Shady Preacher on a July Day

The sunny blacktop parking lot of Long Leaf Park was not an ideal spot for a July afternoon band gig, but we were community servants in CALAMITY.  Normally I would've just passed on the 'opportunity' for 'exposure,' but this benefit was being suggested by our own drummer, Kris.  "What time?" I asked.

 "Around 3. 2 or 3.  It's just one set. I think. Mr Jimmy asked me if we could do it."

"There will be a covered stage" Now we were talking. "Okay." I gave in.
I had experienced a recent bout of non-hydration realization with a couple of overheated shows and jobs, and I was all about staying cool as possible.  I took a cooler full of vitamin waters, water and soda and drank 2 on the way.  It was 95 and climbing, sure to be sizzling on the tarmac.

“Mr. Jimmy” turned out to be a ‘grassroots’ minister of a small congregation that worshiped on HWY 421, aka Toxic Industry Blvd, in a nameless abandoned business office.  He looked like a linebacker whose muscle went south, and he hollered at the children of other people as if their parents weren't there. "You kids better....." "Y'all need to...." “Your problem is…..”

We arrived separately but simultaneously and got a look at the 'covered' stage. Unnnh. It was the trailer end of a black semi, with one side panel missing.  A 40 foot steel hotbox facing into the sun. Like a science project convection oven. Our collective eyebrows raise, and we start looking around for free water. None available. (It would be 15 years before the splash pad was built.)

I had a pretty good system of downing one water and pouring one down my back to keep from dying going, and I was quick to learn to remain on the straw til time to play.  As I stood there tuning what the sun was untuning, I began listening to Mr Jimmy, and his drill sergeant/football coach style of preaching.  “Dem kidz better wake up. They ARE the problem.”

What?

Then he would try to drag The Lord into some infantile rant, as the sweat poured and the convection held forth. He has a little girl come up onstage and dance...it is one of those uncomfortable moments when little kids imitate sexy moves and adults do nothing. "Thass right." He snapped his fingers. He sounded like Creep of the year. 

Standing behind him, yes I said standing, no chairs for them, were a few nervous-looking clergyfolk he had brought with him, but they never got to speak. He had one of them bring over a box of prizes and candy. As he is preaching to the children about their evil, sinning ways (yes I am on my last nerve and nearly last beverage by then) he starts to point and taunt, and then ...ask math questions. ?!! I am all about bringing math outta the closet, and especially sharing it with kids. But then he goes on:

"If y'all don't know the answer to this question, you must be gay!" ...Say what?

"Yeah...you must have sugar in your tank if you don't know this!!”... My jaw hit the hot pavement.  We were all three in the band, four counting Kris'  girlfriend, fabulously gay, and playing his dubious event for free in the July heat.

One of the clergymen leaned his downlow brother head out of the line and saw me put down my water bottle and approach the stage. His eyes got big. Tamlyn, Kris' girlfriend and the least likely one of us to snap, stops me.  "Maybe that is the end of it, El."

She was always hopeful.  Another poor kid answers one of the math questions and comes up for a prize and a lecture.  Then he gets to do the booty dance and leaves the stage.

It must be 100 in the shade by now. God knows what it is on the truckstage. We are supposed to go on and play next, but he won't shut up. I walk around under the pines, trying to think of what song to possibly open with that will fit this crazy moment…

Mr Jimmy starts up loudly again. Tamlyn gets a sick look on her face.

 "Yep. Yep. Yep! Let's see who's queer and who's not!!!" He asks another division problem question. No one knows the answer. He looks down at this one little girl. I know her from Dreams. I can tell she is really uncomfortable and it dawns on me that she is probably gay. The supposedly-grown man on the stage bellows "Well.... what is it girl? ??? Whutchooo say???..YOU GAY?" 

I could feel my heartbeat pounding with soon-to-be outta control rage. Oh hell no, he is not about to make this girl cry, before I get to him!

Then, many things happened at once. A loud car horn blared and brakes squealed, but there was no collision. I was already en route to the stage, thinkin’ of bending his fat arm up behind his back til he apologized to the kids and families, asking him math questions and proving he was gay...or just smackin’ that hateful head with my guitar...ash is what they make bats out of. Either way...I had had quite enough and I was stepping to the semi.

But, of course, Tam was there at the stairs with her hand up. 

And something else...Mr Jimmy had his right hand up, then it windmilled back down...halfway up, then down...then he grunted and groaned and let go of the mic and the stupid question papers ... and BAM! He hit the hot flatbed floor.

GOOD.

The standing clergy swarmed around him, flitting about and offering water…his tough talk diminished to a few gasps and "Oh Lords”.

And then paramedics came and took him off the stage.

Instant Karma? A precisely-timed sunstroke, straight from The Lord? My hot July anger and that kid's fear morphing into a BS-stopping plasma force? Hard to say.  

When the ambulance left, we thought we were off the hook, but the people sat down comfy in the grass, sun sinking and breeze coming. They wanted it, so we set it up in the hotbox and played. 

Ahhhh. After a minor emo mumble about knowing who you've booked at your gayhating cuz you might get struck down....we carried on...sang empowerment songs...made the kids laugh….in that good ol Calamity tradition.  They say Mr Jimmy recovered and has since been booked on child sexual offender charges.  No kidding.