When I Left Home: My Story by Buddy Guy

Author:Buddy Guy [Guy, Buddy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Music, Genres & Styles, Blues, Biography & Autobiography, Composers & Musicians, Individual Composer & Musician
ISBN: 9780306821790
Google: W5T_AgAAQBAJ
Amazon: 0306821796
Publisher: Da Capo Press
Published: 2012-01-01T11:00:00+00:00

Wasn’t too proud, though, to double-up my work. I needed money and wasn’t afraid to go after it.

When Elmore James, for example, told me I could make good money playing this gig with him down in Texas, I figured it was far away but worth it. We piled into Elmore’s station wagon and drove to a roadhouse just below the Arkansas-Texas border. Place was packed. We played three long sets and were ready for the long ride back. Time to get paid.

Big bear of a man came to the bandstand while we was putting away our instruments. He was the guy who called Elmore for the gig.

“Bad news,” said the bear.

“What bad news?” asked Elmore.

“We done got robbed.”

“I didn’t see no robbery.”

“Happened out back. We clean out of money.”

“That won’t do,” said Elmore.

“Gonna have to do,” said the bear.

“Oh, man, this is some fucked-up shit,” said Elmore. “Least you can do is give us gas money to get back to Chicago.”

Bear refused.

Elmore started screaming at him, which is when the bear put a gun to his head. That got us to leave without no more arguing.

We had enough gas to get to East St. Louis, where we had to beg strangers to give us $5, which took us to the Chicago city limits. From there I reached in my pocket and used my last fifteen cents for bus fare home.

This made me reevaluate my situation: loved music more than anything. Would rather play music than anything. But playing music wasn’t paying my bills. So when I had a chance at a steady job, I took it. It happened when a man in Joliet asked me to manage his club. He saw that not only could I play, but I could also organize. I could get names like Wolf, Walter, and Muddy down there. Joliet’s only forty-five minutes from Chicago, and using my rhythm section like I had in Gary, I could convince big-name bluesmen to come in, do a few songs, and make it back to their regular gigs in time for their late sets. To kick things off, though, I thought it best to get one of the stars to play from ten to two. Because I wanted the music fans in Joliet to know I wasn’t fooling around, I booked Sonny Boy Williamson. (This is Sonny Boy 2; I never knew the original Sonny Boy.)

Club 99 was a good-sized room. Owner gave me a little room in the back so, after playing Friday night till 4 or 5 a.m., I could sleep and be right there to get ready for Saturday.

On this particular Saturday morning the owner came to my room to say that Sonny Boy had arrived for that night’s gig and was at the bar drinking.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Not yet noon. You better go out there and see about him.”

I went out and saw Sonny Boy sitting in front of a fifth of whiskey.

“Morning,” I said.

“Morning, motherfucker.”

“You here bright and early.”

“Damn right,” he said. “Had nothing to do today, so I figure this is good a place as any to pass the time.

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