I was ninteen and the invitation to play my guitar and sing at the County Rescue Squad Carnival seemed the big break aspiring performers dream about. I would be sharing the program with well known professional. My spirits were not even dampened by the discovery that I would not be paid. I had no reason to suspect then that my first professional performance was to be the scene of the most embarassing excperience of my life.
I arrived the carnical ground early,which proved fortunate. The manager knew that, in addition to the amplifier and speakers I needed an extra microphone for my guitar and a high stool. However when I checked the stage I found the amplifier and speakers but nothing else.
I also couldnot find the manager. The drunks that would hassle me later, after i had gotten started, become another, proble. Since I couldnot perform without all equipment I was already to call whole thing off. Only the large potential audience milling around the carnival grounds influenced me to do through with it. One eye on my watch, I drove to the music store, told the owner my story, borrowed the needed equipments and got back just as the stone Gravel Rock Band, which preceeded me on the program, was finishing it set. The band plays bluegrass music in some local clubs, and the lead singer was recently offered a professional recording contract.
I had some tentative listeners for my first song, but then problems developed. A voice boomed "Play Mister Bojangles". A group of noisy drunks, surrounded by empty beer cans, half eaten hot dogs, and greasy paper plates, were sprawaled on picnic tables to one side of the stage. "we want to hear Mister Bojangles" roared the other laughing, "Not today" I answered pleasantly, "but if you like Bojangles, you'll like this tune." I encouraged the drunks to act in an even more outrageous manner. As they kept up the disturbance, my audiences begin drifting away to escape them. I was falsely cheered by the arrival of a uniformed policeman and several older men in work clothes, " fans" I thought hopefully. Then I gave a start as a large engine roared very close to me, filling the air with chocking diesel fumes. Only then did I realize that my stage was realy a huge flatbed truck and that the older men in work clothes were in the cab warming up the engine. As I played a song, the policeman approached me, "Hey lady" he said, " you are going to have a get down from there with all that stuff. They have got to take thish right away now. " I cann't do that" I said. " I ama professional musisician in the middle of a performance. Tell him to turn the engine off. ( In my confusion, I like the mike open, transmitting this exchange to entire carnival grounds. "Sorry lady he has to take it now " instead the policeman. The drunks happily entered into the spirit of the thing yelling "Take her away. We don't want her. yeah... haul her sway" To save a small amount of sel-fresepct, I played one more chorus before I began packing up my gear.
Fortunately in conversations I eventually had with other performers, I herad similars stories of experiences they had starting out. Then I would tell them about the stage nearly rolled away with me on it, and we would laugh. Now I see that it all par of becoming a professional.
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