Practical MIDI

Life doesn’t always deal you a winning hand or a slew of troubles when it’s convenient for you. These can come at the most inopportune times…especially if you’re a performing musician and have to keep up appearances for the sake of the show.

Of the 2,500+ jobs I’ve played in my lifetime, many of them slipped through my mind without so much as a backwards glance or fond memory. But I’ll never forget my most memorable job, which happened in April of 1971 BM (Before MIDI).

I was still in a five-piece band at the time and most of the other members lived in a town twenty miles away. I’d just bought myself a 1965 Chevrolet Corvair and was on my way to meet the other guys. We had a job down in Milwaukee that rainy night. I’d gotten less than two miles from home when an Oldsmobile Cutlass coming toward me suddenly turned in front of me at a light. I stood on the brakes, but the car slid right through the intersection, hitting the Cutlass broadside. Funny how the mind works, but I can vividly recall the first thought that passed through my mind after the impact—I’m going to miss tonight’s performance.”

I didn’t give a thought to the fact that my car, which I’d bought only three days earlier, was now totaled. I didn’t think about the fact that I had neglected to insure it. I didn’t think about my head hitting the windshield and I might have a concussion. It didn’t occur to me that the occupants of the other car might need assistance. No, all I could think of at the time was “I’m going to be late for the show.”

I got out of my car and hobbled over to where the Cutlass had come to rest and peered in through the driver’s window. There were six passengers in the car, none of whom were younger than seventy. The driver, I found out later, was seventy-seven. He and two other elderly gentlemen occupied the front seat. Their three spouses sat in the back. He and his wife were heading to dinner with two other elderly couples. I said to no one in particular, “Is everybody all right here?”

“No,” I heard another elderly woman in the back seat say. One of the women, who was seated in the rear next to the right door was sitting there looking as peaceful as if she’d nodded off in her rocking chair. My car had struck the Cutlass exactly at her back door. Her neck had snapped like a dry twig and she was killed instantly. The other passengers were carted off to the hospital.

The police came and took statements from me and whatever witnesses they could find and let me go. I called my drummer to come and get me and continued on to that night’s job. Even after thirty-two years I can still remember how ironic it was that our first song of that night’s performance was by a band called The Sunshine Company. It was called “Happy.” (Cybermidi has the Blades of Grass version of this tune in their library) Even as I stood there singing the words, it struck me that one woman is lying dead in the morgue while I’m up there singing:

• Happy the day I found you
• Happy the world around you
• I’m never sad whenever we’re together
• My happiness is you

I didn’t feel very happy at that exact moment, but for whatever it’s worth, the show did go on that night as scheduled. The accident was deemed the other driver’s fault, which eased my mind but did nothing for the poor woman. Her name is permanently etched in my mind along with that night’s performance.

©2005 Bill Bernico for CYBERMIDI.com Downwind Publications