A total eclipse of the heart (oops, I mean Sun.)

In case you hadn’t heard, an eclipse is coming.

I am more than well aware of this fact because here in western North Carolina, you simply can’t get away from it. 

Virtually every business from the local spice shop to dog groomers are selling “official” eclipse glasses. And every store already has t-shirts for sale that announce: “I saw the Eclipse in ____" (You fill in the blank.)

Apparently everyone from Asheville and Hendersonville to Highlands will be able to see this rare event. And they can buy a t-shirt to prove it to the unlucky folks who aren’t in the direct path!

Here’s what NASA has to say: On Monday, August 21, 2017, all of North America will be treated to an eclipse of the sun. Anyone within the path of totality can see one of nature’s most awe inspiring sights - a total solar eclipse. This path, where the moon will completely cover the sun and the sun's tenuous atmosphere - the corona - can be seen, will stretch from Salem, Oregon to Charleston, South Carolina. Observers outside this path will still see a partial solar eclipse where the moon covers part of the sun's disk.

National Public Radio reminds us that during the event, “many astronomers and citizen-scientist volunteers will gaze up towards the sun and join a long line of eclipse scholars that includes Plutarch, the Babylonians, ancient imperial astronomers in China, and even Thomas Edison.”

Sunshine Superman Thomas Edison

 

To be honest, I’m not all that excited. But for the folks who are, I will pray it doesn’t rain.

In the meantime, I thought it would be fun to look back on some great oldies that “revolve” around the sun.  Here are a few of the all-time most popular songs as determined by voters on the website, Ranker.

“Here Comes the Sun” by the Beatles.

George Harrison wrote the song in Eric Clapton’s garden using one of Clapton’s acoustic guitars. In a documentary called The Material World, Eric talked about writing the song with Harrison. “It was one of those beautiful spring mornings. I think it was April, we were just walking around the garden with our guitars. He (George) was just a magical guy... we sat down at the bottom of the garden, looking out, … and he began to sing the opening lines and I just watched this thing come to life."

“Sunny Afternoon” by The Kinks

“Warmth of the Sun” by the Beach Boys

“I’ll Follow the Sun” by the Beatles

“California Sun” by the Rivieras

“Don’t Let the Sun Catch you Crying” by Gerry and the Pacemakers

“Lucky Old Sun” by Ray Charles

“Summer in the City” by The Lovin’ Spoonful

(Which interestingly, does not contain the word “sun”.)

“The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore” by the Walker Brothers.

Of course there are dozens, maybe hundreds of songs about some phase of the sun. Do you have a favorite?

The approach of the eclipse made me think about the song “Blinded by the Light”, written by Bruce Springsteen and performed by the Manfred Mann Earth Band. Towards the end of the song we hear:

“Mama always told me not to look into the eye’s of the sun.

But Mama, that’s where the fun is.”

Is that where the fun is? NASA says no, no, no.

That's my long-time friend Don in the center

   

I was also thinking about one of my favorite songs “Red Rubber Ball” by the Cyrkle. Lead singer Don Dannemon explained that the character in the song learns his lesson after falling for a cheating woman, overcomes heartbreak and faces a bright future. "He's had enough and is totally over it."

"And I think it's gonna be alright
Yeah, the worst is over now
The mornin' sun is shinin' like a red rubber ball”

Thank goodness for the Cyrkle and songwriter Paul Simon, there was no eclipse scheduled for that day.

Oldies with a foreign accent

When was the first time you heard a song on the radio with lyrics from another language? Lyrics you didn’t quite understand?

For me, perhaps it was the 1958 song  (a Eurovision song winner!) “Volare” performed by Domenico Modugno.  I heard some lyrics that to me sounded like “mel blue de yucky boy blue.”

Actually, the correct phrase was “Nel blu degli occhi toi blu” which translates to “In the blue of your blue eyes.” Who knew?

And I also just discovered volare means flying in Italian. See what you can learn by reading Wisdom of the Oldies? By the way, “Volare” made it all the way to Number 1 on the Billboard charts.

On second thought, maybe the first song I recall in a foreign language was “La Bamba” by Richie Valens.

Para bailar La Bamba
Para bailar La Bamba
Se necessita una poca de gracia
Una poca de gracia
Para mi, para ti, ay arriba, ay arriba
Ay, arriba arriba
Por ti sere, por ti sere, por ti sere

Here’s the English translation (which in my opinion does not have una poca de gracia ). Or maybe it was my seven years of Spanish class that made me prefer the original words.

In order to dance The Bamba
In order to dance the Bamba
You need a little bit of grace
A little bit of grace
For me, for you, ah up, ah up (or higher and higher)
Ah, up, up (literally faster, faster)
By you I will be, by you I will be, by you I will be

In 1963 an artist named Kyu Sakamoto struck gold with “Sukiyaki”. It is the only Japanese record to break into the American charts and it stayed at #1 for three weeks.

The original title was “Ue o Muite Aruko" which means "I Will Walk Looking Up".  In the song, a broken-hearted young man looks at the sky while walking to keep his tears from falling.

The head of England’s Pye Records heard the original song while in Japan on a business trip. The label released an instrumental version by Kenny Ball and his Jazzmen (“Midnight in Moscow”) in the UK, but changed the name to “Sukiyaki” believing English audiences would find the title easier to remember. Capital Records released the original in America keeping the foody title.

Kyu Sakamoto had more than 15 hits in Japan and also appeared in several movies. He died in the Japan Airlines plane crash that killed 520 people in 1985.

That same year another unlikely song with foreign words hit the top of the charts in 1963. “Dominique” by The Singing Nun.

Jeanine Deckers entered the Fichermont Convent in 1959 at the age of 25. She had been writing songs since childhood and often entertained her fellow nuns with tunes played on her guitar nicknamed Sister Adele.

In time, she asked the convent if she could record an album to help finance the order’s Congo mission. One of the tunes, “Dominique” captured the fancy of an executive at Phillips records and they offered Jeanine a contract.

The Mother Superior said yes on two conditions: all funds earned must go to the convent and she could not use her own name. The stage name “Sister Smile” (Soeur Sourire) was chosen. Jeanine hated it.

The catchy tune about the founder of her order, St. Dominic, became an instant hit in Europe and topped the charts in the US for four weeks. “The Singing Nun” album sold more than two million copies.

Life after “Dominique” fame was not easy for Jeanine. She encountered jealousy and backstabbing when she returned to the convent. And she found it increasingly difficult to readjust to the restrictions of religious life.

She left the convent in 1967.  Before long, Belgian authorities demanded she pay back taxes on her earnings. All royalties went to the convent but Deckers had no receipts to prove it. Money worries escalated and she became addicted to alcohol and drugs. The Singing Nun committed suicide in 1985.

After that sad tale, I turn to one of my favorites “Ma Belle Amie” by Tee Set. This jaunty tune by a Dutch quintet hit #5 in February 1970 and stayed there for five weeks.

Ma belle amie,

You were a child of the sun

And the sky and the deep blue sea.

Ma belle ami,

Apres tous les beaux jours
Je te dis merci merci

The French lyrics translate to “After all the beautiful days, I tell you thank you, thank you.”

So merci, merci mes amis for joining me on this journey to foreign songs, words and lands.

I’d love to hear about your favoritos!!

I meet the Moptops

      

                    A certain junior high reporter takes a risk 
                        and lands the scoop of a lifetime.

“It isn’t enough to be a good writer,” Clarence Sligar routinely told his third period journalism class of 8^th and 9^th graders. “A top notch reporter must also be determined, persistent and curious.”

Unfortunately, Mr. Sligar didn’t mention getting a story sometimes required nerve. The willingness to take chances. And spunk.

Those lessons would be learned February 13, 1964.

For weeks we’d heard the Fab Four would be coming to Miami to appear on the Ed Sullivan Show. And for weeks, the Miami Springs Junior High newspaper staff was buzzing with ideas about how and where to try for an interview. With limited transportation options, the nearby airport seemed our best chance.

Exuding confidence and pride, Mr. Sligar went to the principal to ask that his team be allowed to leave school early that day. The plan was set: as star reporter, it would be my task to engage the Beatles in an interview when they arrived at Miami International.

Armed with permission slips from our parents and a construction paper PRESS badge, our school photographer Kenny and I set out on assignment. After a classmate’s Mom dropped us off at the airport terminal, we wove our way through groups of hapless passengers, throngs of reporters and over 7,000 fans.

Twenty minutes of inspired maneuvers delivered us through the swollen queues of Beatle admirers at the end of a carpeted corridor. A frazzled guard at the VIP gate glanced curiously at the PRESS badges pinned to our shirts, then unhooked the chain for us to pass. In the distance a logjam of frustrated teenagers hissed and booed as we left the concourse.

        

The cover of the Beatle interview issue

The scene outside was unnerving. Hundreds of fans dotted the airport roof; scores of others were mashed against the interior concourse glass. Each plane appearing on the skyline set off waves of screams that grew more intense as the Beatle plane tarried. Patience and good will began to melt in the hot afternoon sun.

Mercifully, a man with a foghorn announced that National Airlines flight #11 from New York had landed.  To confirm the arrival, my companion and I navigated crab-like through the crowd. Within minutes, the Beatle’s jet was less than fifty yards from where we stood.

        

Ordinary passengers deplaned to the hoots and cheers of the massive welcoming committee. To prolong the agony, several unknowns paused at the top of the steps to wave and throw kisses. Someone emerged in a Carnaby Street suit and pageboy wig. The restless crowd was not fooled or amused.

At last a moptop appeared in the doorway sending the entire concourse reeling with delirium.  The throng lunged forward as the four Beatles descended the silver stairway. Police meshed arm-in-arm and shoved back. Girls on the roof screeched and fell to their knees in ecstasy. Behind us the first of more than twelve windows and doors shattered.

 Beatlemania had arrived. 

          

The principal's office fielded calls for interviews with me

Police formed a human barricade as the Beatles sprinted quickly across the tarmac. With only an instant to make a move, I ducked beneath their outstretched arms and bolted for the idling limousine. I glanced back to see Kenny sprawled on the ground groping for his camera.

A straggling Beatle pulled his legs into the car and slammed the door. I was too late. Tears of fear and disappointment pricked the backs of my eyes.  The police I’d just outrun were now only steps away.

In despair, I grabbed the door handle and knocked furiously on the glass. Suddenly, the window slid down. Eyeing my PRESS badge, John Lennon leaned over and banished my pursuers with a wave of his hand.

        

The police stepped away as I pulled out my list of questions.  “How do you like America?”  I promptly forgot the answer then stumbled over my next inquiry. John answered patiently; Paul and Ringo jumped in with silly remarks and giggles. It was difficult to determine who was having the most memorable experience.

On cue, the limousine started to move and I trotted along still clutching the door handle. Before long, police barricades crumbled and the limo pulled away. John blew me a kiss. The window slid shut. The interview was over.

        

An Australian art gallery featured the Beatles in the US. Imagine!

Kenny rushed to my side and we hugged, not believing what had just happened. How did a risk-averse, goody two-shoes work up the gumption to get the story at any cost?

Years later it occurred to me that I couldn’t bear the thought of facing my beloved journalism teacher empty-handed.  

Back on the tarmac, a group of admirers surrounded me and asked for my autograph. At thirteen, I’d hit the big time.

When the limousine was nothing more than a speck on the horizon, fans and reporters wandered away. Turning to take one last look, I whispered John I love you.

        

I hope he heard me.