George ‘Harmonica’ Smith and I damn near had the same birthday, just some years apart. He was born on April 22 and I was born on April 21. He also, by coincidence, shared my natural father’s birthday. So as George used to say, “Dubb, you the little bull, and I’m the big bull. We s’posed to be close.” We were.

When I first started working with George we got an offer to go to Sweden. George sent a tape of a live performance of the band,  they liked what they heard and came back with an offer. When George told them that the lead guitar player and singer was white, they told George to get a black guitar player/singer. George was furious. He told the man on the phone, “NO DUBB. NO GEORGE!” I don’t think the man cared too much about the ‘Dubb’ part of that statement, but the ‘George’ part got him. I got my passport.

The first four gigs were pretty tough. I would open the show with the band and sing 3 songs. A fast shuffle, slow blues, 1/8 note feel thing and then bring up George. The audience was not accepting me too well and it was getting tough to keep on going out there. I told George that I wasn’t doing nothing but hurting his show. Maybe, I should just play two instrumentals and announce him. George would have none of that back steppin’. He said, “ You part of my show. You going out there! They’ll like it. They just need a little time.”

I said, “ But I feel like I’m hurting your show!”.

“Dubb, you open the show and that’s what it is. Right?”

“Yeah” I said resignedly.

“Ain’t no more to say, is there?”

“I guess not.” 

He walked off to his room and I closed the door to mine. But, you know,  George was more than right. When we got to Stockholm, the people  finally accepted me.  When George got on the stage, he gave me a little wink and a fatherly type smile, turned to the house, and proceeded to rip it up. I backed him up and I remember being so proud to be close to him and to play in his band.
                                                       
You know, sometimes fate takes it’s time to call and sometimes it calls right away. Later on that same trip a terrible insult was levied at George. Fate had called real soon, and reversed the charges.

We were riding on a train to a gig and our Swedish road manager had a newspaper that had a review of one of our previous concerts that tour. He spoke an English, I call ‘schooled English’. Meaning that he could converse in the language, but he didn’t have a full understanding of the slangs or the nuances of the words. Then when you add on top of that we here in the U.S. speak American anyway... well, I’m sure you get my point.

The guys in the band asked him to translate the review for us and he proceeded to do so. Translating on the fly and not reading ahead he came to a part where the reviewer had called George an ‘Uncle Tom’ because of  his dancing and smiling at the people in the audience. The band held their breath, Lloyd Glenn turned to his Bible, while a defiant look came to George’s eyes before he turned them to the Swedish country side speeding by the window. The road manager continued on translating the rest of the review totally unaware of the consequences of what he had just said. When he completed the review he said, “Well that’s a good one!”. A couple of disinterested ‘yeah’s’ followed and died off like footprints on a beach soon to be washed away by the incoming tide.

I don’t remember what town the next gig was in. All I remember was a long dark hall that led to the concert stage which was in a place that reminded me of an university gym. There was no sound check. We just had time to change at the gig, do a quick line check, and hit it. I noticed that George was no where to be found and we were just a few minutes from beginning. I told the guys I’ll go see if I could find him. I took off down that long dark hall.
I took a turn to the right, walked a little further ‘til  I saw a shadow.

“Hey George.”

Nothing.

“George it’s me Doug.”

“What you want?”  from the shadow.

“ Gettin close to hittin’ time.”

“Mmm-hmm, s’pose it is.”

“ I come to tell you that.”

“Well, you did.”

I walked closer along a well waxed linoleum floor.

‘George, you  all right?’

“ No Dubb, I ain’t.”

“ Anything I can do?”

“ You can leave.”

“ Leave? You gonna’ play, right?”

“I don’t think so.”

“ You ain’t gonna play? I ain’t leavin’.”

“ Well, you do what you got to do.”

Fate was calling. I picked up the phone, accepted the charges.

“I think I know what’s bothering you. What that man wrote.”

The shadow looked away.

“That was wrong what that man said about you George.”

“Yeah? Well that’s what the man said and now a whole lotta’ folks are reading that!”

“ I know, but that don’t make it right just because some guy wrote it. He’s an ignorant man. And ignorant people can do a lot of harm, especially when they got a pen.”

“ But the people ain’t gonna know that.” he said disdainfully, “I just don’t want to talk about it no more Dubb.”

“ OK. Don’t talk. I’ll talk. George, ever since we met you’ve been like a father to me. You’ve given me a lot of  advice that’s helped me along. But now it’s time for me to be there for you ‘cause right now you ain’t seeing things right and I know it. I’m nervous ‘cause you’re bigger than me and way more stubborn than me, but I’m still gonna do it..”

He gave me a look that said. ‘Man you talk too much’. But the key was that he didn’t say it audibly . So I kept on.

“It’s wrong for you to let that one ignorant man with a pen keep you from doing what you do. It was you that told me that you got to forgive ignorant people ‘cause they don’t know no better.  There’s a lot of good people waitin’ on you right now for your music and the feeling they get from it. You don’t go out there tonight, you gonna’ disappoint all those people.  You’re the man that taught me that you got to put the people first...”

The shadow sliced in with, “ But Dubb, it hurt me.” Said with an urgency that asked could you ever know how much? “ He had no right to say that. He ain’t even from our country. Ain’t no way that man could know what I seen. Not first hand, and that’s for damn sure.”

I saw a tears in his eyes. I moved closer to him. “You’re right George. You as right as he was wrong. But you can’t let this keep you from doing...’

“Been hurt my whole life Dubb, I just don’t know if I can make it.”

“You can make it. Ain’t no one like you George. You can rise above this. Damn, I believe you’re supposed to rise above this!”

I was facing the shadow now, maybe a foot apart.

“ George, you don’t go out there tonight, that man with the pen wins.... Don’t let that son-of-a’bitch win.”

I was done talking, no more words, feeling helpless, hoping to God I didn’t fail. He reached out. I went to him, we hugged and he started to cry. Oh my Goodness, he was crying. All I knew to do was hug tighter.  I heard him say softly, “Hang on Dubb.” I did. Tears welled in my eyes, but somehow they didn’t fall. He released from me, took out his handkerchief and wiped his eyes. He saw the tears in my eyes that had refused to fall, I saw a hint of a smile as he looked down at me.

“I got to go George, it’s late. I don’t want no one finding us here and I got the start the show.”

He nodded.

‘You coming?”

More tears in his eyes, but no answer.

I said, “ No matter what, I’m your friend.” I started to walk off, stopped and turned around,
 “George, I want you to know...  you taught me well.” I headed down that well waxed floor thru that dark hall. I got to the band stand, the fellas asked if I had found George. I said I did. Left it at that and said let’s get started. As I was playing my last song, I looked down that long dark hall behind us and I saw a shadow coming. A shadow getting bigger with every step. As it got closer I realized it wasn’t a shadow at all, it was a man. A man walking tall.

Walking Tall.