I don't tell no bosses. "Hello, Cab Calloway. How are you? " I don't go to his dressing room. I stay . . . Say, "How you doing, Danny Barker? " I say, "Fine. How you doing, Cab Calloway? How's everything? " Cab Calloway is busy in his office. They got some musicians who will be at Cab Calloway's door, talking to him. I don't know what you're going to talk about. Cab Calloway must have a million, he had a million plus then. What I'm . . . Got two pennies in my pocket. What I'm going to be running up in Cab Calloway's face? You're not respected when you be running up in boss's face. Is that right? You stay away from the boss. Let him send for you. When I got out there and found out with the money, making a hundred . . . got up to a hundred and a quarter a week. Man, after I payed my bills and buy my food and send 50,dollars home, most of the time 50 every week . . . She could manage. Great manager. Man, I didn't have nothing.  We bought them big Taylor trunks. Big as this thing. The old show trunks. All big time show people used to buy them. There were hundreds of them around New York in storage where shows had flopped. Fanny Brice's trunk. Mae West's trunk. Eva Tanguay's trunks. W. C. Field's trunks. All them trunks, they had a certain warehouse on Broadway that used to take these trunks. You put them in storage, and if the guys wouldn't . . . after a certain date, wouldn't pay up the bills for the trunk, these people kept them trunks. When you want [? (inaudible)], had to pay storage, or they would sell them. These trunks had a ironing board in it, a iron. You could iron your clothes. They had a little compartment there where you could save your money. If a burglar broke in, if he didn't know what's what, you could put your money. Stash, in other words. I got one of them big trunks. I like clothes. I couldn't buy no clothes on the road. I stayed them seven years in a big front with nothing to back it up, because you couldn't save nothing. That didn't mean nothing to me. And then I [? (inaudible)]. I'm a composer. I'm a writer. I got about 50 tunes on records. I don't get the royalties I should get, because the publishers, they got a thing they do. You sign with a publisher. He's got your tune for 15, 20 years, and he wills it to his nephew. When he dies, his nephew changes the name of the company on purpose, with the copyrights, and it take . . . you have to get a Supreme Court judge lawyer to check out your tunes, where it was sold to this cousin, to that cousin, and this uncle and his grandchild. That goes for everybody, regardless of race. When you hit Broadway, them people sitting in them offices late at night calculating how to wreck you out your money legitimately. They don't shoot you with a pistol. They shoot you with a pencil. They thinking [? (inaudible)]. Calculating.