As a road musician, I spent more time traveling to an engagement than on stage. The itinerary usually was planned so venues were within reasonable distance from each other, but could be as far as five hundred miles apart. Despite all the unexpected things that happened, interestingly enough, our group of musicians, singers, and entertainers were never late for a performance; except, there was one occasion where we just made it in the nick of time.
In 1960, I was playing trumpet with the Larry Valentine Orchestra. It was primarily a dance orchestra, but midpoint in our gigs the audience was entertained with a variety show. The orchestra toured the eastern seaboard and the Deep South. To put some extra bread in my pocket, I traveled in the van that transported instruments, costumes, and props; I helped unpack and setup the bandstand.
On a day only a duck would love, our van headed north toward Norfolk, Virginia, after an overnight stay at a favorite lodging place of Larry’s in Bethel, North Carolina — the band had played at Fort Bragg on the previous evening. I was sound asleep in the passenger’s seat when the van skid on wet pavement while crossing an overpass. Somehow, I was propelled out of the passenger side door as the vehicle spun out of control and landed on its side. My partner Bubbles, other than some bumps and bruises, was okay, and my injuries were not serious; I lacerated my right arm, wrist, and had bumps and bruises from being thrown to the pavement. The van was not drivable, but instruments, props and baggage were intact.
A black family stopped and offered to transport me to the nearby emergency medical center, but NC State Troopers would not accept their help (this was the south prior to the 1964 ban of segregation). Consequently, instead of some immediate medical attention, Bubbles and I had to wait until the police did their thing.
About an hour later, the police drove us to the local medical center. While I was being treated for my injuries, Bubbles rented another van. After receiving treatment, with difficulty we frantically managed to transfer baggage, instruments, costumes, and props to the rented van. We then resumed our trip to Norfolk.
At our destination, with extra help, we got set up in the ballroom and the orchestra began its engagement on time. It was a rough night for Bubbles and me; he was hurting, my stitched up arm was in a sling and I was in considerable pain and discomfort, but was able to play my horn good enough to get by.
Today, I have great respect for that yellow “Slippery When Wet” sign. It was the first thing I saw from that rain soaked pavement of blood, broken glass and debris after being catapulted out of the van. So keep in mind, folks, heed the “Slippery When Wet” sign, ignoring it could cause serious injury and perhaps even kill you.