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DaRk AnGel : Why Home : November 2006 : 3-26-1977 Part 1

3-26-1977 Part 1

It was a hot humid night in New Orleans. Business was slow in the club with no big conventions in town. The street traffic was light. Travis was the doorman who gave the constant spiel trying to lure people from the streets. Bob was sweating into the drinks as he poured them from behind the bar. I was sitting in a booth talking to some of the dancers waiting for this night to end. I was bored as hell.

I was hungry. But I needed someone to take my place so I could walk down the street to the Lucky Dog hot dog stand on the corner. Finally a familiar face but not one of the employees entered the club. It was Patty's old man Pat. A quiet pretty likeable guy even though he was a member of the Galloping Gooses Motorcycle Club, he was not your typical asshole.

I walked over to Bob and asked him if it was Ok for Pat to take my place for a few minutes. Bob usually said no to these requests. He wanted me there. He was secure in the fact that if anything started up, I would instantly fly into a rage and deal with it quickly and with finality. In those instances, Travis was useless. He was a junkie that at times could barely stand much less do his job as barker. Whenever trouble occurred Travis could often be found right behind me. And behind him would be Bob.

Pat was the closest thing I had to a best friend at the time. And he was one of the few boyfriend/husbands allowed into the club while his old lady worked. We spent many an hour B.S.'ing the slow nights away. He treated Patty good. Not like so many of the others that basically saw their girls as money machines. They were in love - A perfect match, one where you could look and see the love that they held between them. I was proud that I had been the person to introduce them to each other a year or so earlier.

I waited for Bob to say no or to tell me to ask Pat to go and get some food for me. But he surprised me. It was slow and the night was uneventful. When there is trouble one can feel it in the air even before it would occur, and when trouble occurred it came in threes and fours. Never just one incident in the night it was a contagious craziness that spread amongst the strangers on the street. The air was deceivingly calm that night. The people roaming Bourbon Street were not putting out the energy of people that are in town to act like they never would at home.

I then went up to Pat. I asked him to keep an eye on the club and Travis for a few minutes. He agreed without hesitation. It was just the type of guy he was.

I stepped out into the neon glare of the adult carnival that is Bourbon Street. My eyes took a second to adjust from the darkness of the club. I looked to the right and to the left and on both corners were the hot dog stands. But I would be visiting the corner to my left. I recognized the vendor on the stand on the right, and there is something I had found repulsive as he spread my hot dog bun open with the stump where his hand used to be. In fact that night, I threw my dogs away. It just turned my stomach,

A Lucky Dog vendor is usually a transient or homeless person. Often they are not clean, their hair full of self made grease, and their smells stronger than the piss and vomit smell of the street. I could stand just about anything, but the hand that held that bun had fingernails that were filthy. The stump I assumed was then just as nasty. I opted to drink my dinner that night.

Looking around one more time, I started off. I was headed down towards the 500 club. About halfway down another club had hired a female barker. I stopped and chatted with her for a few minutes. It was the first time a woman had worked the doors of any club that I knew about. Usually it is a man. Then when trouble starts, which it always will, there are multiple males to protect the pride.

As I talked to the newcomer Patty took the stage. The girls danced three songs on the stage and then went around asking the customers for tips. Usually each gave a dollar. Then the girls would do table dances for three bucks a song. It was not unusual for many of the dancers to break a thousand dollars in tips on a busy night. But they busted their humps to make that money.

Most people do not know it but in most of the clubs, the dancers are sub contractors. They pay to be able to dance at the club. In those days each girl paid fifteen dollars. Then they tipped the bartender, the doorman/barker, and then me. There were work schedules and missing work, or breaking a rule was always a monetary fine. The clubs made fortunes on the backs of young girls. And if they did not make enough to cover the cost of working that night, they had to pay it before they could dance again.

How could they not make thirty or so dollars? Easy. They were scheduled to work, but did not want to. They came in high just to not get fined the hundred dollars for not showing up. They would sit around dozing or talking excessively depending on what their drug of choice was. They would kinda stand on the stage and shuffle around for their three songs, and most never even bothered asking for tips. They knew they had not done anything for them.

It was Patty's second song. She later told me it was Sympathy For The Devil by the Rolling Stones. A song that I loved, even after it gained notoriety for the song being played by The Stones at Altamont Speedway during a free concert where a man was killed by the Hells Angels who had been hired by The Stones to provide security.

I turned and headed towards the hot dog stand having finished my attempts to make a date with the new doorlady for later. She shot me down gracefully telling me that she was a lesbian. I assured her that I was one as well, but it did not budge her. Oh well there were always the drunk tourists at Pat O'Brien's. The running joke on the street was if you could not get laid there, then you probably are a virgin and would die that way.

I had only taken a few steps when I heard the gunfire. I did 180 degree turn and cursed that I did not have my gun on me that night. Where did the shots come from? Then there was another and it was coming from the vicinity of the club that I worked for. I picked up my pace. I cursed under my breath. And as I got to the closed doors, they burst open and a man ran out, gun in hand. I pushed the two doors inwards and felt resistance. I then swung them outwards and the sight I saw crushed me, and will forever be embedded in my mind.

I will never forget the look on Patty's face as she lay on the stage screaming from deep within her soul. I still hear it in my dreams at times..

(to be continued one day)