Anyone who has enjoyed or suffered my rants about 60's music knows that I
relate strongly to song lyrics, factoids about the singer or
songwriter, and other way-back information. In my perfect world, we'd
all converse in early 60's song lyrics.
A couple of years ago Susan and I were eating lunch at Elmo's on 9th
Street, I ordered my usual meatloaf and mashed potatoes. The
unsuspecting waitress asked innocently, "Would you like gravy with your
mashed potatoes?" I answered excitedly, "Yes, because there was a record
around 1962 called 'Give Me Gravy With My Mashed Potatoes.' The Gravy
was a new dance and it was Dee Dee Sharp's follow-up to her earlier
hit!" Susan started to roll her eyes and the poor server started to ease
away from our table, likely wondering how much time she had left in her
shift, whether she should call Security, or hang in there in the hopes
of getting a big tip. She chose the last option, and every one was
happy, I think.
In the 70's and 80's, I enjoyed other Philly groups like the O'Jays and
Delphonics. But the authorities tell me that I've exceeded the limit on
music trivia, so on to hospital matters.
I'm writing at the hospital, where I'm about to receive my 15th out of
20 radiation treatments. Any one who has been hospitalized for a while
knows that there are occasional "indignities" that are part of the
process. They may be absolutely necessary, e.g., getting constantly
pricked for blood samples or IV hookups, but they feel intrusive after a
while. I'm currently an outpatient, but the worst part of sessions is
having to wear the gowns required for radiation. Before your name is
called, you take off your clothes above the belt. Then you put on this
long, cotton gown, with the open side to the back. Over that, you then
put another gown with the open side in front.
Because my Main Advisor for All Things In Life--Susan--isn't present to
direct my arms, I struggle to find a way to tie loose ends. While
walking back to the radiation room, I grab a handful of robe above and
below the belt in a usually successful effort to prevent the whole mess
from slipping off. My lurching past other patients bears a resemblance
to a zombie in the movie "Night of the Living Dead."
A little (bald) boy, aged 4 or so, just rang the bell. Now he's posing
for photos with his grandparents. Yay for him and his family and all the
good folks who have treated him.
--Peter K
Nice walk down memory lane. Though I was never enough of an aficionado to know these were all Philly groups, or cool enough to have learned the dances, I enjoyed all those songs. The Charlotte Checkers (as in a hockey 'body check') mascot is none other than Chubby! The Tarantino movie Jackie Brown - which you possibly missed:) - has a great moment when a hip Samuel L. Jackson gets into mild mannered, middle aged William Forster's car and "Didn't I Blow Your Mind" is playing, and SLJ says, "I didn't know you dug the Delphonics." The killer song in that movie is Bobby Womack's "Across 110th Street" which is definitely worth a revisit unless it's already in rotation on your play list. In fact, rent the movie; it's fabulously entertaining with a great sound track.
ReplyDeleteAs far as communicating in 60's lyrics, tell Susan the next time I'm in a restaurant I will dutifully ask the waitress, "C'mon baby, let's do the twist." Who knows? I'm sure I've tried worse lines.
Checkers game tomorrow with Matt and my 91 y/o mom (Jessie couldn't make it). Checkers are playing at PNC this weekend due to the NHL Olympics break. Nate
Also, when practicing Int. Med. I tried to be sensitive to the potential indignities. For my office I bought really nice, heavy, white cotton gowns that had an overlapping front and tied on the side.
ReplyDeleteI'd heard of Steve Cropper, but always figured he was in white guy bands. When Jeff was 10 I bought him an Otis Redding cd. A year later, on a weekday, we were in a small outdoor pavilion listening to an all white band, but all black audience. After playing "Try a Little Tenderness' the singer said, "A T shirt to anyone who can tell me who wrote that song." When little, skinny Jeff shouted out Otis Redding, heads turned, and he got a nice round of applause. That's when I knew I was a good dad. That same day Jeff and I ate lunch at Hooters restaurant, as I'd never seen one and had been semi-incredulous that they actually existed. The waitresses seemed like girl-next-door types to me (yeah, I lived in that kind of neighborhood) and were really sweet and proper with Jeff. I'd completely forgotten that part of the day (which in my mind would have made me an even cooler dad) until a few years ago when I told the Otis Redding story and Jeff added that I had also totally embarrassed him by dragging him into a Hooters - like he was victimized by my personal prurient interests! But I've learned in life, you don't do nice things for people expecting gratitude, you just do them because it's the right way to live life.
Years ago at the old Bulls stadium I was at the Blues Festival with a friend who collected guitars. He had the same one Buddy Guy used and actually brought it and a Sharpie with him. We gradually wormed our way to the front rope, as he knew often Buddy would leave from the front of the stage and shake hands & sign autographs. He told me if Buddy thought he was a dealer wanting the signature on the guitar just to increase its value, he just walk on by. As Buddy passed us my friend thrust the guitar and Sharpie across the rope, Buddy paused and did in fact look my friend right in the eye, hesitated, then signed it. A great moment!
Don't forget to record the bell ringing!!
Nate