By this time, Allan’s class had gotten out and Bosco’s was
due to wind up in another half hour or so.
On the first day of conferences, SlipNot liked to keep things
light. They’d only give short peeks at
the marketing programs they’d be offering to clients who bought in to
them. It wasn’t a cheap deal
either. Generally, a studio owner had to
spend at least $35,000 a year in hair to even be eligible. Given that the hairpieces, or “units” cost
about $60-$85 each, a studio had to push an awful lot of product to reach this
level. Bosco was key to this effort and
he taught studio owners the numbers games needed to achieve these goals. Allan and I were also involved in this, but
at a different level. Whereas Bosco
dealt with overall sales and marketing training, Allan and I were literally
going to have to become the Internet marketing gurus Bosco had touted us as
being.
Allan had generated some good leads for me and he handed me
several business cards to follow up on when we got back to SlipNot after the
conference. He was feeling pretty
cranky, but I think all he really wanted was to get away from all of the
clients and find some food that met his tastes.
That was tough for him on these trips.
While we were at a conference in Chicago one time, we stopped at a
promising looking breakfast place to grab a bite to eat before grabbing a plane
back east. I saw Allan order a bowl of
oatmeal, a dish of yogurt, a bowl of ersatz granola, a banana, and then politely
ask the waitress to bring him a large salad bowl. In utter astonishment, the waitress watched
as Allan systematically poured each part of his order into the bowl, gently mix
it together and then eat the whole thing.
I grinned at her as I took up a forkful from my scrambled eggs.
“He’s from out of town,” I told her.
“I guess so!” she replied, still in awe of
Allan’s performance.
Shortly after Bosco’s class broke up, around six o’clock,
people began to drift out of the conference room. Frank Rotella sought me out and insisted that
we have our drink together after dinner.
As he was such a big client of SlipNot’s, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to
wine and dine him. Naturally, he agreed
and we went up Bourbon Street to the Redfish Grill.
The Redfish makes a really terrific crab and carrot
bisque. They also sell massive
quantities of redfish, served up pretty much any way you could ever imagine it
cooked. Frank and I tucked into the
bisque and a couple orders of broiled redfish, with lemon wedges and a half
dozen raw oysters each on the side. As I
was now surpassing the two dozen-oyster mark for the day, I felt it was
important to have a couple Abitas as well.
Frank allowed he was along for the ride and did the same. So, when we finally finished our coffee,
which was good and strong, the better to hasten the digestive process, we were
more than ready for a night of good music.
I think there’s a law that a first time visitor to New
Orleans is required go to Preservation Hall, pay $5 and stand in the dirty area
behind the few homemade benches that serve as seating there to listen to the
world’s most famous Dixieland band.
Seeing as both Frank and I had achieved that rite of passage on previous
trips, we went out looking for someplace new.
We caught a set at La Maison Bourbon, which is just a half block away
from Preservation Hall. It was a perfect
little club, built entirely for listening to jazz. There was a dark mahogany bar on the left
hand side of the room and a sprinkling of maybe two-dozen tables along the
floor. The small bandstand on the right
had a ceiling high mirror behind it, which gave the illusion that the room was
actually quite a bit larger than it actually was. The band was excellent, a trumpet player
backed by piano, bass and drums.
Although their repertoire was limited to standards, they played them
with enormous polish.
We left there at around 11:30 with every intention of
returning to the Renaissance and to our respective rooms to grab some
sleep. However, as we came close to the
end of Bourbon Street, we heard an absolutely smoking R&B band covering
Papa Was A Rolling Stone from inside Storyville. We figured it couldn’t hurt to at least hear
the tune to its conclusion before heading home.
The group was young.
They had a guy who played sax and trumpet, a keyboard player, a drummer
and an electric bass player. The guy on
keys also sang the lead vocals and he switched easily from baritone to
falsetto. It was a virtuoso performance. When they finished the song, the entire place
went wild, clapping and calling out for more.
“Thank you! Thanks
everyone!” the keyboard player shouted.
“But now it’s my turn, my privilege to introduce to you…all the way from
Oxford, Mississippi, ‘THE LION’, LION-EL ROGERS!”
As the band played, out wandered gentleman in his mid-sixties,
dressed in a lime green three-piece suit, wearing a lime green fedora, and
playing a Fender Stratocaster. His
guitar was wireless and he had a wireless headset on, so he was able to walk
between the tables as performed. He
played like a dream too. Finally after
at least five minutes of soloing over the vamp the band had laid down, Lionel
turned an appraising eye at a table where two very pretty young women sat
together. He motioned the band to stop,
which they did, on cue. Lionel leaned
over the two women and purred.
“Are you two ladies…together?”
The women were laughing like hell, as was everyone else in
the place. Lionel looked around the room
in mock shock at the reaction.
“Ladies?” he asked politely.
“Ladies, do you know why it’s better to go home with an old man than a
young one?”
One of the women was able to stop giggling long enough to
shake her head.
“No? Well, honey…it’s
like this. With a man my age, you’re
just safer, y’know? I mean, to get to be
this old, you just know I’m clean.”
He ripped a few notes off his guitar and looked back at the
table.
“And you know what else darlin’? An old man doesn’t need more
than 10 minutes to be happy all night and that leaves you free to go out
afterwards.”
He strummed a few chords and grinned broadly at the
crowd.
“And an old man will be an awful lot more grateful for that
10 minutes than any young stud is ever gonna be.”
Lionel strode away from the table and onto the
bandstand. He counted off the beat and
the band began a slow blues. Lionel
played without comment for another minute or so. Then he leaned forward and introduced the
next tune.
“I’d like to play you one of my favorite compositions, ladies
and gentlemen.” Lionel soloed over the
simple chord changes and when he opened his mouth to sing the first verse, I
knew there was no way that Frank and I were going to head back to the hotel
anytime soon.
“Baby fried your
eggs for breakfast
You made her bacon
crunch
Yeah, she fried your
eggs for breakfast
You went and made
her bacon crunch
You stayed in bed
all day together
She made such a fine
lunch.”
**********
The next installment will be posted on November 4.
If you'd like to read the entire book today, GO
HERE.
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