They were great people and...

There was a Method to their Madness!

The first official band that my son, Eric, played in was a cover band called “Method To Madness”. It included a bass player who is one of his best friends from high school. This bass player is now a sound man, his name is Bobby and he was the one who actually got the band together and chose the name.

After the band had been together for a while, Eric was able to purchase a bus for them to travel in when they had gigs out of town. This was a neat school bus that had been converted to a travel bus complete with a small bathroom area, bunk beds and a kitchen.

They had a gig one night in Lafayette, Louisiana and they left with great anticipation of this show in a new venue. Tagging along with them for the trip was a local photographer who wanted to film one of their “on the road” experiences. He asked to join them for this show so that he could film them; but it was pretty obvious that he was sweet on the girl member of the band, her name is Stephanie.

Off they went in the bus, quite a motley crew they were.

They had no manager at all; the booking and business was done by a band member. Sometimes it was Bobby and sometimes Eric. I really do not know for sure who booked this gig, but I do know they were not wise in the handling of the business side of the negotiations on it.

Just a few miles before reaching the location of the show, the engine blew out in the bus. They were on the interstate, broke down and unsure of what to do. Eventually they made the decision to get the bus towed to the venue, do the show and figure things out the next morning. They pooled their money to pay the expensive towing fees to get them there. Towing a large bus requires a big tow rig and a big fee.

The bus breaking down was not the only bad thing about this trip. They found out there was a nationally acclaimed band playing at a venue very close by and at the same exact time. So the bubble of hope for a big crowd was immediately deflated. There was almost no one there to see them. They also told me the bar smelled worse than a public park bathroom. Not the bar bathroom, but the venue itself smelled that bad. 

To top off the broken down bus, the poor turnout for the show, the smell of the venue, the bar owner only paid them $28 for the gig. Whoever booked it went on blind trust for this bar owner to pay the agreed amount. They learned after that, it is important to never rely of verbal agreements in this business and never use blind trust.

By the time Eric called me, they had spent two nights in the bus; all of them were weary and their spirits were pretty low. It was very cold, they told of turning their stage lights on for warmth and the extremely bright lights were almost impossible to sleep under. It was so bright that my son had gotten out and laid up across the hood outside in the cold to try and get some rest. Another reason for braving the outside cold was that the female member of the band had gotten intoxicated the night before and gotten sick and thrown up on the floors of the bus. As the bright stage lights heated this vomit, the odor increased to an unbearable level.

They had used all of the cash they had on hand to pay the tow truck driver to get them to the venue. The bus was in the bar parking lot and the bar owners wanted it to be moved, but since he stiffed them for their agreed upon payment they did not have enough cash to pay the tow truck driver to tow them back to Mobile. As a matter of fact they did not have enough cash to buy food either, so that left them cold, tired, hungry and stranded. 

I had no clue there was any problem; until my phone rang. Eric told me the whole story and that now the towing service that brought them to the venue had advised them he cannot tow them without cash upfront (which they did not have). Also, he had informed them that if they scraped up the money; only two of them could ride in the tow truck, the others would have to find their own way home. The most interesting part of the Louisiana tow truck story for me, is that the tow truck driver went by the name of Corn Chip.

My husband and I called a local towing service in Mobile. They headed straight to Lafayette within an hour and we were on the road behind them to rescue “Method To Madness”. We had a large vehicle and between our car and the two who would travel with the tow truck, we were able to get everyone home safely.

I suppose every band has their own horror story, it seems to go with the territory. I was happy to do my small part to rescue these great people who deserved to be rescued.

Looking at the positives, there were many good, entertaining and down right hilarious stories that came from this unfortunate trip. 

Of course, I hated that the band had to go through such a harrowing experience, but the one I felt empathy for the most was the photographer. He looked as though he had lived a very “Sheltered” life. Band members are normally accustomed to things going wrong, hardships, difficult situations, and just plain adversity. This tends to make them stronger somehow. This photographer was too gentle, reserved and protected; dare I say “delicate” in some ways. I felt like I could read his mind, “I will NEVER go off with a band again, NEVER EVER!” 
I am pretty certain that he did not ask to travel with them after that.

The members of the band learned how important it is to have things in writing. They learned to be better prepared for emergencies. The lessons they learned were almost endless. When you can learn that much from an experience, I say that makes it a positive thing, overall.

I never saw or heard from the photographer, nor Corn Chip, the tow truck driver in Louisiana after that trip.

The band continued on their way in life for a few more years. They were a great cover band and gained a big following, I was proud of them.

They actually had a Method to their Madness after all!

I was once a sound engineer,

for the Grateful Dead?

One night when my son Eric was playing a solo gig at a bar downtown that was once called SouthSide, I met someone who thought he knew me. This bar was locate on the south side of Dauphin Street in Mobile, Alabama. Since then it has changed names a couple of times. 

During this time SouthSide had initiated a Thursday night special program they called “Drinking with Lincoln”. The patrons would be charged $5 at the door and the rest of the night they could buy Draft beer for One "Lincoln" Penny each. When young people find a deal like that, it seems their natural inclination is to drink as much as physically possible. After all, it is only a PENNY a glass!

Drinking with Lincoln nights were pretty rowdy. There was a raised area where the controls were located for running the sound for bands . There was a steady stream of local, regional and even some national acts that came through and booked at this venue. When Eric did his solo gigs he ran his own sound from the stage but he had me to climb up the steps and into the sound area so that I could enjoy his show while remaining in a safe spot which had a clear view of the stage. 

So everyone was partying and dancing and enjoying themselves, Eric was playing and I was in the sound area chilling out and enjoying both the show on the dance floor as well and the one on the stage.

I looked towards the door and noticed two couples entering. They were dressed as though they were returning from a semi-formal event. They were a little older as well and stood out from the casually clad college age kids who were there. Suddenly one of the guys in this group that just entered, looked up and saw me. He was pointing at the balcony above and talking to his group when he looked up straight at me and he appeared to recognize me. He was very excited as he guided his group to the steps leading up to the sound platform. I looked very hard at this guy and as far as I could tell, I had never seen him before. I could not understand why he appeared to know me well and was pure giddy to see me.

As they worked their way over to where I was, he motioned for me to come down. I stepped down to the floor where they were and he hugged me with such love and happiness, then he began to introduce me to his friends.

He told them I was a fantastic sound engineer and that I had run sound for many big name bands but most often for The Grateful Dead. I explained to them and him that this was a mistake, I never ran sound for any band, I was just up there for safety purposes. He said, “She is just being modest and doesn’t want the attention but I am telling you guys this is the woman who ran sound for the Grateful Dead for years. She is top notch, as good as they get". All four of them stood and applauded me. I said "no this is a mistake", he told me to just accept the attention for the wonderful work I had done.

What could I do? I was tired, I wanted to go back up and sit down for my son’s show, so by that point I just curtsied and smiled as I headed up the steps to the sound board.

Later when they prepared to leave the bar, they all turned and waved to me, I smiled and waved back; still confused about it all.

For years after that, I would see him occassionally at gigs and I tried to convince him I did not ever run sound, period. He never believed me.

So if you ever hear the rumor that Juanita Smith once ran sound for the Grateful Dead, 

know that the person telling you this is either drunk, high or misinformed.

I will remember her

She was a Quirky Lady

That night I found myself at a late night bar downtown and as I watched my son and another musician set up the sound system, I glanced around the room.

Everyone appeared to be ready for fun and fellowship as they talked, laughed, drank their beverage of choice, danced and partied. As the night continued, the crowd grew, more people danced and the atmosphere was festive.

I sat alone at a small table and observed the people who were there for a good time. I continued to watch as many of them paired up and danced. Late in the night an older lady that I had seen at other venues, came right up to me, introduced herself, then asked could she sit with me. I said, “of course”. She began talking before her fanny hit the seat.

Soon after her joining me, several in the audience headed over to my table, said their goodbyes and walked out into the night. This very odd lady often dressed in quirky attire. As a matter of fact tonight she wore a pink tutu skirt over her tight fitting black slacks. She often wore long feather boas and long flowing dresses of gauzy material that flowed in the air as she twirled around to the music.

This lady was clearly in her 50s and looked out of place in the crowd but that never seemed to be an issue for her. I had been amused by her every time I had seen her. It appeared to me that she was wearing costumes for some reason. Maybe she was just living her youth that she had lost out on, or trying to recapture her youth that she loved. The thought had crossed my mind on several occasions as I watched her dancing around, totally oblivious to her surroundings, that  “perhaps she is mentally compromised or emotionally damaged in some way.”

I had observed her in the crowd for months but this was the first time I had an actual conversation with her. In the past months she only nodded and smiled and I did the same.

As it turns out this lady was enjoying her last evening in our town. She began telling me a horrific story of events in her life that left me breathless at times. I had to restrain my reactions and not let her know just how shocking her story was to me. As she told the story, she pulled up the legs of her tight stretch pants one at a time and showed me some of the most heart-wrenching scars I had ever seen. I was employed at the time in an ER at a local hospital, so it took a lot to surprise me, but surprise me she did. 

It struck me the deeper she got into her story that she was absolutely not mentally impaired in any way. She was articulate and she spoke with precision and clarity that amazed me.

In addition to the rare disease she was fighting, she had been a victim of extreme domestic violence. The violence was the reason she had come to Mobile, Alabama from the west coast as a means of escape. The illness was why she was returning to the west coast. 
She said even though she was moving back to the west coast she would be hundreds of miles away from her abuser. 

People will tell you anything and often there is not a word of truth in the story. I was certain she was real and she was honest in her details. She told me that her illness was so rare that she had been filmed for the show, “The Doctors” and that it was going to be aired in a few days. This was one of the reasons she was leaving at this time.

I came to a stark realization that night as I processed her story of sheer pain. Her dancing and twirling was her way of laughing in the face of her illness. Her attire was an expression of freedom and flair as she missed her youth in the grips of all the agony. I learned that she was much younger than I thought, this awful illness had robbed her of her youth.

She explained that she was leaving very early the next day. She would likely never be back in our area. 

All those months I had observed her, she had also observed me. She said, “I came to Mobile randomly, for peace, for safety, for new surroundings”. 

She said, “The second night I was here I meandered out of my apartment and walked into a place where your son was playing and the song he was singing spoke to me.” She said that when she returned to her apartment, she slept more peacefully than she had for years. A week later she entered another venue to see my son was playing there and immediately she wanted to dance and feel his music, his voice and the noise of a happy crowd of young people all around her. “It was heaven to me”, she exclaimed. I told her I was so happy that he was able to help in some small way. She said that he had helped her more than he would ever know. The 3rd time she saw him, she heard him say into the microphone, “There is my momma over there!” as he pointed to you and you smiled so big!” She told me that also touched her deeply and made her happy. She approached him when he took a break that night and told him how much his music had helped her and he hugged her and said, “Thank you so much, I’m glad”. 

She said “my purpose in sitting here tonight is to say Thank You!” She told me that she would always remember me and my son no matter where life took her, we would be with her. I have thought of her since that night and I have great hope that she is peaceful and happy wherever life’s journey has taken her.

That night was our only conversation. I never heard or saw her again.

I continue to be amazed at how we touch one another in life, our words and actions can make a huge impact on others; and often we do not know. Whether it is people at work, people at gigs, or people in general, they have a way of  teaching me lessons such as she did that night. 

Don’t judge a book by its cover.

Don’t wallow in self pity, you are luckier than you may think.

She ate her chicken as she said--

We Go WAY back...

Many years ago on Joe Cain Day in Mobile, I found myself at my son, Eric’s gig on Dauphin Street at the Riverboat Bar & Grill where he played frequently in those days. If you are not familiar with Mobile and Mardi Gras, you may not be aware that Joe Cain was the founder of Mardi Gras (long before it erupted in New Orleans). Each year on the Sunday before Mardi Gras Day we celebrate Joe Cain Day, in his honor. It is The day of the common man. This day was originally created for people who are not in any of the established Mardi Gras Societies. People from all walks of life celebrate on Joe Cain Day with parades and costumes and all sorts of rowdy, party fun. The streets of Mobile are full of party goers and people ready to eat, drink and be merry.

Well the Riverboat, like most of the other establishments downtown was packed. I was at my regular table trying to stay out of the mix of people as they pushed in and pushed out and danced, hooted and hollered for hours.

I had seen many of my friends and some of my relatives as they came and went throughout the afternoon. I was talking to a friend who was sharing my table when a woman pushed through the crowd and spied an empty space on our table and immediately plopped down something wrapped in aluminum foil. I looked over and smiled at her and she smiled back.

She looked a bit weary and tired as I fully understood in all that enormous crowd downtown and almost no place to rest your achy bones. She appeared to me to be close to my age, I was 50ish at the time. Her hair was salt & pepper gray and it looked like it may have been up in a twist at one time but most of the twist was now untwisted, leaving big strands of drooping hair that fell in all directions as it pleased. I scooted a free chair her way that I had held onto in case my brother showed up. She looked like she could really use the rest. She eagerly took a seat.

Eric was playing his heart out and singing and at that time, he had a bubble machine that was working overtime blowing bubbles out into the crowd and adding to the festivities of the day. I had forgotten that he had a banner behind him that had a caricature of him and his name in big letters above the cartoonish picture of him. E R I C was written in an unusual font that featured the letter C more open, looking a bit like an L but everyone knew it was ERIC. This banner was made by his friend and fellow musician Chico as a gift and we loved it. 

The lady with the aluminum foil sitting at my table began to talk as she unwrapped her foil to reveal several pieces of home fried chicken. She bit into that chicken like nobody’s business; my thoughts were that she must have been starving. Then she reached in her purse and grabbed some sliced bread that was smashed almost beyond recognitions and she supplemented her meal with the bread. As she ate and talked at the same time, I asked if she needed something to drink. She snapped her fingers, reached back in her large purse and pulled out a beer. I looked over at my friend Amy and nearly laughed, but it was really wise of her to come prepared, it just seemed so odd to me at the time.

Just then she elbowed me to get my attention, and pointed towards Eric as I looked around at her. She said, “This guy is good, don’t you think?” I smiled and said “I sure do.” She took another huge bite of bread, it looked like an entire slice but it was hard to tell due to the smashed effect from being in her purse. Eric finished the song he was playing and she, my friend and I all applauded.

It was about that time that she said, “I’ve watched this guy before, he’s always been good.” Then she added, “He and I go way back.” I smiled at her and said, “He and I also go way back.” 

She looked right at me and Amy and said, “Well I have known ERIL for years!”  I told her I was sure his name is ERIC, not ERIL. She stared back at me like I had lost my mind. Then she went back to enjoying her meal and beer. Eventually she eased on off into the crowd.

That was a long long day, but I knew it would be. There was a lot of people there but everyone was having fun and peaceful. I actually enjoyed the little lady with her chicken and smashed bread. I don’t believe I had ever seen her before and I know I haven’t seen her since. I suspect she still believes Eric’s name is ERIL.  Chico did a wonderful job on that banner but if he ever decides to make another banner, I will ask him to use different font. 

One more Joe Cain Day was over and I drug my tired butt home.

No Dotted line, just sign

She wanted an autograph

We were in Birmingham, Alabama and my son’s band was playing a great venue called The Work Play Theater located downtown. 

I had taken my older brother, my mother and her friend Lillian, on a trip to Nashville and we planned a stop on our return to attend one of Eric’s shows with his band. We got up early and drove down from Nashville in anticipation of this show. My mother and her friend, Lillian were very excited about the show because they had rarely seen him sing with his band. They spoke of it during breakfast at the IHOP and over the miles we traveled to Birmingham. We met up with Eric and drove around looking at sights such as the Iron Man statue, then they wanted to go back to the hotel to rest before the show.

We arrived at the venue and Eric got us a nice table with a clear view of the stage. He told my mother and her friend that they were at the VIP table and that made them feel very special.

It was a great show and Eric made sure to  point us out for the crowd which also thrilled mom and her friend. It was break time and we decided to get up and stretch our legs while we had a chance. There was some nice artwork on the walls of the lobby so we stepped out there and checked out these paintings by a local artist. They were quite impressive but quite pricey so we just enjoyed them from afar. Lillian said she was really enjoying herself and was so glad that we planned this show on our route home. My brother was flirting with all the ladies in sight, but that was and is how my brother lives, he loves the ladies. He has these very cheesy, out of style pick up lines such as, “Hey Darling, there is only one thing a man would ever want to change about you!” The ladies always ask, “What?” He smiles and says, “Your last name.” 

Another one is, “I know your husband’s (or boyfriend’s) name.” They usually say, “Ok, what is it?” His reply, “Lucky.”

I have heard him use those lines for years and I do not know how they would ever work. If a woman succumbed to those lines, in my opinion, something is wrong with her.

As I pondered this silliness, the lights began blinking, letting us know it was time to return to our seats, so we obliged.

The show continued and Eric announced that the band would be available out in the lobby immediately after the show for a “meet and greet” and they had CDs and other merchandise available.

We got up and mom said she needed to go to the ladies room. She went to the restroom nearby while Lillian, my brother and I stayed near the “meet and greet” area. 

Mom came out  of the restroom holding the hand of a very large breasted young woman. This young woman was very attractive and was dressed with a tight fitting red dress that was very low cut, showing her massive cleavage. She was calm, sultry and had a huge amount of self confidence, that was obvious.

My mother said that she heard this lady say in the restroom that she would like to meet the lead singer (Eric) and get his autograph but she did not want to stand in that long line out there. So, mom walked right over to her, said, “Come with me, I’m his granny and I will take you right to him!”

Mom grabbed this young lady's hand and took her right up to the front, completely bypassing the line. Then she proudly said, “Eric I just met this nice young lady in the restroom, her name is Lindsay and she wants your autograph.”

Eric turned to her and gave her a hug, then said I would be glad to give you an autograph as he looked around to see where her paper or CD or whatever it was that she wanted him to sign. Suddenly, she popped out one of her huge breasts like it was not unusual at all and said “Sign This!” 

My mom turned pale as a sheet just bleached and perfectly white. Her friend laughed so hard I thought she would faint. I figured she was laughing because the whole scene was strange and she was a little embarrassed as well. My brother immediately sprung into action offering to help by holding the breast steady for her as Eric signed it.

He signed it and she thanked him. As she walked away, I heard her say to her friend, “I’m never washing this boob again!”

My mother recovered but that is all she could talk about the rest of the evening. Her friend was still laughing and my brother just had a satisfied look on his face with few words the rest of the evening.

For Eric, it was a bit of a surprise but strange things happen in the world of a musician. For me, I was surprised but not shocked like mom and her friend. I have learned so much and seen so much at the shows, it is hard to truly shock me these days.

She had a vision problem

There was a college bar right across the street from the University of South Alabama and only a few miles from Springhill College, so it was frequented by mostly college students and college aged kids. 

Many outrageous things happened at this bar but overall the kids were ok. They were out to have some fun after a hard day in class, but this week it was after taking their finals and many were letting off some steam that had built up during finals week.  

Thursday nights Eric, my son, played at this particular bar and this particular Thursday they were done and ready to celebrate the fact that finals were in their rearview. Some told me they felt really good about how well they had done on their finals, while others were filled with anxiety at the prospect of failing. As it turns out, some were drinking to celebrate while others were drinking to forget. 

This bar was called Fabacher’s at the time.

To start with some of the folks were partying a little more than they needed to be and my son had reached a level of exhaustion between going to classes himself and playing as many gigs as his mind and body could handle. I knew that when he got that tired, he would do funny things that amused me, so I was anxious to see how that might manifest itself during the evening.

There was a group of 3 girls who had gone way passed the safety zone with their drinking. I remember hoping that they had a designated driver amongst them somewhere. They begged my son to play a song, again and again. He tried to please the audience as best he could but it was frustrating to play the same song over and over. The song they insisted on hearing numerous times was by John Mayer and it was called, “Your body is a wonderland”. The third and final time Eric sang the song for them, he was frustrated. Those 3 girls were out there on the dance floor jerking around to the music, I could not really say what they were doing was dancing. As he sang the first verse of this song once again for them, they looked at one another and in unison they pulled up their tops to reveal their breasts. The audience was reacting with hoots and hollers and applause. 

Instead of "Your body is a wonderland, Eric began singing, “Your body is a DUMPSTER CAN” and the audience went wild with applause. He had everyone laughing and cheering, except the dancers, who were still doing some sort of jerking thing; not twerking, that was not around yet!. They never seemed to notice he had changed the words to their song as they whirled aimlessly in their blurry, zany world on drunkness.

In this bar, which was often very crowded, there was only two single stall restrooms, one  for men and one for ladies. It became a problem almost every time I was there because there would be a long line of ladies waiting, so the ladies took over the men’s room too.

As a result the men went out back and urinated on the wall outside. 

That night one of my brothers was at the show and he went to the restroom, which was now the outside Urination Wall, then he returned to my table. He said, “Sis, you won’t believe this but I was standing there at the wall urinating, when suddenly I heard a young girl say Hey Mr. Nathan! , I looked down and to the left where the voice was coming from and there was a sweet little lady, squatting nearby.” 

He said, “It was awkward for sure.” He asked, “what is the appropriate etiquette for a situation like that?” “What should I have said?”

I had no answers, I don’t think that sort of thing is addressed by Emily Post or anyone else who writes the guidebooks on proper etiquette. I do know that most of Emily Post’s Proper Manners rules were violated that evening.

I will never forget this beautiful lady who sat down next to me about an hour before the show was over. She had deeply tanned skin that was flawless and a gorgeous figure. She wore a see through top that was very soft pink in color and it revealed a bright neon green bedazzled bra underneath that looked like it glowed. It was one of those “Push up, Push out” type bras that assured the cleavage is maximized. Her shorts were not quite high enough to meet her blouse, which did not really matter since it was so sheer that every little inch of her skin was in clear view through the blouse. Also the shorts she wore did not fully cover her bottom and part of her butt cheeks were exposed. 

This young lady, I will call her Joanie, said, “Ms Juanita, I need some advice from an older lady.” I looked at her and smiled as I asked what kind of advice she was seeking. She said, “Guys never seem to take me seriously.” “They are only interested in my body and not my brain.” I turned toward her and looked again at her outfit as she poured out her heart to me.
My mind was racing as my eyes revisited her attire. 

She said, “I have tried everything for them to notice my intelligence instead of only wanting to USE me.” Suddenly before I could respond to her, she said very loudly, “Men are DOGS!” “Sex is all they think about!” Then she abruptly got up and walked off into the crowd.

She never allowed me to respond and I am not sure what I would have said anyway. I do not give advice to people who are intoxicated, what is the point? Any words offered would hit the floor before it reaches their ears. 

I thought about this young, beautiful, frustrated lady that night when I got home. It was confusing to me that she could not see that she was putting herself out there sexually; exposing herself in the view of everyone who cared to look. It was like a big blinking sign saying “SEX SEX SEX” when she came into view, how could she think men were the problem? They were only reacting to her display.

I know these young people were finding there place in the world and I am sure they all saw the world more clearly as time went by. She was beautiful but lacked the ability to see life clearly, I hoped that her vision improved with time; exposing her ample brain for the world to see.