not a sob story
The breaking into of my van, which I discovered yesterday morning, is not troubling me for three reasons. First, the irony of having parked the thing over the years at thousands of La Quinta parking lots and inner-city sidestreets and similar scofflaw magnets, of having backed the rear end hundreds of times a finger's width from stanchions and streetlamps so as to impede the opening of the door through which drums and large electronics could most easily pass, of laboriously loading all the van's contents into club basements and even hotel rooms when visiting New York City or Berkeley, only now, after 17 years of this ritualistic preventative care, to have a bass cabinet and guitar amp and a few smaller items stolen as it sat in my quiet suburban driveway and I dozed twenty feet yonder? Delicious! The second reason is that, as my drummer neighbor was quick to point out, electronic items are eminently replaceable; and the third is that it wasn't even much of a break-in, as I had negligently left the van unlocked. I hugged my guitars, thanked the sky king for the health of my beautiful children, and got on with my morning.
Actually, before doing that I called the police. We've had a minor rash of unlocked vehicle break-ins here in the hood (see, I'm not the only one who leaves his car open overnight) and I wanted to be recognized as being with the flow. A pretty Hispanic officer named Maria was on the scene in about four minutes. I don't know if that's worth $10,000 in property taxes, but it's nice nonetheless. I showed her the scene and together we went over the clues. The items were large, about 120 pounds in combined weight, and only one had casters, so they likely had a vehicle of their own. I had parked our family car up tight against the rear door -- that habit being more ingrained than hitting the locks, I guess -- and so the thieves had to have squeezed the gear out the side door, which was a bit of a task since a wrought-iron fence abutted the side of the vehicle by, I should say, less than 3 feet. Looking at the side door, the officer noticed some dirt and part of a fingerprint. "Is this yours?" she asked me. "Pretty sure it's not," I said. Then we opened the door and saw lots more dirt on the carpet and door wells inside. "Do you think this dirt is from you? What do you do for a living?" When I answered, she nodded and made a note. "This is just like CSI!" I said excitedly. I have to admit, I haven't seen CSI, but making the pretty cop smile was worth the gamble.
When the fingerprinting cop joined us ten minutes later, a modest crowd started to gather. My neighbor to the west offered condolences, and the one to the east, the drummer, disclosed that his car and trunk had been rifled as well the night previous. But the thieves passed on his cymbals and rolls of quarters. Boy, they hit the jackpot with me though -- that was about a thousand dollars' worth of stuff. If you've seen me play with my 4-piece band any time since 1997 you may know this particular bass cabinet, because it had a distinctive homemade cover, all cardboard reinforced with duct tape and ridiculous bumper stickers from many of the places I've traveled on top of the tape. Both it and the amp were SWR products, and were reliable, well-made, good-sounding products, and just for that it's sad to see them go. But losing them is also a healthy inducement to do fewer loud bombastic gigs and to amplify my guitar the way the guitar ought to be amplified, with a microphone.
It's safe to say that most of us who spend much time traveling and playing music have a vehicle break-in and/or loss-of-beloved-gear story to tell. Mainly they're boring, and a little depressing, and don't bear repeating. But the one where Dale Watson and his band finish playing a bar gig, walk across the street to get a bite, hear a disturbance outside, and walk onto the sidewalk only to see the bar burn to the ground with all their stuff inside is a good one. Not amusing, just good. When you find yourself in a strange town, sitting drunk on the pavement with your head in your hands while the bar you just played in goes up in flames, you know you've come of age.
10 comments
Sorry to hear about your loss. The one thing all musicians that have been in the business for a long time share in common is we all know someone this has happened to, or it's happened to you personally. It's good that you lost nothing that couldn't easily be replaced. I must admit when my van was stolen and my drums were inside that I went through a grieving process. When I got the very large cheque from my insurance company I was quite elated, until I tried to replace my cymbals, some of which I'd had for over 20 years. I lost a beautiful piccolo snare drum serial number 0004 from a local drum craftsman. I also lost my binder with all my lyrics and charts from countless bands, shows, and eras. Those were impossible to replace. I was however able to buy the drum kit of my dreams - custom made hand picked pink with black hardware. So I was able to smile a little bit in the end as well.
Fifty bucks says Ryan took the shit and hocked it to buy more hair gel.
"Fifty bucks says Ryan took the shit and hocked it to buy more hair gel."...or howsabout a RA sycophant...Oh Robbie, what hath thou wrought?
I feel your pain. I'm a carpenter and once opened an empty vehicle, my jaw dropped completely. Not just the value of the tools, but the way I earn my living was gone. Luckily I was insured so that pretty much covered everything with a cord and most of the hand tools, but the home-made jigs and the things I altered myself for particular tasks were most likely in the trash as junkies don't see them as valuable. It was nice to have some brand spankin' new tools, but I also looked like a rookie since everything I had was new.
hey Mr.Robbie! sorry that you got all robbed and what not :( i miss you! you need to come on back to Virginia soon!I used one of your songs for an English project a few days ago. a got an A :)
But still... so sorry to jump in here and read this sad news, however well-heeled the elocutionist... and you do make some good "get over it" points.
How else are you Robbie Fulks, other than robbed?
You just popped into my head and I thought I eat my soup while perusing your blog.
Spring is coming... (I think)... and I hope you are well (or well enough anyway).
Best to you...
Wow, Robbie, that's terrible. I'm sorry for your loss, because even though it might be easy to replace, it's still a loss and a violation.
I never keep anything in my van because it's unlockable. I have to keep the door shut with a bungie. Knowing anyone can get in any time makes it easier if anything disappears.
My one working electric guitar was stolen about six weeks ago. It was at my ex's so I can't complain. She lost a lot more. It had a lot of sentimental value, but I very rarely played it as I'm no guitar player.
Making a pretty copy smile is well worth ANY gamble.
Sorry to hear about the theft, but I'm glad you and yours are safe.
10 thousand dollars! And you have property insurance, and you go to the dentist...Good fingers! Great Head! Haven't spoken to you in a long time -- you were right, I did need a hot tub, and it was dark in there. The first property tax bill in my name came and is, gulp...78 dollars--a lot of money to me!
Its very expensive helping so many people like me feel good--I'm glad you are provided for and protected. Depravity stinks. Remember, that thief is in a world of need and fear.
Dale Watson! I see him almost monthly here in Austin. Ill have to get him to re-tell the story. If it isnt too painful a memory....