I was scheduled to catch a train out of Grand Central Station the morning after I appeared on Freed's show--man, no sleep again. By the time we got back to the hotel, it was already 2 a.m., and Dave said to meet him in the lobby three hours later. I knew this dude would be there, on the money, so I got my ass up at 4:30 a.m. and sleepwalked down to the lobby. Dave was already there. When we got to the train station, Dave let me out in front--out in the freezing cold, in the snow, in the middle of the strange nowhere.
"I'll see you in four days," he yelled out the car window.
Francis Photographers
The child becomes a man: Ronnie Dawson, on stage promoting "Action Packed" at the Big D Jamboree in Dallas.
Ronnie Dawson was 19 when he traveled to New York. He looked about 14.
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"Dave, this is a big-ass place," I shouted back, carrying two suitcases and a Strat. "Where do I go?"
He pointed to the front of the building. "In there!" The cat was cold-blooded.
I somehow found my train to New Haven, Connecticut, where I got off for a few hours to do another TV show and visit four radio stations, before I had to get back on the train and head to Hartford, where I was scheduled to do yet another TV show. It was one I would never forget.
I walked into the artists' waiting room and saw standing before me Al Hibbler, who sang with the Duke Ellington Orchestra in the 1940s and had his own solo hits in the '50s and '60s. The Mississippi-born Hibbler, who was born blind, toured with Ellington until 1951--and, oddly enough, like Roy Hamilton, he too had a hit with "Unchained Melody." I loved Al. He was a real mellow cat, and he even asked me if I was playing anywhere in the East, like a club date. I told him I was just doing a promotional tour for my record, and he asked what it was called. I told him it was called "Action Packed," and he smiled.
"You've got to play somewhere so I can come and see you," he said, and I actually believed him. It made me feel good. I hope I can pass these wonderful things on to young musicians that I work with or meet along the way.
Also waiting to go on were Al Alberts of the Four Aces, who had a million-selling hit in 1951 with the song "(It's No) Sin," and Jerry Vale, whose first hit single, "You Can Never Give Me Back My Heart," was released in 1953. Vale was still a comer in 1959; his biggest hits would come in the 1960s. It was a thrill to be in the same room with these guys, all pop singers of the highest caliber.
But the funny thing was, these guys were all very nervous about going on a rock-and-roll dance party. Those kids could be brutal, and they knew it. It didn't matter that these three guys had been singing for years, that they had history and hits. It didn't matter, because by 1959, rock and roll had taken hold, and it had grabbed these guys by the throats. It brought a feeling of unity among us teenagers--it was ourmusic, and we thought anyone that wasn't digging our music stood against us. We gobbled it up--the clothes, the cars, the records, all of it. Teens were buying 80 percent of all records sold, and we had power for a change. But our bark was bigger than our bite. We still didn't have a clue what the world was about.
After I performed that night, though, I knew where I stood with the kids. I got more attention than the other guys did, and it was kind of embarrassing in a way. I guess that's just the way it goes. Besides, I would be on the other end 40 years later.
