Keep on Dancing: Reflections on being in a bluegrass band, Part II

This is Part II of a three-part series. Look for Part III in the December 2021 issue of TBY.

Maybe it was a ‘60’s phenomenon: the talent show. They used to be held all around the area. They were all much the same. Outside venues in the summer or in the school gym in inclement weather, these were well-attended local variety shows that were mini Ed Sullivans featuring local dignitaries as emcees and home-groan talent. There was always a pianist playing something nobody but their teacher wanted to hear. There was always at least one dance act; they were usually good enough to have a 50/50 chance of winning if they were the only act in the show. There was always at least one rock group. It didn’t really matter how good or bad they were, although most were south of atrocious. The judges were always middle-aged white men who liked rock ‘n’ roll about as much as I like gangsta rap. Some of them even had daughters who liked that longhairedsexfienddopesmokingdrugusingloudunmelodicnoise and the scumbags who supplied it.

By contrast, we were relatively nicely dressed, non-threatening, regular-to-good-looking kids who sang words you could understand at decibel levels that didn’t cause ear bleeding. We usually did pretty well.

One of the talent shows we competed in was the annual Jackson Homecomers, a fair still held today. Winning it entitled us to a cash award, but, more importantly, qualified us for the Mid-South Fair Talent Show in Memphis, Tenn. Most importantly, winning the Mid-South Fair Talent Show in Memphis sent us to New York City for the Ted Mack Amateur Hour. There, we would get to compete with acts like cousin Mortimer La Foe Plays “Zydigo” on His Tuba or Sister Samantha’s Six-Piece, One-Man Band and Jew’s Harp Plays “Handel’s Messiah.” But it was New York City, and it was national TV, and as we all know, if you can make it there …

Well, as the more perceptive of you may have guessed, we won Jackson. And so, at 4:30 a.m. on a Thursday in October, we found ourselves and our instruments piled into the beat-up Dodge station wagon that was our family car, headed south into the river fog, hoping it would burn off with the sunrise, or we weren’t going to make it in time to register. The bass fiddle took up most of the room in the car, so we were crushed, but WE WERE ON OUR WAY.

The talent show took most of the day, but our three-minute piece of vocal/musical gymnastics went off without a hitch. A perfect 10. We even stuck the landing. We were the next-to-last acts to compete, and when we walked backstage, the other competitors offered congratulations. They knew we would win and go on to New York City, and we found ourselves secretly agreeing with them. The only remaining act was a rock group. With our white, middle-aged fathers-of-daughters as judges, we felt confident. We had never lost to a rock group.

Then they started playing.

I still remember hearing them from backstage. Sorrowfully slack-jawed, I watched them from the wings. They were the best group of any kind I had ever heard live. They had presence, talent and synergy. They really rocked in all senses of the word, both then and now. They also won the Mid-South Fair Talent Show and went on to the Ted Mack Amateur Hour in New York City. I watched enviously as they kicked butt against the Seven Spoon Smacking Sisters from Susquehanna, winning for the month. Envious green oozed from my pores as they destroyed the Sheboygan Shriner Mounted Motorbike Harmonica Band, winning for the year. By the time The Gentrys had scaled the Billboard Top 100 with their smash hit, “Keep On Dancing,” I had begun to feel pride they were the ones who had beaten us. It’s still kind of cool to hear that song, which is played with some frequency on oldies stations.

We got back that night from Memphis, and I went directly to football practice but showed up 15 minutes late for the pregame chalk talk. Although I got to play on defense, I lost my starting offensive position for the remaining half of the season that night. It was just as well — I wasn’t really very good, anyway. Boy, was my dad happy about that! His furious assessment was, “You fiddled yourself out of first-team all-conference!!!”

Of course, he knew I didn’t play a fiddle as well as I knew I’d never be first-team all-conference. But the furious part was accurate.

I was a senior in high school that year, and although I continued to sing and play for another few years, that was the closest I ever got to national TV and New York City until many years later. I went on to college and medical school, Terry Burke became an audiologist, and Malcolm went into radio and ended up in Orlando as program director with a weird morning show. Patty got married and used to sing the National Anthem or The Lord’s Prayer at the end of programming for the Christian Broadcasting Network (CBN). I’m not really sure which, because I never watched CBN, and I don’t stay up that late, anyway. She lives not far from Cape, and when I last saw her was still great-looking. My daughter doesn’t quite believe she and I used to go out. Sue married soon out of high school, happily remaining so.

So now, you have the background.

To listen to the performance mentioned in this story, visit

https://chirb.it/Et99B5?fbclid=IwAR2tFHUk8lliwVileEnDGOuvXtmFldkOpnXPJssvoCN6RcLSUQlNk23qvx4.

Dr. J. Russell Felker, a Sikeston, Mo., native, received his MD in 1973 and practiced urology in Cape Girardeau, retiring in 2016. He and his wife of more than 50 years, Suellyn, raised four children in Cape.