert circuit.
All the band’s friends were screaming in support of what seemed like a miracle transformation. The two Louisiana boys, Rene and Rick, seemed shocked by the crowd and its joyful response. In no time at all, there were two hundred people crammed into the tent with people standing five deep outside.
Word spread quickly that a great band was making a surprise appearance at the Theatre for Ideas tent. A television reporter and cameraman fought their way into the tent and broadcast The Divebomberz live on the late news.
Jesse introduced the band after the first fifteen songs. They needed a water break. It was a hundred degrees in the tent. People were soaked with sweat as they cheered wildly for their returning musical road warriors. Rene and Rick got roaring cheers of approval when Jesse introduced them. “We picked up a couple raging Cajuns from the bayou.”
Dale addressed the crowd once they had quieted somewhat. “Down in New Orleans, they call us the hottest band on the bayou. But y’all know, and we all know, that The Divebomberz are from Fort Wayne, Indiana.”
That drew a cheer that seemed to blow the roof off the tent. The crowd started chanting, “Divebomberz, Divebomberz, Divebomberz.”
Jesse decided it was a good time to pass the hat. “Okay, people, listen up for a minute, please. There’s a hat coming around. It’s a big cowboy hat and I can see we’re already getting some contributions. We need you to give generously. It’s the only way we’re getting paid tonight. So, dig deep. We need the gas money.”
Butch chimed in. “And don’t forget the party tomorrow night at Goeglein’s Barn. It’s five dollars at the door and that includes all the beer you can drink. It starts at 8 p.m. We’ve got the fabulous Arvel Byrd playing fiddle with us. It’s going to be a great jam, so come on out.”
The band kept playing and passing the hat and promoting the party for another ten songs. The crowd was spellbound. Amy and Terri kept the band in beer until the show finally ended. They sold out of t-shirts early.
The wedding tour would have made a lot more money if Amy had stocked another five hundred t-shirts. As it was, once the first three hundred were gone, that was it. There was no way to make more on the road. Amy made each one by hand and her silk screens were back in New Orleans.
The crowd protested mightily when the band said goodnight. The police said the show had to end at midnight. Thanks to The Divebomberz, the night was one of the most peaceful nights in Fort Wayne festival history.
Jesse and Rene counted the money from the hat. It looked like more than it turned out to be. The grand total came to $373.75. It was mostly one-dollar bills and three quarters.
“Who throws quarters into a hat?” Rene asked as he picked the quarters out of the bottom of the hat.
Dale was disappointed. “I was hoping it would be a lot more money than that. I don’t think we’ve ever had a better crowd.”
Butch patted Dale on the back. “We sounded great tonight. My old buddies came up to me like I was some kind of rock star.”
“You are,” Tim said. “We all are.”
“Not on three seventy-three a night for six guys,” Rick said. “How are we going to divide it? I’m flat broke.”
“How about fifty per man, split the rest between the two drivers?” Tim said.
“How about thirty per man?” Rene suggested. “We need at least two hundred for gas.”
As the band was discussing the ugly reality of how little money they had between them, Jesse’s mother and father came up to say hello. His mother threw her arms around him and said, “I can’t believe you’re really doing it. We’re so proud of you. The band sounds so professional. Even your father is impressed.”
As they hugged each other, his father said, “The band sounds as good as anything I’ve heard on the radio. Not that I’m any judge. But, frankly, it seems like you could do pretty well with this unit.”
“We’re so excited about the wedding,” Jesse’s mother said as she gave Amy a hug. “You are one beautiful girl, inside and out. And we love the t-shirts.”
“Thanks for having the wedding at your place in Michigan,” Amy said to Jesse’s parents. “Do you know if the cottages we reserved are ready for the band?”
“Everything’s ready and waiting,” Jesse’s mother said. “Everybody’s excited about the wedding on Eagletop. It’s the biggest sand dune around. It’s like a mountain. You’re going to love it. Everybody will be shocked to find out how great the band is. And you’ll be pleased to know, the cottages are only twenty-five dollars a night no matter how many people you put in them.”
“That’s
a lot for us right now,” Jesse said. “Hopefully, the party tomorrow will raise some money. We’re running on empty these days.”
“One word of advice,” Jesse’s father said. He waited to see if Jesse was ready to hear it.
Jesse put his hands on his hips. “I’m ready.”
His father put his arm around Jesse’s shoulder. “Okay. I know you had to pass the hat, but don’t let on like you need gas money to survive. You look like big stars up there until you tell everybody you’re broke.”
The party at Goeglein’s Barn was standing room only. Everybody paid the five-dollar cover and got to drink free beer all night. From the size of the crowd, Jesse thought the band was making a fortune.
It was a huge hoe down with two fiddles screaming like ecstatic banshees all night. Arvel and Tim sounded like they had been born to play together. Arvel was the best fiddler in the area. Near the end of the first set, he took the mike. “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s hear it for The Divebomberz.”
Everybody stopped what he was doing to send up a massive cheer for the band. Arvel continued. “I can tell you from playing with them tonight that these local boys are now the hottest band on the bayou.”
The crowd surged toward the stage and waved their hands in the air as they let out a deafening cheer.
The band finished the set with an inspirational version of “Orange Blossom Special.” The band and the two fiddlers sounded like a steam locomotive coming down the tracks. No one was dancing. They were crowding around the stage to witness what sounded like musical history being made. Jesse wished he had set up a couple recording mikes so they could have the performance on tape.
The band took a short break and came back onstage stronger than they left. The crowd seemed delirious. Everybody was chugging beer in an apparent effort to keep up with the band.
Halfway through the second set, Jesse noticed the dancers were slipping and sometimes falling onto the floor, which was completely covered with beer. People were sloshing the free beer around because they knew they wouldn’t have to pay for refills.
Rock and Roll Voodoo Page 31
