Fri., Dec. 5, 1997, Springfield, MO, American Inn -- While Tony and I were relaxing in our rooms in the Radison (in Kansas City), Darnell had been out cattin' around the city. He called a cab from a club, and after waiting 45 minutes, the cab finally showed up. Darnell moseyed out to his ride, and before he could even get to the door handle, the driver had a gun out and was yelling at Darnell to move away from the taxi. Granted Darnell doesn't exactly look like your basic upstanding yuppie, but he DID call the cab company to ask for a cab, and had left his name--not exactly something one would do if one was a robber. After the taxi sped off, Darnell phoned the taxi company to lodge a complaint with the dispatcher. Joanna ended up having to go pick him up. As we all loaded into the van at noon, Darnell noticed that a box of champagne glasses that were stowed under the front seat of the van had been opened and left between the front seats, and he noticed that parking change was missing out of its holder on the dash. Thus, we concluded, there were crooked valets at the Radison. The girl valet looked very high, and when confronted by Joanna, Darnell, and the hotel manager, went all twisty mouthed and stuttering (a sure sign of crack ingestion), and flat out lied. The ten dollars charged for the valet parking was returned to Joanna with apologies. We headed back over to the Grand Emporium to pick up the equipment, and then over to the local music store so I could stock up on sticks. We then finally embarked on the three-hour ride down to Springfield. After pulling the directions out of the barmaid over the phone, who was not too sure of them, we somehow made it to the club. As we turned the corner leading to the front of the club, we all busted out laughing because the street was literally a junk-ghetto, with old broken down household appliances hanging out of windows framed by rusted sheet metal. Man, now THIS was a blues joint... We drove around to the back of Murphy's where a reader board stated the night's activities. With some trepidation, we ducked into the club to reconnoiter before loading in. Cement floors and brick walls surrounded a good-sized stage, and the owner, Bob Martin, a local DJ, was very cordial welcoming us to Murphy's. A giant banner in the back of the room proclaimed the existence of the Blues Society of the Ozarks. We loaded in and set up while Joanna and Darnell were in deep conversation with Mr. Martin. The place had no central heating, with one of those gas flame super blowers providing the only heat source, so the room was cold. But, Bob seemed very upbeat and was so friendly, we forgot all about his problems. We were sent across town to the red-neon-framed gaudy American Inn for accomodations. Vic and I roomed together and sent out for Chinese food. By the time it came, I was deep in a power nap. Groggily, I paid the delivery guy $24 for the $12 bill, intending for him to give me back $10 change and keep the rest. Instead, in my stupor, I just said, "Keep it." Smartly, the delivery guy bolted out of the room and ran to his car. About 30 seconds later I realized what I'd done...mighty generous $14 tip... The gig ended up being well attended and the crowd was very appreciative. We had an opening act, Little Amy and the Two Man Big Band, a rockabilly trio with a female lead singer/guitarist. I will predict you will see them on MTV in two years...they were great. The sound was good, and there were brisk CD sales on the break. It took a while to get out of there because of breakneck conversations from talkative fans, but we finally tore ourselves away and ended up at Shoney's because Jo was starving (for two). As we walked in, I actually checked my watch because the place was packed out with buffet goers at 2:30 a.m. There were college kids, farmers, gay guys, and a flaming transvestite who was being harrassed...