The Legend-News

Monday, 2000 April 3 : Volume 3, Number 13

Convoy 2000

Breaker one-nine, this here's the Silversmith. You gotta copy on me, Luke Skywalker, c'mon? Yeah, that's a big ten-four, Luke, fer shure, fer shure. Got a tank full a' gas and a map a' the stars, c'mon. Yeah, Luke, the sun's shinin' and there's a crowd in the parkin' lot. Mercy sakes alive, looks like we gonna have a convoy.

'Bout 8 A.M. (or quarter to)
In rest stop near 'Berdoo
A dozen four-wheelers sat an' waited
For what they came to do

They'd gathered here from far and wide
Preparin' to take a trip
From Shaky Town to 'Lantic Pond
Three thousand miles a' strip

Then across that one-nine channel
From a Geo Metro truck
"This here's that Luke Skywalker
"And we about ta go a-huntin' Duck"

'Cause we got a little ol' convoy
Crusin' coast-to-coast
Yeah, we got a little ol' convoy
It ain't much but we'll boast
Come on and join our convoy
We're goin' from L.A. to N.J.
We're gonna roll this rockin' convoy
'Cross the U.S.A.

This Week in C.W. McCall History

There's Still Time To Get "Real"

Last year, American Gramaphone re-released the 1990 C.W. McCall album, The Real McCall: An American Storyteller. But last fall we were told that when the current stock of CDs ran out, AmGram wouldn't be pressing any more.

Well, the news is still good, sort of. I sent an inquiry to AmGram about the CD, and this morning I received a reply:

C W McCall is available from us AG890-2 for $9.98 on CD plus $4.50 shipping
and handling. Send payment via check, MO or credit card to:

American Gramaphone
9130 Mormon Bridge Rd
Omaha, NE 68152

or call us 800 446-6860 24 hour line.

Helen Severin
Customer Service Rep
800 348-3434 CST

So if you've been procrastinating (that's Latin for "sitting on your butt") about buying this album, get it now! There's no telling when the stock will be depleted.

Song A’ Th’ Week

Back in The Good Old Days®, "room trashing" was an item on many a rock star's lodging bill. Ah, the tales they'd tell of venues near and far, of the travel, of the women, of the life on the road. Yeah, it was fun as long as you were in a drug-induced haze. Meanwhile, your manager dealt with the reality of moving your prima donna carcasses from city to city and catering to your every whim.

By the way, the "Milton" of this song is not the same Milton that played organ for the band.


(Ron Agnew)
From the album C.W. McCall & Co.

Now, I'll tell ya a tale that'll bust yer heart
That only a few people knew, ta start
It all took place when our concert tour was booked at the SeaTac Hilton?
I'll guarantee ev'ry word's the Gospel truth
Got witnesses ta prove it, too,
'Cause we all toured with a fella by the name a' Milton

Now Milton was o-fficial tour director,
Electrical piano-playin' plug connector
An' the slave-drivin'-est travel conductor
That we ever seen in our lives
He'd say "Whaddya mean, ya need more rest?
"The world don't care whether ya look yer best!
"Simply show up promptly at six A.M. with your instruments ...and your wives!"

[Choir; in sorta of "Bringing In The Sheaves" way]
Shall we gather at the airport?

He'd always arrive in the nick a' time
A good five minutes ahead a' flight time
A-lookin' like he'd been drug through a needle's eye
He'd stand there, stoned and about ta choke
On his Egg McMuffin an' his giant Coke
An' then he'd throw all the tickets on the counter and say
"Check the bags and let's fly!"
"Well, whaddya mean, this is too much weight?
"We only got forty-six pieces a' freight!
"And if it don't go, who's gonna explain it to our fan club in Tacoma?"

We'd all get embarassed an' head for the plane
While Milton stood there, bein' profane
But somehow he always managed ta get on board sort of a coma

When the drinks were served up yonder...

Well, we deplaned at th' other end
All the trouble seemed to commence again
Though Milton had ordered three station wagons, a pickup truck and a limo
And though he'd phoned ahead to that Number Two
Cussin' an' fussin' an' turnin' blue
We'd always end up with two Datsoons and a Pinto

Now Milton took all a' that stuff in stride
Laid on the floor, an' kicked an' cried
But we always looked up to him for hope and salvation
But we'd sink to the bottom a' trav'lers hell
When he'd check us in a remote motel
And he'd grab the clerk by his shirt an' tie an' say
"Whaddya mean, ¿no reservaciónes?"

Milton's getting bolder...

He'd shut himself in room one-oh-four
Let nobody in 'til he swept the floor
Adjusted the lampshade, aligned the TV, fixed the faucet, called the promoter
"Well, whaddya mean we're the warmup show?
"You're puttin' me on! We're stars, ya know!
"And this ain't the way we was treated last summer at Six Flags Over Dakota!
"Now we gotta have a hunnert percent top billing,
"Two-thirds in advance, a' course, you silly!
"I'm sure we prefer a chauffered limosine and two air-conditioned dressing rooms, please.
"I'm what? Well, so's your wife! She's not? Well, to each his own.
"Beg pardon, stick it in my what? Well, really, Merle who?"

William Morris, keep us working...

Now, Milton was a real good friend a' mine
An' we'd stuck together on down that line
But there was one or two points over which we just had to dee-bate
Like takin'-your-clothes-off-an'-hangin'-from-a-cross-in-front-a'-the-Tri-County-Fairgrounds
Is not necessarily an assurance that the crowd ain't gonna start throwin' tomatas
An' when ya arrive at four for a five o'clock show
An' the stage ain't built an' there's no electricity
About all ya could do is sit on yer butt an' cut bait
However, you give ol' Milton four strong bodies, a nine-foot grand, a beer and a cigarette
An' you just knew that show was gonna be ...outta state

Bringing in the bread
Bringing in the bread...

Now one night up there in Washington
We didn't get paid for a show we'd done
An' poor ol' Milton couldn't live with that; his brain just shorted out.
Well, he locked himself in the bathroom
An' then when he didn't come out for an hour an' a half
We figgered that somethin' was wrong, but we had to remove all doubt
We stood transfixed in shock and horror
When we busted down that there bathroom door
And I hope I never see a sight like that again; no, I don't
There was nothin' to do but close our eyes, an' bow our heads, an' vocalize
With a silent five-part acapella hymn, for him

What a friend we had in Milton...

Now we're gettin' ready, come next December
To put another concert tour together
And I'm sad to say ol' Milton ain't a-gonna be with us
No, it ain't gonna be exactly the same
When they introduce us without his name
So Milton, wherever you are, we hope you miss us!
See, Milton has moved on down the road
Over the rainbow, lookin' for gold
Yeah, he's up there where the stage lights is always on
But we can't forget that curly hair
When last we saw him a-settin' there
Holdin' his tambourine, suckin' his thumb, an' sound asleep on the john.

Original contents Copyright ©2000 Edward Floden. All rights reserved.
"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty." -- A victim, Alien