 The only SandBagger Publication endorsed by Dave
Barry
"You want me to read this?" -- Dave Barry 2003 | ||
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SandBagger Mag-e-zine - Dave
Barry -- Special Edition -- Volume 2 - Issue
7 - May 10, 2003 | ||
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And Then I Told
Dave Barry . . .
 By Horace J. Digby
-- Winner of the Robert Benchley Society Award for Humor
--
When
Pulitzer-Prize-winning, nationally-syndicated humor columnist Dave Barry
stepped on stage at the historic Pantages Theater in Tacoma, Washington,
he didn't know the drama that awaited him. For more than an
hour Barry regaled his audience with tales of exploding
whales
 and life in the Miami fast
lane. He even shared personal feelings about the songs of Neil
Diamond. Then in a fitting end to an evening with the one
journalist who is so respected that the city of Grand Forks, North Dakota
named a "sewage lift station" after him, Barry invited three members of
the audience to join him on stage to sing Louie
Louie. "This will be a
contest with prizes and everything," Barry explained.
Louie
Louie is an important rock n' roll classic once nominated as
Washington's state song. Imagine all those bright faced school
children learning the words to Louie Louie. But the audience
wasn't laughing. We were the people who had nominated Louie
Louie and it would have won too, if not for those defective
ballots. Some voters (and you know who you are) accidentally
voted for "Pat Buchanan." Until the recount our bright
faced children were busy trying to learn words to "Al
Gore."
Dave Barry didn't know
this. He also didn't know that the people of the Pacific Northwest,
and not to put too fine a point on it, Tacoma, Washington, held Louie
Louie in near reverence. The first rock n' roll version of
Louie Louie was recorded by Rockin' Robin Roberts with
Tacoma's seminal rock band The Wailers. That record, which became an
anthem to four generations of garage bands, inspired two other
Pacific Northwest bands to record it. The Kingsmen, and Paul
Revere and the Raiders both recorded Louie Louie, on the same
day, in the same Portland, Oregon studio. It was The
Kingsmen's record that became a national mega-hit (still going
strong forty years later) but The Kingsmen have always given credit
to The Wailers from Tacoma.
So when Dave Barry
challenged Tacoma to sing Louie Louie he had come to the
right place. If there were a "Louie-Louie Belt" Tacoma
would be the buckle.
Against this background
three men came forward to defend Tacoma's most cherished icon. But
could they survive the strict scrutiny of self-proclaimed rock n' roll
judge, Dave Barry?
Two of the competitors
were middle aged men. They grew up in Tacoma with Louie
Louie on the radio. They would have a serious home-town
advantage. The third contestant was young, impressionable, and
lived two hours from Tacoma (if you drive really fast). Sure he had
met The Kingsmen and Paul Revere and The Raiders, as is required by
statute in Washington, and his father is friends with the brother of The
Wailers lead singer (only an ordinance). Even so, it was going to be
an up-hill battle for the third competitor, young Adam Daggy.
Barry began
by teaching the audience to sing the Louie Louie
chorus.
"Here's how it goes,"
he said, strumming guitar. "Louie Louie," he sang in a soft distinct
voice. "Whoa ohh baby. Me gotta go Now. Yeah yeah yeah, yeah
yeah yeah . . ."
The audience sang just
as softly and distinctly. The result was eerie, sounding like
Kum-ba-yah with different words.
Barry pointed his
guitar at the first contestant who did a fabulous job, singing all the
words to the first verse.
"Words! Louie
Louie didn't have WORDS when I was a kid," you are
probably saying if you are not from Tacoma.
But in Tacoma, children
learn the first verse of Louie Louie right after they learn
the Pledge of Allegiance. Louie Louie is
a lot easier, because the Supreme Court doesn't keep changing the words to
Louie Louie.
The audience proudly
ended another chorus, "Yeah yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah," then Barry pointed
to the second Tacoma man. This fellow was less self-assured, but
managed to sing the entire second verse word for word.
Dave Barry was
stunned. I was stunned too, but for a different reason. I
hadn't expected the contestants to actually sing. Earlier, when I
was suggesting (with my elbow) that Adam volunteer, I thought he
would just have to shout incoherently and jump or roll around barking in
rhythm like the singer in my old garage band always did. But these
Tacoma guys were actually singing words and music.
"Music! Louie
Louie didn't have no stinking MUSIC when I was a
kid," people who were not from Tacoma were saying. But
the rest of the audience was giddy. Two contestants had beaten Barry
at his own game. Now everything depended on sixteen-year-old
Adam Daggy. Could the young man from Kelso, Washington really
sing the tricky third verse?
In Tacoma Louie
Louie is available as a High School major along with wood shop and
pre-college. But no one is required to learn the third
verse.
Barry guessed this as
he sneered, strumming away, certain the Kelso man would
fail. Mid-chorus Barry pointed the guitar at Adam. That's when
I quit singing. I was thinking about little league baseball.
When Adam was playing baseball, I was first-base coach in one important
game. Adam got a solid base hit, but when he got to first base, I
waived him on telling him to, "go for second." The center fielder
had bobbled every ball hit to him that day. But he didn't bobble
this one, so Adam ended up in a hot box between first and second.
All I could do was break into a cold sweat and watch helplessly while Adam
paid for my mistake.
This Louie
Louie thing was like that. Adam was on stage in a sold-out
theater, and he had to save the City of Tacoma's honor by singing the
third verse of Louie Louie, which is, so far as I know,
secret. I heard once that some people at the Defense Department
knew some of the words, but that was about it.
The audience was
finishing the chorus now, "Yeah yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah." It was
time for the third verse. No band in history ever actually sang the
third verse, at least not in any Earth language. I personally
suspected the words went something like this:
The U. S.
Congress once actually hired experts to translate the third verse, but
failing, decided it was obscene. One of The Kingsmen had to
testify.
Even in Tacoma,
knowledge of the secret third verse is limited to people in high public
office like Mayors and animal control
officers.
I was preparing
to apologize to Adam, his mother and the audience, which was beginning to
look like a potential lynch mob. Then Adam started singing, and he
nailed the third verse, as if he'd been practicing it for weeks. The
crowd went crazy, shouting, stomping, whistling and screaming, and that
was just me. But the rest of the audience drowned me out. The
applause continued as Adam led us into the last chorus. Come to
think of it Adam had made it out of that hot box too. What a
guy.
Barry was
astonished, as he joined in the important final "yeah yeah yeah, yeah yeah
yeah" part. He and Adam were selling the song for all it was
worth. Barry had learned an important lesson. Tacoma
would not be
 messed with when it comes to Louie
Louie. "Whoa ohh
baby. We gotta go now," We all sang, except Barry who was
shouting, "They sang all the right words! In the right
order! That never happened before!"
The audience answered,
"Yeah yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah," breaking into thunderous applause as
Barry threw his entire bag of prizes (valued at nearly four dollars and
thirty-seven cents) to the contestants (Adam got the yo-yo).
Florida may have
sunshine and the Bermuda Triangle, but Washington has Louie
Louie, and that is the better end of the bargain.
Dave Barry Endorses Bagger Mag-e-zine
Although
the show had ended, the evening was not over. Adam Daggy, and Horace
J. Digby were invited back stage to visit with Dave Barry.
Groups of attractive older
women approached Adam Daggy, asking if he was a "plant."
"You mean like a
philodendron?" Adam asked.
"No. We just want
to know if you are with the show." they explained. "Were you planted
in the audience?"
They didn't seem to
believe Adam when he told them he was not a
plant.
"But you are a
professional singer aren't you?" they asked.
"No," said Adam.
"I'm a mineral."
It was at this point that Dave Barry
gave Horace J. Digby the following exclusive interview:
At this point in the interview,
I handed Dave a page I had written. He looked up for a moment,
perhaps trying to find his personal security staff (or perhaps just to see
if there was any beer left).
Doing some quick journalist
math I realized that the Louie Louie god and I had a two
hour drive home, and besides, this woman who was a friend of
Reuters, was wasting Dave's time with stupid questions about
health care, proposed tax cuts, and our nation's role as an
international peace keeper. So it seemed like a good time to end our
interview.
So we bid goodbye to Dave
Barry, the Humor god, wishing him well.
Dave made genuine eye contact
here. With what might have been a glint of sadness he waived to Adam
and me.
Oh, and By the way, out of
respect for Dave Barry, I'm not making this up, (well maybe some of
it).
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