Johnny Buckaloo's Blues

“I know we weren’t supposed to laugh but, damnit, it was funny. Next thing I know his manager was in our faces yelling at us to get out. But we couldn’t stop laughing long enough to grab the change off the bar and leave.”

Milo, Doc Harris, Gary, Mike, and Sheriff Tom were at corner table at Jackie’s Cold Day Inn telling me about the dust-up at Billy’s Last Stand a few nights before. I had just rolled in from Pampa and I was the only one in town who hadn’t heard the story.

Jackie's was the same as it was the last time I was here three weeks ago except for a new Pearl Beer clock. By my count there were eight clocks now, none of which had the right time by several hours. 

Gary checked the bruise on his cheek softly before he spoke.

“There’s no doubt the kid has talent. He plays his guitar like a pro but if he’s going anywhere besides comedy clubs he’s gonna need somebody to write his songs or at least listen to ‘em before he lets them out into the wild; somebody that’s not his momma.

“He does all right when he’s singing other stars’ songs and does a fair job of imitating their style. Anyhow, he’s doing his show and we’re applauding at all the right places, encouraging him, give ‘im some hope that he’s got a future in the business. He does some Merle Haggard, Waylon, and Willie. Follows that with some fiddle work, Bob Wills style, and we’re with ‘im, liking ‘im more and more.

“So the stage lights go dim, just a spotlight on him, you could barely see the band behind ‘im. Somebody brings him a stool to sit on and he starts talking about the great names in country, how they inspired him as a little boy listenin’ to them on a tiny radio in his daddy’s house. His talkin’ voice is so soft we’re leanin’ in to hear his story. He’s got us ready for what’s comin’ next, which is when things went south.”

"Operator, put me in touch with tomorrow."

Milo scooted up on his chair and said, “He tells us he wrote the next song and it’ll be the first time he'll be singing it on stage. It’s all about a girl he loved once who left him high and dry. Turned his world upside down and all that. Now, he had some good lines that I don’t think made it into his song. Country song stuff like, ‘all it takes is the right girl, the right bar, and the right friends to turn your life inside out.’ I thought to myself, he ought to use that in his song. Maybe he did but we never got to hear him sing it.

“He started off playing a slow tune, kinda sad. Nice finger work between chords. Like Gary said, the boy has talent. He played like that for a minute or two. The place is quiet, nobody’s talking or clinking their drinks, everybody’s waiting to hear the song that goes with the music. He stops playing and says,

‘The Wind Whispered Her Name But Not Her Phone Number.’

“Okay, so yeah, we’d been drinking steady for a coupla hours and maybe I shouldn’t have said, ‘If your girl is Cindy Lou, her number’s on the wall in the bathroom.’

“According to Jim I said it loud enough so everybody heard it.”

  

I put my hands up chest high, palms out. I said, “You actually said that?” Milo nodded yes.

Doc Harris said, "We've been adding our own jokes all week. Listen to this one. 'You know how it is sometimes. You’re out in the back yard and the wind whips up and says, ‘The number you have dialed is not a working number.’”

Sheriff Tom couldn’t help himself. "Hold on, I got another one. 'I’ve heard a hundred songs that have the wind whisperin' stuff but I’ve never heard it recitin’ numbers.'”

The men whooped and high-fived each other for their cleverness, simultaneously sipping their drinks in salute.

When they quieted down Gary said, “Most times when there’s a heckler, the bouncer takes care of business right away and the show goes on. Thing is, this was Johnny Buckaloo’s debut so you can guess how many of his family and cousins was there listenin’ to one of their own break in to the big time. Milo mighta been the first one to laugh at Johnny but it didn’t take but a coupla seconds for a lotta other people to catch on and start laughin’, too.”

Milo pointed to his forehead and said, “The house lights come on, Jim headbutts me, throws me over his shoulder and lays me down behind the bar. After that, I don’t remember anything.”

Mike adjusted the sling on his right arm and tried to sip his beer. He winced when the mug touched his purple lip but took a long pull anyway and said, “I haven’t been in a free-for-all like that since my cousin married a Catholic. It was a whole show watching the minister and the priest goin’ at each other like they were rasslin’ Satan himself.

"Both 'em were up in years so they wore themselves out pretty quick, and at the end they looked like they were fightin' in slow motion. I wanted to stop 'em but everybody shouted no, let's see who wins. Looked like a draw to me. My cousin and his wife left town and never came back. Their families act like nuthin’ ever happened.

“But the fight at Billy’s was confusing. There was no way to know who was mad about laughing at Buckaloo and who was fightin’ just for fightin’ or only tryin’ to get out of the way. It wasn’t like one side was wearin’ one color uniform and the other side another color. Me? I don’t know who hit me or who I hit. For all I know it was Jim gave me the sore shoulder or me givin’ him the shiner.

“And the women – pulling each other’s hair. A lot of it came off. After it was over, I looked on the floor, there’s hanks of hair all over the place but no blood. My wife told me the women wear extensions and it probly hurts like hell when it’s yanked off.”

Nodding at me, Gary added, “You shoulda seen Jim and Angel knockin’ heads. Angel took two women down just like that and nobody went near her after that, standin' there with a hunk of hair in each hand. Jim, well, Jim is Jim. He fights hard but clean even if it’s two on one. I swear he was smilin’ the whole time, swinging left and right at whoever was in front of him. He took some pretty good licks but there’s no quit in ‘im. When it’s time for him to go, the Grim Reaper’s gonna need backup.

Sheriff Tom cleared his throat and said, “Saturday nights me and my deputy stay close to Billy’s figuring there’s good odds I’ll have to break something up. But that night we were clear over the other side of town helpin’ the State Troopers close down the interstate, four car pile up across both lanes.

“Billy called the dispatcher said get the Sheriff here fast. I told the dispatcher to call him back and tell him to pull the breaker on the lights so nobody can see what they’re doin’. He never made it to the power panel. Somebody knocked him out before he could cut the lights.

“We finally get there and right away I see there’s no way the two of us are gonna stop the fight without getting hurt ourselves so I draw my .45 and fire at the ceiling. Lucky shot, I hit something up there and the lights went out. The place got real quiet until the emergency lights went on. Whatever my bullet hit also turned on the sprinkler system, which is set up to send an alarm to the fire department.

“The place is barely lit, there’s water pourin’ down everywhere, people running around screaming, and here comes the fire truck, siren blastin' away.

“Now, there’s something I hafta tell you about the fire department. There’s two rookies on the squad. You know ‘em both, ‘specially, Don’s boy, Jeremy, who isn't the smartest pup in the litter.

“I was standin’ on a chair yellin’ at the crowd to settle down and line up against the walls, water’s pouring down, everybody’s shouting. I still got my gun out. Jeremy is the first one through the door. He’s carryin’ a fire axe.

Maybe they should let Jeremy hold the fire hose instead

“The way the emergency lights are set up, I’m lit from the front so all Jeremy can see is my silhouette. What he sees some guy standin’ on a chair, soaking wet, waving a gun around, ordering everybody to shut up. And Jeremy’s got a fire axe.

“A hundred people in front of me scream, Nooooo! Then bottles start flying past me at Jeremy. The bottles knock his helmet off. He drops the axe and runs out the door. The fire chief turns off the sprinkler system. Walked around the mess, shook his head, and said call him in the morning.

“Still holding my gun, I say everybody line up along the walls, told Deputy Dudley to cuff ‘em all.

“First thing I looked for was Jim and Angel, and sure enough, there they were, looking bored, knowing what was gonna happen next. Spent the next three hours filling out arrest reports and taking names for more questioning later. Then I told everybody to go home but stay close to home next few days while I sort this thing out. EMS told me nobody was hurt too bad, mostly bruises, sprains, and a few cuts. I could’ve arrested half of ‘em for D&D but I said hell with it and let everybody go. Turned out nobody wanted to file complaints against anybody so I 86’d the paperwork.”

I said, “Hold on, guys. I have a question or two. Milo, why were you at Billy’s with Jim and Angel and why did he headbutt you?”

Everybody started to answer but Doc Harris held up his hand and said, “Jim and Angel invited him go to Billy’s with them to hear the new country singer. Jim wasn’t at Jackie’s when Milo put Steve’s lights out. He thought Milo got in a lucky punch. So he got it in his head that Milo would probly get himself killed next time he got into any kind of fight, like with one of the roughnecks from the oil fields. He decided to make Milo his project, teach him how to fight Texas Panhandle style.

Sheriff Tom said, “Well, Milo knows how to fight his way and can handle himself but maybe Jim’s got a point. The best boxer in the world don’t worry about the second best boxer. He worries about a guy who’s never been in the ring before because that guy won’t do what’s expected. He could throw a punch he ain’t supposed to at a time he ain’t supposed to and lands the luckiest punch of his life. Roughnecks don’t know about rules or customs in bar fights and even if they did, the only thing that matters is who wins, do whatever it takes to make sure it’s them."

I said, "There's rules and customs in bar fights?"

Mike said, "Yep, just a couple. Number one, no hitting the other guy's privates. Number two, no hitting the other guy's privates."

Sheriff Tom said, “That's right. Anyhow, like Doc said, Jim didn’t know about Milo’s skills when he invited him to Billy’s, plannin’ to offer to teach ‘im how to fight dirty. So when Jim sniffed the air and smelled a fight coming he did what he had to do to protect Milo from getting hurt, headbutted him and put him safely away behind the bar.”

The Sheriff about to say something else but I interrupted. “So it was Milo’s heckling that started the fight but he's somewhere in dreamland while everybody else is busy beating each other up.”

Mike said, “Yeah, ain't that a pisser?”

Doc Harris waved at Wendy for another round of drinks. Changing gears he said, “Sheriff, you played football in high school, so did all of us here. If I remember you were fullback, Les played quarterback, Mike and Gary, linemen. I was the waterboy. Anybody remember who the placekicker was?”

The men stared into space searching their memories. Finally, Gary said, “Rogers. Sam Rogers.”

Wendy brought our drinks. Doc Harris thanked her, took a sip and said, “Sam and I spent all our football years sitting on the bench, side by side. Only time he was on the field was for the kickoffs, extra points, or field goals. He told me once that placekicking was the only position he ever wanted.

Count how many things could go wrong here

“’Just think about it for a minute, he told me. They never get tackled, they don’t have to do the hitting drills in practice. In a game they come in to win it with a kick, be heroes when it happens. Girls don’t turn ‘em down for dates. And bonus, their uniforms don’t get dirty and that makes their mommas very happy.’

“I was patching up the injured at Billy’s that night when Milo stood up from behind the bar. He wasn’t even wet. I thought of Sam Rogers. Milo was the only one there that didn’t get hurt, dirty, or wet. He reminded me of a placekicker coming off the bench, clean uniform, the other players looking like hell.”

Nobody said anything for a while. They were probably thinking about those long ago glory days on the football field.

I said, “It’s too bad about Johnny Buckaloo. His debut ruined, everybody mad at each other.”

Gary smirked and said, “Don’t trouble your mind over that. Most everybody there didn’t even know why they were fightin’. They’ll be talkin’ about it for a long time, what a great fight it was. Each one’s gonna be the hero when they tell it.”

Mike nodded, agreeing.

“Don’t worry about Johnny Buckaloo’s future either”, the Sheriff said. “He’s got one hell of an agent. After the foul up at Billy’s he went to Lubbock and Amarillo and talked to some friends of his at the newspapers. He spun a tale about Buckaloo’s debut turnin’ into a riot, started when some fans of old style country heckled him for ditchin’ his acoustic guitar for a Fender electric for a coupla songs, just like what happened to Bob Dylan a long time ago. They were too young to get the reference but that was ok ‘cause they dropped Dylan’s name into the story, punched it up a bit.”

Doc Harris showed me a folded newspaper he had on his lap and said, “It’s all here in the Lubbock paper. If things had happened the way it says here, I wish I'd been there.”

He tapped the newspaper with his finger. “Says the fighting was so bad the Sheriff and his deputy came in to Billy’s with guns blazing, shot out the lights but that wasn’t enough to stop the riot. The fire department had to use water cannons to end it. Over a hundred people arrested, loaded into prison buses and taken away. Buckaloo and his band barely escaped out the back. They’re hiding out for now until they think it’s safe to perform again. There’s a picture of Johnny, too.”

The Sheriff handed me the newspaper and said, “Pretty good story doncha think? Around these parts Lubbock and Amarillo are big cities. Small towns like this one don’t matter much to city folks. So instead of coming here to talk to people who were at Billy’s that night, the reporters sat on their butts and telephoned me. I gave them the short version: a heckler got the audience riled up. That started a fight. The Sheriff’s department broke it up and sent everybody home.

“The story I told ‘em won’t sell papers. They printed Buckaloo’s version and now he’s famous, booked for shows in Amarillo and Lubbock. Austin, Dallas could be next. He’s got the Panhandle Riot story down pat. If his lie don’t catch up to ‘im before he makes it to the big time, it won’t hurt him a bit.”