June 12, 2011 § Leave a comment
I got myself by an obsession
It’s on another dimension
Don’t need a whole lot protection
‘Cause it gave me all I’ve been getting
It gave me life, hope, dreams, golds [for me, substitute “goals”]
“Give a Little Love” (Song by Tom Jones, Kara Dio Guardi, Iyiola Babtunde Babalola, and Darren Emilio Lew)
I have to admit, my TJ life, hopes, dreams, and goals helped lift me out of my lonely existence. My Tom Jones motivating mantras were working for me (post “The Motivating Mantra of My Younger Years”). I was beginning to branch out and build superficial social relationships by becoming a little more engaged with my fellow collegians while at school. I even met a student who had the same type of passion and quest for a personal relationship with a superstar.
In her case, it was Neil Diamond. We were both shocked that we discovered each other in an English Literature class. And she invited me over to her home so we could share pictures and stories. This was miraculous for me, because I rarely went anywhere. We discussed the difference between fans and groupies in between studying; in our youthful wisdom we agreed that fans were permanent fixtures and groupies were gone in 60 seconds. It also validated that I wasn’t as wacky and alone in my semi-secret, wild pursuit. There were actually others like me… big sigh of relief.
In 1973, Jones performed at the Universal Amphitheatre (now called the Gibson Amphitheatre at Universal City Walk). He was performing there for multiple days and my mother and sisters were going to attend the shows with me. Although my mother and I still searched high and low for pants long enough to cover the skinny legs, I still had to sew them myself because of that darn 36-inch inseam. I sewed my fingers off, all the while hoping that my long pants and skirts wouldn’t look like loving hands at home.
I had written and rewritten my script for Mr. G. He was staying at the Hotel Bel Air, as usual. No matter how many times I spoke to him over the phone, I always needed my prepared script to calm my nerves and ease the way into the most important human thing on my mind (versus the most important spiritual things I had on my mind, which, believe it or not, I did focus on religious, metaphysical, philosophical, and esoteric issues when not perseverating over TJ). But the goal was always, WHEN AND WHERE AM I GOING TO MEET TOM JONES? This time it was just the head of the fan club and me. I tried to use my most adult, sophisticated voice, and Mr. G. was as friendly and upbeat as usual. Bada-bing, bada-boom! We had a date, a time, and a place.
Knowing that I was going to get backstage put rose-colored glasses on all of the shows. If I had been a critic, I would have had to recuse myself, because I was on a Tom Jones high. Every show was fantastic. Every song superb. Even as I write, I can picture the stage, the star, and The Voice, with everything and everyone else fading in the background. The only thing that slightly marred the experience was that Mother was frequently ill and missed the performances. With me being me, I had no one to take her place. How sad was that? Still, no best friend to share my most important youthful moments with. We always bought a ticket for Mommio, but it eventually turned out that my oldest sister began bringing her friends to take Mom’s place at our TJ concerts – they were game and appreciated the fun and mystery of how in the world this shy, skinny kid got into Tom Jonesville.
The fascinating thing about the Universal Amphitheatre in ‘73 was that there was no backstage. Literally. There was the stage, curtained side stages, an area behind the stage, and no real backstage. Mr. G. hadn’t prepared me by telling me that he would put us into a car and we would be driven to see Tom. He surely didn’t prepare me for a limousine ride to see him.
It was quite exciting to show up at stage left, and then be escorted into a big ol’ limo! I must admit, with a lot of fans, groupies, and hangers-on lurking around looking for Tom, I felt a little like a starlet climbing into that long, black car with tinted windows. It wasn’t the quintessentially 70s white limo that Jones was known to own with Gordon Mills and Engelbert Humperdink that carried the license plate “GET,” standing for Gordon, Engelbert, Tom. It was my first and only ride in a limo, even though famous OC Housewives drive in limos to get their nails painted, and famous New Jersey Housewives rent limos to drive their preteens to birthday parties to get their nails and toes done.
We had no idea where we were going, and the drive seemed dark and longer than expected on the Universal property. Suddenly, we were at the discreet destination. It was a portable building; sort of like a mobile home without wheels. The driver opened the limo door and escorted us up to the door. The party had definitely started without us, as there was an open bar, and drinks were flowing. It appeared that everyone in Jones’ entourage was there, including Mr. G., bodyguard Dave Perry, The Getter, as well as some key musicians, including Big Jim Sullivan. It was a male-dominated group.
I was not surprised to be offered an alcoholic drink, because even though I was under-age, I didn’t look it. However, I didn’t, and still don’t drink, so I asked for a Perrier with lime (hoping I would appear to be a sophisticate). We sat at the bar with our drinks and tried to make small talk with the “cool people.” I’m not so sure how “cool” I was, but I did my best to carry an air of coolness that wasn’t cold, and warmth that wasn’t overtly I’m-crazy-ga-ga-over-Tom-Jones giddy like I think I was the first time I met him. And we waited… and waited… and while I told myself to never forget this moment, these people, this place, this time, Mr. Jones slipped into the room.
There he was. No stage. No microphone. Just Jones. And again, everything and everyone just faded away. This time was a little different than the first. I was a little more mature. A little more composed. I found myself on the couch with Tom. That is part of his charm and his accessibility. As much as I wanted to believe I was special, I know that we are all special to him. Talent, drive, and charisma need people, a conjoined, supportive public. But, I digress. Perfect photo opportunity. You learn when a photo is appropriate, and when one isn’t.
After a little small talk – yes, I could finally participate in a little small talk with Tom Jones – I wanted to ask him a burning question. With a big, silent gulp, I said, “You’ve called me Long Tall Sally, which I get. But, you’ve called me Snow White a few times. (Another big, silent gulp.) I’m kind of curious. Where did Snow White come from?”
And sitting close to me, Tom Jones, with his arm around me, looked at me with his hazel eyes and said, in his deep, thick Welsh accent, “Because you make me feel like a dwarf, luv.”
Oh, no. His words hit so hard they knocked the wind out of me. I couldn’t speak. My heart jumped to my throat and then sank into my stomach. I think I might have blushed bright red underneath my dark, summer tanned face. For a moment, my heart started pounding and my hands started to feel numb and then tingle. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Panic attack coming on.
Tom Jones, my Superstar hero, The Voice who comforted me, who gave me life, hope, dreams, and goals, told me he feels like a dwarf. And his voice, The Voice, placed an emphasis on the word dwarf. I will never forget the sound of that word spoken with his Welsh accent. It made all of the birdies that chirp and dance around my head when I am with him dissipate into thin air. It made the song “Someday My Prince Will Come” that dances around my brain when I see him come to a shrill, screeching halt.
A Tom Jones reality check for Snow White on the sofa! Grumpy, Bashful, Happy, Sleepy, Sneezy, Dopey, and Doc might as well have carried me out on a stretcher. All my youthful fears were again realized in that one moment by that one comment. I instantly felt like that awkward, unattractive, tall, skinny girl I was working so hard to leave behind. Is it be possible that I made the most self-confident, poised, and self-assured, sexy man I had ever met feel… uncomfortable? The sensitive Amazon Anomaly was crushed, and in the beginning stage of a mega meltdown in the arm of an unsuspecting superstar.
I think he must have realized that his comment caught me off-guard and left me utterly breathless. Because, Tom Jones, being Tom Jones, a man who has a way with the ladies, leaned over, spoke in my ear, and said something that breathed fresh air into my deflated sense of self. Something that made me feel like I wasn’t the ghastly Jolly Green Giant. Something that made me feel attractive and special. Something that allowed me to believe that I had value in singer Tom Jones’ eyes. At twenty-years-old, it was that something for which I had been searching. Yes, the object of my affection, the object of my transformation, leaned over and said… oh no, hold on. I’ve got to save something between me… and the singer who saved me.
February 16, 2011 § 6 Comments
Did Tom Jones feel special at a very young age? From what has been written and quoted, singing and girls came easily to him from lad to lothario. You have to have confidence to succeed in the entertainment industry. Confidence is reinforced again and again if you have the talent to “bring it” each time it is called upon. You also have to have confidence to keep chasing it when you are told you aren’t quite good enough or what they want at the time.
I certainly didn’t feel special or confident. In fact it was quite embarrassing that at times I could barely walk to the mailbox without becoming breathless and getting the shakes. If I spotted anyone outside, I would wait until they were gone before I’d go out.
So while Mr. Jones was married and with a young son, building a successful career recording albums, touring, and taping TV shows, building a huge base of fans, there I was, hiding in my bedroom, placing my stereo needle receiver on those big ol’ round, black, vinyl albums and gazing at those gorgeous album covers. I would get movie magazines, the old fashioned version of People or OK Magazine, in order to get news of the singer.
One random day, Mother, came up with a scheme – a trick, a plan, a plot – to get me out of the house. We all knew it wasn’t healthy for me to stay home day and night, even though it felt like it was the only safe place on the face of the earth, but no one ever really verbalized it. So this was it, Mommio’s 3-part scheme:
“If you will
(1) Go back to high school for just one class
(2) Go to John Robert Powers modeling school for a basic modelinge class
(3) I will take you and the girls to Las Vegas to see Tom Jones.”
WHAT??? Be still my teenage heart. Go to Las Vegas, Nevada? Turn the Tom Jones Live from Las Vegas album, which I had memorized word for word, including his in-between-song chit-chat with audience members, a reality?
“Oh yes, Mommio!” I made a decision that I would do whatever it takes to make this happen. Despite overwhelming anxiety, I was determined to walk through the halls of high school hell to make this happen. I would pretend I had the ability to walk the model walk like Twiggy, (Tyra wasn’t born yet), even though I couldn’t walk to the mailbox.
I chose a class that was the closest to the school parking lot, because I figured that if I panicked going to the mailbox, it was going to be more than a challenge to walk through school again. So I chose a sewing class that would, due to stereotypical roles of that time period, not include mean boys, and it would be only a hop, skip and a jump from my car. Condition # 1 accomplished.
Making John Robert Powers modeling class happen was more difficult, because it was a freeway drive into Santa Ana, near Bullocks Fashion Square in Orange County. Having become so homebound, and also having physical problems with severe headaches and at times losing part of my vision, I had become extremely fearful of driving… especially driving freeways.
And the Dark Ages of the early 70s we weren’t even thinking about wireless telephones in our homes, let alone cell phones to take in our cars for matters of safety. I had to depend on all of my family members to drive me to John Robert Powers. Despite all of my fears and multiple panic attacks prior to the modeling classes, the TJ motivator was strong enough to push me through. Condition # 2 accomplished!
Mother booked the trip to Kirk Kerkorian’s hot, new Hotel International in Las Vegas for Tom Jones’ spring 1970 show! The International was known for Elvis’ invasion into Vegas. I always wondered if Elvis’ eventual move to sing in Vegas was fueled by Jones’ incredible success there. I wondered if the Colonel had thought Vegas wasn’t “big enough” for the legendary Elvis until, perhaps, he recognized how Jones was able to fill large stadiums like the LA Forum and Madison Square Garden, and still successfully utilize the more intimate setting of the Vegas lounge system like the older crooners, such as Sinatra.
The trip was months and months away. I was going to see and hear the object of my affection sing live. I would go into my 8’ by 10’ bedroom, listen to The Voice, and have a little, itty, bitty spark of hope. I had something special to look forward to, and in those moments… the singer saved me.