Editorial
Front Page - Friday, February 25, 2011
Southern Style
Pick it Perkins
Randall Franks
The Grammy award-winning 1987 recording “The Class of ’55” linked in the minds of another generation a group of entertainers cultivated by the late Sam Phillips in Memphis.
Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, Roy Orbison and Elvis changed the face of American music as they fused the sounds of rhythm and blues from the Mississippi Delta with the sounds of country and western and pop, creating what became rock and roll.
When my manager, Jeff Goodwin, called in 1993 to say I was to co-host a special tribute to one of these legends, I was so excited.
One of my favorite 45 records growing up was a Sun recording of Carl Perkins singing “Blue Suede Shoes” and “Honey Don’t.”
Released on New Year’s Day 1956, the copy I listened to over and over was created by Plastics Products in Memphis and dispatched by Sun Records to place in jukeboxes around
the country.
Beginning in early 1956, this copy spun repeatedly in my mother’s restaurant, Robinson’s Café, on Oak Street in downtown Chattanooga, as teens and adults dropped their nickels and dimes into that old jukebox.
The event was a black tie gathering featuring a special performance by Carl in his home of Jackson, Tenn.
Not only would I get to perform on stage with Carl but also I was to co-host the event with “Dukes of Hazzard” and “Enos” star Sonny Shroyer, who I watched on television religiously growing up.
Both Sonny and I arrived at the event early and visited with Carl. We all were to perform in front of a symphony orchestra that evening.
Carl appeared much as I expected him. He arrived in blue jeans and a plain shirt as he greeted each of us.
I told him what an honor it was to be a part of the evening, and brought along my 45 for him to autograph.
He did it without hesitation, while saying autographed original copies of his first million-seller sell for a premium.
He took the time to sit down and tell me how he wrote the song while he and his wife, Val, were living in public housing.
He said he had performed at a dance the night before and noticed a man out on the dance floor trying to keep his girlfriend from stepping all over his shoes.
At around three the next morning, he rose out of bed and went to the kitchen looking for something to write on. All he had was an old potato sack. He sat down and in just a few minutes wrote out in pencil the words that had come to him.
He said Val came out to see what he was doing, and he handed her the song. After she read it, he said she knew right then that it was going to be a hit.
While I was excited about just meeting and getting to perform with Carl, my managers had another goal up their sleeve. At the time, they hoped two possibilities might arise from the meeting. I understand at the time that Disney was negotiating with Carl for the rights to his story for the movie to be called “Go Cat Go.”
My managers, with Carl’s circle of advisers, were pushing for me to play the icon in the film. Since Carl was to retain creative control, including casting approval, my managers told me that the possibility of playing the role was very strong.
Alas, the film never materialized. It would have been a blast to portray one of the class of ’55.
They also hoped that a couple of songwriting sessions might develop from the meeting but, due to various conflicts on both our parts, neither of us were able to make that ever come to pass either, although we stayed in touch throughout the remainder of his life.
That night in Jackson, Sonny and I walked on stage in front of a packed house bantering back and forth. We brought the house down with our country jokes and guided the evening of music and accolades for Carl with almost seamless precision.
As the evening came to a close, I rushed backstage, quickly tightened up my bow, and tucked my fiddle up under my arm. It seemed I did not even have time to get nervous. As soon as the instrument was in hand, Carl brought me back out on stage.
I took my position as the conductor raised his baton. Carl looked over, smiled, and gazed back out into the audience. It seemed that that moment was endless almost in slow motion.
There I was standing in the shadow of the first entertainer to cross over in all the fields of chart music of the fifties: rhythm and blues, pop and country. A performer, who, if not for a twist of fate on the way to appear on the “Perry Como Show” when he was sidelined for months after a car accident, could have beat fellow ’55 classmate Elvis out of his first RCA number one, “Heartbreak Hotel,” at least for a while.
As I anxiously watched him, it seemed he just soaked up the love given by the audience as they waited in anticipation for the hit that had spun on my old beige portable turntable more times than I could count.
Like an explosion from a cannon, the words flowed from his mouth, “It’s one for the money,” as easily as they did upon that old potato sack decades before.
The conductor moved his baton and we struck the chords. We did not stop until the audience was on its feet begging
for more. In my mind, I was too! I hated for that evening to end, but the little things he showed me about his music are still a part of what I do each time I walk on stage.
To hear me perform this classic song and others, visit http://randallfranks.com/.
Randall Franks is an award-winning musician, singer and actor. He is best known for his role as “Officer Randy Goode” on TV’s “In the Heat of the Night” now on WGN America. His latest CD release, “An Appalachian Musical Revival,” is by www.shareamericafoundation.org. He is a member of the Atlanta Country Music Hall of Fame. He is a syndicated columnist for http://randallfranks.com/ and can be reached at rfrankscatoosa@gmail.com.
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