Someone asked for more stories, so here you go!
When I was between colleges, back in the late 70s, I was living at home in coastal North Carolina. I had been into the blues since finding my dad's BB King Live at the Regal album in one of my forbidden uses of his stereo system back in 1969 or so.
I had heard about a local blues guy named Big Boy Henry, and I went to Clawson's on Front Street in Beaufort, NC, to see him one night. I was expecting some flash playing and impassioned singing, but Big Boy was none of that. He would strum a vamp and sing/tell these long story-songs about life in the south. It wasn't what I expected, but I loved it. As he stopped for a break I went up and introduced myself. He asked if I would go get him a beer. Entranced by meeting my first "real live black bluesman" I obliged. I came back to the stage with two beers, and he took his and handed me his guitar. He said, "Sit down and keep the music going." Ummmmm, OK?
So I took his seat and proceeded to noodle and strum bluesy stuff for about 15 minutes. When he came back to the stage, I got up to hand him back his guitar. He waved me off and pulled over a second chair, then sat down next to me. He said, "Start something in A." I did, and he launched into a sort of a ballad story about a boy getting caught in a tobacco warehouse fire. I played for him for about two hours that night, and when I left I was over the moon!
Anyway, I started playing with him sometimes, and it led to the weirdest gig-end of my life.
I reckon most of you have heard the term "Chitlin Circuit." That refers to the places where black musicians played from back when there was segregation. A lot of those venues weren't bars or clubs, per se; many of them were improvised. In east Durham, NC, part of that Chitlin Circuit tradition was still alive back in the 70s, and tobacco warehouses became dance halls out of season.
So anyway, Big Boy and I were playing this ad hoc club in one such tobacco warehouse. It got to be about 10:30 pm, not really late by bar gig standards, but as we ended a song he told me to pack it up, that we were done.
I asked why, since it was still early, and there were plenty of guys left in the place listening and drinking.
He said, "Richard, what you see here?"
"I see a couple dozen guys still drinking."
"That's right--you see men. You see any women any more?"
"No."
"All the men that's gonna get some leg tonight have done gone. All the ones that's left ain't gettin' nuthin' but drunk and mad. Then they gonna start to fightin' and we don't wanna be here when they fight. If the cops come, ain't no way we gettin' paid."
"Oh, OK, I get it now. Time to go."
And so we packed up our gear, got our money, and we hit the road back home.
Big Boy Henry was a wise, wise man!
