S O U T H E R N
A U T H O R
"A Play for Power"
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Another slice of American Pie?
"Heaarrts ... made of stone (doo-do-wah, doo-do-wah-da-doo) will never break. And the love you give, it just won't take." Before recordings by Bill Black's Combo, Elvis and John Fogerty, a doo-wop group called "The Charms" made "Hearts of Stone" number one at our after-school hangout, and number one on the TV show "Your Hit Parade." Unfortunately, Snooky Lansen couldn't do it justice. To grind out "Hearts of Stone," you had to feel it in your gut ... you had to know the blues ... you had to be black.
The smell of French fries bubbling in hot oil and hamburgers cooking on a griddle, takes me back. Back to a time when no one confused three deuces and two fours with a poker hand. Back when only the coolest dudes around had shaved hoods, shaved door handles and shiny moon hubcaps. A time when getting a date with the homecoming queen demanded you have fancy wheels, fender skirts, dual glass-paks, a rolled and pleated interior and four-in-the-floor.
After the last school bell rang, our crowd would gather at the Bass Grill up the street from our high school. We strolled in two-by-two. Guys wearing their football jackets with leather sleeves, their arms around gals in high school sweaters and poodle skirts. A few ker-chings later, and the old Wurlitzer jukebox began belting-out those early rock ‘n' roll tunes. Tunes like "Hearts of Stone," "Work with Me Annie," "Annie Had a Baby" and "Dance with Me Henry." Even though it was a half-century ago, I remember their jarring beat like it was yesterday.
My parents - most parents - hated rock ‘n roll. They called it "nigger music." When Elvis came along sporting long sideburns and ducktails, he became a hated icon for this new breed of outlaw music. According to parents, educators and Baptist preachers everywhere, "It's Alright" and "Blue Suede Shoes" threatened to sully an entire generation.
Perhaps you had to be there. To be fourteen or fifteen with hormones raging. To hear the Royals - later renamed Hank Ballard and the Midnighters - perform "Work with Me Annie." To see Diane in her white short shorts dancing at the pavilion beside the pool at Venetian. To steal your first kiss while Pat Boone sang "Love Letters in the Sand" on the car radio. To slow dance with your honey to Johnny Mathis singing "Chances Are" or "The Twelfth of Never."
Yep, rock ‘n roll defined our generation. Heck, for me, it chronicled forever the entire process of growing up. Gimme a song and I can tell you who, when and where. What I was doing and who I was doing it with!
For example, at fifteen, my first real sweetheart was Alice. She was an Elvis freak. She loved "All Shook Up," "Jailhouse Rock" and "Teddy Bear." My favorites were "Party Doll," "Wake Up Little Suzie," and Buddy Holly's "That'll Be the Day." Our first car date was to see the movie "Tammy" at the Fox Theater downtown. Afterwards, while cuddling in the back seat of a friend's ‘46 Chevy Coupe, I stole my first kiss.
At sixteen, I played the field. There was Peggy, Fay, Dee, Ann and Lannie. "Twilight Time" by the Platters provided the perfect backdrop for a little smooching before the movie at the Piedmont or Scott Drive-in. On the way home, Connie Francis might sing, "Who's Sorry Now?" Conway Twitty might croon, "It's Only Make Believe." Or my favorite, the Teddy Bears, might sing their inspirational hit, "To Know Him is to Love Him."
At seventeen, I found Lynn. While our little rock band provided the background music, she modeled for a teenage fashion show in the Magnolia Room of the Rich's Department Store downtown. Oh my gosh! Was this true love? It didn't matter. In time, songs like the Platters' "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes," "Sixteen Candles" by the Crest, "Donna" by Richie Valens, "Come Softly to Me" and "Mister Blue" by the Fleetwoods said things we wanted to say but couldn't.
At eighteen, Jane was my main squeeze. An all-A student, she was perhaps the most intelligent gal I ever dated. She also accompanied me to the Senior Prom and my high school graduation. Afterwards, we esoterically discussed the evolution of the species and the big bang theory, while we listened to songs like "It's Now or Never," "Teen Angel," "Stay" and a little-known personal favorite called "Tragedy."
At twenty, I met my wife of forty-three years. In 1961, I had the band for her engagement ring fashioned after "The Twist!"
Oh well, you get the picture.
Rock ‘n roll music of the fifties and sixties was memorable. So were the performers. Unlike the groups of today, they had names that made sense: the Chirpin' Crickets, the Shadows, the Hollywood Argyles, the Shirelles, Danny and the Juniors and the Dreamweavers.
Rock ‘n roll music defined our culture and ruled our pocketbooks. The Wall Street Journal noted its impact on America's young consumer market when its headline read, "Elvis Presley is a business." The article reported on the singer's record and merchandise sales. It may have been the first time a journalist described an entertainer as a business. Half a century later, historian Ian Brailsford wrote, "The phenomenal success of rock ‘n' roll and Elvis Presley in 1956 convinced many doubters of the financial opportunities existing in the youth market."
Yep, back then, like Elvis, all the guys wore black slacks. And black, pink, or pink and black, open collar shirts. We grew long sideburns and combed our hair back on the sides. Like James Dean, we pulled our belt buckles to the side to keep from scratching the rod. On prom night or other special occasions, we wore a red, powder blue or plaid dinner jacket like one of the doo-wops. And like Brenda Starr's mystery man, we confidently presented our stiffly coiffured date all decked-out in her prom dress with a black orchid. (Nothing says you love 'em like a black orchid!)
Influenced by rock ‘n roll? You betcha. But sullied? I hardly think so. Perhaps dancing to the hard driving, so-called African beat of the music wore us out, but most of the time we stayed out of trouble.
Yeah, there was the Halloween night a bunch of us were cruising around and I egged a carload of Marines coming home from a reserve meeting. (Thank God, I knew one of them or we would have never gotten away with simply wiping-up the mess with our shirts.)
Then there was the time a night camera caught me throwing a flaming highway smudge pot onto the class sissy's front porch. (I had a difficult time talking my way out of that one.)
And let's not forget when I was chasing a friend with a flashing red emergency light suction-mounted to the top of my car. I spun out on a curvy road and the right front wheel clipped a high curb. The chase was over. I wobbled home at 15-mph. The next day, I told my Dad that I'd accidentally bumped a curb and suggested the car might need an alignment. It needed more than an alignment. To get it to roll straight and true required $150 worth of parts and a new rim. (That's when I gave up chasing cars.)
Even though then like now I was sometimes out of control, it was a simpler time. A safer time. A great time to date and to grow up. In the fall, there was football and sock hops. Wintertime meant a trip to McKee's Beat, a teenage dance hall downtown operated by a DJ from WAKE radio, or maybe to the Saturday night sock hop atop the YWCA building, sponsored and hosted by WGST Radio's Paul Drew.
In the summer, there was Mooney's Lake, Misty Waters, Glenwood Springs, Clifton Springs, and of course, Diane at Venetian. And let's not forget my favorite pastime - summer or winter - fogging-up the car windows at the drive-in.
After a night of burning calories by whatever means, there were burgers at the Rajar or Seven Steers, or perhaps hot dogs at the Varsity or the Dog ‘n' Suds.
As I mentioned, at seventeen, I began playing professionally in a little four or five piece rock ‘n roll band. I was expert on tenor sax and could hold my own on rhythm guitar. The money I made bought me a better car, nicer clothes and paid my all college bills. Now, like Chuck Berry, I can proudly say, "Hail, Hail Rock ‘n' Roll!"
I know it's a sign of age to take these strolls down memory lane. But rock ‘n' roll music was a big part of my life. I don't want to lose the memories. Besides, a big slice of American Pie now and then is lower in calories than even a small slice of something from my latest sweetheart Paula Deen's cookbook.