βElla Fitzgerald is the only performer with whom I’ve ever worked who made me nervous, because I know I need to meet her standards.β
So said Frank Sinatra in 1959.
Sometimes referred to as the “First Lady of Song“, βLady Ellaβ and “Queen of Jazz”, Ella Fitzgerald was noted for her purity of tone, impeccable diction, phrasing, timing, intonation and improvisational ability, particularly in her “scat” singing.
I could write pages about Ella Fitzgerald and her many accomplishments but I know you don’t want to read that. You’d much rather listen to her sing, wouldnβt you?
I must apologize for having only audio today; as Iβve said before, I will always try to give you the very best quality video experience possible. Sometimes there aren’t any good videos to be found, as is the case today. So sit back, close your eyes and delight in the divine sounds of βLady Ellaβ.
This is George Gershwin’s exquisite βSomeone To Watch Over Meβ.
That was sheer brilliance, effortless perfection. I feel like that guy looks in the lower right of the YouTube pic!
Earlier in the post I mentioned scat; Ella was the best when it came to that style of singing. I’m not going to load up my page today with another video; instead I’d like to make a suggestion: if you’re in the mood for some of the best scat you’ll ever hear, check out Ella singing a little something called “Smooth Sailing”. It will knock your socks off!
Well, thatβs it for me today here In The Groove. Deb’s coming up tomorrow with another segment of World Music. Stay cool and I’ll catch ya next week!
My son cried out for me again. It had become a nightly ritual.
At first I was amused by his attempts to stall going to sleep. Sometimes heβd ask for a glass of water or another bedtime story. His latest ruse was βmonstersβ. Iβd made a big deal of looking under the bed, inside the closet, behind the rocking horse in the corner. Satisfied nothing was hiding in his room, he would drift off to sleep.
Now the routine had turned into a habit and I found myself becoming exasperated. The last couple of nights, my son was clearly upset by something he claimed to have seen. He cried real tears, asking me to keep the lights on. We compromised and began using a nightlight.
Still, something was scaring my boy and my frustration turned into concern. He was now saying a wicked witch came to him every night. There was no denying my little guy was truly scared.
I thought about every tv show or movie that could have set this off, any posters or books in his room. Nothing came to mind and I rubbed my temples as another headache began to worm its way in.
My son screamed for me and I ran to his room. The witch was back and he cried for me to stay with him. I crawled onto his bed and laid down, my arms around him and my head on his pillow. I closed my eyes as he described the bony and twisted fingers of a witchβs hand reaching through his bedroom window. With ragged breaths my boy clung to me, begging me to keep the witch away.
I held him tightly and kissed his head, assuring him that witches werenβt real and he was safe. Slowly his breathing calmed and I opened my eyes to see if he was asleep. With my head still on his pillow, I had the same view of my sonβs room as he did. For the first time I saw his world through his 4-year-old eyes.
And there in the darkness tap-tap-tapping on his window was a sight that made me gasp β¦ the gnarled and skinny branches of the scraggly juniper bush outside my sonβs room looked very much like an evil witch’s hand grasping at little boys! How could I have missed it and the fearsome shadows it cast across the walls and onto the ceiling? I felt an enormous amount of guilt for not seeing what he saw, for thinking it was his only imagination, for losing my patience with a frightened little boy.
We sat up on his bed and I explained to my son that what he saw was not a witch but only branches and I could understand why it scared him. I asked my boy if he remembered seeing the juniper bush during the day while outside playing. He quickly nodded βYesβ. I asked him if the bush scared him when he saw it during the day; he giggled and said βNo!β
I turned on all the lights in his room and asked if it would be ok if I opened the window. My son didnβt answer right away; he stared at his hands in his lap and nervously fussed with his pajamas, then looked up at me with tears in his eyes. I wanted to run to him and scoop him up in my arms but I forced myself not to move. Iβm sure it took every ounce of courage for him to quietly answer βOk, Mommyβ.
I held out my hand and he slowly walked to me, that look of βdead man walkingβ on his face. But he was a brave boy that night and together we opened the window. I reached out and touched the branches of the juniper. I shook the branches; there wasnβt a witch anywhere. My son asked if he could shake the branches, too, and I told him he could. When I asked if we should have Daddy cut down the bush in the morning, my son was very thoughtful for a minute. Then he shook his head saying βNo, the bush didnβt mean to be scaryβ. He threw his arms around my neck and he climbed back into bed.
That night the fears were conquered, the night terrors vanquished. My little son is now a grown man with little sons of his own and it’s his turn to dispel their fears. Sometimes I wonder if he has any memory of those frightening nights from forty years ago.
It had been eighteen months since Jeanβs parents were killed in a skiing accident in Utah. Their deaths left her alone with no family except for her mother’s estranged younger sister Gloria who lived halfway around the world. When the accident happened, Jean thought of reaching out to Gloria in Australia but she had no way of contacting her. Besides, too many years and no love lost between her mother and aunt dissuaded her from even trying.
Jean could no longer put off the job of cleaning out her parent’s house. She packed up all their clothes as a donation to the Salvation Army and arranged for a pick up. On the floor of her motherβs now empty bedroom closet she discovered a large shoe box; it was full of old family photos.
Jean ignored the box for a few days until curiosity got the best of her. She carried it into the living room, poured herself a glass of wine and started going through the photos. There were the typical family images of her grandparents, her parents and herself Β β nothing terribly special or interesting.
Jean was about to put the cover back on the box when she noticed a manilla envelope at the very bottom. She pulled it out, unwound the string that kept it closed and emptied the contents onto the coffee table. All that slipped out was a clear plastic sheath from a photo album. There were six pockets on both sides of the sheath and each pocket contained a photo. Twelve images were visible β six on one side and six on the other.
Sipping her wine, Jean examined the photos. The first one was of her mother and Gloria; the remaining photos were only of Gloria. Jean didnβt recognize the place where the photos had been taken and no one else was there. It didnβt take long for Jean to notice that Gloria was pregnant; in each photo her belly appeared larger and larger. The final two photos were of Gloria cradling an infant in her arms. Something made Jean remove those two photos from their plastic covering; written neatly on the back in her motherβs handwriting was βGloria with her daughter, Jeanβ.
Jean slowly placed her glass on the table. Of course! It all made sense. That would explain why there were never any photos of her own pregnant mother, no photos of her proud father with his hand on her motherβs expanding belly, no photos of any other children. And, of course, there was the sudden disappearance of Gloria. Jean was an only child and Gloria β the woman she believed to be her aunt β was actually her mother. And who was her father? Jean was sure it could not be the man she thought of as her father; she always believed she never bore even the slightest resemblance to him. She was the spitting image of her mother and her aunt but now, looking at these old photos, she wasn’t so sure. Her whole life felt like a lie.
Jean was reeling with this new information. She paced the room thinking of what she should do next. She briefly wondered what time it was in Australia; she didnβt care. She needed answers. She searched through her mother’s address books until she found a listing for Gloria; who knew after all this time if the number was still the same? It had been 24 years since those photos were taken; she hesitated for a second, then dialed the number.
She was much too young, too ravishing to be a widow.
The essence of propriety, she sat on a chair at the foot of her husbandβs coffin, graciously greeting those who came to pay their respects.
Her husband’s beloved Adagio in G Minor played softly in the background.
A tear escaped and she dabbed her eye with a lace handkerchief. Her stepson, her husband’s grown son, stood behind her, a conciliatory hand lightly on her shoulder.
He wasnβt a bad boy, the tearful mother professed to the crowd who gathered on the beach. Yes, he was precocious, as his teachers would attest, but he was a bright and friendly child with a clever imagination. Surely you can see that; just look at him happily playing tag with his new friends by the water.
It was dreadful, no denying, but it was a horrible accident, the weeping woman explained. A simple game of hide and seek gone terribly awry. Teams of two, boys against girls. Her son and his little friend Jack took turns hiding in a hollow on the beach, each one covering the other with sand and rocks. It was really the perfect spot to hide.
Her son scampered off behind a nearby dune to wait in hiding when the girls called out βReady or not, here I come!β They quickly found him behind the dune and he chased them, forgetting all about his friend buried beneath the sand and rocks. Only when he heard urgent voices yelling βJACK! JACK!β did he remember his friend.
He ran to the spot where Jack was hiding, desperate parents on his heels, but it was sadly too late for his little friend. Of course no one blamed him; it was a game turned deadly, fun between innocent children.
Later, as the boy sat on his bed, he removed a slip of paper taped behind his bedpost. With a red crayon, he crossed off the name βJackβ from the list.
We were driving down iconic Route 66 in our convertible Volkswagen Jetta on our way from Chicago to Santa Monica, California, everything we owned being towed in a small rented U-Haul. In the backseat on the floor behind us, sleeping in his carrying case, was our bulldog puppy, Ringo.
Weβd been on the same stretch of road without seeing another soul for what seemed like an eternity β nothing but miles of tall corn and wheat fields swaying in the breeze. We talked about everything, especially opening our new veterinary practice β a huge step in our professional lives but one we were ready for. Our real estate agent sent us photos of our new office with the name boldly printed in black lettering on a light grey awning: Peterson’s Planned PetHood. πββ¬
Rummaging through the glove box looking for a snack bar, I came across The Beatles White Album. βHey, look what I foundβ I said, showing the CD to my husband, Doc.
βExcellent! Put it on, Babe.β
Opening the case, I discovered a long-forgotten joint, crushed but still viable. βWhoa! Check it out. This CD comes with a bonus track!β
We lit up, the stale weed snapping and popping as it burned. Even the smallest of tokes resulted in fits of coughing but we still got a decent buzz on. The CD was an incredible find; with each mile down the road we got a little bit higher and a little bit louder singing along to the tunes.
And then there it was β the unmistakable intro of funky get-down guitar slaps and drum beats leading into βWhy Donβt We Do It In The Road?β. We were grooving in our seats, thumping on the car doors, digging the hell out of that song.
Doc pulled the car over onto the shoulder. Lowering his sunglasses down his nose, he looked at me seductively and started singing βNo one will be watching us, why donβt we do it in the road?β
βHave you lost your mind? What are you … some horny teenager?β
βWell, you’re half right, Iβll give ya that. Here we sit … a hot banging Beatles song playing, my incredibly sexy wife in a miniskirt and plenty of road. Listen. Paulβs practically begging us to get out of this car and do it IN THE ROAD!β
“Your know, we can get plenty cozy right here IN the car” I suggested, slowly stretching my legs on the dashboard.Β
Doc laughed and leaned over to kiss me, whispering βWeβve done it IN the car β¦ a lot. Cβmon, Becca!Β Β Letβs get down [*kiss*]Β and dirtyΒ [*kiss*]Β and do it in the roadΒ [*long hot kiss*].Β
It didn’t take much for me and doc to turn each other on. Pushing the βREPEATβ button on the CD player, he grabbed a blanket from the back seat and we ran to the rear of the car. Laughing, I wriggled out of my panties and wrapped my legs around Doc’s waist as we eased ourselves to the ground.
Just as Paul let loose with the high note, we heard an “Ahem” and froze. Glancing sideways, we saw the shiniest pair of black boots standing two feet from our car. A man’s voice said βPardon me, folks. Trooper Matthew Blake, Oklahoma Highway Patrol. Just as soon as youβre finished checking that tow hitch, I suggest you best be on your way.βΒ And he walked back to his patrol car humming βWhy Donβt We Do It In The Road?β.
As he drove by our car, Trooper Blake gave us two short beeps of his horn. We sheepishly got back into our car and continued our journey to Santa Monica. What a lovely little rest stop that had been!
After a few months living in our new digs, doing some online research and making a few calls, I finally discovered the address for the Oklahoma Highway Patrol location of Trooper Matthew Blake. I prepared a small mailing box with a shiny new pair of Ray-Bans and a mini photo of our infant son. A small card read:
“One For the Road” Gratefully ~ Doc, Becca and Matthew Blake Peterson πΆοΈ
I smiled imagining what that trooper’s reaction would be when he read our son’s name.
Itβs time to go to the movies! Why don’t you go grab us a couple of good seats and Iβll get the soda and popcorn? And maybe a couple of umbrellas! π₯€ πΏ βοΈ βοΈ
On Tuesday we talked about the iconic dance moves of Michael Jackson. No doubt he influenced countless young dancers over the years but have you ever wondered who influenced him? Well, it should come as no surprise that MJ had a very diverse selection of dance legends who influenced him, including James Brown, Fred Astaire, Bob Fosse, Jackie Wilson, Gene Kelly and Sammy Davis, Jr.
Let’s talk a little about one of those brilliant performers and his most recognized movie.
“Singin’ in the Rain” is a 1952 musical romantic comedy featuring the many talents of Gene Kelly. The movie offers a lighthearted depiction of Hollywood in the late 1920s and the lives of famous silent screen stars suddenly caught up in the transition from silent films to “talkies”.
Remember that funny saying “She’s got a face for the radio”? Well, there were more than a few silent movie stars who found themselves on the unemployment line when asked to speak!
“Singin’ in the Rain” was only a modest hit when it was first released. However, it has since been accorded legendary status and is often regarded as the greatest musical film ever made. I don’t know about that; anyone ever hear of a little movie called “West Side Story”?
The song I’ve chose to showcase today is an obvious one; it’s best known as the centerpiece of the movie in which Gene Kelly memorably sang and danced while splashing through puddles during a rainstorm.
Here is “Singing in the Rain” from the movie of the same name starring Gene Kelly.
Now, I don’t know about you but while I sing in the shower almost every day, I’ve never sung or danced in the rain like that and I’m sure I never will! I know β Gene Kelly’s character is crazy in love but he looks like he’s having entirely too much fun for someone who’s soaked to the bone!
All kidding aside, Gene Kelly was definitely one of Hollywood’s greatest dancers, making every move look smooth as silk. I often thought Gene Kelly would have made a great Tin Man in “The Wizard of Oz” but that role went to Jack Haley. What do you think? Let’s make a little comparison; here’s a clip of Jack Haley in that metallic role:
Wow! I could use some of what’s in his oilcan! And I can definitely see Gene Kelly doing those incredible dance moves. In 1978, Michael Jackson played the role of The Scarecrow in “The Wiz” – talk about six degrees of separation!
Did you enjoy todayβs post and videos? I love reading your comments so let me know your thoughts.
Death was on Julia Rubino’s mind a lot during 1976.
Automatic negative thoughts (or ANTS as she called them) started crawling around her brain months earlier when she first heard about the mysterious murders in New York City.
The killer openly taunted the police; seeking misplaced attention and public veneration, he wrote rambling and ambiguous letters to journalist Jimmy Breslin who printed them in his column in The Daily News. In his letters the murderer sometimes referenced a cult, hinting that the killings were a rite of passage. Other times he claimed a demonic dog owned by his neighbor Sam spoke to him demanding the blood of pretty young girls.
All the victims were females with long dark hair; as a college student with shoulder-length brunette curls, Julia felt particularly vulnerable. When she told her parents she wanted to cut her hair and dye it blonde, they said she was over-reacting. Julia’s boyfriend Steve told her she was being ridiculous, that there was nothing to worry about. He said they were safe in their little town of New Rochelle. Violent crimes like that only happened in dangerous urban locations, not quiet Westchester County.
On date nights, Julia and Steve often drove to the Glen Island Beach parking lot in New Rochelle; it was a popular make-out spot and the police very rarely patrolled the area or bothered the couples parked there. When Julia told Steve she didn’t want to go parking any more, he got pissed off. Tearfully she told him the murders were making her afraid of her own shadow. She reminded him that the killings always involved two victims β young women and their boyfriends parked in cars. She couldn’t shake the notion that something terrible was going to happen to them.
Steve argued that Julia was being paranoid and they had no other choice if they wanted to be alone. They had no privacy living at home with their parents and Julia refused to go to a motel saying it made her feel sleazy. Frustrated, Steve yelled at her to calm down and get a grip. Afraid of losing him, Julia begrudgingly decided they had only one option if they wanted to be alone and that was the dark parking lot of Glen Island Beach.
On July 29 things took an unexpected and shocking turn; the first murders in Westchester County occurred. This time the killer’s MO was different and left the police wondering if the shootings were done by the same individual or a copy-cat killer. The victims were two girls sitting in a car in a well-lit area β not a girl and her boyfriend in a dark parking lot.
The two women were nurses Jody Valenti and Donna Lauria. They had been sitting in Jody’s double-parked Oldsmobile outside Donna’s house talking about their night out at a New Rochelle disco. When Donna opened the car door to get out, a man suddenly approached. Pulling out a gun, he crouched down and opened fire. Donna was killed instantly but Jody survived. The attack happened quickly, however, Jody was able to give a description of the assailant. It matched that of the shooter of the previous killings.
Westchester County residents were panic-stricken, especially Julia. Police urged everyone to stay vigilant and refrain from sitting in parked cars. Julia considered dropping out of college and staying at home until the murderous madman was caught; her parents convinced her it was irrational to completely cut oneself off from the world. No one understood how scared she was, especially now that the murders were much closer to home. She felt like she had a target painted on her back. Every young woman felt the same way; our lives were being controlled by an unknown killer and our own fears.
For more than a year the killer held the citizens of New York captive. On the night of August 10, 1977, the state of terror finally ended. After a brief but intense shootout, the murderer was apprehended at his Yonkers apartment, ironically just minutes from Westchester Community College where Julia was a student. Julia could finally breathe a sigh of relief. Whatever her reasons were, she had a feeling deep in her gut that if the killer had not been caught, she would have eventually ended up on his list of victims. That is something that will remain unanswered forever.
Dear readers β Julia Rubino, her boyfriend Steve and her parents are fictional characters I created for this story; everything else written here is true and accurate. I know this because I lived through it and was as terrified as everyone else.
In August it will be 46 years since that historic arrest. The notorious killer is David Berkowitz, known around the world as Son of Sam. Berkowitz pled guilty to all the shootings; six people were killed and seven wounded, some horribly. His weapon of choice was a .44 caliber Bulldog revolver gun.
On the day after his sentencing, Berkowitz was taken first to Sing SingΒ prison in Ossining, NY, then to the upstate Clinton Correctional FacilityΒ for psychiatric and physical examinations.Β Two more months were spent at the Central New York Psychiatric Center before his admission to the infamous Attica Correctional Facility. Berkowitz served about a decade in Attica until he was relocated to Sullivan Correctional Facility in Fallsburg, where he remained for many years. He is now housed atΒ Shawangunk Correctional Facility which is located in Wallkill, Ulster County.
Berkowitz described his life in Attica as “a living hell, a nightmare” β as it should be; no one is more deserving.
Right from his start in Gary, Indiana with his brothers in The Jackson 5, it was obvious that Michael Jackson was destined for stardom. Over a four-decade career, his contributions to music, dance and fashion, along with his globally publicized personal life, made him a world-renown figure in pop culture. Jackson influenced artists across many music genres; through stage and video performances, he popularized complicated dance moves such as the moonwalk, to which he gave the name, as well as the robot.
He was indeed destined for stardom. Michael Jackson is the most awarded recording artist in pop music history.
It was not easy for me to pick a song by Michael Jackson; after watching a few videos, I kept coming back to one because of its creativity in both song and dance. The precision of the dance moves by Jackson and the ensemble cast is impeccable. Weβd never seen anything quite like it before or since. My choice for you today is Thriller.
What you are about to see is the short version; no singing or dancing has been cut from the long version so you wonβt be missing anything. The full version is more than 13 minutes long and is all about what happens before the zombie song/dance routine. I saw no reason in taking up your time with what can readily be viewed on YouTube at your leisure.
The first time I saw this on MTV, I couldnβt believe what I was watching. Hold onto something and get ready for Thriller!
That was crazy good! So fabulous to watch and still great after all these years!
Now for the question of the day:
In the original long version of “Thriller”, we can hear narration being done by a very βcreepyβ and easily recognizable voice. Can you name the famous old-time actor well known for his many spooky movies who was the voice of “Thriller”?
Check the bottom of the page for the answer.
Well, I hope youβre having a great time here In The Groove. I love comments as well as answers so donβt be shy; let me know what youβre thinking.
She paused at the approach to Cabin 1-8, one foot resting on the first step. Her days were always rough but today had been more difficult than usual. She lost one of her patients today; of course as a nurse it had happened to her before but itβs something she never got used to.
She took a deep breath and walked up the remaining steps to the front door. She could hear the radio playing βApple Blossom Timeβ by the Andrews Sisters. She smiled at the thought of dancing in the living room in his warm embrace.
Before her hand could turn the knob, the door opened. He smiled and drew her into his arms, kissing her deeply. They both knew at some point the doctors would realize he had regained his memory and vision; he would be able to return home but for now they would take whatever comfort they could find in each otherβs arms.
He locked the door and they ran upstairs to his bedroom β unhappy thoughts of their own spouses rapidly fading from their minds. All that mattered to them was today and these stolen moments together. Tomorrow would come soon enough.
Not too long ago we got into the subject of the pros and cons of reality television. At that time I mentioned that I enjoyed watching American Idol when it first came out and now America’s Got Talent. Admitting that didn’t embarrass me at all; I have always been a fan of music talent shows and what bigger musical competition program is there than AGT?
This evening while checking out what was on my DVR I came across this. What a great example of reaching for the moon and realizing what had only been imagined.
Invisible in the temporary stillness before dawn, the trio of soldiers crept silently through the jungle. One had an injured leg as the result of a skirmish; he knew his injury would impede their progress and he pleaded with his comrades to leave him to die alone with dignity. The steadfast friends refused to abandon him in the middle of enemy territory.
Walking on, the soldiers spotted a tallthicket in the distance where they could take shelter. Painstakingly, one soldier carried his injured brother on his back into the copse while the third searched for something for them to eat. Finally for the first time in hours the exhausted trio was able to get some rest.
After a while, the wounded soldier awoke with a fever, his leg swollen and throbbing. Since it was now midday, it was too risky to leave their cover. Outside was sweltering and humid and the chance of them being caught would be great. No β¦ they would stay where they were until it was safe to venture out.
Suddenly their wounded brother heaved a ragged breath and died. Grief-stricken, yet aware they must move on, the soldiers covered their comrade with rocks and began the slow crawl out. Without warning a long carnivorous caterpillar slithered through the brush and swallowed the startled army ants. They struggled bravely, as courageous ants are wont to do, but in the end they could not prevail.
Boundary: a line which marks the limits of an area; a dividing line.
Often boundaries serve a purpose, sometimes they are waiting to be transcended.
Every Friday, here at The Rhythm Section, we will explore the ocean of music using the latter as our lodestar: breaking of a boundary. /*
There are times, days, moments in our lives when dark clouds amass overhead. The impending storm is not softened by the anticipation of petrichor, since nothing seems to penetrate that darkness spreading inside.
Suddenly, comes a ray of light.
It can be a friend with enough empathy to bridge thousands of miles as if they were inches.
It can be a simple joke that will fuse tears with laughter.
Or it can be⦠Lucy.
Before we talk about Lucy, let us look for a moment around her. Her mother; she didnβt give up when her child wasβ¦
βPromenaders?β Chrissy looked up from her homework, a confused look on her face. βWow! Such a weirdword! Wonder what it means.Mom, are you listening to me?β
Julie, Chrissyβs mom, stopped preparing dinner and turned to talk to her daughter. βYes sweetie, Iβm listening. I know the word and you do, too. Just think about it for a minute, Chris. Anything come to mind?β
Chrissyβs face was skewed in a bewildered expression. βIt sorta sounds like that weird fruit, the one with all the red seeds in the center which youβre supposed to eat. How bizarre is that … eating seeds? Ya know what Iβm talking about, mom?”
Julie laughed. βYouβre thinking of pomegranates, Chris! And yes, itβs a little strange but the seeds are really delicious. Iβll get some for you to taste. Now, back to your homework … βpromenadersβ. Itβs a word youβve heard before. Try again.β
Chrissy absentmindedly chewed on her pencil, deep in thought, then smiled as though a huge secret had suddenly been revealed. βI know! Prom-en-ad-ers are teenagers who go to the prom!β And she burst out laughing at her play on words.
βVery clever, Chrissy girl, but not quite right. Wait … youβve just given me an idea! Letβs see if this jogs your memory.β Julie dashed out of the kitchen and returned with one of Chrissyβs yearbooks. βRemember when everyone took square dancing in 6th grade?β
βSure, but what does that yearbook have to do with anything, mom? That was, like, ages ago when I was eleven. Iβm fourteen now!β
Julie rolled her eyes. βYes, I know … youβre so very grown up now! Here, humor me and take a look at this picture. Itβs from one of the square dances you used to go to. Read the caption.β
Chrissy heaved an exaggerated sigh, took the yearbook from Julie and recited the verse:
*Then you all promenade with the sweet corner maid singing “Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny! Oh!β*
Chrissyβs eyes opened wide. βI remember that song! Thatβs the part of the dance when we strolled around the dance floor. Sooo, that must mean promenaders are people who stroll!βΒ Β
βThere ya go, kiddo! You got it!β Julie exclaimed. “Process of elimination; just some of the ‘smarts’ we acquire as we get older β like grey hair.”
Chrissy jumped off the kitchen stool and raced down the hall to her bedroom.
βHey … where you off to? Dinnerβs almost readyβ Julie called out after her.
βIβll be back in a second, mom. Just checking if I have any grey hair yet!”
Hey! Glad to see you back here At The Movies! Iβve got a real toe-tapper for you today.
βFootlooseβ was co-written and recorded by Kenny Loggins in 1984 for the movie of the same name. The musical drama tells the story of Ren McCormack (Kevin Bacon), a teenager from Chicago who moves to a small mid-Western town. Ren is shocked to discover a ban on dancing and rock and roll music has been instituted by the religiously zealous local minister, Rev. Shaw Moore (John Lithgow). Can our young hero save the day and get the ban overturned in time for the senior prom?
The song was very well received and is one of the most recognizable songs recorded by Kenny Loggins. I always like the sound of Kenny Loggins’ voice and the many songs he recorded. This is one of my favorites.
Here is the great βFootlooseβ sung by Kenny Loggins.
Now thatβs a really great dance tune! Kevin Bacon did most of the dancing for βFootlooseβ but there were times when a double stood in for some of the gymnastics and precarious dance moves (much to Baconβs chagrin).
Now for the question of the day:
Before Kenny Loggins went solo, he had a well-known songwriting/singing partner. Together they sold 16 million records and were the most successful duo of the early 1970s, surpassed later in the decade only by Hall & Oates. Can you name Kenny Loggins’ one-time music partner?
The answer appears on the bottom of the page.
Glad to have you with me At The Movies. I hope you enjoyed the musical selection today. Donβt forget to check out whatβs going on at Breaking Boundaries tomorrow with Nick.
Have a great weekend, friends; there’s lots to check out at The Rhythm Section!
My parents were extremely good-looking; both could have been movie stars. Mom seemed completely unaware of her effect on men.
Despite this, Dad was incredibly jealous and insisted Mom cancel her home delivery of olive oil because he believed Luigi, the delivery man, had a βthingβ for my mother. She, of course, thought it was ridiculous but complied.
Dad was always at work during deliveries. The final olive oil day was extremely hot and Luigi wore shorts, something he never did. It was only then I noticed the heart-shaped birthmark behind his right knee β exactly the same as mine.
βConfused, Jesse? What’s there to be confused about? We have plans. I thought you were onboard and happy. Whatβs going on?β Sarah stood, impatiently tapping her toe.
βThatβs just it, Sarah. I donβt know whatβs going on. We really need to talk about our wedding plans.β Jesse paced back and forth, hands shoved deep into his jeans pockets.
βHold it right there, cowboy! Are you calling off our wedding?β Sarahβs eyes grew dark and angry.
βThat was not my intention, Sarah, but Iβve been thinking β how’d we get from a simple garden wedding to this elaborate affair you’ve got planned?β
Sarahβs face flushed with exasperation. βWell, this is a fine time to bring that up! Our wedding is two weeks away and everything is ready. My dress, the venue, the flowers, the caterers, our honeymoon. Even the name cards for the tables have been printed!β
βI know, Sarah, and before I realized it, our wedding turned into the social event of the year! You didn’t discuss any of this with me and I was right here the whole time. I donβt want a circus with a cast of characters I donβt even know or a stuffy office job to be happy. Your dadβs a great guy and offering to make me a partner in his business was extremely generous but I never wanted a power job and I certainly donβt want to be treated differently because I’m the bossβs son-in-law!“
With every word Jesse said, Sarah became more irate until she couldn’t stand it another minute. “Enough!You’re right, Jesse! I intentionally left you out of the planning because I didn’t want you trying to talk me out of my dream wedding! If you had your way, we’d be getting married in a barn in Nebraska. You’re so big on the truth, Jesse, here’s some truth for you. I’m glad your hillbilly family can’t make it to the wedding!” Sarah spat the words out angrily.
The room was silent for a long time. Finally, Jesse spoke. “Is that why you convinced my parents not to come to the wedding. Don’t bother trying to deny it; I know it’s the truth. Do you think I’m a fool, Sarah? Did you really believe I would never find out what you did? I’ve known for weeks and the only reason I never confronted you with what I know is because my mother, who is infinitely wiser, kinder and more forgiving than anyone I know, convinced me not to say anything.”
Instead of feeling sorry for what she had done, Sarah tried to justify it. “Jesse, surely you can see I was only trying to do your parents a favor and spare their feelings. They never would have felt comfortable being here.”
“Sarah, you know my background growing up on a farm. I come from simple, hard-working people. The smell of the earth, working with my hands, tending to the animals β thatβs what I know and love. I always dreamed of having my own farm some day, waking up with the roosters and working in the fields. I dream of family barbecues with square dancing, homemade ice cream for dessert and a passel of happy kids running around. Iβm an uncomplicated guy, Sarah. All I want is us, a family and a farm.β
βWhoa, Jesse. Back it up. I have dreams, too. Ever since I was a little girl I wanted to marry a man as smart and handsome and rich as my father. I want a huge wedding at the Waldorf, cruising around the world on a honeymoon, living in a penthouse overlooking Central Park. Now youβre asking me to give those dreams up for life with a bunch of rugrats and a barn in the middle of nowhere? You canβt be serious, especially after everything my father has done for you.β
“What the hell are we doing here, Sarah? Your dreams are all about the wedding; I did’t hear one word about our life together. I never asked your father for a thing, certainly not some hifalutin office job doing something I know nothing about. All I did was fall in love with the girl who shared my cab one rainy afternoon. Where’d she go, Sarah? My mother may understand you but I feel like I don’t know you at all.”
βJesse, youβre not thinking straight. Do you really believe youβll be happy spending your life milking cows, working the fields and going to state fairs instead of living in the lap of luxury with me?”
βYou know what, Sarah? Youβre right! I wouldnβt be happy β at least not with you β and you would never be happy with me.β Jesse walked to the door, then paused. βIβm sure some day youβll meet a guy who’s just as shallow as you but that guy’s not me. Goodbye, Sarah. Thanks for stopping me from making a huge mistake.β
“Hold on, cowboy! We’re not done here! You do not get to walk out on me, Jesse!” Sarah seethed.
Jesse grinned. “That’s where you’re wrong, Sarah.”
“You’ll be sorry, cowboy. You hear me? You’ll be sorry!” Sarah screamed as Jesse turned and left.
He laughed softly to himself knowing Sarah was wrong again.
OK, boys and girls! I guarantee you’re not going to be able to sit still for this one.
No foreplay today; let’s get straight down to business.
Hereβs the happiest song from 2014, a huge hit for Pharrell Williams. Itβs called β¦ what else?? β¦βHAPPYβ!
I love that guy! He puts me in such a great mood, I want to ingest a little bit of what heβs got going on. How can anyone not be smiling after that video?
Thereβs no question of the day but if you’d like to share with us what flips your happy switch, please do; comments and videos are always welcome. Most import of all: just be happy!
Stay tuned tomorrow when DA takes us someplace new. I wonder where this time?
Why not check out the other posts in The Rhythm Section and remember to stay GROOVY!!
Welcome back to Name That Tune. Today we have something a bit unusual for you but I think youβre going to love the song. Itβs sure to bring back some delightful memories.
Here are the questions for today. Think outside the bog.
Todayβs song was written in 1979 and is primarily associated with a long-running children’s television show.
Our featured performer plays the banjo and looks as young today as he did when his show premiered in 1976. It must be his high-protein diet and water aerobics.
This award winning song is loved by adults and children alike and tells the story of the singerβs driving urge for something more in life. The song was deemed βculturally, historically and aesthetically significantβ by the Library of Congress and selected for preservation in the National Recording Registry. The singer also has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.
The songβs name has been used by a number of charitable organizations wishing to evoke its message, including a childrenβs charity, a summer camp for seriously ill children and a horse-riding camp for people with disabilities.
Todayβs mild-mannered performer has been in a long-term relationship with a rather flamboyant and domineering diva but it seems to work well for them. Heβs a real βprinceβ but sheβs been called a βPorcine Primadonnaβ by the paparazzi!
Can you guess the name of todayβs tune and the name of the performer? Think it over, then scroll down for the big reveal. You might be surprised.
The video is about to start; have you guessed todayβs song and the singer who made it famous?
Letβs take a look.
If you said βThe Rainbow Connectionβ by Kermit the Frog, youβre right!
Get the kids, grandkids, grandma and grandpa in the room. Hereβs the video:
I hope this one put a giant smile on your face; thanks for having a bit of fun with me today. Lifeβs just too serious, isnβt it?
Stay tuned tomorrow as Mr. B eases us into another week with Breaktime Whodunnit.
UPDATE: Mrs. Bill just read her story to Mr. Bill who smiled sweetly, told her it was a wonderful story,just like all her others, and very nicely reminded her that it was actually their 51st wedding anniversary, not their 52nd. They say it’s the short-term memory that’s the first to go. π πΎ π₯ π
It was 52 years ago on this day in June when a young woman sat in the kitchen of the finished basement of her familyβs home in The Bronx, NY. This was the only home she knew and now she was about to leave.
She was ready. She was always ready, never late a day in her life. And she wasnβt the least bit nervous. She’s Sicilian!
Here she was, dressed in her finest at 9:30 in the morning, eating Oreo cookies dunked in a tall glass of milk while everyone upstairs was running around like a bunch of headless chickens.
And by her finest I mean her wedding gown! Who eats chocolatey Oreos while wearing a pristine white wedding dress? She does!
Let them run around upstairs checking things off the βTo Doβ list. She figured if it wasnβt done by now, it probably wasnβt very important.
No, she was ready β not just for her wedding day but for every day to come. And not a dribble of Oreo-speckled milk anywhere on her spotless dress.
In exactly 90 minutes she was going to marry the finest man sheβd ever met. Of course, he was handsome and tanned and smelled like salt water and Aqua Velva. He was insanely smart, brilliant actually, and funny as hell but not in a goofy way. He was clever and kind and amazing. And he treated her like cut glass.
He was tone deaf and colorblind β two things she definitely was not β but she was willing to overlook those flaws. When your world spins a little faster and your heart does a tarantella when youβre with him, little things like that donβt matter.
Well, she better go brush the Oreos out of her teeth, although that would make for unforgettable wedding photos! She headed off to the bathroom, the train of her wedding gown flowing behind her. She grinned at her image in the mirror and cracked up.
This was a big day. The biggest. The best. The beginning of Mr. & Mrs. Bill.
And, to top it all off, there was going to be cake!
Happy 52nd Anniversary, my love, my Mister Bill. Something tells me weβre in this for the long haul.
The assignment was as crystal clear as todayβs sky.
No fuss, no muss with this one. Just the way she liked it.
Her mark was not native to this country, their customs not his own. He did not approve of an afternoon rest. To him it was the height of laziness. He abhorred sleep, calling it little snatches of death.
For her the quiet of the afternoon was pivotal for a successful mission.
One could set the clock in the bell tower by this manβs routine. It never fluctuated, never deviated. How could anyone lead such a boring existence?
She craved excitement, adrenaline rushes. Sheβd been waiting for this day for some time. In her mind this could have been accomplished weeks ago but she had her orders.
Everything was planned to the second β¦ literally. She dared not be up there when the bell rang out the time, even with her noise-eliminating headphones. That could potentially destroy the objective.
He was in sight now.
Poised on the highest balcony, her finger on the trigger, she steadily, gently began to pull back until the nape of his neck was perfectly centered in the telescopic lens.
He took his final step. NOW! Almost instantaneously he fell unnoticed to the pavement.
She efficiently stored everything into her backpack, carefully removing the paraglider and slipping it over her shoulders. Swiftly she stepped off the railing. The glider opened smoothly, easing her descent.
Getting tangled in one of the turrets was an unwelcome complication.
With exactly 67Β’ in his pocket, Dr. George Powers made his daily trek to McDonald’s for a morning cup of coffee. He would walk from his rent-controlled Greenwich Village apartment, buy his coffee and sip it while flipping though his dogeared copy of βThe Complete Organ Methodβ.
On this particular morning, George trudged through the slush in his beat up boots, 67Β’ jingling in his pocket. Placing the coins on the counter, he ordered his usual.
βSorryβ said the girl taking orders. βThe price is now 69Β’.β
Befuddled, George exclaimed βIβve been a patron here for years. The price is always 67Β’!β
Apologizing, the girl explained that she didnβt set the prices. George scooped up his 67Β’ muttering βoughta be a lawβ and trudged back home.
George was, to put it nicely, frugal. He saw how difficult the Great Depression had been on his parentβs life and livelihood. His father was always saying βNever trust banks!β Fortunately George was an excellent student, earning a scholarship to college and a grant to continue his studies for a Doctorate in Music.
Upon graduating high school, George was drafted to serve during WWII; he was never deployed and spent every day of his four years in the army at Fort Benning, Georgia. One day he noticed a baby grand piano in the corner of a lounge area and asked if it would be okay for him to practice. He was granted permission and in exchange would sometimes play for officer’s dinners. George’s self-imposed rigorous study habits in school carried over to his time in the army, waking at 3AM every day and practicing the piano for almost two hours before 5AM wake up call.
After the army, George enrolled in college, working weekends as assistant organist at Trinity Church in Greenwich Village. He was lucky; the church was close enough to his apartment and school so he didn’t have to pay for public transportation. The following year the organist retired; George replaced him and began teaching organ lessons. At the same time he attended graduate school, earning his Doctorate in Music. He made a decent salary yet continued his frugal lifestyle of eating cheese sandwiches, wearing the same clothes and drinking water from the tap. His only splurge was a morning cup of McDonald’s coffee.Β
George’s favorite student was Brad Ridgeway; he reminded George of a young version of himself. Brad worked in the mailroom at Dun & Bradstreet; his salary was so meager he could only afford to live at the YMCA. He was determined to become a great organist one day but music school was not in his budget. Brad’s parents worked for Walmart in his hometown of Columbus, Ohio and he wouldn’t dream of asking them for money. Times were tough but he just kept on pushing through one day at a time.
Despite their considerable age difference, Brad thought of George as his best friend; he didn’t realize it at the time but George felt the same way about him. When a very affordable furnished apartment not far from George became available, Brad was able to move out of the Y and settle into a place of his own. He wasn’t crazy about the furnishings but beggars can’t be choosers.
Occasionally on lesson days Brad would walk to George’s apartment building straight from work and the two of them would continue to Trinity Church. They looked like the cartoon characters Mutt and Jeff. At 6’3, Brad towered over the 5’8″ George. The duo was oblivious to the stares of people on the street and sometimes got so caught up in talking about music, they’d walk right by the church and have to backtrack half a city block or more.
One day at his lesson, Brad noticed that George had really let himself go. The soles of his shoes were falling apart, his sweater was threadbare in places, his eyeglasses were taped together in the center and he needed a haircut. In addition, his coat wasn’t warm enough and Brad was concerned about George’s deep persistent cough; he really did not look well at all. Brad asked George if everything was alright, if there was anything he could do. George just shrugged it off, mumbling something about “this damn weather” and the long-term effects of a case of childhood tuberculosis.
At the end of the lesson George handed Brad a tiny sealed manila envelope and earnestly said βSon, hold on to this. Open it only if something should happen to me. Keep it safe and don’t tell anyone. It’s for your eyes only.β Brad slipped the mysterious enveloped into his pocket; that was the first time George ever called him “son” and that made him think of his parents, now gone. Brad knew better than to ask any questions; if George wanted him to know more, he’d tell him.
About a month later, George uncharacteristically missed one of Bradβs lessons. Brad waited at the church for about twenty minutes, then went to George’s apartment to check on him. The landlord informed him that βthe old guyβΒ had passed away in his sleep three days earlier.Β Shattered, Brad slowly walked home; hours later he remembered the envelope. Grabbing the plant in his kitchen where he had hidden the envelope, Brad stuck his fingers in the dirt and pulled out a small plastic bag containing the envelope. He opened it and found a scrap of paper and a key; written on the paper was βG.C.T. 520β.
Brad was stumped by the initials G.C.T. For days he tried to decipher the note, with no luck. One morning while reading the newspaper, Brad’s eyes landed on a short article on the bottom of the page. As he read the headline, Brad couldn’t believe what he saw: “Construction Work to Begin at G.C.T.” As he read on, Brad discovered the three letters stood for Grand Central Terminal β the largest commuter train terminal in New York.
Brad raced to the bus stop and boarded a bus for Grand Central. On the way there he figured out “520” could only be a locker number. Running through the terminal, he finally came upon row after row of lockers. He located #520 and with trembling fingers unlocked it to discover it was crammed with small brown paper bags.
Loosening the tape and peeking inside one bag, Brad’s eyes nearly popped out when he saw it was stuffed with money! Scrawled on the bags in George’s handwriting was βNEVER TRUST BANKS!β Shocked, Brad slammed the locker door and locked it. He scrambled around the area hoping to find a discarded shopping bag or cardboard box. He eyed a big bag tossed on top of a garbage can, swiped it and went back to the locker. Methodically he filled the large bag with all the small bags, tossed his sweater on top to conceal the contents of the bag and returned home as quickly as possible.
Safely back in his apartment, Brad emptied the shopping bag onto his bed and began counting the money bags; there were 75 bags and each one contained 50 $100 bills. George, in his frugality had stashed away $375,000 and put it all aside for Brad. Dumbstruck, Brad slowly sat on the edge of his bed, disbelief washing over him.
Little did Brad know that was just the beginning of his shocking news.
A couple of days after finding the money at Grand Central, Brad received a call from a man who identified himself as a lawyer and the executor of George’s will. “George’s will? What more could Georgepossibly have toleave anyone?” Brad wondered. The lawyer asked Brad to come by his office which he did the following day. When Brad arrived at the office, he was handed an old battered suitcase; the lawyer told Brad the suitcase was left to him by George and its contents were now his. Brad was given the key for the suitcase and left the lawyer’s office.
Once back in his apartment, Brad placed the suitcase on the kitchen table and unlocked it. There was a note resting atop a layer of newspapers. The note read:
“Dear Brad. For all the years as my student, you were the only personI felt I could count on. I know you struggled financially and life was roughfor you so it seemed only fitting that I leave you what I could.In this suitcase are my cherishedorgan books; I want you to have them. Whatever else is in thiscase I can no longer use. It is yours. Bless you and don’t forget β NEVER TRUST BANKS! Fondly, George”
I’m asking myself at this point, dear readers, if you have figured out that in addition to his beloved organ books, George had placed the remainder of his money in the suitcase and had given it to the lawyer for safekeeping?
If you are wondering if this story is fact or fiction, I can tell you without a shred of doubt that it is true; I have not changed the facts, only embellished them for your reading pleasure. You see, in early 2000 I began organ lessons with Dr. George Powers at Trinity Church. Eighteen months later, 911 happened and all lower Manhattan was closed off: I wasn’t able to get down to Greenwich Village for lessons. Shortly after that, knee surgery sidelined me and I was forced to give up the organ all together.
During those 18 months I got to know Brad and a couple of George’s other students casually in passing. On Easter Sunday 2010, I received a call from the secretary at Trinity Church; she was informing all George’s students of his death. Brad had been George’s student for quite a few years and I believe George did the right thing leaving his money to Brad; neither one had any relatives, only each other.
By the time all the money had been counted, Brad had inherited an astonishing $2.5 million in cold cash! This information was revealed to me by another of George’s students while we were attending a memorial service for George at Trinity Church. As it turns out, the student I was talking to was the wife of George’s lawyer.
After the memorial service, I never spoke to any of George’s students again and I never found out what became of Brad Ridgeway. Despite George’s opinion of banks, I hope Brad made some wise investments and is enjoying a very comfortable life!
This organ is almost identical to the one at Trinity Church. The pipes are located at the front of the church while the organ is in the rear. Due to this type of setup, there is always a momentary sound delay.
I hope you enjoyed that incredible story of Dr. George Powers and Brad Ridgeway. Please join me today for a new edition of At The Movies. I look forward to sharing another great video with you. https://rhythmsection.blog/
Welcome back to At The Movies and our featured song for today β βEverybodyβs Talkinβ (Echoes)β.
Written and recorded in 1966 by Fred Neil, the version I chose is the one weβre all familiar with β 1969βs rendition by Harry Nilsson. The song reached No. 6 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart and won a Grammy Award after it was featured in the film βMidnight Cowboyβ.
The movie was set in New York City and depicts the unlikely friendship between two hustlers: naΓ―ve sex worker, Joe Buck (Jon Voight) and ailing con man Enrico Rizzo (Dustin Hoffman).
This beautiful song describes the singerβs desire to retreat from the harshness of the city to a more peaceful place and an easier life. It is among the most famous works by Harry Nilsson.
Now here is βEverybodyβs Talkinβ.
What a great song and a beautiful arrangement. Both Jon Voight and Dustin Hoffmann were so young in those unforgettable roles. They were the epitome of the odd couple but they made it work. Another great movie with two terrific actors!
Now for the question of the day:
Dustin Hoffman’s character went by a rather unflattering nickname. What was it?
How’d you do? Did you remember his nickname? The answer is given at the bottom of the page.
Thanks for joining me At The Movies; I hope you had a great time. Catch you again next week!
βDonna, itβs here! I swear Samβs gonna wet his pants! Yeah, thatβs right. I was gonna get the smaller grill, but I said βScrew it! This is what Samβs had his eye on all winter. Why not go for the super deluxe model with all the bells and whistles?β And talk about perfect timing! Delivered right on his birthday. Itβs pristine Donna; the kids are mesmerized by it. Oh, no! The kids! OMG, I knew I should have covered it! Theyβre using it to block their hockey pucks! I gotta go, Donna! This is a disaster. Kids! You little bastards!
Originally all that was available in the world of crayons was a thin mustard-colored paper packet with drab green lettering which contained eight crayons – one each of black, blue, brown, green, red, violet, orange and yellow … fine, reliable, steadfast colors indeed … the proud forefathers of what was to come …. and even though other brands of crayons could be found in every toy or arts and crafts store around the worldΒ β various sized boxes containing a multitude of colors β none could compare to the “King of Crayons” … CRAYOLA!
As time went on, more colors were created and updated boxes were designed until finally in 1958 the crown jewel of crayons made its debut; nothing compared to the new bright yellow and green box with red letters emblazoned across the front shouting out “64 DIFFERENT BRILLIANT COLORS WITH BUILT-IN SHARPENER!” β alerting us that this was indeedΒ “The Grand Crayonon”!Β with one peek inside the magic box revealing to curious and imaginative kids everywhere a rainbow battalion of wax soldiers standing at attention in their cardboard armories …Β Β a plethora of pigmentation, a confluence of chromaticity … a legion of luminosity .. gem-like colors galore!Β
No longer were kids confined to a measly eight colors for now, instead of one red there were four, five hues of orange, eight varieties of yellow, six choices of green, a profusion of eleven blues, five purple shades, an assortment of eight pinks, an incredible selection of ten browns, two grays and one each of silver, gold, copper, black and white while one of the blues was called cerulean, which everyone thought sounded more like a gas than a color!
The artistic possibilities were endless: the sky was no longer just blue but sky blue and midnight blue … trees weren’t plain old green – they were forest and pine green … flowers were carnation pink, brilliant rose and periwinkle while lemons and olives were, believe it or not, lemonyellow and olive green!
And just when you thought the pinnacle had been reached, along comes the totally unexpected … washable crayons, erasable ones, scented, fluorescent and even glitter crayons; now oranges, grapes and cherries smelled like fruit, tulips and violets smelled like flowers and reflected stars sparkled and shimmered in the Pacific Blue.
It’s no wonder why something as ineffably magical as playful, colorful crayons should have their own theme park … The Crayola Experience… a fabulous place where kids and adults can participate in “The Power of Creativity” and say “Thank you, Crayola, forcoloring our world!”
Written in response to GirlieOnTheEdge and Sundayβs Six Sentence Story Word Prompt. The rules: six sentences β no more, no less. Punctuation be damned! The magic word this week is BOX π¦ ποΈ
The Elephant's Trunk 