Welcome to My Jungle (6 page)

We laugh at it now, but it was far from funny back then.

THE SHOT HEARD AROUND THE HOTEL

All over Europe, fans are very passionate about their favorite bands—Guns N’ Roses included. They get to concerts early, they stay late, they sing the words to every song (even in non-English-speaking countries), and they also love to grab. Grab at anything close to them—hair, clothes, body parts, and skin. Let me tell you, having your skin pulled in twenty different directions hurts.

Yes, even though I was not the rock star, I was used and bruised before, during, and after tons of shows. Most fans didn’t care if I was a rock star or not. I worked for Axl, and that was good enough; or because I was always next to him, and they just grabbed for anything, I was collateral damage.

We had just finished a show in Modena, Italy, at Stadio Alberto Braglia, and the band members, excluding Axl, and their entourage, headed back to the hotel. Ninety percent of the time the band left the venue first. Axl left a couple of hours later, usually with me, Earl, Robert, and Steve, Axl’s chiropractor. On this night Steve was lucky enough to have left earlier with the band.

Just as we sometimes used decoys to stand in for Axl, we also used decoy limos. When we left a concert we used two limos, one with Axl and us, and a much nicer limo with the driver by himself. We figured that people would assume Axl was in the nicer limo. Sometimes we took a van or a regular car back to the hotel while the beautiful limo in front of us had no one in it. It was worth the extra expense.

When the nice limo pulled up to the front door of the hotel, the fans attacked it thinking Axl was going to get out. While that melee took place we calmly had our driver take us around to the side door or the loading dock, and we walked into the hotel unscathed.

Sometimes we’d go to the lobby and watch the driver of the decoy limo in front of the hotel as he tried to convince thousands of people that Axl was not in his limo. Not a pretty sight, but very humorous.

This particular night there were hundreds of fans waiting for Axl to arrive back at the hotel after an amazing show. But because it was only about fifteen feet from the limo to the front door of the hotel lobby, we figured we would take our chances. There were protocols we followed in these situations, and we took them very seriously. Unfortunately, Axl never listened to these protocols.

We pulled up to the hotel and because we’re
really
smart, we told the driver to pull around to the side of the hotel so we could get out there after Earl “cleared” the area.

Earl is an ex-NFL player. He can clear an area.

We pulled up to the side of the hotel, and within seconds the hundreds of fans from the front of the hotel surrounded our limo. Europeans are very fast. Even Earl couldn’t clear this area. We needed help.

At that point, “protocol” was for Earl to get on the walkie-talkie and summon help. Because the tour was very high security, we all carried walkie-talkies 24/7. If we needed help it would literally be there in seconds. This was very comforting and very helpful on numerous occasions. So we knew that as soon as Earl got on the walkie-talkie, within seconds, we would have the place cleared by our team of very large bodyguards with booming voices and we would calmly walk into the hotel, to our rooms, and straight to bed.

Didn’t happen.

On this night, out of nowhere, as we sat in our safe limo, surrounded by hundreds of very “passionate” European fans, we heard the following come from Axl’s mouth:

“I’m going for it.”

Seemingly less than a millisecond later, Axl opened his door and leaped into the crowd.

With that, Earl, Robert, and I looked at one another in horror and yelled, “Damn!” as we jumped out of the limo to try to save Axl, who was engulfed in a sea of Guns N’ Roses fans.

Imagine a slab of meat surrounded by thousands of piranha. You get the picture.

The biggest melee to date was taking place and it starred Axl Rose. Our job was to get him out of there, intact, and preferably with his clothes still on his body.

Earl threw people around, left and right, trying to get to Axl, and Robert and I pushed our way through as well. We were grabbed and scratched, but felt no pain because the adrenalin had kicked in.

To make matters worse, there were a lot of paparazzi in the melee as well, taking pictures of Axl fighting his way through the crowd. Axl does not like his picture taken.

So, because we knew that Earl would eventually get to Axl, Robert and I turned our attention on getting the paparazzi “out of the picture.” Most paparazzi are exactly who they are portrayed to be in the news—ruthless, rude, disgusting human beings with no moral compass.

As soon as we decided to confront the paparazzi, Axl got plowed into by one of the camera-toting dirtbags and fell to the ground. Robert got in Mr. Dirtbag’s face. Axl got up and got in Mr. Dirtbag’s face.

Then the dirtbag shoved his camera in Robert’s face, and Robert grabbed the camera and smashed it to the ground.

It was beautiful. Paparazzi boy was in total shock, shouting out what we assumed were Italian curse words. Funny, it was okay for him to plow into our lead singer, but as soon as we defended ourselves, he got upset. And I mean upset.

The frenzy to get a piece of Axl and his clothing had escalated into a full-fledged brawl with hundreds of people wailing at each other—friends hitting friends, brothers hitting brothers, moms hitting grandpas …

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a gunshot went off.

Everyone stopped.

Silence.

We all looked at each other.

Still.

And simultaneously we all started checking our bodies for a single gunshot wound. I felt around my chest, my arms, my legs, freaking out, because in my mind that bullet had to go somewhere, and at that moment, we were the enemy.

I looked around and everyone else was doing the same thing—checking to see if they were hit.

Then, like the parting of the Red Sea, people backed away to reveal an Italian policeman standing at the top of the stairs, seemingly in his own outdoor flood light provided by the hotel, with his gun held high up in the air, smoke coming out of the barrel.

It was like a movie.

The policeman came to save the day.

Axl and I looked at each other for a split-second and without saying anything, took the opportunity and darted into the hotel, untouched. Earl and Robert followed.

We were finally safe.

But we didn’t go to bed … obviously.

We went straight to the bar and got lit, and told everyone the story how we all thought for one second that we were shot.

About an hour later the police arrived and they wanted Robert’s passport. The dirtbag paparazzi guy wanted to press charges and the police were there to arrest Robert.

Now the Guns N’ Roses band members and entourage were big on practical jokes, so Robert wasn’t sure if this was real. But this time it was, and Robert explained later that he kept thinking about what can potentially happen in a foreign jail.

But it just so happened that our promoters and managers “know people” and the charges were dropped. Robert just had to pay for Mr. Dirtbag’s new camera.

Axl paid for the guy’s camera.

ALMOST MISSED MY FLIGHT

We had this thing on the road where if you were late, especially if you weren’t a band member, they would try to leave you in the city you were in, and you would have to make it to the next city at your own expense.

Harsh.

Almost happened to me when I first started with Guns N’ Roses in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.

Axl had gone to see U2 with Doug, the band manager. So, I had the night off. And because I was single at the time, I went out on the town, and I met a lady friend. We had a few drinks. Okay, we had a lot of drinks—it was my night off.

A few hours later I took my lady friend to my hotel room, you know, just to talk about life.

After a while, there was a knock on my door.

“Let’s go, Duswalt,” someone shouted. It was obviously someone from the security team.

“Be right there.”

Unfortunately we weren’t finished talking.

About five minutes later we finished our conversation, and I rushed downstairs. I got to the front of the hotel and the cars were gone. I ran around the side of the hotel. Nothing. To the back of the hotel. Nothing.

Suddenly I realized what was happening. They were trying to leave without me. And worst part was it wouldn’t even be their fault because they told me they were leaving. I was just late.

I thought to myself,
If i’m not on that plane, Axl is going to be pissed
.

I had already left my luggage outside my hotel room door an hour earlier, so that had been picked up. I had nothing. In fact, to make matters worse, my wallet was in my briefcase, and they took my briefcase as well.

I kept thinking what to do next, knowing that if I didn’t make that flight I was screwed.

So I ran back up to my room, and luckily my lady friend was still there.

“You need to drive me to the airport,” I pleaded.

She agreed.

We ran as fast as we could to the elevator, got down to the lobby, ran to her car in the parking lot, and raced toward the airport.

And get this … because we had been to so many places, and because I didn’t have my briefcase, and because the itinerary was in my briefcase, I had no idea what city we were going to next. It could have been anywhere in the United States.

So I asked her to really speed it up. The cars had left about twenty-five minutes before we did, so I figured we could catch them. They still had to load the plane. Unfortunately, I knew what was happening—they were going as fast as humanly possible, because they
wanted
to leave someone behind. Again, they loved playing pranks.

We arrived at the airport, but there was another problem. Our plane was loading on the tarmac that night, so no one was going through the airport. The only cars allowed on the tarmac were the limos. Plus, even if I had clearance, I wouldn’t have known where to begin looking for the gate or the opening where a car could get onto a tarmac.

I imagined the guys cracking up while loading the plane—loading the plane faster than it’s ever been loaded.

We drove to where we could see the planes. It was a little off course but I figured our plane would be away from the normal area of the airport.

And there in the distance, way in the distance, I saw the
MGM Grand
. But there was a really tall security fence between it and me. But at least the plane was on the ground, so there was still hope.

We drove all around the perimeter of that fence, looking for any opening that would fit a car. I figured, even if I got in trouble for driving on the tarmac, the band would explain who I was, and they would let me go.

Maybe.

In the world we live in today that would not be possible, but in the early 90s, there was no TSA.

We continued to drive, and suddenly I saw two limos driving into the airport.
Could it be?
I thought.
We beat them here?

I knew we had driven fast, but not that fast.

We raced over to the limos to cut them off.

Again I thought that I was so fortunate that Axl didn’t see any of this. And Doug, he would not have appreciated my being late, and even worse, he didn’t like when the members of the entourage drank, because we always had to be alert, just in case.

We pulled up to the limo, and I quickly thanked my lady friend, and hopped out of her car. I ran to the back passenger seat of the limo, opened the door, and jumped in.

Right onto Axl’s lap.

I looked up and smiled, and gingerly took the unoccupied seat across from Axl. To make matters worse, there was Doug sitting next to Axl.

The cars that had taken the band and the entourage to the airport, the cars I was supposed to be in, were already at the plane. These limos were taking Axl, Doug, and a few others back from the U2 concert.

Oops.

Axl smirked.

But Doug laid into me.

He pinched his thumb and his index finger together and said, “I have this much respect for people who drink and get drunk.”

That night changed my life.

Literally.

Axl was very cool about it. In fact, he laughed about it on the plane and told me not to worry about it. But Doug was my buddy from Air Supply, and I was hired because I wasn’t “that guy.” And I let him down.

But it was a blessing. I slowed down my drinking a lot for the rest of the tour, and when we got off the road, after the tour was over, after one or two more binges with Natasha, I remembered what Doug said that night. And in 1994, my wife and I quit drinking.

We haven’t had a drink since.

I did not have an “official” drinking problem, but I’m sure it could have easily headed that way. I mean, come on, I was on tour with Guns N’ Roses. That could have gone so bad. But it didn’t.

That night changed my thinking, and I am fully convinced that my wife and I are successful today because we don’t drink. We wake up every day, sharp, ready to conquer the day. And we feel great.

We think about having a glass of wine again, someday, and maybe we will. But thanks to that night in Oklahoma City, I gained a new outlook on where I wanted to go in life, and who I wanted to be.

Thanks, Doug.