|
|
|
Where was I in March, 1966? Oh, yeah, at W.W. Lewis Junior High ninth grade. That was the time Percy Sledge sang “When a Man Loves a Woman,” and launched his career (many think this was the one song that made his career even possible.) It was soon No. 1 in the U.S.
I’m not a particular fan, and I don’t have any memories of dancing to the song. Frankly, I don’t know if I knew the singer’s name. But I knew the song, like it was just there, always. I was a nerd before technology, the kind with her head buried in a book. That may explain my ignorance. I wasn’t terribly impressed when I found out Sledge was coming to town.
But this scribe turned into one excited school girl on Saturday night when I found myself sitting with Percy after his performance at the Sulphur Christmas Under the Oaks.
Mayor Chris Duncan and Mel Estes, public information officer for the Sulphur Police Department, made my case. The singer’s security was leaning heavy toward, “Look, guys, this is enough.” Wait — was that I who spoke up, begging for only one question? I don’t know. The moment was almost too much. I was told to stand by.
When I was given the signal to enter Percy's van, I rather clumsily climbed in, thinking nervously, “Oh my God, I’m getting a few minutes with a famous person — a reporter’s dream, now what?” The Man was really calm.
Sledge took time to ask me my name and shake my hand, saying he was pleased to meet me. He just had to get in the air conditioner because of the heat. I was totally fumbling with my little digital recorder that reporters have now for those moments. I really didn’t know, once I decided which buttons to push, whether I was recording or not, but it was time for the question. Did I get it? I didn’t know, but it was time to do my job.
Once I asked the gentle speaking man my question, I just looked at him and let go. I watched his eyes and his face as he spoke, measuring the sincerity in his words, enjoying the moment with a man of fame. His suit was dazzling white and he spoke in a soft, slow, southern drawl.
I thanked him and told him I would let him go so he could get home and rest. The performer had made a few dance moves while singing his heart out for the Sulphur crowd. His performance had been done with the same heart and soul he would have had giving a performance on television, I thought. I knew he must be tired. He had sung for at least an hour. And after all, he is 70 years old.
Then the school girl took over and before I exited, I leaned over and told him, “You have given this town more excitement than it’s had for at least 50 years.” He laughed and smiled at my hyperbole.
It’s true. I can’t remember any one person visiting Sulphur that caused this much flurry since Edwin Edwards came to the Calcasieu-Cameron Fairgrounds before he ever even thought about becoming governor.
Maybe it was just my being able to see our Sulphur police and City of Sulphur workers up close, as they secured the man from the crowd. Maybe it was being there at the front of the stage where his most ardent fans were begging for a handshake. Some were much younger than I. Some were my age and older. I guess between the years of March 1966 and now, somewhere they had danced to the “song” or at least heard it. In the late 1990s, Michael Bolton brought the song back into the limelight.
The young lady beside me at the front of the stage looked a little surprised at times by the intensity of some of the older women’s pleas for a handshake. Before Sledge arrived, the young policeman had an unusual expression on his face when he asked me who was coming. I asked him if he’d ever seen such excitement. His expression told me he had not.
I was around Mayor Duncan, who made the performance of Sledge’s last song something personal by surprising his wife, Angel. The two stood on stage and Sledge sang to the crowd and to them personally when the famous soul ballad was sung at the end. Everyone was excited for them. The mayor was like a kid. Seeing the two made me think of two young kids telling all their friends that they were going steady.
All this excitement, I don’t know. Was it the Song? Or the man? Maybe the moment? I don’t know. It couldn’t have been just me. But Sulphur was alive like I’ve seldom seen it on Saturday, Dec. 4, at Christmas Under the Oaks ... the day when Percy Sledge came to town.
Where was I in March, 1966? Oh, yeah, at W.W. Lewis Junior High ninth grade. That was the time Percy Sledge sang “When a Man Loves a Woman,” and launched his career (many think this was the one song that made his career even possible.) It was soon No. 1 in the U.S.
I’m not a particular fan, and I don’t have any memories of dancing to the song. Frankly, I don’t know if I knew the singer’s name. But I knew the song, like it was just there, always. I was a nerd before technology, the kind with her head buried in a book. That may explain my ignorance. I wasn’t terribly impressed when I found out Sledge was coming to town.
But this scribe turned into one excited school girl on Saturday night when I found myself sitting with Percy after his performance at the Sulphur Christmas Under the Oaks.
Mayor Chris Duncan and Mel Estes, public information officer for the Sulphur Police Department, made my case. The singer’s security was leaning heavy toward, “Look, guys, this is enough.” Wait — was that I who spoke up, begging for only one question? I don’t know. The moment was almost too much. I was told to stand by.
When I was given the signal to enter Percy's van, I rather clumsily climbed in, thinking nervously, “Oh my God, I’m getting a few minutes with a famous person — a reporter’s dream, now what?” The Man was really calm.
Sledge took time to ask me my name and shake my hand, saying he was pleased to meet me. He just had to get in the air conditioner because of the heat. I was totally fumbling with my little digital recorder that reporters have now for those moments. I really didn’t know, once I decided which buttons to push, whether I was recording or not, but it was time for the question. Did I get it? I didn’t know, but it was time to do my job.
Once I asked the gentle speaking man my question, I just looked at him and let go. I watched his eyes and his face as he spoke, measuring the sincerity in his words, enjoying the moment with a man of fame. His suit was dazzling white and he spoke in a soft, slow, southern drawl.
I thanked him and told him I would let him go so he could get home and rest. The performer had made a few dance moves while singing his heart out for the Sulphur crowd. His performance had been done with the same heart and soul he would have had giving a performance on television, I thought. I knew he must be tired. He had sung for at least an hour. And after all, he is 70 years old.
Then the school girl took over and before I exited, I leaned over and told him, “You have given this town more excitement than it’s had for at least 50 years.” He laughed and smiled at my hyperbole.
It’s true. I can’t remember any one person visiting Sulphur that caused this much flurry since Edwin Edwards came to the Calcasieu-Cameron Fairgrounds before he ever even thought about becoming governor.
Maybe it was just my being able to see our Sulphur police and City of Sulphur workers up close, as they secured the man from the crowd. Maybe it was being there at the front of the stage where his most ardent fans were begging for a handshake. Some were much younger than I. Some were my age and older. I guess between the years of March 1966 and now, somewhere they had danced to the “song” or at least heard it. In the late 1990s, Michael Bolton brought the song back into the limelight.
The young lady beside me at the front of the stage looked a little surprised at times by the intensity of some of the older women’s pleas for a handshake. Before Sledge arrived, the young policeman had an unusual expression on his face when he asked me who was coming. I asked him if he’d ever seen such excitement. His expression told me he had not.
I was around Mayor Duncan, who made the performance of Sledge’s last song something personal by surprising his wife, Angel. The two stood on stage and Sledge sang to the crowd and to them personally when the famous soul ballad was sung at the end. Everyone was excited for them. The mayor was like a kid. Seeing the two made me think of two young kids telling all their friends that they were going steady.
All this excitement, I don’t know. Was it the Song? Or the man? Maybe the moment? I don’t know. It couldn’t have been just me. But Sulphur was alive like I’ve seldom seen it on Saturday, Dec. 4, at Christmas Under the Oaks ... the day when Percy Sledge came to town.
