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This was a very, very memorable concert for me, though I didn’t stay for the whole thing.
I was at the tail end of an on-and-off relationship with my Grade 11 girlfriend when she asked if I would please, please, please go with her to see Dwight Yoakam at the Moncton Coliseum on November 8th, 1988 and I very reluctantly said yes.
Back then she was pretty much the only person I knew (aside from family) who liked country music, (which probably had something to do with the “off” part of our relationship, shallow as I was). I didn’t know anyone else in the building so we killed time before the show sitting in an empty section of seats just behind the stage watching the roadies go about their roadie-ing.
I forget how it happened, but my girlfriend caught the eye of one of the stagehands (she was a looker – she even worked as a part-time model, which probably explained the “on” part of our relationship, again, shallow as I was). Before I knew what was happening she was handed a pass and had disappeared down the dark tunnel to the backstage area, an area clearly off-limits to me.
I knew from past experience that the bands parked their busses down there, and I suspected that this meant nothing but bad news for me. I sat there shocked, flummoxed, and powerless to do anything but wait for her to return.
“Stay calm,” I told myself in vain. “She’s just saying hello to one of her favourite singers, she’ll be out in no time.”
When Dwight Yoakam hit the stage and there was still no sign of my date I was even more troubled. When he kicked into his second song and I was still staring into the dark tunnel waiting for her to return I was very worried and thought up some very ugly thoughts. When she finally emerged during song number three I was furious and stormed off, staying just ahead of her as she ran to catch up with me.
She pleaded that nothing had happened, the roadies were just showing her the bus. Nothing she said helped, every word just upset me more. That she could ask me along to a show I had no interest in and then leave me alone while she threw herself to the greasy, scruffy lions, a crew surely adept at chasing down and consuming small-town starry-eyed fawns like her…
I was insulted, I was embarrassed, and I was really hurt. Never mind that this might have amounted to her starry-eyed dreams coming true (shallow as we both were).
As upset as I was I can’t imagine how she managed to muster the courage to tell me that she was going to go backstage after the show as well because she hadn’t actually met Yoakam yet. I really can’t imagine the look I gave her. That was it, I headed to the nearest exit and left the building, not hearing another word she screamed after me.
I found a phone booth and called my best friend Glen. I told him I needed him to come pick me up and said nothing more. He dropped what he was doing (likely playing the guitar) and came right away. I was near tears when I got in the car. “Take me to the liquor store,” I said. He started driving.
At the time I was just on the cusp of drinking too much. My dad had always struggled with alcohol and I could see the possibility of developing some similar habits myself. I was so consumed with emotion as we drove that I felt for the first time in my life that I actually needed a drink.
Upset as I was, that really scared me.
“Forget it,” I said to my friend. “Let’s skip the liquor store and just go hang out at the park.” He drove us to Centennial Park where we sat on a bench and I told him what happened. And of course he helped me work it out, as only a good friend can, and at the end of the night we had laughed about a thousand things and he dropped me off at home, both of us sober.
While (to quote the great Hunter S. Thompson) my drinking habits tend to sway towards “the high end of social” I’ve never, ever let alcohol become a problem and I’ve always suspected that this night was pivotal in that outcome.
And for that I guess I have Vicki and Dwight’s road crew to thank.
(It’s curious to note that unlike virtually all of my other ticket stubs, this one simply will not come unstuck from my binder without being torn to shreds, no matter how I try.)
Todd Man Out 