I Knew the Japanese

My first year at TMG began in 1991. The kids were shipped home for Christmas on Dec. 5 to avoid any conflict that Dec. 7 might dredge up. Sweet, long vacation.

            Quite out of the blue, in May of 1971, I was suddenly invited to join a gospel group. The baritone singer/guitarist and leader of the group owned a recording studio, and that’s where I was taken that cold spring evening. Why they members of the group chose me is a mystery yet. I’m no fan of gospel music, but I was fascinated with the idea. The singers were all kin, two sisters, a brother, and the oldest lady’s son (sang tenor, played bass). A classmate of mine played piano, and another classmate (an incredibly good looking girl) was the bass player’s girlfriend. The band had recorded an album at the studio, which was released on the studio’s label. I’d heard the main singer, the oldest sister, sing harmony on a demo Billy D had made of My Sweet Lord.

            The rehearsal took place at the studio. I struggled on my little Gem organ to learn the songs, and was nervous that they wanted me to play the next day, Decoration Day, at Hopewell Springs Baptist Church. I knew I’d be terrible because I didn’t really learn the changes or the song titles, but that’s rock n roll. The important thing, however, was not the rehearsal, nor the group, nor the gig, but what happened when practice broke up.

            The young people and the sisters left, but I stayed behind with the leader and tuned his guitar. We’d not been at it long when one of the sisters burst in and announced that bass player and crew had wrecked on their ways home. We quickly lit out.

            I don’t remember much about the crash except that it happened on a straight, level stretch of Niles Ferry Road. My classmate, the piano player, banged her knee under the dash, and the other classmate had a panic attack. The injuries were determined to be minor, and no ambulance was called.

            While the wreck was processing round, I spied a girl standing in the driveway of the house in front of which the crash had occurred. Damn, I thought to myself, she looks good. I wondered how I could get to know her a little better. It was getting up toward 10:30 p.m., so I approached the girl and inquired about the use of her telephone to call my parents. She led me into her kitchen and I saw her in the light, then I saw the light. I flirted with her through the whole of the phone conversation with my mom, and talked to her every second until the wreck cleared and all headed home. She’d told me she planned to be at the church the next day.

            I played the church gig, but no girl. In a way I was glad because my playing had been not merely bad, but erratically bad, lagging, a total mess. The band should have fired me on the spot and put me before the firing squad as the closing entertainment to Decoration Day, but to my surprise seemed nonplused and invited me back for another time. All I could think about was the girl.

            I began to feel sorry for myself and thought I’d somehow blown the chance to impress my personality upon the life of such a good looking, unsuspecting girl. Something like that could never have happened in Madisonville, where I was just too well known, but in another town (Vonore) a chance existed. For a change I didn’t just give up, but pushed ahead until I got her phone number and talked my way into her life. Not only was she a babe, but a cheerleader, too. Hell, I hadn’t been within ten feet of a cheerleader since that cold football game my freshman year, and dating one was not going to happen, but Vonore was an island of dreams.

            My new little girlfriend was a music lover, a piano and guitar player, one of the top students in her class and school, a cheerleader, a Christian, and a model citizen, about half the things that I wasn’t. Somehow most of the opposing sides were planed away for a number of years before everything fell apart. The entire experience, with its rough and smooth qualities, was part of growing up. I hadn’t quite done that by the end of the romantic run.