This is my favorite song by Nanci Griffith, who is one of my favorite singers. Ten years ago I brought the CD with us when we drove over to the coast to scatter my mother's ashes at sea, because this particular song could have been written about my mother and I identified it with her in the strongest of ways.
The appointment to be on board the whale-watching boat was scheduled for early afternoon and it was our intention to do the scattering and then drive home as we had not made arrangements for the dogs, who were waiting there for us.
We arrived at Depoe Bay to find the weather brisk and stormy and went to the charter boat kiosk to pay for our rides, only to be told that, "The bar is closed." Conditions were too dangerous for any captain to take any boat from the small bay out into the wild open ocean, i.e. "crossing the bar." The situation was repeated this year in late October, as described in a news article: First Storm of the Season Closes Bar Entrances and when I read that it brought back memories of our challenge ten years ago. Here is how we handled the change of plans.....
We asked if they might be able to take us out the following day and we were told there were no guarantees, that this was a heavy storm. We needed to call them the next morning to get a report on conditions. Michael suggested that I stay the night and that he would return home to care for the pets and we would hope for the best in 24 hours time. We had dinner there before he left, bringing my mother's ashes into the restaurant with us under my coat because we didn't want to leave them in the car. Thus, the "three" of us had a final lovely dining experience at the coast, something we had enjoyed many times together. We thought that quite funny.
I got a room at the motel where my mother and I had shared many great weekends together prior to my marriage with Michael. It was our place...beautiful rooms with ocean view, great indoor swimming pool, and hot sauna. Michael returned home and I was left alone with my mother's ashes, a small boombox, and my Nanci Griffith CD. I set my mother's ashes on the small round table in front of the windows and opened the windows wide to let the ocean sounds compete with Late Night Grand Hotel until it became too cold with them open. Then, with the room warming to a familiar coziness I repeated this one song over and over and over, not able to get enough of it, and each time feeling a stronger connection with my mother. So like her, so like her life. And I was sad that was true for her, but also proud of her for stepping into the role life gave her and for playing it so well.
The evening was exactly what I needed for our final farewell before the scattering that did in fact take place the following afternoon. I can honestly say that it was the most powerful and fulfilling night I have ever spent in a motel.
THREE MEDLARS WITH A BUTTERFLY by Adriaen Coorte (C) 1705
Butterfly ~For Mama
Ten years since colored leaves fell gracefully
outside your window while you watched
your final day fade from peachy glow
to silvery gloaming to black velvet
night. Then my hand let go your
hand with sleep coming on
and in thin dawn I woke
when your flight was just here and now -
there - and there,
and where
ever and
ever.
It is my month of contemplation, the one where everything that gets done gets done inside of me. Octobers have passed me through the looking glass of remembrance for some years now. During the course of this October I will mark, on different days, my 25th year of sobriety and also the tenth year since my mother's death. I have decided to let spill out what will spill, in the sense of posting things that in some way signify aspects/realities/feelings/memories of one or both events for me personally.
Both are represented in the song below. My mother always said she wanted her grave marker to say simply, She Lived. Then she decided she wanted to be cremated and have her ashes scattered in the ocean. My husband and I did the scattering from a whale-watching boat and afterward we tossed in a beautiful large wreath my sister ordered with a ribbon entwined in it that read: She lived. We watched it bob and dip until it was out of sight, the sole and fleeting splash of color on a slate gray, stormy November sea.
And I have, in a sense, lived two lives: the one prior to and the one now in sobriety. I have a few regrets regarding the former and much gratitude for the latter.
Pleasures of the Harbor, sung by Glenn Yarborough (whose voice is musical poetry)
Pleasures of the Harbor ~ by Phil Ochs (full lyrics -- not all sung in the Yarborough version above) And the ship sets the sail They've lived the tale To carry to the shore Straining at the oars Or staring from the rail
And the sea bids farewell She waves in swells And sends them on their way Time has been her pay And time will have to tell
Oh, soon your Sailing will be over Come and take The pleasures of the harbor
And the anchor hits the sand The hungry hands Have tied them to the port The hour will be short For leisure on the land
And the girls scent the air They seem so fair With paint on their face Soft is their embrace To lead them up the stairs
Soon your Sailing will be over Come and take The pleasures of the harbor
In the room dark and dim Touch of skin He asks her of her name She answers with no shame And not a sense of sin
'Til the fingers draw the blinds Sip of wine The cigarette of doubt The candle is blown out The darkness is so kind
Oh, soon your Sailing will be over Come and take The pleasures of the harbor
And the shadows frame the light Same old sight Thrill has blown away Now all alone they lay Two strangers in the night
Till his heart skips a beat He's on his feet To shipmates he must join She's counting up the coins He's swallowed by the street
Oh, soon your Sailing will be over Come and take The pleasures of the harbor
In the bar hangs a cloud The whiskey's loud There's laughter in their eyes The lonely in disguise Are clinging to the crowd
And the bottle fills the glass The haze is fast He's trembling for the taste Of passion gone to waste In memories of the past
Oh, soon your Sailing will be over Come and take The pleasures of the harbor
In the alley, red with rain Cry of pain For love was but a smile Teasing all the while Now dancing down the drain
'Til the boys reach the dock They gently mock And lift him on their backs Lay him on his rack And leave beneath the light
Oh, soon your Sailing will be over Come and take The pleasures of the harbor
And the ship sets the sail They've lived the tale To carry from the shore Straining at the oars Or staring from the rail
And the sea bids farewell She waves in swells And sends them on their way Time has been her pay And time will have to tell
Oh, soon your Sailing will be over Come and take The pleasures of the harbor
{This is the 12th in an undetermined number of songs my mother taught me I'm posting this month in her memory. For background, please visit the post containing the first song, Ivory Tower.}
My mother liked classical music in a basic sense, but her taste ran more toward popular music. My love for classical music and opera (adored by her father) was not passed from my mom to me, was developed on my own. It was interesting to share that appreciation with her after she retired and moved to Oregon. I got her to some symphonies but never an opera. In the final weeks of her life I played classical music (and easy listening instrumentals) that I found soothing and assumed that she did also. But it wasn't until one day I put an old Marty Robbins record on the stereo in her family room that I returned to her bedroom to see her face changed to a happy dreaminess. "Love it, love it, love it," she said emphatically.
It is precisely because her interest in classical music took a backseat to other musical forms that I can easily recall her favorite selections. She told me when I was a child that her mother loved "Going Home" and would hum it around the house when she was a girl, which she in turn did for me. She said it was composed by Dvorak, and I remember being somewhat confused that there were words to a classical piece. (See below that the tune was likely a spiritual that Dvorak liked and adapted for the symphony*) It was years later that I listened to the entire symphony with its wordless 2nd movement, but of course whenever I hear it I think of that part as one of the songs my mother taught me.
She died in 2000 on this day and we had her memorial service a few weeks later. Going Home was not among songs on tape that were played over the speakers in the funeral home, although as I read information for this post I realized it is a favorite at funerals.
Less than a year after her death, September 11 happened and I was so grateful that my mother with the "Pollyanna" outlook on life did not have to endure the shock that the rest of us lived through together. Only a few days later, The Oregon Symphony was scheduled to perform at The Oregon Garden here in Silverton, a final toast to summer and the ending of the 2001 outdoor concert series. Michael and I had tickets and we went to the concert with some trepidation (remember those early days after 9-11 when we were unsure of the safety of being in large gatherings?).
The setting for the outdoor concerts there is so lovely. Concert-goers sit (in low lawn chairs only) in a grassy bowl facing where the setting sun is seen through an oak grove behind the stage.
We were advised at the outset of the concert that we could not depend on the program that had been printed prior to 9-11. The conductor was changing some music commensurate with that moment in time. I remember only the final piece -- Dvorak's 9th Symphony, 2nd Movement: Going Home. Michael and I held hands, and as we did I felt so close to my mother. I sat there in awe of the punch of color tracing the coast range in the distance. Did I cry? I do not remember. Many did. The many, who shared the surreal beauty of the song being offered up to the old oaks and the sunset and the ether. It was all we had to give. And such tenderness to take.
Going Home - lyrics (Words by William Arms Fisher)
Going home, going home
I'm just going home
Quiet light, some still day
I'm just going home
It's not far, just close by
Through an open door
Work all done, care laid by
Going to fear no more
Mother's there expecting me
Father's waiting, too
Lots of folk gathered there
All the friends I knew
All the friends I knew
I'm going home
Nothing's lost, all's gain
No more fret nor pain
No more stumbling on the way
No more longing for the day
Going to roam no more
Morning star lights the way
Restless dream all done
Shadows gone, break of day
Real life begun
There's no break, there's no end
Just a living on
Wide awake with a smile
Going on and on
Going home, going home
I'm just going home
It's not far, just close by
Through an open door
I am going home
I'm just going home
Going home, going home
[Repeat]
. . .The Symphony is subtitled "From the New World" and was composed by the Czech composer Antonin Dvorak during an extended stay in America when he took up a post there in New York. Dvorak became homesick and this particular movement is often interpreted as an expression of his longing to be home in his native land. It is therefore appropriate that the music was turned into the song called "Going Home". Dvorak's New World Symphony was also one of the two recordings chosen by astronaut Neil Armstrong to take to the moon. Perhaps it was a personal favourite, or perhaps he looked upon the Moon as a "New World". . .--mfiles.co.uk
*Henry "Harry" T. Burleigh (1866-1949) African American Composer, Arranger, and Baritone (and thought to be the composer of the spiritual that Dvorak adapted for the 9th Symphony, 2nd Movement)Burleigh't teachers at the National Conservatory did not include the school's Director, Antonin Dvorak, but the two did spend considerable time together outside of classes. . . Burleigh often sand spirituals for Dvorak, and began working as his copyist in 1893. He also played the double bass and the timpani in the Conservatory's orchestra, of which Dvorak ws one of two conductors. . .
He was not a student of Antonin Dvorak, as is often assumed, not then being sufficiently advanced in his theoretical studies, but he spent much extracurricular time with the Bohemian composer, acquainting him with the spiritual repertoire . . .He also served as double bassist and timpanist in the school orchestra, conducted by Dvorak and Franz von der Stucken.--AfriClassical.com
{Personal note of interest: The header of the AfriClassical website linked above features a photo (at left) of James DePreist, who was the music director and conductor of The Oregon Symphony from 1980-2005, and conducted the program we heard after 9-11 at The Oregon Garden.}
{This is the sixth in an undetermined number of songs my mother taught me I'm posting this month in her memory. For background, please visit the post containing the first song, Ivory Tower.}
I found this beautiful, albeit humorous, photo of my mother in one of her albums that wasn't one we looked at with her, not that I can recall anyway. There are some cute pictures of my sister and me in the album, but it is basically a grown-ups display, showing visits from some relatives and old friends, friends from her work and their families, and "Daddy Bob." She nearly married the man we called "Daddy Bob" and I remember being all for it because I loved his teen-aged son and daughter. They were Catholic, something I thought sounded exotic. I have few memories of Bob, so he must have been a quiet drunk. It was his drinking that stopped her from marrying him; she had at least learned that from her years with my father.
This shot, taken by Bob, was in a series with a visiting relative and her spouse, likely at a cabin at Lake Tahoe, but most definitely at some spot in the Sierras where they had enjoyed a getaway from kids and work. My mother was one to ham it up for the camera. I did not inherit that from her. So this was her take on their having spiffed up the little cabin before leaving the key. She didn't usually do housecleaning dressed as she is here. But she always whistled while cleaning, cooking....doing anything around the house. My mother did not sing well, but her whistling was divine: on pitch, pure, melodic, sweet.
Of course she took us to see Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, and all the other Disney movies. In essence, therefore, she taught me all the Disney tunes. Ringing in my memory is this song my mother taught me.....by example. Whistle While You Work.
I come home from the soaring in which I lost myself.
I was song, and the refrain which is God
is still roaring in my ears.
Now I am still
and plain:
no more words.
To the others I was like a wind:
I made them shake.
I’d gone very far, as far as the angels,
and high, where light thins into nothing.
But deep in the darkness is God.
-from Rilke's Book of Hours – Love Poems to God
The Rilke poem may look familiar to those of you who remember my post for my 23rd sobriety anniversary. It is the same. I can't imagine ever finding a poem that describes coming to sobriety better than this one does, so I'll probably publish it again for my 25th, and on. The photograph is a change from last year's art, and I may not change it in years ahead. It's perfect.
I'll be keeping to my tradition of taking a few days and nights in October to be at the Oregon coast alone, and will drive over this afternoon. What began in 2001 as a spiritual trip in my mother's memory (she died on October 27, 2000 and we scattered her ashes at sea from a boat out of Depoe Bay) has in more recent years become that and more: my time to connect with my Self.
This will be my first time coordinating the trip on my sobriety anniversary, and I think it will start a trend for the future. It seems fitting.
When I made my room reservations on Tuesday afternoon the inn clerk said the weather at the coast is indeed what has been predicted: stormy, rainy, windy -- making another first in my October solo trips there. But bring on the storms. I'll be in a beautiful room with private beach access and a book, lots of memories, and maybe some new insights. I'm going unplugged and will look forward to responding to your comments when I return home.
{This is the fourth in an undetermined number of songs my mother taught me I'm posting this month in her memory. For background, please visit the post containing the first song, Ivory Tower.}
My mother sang a song from her own childhood for my little sister and me when we were kids that made us all giddy, especially when we learned enough to sing the chorus along with her. Barney Google (With the Goo-Goo-Googly Eyes), for us, however, had nothing to do with all I've learned about the comic strip while putting this post together. I love political cartoons but have never been a huge comic strip fan, so I didn't know until now that the comic strip was the inspiration for the song. So, if not about a comic character, what exactly was the significance of Barney Google for my mother and then for us?
It involved memories of her childhood pet turtle, named Barney Google by her brothers. No photos survived the years but I imagine Barney Google looked something like this turtle named Zeppe discovered here with other great photos of turtles of all kinds. From her description of him it's most likely that Barney Google was an Eastern Box Turtle.
My mother's family lived in New Rochelle, New York during the time they had the pet turtle, in a large three-story home with large front and back yards. Barney Google slept inside the house, in a wooden box with damp wood shavings, from which he was removed each morning by Nellie, my grandmother, who was up early to begin breakfast for my grandfather, their three sons, and my mother, who was the youngest in the family. At dawn, Nellie put Barney Google outside in the flower garden against the back of the house. And the turtle's day began. It was comprised of the exact same daily walk, snacking and sleeping along the way. Always heading in the same direction, Barney Google walked slowly in the sheltered, soft border around the circumference of the house, one time around. To my childhood wonder (and it still amazes me to think of it now), the trek around the house took him exactly until dinner time, when he could be found waiting at the bottom of the back porch steps to be carried inside.
As winter approached and it was evident that Barney Google was ready to hibernate, a place was made for him in a part of the basement where the floor was dirt and he dug in using the soil and wood shavings. The family checked his area periodically during the winter, but Nellie was in tune with the rhythms of nature and usually approached Barney Google's corner of the basement in spring to find signs that he was awakening.
The end of the story is sad. A special container was readied for Barney Google's transport when the family moved some years later to Florida. My mind has blocked the particulars that used to make me cry hysterically as a child. What I recall is that the water supply spilled or wasn't sufficient for the length of the trip. Barney Google did not survive the move.
"Edison Blue Amberol cylinder record No. 4757, by Billy Jones and Ernest Hare, recorded April 13, 1923. This cylinder recording was dubbed from an Edison Diamond Disc record," writes phonophilo who uploaded this great addition to youtube, adding "This record is being played on my table top Edison Amberola DX cylinder phonograph which was manufactured in 1914." ...........[My mother was born in 1915, so it's likely that she listened to Barney Google on a phonograph similar to this.]
BARNEY GOOGLE lyrics
(Rose / De Beck / Con Conrad)Billy Jones & Ernest Hare, Thomas & West Who's the most important man this country ever knew?Do you know what politician I have reference to?Well, it isn't Mr. Bryan, and it isn't Mr. Hughes.I've got a hunch that to that bunch I'm going to introduce:(Again you're wrong and to this throng I'm going to Introduce:)Barney Google, with the goo-goo-goo-ga-ly eyes.Barney Google had a wife three times his sizeShe stood Barney for divorceNow he's living with his horseBarney Google, with the goo-goo-goo-ga-ly eyes.Barney Google bet his horse would win the prize.When the horses ran that day, Spark Plug ran the other way.Barney Google, with the goo-goo-goo-ga-ly eyes.
Who's the greatest lover that this country ever knew?And who's the man that Valentino takes his hat off to?No, it isn't Douglas Fairbanks that the ladies rave about.When he arrives, who makes the wives chase all their husbands out? Why, it's Barney Google, with the goo-goo-goo-ga-ly eyes.Barney Google is the guy who never buys.Women take him out to dine, then he steals the waiter's dime.Barney Google, with the goo-goo-goo-ga-ly eyes.Barney Google, with the goo-goo-goo-ga-ly eyes.Barney Google is the luckiest of guys.If he fell in to the mud, he'd come up with a diamond stud.Barney Google with the goo-goo-goo-ga-ly eyes.Who's the greatest fire chief this country ever saw?Who's the man who loves to hear the blazing buildings roar?Anytime the house is burning, and the flames leap all about,Say, tell me do, who goes, "kerchoo!" and puts the fire out?Barney Google, with the goo-goo-goo-ga-ly eyes.Barney Google, thought his horse could win the prize.He got odds of ten to eight; Spark Plug came in three days late.Barney Google, with the goo-goo-goo-ga-ly eyes.Barney Google, with the goo-goo-goo-ga-ly eyes.Barney Google tried to enter paradise.When Saint Peter saw his face, he said, "Go to the other place".Barney Google, with the goo-goo-goo-ga-ly eyes.
Barney Google and Snuffy Smith is one of the longest-running comic strips in history. Created by Billy DeBeck in 1919, it first appeared in the sports section of the Chicago Herald and Examiner as "Take Barney Google, F'rinstance." It starred the cigar-smoking, sports-loving, poker-playing, girl-chasing ne'er-do-well Barney Google. By October of that year, the strip was distributed by King Features to newspapers all across the country.
In 1942, Barney Google was inherited by DeBeck's long-time assistant, Fred Lasswell, who continued to draw the strip until his death in March 2001. John Rose, who inked the strip for Lasswell, continues the tradition today.
This tremendously popular feature boasts clients in 21 countries and 11 languages. It has added several phrases to the American vernacular, including "sweet mama," "horsefeathers," "heebie-jeebies" and "hotsie-totsie." It has been the inspiration for a hit song, "Barney Google (With Your Goo-Goo-Googly Eyes)," and is one of a few historical comic strips to be honored on a special set of U.S. postage stamps.
Does the origination of Google's name have anything to do with old Barney Google? According to a blogger in France, the answer is no.....or?
Available at ebay for $2,499.99! (There are other vintage Barney Google and Spark Plug items at this ebay page.)
{This is the third in an undetermined number of songs my mother taught me I'm posting this month in her memory. For background, please visit the post containing the first song, Ivory Tower.}
I had three hours sleep on Friday night and we spent the day in Portland on Saturday. It's just past midnight on Sunday now and no wonder this song, Green Door, is the one that dropped to play in the mental jukebox. There are a few pluses in posting this particular song right now:
I don't have a lot to say about it
It is lively and the beat makes me feel like dancing, so I should stay awake long enough to complete the post
The second bullet relates directly to the first bullet, further streamlining my posting this great old song and getting some real sleep.
I have her album that contains this song. The record is worn and the album jacket torn. I remember my mother playing it on the record player and standing in the middle of the living room as her full body took on the music, her long legs moving with the beat, her arms stretching out to my sister and me as a welcome to Come, Dance! And so we did, rockin' n rollin' together, getting dizzy from her strong twirls, taking movement instruction from her lead, laughing and laughing - but always with an ear for the mysterious words.....sometimes dreaming about the green door later that night.
It is with sheer joy that I post the song this early morning from my quiet Oregon neighborhood, remembering exuberant evenings in the old rental on Forest Street in Reno orchestrated to perfection by a smooth dancer with music in her soul.Green Door. One of the songs my mother taught me (to enhance my dance).
A fun and well-written bio of the artist, Jim Lowe, begins with this information that leads me to believe he had something for doors:
" Born in Springfield, Mo., Lowe didn't come to New York as a crusader. He came as a songwriter and singer who in late 1955 had a hit with "Close the Door," then a bigger one - a No. 1, in fact - with "Green Door."
Additional background on the song is found at Songfacts.com where there are, well, song facts about Green Door.
{This is the second in an undetermined number of songs my mother taught me I'm posting this month in her memory. For background, please visit the post containing the first song, Ivory Tower.}
My childhood memory of learning Itsy Bitsy Spider from my mother is not unique, I realize that. It is such an iconic childhood song and many mothers and grade school teachers are responsible for it ringing in the minds of adults the world over. You who have had children of your own have undoubtedly passed it on to your kids (if not, get crackin'). Admit it: even as adults the song holds something special for us. I wonder if it isn't the human need for.....wonder. The wonder of coming upon a spot of nature in the midst of our lives. Pausing to look, really look at a photo of a vividly-colored Amazon rainforest bird, or, as I did just last week, to stop to notice that the speck on my shower wall was a minute spider, and, seeing what it was, to collect it on a piece of tissue and take it to a fern outside. If my mother could have seen me do that her reaction would have been, "You have not changed."
So, yes, I save spiders now (most of them, anyway), in large part due to the itsy bitsy spider I sang about with my mother. I remember the feeling of my left thumb touching my right forefinger and the lattice work my right thumb was about to create by touching my left forefinger, and on and on they would touch and climb.......until they were high, quite high, but not destination-high before my hands fanned open and all eight fingers and two thumbs wiggled gently in the air, turning to rain, while my arms brought them down...down...down. But the lesson was to not give up, not any more than the itsy bitsy spider would ever forfeit to a storm, and so the song would begin again.
What is unique about the song in relation to the Carly Simon video is that my mother and I watched the 1987 HBO concert from Martha's Vineyard together in her family room, two grown women enjoying the song again together. I had a Carly Simon album with this version on it and loved the way she combined Itsy Bitsy Spider with Coming Around Again, so was thrilled to share it with my mother. Itsy Bitsy Spider. One of the songs my mother taught me ..... and that she much later learned anew from me.
Coming Around Again (Itsy Bitsy Spider) lyrics
Baby sneezes Mommy pleases Daddy breezes in So good on paper So romantic So bewildering
I know nothin' stays the same But if you're willin' to play the game It's comin' around again So don't mind if I fall apart There's more room in a broken heart (broken heart)
Pay the grocer You fix the toaster You kiss the host goodbye Then you break a window Burn the souffle Scream the lullaby
I know nothin' stays the same But if you're willin' to play the game It's comin' around again So don't mind if I fall apart There's more room in a broken heart
And I believe in love But what else can I do So in love with you
I know nothin' stays the same But if you're willin' to play the game It's comin' around again
(Baby sneezes) (Mommy pleases) (Daddy breezes in) I know nothin' stays the same But if you're willin' to play the game It will be comin' around again
(The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout) (Down come the rain and washed the spider out) (Out come the sun and dried up all the rain) (And the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again)
{Carly plus backup singers} (The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout) (Down come the rain and washed the spider out) (Out come the sun and dried up all the rain) (And the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again)
I believe in love Now who knows where or when But it's comin' around again
{Carly plus backup singers} (The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout) (Down come the rain and washed the spider out) (Out come the sun and dried up all the rain) (And the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again)
I know nothin' stays the same But if you're willin' to play the game It's comin' around again
(Itsy bitsy spider) (Itsy bitsy spider) (Itsy bitsy spider) (Itsy bitsy spider) (The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout) (Comin' around again) (Down come the rain and washed the spider out) (Down the rain came) (Out come the sun and dried up all the rain) (And the itsy bitsy spider climbed up the spout again)
A friend (left) with my mother (right) at Lawton's Hot Springs
In this month that has become an annual remembrance of my mother for me -- she died in October 2000 -- songs are in my head. It interests me how, each year, without any particular prompting or planning, certain particulars about her scurry ahead of other memories to predominate. In 2009 it is the music she loved, so I'll be sharing some of these songs at Writerquake in tribute to her and as a means to afford myself the time and space to let what memories come flow out with the tunes.
I'm calling this series Songs My Mother Taught Me, but that isn't altogether true. She taught me many, but some I learned because I lived them as she lived in them. The songs played.....over and over.....and I listened and made up my own stories about what they meant. I watched her emotional reactions to the music, and studied her to try to figure out what they meant to her, why her eyes got that foggy, far-away look, why her red-lipsticked mouth would take on that crooked smile leading to a self-inflicted bite to her lower lip as the tears began to fall.
The English translation of the poem by Adolf Heyduk that Antonin Dvorak set to music in 1880 are a 99% fit for many of her favorite songs (the 1% being that I don't have children to play them for.....but I have you):
English Translation
Songs my mother taught me,
In the days long vanished;
Seldom from her eyelids
Were the teardrops banished.
Now I teach my children,
Each melodious measure.
Oft the tears are flowing,
Oft they flow from my memory's treasure.
Ivory Tower. You will see below that the song was recorded by three separate artists in 1956. Learning the year helped me to understand why the song was so mysterious to me. I was five. She was single (and would later that year marry for a fourth time, settling for a man she thought would be a "good daddy" for my sister and me). But she swooned over Ivory Tower for the unattainable married man, a boss at Harold's Club where she was a blackjack dealer, the man who had been instrumental in helping her through the hell of her divorce from my father, the man who lived with his family out Mayberry Drive parallel to old Highway 40 with the Truckee River snaking in between them on its way from Lake Tahoe to Pyramid Lake. I remember her taking us on our "country drive" on Mayberry, always in the gloaming of evening, and that there was a ranch-style house with a huge front lawn where we always slowed down and we would ask why. She told us JH lived there, saying his name with adoration - so we also adored him...or the name of him. Once or twice we saw his children at play and I wondered why we couldn't stop to play with them, since she knew their dad.
My mother had one day off per week, amazing to think of now. No paid vacations, no sick leave. Those days off were treasures to her, especially in the summertime. She'd pile us into the convertible and off we'd go to Lawton's Hot Springs or Reno Hot Springs, depending upon which way she felt like driving. I loved both places: Reno Hot Springs for the stark sagebrush surroundings and the refuge of the cafe on the same property, and Lawton's for the tall diving tower and shady park along the Truckee River.
Lawton's Hot Springs (air view of the place here) had popular music playing out over the swimming pool from giant speakers that covered the far reaches of the picnic area. I remember many of the songs that played at Lawton's, and Ivory Tower was one of them. In my mind the song had something to do with the tall diving tower at the deep end of the olympic-size pool. That, and also I thought of elephant ivory because I'd heard that was what piano keys are made from.....and the piano in the song was pleasing to me, so it seemed there was a connection.
To read about Lawton's Hot Springs directly from the book The Rise of the Biggest Little City: an encyclopedic history of Reno gaming, by Dwayne Kling, click here. I think I must order this book because my mother always wanted to write about the early days of casino gambling in Reno. Somewhere in her papers are essays she wrote as a start on the project, never completed. But I'm not looking at her papers this October. This year, around the ninth anniversary of her death, I'm listening to those songs my mother taught me, the soundtrack to parts of her life and her heart (which was her art).
CORRECTION REGARDING ARTIST: The singer is not Gogi Grant, but, in reality is Gale Storm singing this version of Ivory Tower. Gogi Grant (famous for other 1950s songs) never recorded Ivory Tower. The correction is noted at comments after this particular video at youtube. Where there were other videos of the song with actual photos of Gale Storm, I selected this video to post here because of the interpretive photos.
There were three versions of Ivory Tower recorded in 1956. First by The Charms, then Cathy Carr (#2 hit), and Gale Storm (#6 hit). Click on links below to hear the different versions. I am not totally sure whether the 45 rpm record that my mother played at home was the one by Gale Storm or Cathy Carr. Maybe she had one by each of them.
waynebrasler left comments after a youtube video of The Charms version, correcting some information there that said the black group, Otis Williams and The Charms, weren't the original artists of the song. They were.
Gale's version actually was a cover of Cathy Carr's cover of the Charms' original. Cathy was on Fraternity Records, Gale on Dot but both versions were done at Universal Studios in Chicago with the same engineers. Gale covered many black artists, including Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers' "Why Do Fools Fall in Love." For an artist who was a classically-trained soprano she did amazingly well with this music, mostly because she respected much. With her perfect pitch, Gale was a dream to record.
Another person commented about the different black and white artist versions:
I always bought the black originals, except for Gale Storm, because she was so good on 'My Little Margie' I bought both versions.
Gale Storm passed away . . . 2 days after Michael Jackson and almost no one noticed.
Gale was an unappreciated talent both as a singer and actress, she made 50s TV worth watching.
After reading the comment about her death, I checked. Gale Storm died on June 27, 2009. Her interesting obituary at The New York Times included what, for me, is a special tie to the woman behind the voice - because my sobriety anniversary is October 15:
After her decade of television fame, Ms. Storm turned to stage work in Las Vegas and to regional theater. But she also battled alcoholism in the 1970s and wrote about her struggle in her 1981 autobiography, “I Ain’t Down Yet.”
“I was the star of my own cornball B movie,” she wrote, alluding to her success and her stable, happy home life, “and suddenly it turned into a horror story.” She gave the credit for her recovery to a California hospital’s aversion-therapy program.
I stole the captivating photo of Gale Storm from the blog Inner Toob, where there is a great post written about her in memoriam.
