The Tom Jones Limo Chase – Part 1

First, let me say that if I were young girl today, I would not chase a pop star in a limo, nor recommend it to anyone.  I am talking about a different time and place, the mid-70s in the 20^th century, when there was nothing really like the massive numbers of paparazzi or citizens stalking celebrities like there are today. Infamous photographer Ron Galella was just beginning what we now know was his relentless pursuit of Jackie O.  There were not dozens of photographers lurking around bushes and chasing after celebrities such as Britney Spears or Kim Kardashian.  TMZ didn’t exist and Harvey Levin was just an unknown student prepping for the bar exam with the dream of being a lawyer.  

Ready…

It also wouldn’t be wise to chase a limo today because of the pure and simple logistics of traffic in Los Angeles.  I used to love LA as much as Randy Newman, but honestly, the traffic is so bad now that recently, we figured it would take a half hour to get to Trader Joe’s from Brentwood, and a half hour to return; that’s one whole hour of drive-time just to get some fresh fruits and veggies.  I also wouldn’t recommend chasing anyone in a limo in this day and age, because it is a different time and place in the world.  It feels more dangerous than “the good old days.”  

When I was in my early twenties, however, when it came to Tom Jones, I always heard the good angel on my right shoulder saying, “No, no, no”; but the little devil on my other shoulder was singing, “Wild thing/ You make my heart sing/  You make everything groovy/ Wild thing.”  (“Wild Thing” lyrics by Chip Taylor.  Pop culture note:  Chip Taylor is the stage name for James Wesley Voight, brother of actor Jon Voight and uncle of Angelina Jolie.)  

As I matured through the university I discovered I was more intelligent than I thought.  It had never occurred to me that I could actually survive a difficult course load that required considerable critical thinking and writing skills.  Success in college helped with a modicum of confidence, and eventually, after I graduated I got my first real job as a part-time proofreader; that led to becoming an editor in an educational publishing company.  It was a good job for someone like me.  I could hide behind a desk and the written word, rarely having to interact with the large number of employees.  I often felt like I was “pretending” to be an adult, because I was constantly struggling with my personal issues.  Trying to resolve them through my limited knowledge, using prayer on one hand, and beginning to utilize biographies and self-help books and on the other.   

Set…

It became time to take flight, so-to-speak, and one of the most difficult parts in leaving home was negotiating with my mother regarding Duchess, our sweet silver-tipped Persian cat.  Duchess had been my best friend for nearly a decade and I didn’t know if I had the courage to actually move out and live on my own without her.  Duchess and I had slept together every night since she was twelve-weeks-old; she was my buddy and confidante; she had been with me through the tears, the fears, the good, the bad, and the ugly, and was the keeper of every secret I had.  She knew all about my Tom Jones mantras, and I was grateful when Mommio was willing to let go of Duchess in order to get rid of me.  I say that with tongue-in-cheek, although being an anxiety-prone, agoraphobic late-bloomer, I was long overdue in leaving the safety of the nest.   

My secret Tom Jones mantras enabled me to push through my failure to launch, as I told myself, “If I am going to make Tom Jones fall in love with me, I have to leave home,” and “If I am going to make Tom Jones fall in love with me, I have to become independent,” and “If I am going to make Tom Jones fall in love with me, I have to grow up and face my fears.”  Yikes.  The motivation for my maturity was linked to this entertainer whose voice, the Voice, comforted me, energized me, made me feel strong, made me feel womanly, and enabled me feel whatever I needed to feel.  I was slowly beginning to develop a sense of self through my own, private, singer-saved-me therapy.  I was even beginning to walk with a beat in my step.  

When I finally flew the coop of my parent’s home, I moved to the same street as my mother’s best friend, and began to get close to her daughter, Rose, who was living with her for a while.  Rose and I had known and skirted around each other’s families for years, but now, as adults, we were beginning to click.  To be truthful, I think some of her family and all of my family thought she was, for lack of a better word, a “mercy” friend; a person who is loving and caring to the extreme of befriending a poor soul like me at that point in my life.  (Remember, most people knew me as that tall, skinny girl who hid at home.)   

Rose and I clicked on many levels – humor, common interests such as love of the entertainment world, love of pop/rock music, love of home, issues of the spirit, politics, etc.  We shared thoughts and feelings, saw the best in each other, talked about our own foibles and failings, supported each other through the good times, and loved each other through the most difficult times.  Rose had a free spirit and independence that I so admired and desired.  She had studied acting, traveled the world, lived and worked in foreign countries, and taken the helm on a large sailing yacht in the Caribbean.  She liked to go sailing with my dad and me, and most importantly, Rose liked Tom Jones. 

Let’s Roll!                       “This is Tom Jones” Fan Club

Mommio no longer attended TJ shows due to chronic ill health, so Rose was the perfect addition to Tom Jonesville.  On one occasion, when Tom was back at the Greek Theatre, and I had already seen him on and off stage, Rose and I were driving out of the parking lot after a show.  Out of the blue, a limousine pulled out of the parking lot near the theatre where we were parked.  We were pretty sure it was Jones.  Who else would it be?  We looked at each other, looked at the dark limo, looked at each other again, and simply followed it out of the driveway.  We didn’t plan it.  It presented itself to us and it was just too tempting.  Too tempting!   

Like the Pied Piper calling to us, the limo wound its way out of the Griffith Park area as we followed Jones in our little stick shift Porsche 912.  We were travelling at an even pace and there really was no chase at this point.  We just assumed we’d be going on the freeway when we left, because that was the way we came. Because I always panicked when it came to driving freeways, Rose was the designated driver and I became the lookout during the chase.  I would carefully watch the limo and double-check the safety of our movement, saying things like,  “Okay, Rose, hang back, not too close,” and “They’re turning right on Los Feliz.  Put on your right-turn signal, and we are good to go.”   

The further away from the Greek Theatre we got, the more the traffic opened up and the speed picked up.  Oh yeah, baby, the speed picked up.  We sped up North Western Avenue with our little Porsche easily able to keep up with the behemoth limo like the flippin’ tail of the whale.  We surmised that we were heading into the heart of the “action.”  Were we headed to a private club (private disco/dance clubs were very popular during the 70s, with Rose being a card-carrying club member in an LA dance club), or a restaurant like La Scala, a favorite of Tom’s, in Beverly Hills?   Or, perhaps we were headed to his home in Bel Air, or the nearby Hotel Bel Air, a frequent hangout of Jones and many other celebrities (and a favorite place for my own family celebrations throughout the years). 

At this point, the driver had to know we were following them.  Are they used to this?  It was such an impulsive act and we were so intent on being safe during the Tom Jones limo chase that we hadn’t even discussed what we would do once we got to a location.  And then it happened.  As soon as I saw the sign, “Sunset Boulevard,” I knew.  “Rosie,” I shouted, “We’re goin’ to Bel Air!  We are going to Bel Air!”  

Wallingford, CT

 

Our powerful engine revved up and down, depending on the speed at which we followed the smooth, long, ride that carried the superstar.  We continued to flirt with the leviathan limo with blackened windows that could have swallowed up our little, orange Porsche like krill.  We didn’t know exactly where in Bel Air we were going yet, and we certainly didn’t know what we would do when we got there, but we were impetuously and inappropriately chasing… the singer who saved me.    

 

The Chapter Fan Club Era

After Vegas, I joined the “Official Tom Jones Fan Club.”  It was set up by Jones’ management, based in New York, and an official fan club member received a black and white autographed photo, a welcome “Letter from Tom,” and news of where he’d be performing.  I hadn’t joined prior to seeing the singer perform because, being isolative, I wasn’t much of a joiner.

“Tom’s Boosters” Fan Club, L.A. 1971

As a college student, I could only tolerate a few classes at a large junior college.  I tried to focus on my goal of learning and studying journalism, advertising, and public relations, yet I daydreamed about my real goal:  MEET TOM JONES.  When Los Angeles Times reporter, Robert Hilburn, wrote an article in Westways Magazine pullout section, I responded with a letter to the editor.  In the fossil-like, pre-Facebook days when every family was listed in the phone book, I received a lot of positive responses in the form of letters sent to my home.

I heard from a lot of Tom Jones fans, the president of a fan club “chapter” based in Orange County, called Tom’s Boosters, an Engelbert Humperdinck fan, and even my third grade teacher.  I discovered the “chapter” fan clubs were made of the hardcore fans consisting of the heart and soul of the singer’s fan base. I learned how important the chapter fan clubs were because the president of Tom’s Boosters sent me a photograph of her and her vice-president standing next to Tom Jones.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Engelbert Humperdinck

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So dreams do come true! Suddenly, twirling around in my teenage head I heard those little birdies chirping and a falsetto singing, “Some day my prince will come…  Some day when my dreams come true.” (“My Prince Will Come,” song from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Disney)

I immediately joined the Orange County chapter, Tom’s Boosters.  Another favorite chapter was called This is Tom Jones.  It was set up like a clipping service, where fans sent clippings from newspaper articles or reviews throughout the country and the chapter president (if I recall correctly, was based in Michigan) compiled, printed, and sent them out to TJ fans all across the US.  It kept us all abreast of TJ news in a world that did not yet have Entertainment Tonight and Extra on TV, or People and OK Magazine, let alone the internet.

“Tom’s Boosters” Fan Club, L.A. 1971

The women who ran the chapter fan clubs in the 70s were extremely diverse.  Most were older than me, many were married with children, and we all came from different walks of life.  Everyone was friendly and generous, sharing their knowledge and experiences about where and when Tom was going to perform, photographs, fun Tom stories, etc.  (By the way, if you recognize any of your photographs and would like your name credited, please contact me; I do not want to put private names out into the world without permission.)

Today you have the Official Tom Jones website (www.tomjones.com), and newsy fan sites, such as Tom Jones International (www.tomjonesintl.com), Tom Terrific (www.tjfanclub.com), Tom Jones Scandinavian (www.tomjones.dk), and more.  You can Google, you can “You Tube”, and it is a far cry from the old days of snail mail communication.

It was surprising how one simple letter to the editor opened my world and began to pave the way to making my teenage dreams come true.  It unexpectedly took me into a Tom Jones fan world I didn’t know existed.  Even though I was attending school, I had tunnel vision and was in and out without really partaking of the college experience.  The fan world opened my closed world just a crack.

We were all obsessed with the object of our affection.  We all communicated by letter, so no one knew or cared what anyone looked like, or if you were shy or sensitive or anxious or awkward.

“This is Tom Jones” Fan Club, Chicago 1971

And you heard little stories about the famous pop star that most people never heard, like the time Tom Jones was presented with a crown for being the unofficial “prince” of Wales.  Instead of withdrawing and shutting people out of my world,  I developed a few pen-pal relationships with a common interest… the singer who saved me.