False Arrest
Then there was "that night" on the New York Thruway. I don’t remember what group we did that night. I don’t remember which city it was, or even whether we did sound or lights. It was the trip home I’ll always remember. It may have been a show with England Dan & John Ford Coley, or Aztec Two Step, maybe The Pousette-Dart Band, Duke Jupiter, or Orleans. I only remember that it was a college gig, it was summertime, and that my partner for the night was an accomplished "Techie" but a novice "Roadie". Al was a reluctant participant that day, but since everyone else was out on this tour, or that tour, and we had a show to do. I talked Al into going by telling him, "we’ll be back by dawn, and I’ll drive". We left the show that I can’t remember, from the city that I can’t remember, and headed up I-90. Al slept, and I drove, after all, a deal’s a deal. Then somewhere that night on the New York Thruway the six wheeler I was driving ("Little Red") sputtered and spit eventually came to a complete stop. Luckily I had sensed something was wrong as I neared a rest stop and I coasted in. It was about 3 in the morning and we were still over 150 miles from home. Nobody to call that late at night, the only logical choice was to try to sleep there in the rest area, and wait for daylight. Why not sleep in the truck? It was too hot. When the truck was moving it wasn’t bad, but in it’s immobile state it was a sauna. The rest area wasn’t much better, I spent the hot sleepless night sitting up, leaned against a vending machine wishing the building had A/C. Nobody bothered us that night which was fortunate since I was carrying about $2,500 cash in my roadie billfold (the payment for the gig the night before). Daylight finally came so I manned the payphone. After several calls, I finally found a tow truck big enough to pull our truck, and willing to do it on a Sunday morning at 7 AM. Money wasn’t the problem; it was convincing him that I had money, and that it was worth his while to miss church to come get us. Things began to look up when he finally arrived and hooked up. I have no idea where he took us, but we ended up in a large barn-like structure that was a truck repair facility. A mechanic looked at our truck and announced that we needed a head gasket, or a valve job or something engine related (guess what? I don’t exactly remember what), anyway it was going to take about 5 hours to fix it. Al fell asleep in the man’s office (air-conditioned!) but I was hungry. I asked the man if there was somewhere I could get breakfast and he laughed. Well you could go to town (sorry I forget the town’s name, I think I blocked it out over the years) but that’s about 4 miles up the road. I asked him if he could give me a ride or loan me a vehicle. (Like that was going to happen.) He had made even me show him the cash in my wallet before he would start work on the truck. He mumbled something about insurance rules, so I started walking, I was famished. Upstate New York off the beaten path is breathtaking. The endless miles of green trees, rolling hills, and the blessed quiet. I finally made it to the edge of town. It was the kind of quiet small town that has more churches than restaurants, and not a single fast food joint. I walked past a church as it was letting out. I must’ve looked a sight. I had slept in my clothes, my long hair hadn’t been washed or even brushed in more than a day, and I must have smelled not too good. I watched the people stare at me, then change directions to avoid me while herding their children to safety. I saw a small restaurant ahead. It was named "Nell’s" or "Betty’s" or something quaint like that, and it was filled with church going people eating their late breakfasts. The wonderful aroma of warm bacon and pancakes greeted me as I opened the door. I went in and sat down somewhere in the back ignoring the icy stares of the locals. All I really wanted was a meal. Eventually they waited on me, and I ate the best stack of pancakes I think I’ve ever had in my life. The waitress looked surprised when I offered a twenty-dollar bill to pay for the meal, she almost acted disappointed. It was like she really wanted to force me to wash dishes or something. I remember thanking her for the meal, and leaving her a generous tip. Although it would be another 15 minutes before I found out, she paid me back by calling the local police. I was making the long walk back to my truck and was well outside town when a siren whelped behind me. With his row of flashing lights blazing, he got out of his cruiser (staying a safe distance from me) and announced that I should stay where I was, and keep my hands where he could see them. He never did draw his weapon, but his hand was conspicuously perched on the grip. "What’s the problem officer? I asked, already knowing the answer. "Boy", (yes, he really did call me "Boy") "Boy, you are in a lot of trouble". "Oh" I said, playing along. He continued, "I don’t know where you come from but around here we got a vagrancy law that says you better have at least $15 cash money on you, or you’re going spend a couple of days in jail". My guess is that the waitress thought the twenty I had given her was every penny I had, and now because of the generous tip, I should have fewer than twelve bucks. "Officer, I am not a vagrant", I calmly professed. "That so?" "Yes I did a show last night in <fill in name of missing city here> and on my way home my truck broke down. It’s at a shop just up the road and as soon as it’s fixed, I’ll be on my way". "What kind of show?" he asked, not convinced. "Rock and Roll" I proudly replied. (Oops, that just made it worse, not a big rock fan based on the body language) "Well, he said I’m still waiting to see that $15". "Sir, as I stated I am a technician, I worked a show last night, and we were paid in cash. I would appreciate that you not make me flash this much cash in broad daylight out here in the open. I’d be happy to show you the money in the front seat of your car. May I please do that?" "No, show me here and show me now or go to jail, your choice". I slowly and deliberately pulled out my wallet (I didn’t want to be gunned down on the side of the road while going for my weapon that I didn’t have) and opened the bulging wad of hundreds, fifties and twenties. "Where did you get that much money, you steal it?" I handed him my card (can you believe that roadies actually have business cards?) and gave him my final offer. "If you give me a ride up to the truck shop, you can verify my story, and if I’m lying, you can lock me up". He said nothing, but he took my driver’s license, and left me in the heat while he sat in his car and called in on the radio to make sure I hadn’t robbed a bank or something. Boy was he disappointed, I could see the pain in his face as he came back, handed me my license, and said, "you can go". In an attempt to make lemonade out of lemons I said, "Hey, no hard feelings, can you give me a lift to the truck shop? It looks like you are headed that way anyway." "Nope, out of my jurisdiction", and he sped off, his tires throwing gravel at me, as he made no attempt to turn around. I’m pretty sure he then drove right past that shop where my wounded truck was being repaired. Soon after, I settled up with the mechanic, woke up Al, and we got the hell out of Dodge (driving the speed limit all the way home). It was a few years later that Sylvester Stallone would star in the movie "First Blood" which starts the same way my adventure did. The movie does have a happier ending though; Rambo gets to kick everyone’s ass in the town. By the way Al never left the city limits to do a show ever again.
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This is a representative sample of the book "Roadie A True Story (at least the parts I remember)" and is the exclusive property of Karl Kuenning © 2001. This text may not be reproduced without written permission.