The Battle of the Band of Jokers

Even a little fib is a dangerous thing.

I am amazed at how many “facts” turn out to be false. For example: Cracking knuckles leads to arthritis. Salt makes water boil faster. It takes seven years for gum to digest. Carrots improve your vision. Sitting too close to the TV can damage your eyes. Goldfish have three-second memories (sorry Ted Lasso!)

Why have we believed these? Probably because we heard them over and over until we accepted them as common knowledge. Some originated as half-truths, some as assumptions, and some came out of thin air. But apparently they are all fiction. 

Thin air was the origin of a lie I helped perpetuate many years ago, and though I sometimes laugh at the story now, at the same time I feel pangs of guilt, because it confirms a troubling principle that has become more apparent to me the older I get and the more our society becomes polarized. The principle is this: Lies start easily, and the more they are repeated, the greater the chances of people believing them. 

Back in the early 70s I traveled with seven friends in a dance band called “Special Guest.” Based out of our home state of Texas, we performed the hits of the day in night spots throughout the South.

On one road trip our bass player Chuck brought along a tee shirt he had ordered from a shop that did custom lettering onto fabric. The shirt was created as a joke for the rest of us to enjoy, bearing, in bold block letters, the words: “SPECIAL GUEST—WINNER OF THE 1972 NATIONAL BATTLE OF THE BANDS.”  

Our group had never competed in a battle of the bands, much less one featuring groups from around the country. None of us knew if a national battle of the bands even existed, but it really didn’t matter. We all thought the shirt’s message was hilarious, and over the months it became a running joke. For example, if someone hit a wrong chord during rehearsal, another band member would taunt, “We’re never going to win the National Battle of the Bands again that way!” Other times after a particularly good performance someone might later quip, “And that’s why we won the National Battle of the Bands!” 

We never thought someone would actually take the shirt’s message seriously.  

That is, until one evening in Houston where we were scheduled to perform. We all arrived at the venue in tee shirts and jeans to set up our equipment before changing into our performance outfits, and Chuck was wearing his shirt with the iron-on joke blazoned on the front. Apparently someone didn’t know it was a joke, because later when it was show time, the club owner announced to the assembled crowd, “Ladies and gentlemen, would you welcome, from right here in Texas, one of the top groups in the country, and winner of the 1972 National Battle of the Bands—Special Guest!” 

The room erupted in thunderous applause as we stared open-mouthed and red-faced at the appreciative audience. It took a few seconds, but we quickly and collectively recovered from the joke-now-turned-bald-faced lie, counting off our opening number as the dance floor filled with impressed patrons. 

During breaks, people came to the stage to bestow compliments such as, “I can see why you guys won the Battle of the Bands. You’re terrific.” “It’s so great that the national winners were from right here in Texas,” others piped. “We’re so proud.” 

What could we say? “Thank you,” we mumbled. No other words seemed appropriate when we realized it was too late to put the bogus genie back in the bottle. 

Just the same, we felt guilty for the deception. Chuck didn’t wear his shirt for a few weeks and the remorse gradually faded away. Then, one afternoon in Savannah, Georgia our aged tour bus pulled into the parking lot of a club where we were to begin a two-week residency. As we drove up, we looked out the windows and gasped at the words on the club’s marquee—“Tonight! Winners of the 1972 National Battle of the Bands, Special Guest.” 

We let out a collective groan. Our fraudulent claims had somehow followed us a thousand miles from home. 

We discovered the hard way that once we let a little lie go by unchecked, we had to keep lying to save face. Doing anything else jeopardized our employment by the club owner who had used our subterfuge for advertising purposes. Customers asked us, “When and where was the National Battle of the Bands held?” “Last summer in New York.” was the agreed-upon answer.

The lie grew as we tried to keep our story straight, and we weren’t always successful. One evening a customer fired a question at me out of the blue. “Ever been to New York?” he quizzed.  

Without thinking, I blurted out the truth. “Nope, but I’d like to go.” In the next breath I recognized the reason for the question and suddenly added, “What I mean is that I’ve never been sightseeing there. It was just a quick trip in and out.” The guy’s dubious gaze told me that he suspected an inconsistency in our wild tale, and I prayed he’d keep it to himself. Apparently he did, because we finished our two-week stay with our reputations intact.  

Now, years later when my old band buddies get together, someone inevitably brings up the Battle of the Bands story for a laugh. We tell ourselves that we would never get away with such a web of dishonesty nowadays; after all, everyone has the Internet to fact-check those kinds of reports. But then I ask myself, “Why do so many lies persist today, even when the truth is easy to find?”  

My answer? It’s probably for the same reasons people believed our story back then. Just like those fellow Texans whose pride came from their home-state band receiving an “honor,” many of us today accept as true most anything that makes us (or “our tribe”) look good. And just like the 1970s club owner who used our fabrication to draw in customers, people today create a following simply by espousing whatever’s good for business or whatever draws the biggest crowds or social media followers. With those kinds of rewards, they rationalize, what’s the big deal?

Just like the unfounded belief that carrots improve your vision, it’s easy to see why even the most preposterous of myths, if repeated enough, can be elevated to “common knowledge.” It’s my reminder to always research any “fact” before I share it, even if it makes me look good, or feel good, or states something I would like to be true.  

By the way, there is a National Battle of the Bands. It’s held every year. But we never won it. In fact, it would not have been possible for us to win it. That’s because it’s a competition for college marching bands.  

Yep, I looked it up.

 © Nick Walker 2022