In My Wildest Dreams - Take 3
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In My Wildest Dreams - Take 3 - Wayne Jackson
Epilogue
The Phone Rang
For ten thousand dollars cash, I'd fly out of that house of mine like a bat out of hell,
I said aloud to no one in particular as I was standing around the Polyfox Studio ante room in Nashville.
I'll do that,
said Glen Fox, the studio owner, who was sitting behind the reception desk.
As you know, I am seldom speechless.
I was three house notes behind with another fast coming down the pike. My mind whirled, and my mouth finally opened. I heard myself say, You will?
Yes, and pay off your back notes as well so we can close quick. That'll save your credit, and I can get in there and turn it to make a little profit. As it happens, I know some people moving to town and that house would suit them perfectly.
I kept my dry mouth closed and sat down on the couch facing him waiting for God to speak. I mean I was BROKE!
I couldn't believe my ears. I was tingling.
Well, I'll come out in the morning around ten, and if everything looks okay, we'll go to my lawyer's office and draw up papers. The next day when we sign them, I'll give you a check for the four back notes and four thousand dollars against the ten you want as equity. How 'bout that?
I heard someone say, That'll be fine.
It was me.
I rose to go, hoping not to break whatever spell was present. Shaky legs took me to my motorcycle, and I drove home in a cloud of consternation. I'll never know why Glen did that except for the fact that he knew I was desperate and selling a few thousand under market value, but he could have waited a week or two and gotten it on the courthouse steps.
The powers that be just sometimes like to step into the middle of human affairs is all I can think.
Suddenly I caught a breath of delicious spring air. The clouds seemed to part above me to receive the tremendous load that was ascending from my shoulders and a ray of golden sunshine struck me in the eye.
Maybe that's why I was crying.
Wayne in the 80's
You see, it had been a hard dry spell.
Marty Robbins who I had toured with for four years was dead. Sessions were few and far between. The album I had worked so hard on with fellow songwriters/musicians Bucky Lindsey, Fred James and Frank Green had not set the world on fire like we'd planned. In fact, there was no reaction to it at all.
And now salvation!
Summer came and I was still living at the house due to the good graces of Glen Fox. His people hadn't shown up on time, and my apartment wasn't ready yet. So he let me stay on rent free to guard the place until July first.
And then a phone call came.
I got home one night, and there was a message from Tom Dowd, producer/arranger, from the old days on my answer machine. I'd been trying to get him to return my calls for a year, and now he was calling me? The message said I was to call a fellow in Montreal by the name of Daniel Lanois concerning a recording session. He wasn't sure who or maybe he said The Who, I'm not sure, but Tom was a pretty important guy. It could have been anyone. He said they'd been trying to get hold of me and finally called him. He gave them my number, but to be sure I got the message, he was calling himself. It MUST be big, I thought. The whole thing was a little vague, but the thrill that passed through my body was not. Something was happening here. Yes, I felt something.
I took a deep breath, stood quietly for a minute clearing my mind and dialed the number Tom had left on the machine. The voice that answered was soft and refined, and I couldn't quite get the accent. It was Daniel Lanois.
Hi Dan,
I said, this is Wayne Jackson. I got a message from Tom Dowd to call you.
Oh, Wayne,
he answered, and his voice became very friendly. I'm producing Peter Gabriel's new album, and I've been looking everywhere for you. Peter wants the Memphis sound on this album and wants to know if you would be so kind as to do the horns. Do you think we could work that out?
I took a deep breath and tried to be nonchalant, I'd love to.
Oh good,
he said. I was hoping you'd say that. I'm going to be doing some overdubs in New York in a couple of weeks. Does that time frame fit your schedule?
I think so,
I said.
We'll probably want you for three or four days,
he mused. Better plan on four. By the way, Wayne, what's your fee?
There it was.
The question I always knew was coming but never knew the answer. After you've been scuffling around for two years for fifty or a hundred dollars trying to make ends meet and not doing too hot at it, you can get a little choked up when the big boys call. I had a few bucks now, though, and my confidence was a bit higher than it had been. So without even thinking, I let my breath out slow and said in what I hoped was not a whisper, A thousand dollars a day.
Well,
said Daniel, that sounds just fine. Count on the four days, and I'll be calling you back with the particulars in a few days. Flight information and the like. I'm really looking forward to meeting you, Wayne, and I know Peter will be thrilled. 'Til later then.
Sounds great man, talk to you soon,
and I hung up.
I had that awful feeling you get when you shoot a price and get taken up immediately. How much did I leave on the table?! They would have gone for twice that.
I don't know how long I stood there trying to take in what had just happened.
I was living rent free at the moment, and when I moved into the apartment with my new roommate, my monthly outlay would only be three hundred a month.
But who was this Peter Gabriel, I wondered. The name had a familiar ring to it, but I wasn't sure why. So I did what I had done on many occasions in the past and picked up the phone to call my daughter, Carla, my source of rock and roll information.
When she squealed, DADDY,
I knew I had hit on something. "He was with GENESIS and just had the hit, Shock The Monkey! Wait 'til I tell everybody down here!"
She was at work behind the bar at the Stockyard, and before I could protest, she was yelling across the bar, Guess what y'all, Daddy's going to do Peter Gabriel's new record!
I could hear the hooting and cat-calling from the waiters and patrons at the bar.
I couldn't have imagined, but this time the huge engine of change I could have heard coming to life, had I been listening, was another jet, ready to pick me up and catapult me back to the very top of the music business.
Those Dusty Cowboy Trails
When I first arrived in Nashville to begin the next chapter in my life, I lived with country music songwriting legend, Hank Cochran, and and his wife, Jeannie Seely, out on their farm in Goodletsville. As you'll remember, she'd been on the road touring with Jack Greene, and one night we all got on his bus and went to the Grand Ole Opry where they were to perform.
Upon entering the magnificent building I was taken aback by the size and beauty of the place, and a strange feeling came over me. I said to Hank, Cowboy, someday I'm gonna play on this stage!
That'll be the day,
he said, taking off his straw hat and laughing at me. They just let an electric guitar in here recently!
But my feeling was prophetic.
Soon I got an apartment, and Hank left Jeannie and moved in with me. That meant we had to get furniture since I was living on the back seat of my van with a tv and an orange crate. I had some paper plates and plastic knives and forks from Krystal.
I started working with a group of musicians and songwriters all needing exposure called, The Equal Opportunity Unemployment Band,
and although we weren't making any money, our songs were being presented to Nashville in the form of showcases we did at local clubs. We had a good little following of people that would