A couple of young guys, barely more that kids, really, opened a coffee house in a small town across Puget Sound from Seattle and up north on the Olympic Peninsula. They hired both me and a young woman named Marilla Waesche (WAY-she) to sing there for their opening weekend.

Apparently the good people in this small logging town who came to the opening, all quite young, didn't know how to behave in an establishment with entertainment, such as a coffee house. I think they were used to sitting there with a juke box blatting away, and the louder it blatted, the louder they talked.

The owner introduced me to the crowd, then I went out and launched into my first song. They kept right on talking. In fact, totally ignored me. I'd reach the end of a song, no applause. I probably would have got a better response if I'd stood there and belched!

Anyway, when I finish my first set, I was mad enough to spit. I was used to Seattle audiences, most of whom came, not to pay exorbitant prices for a tricked-up cup of coffee, but to listen to the singer.

And I thought about Marilla, who was up next. I learned that she had only been playing the guitar and singing for about a year and other than at a few small parties, had never sung in front of an audience before. This was her first gig. She was a very pretty girl and she had a really nice voice. And I knew she was very nervous. This audience could be a really traumatic experience for her, and a real turn-off.

So—I set my guitar aside, stood there, and yelled, "HEY!! SHUT THE HELL UP!!"

I knew that the young owners of the place could fire me on the spot and never ask me back, but at this point, it was a consummation devoutly to be wished. I didn't give a damn.

This caught them by surprise. They became dead quiet and stared at me with their mouths open.

I said, "I've sung all around the Pacific Northwest, and I've sung all up and down the Pacific Coast, and back in Eastern Canada! But I have to say that THIS is the RUDEST AUDIENCE I have ever encountered? Don't you people know how to behave in a place like this?"

A lot of open-mouthed blinking.

"Now look," I said, a bit more quietly. "There's another singer here who is singing her first engagement, and she's a bit nervous. And with an audience like you people are being, she has every right to be. If you folks have any courtesy and consideration in you at all, please keep quiet while she sings and, for heaven sake give her a chance!"

Then I introduced Marilla.

They sat there like polite little ladies and gentlemen, and listened to her. They saw that she WAS good, and even though her repertoire was small, she knew some good songs. They applauded. A bit politely at first, and then with enthusiasm. She went over well.

The young owner of the place came up to me, I wasn't sure what to expect. "Thank you, thank you!" he said. "I'm so sorry! I guess around here, they're just not used to places like coffee houses and night clubs. But thanks a million for getting them straightened out. Actually, when they acted the way they did when you first started singing, I should have come out and told them to behave themselves!"

My next set went over well. By now, they had learned how to listen. And apparently the word got around, because the following night, they were as good as gold!

By the way, Marilla went on to sing lots more engagements, then I lost track of her when she went back East to school.

Don Firth