MySideOfTheStage
Oil Spot
Column by Rich Nesin (8/07/22)
There’s an expression on the road that reads, roughly, "if you are on time, you’re late." If one is supposed to be at load in at 10 AM -- and they are -- they’re already behind in their days work. If sound check is supposed to start at 4:00 PM and you’re ready at 4...
On tour, everything happens ahead of schedule if you want the show to run on time. The same rules apply to travel whether it’s at the end of a load out, from a hotel to a venue, or just a simple roadside stop en route. Bus call –- the time everyone needs to be on board the bus or in the van –- is sacred. Schedules matter, in no small part, because they are what allows everyone to get the rest they need in order to perform at their best.
Few words strike as much fear into the heart of a road dog as much as, "Oil Spot." An Oil Spot, in touring terms, is what you see on the ground when you’re late and the bus has left without you.
It also means you’ve messed up badly and that this is almost certainly NOT the first time that’s happened. If you oversleep or are just plain slow; if you run on "Reggae time" or just don’t read the day sheets that get posted, you’re at risk of getting oil spotted. Frequently, it’s the last step before one receives a plane ticket home.
But oil spotting isn’t always intentional. It can happen accidentally, too. And that’s what this story is about -- an accidental oil spot. Now, to be fair, a serious amount of naiveté / stupidity was involved here as well.
March 4, 1979: I’m the tour manager and front of house sound engineer for Steve Forbert, who was in the midst of his initial success with his debut album, "Alive On Arrival." We had played in Boulder, CO on the 2nd and Albuquerque, NM on the 3rd. Our next gig was in Memphis, TN on the 5th.
It’s just a shade over 1,000 miles between the two cities and we were making the run in one marathon drive. Our bus driver, Rusty, was a skinny kid from Alabama with a high-pitched, seriously Southern accent. But he was the "Eveready Bunny" when it came to long haul driving. He could just go and go and go...
We left Albuquerque as soon as the crew had finished loading out. We expected to reach Memphis by mid-late afternoon
the next day about 18 hours later. Rusty pulled into a truck stop near Fort Smith, Arkansas for fuel around 10 AM and I thought it was a good time to let everyone stretch their legs, wash up a bit, and grab some breakfast while Rusty took care of the bus.
The stop would take us about an hour. Everyone woke up and agreed -- everyone except our lead guitarist Milton. He was
tired and just wanted to stay in his bunk and sleep. So, with his bunk curtain drawn, the rest of us split for that all American ritual -- the truck stop breakfast.
Now, Milton was one of those guys who could talk your ear off. So, a sleepy Milton was most welcome in our early morning breakfast world. Rusty joined us at our table when he had finished. A few of the guys wandered around the truck stop store before we all boarded the bus and continued on the last 300 miles of the journey.
About 60-70 miles east, we got pulled over by an Arkansas State Trooper. As was my habit, I moved towards the front of the coach to listen to Rusty’s conversation with the trooper. But Rusty was tired and fighting mad. Before the cop had even said "License and registration, please," Rusty was shouting that he wasn’t speeding, wasn’t driving recklessly or ‘doin’ nuthin’ wrong’ so why in the Hell was he being pulled over?
The officer, very politely, asked if we might possibly be missing someone on board. "RICHHHHHHH," yelled Rusty. I was only a couple of feet away. My response was simple... "Fuuuuuck! MILTON? MILTONNNN!" I ran to his bunk. The curtain was still closed exactly as it had been when we last saw him. I opened it up and sure enough, no Milton.
So, Rusty and I stepped off the bus to speak with the trooper and see what our options were. I didn’t want Rusty to go back and pick Milton up if that could be avoided. He’d already been driving for more than 14 hours. I asked the trooper if there was any sort of bus service that could bring him close to where we were.
Of course, this is 1979 and there are no cell phones or interwebs to help us. That’s when the trooper told us that one his colleagues had already picked him up and was headed our way with Milton on board. I kind of felt sorry for the officer, who had probably only said hello before Milton would surely have launched into his life story. But I digress.
Then, the trooper made the most amazing suggestion -- that we continue on our way and he and his fellow state police officers would move Milton across the state for us; which is exactly what we (and they) did.
I got the band and crew into Memphis, checked them into the hotel, and dropped my own luggage before Rusty and I turned around and went back across the Mississippi Bridge into Arkansas where we waited patiently for our package to be delivered; which it was, about an hour later. Of course, Milton was full of stories about each trooper -- even the one who stopped along the way to issue a speeding ticket! He’d had a grand old time on his day off.
Touring 101: never leave the bus without telling either the driver or the tour manager. And never leave your bunk curtain closed if you’re not behind it!
YouTube - "Steve Forbert" - It Isn't Gonna Be That Way
YouTube - "On the Road Again" - Willie Nelson
Rich Nesin is a father, husband, singer/bassist with Inner Sanctum and Earthlings NYC, and a "Roadie for Life."
©2022 Roger Zee
