When Smokey Sings

"Debonair lullabies in melodies revealed
In deep despair on lonely nights
He knows just how you feel
The slyest rhymes - the sharpest suits
In miracles made real"

I grew up in the Detroit area in the sixties and remember very well the music of the day. I was eight years old when Dianna Ross and The Supremes appeared for the last time together on “The Ed Sullivan Show”. It was a Sunday night and my mother made me take a bath before the show started or I wouldn’t be able to watch. The whole family sat there together, sans my dad, and watched them sing “Someday, We’ll Be Together”. I vividly remember thinking that maybe they were singing about themselves and that they would be together again. I remember feeling so sad to think that they were through. Looking back on it now I can’t help but think how strange it was for an eight year old to be so concerned about the happenings of the music industry.

Growing older I would go through stages of the different types of music I would listen to. Scanning the fm dial I would stop and listen to a number of different songs one day and not want to hear it the next. I would always stop, however, when it would land on an old Motown song. After looking into a number of these songs I found that the ones I enjoyed the most were songs by Smokey Robinson and The Miracles.

Smokey was the man. He wrote like no one else of his time. From party songs, “Going To A Go Go” and “Money” to the sweetest love songs imaginable. “My Girl”, “La La Means I Love You” and “Ooh Baby Baby”. He described our feelings, not only with the pen, but with a voice that brought tears to angels. Smokey was so smooth on songs like, “The Tracks Of My Tears” and “You Really Got A Hold On Me” that when he sang “The Tears Of A Clown”, an incredibly sad song, he makes it sound like he was the happiest guy on earth. He really was amazing. I think I can safely say that without him, Motown would have never been anything like the monster it became.

The first five lines of this essay are from a song by the eighties band ABC called “When Smokey Sings”. In the song the band praises Smokey for all the feelings he’s brought to them. During the tenure of the band there would be critics who would compare Martin Frye’s voice to the young Smokey Robinson. Frye addresses the critics in the song with the lyric “Should I say yes, I match his best, then I would be a liar”. Because as he says later on in the song, “Nothing can compare, nothing can compare when Smokey sings.

So Long My Friend

My friend died today. No, not really my friend, my brother died today. Well, see, he wasn’t really my brother either. What is true is there was a time in my life when I thought there would never be time when he wouldn’t be a major part of my life. I do not remember ever not knowing him.

Ronnie and his brother Buzzie, real name Brian, lived next door to me from my first memories until I was either three or four. They and their Mother lived with their Grandmother. Ronnie was David’s age and Buzzie, mine.

After they moved away we would see them most weekends, as they would come to visit their Grandparents. As we got older and my family moved away I may have seen them another two or three times and that was it.

I was relatively well informed about their lives over the years because Karen is still very good friends with their Aunt and they would stay in touch on a regular basis. I was told things like when Ronnie joined the Navy and when he got out and things like that. I heard, a number of years ago, that Ronnie had cancer. I then heard, later, that he was alright and things were going much better for him.

I last saw Ronnie at my sisters wedding. He came as the guest of his Aunt. He sat at our table and we talked a bit. I feel pretty bad about it now because I don’t really remember what we talked about. I think he was divorced and he may have had kids. It was nice to see him. Though we hardly knew each other we still had that memory of childhood. That memory of thinking we’d be around each other forever. The feeling that we’d also be alive forever.

We all know that last statement is the biggest misconception we have as kids. The cancer came back and the poor guy had been fighting it and fighting it until he just couldn’t fight any more. I don’t know what type of cancer Ronnie had or any idea what he went through these last few years and I’m not proud of that. I know that as a child of three or four he was the toughest guy I knew. I have the feeling he was just as tough in this final battle he went through.

This is the first death, for me, that’s in my peer group. One of “my gang” I guess you could say. I suppose these things will become more and more common as I get older. I find it kind of strange that the first to die was also the first I knew.

I don’t know if I can really call Ronnie a friend but I will. I’m also not sure about calling him my brother, but I will. Of course my thoughts are with his Mother, Father and the rest of the family. I’ll definitely be going to the Funeral and I’m sure it’ll be really strange but I think all of us are going to go so that’ll help.

Of course I now have the regrets of not talking to him more than I did at the wedding and not calling when I heard he was sick again. I hope he understood. I miss him already and I hardly even knew him. I know there’s guilt about that too.

So Ronnie, rest easy my brother. You don’t have to fight anymore. You deserve the break. I’m sorry I didn’t know you better but life does that to people. I did know you well enough to call you my friend and I’m all the poorer for it today because I’ve lost my friend today.

Just Taking A Stroll

I was thinking, how come people, in general, like to think about their past? I’m down in the Detroit area waiting for my buddy to get back to his house cuz we’re going to the Tiger game. While waiting for him I decided to drive around and visit the old “haunts” if you will.

I went to breakfast at your basic coffee shop that we used to go to quite a bit in my stoner days. I don’t even know the name of it now but back then it was called “The Clock”. It was a 24-hour joint about a ½ step down from a “Denny’s”. Decent breakfast. I remember one of the reasons we would go there was because I could smoke, and, I think we can all remember how cool it was to be able to smoke in public places and not have to worry about your parents finding out.
I then took the drive into Oak Park, where I lived from the age of 11 until I moved to San Diego. I drove down 10-mile road and saw this old radio tower off one of the side streets. I had to make the turn onto the street and parked just outside the gate that wasn’t there when I was a kid. Boy that tower struck a chord.

I remember climbing that tower so many times and seeing how high we could get. I was always the lowest but back then I didn’t even care. I don’t think any of us ever got caught. This had to be while I was in sixth or seventh grade and before I started smoking pot so drugs could in no way be blamed for our craziness.

I started the car again and drove a few blocks past a house where a girl used to live that would always have people over and we would all just hang out in their basement. I’m not sure if you could say we partied down there because their was never any drugs or alcohol involved but we really had fun down there. A few years ago I heard she died. I’ve tried looking her name up on the web but never seem to get a hit on her name. I feel sort of bad about that because she tried to get in contact with me a few times out in California and I ignored the calls. I think we all have those types of regrets. I think the goal is to not let the regret pile get too big. Something, I know, I will always work on.

I then went by Pepper Elementary School. I spent the last two weeks of fifth and all of sixth grade there. I think those were my glory days in school. There were three of us in sixth grade that were the big guns of the place. The best athletes and the most popular with consistent girlfriends throughout the year. Well, as much as you could have a girlfriend while in sixth grade. You know, big fish in the proverbial small pond.

When I got into junior high the pond was just way too big. I started getting real fat and was pretty much embarrassed about myself from that point until I got sick and lost all that weight during my senior year of high school. I think back on those days and the people that tried to reach inside my head and I remember ignoring their attempts at reaching out to me. I stuck to my own little circle of friends and never quite grew out of that. Anyway, back to the tour.

I then drove towards my junior high and on the way I went by my old house. It looks great. The neighborhood looks so much better than I remember. I drove around the area and went by the houses that my friends in the neighborhood lived in. it brought back a number of fond and not so fond memories. I ended up getting by the school and saw that it is no longer a school but more like the district headquarters. It looked fine, and the local stores around it were mostly different than I remember. What used to be a predominantly Jewish area is now mostly Arab and Black. The stores have different names except for the Coney Island place that was a regular feature of my youth. Next door to the restaurant is the place where the gas station was that I burned my eyes out at. It’s now a Tim Horton’s donut shop. I probably would have had a hard time frying the pupils there but knowing me, anything’s possible.

I then went over by the high school. On the way there I drove by what once was the bowling alley. Good thing it’s now a strip mall because I probably would have tried to roll a few lines and gotten injured again. My finger is still sore from my latest athletic pursuit up here. The high school looks just as it used to be. I then drove by another old friends old house and, since I’m still in touch with her, I gave her a call. I got her voice mail and left a message telling her that I was by her old house and mentioned that I was just taking a trip down memory lane before I went to the ball game. She called and left me a message while I was at the game and said she was in the old neighborhood just yesterday. Pretty cool.

I could do this kind of thing every day. Seeing the old haunts did me some good. It made me think of so many people and places that I haven’t thought about in years. It’s kind of cool because I recently got a message through classmates.com saying that my 30’Th high school reunion was just starting to get into the planning stages. 30 years, wow. I feel like I just left the area.

I ended the tour and went to the game. The Tigers lost. Didn’t matter, god I love baseball. I think I’ll come down again in a couple weeks and drive down to Trenton. I lived there from birth up until we moved to Oak Park. I’m sure there will be a number of things going through my head doing that too and I’m sure I’ll tell you all about that too.

One More Day

Karen called me the other day to tell me that Mitch Albom was on Oprah, and knowing I liked reading his stuff, thought I would like to see the show. I switched the channel and caught him. He was on because his book “One More Day” was turned into a television movie and they had a show about the concept. Of course it got me thinking.

I think if I could have one more day with someone that is no longer living it would have to be my Grandfather. I’ve written of him before in the essay entitled, “The Carter Family”, and if you’ve read it you know how close the two of us were.

I think I would want to see him before he had his stroke, he was obviously much more vibrant at that time. I’d like to wake up at his house and let him make coffee and toast like he used to and after putting the unsalted whipped butter on the toast, he’d take the salt shaker and salt it anyway. Of course the coffee, for me, would be one part coffee and about 15 parts milk. We’d then put two saccharine tablets in it and breakfast would be served.

We’d then get into, at that time, his yellow Impala and drive the few miles to “the building”. It was pretty much a city block he owned that had stores on the ground floor and apartments on the top. We’d go to the basement to, as he would say, “check the pipes” and he’d have something to feed all the alley cats that hung around. We’d then go upstairs to one of the apartments to visit Mrs. Evans, an older woman who rented from him, and we’d sit and talk for a while.

When we were done there he’d take me down to “Vince’s”. It was a barbershop down the block from the building. I’d get in the chair and get a “regular boys haircut” while Vince and Grampa would talk about nothing in particular. He’d always let me get a soda out of the machine Vince had and I always liked that.

Grampa and I would then head down to Carters Hamburgers to get, as he would say, “a hamburger sandwich and fried potatoes. I’d get mine plain with ketchup and his always had a big slice of white onion on his. We’d eat and talk about nothing and we were both in hog heaven.
After lunch we would usually go shopping, maybe new shoes or a winter coat and I’d just take all this for granted because it was all I’d know. You never realize what you had until it’s gone. Well, my youth and Grampa are both gone now but if I could have just one more day I’d do just as I stated above.

The only difference would be that I would be the age I am now. The scenario above was a typical day for he and I before I had started going to school. I would want Grampa to see who and what I’ve become and I think I would understand him a lot better too. I’d want to tell him how much he meant to me as a child and still means to me to this very day. Of course I would tell him I love him and miss him.
It’s quite a concept, this one more day thing. I think everyone can come up with an answer to the question of whom you’d want to see again. It’s kind of bittersweet isn’t it?

It's That Time Again

So here we are again. It’s Holiday season. I wrote last year about how I dislike this time of year for numerous reasons and I still feel that I would not miss it a bit if these special days were somehow cancelled or I was placed into a coma for the entire month of December.

I know that this time of year also means a whole lot to most people and I can appreciate that. I actually have a great deal of empathy for those whose holidays are somehow not what they would want. I think we all feel that way about the obvious cases, the poor, the hungry, the ill and those who may have lost someone close to them. My ex-wife lost her brother to cancer in early December a number of years ago and I can assure you that Christmas time is a much more bittersweet time for her and her family than they ever thought it would be all those years ago.

I think it’s real important that now, more than ever, we think of those who can’t be here during this time even though they would like to be. I’m speaking of the soldiers stationed around the world. Whether you agree with the war effort or not you have to feel for these people’s families.

Yes, I know, this is an all volunteer military. That fact, however, doesn’t take away from the idea that there are many children involved who may have a real hard time believing in Santa Claus when Mommy or Daddy can’t be home on Christmas morning because they’re overseas participating in the war effort. Yes, I know I’ve stated it before, but isn’t this whole thing really all about the kids?

My suggestion. If by chance you know anyone who has a family member in the military, check and see if there may be something you can do to help make this a special time for the children. If you don’t know of any military families, check the local fire station and see if they are collecting toys for kids. I mentioned in a previous post about a family my store adopted for the Holidays a few years ago. Check with your church or other local charities and see if you might be interested in that.

When I was younger my Mother belonged to a Jewish woman’s group that gathered toys for local Jewish families and at one time I was asked to deliver them. She gave me the addresses that each bag would go to and off I went. One of the addresses she gave me was obviously wrong as I found myself in an area of Detroit that, I was pretty sure, wasn’t part of the charity drive. As I went up to the house to see if by chance I was wrong I decided the only way was to knock on the door and ask.

The man who answered the door was about 30 years old, African American, and had a cross around his neck. He had three little ones with him who couldn’t have been older than five and, by the look on his face; they were really getting on his nerves. Being the overly intelligent guy that I am, I quickly deduced that this man was not on the list of poor Jewish families. I asked him if he had ever heard of B’nai Brith, the group my mother belonged to, and he said he’d never heard of them.

So there I was, standing on some stranger’s porch in the inner city of Detroit with a bag full of toys and some stranger staring at me like I was some kind of idiot. I looked down at one of the kids, a little girl, holding on to her father’s leg staring at me.

Obviously there was only one thing I could do. I looked at the man and asked if he could use some extra presents to put under the tree. He replied with something like “who wouldn’t”. I then explained what my actual mission was for the day and that I couldn’t see how this could, in any way, not be thought of as part of said mission. I handed him the bag, shook his hand and bid him a Merry Christmas.

I got back in my car, lit up a joint, sorry mom, and started the drive home. The whole way home all I could think of was how cool what I had just done was. I knew in my heart that I had just done something that would help those kids have a good Holiday and the idea that I gave the toys to the wrong family didn’t bother me a bit. I gave it to a family that could use it, and to me, it was the right family. Not to pat myself on the back or anything but, not bad for a 17-year-old stoner.

I’m no longer 17 and far from being considered a stoner but I went to one of the local toy stores last Tuesday and bought a couple toys. I took them to one of the local churches by the house and asked if they might find use for them. Even us grinch type folks can get a bit of the season into our cold hearts. Enjoy your Holidays everybody, be nice to each other.