King Govna

Another sweet gig

It was a hole-in-the-wall roadhouse. In New York state, but on the Vermont border. When the bars closed in Vermont at 1 am, those who hadn’t had enough yet would roll into this place for another two hours of “fun.”

This is where we came in - we played in the band. Five sets from 10 pm to 3 am, forty on, twenty off. Friday and Saturday nights. Since we would have a basically “new” audience at the end of the night, we could repeat some of our best tunes and get away with it. Nice work if you could get it, and we got it. And loved it. Dave’s father, Mang, had found yet another sweet gig for us. But we didn’t have a car, having been dropped off with our equipment by our friend Jako (who shrewdly agreed to this arrangement only if we paid him, his truck was brand new and all); so we had to stay in the band house during the day, since it was a hike to the nearest town. We used our day time to rehearse and learn some new songs, or fix some old ones.

This was the 70’s and things were looser, the bar attracted bikers and bikers had speed. Not crystal, more like crank - cheap and raw but effective. Billy scored some of that white powder which served as our “entertainment” for the next day. He dumped it into a glass of iced tea and marked off lines on the side of the glass and we each drank our share through a straw, amidst a bunch of shouting “hey, you’re taking too much, slow down, leave me some!”

Soon, we were in the club, rehearsing, jamming and having a great time. We were young and dumb, doing speed kept us focused on the music. After that fueled up afternoon session, we got tighter as a band and we thought we sounded great, just great.

The band house was a small house a short walk in back of the club. No one had lived there for a long time and it was very run down - perfect for traveling musicians, am I right? We knew ahead of time it was going to be rough, we were told to bring our own sheets, blankets and pillows. Bottom of the barrel accommodations. Not even Tom Bodett “leaving the light on for us.”

What the band house did have was two big German Shepard dogs: King and Queenie. Maybe they were there for security, I don’t know, but we were told they had the run of the place and could do anything they wanted, as witnessed by the holes in the couch, chewed up chairs and stains on the carpets.

After all afternoon and then that night’s raucous show, we were wasted and trashed. We only wanted sleep. Sometime the next morning we heard this loud shout - it was Stanley cursing and yelling. We got up and saw what happened. Stanley had stepped right where King had done his duty. And it was still soft, squishing up between Stanley’s toes. Eric helped him hobble to the bathroom and we watched while Stanley stuck his foot in the toilet and tried to shake it off. And we laughed about it for a long time. We still laugh about it when we talk or get together.

Being in a band. You can’t make this shit up, you have to live it.