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Dalton
Roberts |
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In today’s true story, the names have been changed to protect the innocent, the guilty and the unconscious. For a while I played music in a nice little place where violence was discouraged. It was such a pleasant place I often went there on days when I was not performing. It attracted a lot of musicians who liked to sit around and jam. One of my favorite jam buddies was Bertie Hancock. She was a big-boned blonde who played guitar pretty well and sang a lot of the old country songs of Molly O’Day and Kitty Wells. She loved the old gospel song, Wait A Little Longer Please Jesus. Bertie’s main squeeze was a guy everyone called “Dapper Dan.” He was a little smaller than her and had a thin-line mustache. Bertie was clearly jealous of him and I never saw him solicit the attention of other women because he didn’t want to rile Bertie. One day she and I were sitting in a booth jamming and she got around to Wait a Little Longer Please Jesus. Suddenly, right in the middle of the song she calmly said, “Excuse me, Dalton,” and propped her guitar up in the booth. She walked toward the stool where an intoxicated female customer was draped over Dapper Dan. Everything got quiet except the jukebox as Bertie said to the woman, “Excuse me, Hon.” She took her firmly by both shoulders, turned her just right, and came up with the most lethal uppercut I have ever seen. She dropped that woman in her tracks. I mean one lick and she was out. This intruder into Dapper Dan’s space was completely unconscious. I know because her toes were wiggling and I had seen the toes of prizefighter’s twitch on TV when they went down for the count. Someone brought a cold towel and it was a while before the old gal fully regained consciousness. Bertie calmly rejoined me in the booth, picked up her guitar and returned to the exact location in the lyric of Wait A Little Longer Please Jesus as when she left to take care of business. It struck me as funny that someone could pause in a gospel song, knock someone out and go right back to where they left the lyric. I laid down my guitar and doubled up in laughter. Bertie said, “What’s so funny?” and I answered, “You came back to the place in the song where you left off, Bertie.” She said, “Well, what was I supposed to do, big boy?” I didn’t say anything smart to her. I didn’t want to see that uppercut coming my way. Over the years I became fonder of Bertie out of respect for her complete authenticity. She was a good person, a pretty good singer and picker and, like Tammy Wynette, she stood by her man. Twenty years later I was visiting Senator’s to hear some friends when they had a request for a Hank Williams song. They knew how much I loved Hank and called me up to do “Cold Cold Heart.” As I walked back to my seat a young man came up and embraced me, sobbing so hard his whole body was shaking. “My Mama always said you could sing Hank Williams and she was right,” he said between sobs. I asked, “Who is your Mama, son,” and he replied, “Bertie Hancock. She died two years ago.” I was surprised to feel warm tears running down my cheeks. I suddenly realized how much affection I had for Bertie. Maybe it was just the sharing of music but I really think there was more to it. She was one of the most genuine, honest human beings I have known. Bertie would love a thought I had when Mike Tyson was accused of rape. I thought how funny it would have been if Tyson had tried to force himself on Bertie. I can see his toes twitching now.
Dalton's website is www.daltonroberts.com and his writings are gathered at www.ipsfeatures.com.
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