Fall
1999
The Big One
By Craig Einhorn
When I was living in Phoenix I would get calls
from various agents for all kinds of gigs. Frequently I would
perform at parties in peoples houses or on their patios or
in their back yards. Routinely I packed up my gear and put
on my tuxedo; the destination, someone's home.
When I arrived they were usually very nice and
asked me where I'd like to sit while I play. For this one
gig we agreed upon the patio over looking the back yard.
The house was large and beautiful and it was located in Paradise
Valley; a ritzy part of the Valley where Alice Cooper and
Stevie Nicks both own homes. When the night was over I packed
up my gear as usual.
The husband and wife who own the house approached
me with a smile and said, "This is for you." It
was a sealed envelope with my name written on it. When an
agent arranges a gig, I get paid later by the agent, so I
assumed that whatever was in the envelope was a tip. Not
wanting to be rude, I put the envelope in my pocket to open
later.
As I was driving home I ripped the envelope
with one hand as I steered with the other. If a cop saw me
he would have thought I was a drunk driver by the way my
car swerved back and forth.
There were five $20 dollar bills inside. I was
elated, this could be the Big One, the one time I get a really
big tip. But shortly thereafter I thought there must be some
mistake.
The next morning I called my agent and informed
her of the large cash amount they gave me. She responded
by saying, "That is not the amount they owe me, so it
must be a tip."
Two months later the agent called me and said, "I
have good news and bad news; the good news is they did give
you a tip; the bad news is that it is only $20, and you owe
me $80 of the $100 they gave you."
I was fairly certain the agent was telling the
truth, but two months had gone by and I did ask her about
the tip immediately after the gig, so I thought she should
have let me keep the money. It took me a while but I finally
paid her back the money a couple of months later. Not surprisingly
she didn't call me for any gigs until I paid her back the
$80.
Five years later I was playing at a small coffee
shop in Albany, Oregon. I had played there several times
before and I usually made about $5 in tips. Routinely I set
up my stuff and put out my tip jar. There were only about
eight people there for the first set and I played very well;
probably because it wasn't too noisy.
When I started my second set about 25 teenagers
came in making a lot of noise. They were good kids though
and were laughing innocently. A few of them came over to
me and sat on the floor to listen. One of them asked if I
could play piano. There was an old upright piano there so
I sat down and played an Eric Clapton song.
When it was over all the teenagers were behind
me screaming like I was one of the Beatles. So then I played "Imagine" by
John Lennon; they screamed again. One kid asked me to play "Freebird." He
was totally serious (usually it's a joke when someone asks
you to play "Freebird"). So I played it. Afterwards
things calmed down and I went back to my Classical Guitar.
The teenagers reached into their pockets and
dropped loose change into my tip jar. At the end of the night
I figured I had the usual $5 or so in my tip jar. I packed
up my guitar and amp and went over to the jar. The were a
few ones, or so I thought.
I took the ones out one by one and the third
bill was strange. It was no one, at all. It was Benjamin
Franklin; a $100 dollar bill! I was startled. My first thought
was that someone made a mistake. My second thought was that
it was counterfeit. I walked outside and held it up to the
street light. It had a watermark and one of those new plastic
strips inside; it was real.
Finally the Big One cometh, but from who?
--------
Craig Einhorn teaches classical guitar at
Lane Community College in Eugene, Oregon. Write to him
at einhorn@efn.org.
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