September 1973: CHER - Half-Breed

With one song, Cher made me switch sides from wanting to be a cowgirl to wishing I was an Indian maiden with the floor-length headdress like the one she wore while singing the song on The Sonny & Cher Show. I still want that headdress, and I’ve come close to it a couple of times: the Cher half breed doll and being invited to portray an Indian in a music video.

Cher performed the song on horseback, and I, too, could sing it on horseback…well, technically, on the back of my Shetland pony. But since she was short, there might be a problem with the feathers dragging on the ground. And there was one other technical glitch with executing this idea: Sugar had recently given birth, so was busy nursing a little one.

Yes, that public moment of copulation with Billy Blue Blazes did result in an exquisite little colt my Father named Star. Yes, Sugar gestated for about 370 days, which is not all that unusual.

During the separation, my Dad had shipped the pregnant Sugar from our paddock on Douglas Road to the ranch of Art and Ann Klein in Brighton, Illinois. Art and Ann were the couple who gave me the red cowgirl outfit, so this (and about 10 acres of fenced pasture) made them the perfect adoptive parents for Sugar.

I was enchanted by the little colt, and thrilled to see Sugar every now and then, but because it was every now and then, it felt more like visiting a petting zoo than spending time with my pony and colt. Sometime later when Dad sold the pair to a co-worker living in Troy, MO, it registered nowhere near the sadness he expected upon telling me the news. I had to pretend to be sad just to match his expectations. There was no way for him to understand, or me to explain, that I had a callused heart from having lost Sugar – among many other things – in September of 1972, and that I was just happy that some big, happy family would now love and play with my pony.

Here's an iconic Cher moment: "Half-Breed."
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March 1973: VICKI LAWRENCE - The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia

Alongside the radio, variety show television was how we heard new songs, and the power of a TV star singing a song (hello, Cher!) could not be ignored.

The Carol Burnett Show was like a religious service in our home, so when one of its stars – Vicki Lawrence – put out the single “The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia,” it was mandatory that I own it. Plus, the single was on the Bell label, so this was a no-brainer.

Luckily, I loved the song, playing it over and over again, trying to figure out the story line. No matter how hard I concentrated, I’d get confused by the plot: murder, multiple infidelities, and corrupt judges… hard for a 7-year old to keep it straight. But all this confusion and misunderstanding just added to the allure, and that chorus was undeniable!

Things got even more intriguing when two teenagers in the apartment complex overheard me singing the song while out riding my bike. Jackie and Janel stopped me to ask if I knew “what that song means.” I was too thrilled to have junior high kids purposely talking to me to give an intelligible response, but it didn’t matter, because they started talking animatedly between themselves about plot points, and “pot” and getting in trouble for sneaking off with boys.

I asked a question about this last point, and they came back to the reality of talking in front of a dumb grade schooler and went silent, staring at me. Finally, Janel said, “This song has real deep meaning for me, and I can’t tell you why. It’s a secret. And you wouldn’t even understand if I told you.”

With that, Jackie and Janel looked at each other and began laughing uproariously as they walked away from me. This sent me back home for a few more listens to the song, trying to unlock Janel’s secret… did she kill someone? From then on, I stayed far away from those two, but watched Janel with a cautious eye because, well, what if she was a murderer?

Hear the song.
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October 1971: CHER - "Gypsies, Tramps & Thieves"

Cher gave me this song for my birthday! And Sonny & Cher came to life on TV every week! I’d always known who Sonny & Cher were; I’d heard the songs on the radio, seen the pictures. But it wasn’t until they blazed on a TV screen before me that it all fell into place.

There were plenty of variety shows to choose from, but theirs was by far the most tailored to my tastes. They had animated cartoons of popular songs as interpreted by Cher (her version of “One Tin Soldier” kicks the ass of the original), fast and breezy rounds of sketches full of motion and funny costumes, great songs and then there was CHER!

To my eyes, she was glamorous without being threatening because she was funny, sarcastic, laughed a lot and enthusiastically wore the stupidest costumes. And when not dressed as Raggedy Ann or Minnie Mouse, she wore dresses that looked just like the clothes I put on my Barbie dolls. But Cher wasn’t a doll, she was a real live lady! And she would always break out in song. She was the human personification of my imaginary playmate, the perfect person, and the time I got to spend with her (and Sonny) once a week actually eclipsed The Partridge Family in television importance.

At this time, to keep me occupied during a shopping trip at J.C. Penney, Mom had me go to the record department and pick out something for myself. A casual cruise of the racks turned dead serious when the cover of Sonny & Cher Live came into view. My dramatic intake of breath could surely be heard all the way across the store.

This album (with a gatefold!) was a level above the Partridges because not only was there music, but they talked! They told jokes, bantered, griped and then sang. It was like having the variety show come to life at my command, and the sense of power was heady. Sure, it took me years to get most of the sexual content of the jokes, but when I did it cleared up a kiddie confusion.

I wanted to take my new favorite record to nursery school for Show & Tell. Now, since I played the thing repeatedly, Mom had obviously heard the entire thing, and obviously got all the jokes right off the bat. So, she knew that if I took this record to nursery school, the risqué humor would sail right over my class mates heads, but that all the teachers would have mini-heart attacks. That would lead to them questioning her decision to let me listen to this kind of stuff, and who wants to be confronted with that while picking up your kid after work?

So, she tried to convince me to bring my Alvin & The Chipmunks record instead. Yeah, I liked that album well enough, but any of my classmates could bring that. I wanted to share Cher, and threw a miniature fit over being kept from doing so.



See and hear the song.
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