Among other things, Victor was directionally challenged. Maybe he found Philadelphia by accident. We sometimes played in obscure places like that mansion on the shore of the Chesapeake Bay somewhere in the remote Maryland wilderness. It was a wedding reception complete with a huge tent in the backyard, really rich people, and funny food. Our directions included things like ‘turn left at the second or third dirt road’ and ‘if you passed the goose habitat, you went too far’. Our cell phone conversations from separate cars included things like ‘where are you now’ and ‘I don’t know’. Victor was driving alone with no phone.
Somehow we found the place. After load in and set up on the caterer’s stage that nobody bothered to make level, we had time to gather at the bar and make bets on the possibility and/or time of Victor’s arrival. The smart money was on the unlikeliness of the former. The latter was a fool’s bet.
We started our cocktail set as the guests began to arrive. They were sipping expensive wine and eating their funny food. I was a bit nervous without Victor. We were four instead of five in the horn section. Mike and Matt were there with their trumpets as always and Parkie was strong on trombone as usual, but now it was just me and my horn(s) in the fourth spot.
In baseball, the fourth guy in the line up is called ‘the clean up man’, expected to come through with home runs and strength in the clutch. Somebody in the band (I think it was Parkie) had started to call me ‘Big Paul’ and now it was time to live up to my name. I knew that “Mustang Sally” would not be a cocktail tune. I took a deep breath and stepped up to the plate. Later, when a really sudden and wicked storm came in off the Bay, it was Parkie and I who saved the huge wedding cake from its place on small table next to the stage as the wind screamed through the tent. Teamwork. Victor finally arrived, almost forgotten except for those on the winning side of the bets, but the night was not a total loss. After all, Big Paul was in the tent…