Chuck Berry Taught Me No Pay No Play

I stood in the alley smoking.

Chuck Berry is in the limo, black windows up.

We've been there all day setting up for the show. Berklee Performance Center. Boston Jazz Fest. I'm working my way through college schlepping road cases and running lights. Pretty good college gig.

And now Chuck is taking to me school. I'm learning a lesson that will serve me well throughout my creative career. No pay, no play.

Know your value and wait until you get it.

It's tough being a creative worker these days. The value of our work is potent. But the value of our pay has taken big hits.

Still, be honest. You don't really do what we do for pay. It's the challenge. The reward. The independence. And the constant learning curve. You're never 'there' in a creative career. You don't work to retire.

In the alley we can hear the crowd inside. They're raucous. Chuck was supposed to hit the stage 15-minutes ago. But Chuck is in the limo and he won't get out. He wants to be paid up front. In cash. So we sit, I smoke, the window stays up and we wait.

Berry started playing in high school and the spotlight loved him. He loved it right back. Music was a rough way to pay the rent and he did some prison time for armed robbery. In 1955, the music bug bit deep and he moved to Chicago to pursue music full-time. One night while playing the clubs, he got the attention of Muddy Waters, who took him to Chess Records.

Chess gave Berry a deal. The label released his first single, "Maybellene."

It rolls that way when you're a Chuck Berry, but this was the brutal era of the Hit Men, when artists were routinely ripped off by labels and managers. Chuck was redefining music, but his bank account was empty.

Chuck learned to take care of business first.

That night in Boston, the promoter of the show ran up to the box office and got some cash together. He borrowed some from friends. He literally stood behind the ticket window and took any cash that came in as people bought tickets. It was a scramble. He put all the cash in a briefcase and ran back around the theater to the alley.

The window of the limo rolled down. The promoter passed the briefcase through. The window rolled up. I could see them inside counting the cash.

Everybody took from Chuck, but Chuck took from nobody. He was an original, an icon. Sometimes you play a price for that. When you're first you're vulnerable to sharks.

Outside the theater, Chuck had leverage. He could name his terms. And his leverage was unimpeachable. It echoed up down Boylston Street. It bounced off the wall of the Prudential Center Tower. It was the full throated roar of his fans.

Chuck's leveraged his fans to close the deal.

The door of the limo opened and Chuck got out. He went to back of the car and took his guitar case out. He signaled to me and I followed him into the theater, carrying the guitar case. In the wings, he peeked through the curtains.

He looked at me and smiled, 200 watts, took the guitar and stepped into the light.

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