Left Behind/Swifty

Madison Capital Times Column
Left Behind
by James Ozell

The headline is tongue in cheek. As in many small towns the columnist knows many of the people he writes about personally, this is one of those times. And when you're wrong you have to fess up to it. A few months ago I was sitting in one of our town's finer establishments of adult refreshment, when I met Michael Desmond. We shared an interest in The Doors and when I mentioned I'd seen them in the 60's his eyes lit up. We also had occasion to see Ray Manzarek down in Chicago, after which he told me he was going to start a cover band. I blatantly scoffed at him and didn't believe. Well, he whipped a band into shape and last night he opened with that band, 'The Unknown Soldiers', which just goes to show you the type of person you can meet in bars. True it may be a dicey proposition, but every once in a while you'll meet someone of ambition and drive. He made a believer out of me. He's someone from our area to keep an eye on and they're playing at that establishment of adult refreshment, 'The Place' for two weeks, so go and see them and don't be left behind.

Swifty
Swifty's office was in Milwaukee. We found the address Reggie had given us without too much trouble. It was in an old building that must have been from the 30's or something, but I don't know enough about architecture to know what style or period the building was from. Standing in the building's vestibule we realized we had a problem.
"Do any of you know Swifty's real name?" I asked, running my eyes up and down the directory, nothing immediately popping out at me, and nothing looked right. Then Mitchell said,
"Here it is, Maxfield Leonard Representation, LLC."
"Are you sure?"
"Nothing else is even close."

The office was on the 22nd floor. As we walked in I pulled up short. I was expecting an outer office with a secretary, or at least a big office, but the first thing I saw was a window with what seemed a downward view of the city. Immediately behind Swifty's desk was a big wooden frame window that had a latch on it and you could open, like any one you would find in your house. We were only a few steps in front of the desk the floor had a 'creaky' feeling to it. I thought I could feel the building swaying as we stood there, or maybe it was just a sudden fear of heights or claustrophobia. On one side of the room were four or five filing cabinets, the walls held pictures of bands that no one would recognize with the possible exception of the bands themselves, and their mothers. In the middle of the room was a big desk with neat columns of papers lining its top. Behind the desk sat a startled looking Maxfield Leonard, Swifty. He seemed to be of average height, thinning hair. He looked like what you would think someone named Swifty would look like, a cigar stuck in his mouth, the buttons of his shirt straining to contain what was underneath. Not the svelte, well coifed, well-to-do agent I had imagined, but this was the reality of the dream. He looked like he might have been a gumshoe from a Damon Runyon novel. From that moment on, I started thinking of him as a cliché. Clichés, legends, myths, and stereotypes wouldn't exist if there weren't some truth at the bottom of them.
"Swifty?" I asked.
"In the flesh." He said, as he rose to greet us. "You the boys Reggie sent?"
"In the flesh." I said, matching him with an enthusiastic response.
"Come on in, close the door." We all arranged ourselves around the cramped office. Johnny and I grabbed the chairs in front of the desk. The rest of the boys leaned or perched themselves on the surrounding furnishings, adjusting themselves to look cool.
"Can I ask you something?" I asked.
"How'd I get the name Swifty?" He smiled, paternally, "that's always the first question." I shrugged my shoulders sheepishly. "It was sort of a joke. My father was a very dignified old world man, and he disapproved of this as my choice of a career, and he asked ‘what’s next? being called Swifty?’ and it stuck. It became a self-fulfilling prophecy." He looked at us, "now that we have that out of the way, ready to get down to business?"
"That's why we're here, man."
"Good, first things first," he paused for dramatic effect, "you should've never taken the gig at ‘The Place‘, to put it in your vernacular, you got ripped off."
"But we..." I started to protest, Swifty held up a hand to quiet me.
"I understand you had to do it to get on the map as it were, but whoever did the booking is done." He looked at each of us to see if there was any disagreement with the terms. There were none. "Now I understand Reggie wants to book you guys, for a couple more weeks."
"Yeah," I said, with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
"Well, don't worry about it. Luckily, I know Reggie fairly well. I'll call him and we'll work out a more advantageous agreement. All right then, that's old business. Now about the tour." And he pulled out of his desk drawer a map of the United States and unfolded it spreading it over the top of his desk. He looked genuinely excited like an explorer plotting an adventure. I looked at the pictures on the walls again. How many bands had he sent off on voyages of exploration in search of gold and silver? A journey ultimately he himself could never take. Had any of those he sent off found their new worlds and treasures? I didn’t recognize any of the pictures, I was his Columbus, I would find those treasures of the New World, I wondered if they had any treasured stories of conquest. "Here's the tour I booked for you boys. It's a tour of the Midwest that'll get you to every major city and just about every podunk bar and club outside of them. The bad news is you won't get to see much of the scenery because you'll either be playing, sleeping, or traveling. Chicago first, St. Louis, Kansas City, Dallas..."
"That all sounds good," Johnny said, "but how do we get from city to city? Or is that our problem?"
"Good question, young man. I got you a second hand van, but it's in good condition and has enough space for the equipment and for everyone to fit in."
"A used van!" Brian exclaimed.
"And you're paying for it from the receipts of the shows I have lined up."
"So, we're in debt?" Johnny said.
"Welcome to show business boys." Swifty said, matter of factly.
"I also got you a roadie. He'll drive as well as help move equipment and set up."
"We don't need any help." Johnny said, "we're used to moving our own equipment and setting it up."
"He's also my proxy," Swifty said, sternly looking at each of us to see if there were any more challenges, "in addition to driving and being your roadie, he'll count heads at the clubs so you don't get screwed by the owners. He'll collect our share of the receipts from the venue, make the deposits and I'll send you each a check every week."
"And who pays him?" Brian asked.
"His salary also comes from the shows."
"Who is he?" I asked.
"My nephew, Tom."
"Nephew!" Johnny said, incredulously.
"Wait, wait, wait let's go back to this check thing." Mitchell said, indignantly, "if I wanted a job, I wouldn't have joined a band. I would've gotten a fucking job at McDonalds."
"Then you're welcome to. Any of you are welcome to pursue any path you want, but realize this is a business and a job the same as any other." Swifty said firmly.
"You don't have to make it seem like one." Mitchell grumbled.
"One more thing boys, Michael will be paid more than everyone else."
"WHY!" The band said in unison.
"Because he's the performance, the attraction that will be drawing people in." There was grumbling all around. "Mr. Desmond and I have discussed this, and from what I hear of the show it sounds like it's justified."
"You're going to take his word for it?" Brian asked.
"I called Reggie at 'The Place' also. It seems he was impressed with the performance as well."
"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Johnny said, and then looked at me, "I thought you said we'd share everything equally."
"You didn't take that offer. You called three weeks later, so I felt free to make a better deal." Johnny looked at his bandmates. They all looked upset, but they were in too deep. With the couple of months of rehearsing Doors songs, and paying gigs lined up, if they walked out the door they'd be right back where they started. Stuck in small town USA without a gig, with no one hearing their music, without any money, and nowhere to rehearse, but their integrity would still be intact. "Fine." Johnny said, controlling his temper, "and what do you get for all of this?"
"The standard ten percent," Swifty said. "I also make sure you don't get cheated on the gigs. I do advance promotion buying ads in the local papers a day or two before you hit town and coverage in the papers when you hit town, everything from the Tribunes and Times down to the Beacons and the Heralds. All you have to do is sign the contracts I've drawn up and you start the tour a week after you've finished at Reggie's."
"If we don't?"
"Then you play at 'The Place' for however long Reggie wants you. After that, if you don't have any other local gigs, it's back to whatever you were doing before."

(The Last Stage is available on Kindle, Nook Books, or if you would like a signed copy of The Last Stage they're available from my website (only $20!) at Jymsbooks via Paypal (jymwrite@aol.com, please don't forget your mailing address!)

Chapters 19 & 20: Johnny's Father & Calling Deidre