From The Vault:

A Long Overdue ‘Thank You’

This weekend, we’re celebrating the US and Canadian holidays by having a look into the tnocs.com Vault.

We’ll revisit past classic articles and stories from our Contributing authors.

Here’s one from 2020, from mt58:

In my early days of hanging out with all of you, I realize that I would sometimes express too much, and too frequent gratitude whenever someone had a kind reply to one of my comments. I know that this was annoying to some. But, it’s a life-habit that I’m stuck with.

Today’s Number One reminds me that I’m quite overdue with one particular “thank you.”

One night when working with the abnormally entertaining Harry Ray Orchestra, the band was killing time between sets. The on-break conversation was never what you would call “stimulating.”

The players in the band were well into their mid-to late fifties. All had “real” day jobs, and they always had a certain tired look about them. I’d noticed early on that they possessed a perpetually stoned, and somewhat defeated demeanor. But not tonight. The staircase behind the stage was abuzz.

Our fearless leader was an older, follicly challenged guy who was about to undergo a hip replacement. In 1981, this was a serious and major surgery. Because of this, he was going to be out for months. Since “the show must go on,” somebody was going to be named a temporary front-man and bandleader. The guys were speculating, and all five agreed; I was the heir apparent.

“It’s obvious. You’re the young cat, you have the time, and, you can handle it,“ said one of the three Tonys. This was really something. It would mean a little bit more money, bragging rights, and invaluable experience.

I was really excited. Harry liked me, and always made a big deal of me to the crowd. It was just a steady working wedding and function band, but I knew a bit of a break when I saw one.

We went back to do the final set. I noticed that the entire evening had consisted of wall-to-wall old, tired standards, Engelbert rave-ups, and, I kid you not: a Steve Lawrence medley. Harry hadn’t yet done his typical shtick of coming over and putting his arm around me while saying, “Hey, everybody, can you believe this? Get a load of this young kid! Playing in my band! C’mon, mt, what’cha got for these nice folks?” I figured that he’d just forgotten.

No matter; I just sort of fake-book chorded along all night to tired old songs that were recorded way before my time. But really, what was the difference? It’s a job. I’ll just wend my way through, until we do some new, pop, up-tempo song. That’s the real reason that he has me working in the band.

I had a new tune ready, and had talked it through with the piano player and drummer before the gig started, anticipating that we’d give it a go. But now it was 11:50, and all night, there had been nothing for me to sink my teeth into.

I broke protocol a bit, and asked if I could do a song.

Harry paused for just a bit, said, “I guess so. Which one?” I told him, and he said to the crowd, “Hey, before we wrap it up, here’s one from mt:

Here’s, “Jesse’s Girlfriend!”

Close enough.

The gig is over. We all load up the gear and leave, and I perform the first part of my post-gig ritual: playing back a cassette recording of my night’s work in the car. I fast-forward through the sleepy songs to “Jesse’s Girl (friend)…”

… and y’know, I’m feeling pretty, pretty, pretty, good. Part two of the ritual was to enter a note or two into a “gig-journal” that I’d started 30 months ago, after my first night with Harry.

The phone in my little rented room rings at 8:30 the next morning. It’s Harry. And I’m stoked because for the first time in my life, I’m about to get a promotion.

“Hello, mt, good morning. Look, I want to make this quick.

“I’m very disappointed.”

“Your work last night was poor. Awful. It sounded bad, with lots of mistakes, and it seems like lately, lazy playing has become normal for you.”

“Have you ever heard the phrase, ’mailing it in?’ That’s what you did. And I don’t appreciate it. It’s a slap in my face. It’s not what I want or expect from someone that works for me.”

“I’m going to have to let you go. I’ll make other plans for the work on the calendar. Vera will send out your final check. Good luck.”

Click.

It took a full minute for what happened to sink in. And then, for reasons that I’ll never really understand, my reaction was to run out to the car and play the cassette that was still in the dashboard deck. I rewound to the beginning.

I’ve rarely felt as much shame. It was much worse than “bad:” it was an audio archive of someone that just didn’t care.

It was someone who was taking the money and running, save for his little 3 ½ minutes of pretending to be Rick Springfield. In a moment of immaturity that I’ll never forgive myself for, I went back inside and threw the journal that ended with entry, “HRO Gig # 156” in the trash. And I didn’t retrieve it.

There are bad bosses for certain, and there is nothing like getting unfairly sacked to make your blood boil. But you know, Harry, I understand that I had it coming to me 100%. I let you and the guys down. So, wherever you are, thank you. Thank you for firing the young and ungrateful me. It has served as a lifelong lesson to do my best and not take good fortune and opportunity for granted. I sure don’t always succeed at doing so, but I promise that I am trying.

And although I tossed the journal, I still have the cassette. Whenever I think that I might be guilty of letting overconfidence and ego get the better of a situation, I threaten myself with giving it a listen.

Brings me right back down to earth every time.

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