Profiling In Reverse

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Abstract

the liquor, did I?”</b></p><p id="a975">I know half of him wanted to either say something or simply remove the booze. But he was too discreet and just exited hoping the liquor would still remain after we left. So what happened? <b>Once we were in the car and off the campus, Davey cheerfully whipped out a gallon of stolen liquor, bragging about his theft.</b></p><p id="8ad6">I said nothing. But I couldn’t help feeling that this black guy <i>knew</i> what time it was….but didn’t want to offend the boys. So he let it go. And look what he got for his discretion. <b>Scum bag Davey stealing his booze</b>. God, Davey was an asshole.</p><p id="12e9">In fact, the leader of the band (also a counterfeit Belmont…there was only one real one and he was always too drunk to exert any influence) was almost as provincial and nauseating as was Davey. Which is why I eventually had to quit in favor of driving a cab. Seems crazy but actually, the pay was better busting a hack. That ought to tell ya something right there. Those hundred dollar Saturday night Belmont gigs could take 12 hours from door to door. Driving a taxi, I could make a deuce for the same amount of time…and…<i>not</i> have to listen to those idiots.</p><p id="4dde">And why did I go on this bender today? Because I just started reading an Eliot Spitzer biography (a companion piece with the Client 9 movie). And when I discovered that <b>he’d attended Princeton</b>, I remembered the afore-referenced story and good ol’ Davey. The black student had him pegged. <i>Profiled</i> if you will. And his instinct was dead on. Scum bag Davey couldn’t help himself. He just <i>had</i> to steal some booze.</p><p id="4e0d"><b>Some on-the-road oldies band stories:</b></p><div id="9e3d" class="li

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The stereotype proved right!

Tim Russman — Unsplash

Davey was a lowlife scum bag. Of that there was never any doubt. A fat, illiterate, chain-smoking, goateed Italian from Pelham Parkway, Davey was a dog shit shit Belmont when I used to back up the act on bass. It wasn’t that I disliked him (except that he was constantly blowing smoke up my ass in an enclosed environment). It was just that he was so decidedly clueless and low class…that he was difficult to be around for extended periods of time.

Whacking away on the oldies circuit could bring a hapless band member anywhere — to play for almost any function. Once we flew to Buffalo for a one-afternooner which turned out to be a Police Benevolent Association function held in a high school auditorium. Another time we drove to Bangor, Maine to play two nights at a Holiday Inn. Not even in a lounge…but in a corporate meeting area usually reserved for conventioneers. You get the idea.

One Saturday at some point in time, we got a gig performing for a commencement party at Princeton University. Because the job was to be played under a tent (and hence no dressing room), we were gifted one of the student’s dorm rooms to change. As the refined black student who directed us to the area left the band to its own devices, his gaze centered on two big crates filled with half gallons of Absolut vodka and Bacardi rum. It appeared he was telling himself “Oh no! I didn’t leave these bummy-ass oldies hacks with the liquor, did I?”

I know half of him wanted to either say something or simply remove the booze. But he was too discreet and just exited hoping the liquor would still remain after we left. So what happened? Once we were in the car and off the campus, Davey cheerfully whipped out a gallon of stolen liquor, bragging about his theft.

I said nothing. But I couldn’t help feeling that this black guy knew what time it was….but didn’t want to offend the boys. So he let it go. And look what he got for his discretion. Scum bag Davey stealing his booze. God, Davey was an asshole.

In fact, the leader of the band (also a counterfeit Belmont…there was only one real one and he was always too drunk to exert any influence) was almost as provincial and nauseating as was Davey. Which is why I eventually had to quit in favor of driving a cab. Seems crazy but actually, the pay was better busting a hack. That ought to tell ya something right there. Those hundred dollar Saturday night Belmont gigs could take 12 hours from door to door. Driving a taxi, I could make a deuce for the same amount of time…and…not have to listen to those idiots.

And why did I go on this bender today? Because I just started reading an Eliot Spitzer biography (a companion piece with the Client 9 movie). And when I discovered that he’d attended Princeton, I remembered the afore-referenced story and good ol’ Davey. The black student had him pegged. Profiled if you will. And his instinct was dead on. Scum bag Davey couldn’t help himself. He just had to steal some booze.

Some on-the-road oldies band stories: