Check Out Some Road Stories From John McEuen of Nitty Gritty Dirt Band!
May 12, 2011 in Updates
Seminal folk musician and founding member of Nitty Gritty Dirt Band John McEuen has sent TheK2BShow some great stories! AND, they are all true! Yes, we believe you John, nobody could make this stuff up!
Aside from producing and playing on Grammy-Award winning records, like 2010′s Grammy winner for Bluegrass (Steve Martin’s ‘The Crow’), he’s compiling his wild and crazy experiences on the road and on the stage throughout the years. As a great friend of TheK2BShow (believe it or not!) he’s agreed to let us serialize some of his stories from his forthcoming book. When it’s out we’ll publish a link to it so you can have his complete collection, but until then, TheK2BShow is possibly the only place on the planet to read these until the book comes out!
John does have stories online at his website and you can see those by Clicking here to go to John McEuen’s homepage. BUT he’s been so gracious as to provide TheK2BShow with exclusive stories not yet published anywhere else! We are so honored and you should feel as special to read these as we do to blog them.
Thanks so much John, you are the best! (So affirms Steve Martin, who finally admitted that John was a “valuable contributor to my education on the banjo”) Also John is part of a cool news website called The Syndicated News and check that out by clicking here – The Syndicated News.net.
Here’s the first story, involving NGDB and the daughter of one of TheK2BShow’s heros – Henry Mancini -
(printed by permission of John McEuen)
Send Henry’s Daughter Home!
With any of the recreational things at her disposal a family-rich 21-year-old chick could have in early ’70s Aspen, it was a real surprise when roadie Gary told us that Monica Mancini was riding with him in the equipment van to Walla Walla Washington, to “hang out”. With the name ‘Mancini,’ she could do whatever she wanted… and usually did.
We musicians flew in to Spokane after our 10-day gig in the ski town, took our time driving the 100 miles to the college gig, stopping for a leisurely lunch. Then ambled to an arbitrarily chosen motel around 2:00, I walked into my arbitrary hotel room choice to be welcomed by the ringing phone. We hardly knew where we were yet, so when I answered, I was surprised that anyone else did. It wasn’t the front desk.
“Hello… This is Henry Mancini. Where’s my daughter?”
“Monica?” I asked. “They should be here soon. She’s with our roadie in the truck. Can I help you with something? What’s the problem?” Usually good on my feet in a tight situation, right then words were failing me. I could sense that the end of my life in show biz could be near.
“Well, let’s start with transporting a 17-year-old across two state lines. “
I could see our music career dying in the flames of our roadie’s burning lust (Monica was a babe).
I told him all I could; told him the age that she had told us (21), and let him in on how well she fit in with all her activities, as discreetly as possible. She would be taken care of; I tried to assure him… I didn’t tell him how my knees were shaking.
“You have her call me when she arrives. Good - bye!”
Speculating how the press release would be written – about how we landed in jail for trekking this juvenile celebrity babe across the country into a Patty Hearst lifestyle – we awaited their arrival. I was trying to think of various new things to do, now that the show business career was soon coming to a close…and of things one could make with prison food.
When the equipment van finally pulled up, she happily hopped out.
“Monica, your father called. He’s a bit upset about your current excursion, and wants you to call him… now” I announced.
“Oh, daddy!” she chirped. “I can take care of him. He just worries too much, andI know how to handle him<. Everything will be just fine. He just hates that I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”
“Call now!” was repeated.
She made the call, dialing … waiting … and he answered.
“Hi, daddy. This is Monica…say daddy, I was going to call you and….” She was obviously silenced. I imagined his following fatherly talk covered soon-to-be-ex trust funds, vanishing free rooms and ski passes in Aspen, to whom he would now leave the Jaguar, the beauty of working her own way through school, and how he was going to send us up Moon River.
About every 15 seconds she dutifully responded, “Yes daddy….. yes, daddy…. yes, daddy… yes, dad-dy,” a bit lower with each “yes”, and slower with each “daddy.”
She hung the phone up, turned to us and said “Will someone please take me to the nearest airport?”
As she shipped off, one could almost feel music maven Mancini’s potential curse lifted; we never knew if he did anything to us, but I think Monica was reinstated.
Awesome John! And no one was arrested! (That time.) Check back here for more of John’s amazing road stories, Can’t Wait!
