Waylon: Tales of My Outlaw Dad by Terry Jennings

Author:Terry Jennings [JENNINGS, TERRY / THOMAS, DAVID]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biography & Autobiography / Rich & Famous, BIOGRAPHY & AUTOBIOGRAPHY / Personal Memoirs, Genres & Styles, Biography & Autobiography, Rich & Famous, Biography & Autobiography / Composers & Musicians, Country & Bluegrass, music
ISBN: 9780316390095
Google: Wh0pCwAAQBAJ
Publisher: Hachette Books
Published: 2016-04-19T00:23:21.362523+00:00

Close Call

I would get cocaine from Dad and pot through the crew network.

From years of touring, the crew built up a network of people across the country who could supply us with pot when we ran out during a tour. Sometimes I’d go to Dad with another crew member, Randy Fletcher, who took care of the amp lines, and say, “It’s been a rough one.” Dad would dump some coke in a bag and say, “Y’all can split it up.”

We wound up in a bad spot, though, at a place in the Midwest where we didn’t have a trustworthy supplier. We found a guy who sold us a quarter pound of good pot for a cheap price. I placed the pot in my Halliburton briefcase and took it to the bus.

A few hours later, the police showed up at the show and told us they received notification that a bomb had been placed on the stage. The band cleared the stage. The crew starting helping the police search for the bomb. That probably says something about the collective IQ of the crew. Dad sent word for the crew to get out of there and let the cops handle the search.

The police told us that the bomb threat specifically stated that the bomb was inside a Halliburton briefcase, and they asked everyone to open their briefcases. Every one of us had our briefcases with us except me. Mine, with the pot inside, was still on the bus. The police looked through the briefcases and when they didn’t find a bomb—or anything else illegal—they said the bomb scare was over. The band went back to the stage and finished the show.

At that time Dad was using one amp instead of the two amps he used later. We had placed a wedge inside the amp above the speaker and leaned it back so we could nail it into the stage with a two-by-four. After we had gone back onstage following the bomb search, the amp fell in the middle of a song, landing with a thunderous Boom! For a moment Dad believed the bomb had been found after all, while I thought we were going to have to peel Dad off the third row. Later, it occurred to us that we had probably been set up, and that our seller was a cop.

In all my years with Dad, I missed one show because of drugs. It was 1976 or ’77, and I’d been awake for seven days straight. Staying up for days at a time like that was part of our lives on the road. That particular time, I told CoCo, “This cocaine ain’t working. Nothing is working. Do you have anything that works?”

He handed me a yellow, plastic-looking pill that had “MF” on it. Most don’t need two guesses to figure out what we called those pills. We also called them L.A. Turnarounds, because if you took one, you could drive to Los Angeles, turn around, and come all the way back home without sleeping.

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