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Indian Story (copyright 2003)
By Eric West
I think a lot of us have somewhere within us, or our "careers" some type of "Inspirational Story".
For the most part, they seem to be an expression of "God's Work" in our lives, or some miraculous happening, or touching personal sacrifice done for our benefit. To Me, those are indeed interesting, and DO inspire me, and should do so for others. I just don't pay them the "note" they are intended to get somehow..
A lot of my "memorable moments" or "inspirational flashes" have been just that. Moments, and Flashes.
I forget, but only for a while, My "Indian Story".
It was in the Winter of 1988. I was playing with a band called Sundance. We were playing at the Stockman's Casino in Elko Nevada. The Bandleader was a Kenny Rogers Impersonator that we had been working with for a Year, doing county fairs, specialty club gigs, and casinos with. "Co-Starring, was a "Dolly Parton" impersonator, whose irritatingly boyish voice, even when filtered through the heaviest of "Low boosted" EQ would still loosen fillings. A "feature act" was a 17 year old "Leanne Rhymes" type girl who though she had a perfect voice, and pleasant looks, had a boyfriend that had been "statutorially raping" her in rooms that "the band" had been renting all during the previous year of our travels. In addition, her mother was on the phone to the Agent constantly, and not with things that were "helpful".
We arrived to find that The Casino no longer let bands stay "in house", and that we were expected to come "up front" with our money for "a motel". First, I had none, and second, I didn't think it was a good idea to be in the vicinity of the underage singer and her boyfriend.
Secondly, The Band, was not on the "best terms" with me. I had told the bandleaders wife that the band's performance in Las Vegas immediately before, was the worst they could collectively do. I had been immediately, and summarily fired. Apon the Agent's finding out that *I* was being replaced by an Eddie Munster Looking Keyboard player ( who had worked with him before) he promptly told the Bandleader that if the "Steel Guitarist" was "staying home", that "they" better *can it* as well. I got the call, and was "unfired", but I got the idea that it wasn't going to be the funnest gig I'd ever had. I did howver take it as a compliment.
Thirdly, the Star Act, was in the beginning stages of being "found out" for child molestation of his 13 yr old retarded step daughter. I had initially "caught him" in an untoward situation, and questioned him. His flimsy answer, I pretended to accept until I could find a more concrete way of "dealing with it". My pretense was strained, and he was, on recent occaisons inviting me to go out "target shooting" in the desert. I was declining of late, nervously. When I had told the core Bandleader of my suspicions, he surprisingly told me to "quit stirring stuff up".
Somewhere in the background, there was the KR imp's wife, who was tawdrily attractive, and pointed "it" toward me at any occaison. I had a suspicion that she was not "guiltless" in this "suspicion" I had, though my attraction to her was probably a balancing factor in my "taking the gig" in spite of "it all".
At that time, I was living in a 12 foot trailer, in a wrecking yard, with an open hole in the side where I'd removed a rotten mouse nest, no hot water, and a dog that was dying. I was about to be evicted, and needed enough "seed money" to get "things moving"
I took the gig, driving my 78 Granada with a "thump" somewhere in the rear end. It was 10 below in Jackpot, and the carb started icing up. I put cardboard over the radiator, and made it into town and parked it for the duration.
Well, the gig was horrible. The worse the band got, the more tense the situation got.
The Star Act took a $500 Bonus "for the band" and divided it. The first payday, after his string of losses at crap tables, he said it was only an "advance", and took it out of our pay. The Side Dolly act was fuming, and was screwing up whatever wasn't being purposly trashed by "the band", fighting about things like "the split" and the marquee billing the whole time.
I was staying in the dressing room, cooking meals on a hot plate, and sleeping behind a drum riser leaned up against the wall backstage in the "Theatre Area". I figured that "security" would keep me from being involved in the "off stage" problems, and keep me somewhat "guarded" while I slept. It worked well, and I rarely, if ever even went out of the Casino. Besides, I could sit at my Sho~Bud and work on things for hours if I wanted to.
Somewhere around the middle of the Second Week, Things went to Hell.
The Feature Act's wife had had a buttfull of the whole thing, and taken off. Half of my reason for "being there" though I'd never touched her, except in my mind.
During a "spat" with the band, the Bandleader and another member had confided to The Act that *I* was "spreading rumors" about him.
I started my Granada once and when it "froze" again a rock star in the windshield turned to a full length spider web.
One night, someone sneaked into the backstage area and put a lit cigarette at the foot of my sleeping bag, and I woke up barely being able to put it out. I was shaking, when I remembered an individual member was a self admitted "firebug". One who I was unwilling to help in a way I can't explain, though I'll probably have to someday.
The Feature Kenny Act was "cool enough" about "it", but asked me again to go "target shooting" in the hills the next day. ( It was 10 below zero.)
To add to all that, the full length mirror in the dressing room was heated in the corner by my hot plate, and shattered with a big explosion as I was cooking. To me, it was going to be a "Long Seven Years of Bad Luck, that I could see out in front of me.. I got to the "janitor", Tex, and offered my address at home to pay for it. He said there'd be "no problem".
Things couldn't have been much worse, and all I wanted to do was to be at home in my ratty little trailer with my Dying Dog, my best friend.
This was Friday of the Last week. We did a show that I'll remember a long time. The most hate I've ever felt from a group of people. I was shaking as I finished the Song, "Daytime Friends" and unplugged my guitar. and after a little reflection, and a last cup of coffee, I plugged in the Old Sho~Bud behind the pulled curtain.
Then, I met "The Indian".
I was playing Bud's Therapy, my oldest "friend" ( the flute part). It had always "worked" before.
I heard from out front, a raspy, high voice erupt from a few rows out. "What the hell is that, a Cat screeching?" he said, kind of harrassingly. "Yeah, that's right" a cat that's gonna come out an kick your ass", I kiddingly replied. "Sounds like Hell to me", he smartly replied. I said, "Well, maybe you'd rather be outside laying in a snowbank, you old fart." I stood up and parted the round curtains and headed off the stage.
I saw him sitting there about ten rows back, an Old Indian, in a ratty gray suitcoat, and flat brimmed hat and long black/gray hair. He got up, and smiled, as did I. I came back to him, sized him up, and asked "How's it going Bud?". I was about in need of *some kind* of conversation. "Just fine" I think he said, and I noticed a vodka bottle start rolling out from under his seat. I laughed, and he smiled. What was *really* funny was that being a non drinker, I can smell booze across the room and I *didn't* smell it on his breath *at all*. "Kinda cold out to be dressed like that, isn't it old fella?" ( wondering how in the hell he got past the 24/7 security watch). He said something, I guess, and we passed a few moments.
Figuring he was "on the mooch", and not dressed for the weather, I said "Need a coupla bucks?. How 'bout a Five?"
He said "No thanks", and paused a moment or two.
Then he said, "I
will *sell you* a "Prayer"..
I thought about it for a moment, and hoped it wouldn't be much of an ordeal to get rid of the old fella, and hell, I've dealt with plenty of "spritual crap" from white folks. I said "Sure", and handed him the Five.
He had me sit down, and he put one hand on my forehead, and one on the back of my head. For a couple minutes he rambled on in Sioux, saying words like "wakaan" and others I remembered from reading "Black Elk Speaks". I was kind of waiting for a "rush", or other "spark", being open to all kinds of stuff.
Nothing happened. I did however feel a lot more relaxed, and he seemed satisfied that he hadn't "mooched" off me. I kind of just hung there for a while, and I went to puttering about my guitar I guess, but I remember that I looked back out, and he was gone. Not *vanished* really, but just must have sauntered of without my noticing him. I didn't think any more about it, practiced for a while, and hit the sack. It really had surprised me how he'd gotten by security to begin with..
The next morning, I was having breakfast in the restaurant, and one of the employees who I'd met and talked with from time to time came up and sat beside me. He told me that "The Band" had been in a huge "fight" over at the "Motel". Also that the underage feature act's Mom had called the Agent, complaining about her daughter getting shorted for money, and that the "Band" was using drugs. (Nevada, mind you). It was about then that I saw the Casino Mgr, and Old Mafia type from KC. I asked what was *up*. He told me that with the exception of ME, tht that band had better be careful heading out of Elko, after the call he got from The Agent, and that he realized that I had no part in it. It was funny, because I'd never talked to anybody about all the stuff. I thanked him, apologized, and told him that all I wanted to do was get the hell out of there after tonite.
The band showed up that afternoon, one by one, and promptly lost everything they could have possibly made in the slot machines. Nobody seemed to want to talk about anything, so I just let it slide and took care of my daily stuff.
The Show came, and went. Nobody was looking at anybody, and I couldn't figure out why they didn't seem mad at me any more..
I loaded up my Granada, and headed out. It was 16 below zero. I had the full thousand bucks in my pocket. (The only one that came away with *any* money.)
I made it through the Ladd Canyon pass just inside Oregon, AFTER it had officially closed. I didn't know it, as I'd skirted a bunch of trucks milling around with barracades etc. The snow was about 6 in deep, but I just hammered the Granada, and made it quite easily.
When I got home, the there was a call waiting at my Mom's house from the "Act's" wife. Said she had to "see me". The next evening I went over. I got there and she was sitting on the couch wrapped in a comforter. The heat had been turned off. She made conversation, I gave her 40 bucks for groceries, and she said she'd gotten a call from her husband asking if "when I got there" If I'd pick them up and tow them back from halfway into Oregon. They had made it through, but only after it re-opened. I said I would, but that I wasn't in a hurry. Nobody knew I'd be there that early anyhow.
Then, the most amazing thing happened. She sent the kids out for the night to the neigbors. I was about to go, when she got up and went in to the bedroom. I sat there in the living room for a minute. Then she said "Would you come in here a minute?" from behind the door. Now mind you, this is a woman that I'd been "hitting on" for the last few months.. Something grabbed me, and I calmly said " You know, I can't even be in this house with you alone, and I damn sure can't come in there", and I promptly left.
This should have been my first clue that "things" were changed somehow. (The Second Clue I should have gotten was that the "thump" in the rear end of the Granada was a split wheel bearing that for all I know should have trashed the whole rear end in 20 below weather. I could never figure out why it didn't.)
The "Me" I'd known for the previous part of my life, and sometimes in later times would have run over a charging bull to get through that door.
Anyhow....
As things worked out, "The Band" split up. The Feature Dolly got a ticket the last day of the gig for parking in a Handicap Zone for a doubled fine, got completely out of the music business, the Feature Underage girl got home, quit singing, got fatter than a house. The Firebug lost the rest of his teeth, and went to live with his sister, and hasn't been heard from since. The Bandleader was NEVER to Lead a band again, and got divorced. Another got a debilitating blood disorder and gave it up for ten years that I knew of. The Feature Act went to State Prison for 40 YEARS for child molestation, AS did his wife who "was" involved, for 5 years. There is more, but I never kept track.. I never wish bad things on people. I didn't in that case. They're just "gone", and I'm not.
ME?
I went on slogging through the wrecking yard til I finally got a job with a temp service in a Coke factory washing pop bottles, slinging freight, and sorting CDs etc til that summer when I got a job driving a Dump Truck, where I made, between that and mostly full time music, enough to get out of there, get an airstream and move into a trailer park.
I got a better Dump Truck Job, got my teeth fixed, back taxes paid and got a better pickup. After that, I kept playing with ever better bands, reunited with my old "significant other", and we lived together ( as we still do today) in a trailer park, steadily saving my wages (she's never had to "work") and buying a house (where we live happily now).
I've got the nicest Harley in this part of Portland, and it's paid for. No other debts, and enough unused platinum Visa cards to buy a dozen new MSAs, Money in the bank, Two cars, a fishpond full of Coy, A 40 yr old turtle in her own pond, and my very own rabbit, that ranges freely in my back yard. I can pet him whenever I want.
I play gigs every weekend and most midweeks with bands that if are not The Best, are at least working the most. Some of my nights are pretty damn good.
(Did I mention the "Big Electric Fan that keeps me cool when I sleep"?...)
There have been, and indeed still ARE difficult struggles in my life, and it really isn't over yet. I've been in lawsuits over wages, band breakups, loss of friends and family. I'm currently as of this writing, struggling with a poor economy, trying to put what's left of my "chops" back together, choose the "right bands" and being ready to chuck it all if a good "day job" shows up or "go on the road" if the opportunity shows itself. It's normal stuff, but It always has a way of working out if I "stay in the fight". At this point, it all *seems normal* to me. I make decisions on a daily basis.
Not much about the night with the Old Indian drifter came to my mind until many years later. It was just something I remembered one day.
As I sit and figure it ANY way I can, eve to this day, until a CERTAIN point. EVERYTHING in my life was sliding downhill. I've tried to trace it to my quitting drinking in 1980, playing gigs, "spiritually rededicating" myself, or a dozen other "changes" but it doesn't fit. I continued to make the *wrong* decisions. I've tried any number of reference points to look at "the change" from. Believe me I have looked for a "Nexus" of any other type. I was headed for "death" and only brief reprieves along the *way*.
The decisions I seem to make *for the most part* are the decisions that inevitaby bring me to a higher plane, and a better life. Slowly, and with many setbacks, but I just seem to make the "right choice". Starting with my heading out the door after turning down the "Feature Act's" wife..
It all comes back to the exact point in time where I bought that "Indian Prayer" from that gaunt old sioux drifter for 5$ in that empty theatre in the casino that awful winter in Elko.
It hardly seems like something a guy could buy for 5 bucks from a "hobo".
It didn't seem like a Miracle.
Maybe the
Real Ones don't..
Eric West
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<FONT SIZE=1 COLOR="#8e236b"><p align=CENTER>[This message was edited by Eric West on 30 April 2003 at 09:21 PM.]</p></FONT>
