The story that follows is one most people have never heard anything about. Even Rea hadn't thought of it in a long time. Without delay, he wrote this telling of the curious episode set in motion by the roving movie producers with a 35mm print of "Banjoman" in the trunk of their car.
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As “Banjoman” (1975) had only been in release for a couple of months when it played at the Biograph, the two young independent producers/distributors of the movie told me they were still learning the distribution business on the fly. Consequently, they were on hand at the theater the night their 105-minute movie opened. They had brought the 35mm print with them.
They also brought the sound system that we used to present the film at rock concert volume to our patrons. These guys were about my age (I was 28 at this time). And, I almost think there was a third guy, but I’m not sure.
Note: Traditional distributors, like Paramount, Warner Bros., UA, and so forth, generally shipped the prints of their films to theaters by way of Clark Transfer -- a courier accustomed to handling film shipping cans every day.
My bosses in D.C. had booked the film spontaneously, after meeting one (or more) of the filmmakers in a social situation in Maryland. I don‘t remember any of the details of that occasion. I suppose it was some sort of industry-related affair.
Although it was unusual for distributors to travel with a print of a movie in their car, it was not unprecedented. As an independent exhibitor, the Biograph sometimes rented movies from various off-the-beaten-track sources -- like sub-distributors of obscure flicks working out of a garage, film collectors, etc. -- that large movie chains routinely ignored.
The “Banjoman” producers/distributors actually hung around at the theater during most of the first week's screenings. It was like they couldn't find anything better to do. Nonetheless, at first, they seemed like nice enough guys. And, it so happened they didn’t have much in the way of pressbook materials, ad slicks, etc.
Which meant I put together the Biograph’s display advertisements for the newspaper, by using stills from the film that I got half-toned. I also had some type set and pasted it all up. That led to me agreeing to create similar materials for the banjo men to use in other cities on the rest of their East Coast tour.
We agreed upon my price; it was something quite reasonable, like $250; plus what it cost me to produce a stack of different sized ad slicks for them to use in other cities. They needed that material, because at that point they had two other prints of their movie, with accompanying sound systems, working on the road.
Clue No. 1: Yes, it was unusual when Lenny in D.C. had me pay them their cut of the first week's gross directly, in cash, from box office receipts. Then, when they had to leave after the first week to work in another city, I was told to advance them some money against anticipated receipts. That surprised me, too, but I don't remember if I said so.
Anyway, I kept in touch with the banjo men by telephone. They were anxious to get their new promotional materials from me for their other coming play-dates, so I did a rush job for them, which they said they greatly appreciated. If Lenny and Alan in D.C. trusted these guys, why shouldn't I follow suit?
Then came the day to ship the print and sound system to the banjo men in another city. The run at the Biograph was over. When the truck driver came by the theater, he told me his helper wasn’t with him, so I needed to load the rather heavy equipment on his truck.
Well, at the time, I was nursing a slipped disc in my lower back and I was the only one in the building. Unless I wanted to be laid-up for a spell, I couldn’t lift the stuff.
When the driver asked me how long it would take to get somebody there, to do the lifting, it annoyed me. Therefore, I told the driver it was his job to get that junk on the truck, just to come back the next day with a helper. Yet, as I spoke with him, I suddenly had a hunch that something was wrong.
The truck driver shrugged and said, OK, he’d come back tomorrow. When I told one of the banjo men what had happened, he said there was still enough time to get the equipment set up for the next engagement. So shipping it out the next day would be fine.
Clue No. 2: Later that same day the mailman delivered a bank notice that a $250 good-faith-money check they had written to me had bounced. At this point, in addition to that check, they owed me another $600, or so, most of which I owed to a printer. And, they owed the Biograph maybe another $400, or so, because in the second week of their film’s run it hadn’t lived up to expectations. Unfortunately, it had failed to cover the advance in rental they had received.
By coincidence, I talked with my friend Dave DeWitt right after I got the rubber check in the mail. Dave had moved from Richmond to Albuquerque about a year earlier. At this time, among other ventures, he was hosting a late night movie program on television there.
When I told Dave about the bounced check and about my hunch to delay shipping the equipment, he said he’d heard of the guys who had produced "Banjoman." And, what he'd heard wasn't good. Then he told me he wanted to do a little checking up on them and he'd get back to me.
Clue No. 3: Dave called back soon to tell me the characters I’d been dealing with had left a trail of angry people behind them out in the West, back when they were shooting concert footage of Scruggs' tour. It seemed they had found ways to do a lot of things without paying up front.
After hearing that unsettling news, on the phone, I told the guys who had been conning me that until they settled up, completely, I was keeping their sound equipment and the print of "Banjoman."
They got pissed off and threatened me with legal action. After a couple of months with no word from, them I sold off their sound equipment. It was the sort of stuff a touring band might use.
Then some time later, maybe another couple of months, I was indeed served with legal papers. By way of a local attorney the banjo men sued me for about $90,000. Don't remember how that figure was generated. I laughed and offered their lawyer the print of the film and about $800, which was what the equipment brought in, minus what they had owed the boys in D.C. and me.
Over the telephone line they huffed and puffed again. At this point, I handed over their print of "Banjoman" to their local attorney. After a few weeks of silence, they agreed to take the $800.
In my view, they were lucky to get that. My guess is most of that dough went to that local attorney. Or maybe they somehow stiffed him, too, and moved on.
Never heard another word from those guys. Ever since this episode, when I hear Earl Scruggs’ banjo, I can't help but think of the weaselly banjo men. Ever since this time, with me, a little bit of banjo music goes a long way.
Nonetheless, RIP, Earl.
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