Clapton_ The Autobiography - Eric Clapton [74]
I went to see Robert Stigwood, who at that time was as heavily involved with other projects as he was with me. Onstage he had Jesus Christ Superstar, Oh! Calcutta!, and Hair, he was producing the film of Tommy, and he was managing the Bee Gees, so he appointed someone full-time to give me the time and attention he felt I deserved. The guy he chose was Roger Forrester, a sharp, humorous northerner who had been working at his company, RSO, for some time as a booking agent. I knew Roger, as he’d organized some of my tours, and with his big, tinted, TV-shaped glasses, natty suits, kipper ties, and comb-over haircut, I’d always regarded him as a bit of a character.
Jack and Ginger were always trying to make his life misery—Ginger, for example, loved to take his dogs into his office and encourage them to chew the place up—but they rarely got the better of Roger, who could always see them off with his sharp patter and witty one-liners. He was no novice in the world of show business, having started his career promoting wrestling matches in workingmen’s clubs before going on to work with pop groups like the Honeycombs and Pickety Witch. It is extraordinary that he ended up with me, as we were such different people, poles apart really. I was into fairly esoteric things, art, cinema, and street fashion, while he liked to portray himself as a central-casting working-class lad living on a diet of bangers and mash. Somehow we met in the middle and got on very well.
With the huge success of “I Shot the Sheriff” and the subsequent release of the album 461 Ocean Boulevard in July 1974, it was time to go out on the road again, and Stigwood had planned a massive six-week, twenty-eight-city tour of North American stadiums, a decision that the newly appointed Roger apparently profoundly disagreed with. He felt that I should be brought back slowly and gently, with a shorter tour playing in smaller venues. For whatever reason, the Stigwood plan held and we were off again, big-time.
During his pre-Stigwood career, Roger had made some interesting connections in the East End, including Laurie O’Leary, who had managed Esmeralda’s Barn for the Krays before taking over the Speakeasy. He brought in Laurie’s brother Alphi to work for me as my personal assistant and bodyguard. Alphi was an unforgettable character, a huge, powerfully built man with permed hair who stood at least six-foot-four. He had a strange kind of neck movement, as if he’d broken it at some time, and because he could hardly move his head, when he turned to look at you, he had to move the entire top half of his torso, which gave him rather a sinister air. Menacing though he may have looked, it was all a front, because he was in fact an extremely deep and gentle man. But as my minder, he often had to do things that would be morally difficult for anyone, like forcibly ejecting people from situations where they were not wanted. This would make him suffer dreadful remorse for days, but he would swallow it and continue to put on a fierce front. In truth, he was the definitive gentle giant.
Roger may have had misgivings about my going on tour, but I didn’t. I had buried myself away for quite long enough. Anyway, I was too drunk most of the time to notice whether or not the tour was doing me any harm. Drink turned me into the worst kind of prankster. For example, Stigwood decided that rehearsals for the tour should take place in Barbados, so he rented us a large villa on the beach. I remember arriving there to find that the staff had prepared a delicious dinner of spaghetti Bolognese in our honor. I had scarcely sat down before I picked up my plate and threw it all over somebody. Soon