The Singer

THE SINGER

INTRODUCTION

What you are about to see/hear is the truth, the whole truth, the way it actually happened. Face it, everyone wants to know about Glenda S. - her rapid rise to popularity, her amazing career, and ultimately what became of her. How do I know that what follows is an accurate depiction of all this; simply put, I was there for most of it and what I missed I followed closely from a distance. Yes indeed, this is the whole unvarnished true story of her remarkable career.

At this point I, like every other author I've ever read, is supposed to give some sort of disclaimer to save the publisher from being financially exposed in a lawsuit. Certainly, I am personally not worried about such an event, since at this time I have very few financial assets remaining. But, to protect my friends and sponsors at Entertainment House, I suppose I will make an attempt. Something like: “What you’re about to read is a fictional account of my own imagination. Any resemblance to real live people and events is purely coincidental."

There I've done it. I'll go through the motions of putting it in the front of my story to make everyone happy. However, just between you and me, it's basically inaccurate. I really did experience everything I'm about to relate with one of America’s most famous superstars from the 70s. Why should I lie? I would only be doing Glenda a great injustice. She was in fact a fantastic performer and, generally speaking, a very interesting person-to say the least. So, here goes, The real inside scoop on one of our singing icons. Enjoy, and though at times our saga may get a little sad and depressing, trust that everything works out well in the end.

CHAPTER ONE

Tate Street

The early 1970s was an interesting time. The carefree, hippie, joint smoking era of the late 60s had not fully passed and the more staid, traditional attitude of the seventies had not quite set in. This was particularly true in the area of music. Classic rock had Passed its heyday and, yes, The British Invasion had already made its mark. Generally speaking, things were in a muddle. This was particularly true in the genre of country music, which had pretty much finished with its nasal simple rhythm, simple rhyme format and was moving toward, but not yet in, its newer more orchestrated mode.

All in all, it was a nice time for me personally. I was a young college professor teaching at one of the more progressive schools in Greensboro, NC. Single and always tempted by one of my female students in the back row batting her eyes with legs ajar just enough to show her pretty thigh formation, I was enjoying myself, trying to restrain myself so as to keep my job, and sometimes failing in that mission. I had always been interested in music and girl singers in particular. In fact, back in the day of the big bands, my mother had herself briefly been one before my father forced her into staying home with me, and eventually my two brothers.

In those days, Greensboro was a key center for musical aspirants in the Carolinas. There were many musicians hanging out at the local guitar shop on a daily basis. Mostly keyboard, guitar, bass kind of guys, all sharing information, teaching lessons and looking for a gig . I came across this little beehive of musical guys almost by accident. As a young professor I had gotten involved with the Greensboro arts community and, as luck would have it and knowing my interest in music, I was asked to help with the production: a fundraiser at the Greensboro Coliseum, with all the benefits going to the Greensboro Arts Society. It turns out that the guitar shop had some sound equipment along with its supply of musicians and so I wandered in, made the acquaintance of those present and told them of my project. in those days, notwithstanding a few appearances by Elvis and other entertainment luminaries, the Coliseum was primarily known for hosting the prestigious ACC Basketball Tournament and other sporting events. Yes, of course they had the sound and light equipment necessary for my charity fundraiser but, I surmised, a few extra amplifiers certainly wouldn't hurt. Also, when the requirements for those performing came to my attention, it was clear I would need sidemen to back up some of the well-known artists scheduled to appear.

Anyway, that's how I got into the entertainment business; completely by accident. Turns out the event was a huge success, notwithstanding Chuck Berry’s female manager demanding his fee in full before he would go on stage, which necessitated me raiding the box office receipts early in the evening. Nevertheless, Chuck tore up the audience with his old- time rocking sound, and, as I said, the evening was a success and my reputation as an entertainment organizer was being made.

Through all this, in 1972, I continued to teach at the college. History and political science of all things with no connection to the Music Department. I was, however, beginning to be fairly well known in the college student hangouts as an interesting guy to talk to. So it was that in the Spring of that year, Bill Tilson who ran a small recording studio in the area, trying to make a living by recording singing commercials for local entrepreneurs, asked me to stop by and say hello. When I got to his little place, we exchanged a few pleasantries and he asked me to take a listen to something he found interesting. Turns out a young aspiring singer had come in and cut a crude demo tape. Just her and her guitar.

I listened and based on my vast experience - exactly one show - rendered my opinion. Not much of a commercial voice I said. A little too country and folksy. Nevertheless , in order to cement my relationship with Bill for any future projects, I agreed to go listen to her as she was appearing not far away at the Red Door, one of the several Tate Street coffeehouse type venues featuring would be artists.

In 1972, Tate St was the place to find a good-looking hippie college coed type. After Bill had shown me some simple photos he had taken during her session, it occurred to me that I was doing the right thing. I wanted to see what went with the pretty headshots I had viewed. So, one late afternoon when classes were out and kids we're hanging out listening to entertainment while sipping coffee, I dropped by the Red Door.

Upon entering I took a small table in the back so as not to be noticed - not that I would be anyway come to think of it now. I'm not sure to this day whether what first got my attention was the looks or the voice. Sitting on a stool about 30 feet in front of me, accompanying herself to some of her original material, was a very attractive looking figure. After a few more songs, when she stood up to take a break, I got a better view. About five three or four, definitely with a 36-24- 36 type of figure and that same pretty face and blonde hair I had seen in Tilson’s studio, stood the artist in question.

After another set of music, I strolled over and introduced myself, saying that Bill had asked me to stop by. She looked at me and asked what is it that you do? When I told her I was a college professor she stared directly in my eyes and sneered. “That's nice,” she said, “But I don't quite understand why Bill sent you over.” After explaining with a little exaggeration that I had worked with Chuck Berry and other artists and had some organizing ability, her expression changed and she asked me if I could hang around for her last set so we might talk a little further.

I did that and we had an interesting if insecure type of conversation. I told her that I had enjoyed her show, not mentioning it was really her looks that had made me stay. We agreed to get together for lunch during the next week. I gave her my number both at the college and at home and told her to call me when she had a chance. Thus, went my first unforgettable meeting with Glenda S. who would turn out to play such an important part in my life.

Thank you Bill Tilson and Tate St.

CHAPTER TWO

THE CONTRACT

About a week after our encounter at the Red Door I got a call from Glenda asking me to pick a private spot for a luncheon discussion. Deciding to get away from the casual places on Tate St., I picked a location a bit more formal and business-like. In 1970, what is today a dormitory, housing college students, was then, in fact the Hilton Hotel. Since I lived not far away and because it was an easy find with plenty of parking, I thought that its restaurant on the 1st floor would fit nicely into our meeting.

The Hilton was something of a landmark back in those days with its front side facing West Market Street and incoming traffic while its exterior fronted Friendly Ave and the outgoing traffic which led to the established residential district. That's right, in the early 70’s, there was basically one way into downtown and one way out and the hotel stood right in between.

She arrived looking quite different from the blue jeans and T-shirt I had met her in. Now she was dressed in a professional-looking pants suit and her hair was up in a ponytail rather than the free- flowing, blonde down style that she used while entertaining. No hugs just yet -after all, it was only our second meeting -but her hands were warm and friendly when she cupped mine. I arranged for a table in a quiet corner of the otherwise busy restaurant and, after ordering two cups of coffee and a cinnamon bun to share, we got down to a substantive dialogue.

Basically, Glenda knew she had a lot of raw talent but was having trouble coordinating her singing jobs with the student teaching that she was about to embark on. I should have guessed; she was finishing her undergraduate degree in education at one of the area schools and in two weeks was set to begin to fulfill her final requirement teaching at a local high school. “Kind of funny” she remarked after telling me a little more about herself, “We're both teachers.” That disclosure seemed to break the ice a little and we were soon discussing terms.

It was obvious that if we were to make this work, I would also have to give up my teaching job, leaving me with no apparent source of income. A precarious situation to say the least. Glenda had only her tips, not much, so we were going to embark on this project with no cushion-no room for failure. The two of us would have to go “all in” if there was to be any chance for success.

Eventually, after several more cups of coffee, we agreed that I would have full and exclusive rights to book her wherever we decided was appropriate. I would be responsible for getting the band together and making sure that adequate sound and lights were always part of the job. I would also get 15% of whatever her monthly pay came too as her manager. She would receive top pay for each engagement, even more then the “leader’s pay” for the director of the band. This was all well and good but 15% of nothing would get us no where. At least initially, the pressure would be on me to find decent places to perform and to put together a publicity package emphasizing, what shall we say, Glenda’s fine points.

When we departed from the Hilton and I returned to the college to teach my afternoon classes I wondered at the sanity of what I had done. I'm pretty sure she felt the same. I would soon have to tell my Dean that I would not be teaching the next semester - which would put me in violation of my contract which was always termed on a yearly basis. Likewise, Glenda would have to explain to her parents why she was leaving school with just one semester of student teaching remaining. In both cases the tasks ahead were unpleasant to say the least.

The publicity proved to be easy enough since we were able to shoot some more professional looking head shots at Bill’s studio. I put Glenda in a low-cut white blouse with fringes on her shoulders and we also included a couple of full body pics with her standing seductively, hands on hips. In a few days we had a simple one-fold hand-out suitable for the mostly male managers who booked the entertainment into the local lounges. Bill also put together a new demo tape with Glenda singing some traditional pop country numbers. We now had the material we needed to approach the bookers.

This turned out to be the easy part. I wasn't quite sure where to begin my search for the right place to open our quest for fame and fortune. After being turned down at the better-known supper clubs, Green’s and the Plantation, I shifted direction and pursued more reasonable venues. Hotel lounges were my new focal point. Where better to begin then at the very place we had agreed on our contractual terms? The Hilton it was.

When I approached the guy who ran the small nightclub located in the basement level of the hotel I enthusiastically presented both the brochure and the demo tape. He seemed to like what he saw and heard. Unfortunately, he said, he was booked up for the next 2 weeks. That's OK, I thought; I needed some time to get a band together anyway. He offered me $600 a week for a two-week trial run and with no hesitation or attempt to piss him off by bumping him up, I quickly agreed. When I got home and phoned Glenda she seemed to be pleased. Same town she had been performing in and, although a different kind of music was forthcoming, she thought she might bring some of her Tate St. admirers to the Hilton.

As an afterthought , I'm not exactly sure why to this day, I also got the manager to agree to a room that we would have access to throughout the engagement, guessing it might be a nice place to have for Glenda to change outfits and for the band to take a break and have some “refreshments.” Speaking of a band, after I had secured the gig and the room, I made my way back to the guitar shop to see what I could put together for a group. Fortunately, several of the guys that hung out there, were badly in need of something resembling a steady gig - certainly more than a one- night stand, which is what they had been living with. Pretty soon I had Matt, one of the best guitar players in town who had just finished a gig at Green’s supper club and Barry a drummer who could also double as a backup singer. The quest for a bassist was a bit more difficult since the regular cool guys on that instrument already had jobs lined up for the next month or so. What to do? Matt suggested an alternative: Let's go without a bass and use someone with a keyboard which could keep time and play bass- like notes. I had truly never heard of such a thing but, at this point, was in no position to be choosy.

There was a problem, however. This was, after all, 1970, and though considered quite progressive, Greensboro was still a southern mostly segregated town and the keyboard player in question was not only blind but also black. I made it clear that we were going to be doing material that was traditional and pop country in nature and that Lil Willie Jack, the musician in question, might not be interested. “Why don’t you ask him?” was Matt’s reply. So it was that on a cool early spring afternoon in 1970 in Greensboro, NC, Glenda and I paid a visit to a small church on “the wrong side of town” and met Willie.

Gratefully, the church was empty and had both a piano and baby organ available. Since Matt had told Willie about the job at the Hilton, a place in which, quite frankly he had not been allowed to practice his craft, all that remained was for Glenda to pull out her little “key” sheet and begin. She started with Ray Price’s “For the Good Times” and continued with the Hank Williams classic “Your Cheating Heart.” Lil Willie never missed a beat. Then, without mikes, they tried a harmony on James Taylor's “You've Got a Friend.” Unbelievable, I thought, a blind black guy singing and playing country music. I had forgotten that another blind black guy, Ray Charles by name, had already released “Georgia On My Mind “and was continuing to sell his country album years after its initial offering.

We left the church, still in shock, and went back to the music shop to set up a rehearsal schedule on its showroom floor after hours. A few days later Glenda, Barry, Matt and Lil Willie began practicing for the Hilton job. I was allowed to listen in and, as the convener of the feast, was permitted to make suggestions where appropriate. Only one little item remained on my checklist of to dos.

Because I was still technically on the college’s payroll, even though by then I had turned in my notice, I had been eligible to receive Prepaid Legal Services as a low- cost side benefit. I quickly made use of it and got one of the local participants to formalize in proper legal language what Glenda and I had previously agreed to. A few days later, just before opening night at the Hilton, we both signed the contract in the lawyer’s office. That, I thought, is that. Now we were ready to go.

CHAPTER THREE

THE BANDS

If there is one thing for certain in the entertainment business - which I seriously doubt - it's that the people on the front of any given stage on any given night are completely dependent on their supporting cast; in this case, the musicians who accompany them, usually referred to as “sidemen.” By today's standards of social correctness that would most likely be considered a derogatory term. In the early 1970s, however, the term was still used with a certain degree of reverence. I mean without the music you're singing acapella and that doesn't work for a four set per night performance.

This is all by way of saying that the group I first put together to back up Glenda was an absolute blessing for a new artist. They were seasoned professionals who had little ego problems playing for an unheard-of singer; they just wanted to play. The attraction of a hotel nightclub was a pleasant add on. So, my little three-piece group of guitar, keyboard and drums were ready to go to work with no issues whatsoever; the exception being that they would get paid on time at the end of each week.

The initial two week stint at the Hilton went very well. Good reviews in the entertainment sections of the local papers - in those days Greensboro had both a morning and an evening paper - helped to bring in more and more patrons as the nights went along and, somewhat to my surprise, a bunch of Glenda devotees from Tate St. did in fact show up. The song list now included such frequently requested standards as “Joy to the World” and “Proud Mary” in addition to Glenda’s normal country folksy repertoire. We did get paid on time which made everyone happy, most of all me, since back then I had nothing resembling deep pockets. Yes, all went well on that first job.

I realized about halfway through this engagement that we had all worked so hard to prepare for, that, in order to keep the group together, I had to come up with another gig soon. We got really lucky in that the receipts were so good that we were invited to stay for an additional two weeks. This was very helpful, though it did not alleviate the problem of where we would perform next. As it turned out, the mountain came to Muhammad rather than the other way around. One of our customers had a small nightclub of his own in Danville, VA., within commuting distance of Greensboro, and invited us to perform. Since he did not know what we were making at the Hilton, I quoted him $800 a week with a guaranteed monthly stay.

There was however one condition that the Danville guy made.

We would have to get another keyboard player. Other than waiters and bartenders, you see, his club was not yet integrated. I had a brief discussion with Glenda and our two white musicians and, as good as the opportunity was, we unanimously decided to turn the job down unless Lil’ Willie was included. This would not be the last time that such a stipulation would be made and that we would consistently give the same answer. We were a four- piece group, now calling ourselves Glenda and the Travelers, somewhat appropriate considering the commute, and intended to stay that way.

Danville was also a big success and the guys were satisfied with their pay even knowing that Glenda was receiving 1 1/2 times what they got. I took $150 a week for myself in addition to my 15% from Glenda. At this point it seemed we could make a decent, steady income from our efforts. Glenda's voice was holding up well since I only had her do three sets with the early opening set, usually delivered in front of a small crowd around 7:00 in the evening, using both Matt and Lil’ Willie to do some vocalizing. No one seemed to mind.

So it went throughout the rest of 1970 and into ’71; a job six nights a week with Sunday being our only day off. We performed all over the immediate Piedmont Triad area, including Winston Salem, which was a source of several gigs. The days and months ran by quickly. Of course, we were tired and occasionally had a spat over material, which was quickly resolved. Then, everything changed.

At one of our engagements at a prominent supper club in Winston Salem, I was approached by a well-dressed if portly young man during a break. He told me he played piano for the best-known orchestra in the Carolinas, the Kurt Blassingame orchestra, and that Mr. Blassingame had recently lost his up-front girl singer and was desperate to find a replacement. He wanted to speak with Glenda and myself alone real soon.

We figured we had nothing to lose and paid a call on Mr. Blassingame in his office in a sound studio, larger than Bill’s, one day around lunch. Kurt, he insisted we call him Kurt, said that the reports on Glenda were excellent and how would she feel about performing in front of a 16- piece orchestra? After explaining to him that, although we did a few pop tunes, our song list was pretty much country: hardly the material for a big band. Kurt said he had a bright young horn player who doubled as his composer of sheet music and that if Glenda was willing to learn some standards like “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” and a few Glenn Miller songs, he would get Larry, the horn player, to arrange four or five country songs of Glenda's choice. What a mix I thought: Glenn Miller and “For the Good Times. “

Of course, the conversation eventually came down to money. The salary for Glenda would be more than she was currently making and so the question became what to do about me and our three loyal musicians. Once again, Kurt, determined to make this deal work particularly after he got a good look at Glenda in person, suggested that he would give me exclusive rights to book his orchestra with a 10% fee on each job. Also, he added, I would be allowed to book the three remaining Travelers anywhere I wished and, for that matter, any other groups that I could find work for. I asked for 15% and, reluctantly Kurt agreed. The clincher was that I could have office space with him at the studio. Glenda and I stepped outside for a moment, exchanged glances but no words and went back and told Mr. Blassingame, Kurt, that we were interested and when would we start? In two weeks was the reply. It would take Larry that long to do the new country arrangements and Glenda to rehearse with the orchestra. Now the problem became how to explain this to the three guys that were most responsible for our success?

Knowing that the best way to approach these guys was with increased money and continued classy spots, I explained to them exactly what had happened the very same day. Because of Glenda's absence, they would immediately enjoy a 20% increase in pay beginning with the next job and that I would continue to book them into nice places. I won't say that they were overjoyed with the change but they understood the opportunity this presented for Glenda. After a few hugs and handshakes, they were on board with the new regime. They would continue to be known as “The Travelers” and could add a singer when necessary on important engagements. So, Glenda began to rehearse with the Big Band and I secured some engagements for them, albeit in smaller, less important spots.

As for me, I took all this as an opportunity to spread my wings. I contacted two of the better- known rock bands in the area and offered my services for a 10% booking fee and another 10% for management. Surprisingly, they accepted my offer. I guess they had heard good things about my work with Glenda and the Travelers. I followed up this little coup by making the same offer to the best- known pure country band in town, with the same result. Seeing that I now had a respectable office in a recording studio with Kurt Blassingame by my side, things preceded rather successfully.

Soon Glenda had four or five country songs and the same number of big band standards ready to perform. She was an immediate success and, when word got around what she looked and sounded like, Kurt’s already substantial book of engagements got maxed out. Although I went with her on the bus with Kurt and the 16 musicians from time to time, I spent most of my evenings talking to club owners and rock venues about my new acts. Everything seemed to be going just right.

Then, I guess, because of my political science teaching background, I came up with a brilliant idea. Why not get a reputation for performing community service in addition to playing music? Pretty silly thought in retrospect. Nevertheless, I proceeded to contact the prisons in the area at McLeansville, Wentworth and Rockingham and offered our services for Glenda and a reduced orchestra of eight to entertain the prisoners on the few nights off that we had, usually on Sundays and Mondays. Look, all that Kurt cared about is that he would be paid well and I knew that the State and the counties had funds set aside for inmate recreation. Once they got a look at Glenda's pictures and heard a few of her demo tapes they were sold. Thus began one of the strangest phases of Glenda’s career; one that she would never forget.

One night at one of the prisons, I truly can't remember which one, I had distributed some inexpensive copies of Glenda’s pictures ahead of time. Therefore, please forgive the forthcoming pun, we had a “captive audience “seated early, chanting rhythmically: ”Glenda, Glenda,“ even before the band took the stage. After a few numbers without her, Kurt sensed that the guys, numbering about 200, seated in front of him could wait no longer so he brought her out. After she opened with a fully orchestrated version of the country rock classic “Silver Threads and Golden Needles” followed by a horn section featured rendition of “Joy to the World” it was time to slow things down. Here again, my obsession with projecting Glenda and her sex appeal came into play and was almost our undoing.

I had been working with my singer on her need to project more. So, when I found Chris Christopherson’s soon to be classic song “Help me make it through the night,“ I did two things. First, I made sure that Glenda would have a long yellow ribbon on top of her ponytail whenever she did the number. Secondly, and perhaps more problematic, I had her substitute the phrase “and tonight I need a man” for the original recorded version which went “but tonight I need a friend.” So it was, that night long ago at the prison, that when Glenda started to sing her third number and sang “take the ribbon from my hair, shake it loose and let it fall”; she reached up, untied the yellow bow and dangled it in front of her. By the time she got to the key phrase that we had rehearsed so much and softly whimpered “but tonight I need a man” into the microphone, all hell broke loose. 200 horny but appreciative inmates rushed the stage trying to get a piece of that ribbon, and for all I knew, of Glenda.

Luckily, the half dozen or so prison guards, who were also watching the show, quickly rushed down the aisles and merged at the stage, fronting the charging inmates and giving Kurt, Glenda and the rest of the band time to get off stage. The only other female in the crowd, a reporter from the small circulation local paper, was also grabbed by a guard and taken to a secure place off stage. Side note: She would go on to be a well-known Communications Director for a large state agency and have a rather distinguished career. However, that night back in 1971, she was just a scared cub reporter for a local paper, grateful for the protection.

After a while, the band came back on-stage and performed a few more numbers. When it became clear that Glenda wasn’t going to reappear, the disappointed crowd slowly dwindled in size until, after about 20 minutes or so, Kurt decided it was time to pack up and go. Just for the record we did our show at two other prisons with no incident, but Glenda did not “take the ribbon from her hair “nor did she sing “tonight I need a man.” We, read that, I, had learned our lesson. Always be aware of your surroundings and the crowd to which you are playing.

Most of the rest of 1971 passed rather routinely. Glenda and Kurt’s band played all over the southeast to much acclaim. After a few months Kurt realized the talent he had stumbled upon and featured Glenda in a show type format during the third set. The audience loved it. The first and fourth sets were done by the orchestra with a dance music format. Quite appropriate for the supper clubs and Cotillion crowds we were performing before. Just as a tease, Glenda did come out to sing a few numbers in the third set. Meanwhile, I continued to book my rock and country bands, now numbering 5, also with success. It gradually became clear though, that in order to take the next step forward, we would once again have to make changes in our quest for stardom.

CHAPTER FOUR

PINEHURST

By 1972, the tiny village of Pinehurst, located in the Sandhills region of North Carolina, was undergoing a defining transition. Having begun as a haven for those big city dwellers suffering from tuberculosis, with only a few houses for them to convalesce in, Pinehurst had gradually morphed into a well-known golfing Mecca with one principle hotel and several smaller Manor type units. Without getting lost in the weeds of Pinehurst history, let me just say that this transition was primarily linked to the arrival of an accomplished Scottish amateur who, back in those early days, had designed a simple 9-hole course so that those who were convalescing could have some basic, healthy outdoor activity.

The governing structure that had evolved was also somewhat unique and interesting. Those few original property owners, whether the original inhabitants who settled there to take care of the guests, or those who later arrived and built homes in order to take advantage of the ever increasing golf opportunities, were entitled to a vote on the town council which made all the decisions about the community's growth. Democracy, you might say, in the ancient Athenian style. Of course, there was a single family that was the face and the voice of this enterprise, but what you need to understand is that Pinehurst had grown under the leadership of its early inhabitants and their descendants.

What had changed all this was the arrival of a large, shall we say, “development” Corporation, whose name I will not divulge in these pages for reasons that will become obvious, about the time our story takes place. I quickly learned in attempting to secure this account for Kurt and myself that the Corporation executive I was dealing with was an employee of a holding company whose real owners were located elsewhere and, how shall I say this prudently, not the sort of individuals you might want to deal with in the course of establishing a normal contractual relationship. Well, you get the idea.

What had brought me to Pinehurst initially was a logical venue to book the full orchestra for the many conventions that used the principal hotel, the Carolinian, as a meeting place. In fact, if memory serves me correct, Kurt had played there on several occasions before my arrival at the studio. What I was seeking I was a steady and frequently occurring business arrangement. However, when I got there and began to roam around a bit I found was what had once been a world class hotel and resort, slowly falling into a state of disrepair, under new ownership which had a willingness to improve and expand.

So, when I finally got to speak to a rather young and baby faced executive in charge, Phil Ball by name, I adjusted my pitch, on the fly so to speak, and told him I could offer entertainment for his classy dining room, large ballroom and small lounge with a single point of contact; namely me. Since Mr. Ball was himself fairly new to the location, he expressed some initial interest and asked me to return with a more formal proposal. Therefore, upon my return to Greensboro and my first conversation with Kurt, I told him that I would book the orchestra into the ballroom as many times as possible for our agreed upon 10% commission , but that I wanted the rest of the account , whatever that might end up being, for myself. After some thought, Kurt agreed. After all what had he to lose?

Now invigorated with a renewed enthusiasm for this project and with $$ in my head I drove back to Pinehurst. What Mr. Ball wanted was a small combo for the elegant dining room, renowned for its wonderful southern food and impeccable service, playing soft, barely perceptible dinner music and another small group performing upbeat selections for his well stocked but underutilized lounge. Most conventions brought their own entertainment into the spacious Carolina ballroom but, from time to time, the manager himself was asked to provide a large orchestra playing traditional cotillion music. This was a Challenging set of requests, sort of like seeking construction work in India way back when and being given a contract to build The Taj Mahal.

Thank goodness I had plenty of musicians in Greensboro looking for work and the preeminent girl singer in the area to work with, not to mention Kurt’s orchestra. The dining room was the easiest request to handle. I put Matt, my go-to guitar virtuoso with the original Travelers, in charge of getting together a three piece group, dressed them in tuxes and instructed them to play soft, traditional dinner music for three sets a night starting at 7 and ending around 10 or when the last diners were filtering out. Matt and his guys were an immediate success which gained me credibility with which to attack the situation with the lounge.

This little bleak and somewhat tawdry room was located just down the hall from the dining room and an equal distance to the ballroom. The few guests that ventured forth into this part of the hotel’s first floor were, generally speaking, hardcore drinkers who didn't want to leave the premises, risk getting lost in the Pines and being pulled by the local gendarmes and given a DUI. To say, as I did above, that this space was underutilized would be a gross understatement. I decided that I would take a chance on something fresh and different to attract more hotel guests and even locals looking for entertainment into this lonely space.

I soon found myself having lunch back in Greensboro with Lil’ Willie and his drummer friend, “Beat”, also very black, and told them what I had in mind for the lounge at the hotel. For starters, I said we would put them in that stayed historical venue playing upbeat pop selections and, for an extra added attraction, include Glenda for a couple of sets per night. There was a pause at the table at which we were meeting and I spoke first and addressed the obvious question. The old time Pinehurst hotel with black musicians playing for the guests? I told them very honestly that I wasn't sure how, but, if 1 could pull it off, would they be interested? After all, it would tie them up at least five and maybe six nights a week. Blind Willie had a broad smile on his face when he responded: “Are you shitting me?”

Now that I had what I thought was the perfect act in mind for that lounge, I got Phil Ball to sign a two-week contract for a trial to see if the bar business would increase. I mentioned Glenda over and over, which gave him some confidence in my entertainment acumen, but never discussing or describing the musicians who would back her up. I knew that Mr. Ball left rather early in the evening, somewhere around 6:00 o'clock, and made sure it was clear that, considering the drive from Greensboro, etc, that we would not start until around 8:00.

Sure, there were audible gasps when we came in to set up that first night in the lounge, but I had double-checked to make sure that Phil Ball had left the premises. The mostly black hotel staff who observed our setting up were chuckling among themselves, just waiting for the blowback from the presence of black musicians in the lounge.

There was almost no one present for the first set from 7 to 8 but, when the word got around the hotel that there was live music in the lounge, a few more guests drifted in. The second set was more upbeat featuring Willie vocalizing on some pop-rock selections. Just before the third set I went to the ladies room just outside the lounge entrance, knocked loudly on it and told Glenda, who had been changing from her every day clothes, into a more country and somewhat sexy rhinestone-adorned tight-fitting pants suit.

After an opening Hank William’s number we moved right into the “Green, Green Grass of Home”. The applause was loud, the whistles from the mostly male audience were deafening and now the word was spreading room to room, come downstairs and check out the babe in the lounge. By the time we were into the 10:00 o'clock set the room was overflowing with half-lit, mostly male golfers and when the requests came for “Proud Mary” and “Joy to the World”, hardly country tunes, we swung right into them and had the audience clapping along. To say my little lounge act was a success would be an under-statement.

The next morning, back home in Greensboro and barely awake, I got the much anticipated and somewhat dreaded call from Phil Ball. “What the hell was going on in the lounge last night?” he shouted into the phone; “I've heard nothing all morning but when was Glenda coming back?” I responded, tonight if you like, she's part of the lounge act I'm providing you for the next two weeks. Then, taking the bull by the horns, I asked what about the presence of my two black musicians? Phil responded “I don't care if they’re orange. Just keep them down that end of the hall and make sure that Glenda appears with them.” “No problem Mr. Ball,” I said, “However there is something I need to talk to you about. If a performer as classy as Glenda was to continue on after our two-week trial, the lounge would have to be drastically updated.

So, following our initial and wildly successful trial was completed, Phil showed me a design he had in mind for a complete re-do of the lounge. The sketch was one of the bow of a boat with a small stage in the middle of the ship, fully equipped with electrical outlets, on which Glenda would perform. “How fast can you get that ready,” I asked. Phil responded that the Corporation had a lot of clout with the craftsmen in the area, who were used to doing wood-work on almost any scale. It would take about two weeks during which Glenda and her sidemen would have to find work elsewhere. “No problem”, I said again, overwhelmed by the suggestion of such a staging area, “Just let us perform in the lounge as is for another week and I'll find a few gigs for them elsewhere to keep them in tow and committed to our project.” Thus was the “HMS Bounty Room” born, unparalleled in its day as a hotel lounge, with a maximum capacity of 62 customers at any one time. At last, Glenda had her home base and I had exclusive booking rights to one of the pre-eminent resorts in the Carolinas.

We settled into a regular routine. Matt driving his guys separately and showing up in the dining room, always on time, to start promptly at 6:00 and me driving Glenda, Willie and “Beat” with a slightly later arrival so as to start in the Bounty Room at seven. Mr. Ball was a stickler about on time arrivals and getting his full money's worth of entertainment, so I made sure that both groups started promptly, as agreed. Those days in 1972 went by quickly with everyone making good money and having a steady gig. Even Kurt, from whom I was gradually distancing myself, got the benefit of a few extra jobs in the ballroom. So, the golfers kept coming, the conventions kept booking and Mr. Ball and I we're mutually satisfied with our arrangement.

Just to explain how it went back then, let me tell you about one night in particular which has remained among my fondest memories. It was sometime in the winter of 1972 -73 that I found myself with Matt having a particularly large crowd in the dining room wanting some vocals with their dinner music, Glenda in the Bounty with a full house and Kurt playing before a packed ballroom filled with conventioneers, also wanting to see that pretty girl singer who had fronted him for nearly a year now.

Thank goodness, Glenda couldn't decide on what she wanted to wear that night, so, typically when caught in such a conundrum, had brought a few extra outfits with her to choose from. We dressed her in a gown and sent her up to the dining room to perform a few songs with Matt during his second set when the dining room capacity was at its peak and then did a quick change into a sexier outfit for the 2nd and 3rd sets on stage in the Bounty. You guessed it, her night was not over until she did a late 10:00 o'clock show with Kurt and the full orchestra in the ballroom, only to return to the Bounty for her last appearance on the boat with Willie and “Beat.” Her reputation was growing and everyone coming to Pinehurst wanted to see Glenda S. As for me, I was raking in more commissions then I ever dreamed of and felt we, meaning my singer and myself, were once again climbing up the ladder of success.

Let me pause my narrative just for a moment and answer a question I know you've been asking for some time. If I was young, decent looking and earning a good living and Glenda was as beautiful as I have described her, were we having more than a strictly business relationship? Well, uh, remember that little break room at the Hilton? The one we used on our very first steady job in Greensboro? I must admit we remained behind from time to time when the band had packed up and left, and, well shall I say, took advantage of the situation.

Don't get the wrong idea. The Glenda I had pulled out of Tate St. was a free spirit and not willing to give up her independence for a relationship with any one man, including me. So, from time to time she saw others, including Larry, the arranger from Kurt’s band, but never entered into a solo relationship with any one guy, including me. Besides she was busy, up late getting home from the jobs, and didn't have much time and energy for a lot of sexual activity anyway.

OK. Now that I've dealt with that rather delicate subject, let me get back to that winter in Pinehurst. As I have stated previously, during those years the resort was a major center of golfing activity, as it is even today. We drew decent crowds even in months like January and February with golfers continuing to try to play on the mild weather courses and we regularly had locals who had heard about the live music in the lounge. By the spring of 1973 we had nothing to do but, as they say in the streets, “Keep on keeping on.” I thought from time to time, this is what we need right now, a regular home base for Glenda, lots of commissions for me and a bunch of happy musicians. From time to time I asked myself “What's not to like”?

The answer to that rhetorical question emanated from the lifeblood of our success, the golfers themselves. By spring the resort was packed with them and the sort of entourage that followed them around. So it was , that when a major professional tournament made it’s stop in Pinehurst that year, I'm not exactly sure which one but I think it was the “World Open”, the followers of the big name pros who frequented the Bounty nightly included a few celebrities. Of course, the celebs brought with them an assortment of managers, booking agents and other entertainment business- type folks.

I guess, then, it shouldn't have been a huge surprise to me what happened next, though in retrospect I must admit I was blindsided. Here's what occurred the best I can piece it together. On one of those nights in which I stayed back in Greensboro booking some other acts, mostly solo guitar players, into small bars and country clubs, Glenda and the guys took their normal trip down to Pinehurst. Apparently, during one of the breaks in the Bounty, Glenda was asked to join what, I was later told, was a handsome guy in a pinstripe suit for a drink. After she made it clear that she didn't drink while she was working, the conversation, the way I was told about it later, proceeded to a discussion of the New York connections that this manager of one of the visiting celebs enjoyed.

Although, sadly, I was not there, I believe the discussion centered around the visitor asking Glenda the equivalent of the old question “What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”, with the phrase “nice girl” being supplanted with “good-looking super singer like you doing here”, he probably said, “stuck in Pinehurst”. I guess a few phone conversations between the guy in New York and Glenda later took place; conversations I knew nothing about until it was too late.

When Glenda finally did approach me face to face she explained that what was being offered to her was a recording session, a steady salary and a nationwide road trip to push her forthcoming album and expose her to larger audiences than she had ever dreamed of performing before. Of course, I was flabbergasted, hurt and shocked by the implications for my booking and management business. Though the precise conversation remains foggy as I was in something of a stupor, I'm pretty sure I broached the subject of our contract. She responded that she was giving me and the folks in Pinehurst two weeks notice, after which she was moving to New York City. That was about it. I could take her to court and try to enforce the contract, but all that would get me, even if I prevailed, was an unhappy singer. Besides, some part of me, despite all this, was still committed to Glenda’s success.

So, in the spring of 1973 I let her go. For a while I tried to continue my little operation, but without Glenda, things were not the same. Eventually I lost track of her. Of course, like everyone else, I was aware she was having a break-out road trip promoting her album, which, when finally released, I could not bring myself to buy.

Yes, that was it for me and the entertainment business, and I shortly decided to find a teaching job where I could once again profess my views on History and Political Science.

Please don't put this story down now and go somewhere. Sad as this chapter has ended, there is more yet to tell. Perhaps you'll find it happier and more uplifting than the way things ended between Glenda and myself in the spring of 1973.

CHAPTER FIVE

SUPER STAR

Up in New York in-between recording sessions, the new management team had Glenda play a few spots in the Village with the house band at each location. This temporary arrangement did not allow for a lot of rehearsal time and so the reviews in the “Village Voice” were not very enthusiastic, or even flattering. Once the album tracks had been laid down and she was no longer needed for post recording activities, such as balancing, mastering etc., Glenda was moved rather precipitously out of her Manhattan hotel, this I only found out later, and flown to the West Coast where Bashor and Company believed she would find friendly audiences.

After all, the California music scene of the early and mid-1970s was one in which country, folk, and soft rock were blended together in a way that made for an upbeat, late-60s type sound. At places like the Hungry I, Fillmore West, and, especially, the Troubadour, small but well-paying hippie like crowds listened to Joni Mitchell, Jackson Browne and any number of long haired, folk rock type bands. It was into this milieu in 1973 that Glenda was introduced.

This time things proceeded far more smoothly, particularly at the Troubadour in LA. In those days the “Troub,” as it was referred to by the locals, was the center of musical innovation. Glenda had grown tired of being shunted off from place to place, house band to house band by this time and so, when she was offered a long term stay at the “Troub,” she was pleased to discover that the quality of the house band there was really good; first class. This time she had plenty of opportunity to rehearse some of the country/ folk/ pop rock material that she had been doing all along, mixed with a few live versions of the best cuts of her album. For a while, she was given the job of warming up the crowd for the headliners, but, shortly it became clear, that the audiences were returning primarily to see her.

Now the reviews were much better. Several of the papers raved about her songs in their entertainment sections, while also noting that she looked better than most of the female artists performing in LA. Once again it was that unique combination of good looks and a great voice that was helping to push her to the top of her profession. After a few months stay in LA, during which time she lived in an upscale apartment in Beverly Hills, Bashor and her record company made the decision to put her on the road and expose her to broader, larger audiences.

That first tour was confined to the United States with West Coast cities like Portland and Seattle the first to dig her unique combination of country, folk and pop rock. Soon her large, well equipped tour bus was swinging across the mid-section of America, playing before other appreciative audiences in Des Moines and Fargo. The schedule ended up rather predictably on the East Coast in Atlanta, Charleston and Boston, where once again Glenda knocked the socks off of the largely male audiences buying the tickets. However, if you go back and look at some of the few remaining videos that were taken of these performances, you will note that there were plenty of attractive females rhythmically bouncing around in the first few rows. This phenomenon was due, no doubt, to the equally attractive guys in Glenda’s band.

Just a word about that. Back in LA, Glenda’s relationship with the house band at the “Troub” was so successful that, with Bashor’s cooperation and a little extra money thrown on the table, the guys had agreed to accompany her on this first tour. Thus, the size and quality of the bus just mentioned. One night in LA, I'm told, just before departing to their first stop in Seattle, and after everyone smoking a bit too much weed, Glenda decided, with the full support of her musicians, to call her band the Beagles. That's right, that's how one of the most successful folk-rock bands of the times was formed.

Now, after that aside, back to Glenda and that first tour. As I said, it was a huge success. Sellout crowds most everywhere. On the recording front, two singles off the album had been released and landed in the top 10 of both the country and pop charts listed in Billboard. Juke boxes were still popular back then in 1974 and “Just leave me alone “and “You are my man,” obviously expressing contrary thoughts about male female relationships, were being played in diners everywhere. Since Glenda’s music was somewhat unique, both the country and pop AM and newly emerging FM radio stations decided to play her songs which were being heavily requested. After all, they had to pay their bills with commercials and everyone, soap and cereal sponsors included, wanted to hear more and more of Glenda S.

Following that first road trip, the emerging star was ushered back to Manhattan to get some rest in a luxury hotel and work on a second album. This, of course, led to planning for a second tour. The decision was made by Bashor and the record company to go for an even wider audience. So, the New York brain trust, made the move to split the Beagles, now gaining popularity in their own right, off from Glenda, and letting them carry the USA market while sending her to Europe, where her songs we're also rapidly gaining popularity.

To accomplish this they put together a new band, with more rock type musicians, keeping only her lead guitar from the Beagles to ensure the integrity of her arrangements. Her handlers, you see, were more and more moving her to be recognized as a top rock performer, which, they believed would make them even more money; while retaining just enough of her concert country/folk selections, which the European audiences anticipated and came to here.

Her second album, featuring a rockier type sound, also went to the top of the pop charts. Now, however, her country followers were not at first buying into her new music, a problem that was quickly resolved by including some last-minute country rock numbers on the second album. Just to make sure they retained their base, they even let her record one traditional Hank Williams cover for good measure.

In Europe, Glenda and her new rock-oriented group, played across the continent to enthusiastic audiences who, even though they might not have understood every word, loved her looks and her sound. From the New Victoria Hall in London to the Stat Halle in Offenbach, Germany and everywhere in between, her new followers came to watch and see Glenda in action. She didn't disappoint, screaming and yelling out the words to her newly released rock songs. In that concert in Germany, American GIs from bases near and far away, drove, in some cases hundreds of miles, to get up front seats and loudly applaud their Superstar - that's right, that term could now be accurately applied - from back home.

However, this new style of music was not without its consequences. Rumors began to appear in the American press, whose reporters went overseas to cover the tour, that all was not right with Glenda's voice, which appeared to be increasingly strained. Let me, with what little technical ability and understanding I possess about such matters, provide a few details. When I first pulled Glenda out of Tate Street and began to find the appropriate music for her - of course she already had some of her own original material - she had what is sometimes referred to in the business as a “B flat” voice. That is to say, nothing too high pitched such as a natural soprano might possess, but rather a pleasant, basic Alto sound. What distinguished her right from the start though was an unusual range, which we worked too improve throughout my time with her. This allowed for the performance of material that a normal Alto might not have been able to handle. Because of her formal training in both voice and piano, unlike most of the country pop singers of her generation, Glenda could read music and had an almost academic understanding of what was vocally possible. For this reason, musicians loved to work with her, since she could communicate with them on their terms. So, during a given number, she could range up or down with them easily following. In summary, she had more to offer than your typical Alto voice; and then there were the looks.

OK, now back to that European Tour. As I said rumors were flowing about Glenda's voice. The rock numbers, which involved a lot of screaming, were taking its toll. Word even leaked out that while in Italy she had seen a thoracic specialist to seek help. If she got any relief - it was said the Italian doctor performed some sort of minor surgery to help with her vocal cords - the benefits were short lived. By the time she and the band got back to London for their final engagement, the reviews pointed out she had not much left in the way of vocal range. So, home she came, this time to a small home in Malibu that had been purchased for her by the record company, complete with housekeeper. She was told to rest her voice, see a Beverly Hills specialist and plan for another American tour, about six weeks out. From what I heard later, Glenda thoroughly enjoyed this break in Malibu and the closest she got to singing was going to local clubs and listening to the up and coming acts. Eventually, though, the clock ticked down, yet another band was assembled, still in the rock mode, and an even larger and more luxurious tour bus was customized for the long trip ahead. Basically, Bashor and company either had learned nothing about the rock material they had their Superstar performing or, were so greedy that they just didn't care. Either way, in late ‘74, Glenda found herself as Willie Nelson said, “On the road again.”

During this time, I was living in a pretty little condo in a Carolinas beach town while teaching at a mid- level University located about 12 miles in land. I was still only earning an assistant professor's salary, probably because of my break in practicing my chosen profession. After a couple of semesters I settled back into my regular college routine, with the extra added benefit of a beach front condo, from the deck of which I could watch lots of pretty ladies strutting up and down the sands in the kind of bikinis that didn't cover much. In short, I was content if not happy with my situation.

As for miss Glenda, the latest USA tour had a number of Midwest dates canceled for one reason or another, most likely to give her voice a rest, and refocused on the original site of her popularity, the Southeast. Sometime, maybe February or March of 1975, I was having a snack on campus in the student union when I saw one of those concert advertisements flash across the screen that one saw all the time in those college towns. I had to look twice to make sure I had seen the ad correctly. It read: “Coming March 15 to the Greensboro Coliseum, the fabulous Glenda S. and her rock and roll band. Tickets selling fast, so act quickly!” Knees buckled, I was standing up at the time straining to look at the screen, I nearly fell over. After taking a moment to compose myself I was at a loss as to how to proceed. First I reviewed all the negatives which had a lot to do with the trauma I was sure I would undergo watching her perform in her current condition and including the 100 or so mile drive to Greensboro in time to get back for my afternoon class at one on the 16th. Next, I analyzed the positives which centered around just seeing her again.

On the 15th of March, oddly enough the dreaded Ides that had gotten the best of Caesar, I found myself on the road to Greensboro. Upon my arrival, with some trepidation, I checked into a hotel just across High Point Road from the Colosseum. Immediately I walked across the busy highway, approached the box office where even at 4:00 in the afternoon I found a line, persevered, and got one of the last remaining tickets. Back at the hotel bar I slugged down a couple of bourbon and gingers, unusual for me since I didn't drink that much following my exit from the entertainment business, went back to the room and tried to mentally prepare myself for the night ahead.

Though the warm-up act was not scheduled to begin until 8 which meant that Glenda would not take the stage until after 9, I nevertheless entered the large basketball arena around 7:30. I was nervous and had nothing else to do. I found myself using the bathroom more frequently than usual, guessing that's how my nerves were expressing themselves. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the warm-up was over and the roadies we're resetting the stage for the main attraction. Without really knowing why, habit I guess, I made my way from one of the last seats in the upper deck down to the main floor and walked toward the mixing board for the sound system, smack dab in the middle of the place.

To my surprise, a familiar sounding voice asked “What the hell are you doing here?" It was Teddy, my old sound man from our early days in Greensboro. He told me that the regular sound guy at the Colosseum had taken sick and that he had been called in at the last minute to help. After a few words about our mutual current situations he asked me if I wanted to stay with him during the show. He said he even had a second pair of earphones if I wanted them, so that I could hear exactly what he was. What a turn of events! Of course, I gratefully accepted and watched Teddy go through the final stages of his setup.

I'm not sure I can adequately explain what occurred. next Glenda hit the stage with a rocky version of “Silver threads and Golden needles,” I zoned out, went into a trance of sort and closed my eyes. Listening through the headphones I could hear her voice crack a few times during the show as she strained to hit loud, scream like notes. It broke my heart and, as I glanced at Teddy, I knew he was feeling the same thing. After about an hour or so, never mind the 90 minutes that the audience had come to expect, Glenda did one encore and called it quits for the night. I helped Teddy pack up as best I could and got ready to go back across the street to the bar at the hotel and drown my sorrows. Just as I was getting ready to leave, Teddy grabbed me and said “Do you want to see her?” I stared at him, confused. They gave me a backstage pass he said and I really have no use for it; my wife is waiting for me at home with a late night snack.

Confused and somewhat reluctantly I took the yellow card with the green sticker, told him thanks and made my way down the aisle, around the corner, up the stairs, and behind the curtain. I must have been stopped at least two or three times and asked for my pass. It seemed to work just fine and I soon found my way to the dressing room in which Glenda and her band were housed, talking rather loudly. At the door two goons, very big security guards, again stopped me. This time my backstage pass was not enough. Rather stupidly I began to tell them in my most demanding voice that I needed to get inside to see Glenda. They hollered back, began to push me away and a commotion occurred outside the door. As I was being hauled away, a voice yelled from the dressing room door, “Hey who is that; let me see?” As she walked towards me she screamed, “Let him in, let him in.” Now, unencumbered by four very big arms, I entered the room. Before I knew what happened she jumped at me, put her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck and began to cry. “Oh my God,” she said, “Am I ever glad to see you?”

CHAPTER SIX

THE TEACHER

What a wonderful reunion that was! Right there, back in Greensboro, where it had all begun. After a few moments and a few introductory handshakes, the musicians and the roadies got the message and cleared out. Glenda and I had the whole, huge dressing room to ourselves. We popped open a bottle of bubbly from the small fridge which had been provided as one of the perks listed in the ridiculous Rider that all superstars are able to include in their contracts, found a couple of plastic cups sitting in a half empty grocery bag and passed what must have been at least an hour sipping and reminiscing. It was amazing what we both recalled about the “good old days” when we had begun Glenda's amazing journey together.

After a while the inevitable knock came on the door. The bus was rewed up and ready to go and it was time for Glenda to get on and go to the next gig. Before she left I told her she was welcome for a beach getaway anytime, scribbled my phone number on the back of one of those hokey academic business cards that read “Assistant Professor of Political Science” on the front and, to be sure she didn't lose it, Glenda shoved it in the front of her ample bra. Typical Glenda, I thought. You can't take the free spirit out of the singer no matter how many road trips you demand of her.

Somewhat stunned, nearly in shock, I eventually made my way back across busy High Point Road to my hotel. Passing the night clerk at the front desk, I remembered to ask for a 6:00 o'clock wake-up call so I could shower and get on the road in time to get back for my afternoon classes. It goes without saying that I could only sleep intermittently after all that had occurred. I was able to get myself into the shower shortly after the phone rang with that little recorded message reminding me it was time to get up. It took no time for me to change into the spare clothes I had brought with me and shoved everything else back into my travel bag. I was on the road by 7, still caught up in the elixir of my reunion with my singer.

I made it back to the college with time to spare, taught my afternoon classes in “Introduction to Political Science and Diplomacy” and was glad like never before to see my beachfront condo about six that evening. This time I slept soundly - no dinner, clothes on. I awoke around 5:00 to the patter of rain against my patio window - there is nothing that sounds better than that, especially when overlooking the Atlantic Ocean - and got myself a cup of instant coffee.

That day and those that followed are difficult to describe. I tried to get back into my normal teaching during the day, happy hour at 5:00, dinner at 7:00 routine, but I was never able to fully return to my former schedule. After a while though, surrounded by old familiar scenes and places, I did settle down, made myself a mental photo log of my Greensboro experience and got on with my life. I threw myself into teaching my three classes with two preparations like never before. Several students even mentioned that it seemed like I had a level of renewed energy and interest in my lectures. So it was that the weeks went by.

One evening following a happy hour that offered some appetizers as well as booze, I skipped my usual 7:00 o'clock meal - for whatever reason I'm not sure - and made my way back home earlier than usual. Going through my notes for the next day's classes, I hardly heard the soft ring (I had turned the normal volume down to a less intrusive tone) on my wall phone in the kitchen. When I got up, went over and screamed “Yes, what do you want? “into the receiver, anticipating another unwanted sales pitch to buy some sort of insurance, there was a pause on the other end and a rather gentle, subdued voice sad “Hey, whatcha doing? “I almost fell over. Not the first time Glenda had that effect on me.

She basically told me that she was exhausted, had almost no voice left and that Bashor had given her three days off in which to recuperate. Since today was Thursday, at that point I hardly remembered the date, she wondered if she could take advantage of my offer to escape for a few days and spend a long weekend with me at the beach. I told her the booking code for the regional airport located about half an hour from campus and was able to muster up enough courage to tell her to call me at my office -gave her that number also - when she knew her arrival time tomorrow. She quietly murmured thanks, see you then, that sort of thing.

Now I really had a lot to do very quickly. I started the laborious process of cleaning up the condo-it was a typical bachelor’s mess - and made up a shopping list of what I thought Glenda might like to eat and drink. After yet another sleepless night, I was up early, well before class, to go to the local Piggly Wiggly and stock up on some basics and the only brand of good champagne they had in stock. After returning home and stacking the refrigerator, I realized I only had an hour to get to class. I made a quick change into dress slacks, white shirt, sport coat and tie and booked it to my office to grab a few things before class.

I'm sure that day my students must have thought what's wrong with this guy? He seems spaced out! Well, if that indeed was their opinion, they were right. I had a hard time concentrating and barely made it through my two morning classes. Back in my office around noon, I noticed the red message light on my phone blinking. Glenda was arriving 4:30 that afternoon which meant I would have to cut my 3:00 o'clock short in order to make it to the airport with time to spare. I taught my 1:00 o'clock the best I could and told my three o'clock kids that I had an emergency I had to deal with, which wasn't a complete lie, and gave them the kind of improvised take home assignment that professors are want to do when they need to leave early.

The trip to the airport was full of trepidation. How would I handle being alone with Glenda again for an extended period of time? I arrived 1/2 hour before her flight was due, paid the premium price for short term parking right in front of the terminal and went inside to wait at the baggage check area, knowing for sure there would be several bags. I heard the announcement that her flight had arrived, thought about running to the upstairs bar to get a quick drink, dismissed that notion and waited. Before long she appeared on the escalator from the arrival gate down to the baggage check. She was dressed in a Garbo like disguise: sunglasses, scarf and raincoat - well, after all it was March - and it took her just a moment to spot me standing by the conveyor belt ready to assist with her luggage.

This time, I got a warm kiss on my lips instead of on my cheek, and we proceeded to get her two rather large bags...sure was glad I paid for short term parking. The drive to the beach was one of pretty much petty chatter, as if we were both trying to make this remarkable event into something normal. When we arrived, I dropped her at the front door, parked in my usual spot and, with some difficulty, grabbed both bags, directed her to the elevator and asked her to press 3. I was able to turn the key, hand shaking, let Glenda enter and push the bags inside. “Oh, how nice,” she said as she made her way to the window overlooking the ocean, “how very nice.” Quickly and quietly she took off the hat, glasses, scarf and raincoat, but didn't stop there. Before I knew it she was unbuttoning her blouse and indicating for me to ditch the sports coat, tie and white shirt. It took us less than a minute to accomplish all this and fall on the bed. There was no longer any doubt that Glenda had come to let lose all her built-up anxiety and tension.

Without getting into any private details, let me say that we stayed in bed, finally getting under the covers, for a long, long time before I made my way to the fridge, prepared a baloney and cheese sandwich just the way Glenda liked it, with a little bit of mustard on one side and mayonnaise on the other, grabbed the bottle of chilled champagne and let her snack and drink sitting up in bed, still with nothing covering those 36 D’s that I remembered so well. That's how it went that Friday night, “night one” of our long weekend together, that I'm sure neither of us will ever forget.

What followed next was a matter of negotiating on multiple levels; something I should be good at. After all, wasn't I teaching an advanced course in Diplomacy? First, and perhaps most importantly, as it was the key to everything else, I had to convince Glenda that there was a real opportunity for her, here at the beach with me, to have a good life. So, over coffee Saturday morning, after a full night of lovemaking behind us, I told her about an idea I had been working on ever since our get together in Greensboro. This vision centered around her teaching, yes teaching, at the very University at which I was now employed.

How exactly would that work she asked. I explained to her that my school had an excellent Drama Department, well renowned up and down the Atlantic seaboard, with a full production every winter and every spring of some sort of Broadway play. It also had a superb Music Department which local residents flocked to enjoy for frequent choral works, the kind of thing like the Hallelujah chorus during Easter. However, the past attempts to unite the standard drama offerings with the classically oriented musical performances had simply not worked. What was needed, I told Glenda, was someone with enough prestige to pull these two wonderful but disparate entities together for a few super presentations which, again forgive the pun, might set the stage, for a long term, mutually beneficial relationship.

As I explained all this, I could see that, despite the coffee, Glenda's eyes were glazed... either from the long night of sex behind us or from my visionary idea that lay ahead. I wasn't sure which, perhaps it was a combination of both. In any event, I explained that all this could take some doing to get the school to approve anew position to coordinate the two departments’ efforts. But if I could, would she be interested?

There followed what was, shall I say with some trepidation based on what had happened the night before, a pregnant pause. A rather long one as I recall. Finally my singer/ guest looked me straight in the eyes and said in a clear and forceful voice, “Yes I think so". She then smiled, reached across the small breakfast table by the patio window and gently kissed my forehead. “Yes, I think so” she repeated, “Yes. Do you think you can pull it off?" “I'm willing to give it one hell of a try" was my quick and equally forceful reply.

The rest of the weekend was spent showing her around my beach town, bars restaurants and even a few local honky tonk’s featuring a few local guitar playing, singing wannabes. She thoroughly enjoyed all of it and when Monday morning came too fast and it was time to return to the airport to start her long trip back to California, we were both exhausted but buzzing with anticipation of the long shot change of career that we had decided upon for Glenda. Now, I thought, as I sadly watched her flight depart, the rest is up to me.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE SINGER

That very same Monday that Glenda departed, I went by the Dean’s office to see if I could get any interest in my project. Dean Morgan, that's Helen Morgan, was well protected by her erstwhile administrative assistant Ms. Penny Mac. Early on at this particular college I had observed that, if you wanted to have decent access to the Dean, you needed to get on the right side of Penny. Thus, on a few occasions like Valentine's Day, I had greased the skids by leaving a rose and some Godiva chocolates on her desk. So, and this particular Monday when I went by shortly before my 9:00 o'clock Intro class, I was able to get her to look at Dean Morgan's calendar to see if I could get squeezed in sometime later in the day. Penny pointed out what I knew already, the Dean didn't arrive until her usual time at about 9:30, So I would have to wait to see if a meeting, perhaps in the late afternoon, was possible. I told Penny it was important and asked her to see what she could do.

Later that day, around 5 PM, I was in fact ushered in to see the Dean as she was preparing to depart. I clearly and enthusiastically presented my idea, pointing out how this new position might be beneficial to both the Drama and Music departments. Helen’s, I mean Dean Morgan’s, response was to inquire if the person I had in mind for this role was indeed THE Glenda S. When I assured her that it was the Glenda superstar I had in mind, and not some other Glenda, she grabbed her rather large handbag opened the half-closed door and told me to have a written proposal on her desk ASAP as she would have to run it by her boss, the Provost.

Pushing the front door open for both the Dean and Penny , I again profusely thanked them and floated my way out to the faculty parking lot. I couldn't wait to get home, grab a beer and begin typing on my recent model Smith-Corona that the school had provided to all its full time faculty. My mind was working faster than my fingers and I frequently had to go back to make a clarification or correction in the text. After about 2 hours, I'm not sure, I lost track of the time, I had a full proposal all ready for the next morning. Yet another sleepless night filled with anticipation followed by a hot shower and a cold rinse quickly went by. Making sure I had the full proposal slipped into one of those ubiquitous Manila folders that I kept on my desk at home, I departed for school very early - it couldn't have been later than 7:30.

I tried to kill some time by going to the Union for a cup of coffee, but found myself constantly looking at my watch. At precisely 5 minutes to 8, I made my way to the Dean’s office, gratefully saw that Penny had just arrived and, again with many thanks, asked her to make a copy for me and give the original to the Dean as soon as she came in. Penny gave me one of those little mildly flirtatious winks that she sometimes threw around and assured me that she would take care of it. Getting to class was a bit of a problem, as I found myself entering the wrong room more than mildly distracted by the possibility of having Glenda around on a full time basis. Of course it wouldn't be that easy; who knew if the Provost liked country rock? After lunch, back at my office, preparing to council some Students, I heard the phone ring and nearly tripped on my way to answer it. It was Penny; not only had the Provost approved, but he had taken the proposal to the president himself who apparently had the same question. Is this the “real” Glenda S we're talking about? After all the assurances were given up and down the chain of command Penny had been tasked to talk to Personnel about what remuneration and benefits might be possible.

Turns out that the bureaucrats were themselves Glenda fans and suggested that we create a new position, Adjunct Professor of Fine Arts, and get the highest salary allowed for an adjunct, $49,000. Benefits could also be provided as this would be considered a full-time position. I blinked a couple of times and asked Penny how long it would take to make all this happen. She assured me that, with the President himself on board, not very long at all. The contract could be ready before week's end.

The way home that night was filled with a little swerving between lanes and a few off the road scrapes as well. As soon as I got home, I immediately called Glenda with the good news. Thank goodness, though she was not at home, her housekeeper provided me with her rehearsal place phone number. Apparently, Glenda wanted to be sure that she didn't miss any incoming from her former manager.

When the studio assistant was finally able to get her to the phone, I excitedly explained to her what had happened. I delayed presenting the salary offer until the very end knowing that it was about 1/10th of what she was now making on a yearly basis. Without hesitation and in an equally excited tone she said “yes.” I begged her to call as soon as she knew something, be it positive or negative, I needed to know.

Of course, I found out later from Glenda herself, Bashor had become enraged, reminded her she was under contract, and that if she insisted on taking this ridiculous path he would sue her for everything she was worth. Glenda didn't panic, after all she had been through this once before on a much lower level with me, and had a response prepared. She calmly informed Mr. B. that she had doctors standing by in both the states and Europe who were ready to attest to the fact that any further singing on any level, even part time, might very well result in the loss of her voice, period. Apparently Bashor had begun to usher her out of the studio and told her she would never work in the entertainment business again. She did take a moment to approach her musicians, who were by this time completely bemused, and explained to them directly, face to face what had just occurred and why. As she was being forced out of the place she hadn't had time to kiss each one or even shake a hand. Right there and then she determined she would find the time to do that properly.

This was a long conversation and in these days long distance rates are very expensive. It was probably going to result in a 25 to $30 charge. Obviously, I didn't care and ended the talk by asking Glenda to call me when she knew she could return to the beach. She responded it could take some time with the house In Malibu and all but she would move as quickly as possible. Before saying goodbye I nearly told her I loved her, thought better of the idea, didn't wanna scare her away at this point, and placed the receiver back on the Holder in the kitchen.

A few days later , just about the time the contract was ready, Glenda called to say she had placed the home in the hands of a friendly real estate agent, told Miranda the housekeeper to do everything she could to get the place ready to show including putting most of the furniture in storage. After all that was accomplished, send as much luggage as she could to my address and lock the house up tight leaving an extra key for the agent to place in a lock box. She also explained to Miranda that she would this extra work and would receive a severance pay of $10,000. Apparently, the housekeeper was overwhelmed; that was as much money as she made in six months, and assured Glenda she would take care of everything. So, just like that, I found myself once again at the regional airport waiting... waiting... anxiously waiting.

This, our 2nd beach reunion, was somewhat less emotional, more professional, if you like, as we both knew that Glenda had crossed her Rubicon and, to continue the Latin parallel, the die had been cast. Therefore, this trip home was a bit more somber, sobering if you like, than the giddy, excitement-filled ride that had happened on her initial visit.

Don't get me wrong, boys will be boys and girls, girls and all that, and we once again found ourselves in bed as soon as we arrived at the condo. This time though, we knew, again please forgive the bad pun, what lay ahead. It wouldn't be easy, we both thought, sharing an old joint I had stashed in the drawer by the bed for just such an occasion; both knowing a tough period of adjustment was coming for Glenda.

Don't get me wrong, neither one of us had any second thoughts about the decision we had made. So, the next morning, we dressed somewhat casually, although you must understand for Glenda that still meant a stunning pant-suit, and proceeded to The University. Stopping by the Union for coffee and a quick bite, I began to realize just how difficult attempting to act normal at school would be. Once the word got around that Glenda S. was on campus and hanging out with the Prof in the union coffee shop, any attempt at hiding our project was doomed to failure. Before we could leave to make the round of introductions that Penny had arranged for the previous afternoon, a line of gawkers and autograph-seekers had formed a ring around our table.

What to do? Glenda signed as many notebooks as she could, shook as many hands as time permitted and, eventually we left and made our way to the Dean’s office. There we found Penny and the Dean eagerly awaiting our arrival. I expressed my “sorry for being late but you'll never guess what happened” kind of thing and we were quickly ushered into the pretty Oak-made table in the Dean’s private conference room.

After a little petty chatter, we got down to business. Several copies of the contract were soon signed and it was time to take Glenda to the Fine Arts building to meet with the chairs of the Music and Drama departments. That was soon accomplished with no awkward introductions, they both had been well briefed by Dean Morgan about what we were attempting to pull off, but getting in and out of their respective offices proved to be difficult - given the lines that had formed in the hallway to see Glenda S. A star, read that superstar, had arrived and everyone seemed to be in a state of disbelief. Glenda S on our campus? Can you believe that ****? was the frequent refrain from faculty, staff and, most of all, students alike.

We soon discovered that plans for the forthcoming annual Spring musical was in its early stages. A friend of one of the music faculty’s professors, living up in New York, had come up with a story line and music centered around the trials and tribulations of a young man, classically trained, trying hard to make it to the Met. In the competitive world of Broadway he had not been able to find a sponsor to - produce his musical and, therefore, when his University buddy had asked if he would allow a run of his show on a college campus, he had thoughtfully agreed. Certainly not what he had in mind but, nevertheless, it would be a good trial run.

Funny thing happened on the way to the stage. Glenda and I immediately saw the promise of this New York guy’s idea and decided that we could transform it into a country musical about a female singer trying to make it to Nashville. After the consent of The New York writer, who was getting close to receiving funding for an off-Broadway production, we quickly got to work. We would need a whole new score, country oriented. That was not as difficult as it might sound as, we decided, all we would need would be a couple of original songs to compliment a bunch of country standards by Hank Williams, Kitty Wells, etc.

So, when a contest was announced with a $500 prize for the best original country or country rock compositions, we immediately had more than a dozen music and drama students working on our score.

Now with an abundance of student wanna-be performers available to prove that they could perform a different genre, our primary mission was to find someone who could carry the lead role. Luckily, just off the main campus, the University had traditionally sponsored an advanced Placement Center for those kids who were smart enough to take a few college freshmen courses along with their regular high school classes.

One afternoon as the clock was ticking down on finishing the auditions for the lead role, it so happened that one of those young high school kids, couldn't have been more then 16, showed up in the auditorium where we were rehearsing. She had

heard about the show and asked if she could have a crack at trying out for the lead role. A quick phone call to Penny established that there was no restriction against using one of those AP kids, as they were also enrolled in on- campus classes. So, not expecting much, but desperate, we asked her what number she would like to sing for her audition.

Anyone know “Silver Threads and Golden Needles?” she asked. “I have the sheet music with me.” The piano guy looked troubled but took the sheet and started to piece the song together. The rest, as they say, is history. We couldn't believe our ears. Betty Lou Benson, that was the kid’s name, was sensational. She could sing well, move around the rehearsal stage a little and, to top it all off, was a 5 foot 2, auburn-haired, well-built - that is for 16 - cutie. Just like that we had our lead.

Rehearsals now preceded at a rapid pace. With only two weeks to opening night, there was a lot to do. For one thing, converting classically oriented musicians to a country rock score was not without its challenges. For instance, one afternoon we could simply not get the piano player to pick up the pace and shorten the strokes on “When Will I Be Loved.” It got so frustrating that Glenda threw up her hands, quickly strode to the piano, moved the classically trained musician off his stool, sat down and played it herself, the way she wanted it to be played. Amazing, I'm sure the guys thought, she is a pretty damn good musician herself.

On another occasion, Betty Lou was having trouble performing one of the contest- winning original songs, “On my way to Nashville,” and Glenda again came forward to help. This one required sheet music, which she placed in front of the keyboard guy, and after a hand clicking “123 go” maneuver, sang the new number, start to finish, in her own upbeat country style. The last few lines were followed by a long pause in the practice auditorium, then, simultaneously, everyone present stood up and engaged in wild applause. While Betty Lou stared in quiet awe, Glenda returned to her off

stage coaching position and, reaching for the Martin guitar she had received from one of Miranda's shipments, handed it to our new prodigy. “Might be easier if you strummed along" Glenda quietly said. Taking the hint, Betty Lou went back to the mike and belted out the number just fine.

Finally opening night came. The Marquis just above the ticket window in front of the newer, larger auditorium read “Betty Lou Benson is the Singer”. It had hard-to-ignore flashing lights surrounding the words. My idea of course. Once a promoter always a promoter, I guess. Since the original title of the musical had been “The Singer and the Met", I simply shortened it to “The Singer" and made it clear that it was all about Betty Lou.

That night Glenda and I stood in the wings, more nervous than any of the cast members or musicians. Things went just fine, the high point being the rendition of the other original song, “Ryman Rock,” sort of an ode to the original home of the Opry. When the last song had been sung and flowers were being tossed on the stage from every angle, responding to the cries of “more, more, more” Betty Lou reemerged from the wings and performed her favorite that we had not included in the show just for this reason. This rendition of Silver Threads lasted a full 3 minutes and once again the crowd went nuts.

Standing there in front of her admiring audience, Betty Lou Benson was not too surprised when the President himself came forward with a beautiful array of roses, probably thanks to Penny Mac. Without hesitation, and after thanking the Big Guy profusely, she, the singer, pointed to Glenda standing in the wings and motioned for her to join her in front of the admiring audience. When she handed the bouquet to her, there wasn't a dry eye in the house, including Glenda S and Betty Lou Benton.

Eventually, after shaking more hands then either of us could count, Glenda and I headed back to the beach. This time not a word was spoken during the entire half hour trip. Upon arrival we opened a bottle of Moet et Chandon that we had reserved for this occasion and using good wine glasses this time instead of plastic cups, clicked our glasses together and began sipping the bubbly. I began to tell Glenda all of the wonderful things I had in mind for Betty Lou. I could get her to Nashville to record and arrange for a tour to promote the songs. I went on and on about what the possibilities were for our new emerging star.

After sitting quietly through my entire monologue, Glenda slowly turned toward me, looked me directly in the eyes and unmistakably and clearly stated: “Why don't we let her be a kid? She's so young, why not let her enjoy her college years?” which were quickly approaching. I looked back across the table at my singer, the love of my life, and after a long pause said:

“Alright honey. Let's go to bed.”

EPILOGUE

Two weeks after that wonderful opening night found us, Glenda and me, putting together a life that approached normalcy...two college teachers making a decent salary and enjoying a beach-front condo. For her part, Betty Lou, chaperoned by her starstruck mother, had gone to Nashville to try out for some musicals. After all that talk about letting her be a kid, she, having tasted success on the college level, was determined to spend every available moment away from school in Music City USA.

So, for Glenda and myself, there was not much left to do to complete our fantasy story-come-true. One morning, while having coffee and looking out at the ocean, we looked at each other quizzically and simultaneously blurted out: “Well, should we just go ahead and do it?” Up until then marriage had always been on the back burner, given our hectic, busy lifestyle. Now it seemed to be the right thing to do.

I, being the organizer, thought long and hard about where we should tie the knot. One of those pretty little beach chapels, or perhaps one of those hokey places in Las Vegas where lots of folks went to say their vows.

After several days of seeking just the right spot for our unusual storybook relationship to be consummated, it became clear to me that only one place would do. When I told her “Pinehurst,” she replied, “Of course.” After several calls to a few old friends and former business partners in the area, I arranged for an early June ceremony in the hotel on the HMS Bounty.

Fortunately, there was a nice stationary store, located just off of the beach, where we went together to layout 25 personal, formal wedding invitations - pretty expensive I would say, $110 for the full order, including fancy envelopes. We could hardly wait for our order to be filled. When we picked them up a few days later we were very pleased with the final result - real, first-class, personalized invitations.

The second Saturday in June was on us before we knew it. I rented a formal, white, spring- time tux and Glenda decided she too could wear white. Neither of us, you see, had ever been married, so white seemed appropriate. Of course, when picking out Glenda’s long flowing gown, I insisted on a slightly low-cut bodice. We were ready to enter what I hoped was the final chapter of our unusual relationship.

The invitations had gone to everyone connected with us in Greensboro, Pinehurst and The University. After taking our vows that Spring day on the Bounty stage and turning to face those in attendance, we were shocked to see so many familiar faces. Kurt and a few guys from the orchestra, all members of the original Travelers band, and Dean Morgan and Penny to round things out. We certainly had an eclectic group of friends.

After a few hugs and several tears, Glenda felt a tug on her arm and turned to see Lil Willie standing beside her. “Come on, he said, “take me over there, pointing to a small corner of the replica ship. As she let him hook her arm and led him to the corner, she was amazed to discover that Willie had somehow smuggled a keyboard with two mikes into the reception.

He looked over at her with eyes that couldn't see and Said: “B flat.” Before she knew it, he had launched into the opening lines of “You've got a friend.” With tears in her eyes, she sang the harmony part and let Willie have the lead. James Taylor, take a back seat. When they finished and the thunderous applause - that is to say what 25 guests could manage - subsided, Glenda looked over at me and blew me a kiss. There we were back in Pinehurst on the HMS Bounty no less, among our dearest friends, now man and wife. Doesn't get much better than that, I thought, no better than that.

“Hey, it's good to be back home again.”

John Denver

1975