GREAT BALLS OF FIRE

Goodbye Jerry Lee! Thanks for the jolt!

We thought it would never happen. that it never could happen. But today it did. Jerry Lee Lewis cut out… The Killer is gone. Which direction? Up or down? No one knows for sure….

Although I had heard plenty of music around the house before I got an earful of Jerry Lee’s “Great Balls of Fire,” nothing before it had the same impact that song had on my short life. Below is the first chapter from my memoir Something Happened to Me Yesterday: My Strange Life in Music which is pretty darn close to being finished (not that there are any publishers pounding on my door). I was gonna keep it under wraps until it was ready, but with the Killer making his exit, I had to let this hen out….

1.

GREAT BALLS OF FIRE

   My mother had a beautiful voice. When I was kid, she used to sing to me, mostly silly songs she learned as a girl at camp, like “Suzanne Is a Funny Old Man” or the Everly Brother’s “Bird Dog.” 

Mom, at camp, before she met the Master Sergeant.

   Over the years I heard repeatedly that it wasn’t my mother’s shapely legs or alluring smile that grabbed the attention of Master Sergeant Bernie Kruth, the former center of the Syracuse Orangemen, it was her voice. At age seventeen, my mom got her first and only professional music gig as the canary with Larry Clinton’s Big Band. She sang and danced a bit in the USO for the boys stationed in Newark, about to be shipped off to the European theater, where my dad fought in the Battle of the Bulge, killing “Krauts” with my mom’s name painted on the barrel of his gun.

              Sgt. Bernie Kruth takes aim with his “burp” gun.

   As mom was underage at the time, her father, Harry, a Jimmy Cagney look-a-like, but taller, who sold insurance for Prudential, regularly accompanied her, to keep the wolves at bay. Her mother, Bertha, or “The General” as mom always called her, thought she had no business being there. She knew what those boys were thinking and so did my dad, who was thinking the same thing himself.

Bertha & Harry in Miami (where else?)

   After a couple of dates and plates of Bertha’s famous chicken fricassee, my dad conspired with his future mother-in-law, refusing to allow my mom to sing in public again. Besides, he promised that when he got home from the war, she wouldn’t have to worry about anything because they were gonna get married and have a family.

   Things happened fast in those days, just like in the movies, and the next thing you knew Bernie was back from killin’ “Krauts” and they bought a little saltbox in the Jersey suburbs and soon had a little girl named Janie, and a son named Steven.

The Author (in the middle) with Sister Jayne and Brother Steve

   Then I showed up after my mom left her diaphragm out one night, on purpose. By that time, she was hoping that having a third child might miraculously save their marriage.

   “I always knew you were out there,” mom used to tell me, a line I’ve heard frequently throughout my life, mostly from teachers and the few people willing to employ me. 

     The first song I recall hearing that mom didn’t sing was Jerry Lee Lewis’ “Great Balls of Fire.” I was four or five years old, playing down in the basement when my sister Jane put the record on. Suddenly a volcanic blast came bursting through the speaker. “Oooh, feels good!” Jerry Lee bellowed. “The Killer’s” maniacal howl scared the hell of me. It was the first clue I had that the Devil existed and I liked it! A moment later I ran upstairs as fast as I could, searching for my mother.

PS - If you’ve never read Nick Tosches’ fabulous book Hellfire on the life of Jerry Lee - now’s the time to start. It’s one of the best rock ‘n’ roll bios of all time!