“Sputnik”
Rock Monroe was a professional wrestler of considerable renown who had gone
through a number of names (“Pretty Boy Rock” “Elvis ‘Rock’ Monroe”) and
territories before finally arriving in Memphis as “Sputnik.” He was prone to
describing himself in a voice several decibels above the normal range as “220
pounds of twisted steel and sex appeal with the body that women love and men
fear.” In looking for a way to distinguish himself that was consonant with both
character and commerciality, Sputnik hit upon race. He was a hero to the black
man, a villain to the white—he liked to boast that he practically desegregated
Memphis’ Ellis Auditorium single-handed, calling up to his colored fans in the
“crow’s nest,” with a seating capacity of less than one hundred, “Let my people
go.” Every time he threw an opponent down, he would raise up his hands to his
fans, and they would just call back, “Sweet man!” When the promoters objected,
he said, “Hey, if their money’s no good, just give it to me, and I’ll give it
back to them,” and gradually “colored” seating capacity was expanded until the
auditorium was de facto integrated. He and Dewey walked a goose down Beale
Street on a leash—“Dewey came up with the goose, I came up with the Chihuahua
collar and the leash. The people would holler and hug me and jump up and down.
I knocked a white guy out on the corner of Third and Beale one time for calling
me a nigger-lover, and a little black guy says, ‘Sputnik Monroe, you a mean
motherfucker when you drinking, and I believe you drinking a little bit all the
damn time.’”
Showing posts with label Charlie Feathers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Charlie Feathers. Show all posts
"We just decided to go as wild as we could"
“I had a very serious talk with Jerry about his image. We went to the
restaurant next door to the studio and sat down in a booth. Jerry had one of
his pickers with him. He always had someone with him. You could rarely get him
one-on-one. I told him what I thought we should do, in as much detail as I
thought he could absorb in one sitting. I wanted to get him out of typical rock
’n’ roll regalia. Ivy League was in. I wanted him to get a crewcut. I wanted to
hold a press conference where Jerry would announce that he was somewhat remorseful.
He would take on an adult image. We discussed it for over an hour. Jerry was
very polite and listened. He would nod every once in a while, but he kept
looking at his watch. Finally, he shook it like it wasn’t working and he looked
at his buddy across the table and said, ‘What time is it?’ The guy said, ‘It’s
five before one.’ Jerry said, ‘Oh! The double feature at the Strand starts in
five minutes. It’s Return of the Werewolf
and The Bride of Frankenstein Meets
Godzilla. Then he jumped up and left the table. That was the last time we
discussed Jerry’s image.”
Labels:
Blues,
Charlie Feathers,
Country,
Elvis,
Guralnick,
Jerry Lee Lewis,
Memphis,
Pat Hare,
Rockabilly
"They pulled the plug on us so Mousie could play his Jivers!"
I was now going to
learn about 'culture.' Firstly, there were only
two types of people 'Teds' and 'Smoothies'. Teds were the good guys
and deserved respect. Smoothies were trendy types and were worthy of derision. Next up, clothes. A Ted must have a
'drape'. This is a ¾ length jacket that has velvet on the collar, cuffs and
pocket. A 'purist' Ted will
only wear a black Edwardian style jacket. A 1970s Ted may wear coloured
jackets, black and blue for example. The worst ones would be pink and black or
lime green. Shoes would be plain
black for the purist and 'brothel creepers' for the 70s Ted. The purist would top it
off with a nice tie. The 70s Ted would have a 'bootlace tie'. Next, Music. I found out that ONLY
some music could be listened to, most was out of bounds. To know what was
acceptable, one had to know the system. The system consisted of 'Rock and
Roll', 'non Rock and Roll' and 'plastics'. Any 50s Rock and Roll
was OK. Teds also like British Rock and Roll. Teds don't like
non-Rock and Roll. The final category is a
red rag to a bull for a Ted, the 'plastic'. A plastic is someone who thinks
he's a Ted but is actually a phoney. The plastics are hate figures for the
Teds.
So who decides, what's
Rock and Roll or plastic? The Teds do.
LIKE A HOG A-ROOTIN’ UP UNDER A FENCE
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Directors
of the Parent-Teachers Association would have fainted at the sight. It’s a
little past one in the morning inside a huge, barn-like nightclub on the Slaton
Highway, just outside the usually quiet, sleepy town of Lubbock, Texas … Elvis
‘The Pelvis’ Presley has just finished an undulating show that still has a lot
of kids wriggling … ‘Oh, Elvis,’ he hears, ‘wait for me!’ Turning, he watches
as a pretty young girl rushes towards him. ‘Would you please autograph me?’ she
shrieks. And with that she pulls a sheer blouse off her shoulders, revealing a
low-cut bra. Older and wiser entertainers might have hesitated at having a
three-quarters-bare bosom thrust at them for a signature. But not Elvis. With a
flourish, he hauled out his doll-pointed pen and signed just above the dotted
swiss line. Elvis on the righty. Presley on the lefty.
the hottest go-go dancer in Memphis with a rocket-fueled money-maker
the fast talking MC appeared before a trendy looking band in short jacketed, thin lapelled sharkskin suits moving in choreographed steps to rhythms undulating from their instruments. The MC stalked the stage and boisterously hawked the name of Jackie Wilson a hundred times and more. "Are you READY? For JACKIE, Jackie WILSON!" A hundred times. The band vamped. The stage lights were lurid; the audience became more and more edgy ... then, Jackie Wilson entered stage right wielding a hand held microphone. The smooth, milk chocolate skinned star was also dressed in a svelte, short jacketed sharkskin suit razor lapels and sporting chisel pointed shoes. He belted out "There's no pity on the Naked City" in the high pitched tones that drove the audience completely crazy. Suddenly everyone was standing in their seats clapping and swaying in a heightened emotional frenzy that held them totally wired until the last note was struck. Jackie Wilson got down on one knee. He threw off his jacket, and ripped open the front of his shirt. Every woman in the house was crying, tears streaming down their faces. Time stood still.
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