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I Was a Soul Train Dancer.

October 31, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

This week I am attending a one-week writer’s residency program at Dairy Hollow in Eureka Springs. During this time I will re-post some of my favorite blogs from the prior year. Maybe you missed one?

originally published 02/03/12…

Say it ain’t so! Don Cornelius, conductor of Soul Train, the ‘hippest trip in America’, DEAD? From a gunshot wound to the head? Self-inflicted? And on the first day of Black History Month? Oh the humanity.

Daisy Mae introduced us to Soul Train in the early 1970s. She babysat my little sister and me nearly every Saturday night. She was our Aibileen, one of the principal characters in Kathryn Stockett’s, The Help. Daisy was nurturing and funny and sassy, but that’s where the similarities to the book ended. I don’t know about Mississippi, but in Arkansas, at our house, Daisy was plenty welcome to use our cramped, avocado green bathroom. She was one of our family. She came to our house every Saturday night right after Hee Haw and stayed until after we dozed off. Those few hours, once a week, ushered in a groove factor completely new and exciting to two little white girls on a farm in Arkansas.

As kids, we LOVED to perform. We were destined to be famous entertainers like Sonny and Cher. Daisy, our biggest fan and captive audience, sat trapped in our bedroom for hours on end, patiently watching our gig du jour – a cappella musical performances complete with costumes and lipstick, skits we had written, and re-enactments of Frog and Toad Together. We specialized in Tony Orlando and Dawn songs. I was always Tony Orlando. Apparently I was totally comfortable with cross-dressing… We ran around the orange shagged carpeted bedroom singing “Tie A Yellow Ribbon”. Daisy clapped enthusiastically. Daisy was a SAINT.

Growing worried about our future and no doubt extremely tired of Tony Orlando and Dawn, she took us under her sympathetic wing, refocused our attention while we were still impressionable, and saved us from a life of total and complete embarrassment. Late one night, in early 1972, Daisy introduced us to Don Cornelius and Soul Train. Desperately in need of actual entertainment, we were immediately hooked/saved. She schooled us in the proper way to announce, “SOOOOOOOOOUL TRAAAAAIN!” mimicking Mr. Cornelius’ high-pitched, drawn-out words, keeping us engaged so we would not relapse into another bad rendition of Donny and Marie.

This quickly became our Saturday night tradition. Daisy and Mr. C changed the beat and pulse in our house. She opened our eyes to a different type of music. Each week we eagerly studied the TV Guide like a horse racing program, excited to see who was appearing on the next show. We met Marvin Gaye and Barry White, who sang THE sexiest song ever. Oh, the way he talked at the beginning, “We got it together, didn’t we?” Smoking Hot Monkey Love Music. Mr. White knew he didn’t have to put Lil’ or P in front of his name to get and keep my attention. And ‘oh girl’ we laughed and danced and to The Chi-Lites and sang with Kool & the Gang. We sat in the den each Saturday night with a bowl of jiffy pop, waiting for the show to begin. And when it did, we all stood (including Daisy of course) and yelled “SOOOOOOOOOUL TRAAAAAIN!” together, with Mr. Cornelius, as loud and spirited as possible. Then we fell out on the shag carpet laughing. It was way more exciting than boring, stale, square American Band Stand. I felt sorry for plain vanilla, white toast, Dick Clark. Did he even know about Soul Train?

BUT, we were NOT allowed to watch Soul Train if Sammy Davis, Jr., was appearing. Daisy despised Sammy Davis, Jr. She crumpled her nose and made a face with just the mention of his name. His fake eye creeped her out and, in Daisy’s opinion, he couldn’t sing or dance “no better than her Old Pair of Pants!” (aka her husband). BestNicknameEver. So we never watched if Sammy Davis, Jr., was scheduled. She would rather listen to us sing “Knock Three Times” – that’s how much she hated Sammy Davis, Jr. Occasionally, just for fun, we played “The Candy Man” on our record player, to see her hilarious reaction.

Years later, whenever we went home to Arkansas for a visit, Daisy was to first to stop by to see us, running up the driveway squealing, “There’s my B-AAAAAA-B-IEEEEEEES!,” and giving us big, warm, bear hugs. She had a large family with lots of babies of her own, but she always called us her white babies. And she was our black momma. And, she said B-AAAAAA-B-IEEEEEEES just like Don Cornelius announced “Soul Train”.

Daisy died a little over a year ago. I know she is missed by many, many people, including her two white babies. She was Kind. She was Smart. She was VERY Important.

“They say it’s like true love, good help. You only get one in a lifetime.”

― Kathryn Stockett, The Help

RIP Don Cornelius and Daisy Mae Stevenson

talya

Musical Pairings:
You’re the First, the Last, My Everything, Barry White

I Love a Rainy Night

October 30, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

originally published 01/24/12…

A trip back home to Northeast Arkansas would be incomplete without at least one long night of thunderstorms, complete with hail, straight-line winds and the resulting power outage. Last night was that night for my mom and me. As huge storms brewed in the nation’s mid-section, they roared toward the Mississippi River and our house.

We were relaxing in the den watching Dateline when we were first notified of impending bad weather. A severe thunderstorm and tornado warning flashed along the bottom of the television screen.
These storms came up with very little warning. Living on a farm off a dark country road, we were somewhat out of touch with the world. The weather reporters became more and more animated and their maps became more and more colorful. Twirling arrows indicated possible tornadoes and tiny ping pong balls mimicked hail. They predicted an 8 in 10 chance of a tornado in our area. I was skeptical of this statistic.

We ignored the warnings. We were much more concerned with whether or not the newlywed had drowned his young cute wife, but as Dateline was interrupted yet again we realized we may never know. I thought he was guilty. And I bet the people watching The Bachelor were plenty upset with the interruptions…

Another alert was issued with this specific instruction that spoke volumes…. “Abandon mobile homes, hide in a ditch and wear durable shoes”. Seriously. Exact Quote. LifeInTheCountry. I looked at my bare feet as I lay on the couch under a quilt. I glanced over at my mother. She was wearing purple fuzzy Ugg slippers. Maybe I didn’t give this weatherman with the bad comb-over the credit he deserved? He actually knew his audience pretty well. Perhaps we should heed his warning? As the wind began to howl and whistle through the fireplace, and the interior door in the den began to shake, I saw visions of those freaky munchkins and flying monkeys.

Ok, I’m going to get my durable shoes!

We escaped into a tiny, interior, window-less bedroom. It was cave-like. At night you cannot see your hand in front of your face. My mother converted it into a kids’ room when the grandchildren were born. It became a place to store old dolls that now had that semi-creepy appearance, old plastic jack-o-lanterns and other toys forgotten by time. In fact, it was quite possibly scarier than a tornado.

There were at least 30 stuffed animals staring at me, and it was no wonder. I was wearing a black t-shirt from my favorite pizza restaurant, gym shorts and my durable shoes. I had quickly snagged a sweater from my bedroom, along with my bright blue bra. Seriously, if I awake in our rice field in the morning, I will not be braless. It is common knowledge that reporters seek out the most pitiful and scary people to interview after a disaster – I would not be this person tomorrow morning! I also grabbed my well gnawed night guard. I simply cannot sleep without my night guard – it protects my teeth as I clinch and grind. If the house is blown away, and we are relocated to a temporary shelter at the high school gym, I will need my sleep. Plus, this small piece of hard plastic is incredibly expensive! In the event of a disaster, I will need that money for other things. Like Wine. My mother brought her cat, into the room. Gabby knew the routine well, as she had been born in tornado alley. She just stared at us, probably freaked out by the stuffed animals everywhere. Or by me.

After about 30 minutes, we ventured out of our “safe room” to complete silence. Either the storm had passed or the eye was directly overhead. Do tornadoes have eyes? Exhausted, I slept well (with the help of my night guard). When we awoke in the morning, there were several large limbs scattered throughout the front yard from the pecan trees. Water stood in the field across the road. The sky was clear and blue. We had survived another storm. I was so relieved that we had not been relocated north of the Mason-Dixon Line during the night. I’m pretty sure that’s where the flying monkeys reside.

talya

Musical Pairing:

Somewhere Over the Rainbow, Katherine McPhee

Deputy Nana

October 29, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

Deputy BAT

My mother was hauled down to the bowels of the Memphis International Airport when the x-ray machine spotted her pistol in the bottom of her purse. It was simply a silly misunderstanding, but nevertheless the FAA frowned on it, even pre-September 11. The security agent may not have detected the firearm, which is a scary notion, but as the purse disappeared into the machine’s black hole Momma gasped in a guilty panic, “Oh no!”, drawing more attention to herself than normal.

“Run that purse through again,” the agent ordered.

Prior to the incident, she had only begun to pack. An Arkansas State Trooper friend encouraged she carry a gun after the recent shootout at her house. A tri-state manhunt and interstate roadblock ended with one escaped prisoner dead at her back door, his cellmate shot and injured in the bean field out back and their terrified hostage at Momma’s kitchen table. Anyone who knows our family, knows this excitement is typical for us.

Bullet holes still nick the spanish tile floors inside the house as a constant reminder and conversation starter. Not that she ever needs a conversation starter. In the time it takes to check out at Wal-Mart, my mother has a talent for learning the innermost secrets of the person queued up behind her.

But like overzealous Barney Fife, my mother’s gun mainly just created problems. It was an innocent mistake, an unfortunate accident resulting in twelve months of probation.

Clearly these people in Tennessee didn’t know who she was.

She was forced to walk a fine line as she met monthly with her probation officer in Memphis and attended court with other criminals. Thomas Tate, much like Andy Taylor, was surprisingly calm throughout this ordeal. But really, what choice did he have?

Upon successfully fulfilling the terms of probation including not drinking wine at the country club, her record was completely expunged. She could vote again. And since that nightmare, to our knowledge, she has managed to keep her nose clean. We are so proud.

Last week at home while spring breaking with my sister and her kids, Momma was sworn in as honorary deputy of ~~Mayberry~~ Mississippi County, receiving a badge and identification card at the county jail. Oh, if Thomas Tate had lived to see this day.

How many kids in Plano, Texas returned to school saying, “We spent our spring break gambling at the horse track after a quick trip to Graceland. Oh and our Nana was sworn in as deputy at the county farm?” ZERO. But we had an educational spring break, learning that with hard work anyone can get their life back on track.