My Mom (Shirley, whose childhood friends called her "Puggie") taught me all the basics, and with so much love. Reading and writing, of course, but also manners, respect for people. Family loyalty. Hard work. But although Mom was a teacher--who didn't stop until she was almost 75 years old--she wasn't academic in the strictest sense. She taught me to appreciate music, art: all things beautiful.
Oh, how did she love music. Show tunes and Classical. The warmest vocalists, like Nat "King" Cole. And more than anyone, Frank Sinatra. She went to see him several times in Detroit as one of those bobby soxers of the late 1940s. I'm glad to say that Mom got me interested in Sinatra, too, although many years after the fact. One of my favorite things we ever did together was go to a Sinatra concert in February 1982. Detroit was crippled by an absolute blizzard that day, and we left the house four hours early, rather than the usual 40 minutes, in case the snow slowed us down. Was the show going to be cancelled? Frank received his paycheck long before the gig, I'll bet, so the show was on.
Although early Rock'n'Roll might not have been her thing, Mom went with it. At our house, "American Bandstand" was on TV every day--thirty minutes worth. My Uncle Bill, Mom's younger brother and now the only surviving sibling, would stop by after school with some great 45s we would stack onto the record player spindle and play. Mom bought me some EPs (extended play records) with Dick Clark's picture on the cardboard sleeve. The music wasn't that candy ass Philly Pop that Clark was known for; instead, it was authentic and thrilling, as in Chuck Berry, the Coasters, and Huey "Piano" Smith & the Clowns.
By the mid-'60s, Mom was into some truly great Pop music. The Righteous Brothers' majestic "You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'." And the Beach Boys' "Good Vibrations," which was something she said she wanted to be played at her funeral, although she changed her mind on that in recent years.
Whatever Mom thought about the hippie/drug days of Rock, she somehow believed that I wasn't going to fall for that crap. She supported my love of music, my endless drum practices, and even my first band, where we were trying to learn the Allman Brothers Band's "Whipping Post" over and over. She did like us doing "Heart of Gold," though.
Back in the summer of 2000, I was visiting Mom in Michigan and we were out shopping. "I never did get you a Father's Day gift," she said. "Don't you want that new B.B. King & Eric Clapton disc or something?" How many Moms do you know, nearly 70 years old,
who would ask their son a question like that? That was just my Mom Shirley--endlessly thoughtful, loving and always in my heart, even though I lived nearly 2000 miles from her for the last couple of decades.
For awhile, the big mystery at the funeral home earlier this month was an entry in the guest book of the people who came to pay last respects to Mom. The entry was signed,
"Frank Sinatra--a fan of Shirley's."
I'll love you always, Mom.