Read Online Still Foolin' 'Em by Billy Crystal - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Billy Crystal
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hot band Blood, Sweat & Tears. David Clayton Thomas, their mercurial lead singer, had made “Spinning Wheel” a huge hit. The gig was at a theater in Scranton, Pennsylvania. I was to be paid $125 dollars for my twenty minutes. I didn’t care that the tolls to Scranton were almost that much.
I kissed Janice and little Jenny good-bye and, after taking care of the garage door, drove to Scranton. Backstage prior to the concert, I met the band and loved the feeling of being part of a big show. But when I was introduced to the eager crowd—eager for BS&T, not moi —I got a very skeptical response. I had yet to do any network television or anything beyond Catch a Rising Star—no one knew who I was.
In those days it was difficult to open a show for a rock group because the audience had timed their drugs for the headliner. I started fast and the audience warmed up quickly—a really hot crowd. Twenty minutes later, I earned a big ovation from them and I was ecstatic. I can do this! I thought to myself over and over again. This wasn’t just working a small club, this was for a paying crowd of a thousand people or so, and I handled it easily. I stood in the wings feeling a tad cocky and totally thrilled. The excitement in the house built when the lights went down and Blood, Sweat & Tears gathered onstage behind the curtain. Bobby Columby, their dynamic drummer, counted them down and the horns started to kick in, the curtains opened, and the crowd went berserk. If this is a rock and roll movie, the close-up is now on me, the young ingénue watching with anticipation as David Clayton Thomas takes the stage. He eyes the panting crowd and starts to sing “What goes up…” The audience goes crazy but then he abruptly stops, curses the sound, throws the mike down, causing a terrifying noise that blasts from the speakers, and then he storms off. The band keeps playing as Columby motions for the curtains to be closed. “Shit,” moans the promoter who’s standing next to me. Columby runs up to me and asks me to go back out there and do a few minutes while they talk Thomas down. “I don’t have anything else,” I tell him. “Make something up, just talk to them, we’re losing the house.”
I go back out to the confused and murmuring crowd and start to say there’s a sound problem and the band will be back soon, but in the meantime, I spot someone in the crowd. “Where are you from and what do you do?” I ask. I keep doing the same thing with different people; I don’t remember what anyone said, but it got really funny with me just improvising with the crowd, which now likes me. After a few minutes, Columby catches my attention in the wings with a thumbs-up and I introduce the band again. Curtains part, music starts, David Clayton Thomas comes back onstage, starts singing “What goes up, must come … Sorry, fuck this shit”—and leaves again . Columby looks at me and I mime no . The promoter begs me to go out there, and with the promise of other jobs that would give me a chance to net another $8 out of the $125 after tolls, I go out again.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” I say as I saunter out onto the stage. I get some more laughs from the crowd and just before I’m about to ask, “Who’d like to see my act again?” Columby whispers to me, “We’re ready.” I say good-bye to a big ovation now, and … yes, it happens for a third time. When the curtains close this time, the crowd starts chanting my name. “BILLY, BILLY, BILLY.” I turn to the promoter and say, “I can’t do this again. I know where everyone is from.” He gives me a check for $150, a $25-dollar tip for the extra time on stage.
Finally the band got through the first eight bars of “Spinning Wheel” and I ran to my VW and drove the four hours or so to Janice and Jenny. I grew to love driving home alone late at night in my VW after a good show. It was the beginning and I knew I was on the right road. Then I started opening for
I kissed Janice and little Jenny good-bye and, after taking care of the garage door, drove to Scranton. Backstage prior to the concert, I met the band and loved the feeling of being part of a big show. But when I was introduced to the eager crowd—eager for BS&T, not moi —I got a very skeptical response. I had yet to do any network television or anything beyond Catch a Rising Star—no one knew who I was.
In those days it was difficult to open a show for a rock group because the audience had timed their drugs for the headliner. I started fast and the audience warmed up quickly—a really hot crowd. Twenty minutes later, I earned a big ovation from them and I was ecstatic. I can do this! I thought to myself over and over again. This wasn’t just working a small club, this was for a paying crowd of a thousand people or so, and I handled it easily. I stood in the wings feeling a tad cocky and totally thrilled. The excitement in the house built when the lights went down and Blood, Sweat & Tears gathered onstage behind the curtain. Bobby Columby, their dynamic drummer, counted them down and the horns started to kick in, the curtains opened, and the crowd went berserk. If this is a rock and roll movie, the close-up is now on me, the young ingénue watching with anticipation as David Clayton Thomas takes the stage. He eyes the panting crowd and starts to sing “What goes up…” The audience goes crazy but then he abruptly stops, curses the sound, throws the mike down, causing a terrifying noise that blasts from the speakers, and then he storms off. The band keeps playing as Columby motions for the curtains to be closed. “Shit,” moans the promoter who’s standing next to me. Columby runs up to me and asks me to go back out there and do a few minutes while they talk Thomas down. “I don’t have anything else,” I tell him. “Make something up, just talk to them, we’re losing the house.”
I go back out to the confused and murmuring crowd and start to say there’s a sound problem and the band will be back soon, but in the meantime, I spot someone in the crowd. “Where are you from and what do you do?” I ask. I keep doing the same thing with different people; I don’t remember what anyone said, but it got really funny with me just improvising with the crowd, which now likes me. After a few minutes, Columby catches my attention in the wings with a thumbs-up and I introduce the band again. Curtains part, music starts, David Clayton Thomas comes back onstage, starts singing “What goes up, must come … Sorry, fuck this shit”—and leaves again . Columby looks at me and I mime no . The promoter begs me to go out there, and with the promise of other jobs that would give me a chance to net another $8 out of the $125 after tolls, I go out again.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” I say as I saunter out onto the stage. I get some more laughs from the crowd and just before I’m about to ask, “Who’d like to see my act again?” Columby whispers to me, “We’re ready.” I say good-bye to a big ovation now, and … yes, it happens for a third time. When the curtains close this time, the crowd starts chanting my name. “BILLY, BILLY, BILLY.” I turn to the promoter and say, “I can’t do this again. I know where everyone is from.” He gives me a check for $150, a $25-dollar tip for the extra time on stage.
Finally the band got through the first eight bars of “Spinning Wheel” and I ran to my VW and drove the four hours or so to Janice and Jenny. I grew to love driving home alone late at night in my VW after a good show. It was the beginning and I knew I was on the right road. Then I started opening for
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