I actually had a song that went to number one. Number one on the beach music charts. Beach music is a popular subculture in the Southeast, from Maryland to Florida. It grew from the need for music to dance the ‘shag’ to. Now, in England, shag means fuck, but in the U. S. it’s a dance. A sped up version of the jitterbug and other popular dances from the nineteen forties. Originally danced to black r&b records, white bands recognized the potential and started doing records, usual remakes of the originals.
Realizing they could make more money with originals, they began writing their own material, usually a more sanitized version of the r&b numbers. Beach music fans are like country music fans, one hit and you have fans for life.
The band that had to get rid of me over the VD episode was a beach band. They were bemoaning the fact they had no original material one day when I suggested we write some. They scoffed, saying they had tried and their efforts sucked, but I was welcome to give it a shot.
I sat down and in forty five minutes had the nucleus of their first hit. I thought the inane dribble about blonds and fun, sands and tans, and love so sweet on a moonlit beach was pure horseshit, but they almost pissed their pants when I played it for them. They took it, arranged it with emphasis on the brass and organ, and released it.
It went to number one in two months, but then again there wasn’t much competition. It boosted our performance price and everyone was happy. I still get small royalty checks every quarter.
The pressure was on me to write more, and I did write two more that charted, one at thirty two, and one at nineteen. Then I had to leave the band so that career was over.
It was enjoyable for the most part, and I really learned to appreciate the depth of a horn section.
I had made tentative contacts with several labels with a demo of some of my work but hadn’t got a response when fate took a hand.
…………………….
We were engaged now, but hadn’t set a date. I asked her if she had one in mind, and she suggested late June of early July, about five months away. I told her to pick a date, and I would make sure I wasn’t working then. I could always get a sub. She wanted to do it between semesters, she had become quite serious about getting her degree.
I was happy she was getting serious about a career. The only thing I didn’t like was her relying on Gary to help her with her studies.
“Honey, don’t get all jealous on me. He has a degree and experience in the field. Why shouldn’t I use him as a resource? I love you, I’m using him, It’s that simple.”
Those words would come back to haunt both of us.
She was happily planning the wedding. Nothing over the top, just family and a few friends. The only disagreement we had was her decision to use a DJ. I stood firm. It was a professional thing. Live music or else.
She capitulated, but said if they sucked I would never hear the end of it. After all we only get married once, right?
Wrong.
…………………..
I had been married once before, for 23 days.
When Chip died, I didn’t go around the hospital for about a month.
One day I got a phone call. It was the hospital, specifically the head nurse on the floor that Chip had been on. She said she knew it was hard on me, but would I mind bringing my guitar and singing to the kids again? They had been asking for me. I talked it over with Gram. She thought it would do me good, help me heal.
I took my guitar, some tambourines and bongo drums, and had Gram deliver me.
The kids had a ball. We made up what we lacked in talent with volume. The hospital was in the process of adding a cancer wing while Chip was there, and they had already started accepting patients.
These kids were often in the hospital for weeks, sometimes for months at a time. Some never went home. Any diversion was appreciated and since I was close to a lot of them in age I was well received.
After the second week I asked one of the nurses about Kara.
“Oh, good news, she’s in remission. She still has to come in twice a month for treatments, but seems to be doing good.” The next week I bought a bag of dark chocolate kisses and asked the nurse to give them to her.
According to the nurses she cried when she got them. She found out what day I came and she changed her appointment so she could see me.
When I saw her sitting in the wheelchair, [required during treatment] I immediately launched into “Kara’s Song”, written specifically for her.
I did it in a finger picking, folk style. As I picked the notes I sang softly.
“A minstrel travels all around, and sees beautiful girls in every town.
But I’ve never seen a maid so fair, As Kara so beautiful she needs no hair.”
I sang the other three verses as I moved closer to her, until I was sitting by her side.
That was the exact moment when I understood the power of music. She was crying. Her Mom was crying, the nurses and some of the kids were crying. Even a doctor tried to hide his emotion.
I went on to play the songs I knew the kids liked. Being kids, they rebounded from the sadness quickly, becoming loud, happy at least for a little while to just be kids again.
While I gathered up the tambourines and bongos to be stored until the next week I got several surprises.
First, the head nurse, a black lady in her forties, came up and gave me a tremendous hug.
“Thank you, honey. I know that you could just as easily be hanging out with your friends instead of being here. You’ve got an important gift, Wiley. You can move people with your music. In ten or fifteen years, when your songs are on the radio, I’m gonna say I knew for years you were gonna be famous. And that you’re a good man, some one I’m proud to say I call a friend.”
I didn’t know what to say so I hugged her back.
After seeing the head nurse hug me, the other nurses followed suit.
Kara’s Mom also stayed behind while she had her treatment. After the hug, she led me to a corner for some quiet conversation.
“Thank you, Wiley. For awhile, I thought Kara had given up hope. You have no idea what your song means to her. You never met her before, but she had beautiful hair. Long and blond, she constantly changed styles. She loved it.”
“When she got sick, and found out chemo would cause her to lose her hair, she cried for days. Then, the day before the first treatment, she made me take her to a salon that participated in Locks For Love, a group that donates hair to cancer victims. I was never so proud of her as I was that day.”