The Sheepdogs – CRAZY TOUR STORIES

In this Crazy Tour Stories segment, Ryan Gullen, of the rock ‘n roll band, The Sheepdogs, talks about some of their crazy moments from touring. You can check out the feature, after the break.

**Names have been changed to protect identities**

Being in a band means you meet a lot of strange people traveling around and playing in bars. Convincing someone to get in a van for months with you on the road, as we’ve learned, can attract even stranger folks. This is the story of our first tour manager and one of the craziest and strangest experiences we’ve ever had on the road.

I woke at 7 am to the sounds of loud pornographic sex coming from the hotel room next door. The adjoining room belonged to “John”, a squat fellow with a short fuse who had been tour managing our band for the past three weeks. Despite a live-in girlfriend back home, John was clearly enjoying some early morning horizontal refreshment, at the expense of my sleeping in.

It was a day off in Memphis, Tennessee. Bbq, fried chicken, and the Stax museum awaited. I was eager to explore the city, but first, I would need my suitcase which was in John’s room. I gave it a couple hours before I knocked on the door that joined our two rooms.

“Hey, John I need my suitcase from in there”.

5 slow minutes passed before the door cracked open wide enough for my suitcase to be slid through. I smelt a rat. I forced my 6 foot 3 frame through the doorway, past the hungover tour manager, and into the room. He was alone except for a mess of scattered beer cans. The smell of booze and dirty sex hung heavy in the air.

“Dude it stinks in here”.

“Oh yeah, it’s cause I spilled a beer…”

Make no mistake, John was lying.

A couple hours later and everyone was ready to head out except John. He said he had to stick around the hotel to “sort out some stuff”. We were sitting down at Gus’ Fried Chicken when a call from our management told us the bad news. John had lost all our money. Our first profitable tour and now $5000 was gone. It seemed like all the money in the world at the time.

Up until this point, John had already been on thin ice. He had exhibited a carelessness with our cash, leaving it behind in the van overnight and once even in a hotel room where a very honest maid found and returned it before we could drive out of the motel parking lot. He was prone to angry outbursts, he once heaved his laptop across the room when a website timed out on him. Overall he radiated a contagious stressful energy that put everyone on edge.

This was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Between bites of the world’s greatest fried chicken, we decided to fire him.

“John, we’re sending you home”.

He took the news like he had been expecting it and offered what seemed to be a sincere apology. We drove to the bus station, bought him a ticket and off he went.

At the time we were angry at his carelessness. His best guess was that the money was stolen from his bag while at the previous night’s venue. But the more we thought about it, the more something seemed fishy.

My mind kept going back to the over the top sex dialogue coming out of his room that morning. A long-shot theory: John hired a prostitute last night and when he wasn’t paying attention, she stole the money. We discussed the theory as a band and although it seemed a little outlandish, we called the hotel to see if they had any kind of video surveillance.

Sure enough, they did. Even better, the night clerk immediately knew why we were calling. They had taken notice of a man fitting John’s description returning to the hotel with a woman who was very obviously a hooker. The two went upstairs and a half hour later she left. He came back down shortly after and asked the front desk for the number for the police. The clerk asked if there was any trouble. John’s response: “I’m the trouble”.

He then made a withdrawal from the ATM as another hooker arrived. They went upstairs, she left a little later, he came back down to the lobby, took out more cash and yet another hooker arrived.

Our minds were blown. Not only had I predicted the outcome but I had grossly underestimated the deviant sexual appetite of our depraved tour manager. When the first hooker left with all our cash, he knew he was through, so the pervert decided to go out in a blaze of hooker and booze infused glory.

I never saw John or the $5000 again.

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(Photo credit: Vanessa Heins)