Monthly Archives: May 2017

Lincoln in the Basement Chapter Ten

Previously in the book: President and Mrs. Lincoln are being held captive in the White House basement while lookalikes settle into their places upstairs.
As he began to climb the stairs, Private Adam Christy looked up to see Phebe, stepping lightly and smiling openly at him. Adam could not remember meeting a young, attractive black woman in Steubenville, Ohio. He recalled old black men who cut his hair at the local barbershop. He recalled old black women chasing little white children around the park. He saw strong young black men digging ditches along the road, but he had never encountered a young black woman who smelled of soap and freshly cut vegetables and whose eyes met his as though they were equals. Wondering why this particular black woman knew they were equals made his heart race.
“Did you get everything in the room fine?”
“Yes, fine. Thanks.” As Adam passed Phebe he felt breathless and feared his neighbors in Ohio would not understand or approve of his reaction. When he reached the second floor, Adam looked both ways before walking across the hall to Mrs. Lincoln’s bedroom. As he opened the door and entered with a sigh of relief, he looked up and felt his heart jump into his throat as he saw Mrs. Keckley, hands on her hips, staring at him.
“Now why am I not surprised to see you here?” she said. “But I am curious why a private in the Army of the United States of America boldly walks into the boudoir of the wife of the president.”
His throat constricted, Adam coughed before words came through his lips. “I’m acting on orders from the president,” he said in a whisper.
“And what orders are those, young man?”
Before Adam could find an appropriate reply, Alethia stepped around the corner from Lincoln’s bedroom and spoke. “That’s quite all right, Mrs. Keckley. Mr. Lincoln is waiting for him.”
“Mrs. Lincoln.” Mrs. Keckley’s mouth fell open as she spun around. “I didn’t think you were here. I came back because I didn’t feel right when you dismissed me, and then I saw this strange young man in the hall. There was something in the look of his eyes that—”
“Well, there’s nothing for you to fret about, dear,” Alethia interrupted, guiding her toward the door.
“But you never decided whether you wanted the blue material.”
“That sounds lovely.”
“You finally decided to come out of mourning?” Mrs. Keckley turned and beamed. “Praise the Lord.”
“Oh,” Alethia said, putting her hand to her breast. “I haven’t decided that—yet. What I said was that the blue material was lovely for when I do decide to move from black.”
“Talk to Mr. Lincoln about it, ma’am,” Mrs. Keckley said. “And the Lord. Pray about it. The Lord knows best.”
“Please don’t press me about this, Mrs. Keckley.” Alethia closed her eyes. “I think one of my headaches is coming on.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she replied. “Not another word.” She paused and looked at Alethia sympathetically. “You have your paregoric nearby, don’t you, ma’am?”
“Please go now,” Alethia said.
“If you say so, Mrs. Lincoln,” the black seamstress said with uncertainty as she was being pushed out of the room.
After she closed the door, Alethia turned to smile sweetly at Adam. “That went well, don’t you think?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry to blunder in like this, Mrs. Lincoln, but Mrs. Lincoln wanted some things.” He stopped and involuntarily moved his hand to his mouth. “I mean, Mrs. Lincoln in the basement, the real Mrs. Lincoln; I mean, not to say you’re fake—I guess you are, but I don’t mean to be disrespectful to you…”
“There’s no need to be flustered, young man.” Alethia patted his hand. “I know it’s going to be quite a curiosity to contend with two Mrs. Lincolns, but I feel we must deal with it, for I really don’t believe it’d be conducive to our enterprise for you to know my real name.”
“No, ma’am, you’re right. I mean, I don’t think it’d be right for me to know your name,” Adam said, fumbling his words.
“But I can know your name,” she said.
“Private Adam Christy from Steubenville, Ohio, ma’am.” He grinned.
“We’ll see this venture through, Private Christy,” Alethia said, “and soon our lives will return to normal.” She shook his hand.
“Molly,” Duff called out from Lincoln’s bedroom, “who’s that you’re talking to?”
“This is your new adjutant, dear, Private Adam Christy of Steubenville, Ohio.” Guiding Adam by the hand, Alethia walked into the other bedroom.
“Good to be working with you, Private.” Duff nodded as he finished putting his clothes in the dresser.
“Mrs. Lincoln—downstairs—wants a few things,” Adam said.
“That sounds reasonable.” Duff sat on the edge of the bed. “It seems to me, if we don’t treat those folks in the basement with the best of consideration, they surely will treat us with no consideration when they’re released.”
Alethia stepped toward Duff. “But Mr. Stanton promised…”
“Mr. Stanton’s promises could be empty if the real Mr. Lincoln decides he doesn’t take kindly to this.”
“He should be grateful,” Adam said.
“Well, I’ll be grateful if he’s grateful.” Duff smiled.
For a moment, Adam was taken by the similarities between the two Mr. Lincolns. Both were gaunt, tall, and innately sad. They talked almost the same, although Adam detected a rougher, less educated tone in this one. He did seem to share certain wisdom with the man in the basement, though he did not express it as cleverly. Adam also sensed the impersonator was younger, but older in his view that the world was a place to be feared.
“So.” Duff slapped his hands on his thighs. “What do they want?”
“Oh. Well, Mrs. Lincoln wanted her—well…” Adam paused as he glanced nervously at Alethia.
“I think I know what you mean.” Her eyes lowered, and she nodded. “Her…” Alethia’s voice softened, “…unmentionables.”

James Brown’s Favorite Uncle The Hal Neely Story Chapter Twelve

Leave a reply

Previously in the book: Nebraskan Hal Neely toured with big bands in the Midwest, served in WWII, graduated from college and entered the record manufacturing business. He met King Records mogul Syd Nathan.
(Author’s note: chapters written in italics demote Neely’s own words from his memoirs.)
After getting King’s pressing business for Allied in 1949, I was in Cincinnati on a regular basis. All the staff and employees treated me as if I were one of them. I’d reassess Syd’s operations for him. They were obsolete and needed to be rebuilt with new, more modern equipment much of which could be built in King’s own machine shop. King was “hot.” Good deal all around.
I was now very active in Allied government production and supervised its recording schedules in five New York studios and on Riker’s Island where the Army had a production facility. I commuted between New York, Hollywood, Washington D,C and Cincinnati. It was hectic but rewarding. I loved my job, even the travel. It reminded me of my old band days, different town each day.
Jim O’Hagan died in January of 1950. It happened suddenly with no warning, and I was promoted to vice president and board member. Mary and I moved back into our house in Woodland Hills, California.
In 1952 I was spending most of my time in the East. Mary rented our house, put her little red MG Roadster in storage, and moved to New York. We rented a nice one-bedroom apartment on the East Side at 72nd St. and Second Avenue. Very nice. Mary would help out at the plant each day. We bought an Olds 88 convertible, parked it in a garage on the corner and drove to work each day. Also in 1952 the Army asked me to reconstruct my old 16-piece show band for a concert for 6,000 American and British troops at Wiesbaden Germany Army Air Base. I wore my captain’s uniform.
Union problems developed at the Allied plant. Allied decided to get out of the state of New York and move its business to New Jersey where it built a new plant. I would be the manager. I moved my office back to Hollywood. Mary and I drove back to California, spending a week in Cincinnati seeing Syd and my brother Sam and his wife Hazel who now lived in Dayton. We moved back into our house in Woodland Hills. I began a lucky and happy time. We and some friends went up to Lake Arrowhead and the mountains above San Bernardino over a long weekend. Our son was to be conceived there.
April 26, 1956, Mary went into labor. I cut it pretty close and got there late that evening. A neighbor picked me up at the plane. We took Mary to the hospital about 7 a.m. She and John Wayne’s wife had the same doctor and were both in labor at the same time. Both of us had sons. Mildred Stone, Mary’s mother from Lyons, came out to stay with Mary for as long as necessary. I was under great pressure to get the new plant operational and still take care of my sales duties. I only got home on several weekends and then back to Jersey.
Eventually we decided to move the family to Newark, New Jersey. Mary shipped her MG to the East Coast, and I found us an apartment in a nice section of Newark. She, our son, and I were on an American flight to New York, changing planes in Chicago. The Chicago airport ground crew went on a “sit down” for some gripe. We sat in the airport for about four hours with everyone else. American was able to get us a flight, but it was going to the Newark airport and not LaGuardia. What the hell. We took it. We got in very late that night and took a cab to the apartment which I had rented.
Mary walked in and said, “No way! I want a house.”
Friends of ours, Sid Bart and his wife, lived in a beautiful upscale closed enclave called Smoke Rise in the wooded hills of northern Jersey, close to the village of Mahwah. It was 40 miles from Manhattan.
We found a small house on a hillside, surrounded by trees and a beautiful lawn. It was two stories, two bedrooms, big basement and a huge screened-in back porch. In the back were flowers and a small spring-fed pond. Mary fell in love with it at first sight. We took out a mortgage and moved in. Mary found a nice widow lady to babysit our son, and we joined the country club. I was lucky again and had a good life.

Did I love My Mother?

Leave a reply

“Did you love your mother?”
The question roused Doug from his revelry of blissful mental emptiness. He was not aware that the party chatter had turned to mothers and how great or how nasty they could be. Mostly he questioned why he took a job with a Dallas advertising agency when his college degree was in journalism. The pay was better. That was the only reason he could think of. After all, advertising just elected Richard Nixon president. That night at his boss’s home on the shores of White Rock Lake Doug’s purpose was to maintain a certain level of camaraderie with fellow workers. It certainly was not his love of Cold Duck or the haze of cigarette smoke or that god-awful imitation crab on a cracker.
“I beg your pardon?” he murmured.
“I said, did you love your mother?”
The woman in the beehive hair-do blew cigarette smoke out of the side of her mouth, which served as an indication of good manners. As supervisor of the secretarial pool, she was openly disdainful of young men in the office who held marginally higher job descriptions than she had but who made much more money than she did.
“We’ve all talked about our mothers except you, so I took it as an indication that you didn’t like your mother. You didn’t love her, did you?”
A million memories of his mother rolled through his mind. One time he asked her why black people lived in different neighborhoods than white people. Her eyes hardened and her lips pursed.
“Well, they just don’t have the same ability to think as we do, and it’s just better that they live among their own kind.”
That reason didn’t make any more sense than why blacks had to sit in the movie house balcony, drink from separate water fountains or use separate toilets. However, little Doug knew not to pursue that line of reflection.
One time he overheard his mother tell the neighbor lady about what the preacher’s wife did on Sunday
“There she stood up there in front of the congregation and started talking like she was the minister instead of her husband.” She paused to purse her lips in censure. “And then she bowed her pretty little head and began to pray.”
Doug never understood what was so bad about the preacher’s wife praying at the pulpit, but he knew better than to share his confusion with her.
The next image that came to Doug was the day he walked into the living room to see his older brother stretched out on the sofa and his mother sitting on the edge. Her hand lightly rubbed over his mouth as she said, “You have such lovely broad lips.”
He sat up and asked, “Are you sayin’ I got black lips?”
“Oh,” she huffed. “I can’t say anything to you.”
Doug felt like he had witnessed something wrong on many different levels, even though he didn’t know for sure what they were. He never shared his feelings about either.
One last memory made him shudder. He was in her hospital room. She was hooked up to an IV line and dying of cancer, but he wasn’t supposed to know that. He was instructed not to say the word cancer because she didn’t want to know that she had cancer. How was he to say good-bye when she didn’t want to think about the fact she was going away? He was able to keep a smile on his face until he left the room, and then he cried.
“Well, did you love your mother or not?” The woman with the cigarette wanted to know.
“My mother died of cancer when I was fourteen,” Doug told her. “Thank you for ripping the scab off my scar.”
She stopped puffing smoke out of the side of her heavily painted lips.

Toby Chapter Eighteen

Leave a reply

Previously in the novella: Farmboy Harley Sadler became the star of a traveling tent show in West Texas during the early decades of the 20th Century. After fighting back from the Great Depression, Harley ran for the Legislature and ventured into wildcat oil drilling.
The next few years passed so quickly it was as though Harley were riding a merry-go-round. He hardly noticed he was becoming an old man with wrinkles so deep that makeup failed to hide them. His waistline, though slender compared to other men his age, was thickening. Harley, riding a happy charger, reached for the gold ring of wildcat oil drilling and snatched it the first few times out. He whooped and hugged Billie as they were sprinkled by oil drops from a gusher in the middle of the barren plains.
Gloria, in the meantime, matured into a young lady, educated and becoming less and less inclined to ride the carousel of tent shows which her parents seemed enjoyed so much. The calls from Hollywood offering screen tests from the major studios continued to be rejected.
All a legislator needed to push a bill through to become law was the endorsement of Harley Sadler. He beamed the day the governor signed the redistricting bill. Farrell McConnell, on the other hand, stood in a corner puffing a cigar and wearing a barely disguised scowl.
Harley was too old to enlist at the outbreak of World War II but he fought bravely to sell as many war bonds as he could. His bookkeeper Charlie shook his head when Harley announced free tickets to the show with proof of purchase of a bond. And when he was not on the road with the show he appeared at every bond rally and county fair in Toby attire and makeup to sell even more.
One night the cast took its bows. Harley played the old Southern gentleman and Billie his wife.
“And don’t forget!” he called out. “Buy those war bonds!”
Harley’s big grin faded a bit when Billie squeezed his hand. When he looked at her, he saw she was staring into the audience with grievous apprehension. Harley tried to follow her gaze until he realized Gloria was seated in the middle of the front section. Next to her was a young airman, quite dashing in his uniform.
“Who’s that young man?” he whispered to Billie.
“I don’t know, but I think we’re about to find out.”
As the audience strolled out, Harley and Billie held hands as they approached Gloria and her gentleman. Both wore their best theatrical friendly smiles.
“Mama, Daddy,” Gloria began as enthusiastically as she would announce her plans for a sleepover with all her girlfriends. “I want you to meet Airman John Allen. He’s receiving his flight instruction at Stamford Army Air Corps Base. We’re moving there next week.”
“Nice to meet you, young man.” Harley shook his hand.
“It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
“We?” Billie interjected, obviously picking up on the last sentence of Gloria’s announcement.
“We’re married, Mama,” she said brightly.
“What?!” Billie was on the verge of apoplexy.
“You must believe in love at first sight,” Harley intoned knowingly, eyeing his new son-in-law.
“Yes sir, I do,” he replied in relief.
“Call me Harley.” He looked at his wife as he put his arm around her. “Believe it or not, we did too. A long time ago.”
Billie took a few days to reconcile her past with the future, but eventually she joined in with assisting her daughter move into her new life as an airman’s wife.
John’s training had barely been completed when the war in Europe ended. When the Japanese surrendered, the newlyweds rejoiced that John would continue to be stationed in Stamford as he trained to be a flight instructor. Back in Sweetwater Harley and Billie hugged celebrating their good fortune.
Continued drilling did not bring the results Harley wanted. After initial success with a few gushers, costly water spouts began to drain his bank account. Like a committed poker player, Harley refused to fold, determined to ride out his spate of bad luck.
Relieving the stress of failing as a wildcatting speculator, Harley reveled in his influence in promoting legislation to help his constituents. He had no trouble finding his voice on the floor of the state house.
Gloria’s announcement she was pregnant seemed to signal a positive turn of luck for her parents. Billie’s insecurities bubbled to the surface often so she begged Gloria and John to move into the Sweetwater house. When the first pangs of labor began, they all moved as a well-rehearsed cast. John took the suitcase to the car. Harley with his arm around Gloria guided her out the front door.
“The pains, are they getting any closer?” he asked.
“How the same.” She grimaced then smiled. “What do you want? A boy or a girl?”
Harley was too worried to put on a good face. “I want you to be all right.”
She hugged him. “Do you worship and adore me?”
“I worship and adore you.” And he meant every word of it.
Billie bustled up behind them, waving her arms, the house keys in her hand. “I can’t find the house keys anywhere.”
“They’re in your hand, Mama.” Even though she was in labor and weary of her mother’s absent mindedness she spoke with love and patience.
John returned with the car, lovingly took Gloria in his arms to guide her down the front steps. Harley and Billie stared at each to her.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” he assured her.
“I didn’t ask if they weren’t.”
He smiled weakly. “Maybe I was telling myself.”
“But everything is going to be all right, isn’t it?”
“Of course,” he said.
“If anything were to happen to her, I don’t know if I could stand it.”
They hurried to the car which John drove to the hospital. A nurse waited at the curb with a wheelchair. Harley and Billie helped Gloria out of the car, and he grabbed the suitcase before John drove to the parking area. For the next half hour everything was hectic, checking Gloria in and getting her settled in the hospital. Then the nurses directed them to the waiting room, where all was silence and moving into an eternity of anticipation and anxiety. Eventually Harley and John could not sit any longer and they had to stand and pace.
“It’s been so long.” Billie broke the long hush as she shifted in her seat on the worn sofa. “It reminds me of two years ago when Mama Lou died. They left us in the waiting room forever.”
“The doctor said it was just hard labor, that’s all,” John offered weakly.
Before Harley or Billie could respond, the doctor walked through the door. Billie gasped. Harley and John froze in their places.
“Mr. Allan, may I speak to you?” the doctor asked softly.
Harley instinctively followed John to the doctor. Tears began to well in Billie’s eyes. As the doctor whispered to them, John slumped against the wall. Harley slowly walked to the couch, sat and put his arm around his wife.
“Her little heart just stopped,” he spoke with difficulty. Each word was painful.
Billie cried, turning to bury her head in his shoulder.
“It’s my punishment,” he confessed. “I put her before God. I worshipped her to the point of idolatry.”

Cancer Chronicles

Leave a reply

I recently decided I wasn’t smart enough to own a smart phone. I would be much happier with a dumb one.
Many years ago, Janet decided I needed a cell phone. I had just had a heart attack and had a stent inserted. She didn’t want me to have another heart attack all alone with no one to take me to the emergency room. I could call her. I tell stories at a lot of different places so if I had any palpitations I could call 9-1-1.
This phone had everything on it. Facebook. Video games. Map directions. Anything I wanted on the internet was on that cell phone. The only problem was that I used up all my minutes halfway through the month so I had to put that stupid smart phone in a drawer for two weeks until the next billing period began. It would be dumb to pay for extra minutes.
This also illustrates the irony of our lives. If one of us was going to die early we both figured it would be me with the bum heart. Who knew Janet would develop breast cancer?
It’s been over a year since she died, and I figured I need to go back to the simple reason Janet had for buying the phone in the first place, so I’d be able to call for help if I had another heart attack. She didn’t buy it so I could play games. I cancelled the contract with the old company and found a new phone that made calls and sent texts. That’s all I needed.
Then I got a bill from the old cell phone company for $350. It seems Janet had been paying off her phone and mine a little bit a month and we still owed $350.
Once again I found myself taking my lumps and paying for two cell phones I wasn’t using. Then it struck me that they were still in good condition and maybe I could sell them. I have a friend who knows all that computer stuff and he said they were worth some money. The only problem was he had to know the password and code word to make them operable for a new owner. First I had to come up the answer to the personal questions: what was the name of your first pet and what was the make and model of your first car?
Remembering it was Janet who set the phones up, I had to remember her first dog and her first car, things she had before she even met me. No problem. I knew every detail of her life. Easy answers. The next part was a little harder. I had to come up with her password. Luckily I still have her little blue book of codes and passwords. I found it—matthew2526.
The phones have been sold. Out of curiosity I looked up Matthew 25:26:
His master replied, “You wicked, lazy servant! So you knew that I harvest where I have not sown and gather where I have not scattered seed?
Isn’t it wonderful? I may know the name of her first pet, but I will never comprehend the furthest reaches of her complicated intelligent mind. That’s what made living with her for forty-four years so exciting.

Lincoln in the Basement Chapter Nine

Leave a reply

Previously in the book: Secretary of War Stanton places President and Mrs. Lincoln under guard in the White House basement. Feeble-minded janitor Gabby Zook is found in the corner of the room setting rat traps so he now has to remain. Stanton leaves Private Adam Christy to see to their needs as well as keeping them locked away.

For several moments Mary Lincoln lingered in her husband’s embrace, drying her tears. Finally, she looked up at him with a question in her eyes. “Do you think he’s just joking?”
“It’d require a surgical operation to get a joke into his head,” Lincoln said, giving her a loving hug. “No, I believe he’s quite serious.”
“Then he’s a damned fool,” she replied.
“On the contrary, Molly; it is he who believes me to be the damned fool, and if Mr. Stanton says I am a damned fool, then I must be one, for he’s nearly always right and generally means what he says.”
Adam cleared his throat. “I don’t think Secretary Stanton thinks you’re a fool, sir. I think he just disagrees with your policy.”
“My policy is to have no policy.”
“Well, I think that’s what he means.”
“And you, young man,” Mrs. Lincoln said as she looked at Adam with disdain, “are as big a fool as Mr. Stanton.”
“No, ma’am. I have to respectfully disagree. If we could only explain our position better, I’m sure you’d agree. Perhaps over the next few days I can describe Mr. Stanton’s vision.” Adam smiled broadly, confidently.
“Young man,” Lincoln said after his sad eyes considered the private for a long while, “it is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak up and remove all doubt.”
Adam’s smile slowly faded as the impact of Lincoln’s words sank in. He stepped back in front of the door to stand guard.
Lincoln turned to Gabby, whose mouth was still agape, his eyes filled with uncomprehending fear, and looked at him with sympathy. “Well, my dear friend, you must be frightened out of your wits. I know I am.”
Gabby nodded feebly.
“Now, don’t worry. We’ll all get through this just fine.”
“Cordie’s going to be awfully worried when I don’t make it home tonight.”
“Maybe this young man can do something ’bout that.” Lincoln looked at Adam. “Mr. Stanton did say you were to attend to our needs, did he not?”
“Sir, I already said I would speak to the gentlemen’s sister, sir,” he replied in his best, crisp, detached military voice.
“Cordie comes by Lafayette Park every evening to take me home.”
“Can’t you tell her something?” Lincoln asked.
“I’m not really good at lies,” Adam replied. “But I could make something up.”
“Well, don’t make up anything too fancy.” Lincoln smiled. “No man has a good enough memory to make a successful liar.”
“Yes, sir,” Adam said.
“And how are we to sleep?” Mrs. Lincoln demanded.
“Mr. Stanton said there were extra cots in the next room where I’ll be staying.”
“There’s not enough room for a cot back there, but that’s all right with me.” Gabby looked around at the space behind the crates and barrels. “I can sleep on the floor. It’ll be like camping out. I like camping out. Joe and me, we used to go camping all the time on Long Island. It’ll be just like all the good times camping, except Joe isn’t here.”
“He rambles,” Mrs. Lincoln said, clutching her husband. “I don’t think I can stand staying in a closed space with a man who rambles.”
“Remember Christmas with Billy Herndon?” Lincoln said with a laugh. “The stories that man told, and you couldn’t get him to shut up.”
“Comparing this man to that despicable Billy Herndon doesn’t help the situation.”
Adam cleared his throat. “I can get the cots now, if you please.”
“Yes,” Lincoln said. “That’d be good.”
“I have to lock the door.” He pulled the key from his baggy blue trousers.
“That’s quite all right, son.”
“And chairs, we need chairs,” Mrs. Lincoln said with a sniff. “And a chamber pot—three chamber pots—and a small chest for my clothes…”
“One thing at a time, Molly,” Lincoln interrupted.
“I’ll return shortly,” Adam said, slipping from the room. After locking the door he looked around before going to the next room, where two cots leaned against the wall. Bedding for each sat on the floor beside it. Bending, Adam tried to lift a cot with each arm but found the cast-iron beds too cumbersome. He carried a cot and a bedding bundle, deposited them outside the locked door, and returned for the rest. When he reappeared, Adam stopped abruptly at the sight of Phebe Bartlett leaving the kitchen.
“You need some help?” Phebe said, an open smile gracing her handsome, dark brown face.
“Yes.” Adam smiled, fumbling with the cot and bedding. “Oh.” Suddenly his eyes widened. “I mean, no. No, I don’t need any help.”
“It won’t be no bother.” Phebe turned to the kitchen door. “Neal, the soldier boy needs help with some cots.”
“No, really,” Adam said. “I don’t want any help.”
“Good,” Neal’s voice boomed from the kitchen. “I didn’t want to help no white boy do his work anyway.”
“He was just kidding.” Phebe frowned and looked at Adam. “He’s a big kidder.”
“That’s all right.” Adam paused, shifted from one foot to another. “Do you have someplace to go?”
“I was going upstairs to ask Mrs. Lincoln what soup she wants with supper.”
“Oh, she’s…” Adam glanced at the billiards room, stopped, then pointed to the stairs. “Yes, she’s in her room, I think.”
“For a new face, you sure know a caboodle about the Lincolns.”
“I’m on special assignment.” He coughed. “You better be on your way.”
Shrugging good-naturedly, Phebe turned the corner and disappeared. Adam waited until he heard the crackling of the straw mats under her feet as she climbed the service stars. Quickly unlocking the door and pushing the cots and bedding into the room, he looked at the Lincolns. “Here they are. Where do you want them set up?”
“In the corner, of course,” Mrs. Lincoln said. “And I insist on curtains. I don’t want this person”—she nodded toward Gabby—“coming around the corner of the crates to see me dressing. That’d be totally unacceptable.”
“Of course, madam.” Adam nodded.
“Bring me the curtains in my bedroom. They’re of French fabric with allows me to see out, but no one can see in.”
“But won’t that arouse suspicion, having the curtains removed from Mrs. Lincoln’s bedroom?” Adam asked, furrowing his brow.
“Young man, I am Mrs. Lincoln.” Her voice rose. “And no one is allowed in my private quarters except Mr. Lincoln and Mrs. Keckley. And when it comes to Mrs. Keckley, you’ll have to explain more than the disappearance of mere curtains.”
“Be sure to bring her bottle of paregoric.” Lincoln put his hands on his wife’s shoulders. “It’s in the top drawer of the chest in her room.”
“Also my underthings,” Mrs. Lincoln said, her eyes widening. “You must bring them down here immediately. I don’t think it’s proper to have a young ruffian such as you handling my delicate items, but I suppose there’s no way around it.”
“I’ll try to be respectful,” Adam said earnestly as he left the room. Locking the door, he sighed, hoping he would remember everything Mrs. Lincoln had requested. This project was becoming more complicated than originally planned. Stanton had made it seem like such a noble endeavor, upholding the ideals of Union and abolition. Adam had not imagined wrestling with the logistics of chamber pots, paregoric, and French lace curtains.

James Brown’s Favorite Uncle The Hal Neely Story

Leave a reply

Nebraskan Hal Neely played in big bands before World War II. After the war he graduated from college and began in the record business and met King Records mogul Syd Nathan.
(Author’s note: the following chapter is from my research of material mentioned in Neely memoirs, which are printed in italics.)

Shortly after their initial meeting, Nathan hired Neely to update King’s dilapidated factory. The first phase was changing from the 78 RPM format to 45 RPM. The old format was still popular in the hillbilly and R&B markets because many of the customers still used hand-cranked players which only used 78 RPM. However, Nathan wanted to convert to the new format not only because it would give him additional sales but would also give him access to placing hits on the pop charts.1
Forty-fives were becoming the state-of-the-art in sound fidelity and the preferred choice of those buyers who had money to spend on them. Hence, music released on 45 RPMs had a better chance to place on the popular charts.
Evolving technology notwithstanding, there was the ultimate financial decision to move to the smaller 45s. RCA Victor introduced 45s on seven-inch vinyl discs which could hold as much sound as the 12-inch 78 RPMs.2 Less material—lower cost, another factor that the always penurious Nathan surely considered.
In December of 1950 King Records produced “Sixty Minute Man” by Billy Ward and His Dominoes. It became the first crossover hit from the rhythm and blues charts to Billboard’s pop charts. What ensured the success of “Sixty Minute Man” was the outrage spawned by the suggestive lyrics. Many radio stations around the country refused to play it, making it the biggest R&B hit of 1951 and probably the biggest R&B record of the first half of the 1950s. It sold mostly to white teenagers who were in their Rebel Without a Cause phase. It also reached No. 17 on the pop charts. Critics said “Sixty Minute Man” went too far with its lyrics about a “mighty, mighty man” known as “lovin’ Dan” with “kissing,” “teasing,” “squeezing,” and “blowing my top.”3
This success actually occurred on the Federal label which King had just created to act as a subsidiary for mostly R&B, jazz, and blues artists discovered by King’s newest artist representative, Ralph Bass. Bass originally worked for Black and White Records during the time of Jack McVea’s hit “Open the Door, Richard.”
Bass, born in 1911 in New York, was a white man of mixed Jewish-Italian ancestry who said he blurred the ethnic line with ease.4 He described himself as a “jive-talking wheeler-dealer, half artist and half con artist.” He was the key operator at Federal Records from 1951 to 1958. Besides Black and White Records, Bass worked with other labels such as Bop, Portrait and Savoy.
“Look, babe, I am in black music,” Bass said in a 1984 interview. “Being white, I had a lot to overcome to gain the confidence of blacks so they would accept me as being for real, not just a jive cat who was gonna take advantage of them. I had to learn the language all over again. I didn’t really become a different person, but I acclimated myself to what was happening with blacks in the South.”
Bass was introduced to Syd Nathan by Ben Bart of the booking agency Universal Attractions.
“I wanted to quit Savoy so bad, but I couldn’t afford to,” Bass said. Nathan offered him a generous financial deal, so Bass moved to Cincinnati. “I was going from the frying pan into the fire.”5
After the success of the Dominoes, Bass acquired Hank Ballard and the Midnighters, a Detroit vocal group discovered by King’s Detroit branch manager, Jim Wilson. Bass and his group recorded several songs in 1952 and 1953 which received mediocre reception. However, in 1954, within days of release “Work with Me, Annie” went to No. 1 on Billboard’s R&B chart, mostly because, like “Sixty Minute Man,” it had so-called “dirty leerics.”6
“Annie, please don’t cheat
Give me all my meat
Oh, ooooooh, weeeee
So good to me
Work with me, Annie…”7
Ballard and the Midnighters followed up their success within three months with “Annie Had A Baby.”8
“Now I know, and it’s understood
That’s what happens when the gettin’ gets good
Annie had a baby…”9
King followed up these hits with other songs with sexual innuendo, such as “Keep On Churnin’” by Wynonie Harris, “Big Ten Inch Record” by Bullmoose Jackson and “My Ding-a-ling” by Dave Bartholomew. Eventually King compiled all the records together in one album called “Risky Blues.” Despite the financial success of these records, King came under attack in an editorial called “A Warning to the Music Business” in none other than Billboard Magazine.10
“What are we talking about? We’re talking about rock ‘n roll, about ‘hug’and ‘squeeze’ and kindred euphemisms which are attempting a total breakdown of all reticence about sex. In the past such material was common enough but restricted to special places and out-and-out barrelhouses. Today’s ‘leerics’ are offered as standard popular music for general consumption by teenagers. Our teenagers are already setting something of a record in delinquency with this raw material idiom to smell up the environment still more.”11
The Billboard editorial unleashed a torrent of other criticisms, such as comments by Los Angeles disc jockey Peter Potter who said, “All rhythm and blues records are dirty and as bad for kids as dope.”
Another disc jockey, Zeke Manners, opined that Potter’s comments were extreme but did discount the modern music as a fad.
“The R&B following is limited to teenagers, white as well as colored, and to listeners that are musically immature. I don’t even say that it does any harm, but it is merely a passing craze with the kids of all races. And what do kids buy? Nothing but rhythm and blues records.”12
In reaction to the editorial and comments by disc jockeys, John S. Kelly, vice president and general manager of King, submitted the following letter for the next issue of Billboard Magazine:
We know that we are not without guilt in having in the past allowed some double-entendre tunes to reach the public, but I can assure you there will be no repetition. Several months ago we took definite steps to eliminate the possibility of objectionable material being recorded by or for our A&R (artist and repetoire) men on our three labels, King, Federal and Deluxe, by writing to them as follows:
‘We do not need dirt or smut to write a song. Imagination, newness of ideas, hard work to generate original new sounds, lyrics, and tunes will do the job all the time. This is just a reminder that we will never relent again and allow any off-color lyrics. If any of you record such material you, yourself, will have to pay for that part of the session that will be thrown out because of improper lyrics. Our policy is definitely established and that policy is to reject a tune if, in our opinion, it is unsuitable for the teenage group, who today are heavy buyers of R&B, as well as pop releases. We know that at times there will be a difference of opinion as to whether a given word or phrase measures up to our good intentions, but I believe you will agree that we in this company are sincerely trying to abolish the objectionable songs.’”13
Ralph Bass, in a 1994 interview, said he never recalled receiving a copy of the memo. “I was in Los Angeles, living there again and running the branch office. All of a sudden, white kids were buying black records for the first time.” A television interviewer wanted Bass to come on his show to talk to a politician, a woman with her 11-year-old daughter and the head of the PTA. “So I got on the show and I said, ‘Look, when it comes to something where white people don’t understand the language used, they immediately think in the worst terms. They don’t think in humorous terms, they just think it’s nasty.” Bass asked the little girl if she liked “Work With Me Annie” and she said yes because she “liked the beat.”14
King’s Detroit branch manager Jim Wilson, who had brought Hank Ballard to King’s attention in the first place, said he “believed that (dirty lyric) music helped younger whites to pass up some of the prejudices held by their parents.”15
Music historians pointed out King vice president Kelley was clever in his statement to leave an escape clause for the company which would excuse an occasional slip-up. His exemptions left the door open for King to release the often-controversial lyrics of hits by James Brown who was just about to hit the national scene. 16
Footnotes
1 History of the Gramophone Record, http://www.45-rpm.org.uk/history.html.
2 Powers, Brian, History of King Records, Public Library of Cincinnati.
3 King of the Queen City, 87.
4 Ibid., 88.
5 Powers, Brian, History of King Records, Public Library of Cincinnati.
6 King of the Queen City, 92-93.
7 Powers, Brian, History of King Records, Public Library of Cincinnati.
8 Ibid.
9 Ibid.
10 Ibid.
11 Ibid.
12 Ibid.
13 King of the Queen City, 91.
14 Brian Powers.
15 Ibid.
16 Ibid.

When Grady Met Hallie

Leave a reply

My father Grady didn’t really notice my high school graduation. He was on the verge of breaking up with his sweetheart Ovaline.
I knew something was wrong but didn’t ask any questions. One day I saw Dad sitting on the edge of the front porch reading a letter. No one had ever handwritten a letter to him before so I suspected it had to be the girlfriend, either breaking up or pleading with him not to break up. Ovaline could have been described as a golddigger but in our low income neck of the neighborhood she was more of a hamburger digger.
Suddenly I was able to use the car on Saturday night for dating. If I hadn’t been a good Southern Baptist boy I would have broken out in a dance. Grady had finally gotten wise about Ovaline. My joy was tempered a bit because I didn’t want to see him slump back into his old ways of sitting home on weekends staring at the television.
Then along came Hallie.
Actually Hallie had been around for years. (Pay attention because we are entering into the complicated relationship realm of soap opera.) Many years ago when Hallie was a young Catholic woman she caught the eye of my mother’s Uncle Charley who already had a couple of kids with his current wife. This was 1930s Texas where decent people didn’t do things like that. Tongues wagged across town when Charley divorced, married Hallie and started having another brood of children. My mother’s family was horrified that this redneck temptress had stolen their dear sweet innocent Uncle Charley. Needless to say, Hallie was no longer welcome in the Catholic Church so she joined the Baptist church alongside Charley’s other kinfolk.
I had vague memories from the middle 50s that Mom was in a dither because she had to write Uncle Charley’s obituary. He had been her favorite uncle. I had an inkling that she even liked Hallie a lot. Kinda like whoever made Uncle Charley happy was all right with her. That’s why she wanted the obituary to be sympathetic. The last I heard about Hallie was that she was working as a waitress at a local café.
By the early 60s Mom died of cancer. Dad was fifty-two and spent two years just plugging away at his job and not enjoying life at all. Then he met Ovaline who was ten years younger than him and did a good job of making him feel ten years younger too. She worked at the same café, coincidentally, as Hallie.
I was left on the outside looking in so I didn’t know what was going on. It seemed like when the Ovaline Express derailed, Hallie was there to clean up the wreckage. I heard Dad on the phone confiding to someone (I didn’t know who, possibly his sister) that he would like to start seeing Hallie but that she was ten years older than him. What would people think, he asked his confidante. I thought the person on the other end must have told him not to worry about it if Hallie made him happy. It sounded like something my aunt would say.
I liked Hallie because she seemed much more interested in what I was doing than Ovaline ever did. Hallie had a sweet smile but she always said what she thought. Hallie dished the dirt on Ovaline. Before a date with Grady, Ovaline told the other girls at the café that she was going out with the old man to see how much money she could get him to spend. Another time Ovaline laughed about how she just barely got Grady out of the house before her new boyfriend showed up.
“I was so mad at her I could spit.” If thoughts could kill, Hallie would have murdered Ovaline with no regrets.
After they finally decided to be a twosome, Grady started to smile again. Hallie even had Grady bring me along on their dinners out.
“You order anything you want, and Grady and me will split a hamburger.”
I think she offered to split a hamburger as a crack about Ovaline.
Hallie was not there when I graduated from the local junior college, and she was mad at Grady for not inviting her.
“He had better not thought I didn’t want to go because I did. He should know by now I love you boys.”
She was definitely in attendance when I graduated from college two years later. And it was a hour and a half drive from home, definitely a major expedition for Grady.
Through the years she shared some of Grady’s private thoughts about me. He told her that I was the only one of his boys who never asked him for anything. I didn’t tell her, but I didn’t ask him for anything because he wouldn’t give it to me anyway.
They were very good for each other. They played bingo once a week. Sometimes she talked him into driving her to visit her children who lived all the way over in Shreveport. That was a good three hour drive. Mostly she cooked him a meal and they watched television. Then Grady gave her a little kiss and went home to his own bed.
They went to church every Sunday night. One time he had the motor running, ready to go home when Hallie kept talking to friends in the parking lot. She had the car door open ready to get inside but there was so much to gossip about she finally shut the door. Hearing the door shut, Grady thought she had gotten in the car and drove off. When he realized it was awful quiet in the front seat he looked over and saw she wasn’t there. He made a quick u-turn and went back to the parking lot where she was still talking.
They only had a few of differences.
“Grady! Do you have any life insurance? You don’t want Jerry to have to pay to bury you!
“Grady! You know if you don’t stop smoking those cigarettes they’re going to kill you!”
“Grady! You didn’t stop for that red light! Are you out to kill me?”
You’d think that would make him mad. But she had a cute way of being bossy, and it made him laugh.
Her biggest gripe was that he promised her that they would get married after all the boys left the house. The problem with that was my oldest brother had mental problems and couldn’t hold a job so he wasn’t going anywhere. When he finally died, Hallie thought her time had come but not really.
I told her she was better off having him over for supper and television and then sending him home. He did not have the best personal hygiene and I didn’t think she would want to keep cleaning up after him.
They did end up in the same nursing home. He was on one end of the building and Hallie was on the other. A day didn’t pass without her rolling her wheelchair down to his room and saying, “Grady! You better not be in there smoking one of them cigarettes!” Everybody in the home could hear him laughing.
Hallie was the first to pass away. After all she was the older woman. Dad didn’t lasted much longer than that. Grady had spent more time in Hallie’s company than he had with my mother. Most of his marriage he was out working while his retirement was all with Hallie. And she knew how to make him laugh.

Toby Chapter Seventeen

Leave a reply

Previously in the book: Farmboy Harley Sadler joined a traveling melodrama show, married a pretty girls, opened his own show, loaned money to farmers, and lost it all during the Depression. He came back with a smaller show and went into politics.

A few months later on the steps of the Texas Capitol, photographers flashed their cameras at Harley, Billie and Gloria.
“One more shot!” one of them hollered. “Look this way, folks!”
Billie put on her best pose, raising her chin so her developing thickness around her neck did not show. Gloria hugged her father who obviously enjoyed himself very much.
“How does it feel to be entering a new career, Harley?” a reporter asked.
“Just like opening night.”
“Have any priorities, Harley?” another asked.
“Just treat the people right.”
“Are you staying in Austin with Harley, Billie?” a third one asked her.
“Oh no,” she replied. “I’m going home to Sweetwater. My mother Lou is not feeling well and needs attention. And I’ve got to get Gloria ready for college.”
“Where are you going to college, Gloria?” The first reporter turned to her.
“Hardin-Simmons Baptist College.”
“Then the rumors about you going to Hollywood aren’t true?”
“Absolutely not true,” Gloria responded with a big smile.
***
Harley settled into his office in the pink granite State Capitol in downtown Austin. Taking a deep breath, he sat and opened the top folder on his desk. For the first time in his life, Harley faced a job which did not depend on his ability to make people laugh. His vote would determine whether his dirt farmers would survive or slowly disappear from the great expanse of the West Texas plains. This challenge went beyond the capabilities of a young principal comedian. It needed a mature serious minded solon—a wise man.
A smile graced his face, beginning to show lines of age, pain and endurance. Harley was not afraid. He was sure this was a job he could master and not disappoint the folks back home. A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. A tall gray-haired man in a nicely tailored suit eased into the room.
“I don’t want to bother you, but I want to welcome you to the Legislature. I’m sure you don’t remember me. I’m Farrell McConnell, the representative from North Dallas.”
Harley stood and extended his hand. “Of course I remember. You’re the House Democratic Whip. Everybody better know who you are. As I recall, we met at a barbecue fundraiser in Abilene. You said your wife couldn’t attend because she had a cold. I hope she’s feeling better.”
“Oh.” Farrell paused in surprise. “Yes, she’s feeling much better. Thanks for asking.”
“Tell her I said hi.”
“I will.” Quickly recovering his composure, he did not wait to be invited and sat with a familiar ease across the desk from Harley. “Well, part of my job is to help the freshmen legislators avoid some of the pitfalls.”
“And what might they be?” Harley smiled as he sat with equal ease.
“You have to be aware of bad bills.”
Harley picked up the folder on top of the stack and handed it to Farrell. “How about this one?”
The Whip took it, opened the folder and frowned as he read. “Just what I was talking about. We don’t need our district boundaries changed.”
Harley walked around the desk, took the folder and flipped to the map in the middle. “Looking at this map, I don’t see anything wrong with the way they want to change the boundaries.”
“Harley,” Farrell began with a weary sigh, “You’ve got to understand folks get used to voting at a certain place and with certain neighbors.”
“But the boundaries as they are now don’t seem to make a whole lot of sense.”
Farrell raised his voice, while maintaining a certain sense of dignity. “We can’t have the boundaries cut through people’s backyards right through their clothes lines!”
“The clothes will dry just the same, either way, won’t they? Harley asked with his well-practiced charm.
Before Farrell could reply, Sweetwater Democratic wheeler dealers Burford and Billy Bob knocked at the door and stuck their heads in. “Busy?” Billy Bob exposed a toothy grin. “We’d like to congratulate our new legislator.”
A resigned look on his face, Farrell stood and walked toward them. “Be my guest. I have to go.” As he passed them in the doorway, he whispered, “I thought you said we were getting Toby.”
“We are,” Burford reassured in a muted tone.
Farrell’s reply was more of a hiss. “No, we’re not.”

Cancer Chronicles

Leave a reply

The other night I caught King Kong on television—not the 1930s classic, not the 1970s mistake, but the one made by Peter Jackson of Lord of the Rings fame.
Janet and I went to see it on the big screen when it first came out and really enjoyed it. Of course, nothing could match the original but this one came close.
When Jackson’s Kong came out on DVD I asked Janet if she wanted to buy it. She said she didn’t remember seeing it. This was just before she was diagnosed with breast cancer. I believe cancer begins and grows for many years before it can be diagnosed, but it still can make its presence known.
I suggested we should go ahead and buy the movie because I knew she already liked it even though she didn’t remember it. Janet firmly said she didn’t want to see the movie. That was the end of the discussion. I believed Janet was bothered by the fact she could not remember something like a movie. I’m sure she was wondering what would she forget next. Things like cancer and forgetfulness never are part of a person’s plans after retirement. I never mentioned the movie again.
On the night I watched King Kong on television I smiled because it was as good as I remembered. But I didn’t watch the final scene.
I already knew how everything was going to end.