[Dixielandjazz] Re: Strange gigs - requesting Rocky Ball's classic fiasco in GA

[Dan Augustine]

     Here 'tis.
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>From: Bigbuttbnd at aol.com
>To: dixielandjazz at ml.islandnet.com
>Subject: [Dixielandjazz] Re: [Dixielandjazz]Stranger even....
>Date: Mon, 12 Aug 2002 10:52:09 EDT
>
>Here's a memorable one... Playing at one of the numerous parties for the
>Masters each year in Augusta. This particular year we were playing for the
>Japanese equivalent of ESPN which was covering the tournament (can't remember
>the name). It was supposed to be a cookout but the weather wasn't cooperating.
>
>Although new to us Georgia boys, the social and organizational structure
>within a Japanese company is etched in stone and the president of a large
>company like that literally has the power of God at his command (and the
>equivalent respect and unwaivering loyalty of his employees). Even before he
>arrived at the party, the president decided he wanted to eat indoors. As we
>began to set up a small sound system the room of workers broke into a loud
>cry in Japanese and they all began to RUN in different directions, scurrying
>to move the party inside. The hotel staff, normally in charge of banquets,
>seemed to have a Japanese television counterpart assigned to each of them
>that promptly began to "assist" the staff in moving the party indoors.
>
>Once indoors, we began to play and things settled in for a few moments...
>then the president arrived at the door. Upon his entrance the entire staff of
>Japanese workers snapped to attention and shouted some Japanese term as one.
>(Something like "Hie!") All of the Japanese folks turned rigid and unblinking
>with chins up and arms straight by their sides. The American hotel staff were
>too shocked to do anything but just stop and stare. Of course, we broke out
>in a couple of snickers which drew some very evil looks from the Japanese. As
>soon as the president was seated everyone went back to work and we began to
>play. About halfway through Sweet Georgia Brown a harried little fellow came
>up and asked us to stop.
>
>"Prease pray "My Old Kentuckry Home", he asked politely, in a thick Japanese
>accent. I looked at the president, surrounded by some very nervous assistants
>who were biting their lips... I also noticed that everyone had stopped again
>and the whole room was quiet. We went right into 'My Old Kentucky Home' and
>immediately, as if someone had taken a VCR off of pause, the room cranked up
>again and everything was cool.
>
>We finished 'Old Kentucky Home' and launched into something like a rousing
>version of Bill Bailey. Immediately, another nervous assistant approached and
>asked us to stop... the music just died away. "Prease pray 'My Old Kentuckry
>Home' for president." We all looked at each other, shrugged and launched into
>"Old Kentucky Home'. The room exploded with activity again. The tuba player
>motioned to me to stretch it out so we took maybe 10 or 12 choruses with
>vocals and patter and all.
>
>While the long version was being played we really started paying attention to
>the room. The president would whisper in a lackey's ear and he would take
>off, literally RUNNING, to accomplish his assignment. Then the next one in
>line would bend down for some instructions in his ear, take a jack rabbit
>launch into his assignment and at full sprint... it was amazing to see!
>
>Outside, the thunder and lightning was getting worse. Finally, the bottom
>dropped out of the sky and a torrential rain began. The ballroom had an exit
>to the outside with windows so we could see all of this drama enfolding. Each
>hotel worker had a Japanese TV worker glued to his side and it was obvious
>neither could understand the other. They had a massive open charcoal grill
>about as wide and twice as long as a pool table and they had moved it under
>the eaves of the hotel to keep it out of the rain... but the rain was getting
>worse. Soon, the president called one of his assistants and whispered.
>Immediately, the assistant stood at attention and yelled something like
>"Hie!". The entire room of Japanese assistants bounced to attention and
>answered the "Hie!" with a louder "Hie! Hie!" and then it looked like a bomb
>went off in an anthill. That room literally exploded with activity as
>EVERYONE began running in opposite directions, shouting and motioning. We
>were clueless and so we stopped.
>
>One of the assistants, while running past us, turned our way and, in the most
>unlikely but polite voice said, "Prease pray 'My Old Kentuckry Home'". So we
>cranked it back up and just watched the mayhem around us.
>
>Apparently, the president, facing the imminent possibility of a rain out for
>his reception, had ordered that the big charcoal grill be brought inside the
>ballroom so the cookout could continue. As if some kind of 'end-of-the-world
>disaster plan' had been drawn up and practiced, each Japanese worker began to
>follow his emergency preparedness plan. Although none of them could
>communicate their wishes to their American partner they all began to talk and
>argue with them. Very quickly, about 10 of the Japanese gave up trying to
>communicate and, en masse, grabbed tablecloths and boards and lifted the
>charcoal grille and began moving it indoors. As the implications of an
>open-pit charcoal grille INSIDE a hotel began to dawn on the Americans...
>they began arguing and finally grabbed one end of the grille and tried to
>push it back out the door. The Japanese stood their ground and even more
>joined their ranks on the other end of the grille as they began to play a tug
>of war with the flaming device.
>
>Several times we became so engrossed in the battle that we would stop playing
>(while laughing our butts off)... but immediately one of the little
>assistants, while engaged in the battle, would turn his head our way, and
>from across the ballroom, shout very politely, "Prease pray 'My Old Kentuckry
>Home'!" Other assistants, thinking that the music would mask the battle to
>their American guests... would begin singing loudly as we played "Oh the sun
>shine bright on my Old Kentuckry Home..." Sometimes the tug of war would send
>the grille outside only to be met by a combined effort by the Japanese and
>the entire party would be pushed back into the ballroom. The lightning was
>flashing and huge thunderclaps filled the place. The steaks were already on
>the grille and the constant shoving in and out would cause the brickets to
>flame up. The juices from the steaks would drip onto the flames, causing the
>flames to rise very high from the grille... the flameups were always met with
>an unconscious "Oooooh" and "Aaahhhh" by everybody there but nothing deterred
>the Japanese or the Americans from the contest.
>
>As the flames rose higher and the steaks really began to sizzle, the room
>started to fill with smoke and the smell of charcoal, good beef and lighter
>fluid. Many of the Japanese assistants, unfamiliar with American music, would
>panic when we got to the bridge... and thinking that we had begun a different
>tune, would simultaneously yell, "Prease pray 'My Old Kentuckry Home'!" to
>which we would reply "We ARE praying My Old Kentuckry Home!" This really
>began to piss us off a little, now in our 30th or 40th chorus of the Stephen
>Foster classic. I heard the trombone player cheering the Americans on with
>"Remember Pearl Harbor!" and "I guess we kicked your little yellow butts on
>Iwo Jima!"
>
>The banquet manager from the hotel would come in and begin screaming for the
>grille to be taken outside. The president would see this and dispatch 3 or 4
>lackeys to counter that operation. These little guys would RUN over to the
>banquet manager and begin arguing FOR the grille. The banquet manager would
>retreat back to the kichen and return with 3 or 4 of his assistants. The
>president would counter by dispatching 4 more of his reserves. As the verbal
>argument continued the smoke was getting thicker and everyone's eyes were
>watering and most everyone was coughing. The smoke began piling up in the
>ceiling and working it's way down like a San Francisco fog. The trumpet
>player layed down on the floor and played toward the ceiling... the tuba
>player was laughing too hard to play and Peanuts Fitch would try to sing the
>words but he began a coughing jag that wouldn't stop... but each time we
>would stop there would be a shout "My Old Kentuckry Home, prease!"
>
>Finally, the banquet manager returned with the cavalry and the Manager of the
>Hotel came in and demanded that everyone get quiet and listen. We stopped and
>listened. He explained the fire codes and asked the president to have his
>people move the grille back outside. The president grunted and, in unison,
>his minyons snapped to attention, grunted twice in reply and began moving the
>grille back outside at double time.
>
>They brought in some fans, opened the doors and blew the smoke out. We
>launched into "Cakewalkin' Babies." Half-way through the 1st chorus the
>president came forward and motioned us to stop. "Prease pray 'My Old
>Kentuckry Home'."
>
>It was going to be that kind of night. Somewhere in the middle the president
>brought his 8 year old daugthter up to the mic to sing a song. "what would
>you like to sing?" we asked. Before she she could reply her father said, "She
>sing 'My Old Kentuckry Home."
>
>And she did. And did. And did. Finally, the president came up to thank us. He
>grabbed the mic and sang "My Old Mentucky Home" to mixed response, whereupon
>he grunted once and all of the Japanese workers snapped to attention, grunted
>twice and sang with him.
>
>A couple of times we just ignored the constant request... whereby the
>president would send one of his lackeys up with a $20.00 bill and ask for 'My
>Old Kentuckry Home'. Now they had the idea!
>
>As we were leaving, after 4 hours and about $800.00 just in tips, he shook
>our hands and asked us to come to Japan where he assured us that "My Old
>Kentuckry Home" would be a big hit. No thanks.
>
>Rocky Ball - banjo
>Atlanta

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**--------------------------------------------------------------------**
**  Dan Augustine  --  Austin, Texas  --  ds.augustine at mail.utexas.edu
**     "Once, during Prohibition, I was forced to live for days      
**      on nothing but food and water." -- W.C. Fields (1880-1946)   
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