Respect

Dear Readers, do you know where you were on December 10, 1967?  I do.  I was in Madison, Wisconsin.

My boyfriend Jon had just taken me to dinner here.

(A pretty fancy joint on a sophomore’s budget.)

But that was not the pièce de resistance of the evening.  For the big finish, Jon had scored tickets to see soul legend Otis Redding in concert that night.

And we were psyched.

But as we rushed from our sizzling steak dinners to the auditorium, we had NO idea what lay in store for us.

But you do.

Otis and most of his band- the Bar-Kays- had been killed when their private plane crashed into nearby Lake Menona.

The box office guy broke the bad news to us when we showed up for our “will call” tickets.

“Otis is dead, man.  He just crashed into the lake.”

We were stunned.

I was eighteen, Jon was nineteen, Otis was twenty-six.

I write about this now because there is a new book out called Dreams To Remember; Otis Redding, Stax Records, and the transformation of Southern Soul.  It’s by Mark Robowsky, and it tells the twin stories of the famed Memphis label and its number one star.

The book goes on to evoke the fire and talent of the famed soul singer. “The Stax sound was raw, ferocious and sexual, and its stars- Redding, Sam and Dave, Wilson Pickett, Rufus Thomas- succeeded on their own terms.”

This wasn’t the safe, teeny-bopper music that we had innocently danced to in high school in Winnetka, Illinois.  This was raw black power. It burned, baby, burned.

As Stax exec Al Bell put it, “When the white audience discovered us, we didn’t get whiter- they got blacker.”

And Jon had introduced me to it.

I think I met him at a fraternity mixer.  I noticed him right away because he was a good dancer.  (For a white kid from the suburbs, that is.  He was from Beechwood- a suburb of Cleveland.)

Memory Lane Sidebar: I visited Jon and his family once.  All that I can remember now is that we watched a brand new television show –The Mod Squad– and he took me to the famed Cleveland deli, Corky and Lenny’s.

Forever after that trip, whenever anyone said that they hailed from Cleveland, I would say, “Cleveland?  Corky and Lenny’s!”

That name check always brought a big smile and a ton of reminiscences  about their fave deli.

And one day, as I was sunning in Las Vegas, the woman on the chaise next to me happened to mention that she was from Cleveland.  I went into my patented fool-proof “C&L” bit.

“Oh, yeah? she said.  “I’m married to Lenny.”  And she nudged the guy sunning next to her.

He and I struck up a “It’s a small world” conversation.  I told him I was a humor columnist and he said to me, “You know, my sister’s boy does a comedy act.  I don’t get it.  He talks in a real high voice and pretends to be a child.  It’s beyond me.  I think he’s nuts.”

This was his sister’s boy.

Maybe you’d recognize him better from this photo.

Back to Jon.

I owe him a lot.  He raised my music and dance consciousness to a new, much more soulful level.

Before him, it was ALL about the Beatles, the Beachboys and Motown.

After him, it was Sam and Dave, Hendrix and the Fantastic Johnny C.

And of course, Otis.

These came from my prized 45 collection.

Mr. Redding wrote and recorded “Respect,” as you know.

Cover Version Sidebar:  But it was Miss Ree who tore it up.

I memorized every note of her version.  And I can still do all the whoops and hand gestures and “Sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me” of her backup singers.

On December 10, 1967, Jon dropped me off at Lowell Hall in a deep state of mourning. What a loss.

(To further commemorate the tragic event, someone took my Otis Redding Live in Europe album and substituted “Dead in Madison” across its cover.)

I guess the whole world felt the same way I did.   When “(Sittin’ on) the Dock of the Bay” was released posthumously, it went straight to number one.

Sigh.

I’m going to let his legacy sing for itself.

Thanks, Jon.

And bless you, Otis.