Dee Dee Phelps

This episode was eliminated from the text of Vinyl Highway, Chapter 7, Life in a Sedan. It shows how teenagers will resort to anything to add a little excitement to a long car tour. This incident took place in the Midwest during a tour in the early Sixties, while stopping for lunch in some roadside restaurant. ……………………………………………………………………………………………

One afternoon, we stopped for lunch at a fairly nice coffee shop. Dick and I, Jan and Dean were seated at the table. When Jan left to use the rest room, Dean turned to us. 

“I’m playing a joke on Jan,” he informed us. “No matter what I say, just go along with it. And pretend his name is Randy.”

Dean called the waitress over. “You know that guy that was sitting here a

moment ago? He was just released from a lock up facility into my care. But, don’t worry. He isn’t really dangerous, at least, not to others. But he might try to hurt himself.”

The waitress stared at him with concern on her face.

“Forks and knives are too sharp,” Dean continued. “So no matter what food he orders, even if it’s solid food, please bring him only a large spoon. Also, he’s on a liquid diet. Whatever he orders, just bring him a bowl of soup.”

The waitress nodded vigorously.

“And don’t worry if he gets upset,” Dean added. “I know how to handle him.”

The waitress quickly scooped up the knife, fork and small spoon on Jan’s place mat, plunking down one giant spoon in their place. When Jan returned to the table, he didn’t notice his silverware change. The waitress returned to take our orders. Jan ordered a hamburger and fries. She pretended to write the order down, sneaking furtive glances in Dean’s direction. 

“She’s acting weird,” Jan said.

Dean smiled, pretending everything was normal. When the food finally arrived, the waitress set the plates down in front of everyone but Jan. Finally, she slid his bowl of soup onto his placemat and hurried away.

            “What’s this?” Jan asked. “I didn’t order soup. I ordered a hamburger.”

“Just eat what she gave you,” Dean ordered. “Be grateful for what you

            get.”

            Jan gave Dean a frustrated look. “WAITRESS!” he shouted. The woman hesitantly approached the table. “I didn’t order soup. I ordered a hamburger.”

“Now, Randy,” Dean cooed, as if he were talking to a child. “Soup is much

better for you than a hamburger. Go ahead and eat it.”

“I DON’T WANT SOUP! Why are you calling me Randy?”

“Dean’s right,” Dick added. “Just eat the soup, Randy.”

Jan glared at everyone sitting around the table and turned to the waitress.      

            “Will you bring me my hamburger? Now!”

Dean nodded to the waitress that she should do this and she hurried off to the kitchen.

“What is this, some kind of joke?” Jan asked.

“Now, Randy,” Dean continued. “You know it isn’t good for you to get upset. They might have to put you back in the lock up facility.”

“You know what? You’re crazy.”

A hamburger arrived shortly. “Do you think I could have some silverware to eat my burger with? Not just a big spoon?” Jan asked the waitress.Dean caught the waitress’ eye. She raced away.

“This is just ridiculous.” Jan wailed. “I can’t eat a hamburger with a spoon.”

“Now, Randy,” Dean cooed. “It’s going to be alright. Do you want me to cut up your food for you?”

Jan grabbed the bottle of ketchup and angrily turned it upside down, smacking the bottom to get some out. The thick tomato paste remained trapped in the container. Jan hit it harder and harder. Finally one tremendous blow released a large amount ketchup all at once, flooding over his hamburger, fries and onto the table.

We were unable to control ourselves any longer. With peals of laughter, we howled until tears ran down our faces. Finally, even Jan joined in. Now that all eyes were on him, Jan scooped most of the ketchup into his soup bowl with his big spoon and ate his hamburger with his hands.

            “Very good, Randy,” I said.

Everyone started laughing again. Now that Jan was in on the joke, in future restaurants he took it over the edge.  He would always leave the table and Dean would tell the waitress about Jan’s alleged problems. When Jan returned, he talked slowly and slurred his speech, like a big baby. No matter what he ordered, he was always given a big spoon. He would proceed to use it for his meals, no matter what he was eating.

This amazing video, apparently recorded on Danish television in the mid-Sixties, was recently sent to us. Since we thought we were singing live on that show, we were thrilled to discover a taped copy existed. “Use What You Got” was the first cut on the A Side of our “Songs We Sung On Shindig” LP. In hindsight, I wish they’d released it as a single. After viewing the video, the song has been in my head all day! View video now >

I”m getting wonderful comments from folks from YouTube and also on the Dick and Dee Dee website, sharing their memories of certain events involving Dick and Dee Dee. If you have personal memoires you want to share, please post them. We all love to hear great stories!

Dee Dee

I just got a comment from someone who visited YouTube and watched the video we posted called Lightening Strikes. They requested that we give credit to the Blossoms, who are singing with Dick and me in the background. The video of Lightening Strikes ( Lou Christie had the original hit) happened to be the last Shindig TV show ever taped (I wrote about this experience in my memoir, Vinyl Highway). The show replacing Shindig was Batman and Robin and the network (Channel 7, ABC) wanted to promote their new show, Batman and Robin, on the final Shindig Show. The show producers dressed Dick up as Batman (he was not happy, as the mask covered his entire face and he thought he would not be recognized) and me as Robin. Hooking a wire to the back of Dick’s costume, at random times they hoisted Dick into the air and flew him around the stage. He soared over everyone. Dick did look funny. The cast couldn’t stop laughing. Dick reacted by “overacting” the song, and I could only smile and shake my head. The Blossoms had huge grins on their faces as well. (To see the video, check it out on www.dickanddeedee.com or YouTube, posted under Lightening Strikes.

I’d like to give the Blossoms credit as they were the most underrated, but extremely talented trio of female singers to record in the Sixties. The group consisted of three girls, Darlene Love, Fanita James and Jean King. They hit the big time (although no one knew it) when Phil Spector was looking for a group to record “He’s a Rebel.” He wanted to use his group, The Crystals, but they refused to come to L.A. from New York due to fear of flying. In desperation Phil booked the Blossoms to sing the song. On July 13, 1962, they recorded “He’s a Rebel.”

The Blossoms assumed their names would be on the record, but instead, Phil put out the record with the Crystals name on it. By November, 1962, He’s a Rebel was number one in the country.

Phil also knew talent when he heard it and signed Darlene Love (lead singer on He’s a Rebel) of the Blossoms to his label, Spector. But Phil seemed to have a problem giving Darlene credit. He teamed up the Blossoms and male singer, Bobby Sheen, to record “Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah.” But when it was released, the credit on the label went to Bob B. Soxx and the Blue Jeans. 

In 1963, the Blossoms recorded He’s Sure the Boy I Love, which climbed the charts to number 11 in the country. The credit on the label again went to the Crystals. Finally, Phil Spector recorded Today I Met the Boy I’m Going to Marry,” and put Darlene Love’s name on the record.

In 1964 the Blossoms became backup singers on the television show, Shindig. The last show of the series, with Dick and I dressed as Batman and Robin, featured the Blossoms singing with us. I have wonderful memories of the Blossoms. They were sweet, kind and unaffected by their tremendous talent. Darlene Love’s amazing voice and commercial sound launched many records. I’m proud to have worked with girls and smile every time I see the video Lightening Strikes.

Excerpt from Vinyl Highway, by Dee Dee Phelps, Chapter Twenty-Three

The evening of the session, Dick and I arrived by cab at Decca Records. It rained that day and the city streets glistened. As we pulled up in front of the studio we noticed another cab unloading Andrew Oldham, Brian Jones and Keith Richards. Andrew introduced us to Keith, who simply nodded, and we started into the building.

I had purchased a new pair of shoes that morning. They were black, pointy high heels. Walking through the glass doors of Decca Records, we crossed a large ruber mat containing hundreds of tiny holes. As I hurried to catch up with Dick, my right heel got caught in one of the holes. Unaware, I moved forward, but the heel held. I lost my balance and fell hard onto my stomach, knocking the wind out of my lungs. Like a beached whale, I lay on the ground gasping for air.

Andrew, Dick, Brian and Keith stood in a circle above me, staring down. I felt my face flush as I struggled to breathe. “Ahhh. Ahhh.”

Dick poked me with his foot. “For God’s sake,” he hissed. “Get up. This is embarrassing.”

I responded with another gasp and managed to choke out, “I can’t breathe!”

A security guard came running over.

     “Great steaming nit!” he shouted. “She’ s had the bloody wind knocked out of ‘er. Just leave her be, mates. She’ll be alright in a minute.”

I lay there sprawled on the mat, trying to force air into my lungs. Everyone else froze. No one spoke. Finally, with a gasp, I felt air enter my lungs and after several more moments, made a half-hearted attempt to rise. The singers went into action, hauling me up by my arms, picking up the sheet music and the contents from my purse scattered all over the floor of the foyer.

     “Are you alright?” Andrew asked.

     I nodded. Dismissing the accident, our group paraded into one of the studio’s control booths. Nobody said anything further about my dramatic entrance.

To find out what preceded this event and how it turned out, check out the Vinyl Highway link on: www.dickanddeedee.com

Our record company, Liberty Records, sent us out to perform on stage for a radio station promotion. We arrived in the Montgomery, Alabama airport on a sunny November morning in 1962. The general manager of the radio station met our plane. No matter how many times I told him my name was Dee Dee, he kept referring to us as Dick and Dee Bee.

     “Yep, Dee Bee, it shore is nice you folks could drop in on us. Ya’ll must be find, wonderful folks.”

I assured him that we tried to be.

We arrived at the large arena in time to catch Roy Orbison’s rehearsal with the band. He was leading them through the charts to his hit record, “Crying.” Roy stood poised on stage, his body still, eyes closed. A blue filter colored his hair, like a black river reflecting the dark blue sky at midnight.

     “I was alright for awhile, I could smile for awhile.”

Suddenly the band hit a wrong chord and Roy’s eyes opened. Blinking at the musicians through thick glasses, his quiet voice drawled, “Let’s take it again.” As the song started, his high tenor voice cut through the atmosphere like a warm knife through butter. His high notes were pure magic.

As Roy hit the last note of the song and held it, the entire auditorium (crew, promoters, disc jockeys, and other singers) broke into applause. Roy nodded, embarrassed, said a few final works to the band and left the stage.

Later, Dick and I were waiting in the dressing room for our rehearsal when Roy entered.

     “Roy, this is Dick and Dee Bee,” the general manger shouted.

     I said, “It’s Dee Dee. D…E…E…D…E…E…”

     “Pleasure to meet you,” Roy replied.

Dick wasn’t paying attention. Something triggered a strong desire in Dick. I recognized the signs. He was almost salivating. What was he after? I followed the direction of Dick’s eyes as they swept the dirty dressing room floor, finally resting on Roy’s shoes.

I’d never seen anything like them. Made out of the softest black leather, the shoes had no laces. Instead, the ankle boots sported strips of elastic on either side to facilitate pulling them on and off.

 Two years later the Beatles would wear similar shoes on their first American tour, forever redefining footwear for thousands of American men. But in 1962, only Roy Orbison owned a pair of what would be known as Beatle boots.

Dick could contain himself no longer. He moaned, “Oh, man, I really dig those shoes!”

Roy smiled and looked down, as if noticing the shoes for the first time.  “Yeah. I just got them.”

     “Where did you buy them?” Dick asked. “I’d give anything for a pair of shoes like that.”

     Roy smiled at Dick’s child like fascination. “I got them in England. You can try them on if you like.”

 Roy bent over, slipped off the shoes and handed them to Dick, who slid them on his feet with gusto. He rocked back and forth like Dorothy wearing the emerald slippers.

     “They’re so cool,” Dick muttered.

     “They fit you perfectly. Take them. They’re yours.” Roy smiled broadly.

     Dick looked shocked. “No, I can’t take your shoes.”

     “I’ve got another pair just like them. Go ahead. Take them. They look great on you.”

Dick pumped Roy’s hand up and down, and then stared down at his feet encased in the new shoes. When we went out of stage for the rehearsal, Dick kept his eyes on the floor. He didn’t even react when the disc jockey introduced us to the band as Dick and Dee Bee.

We never worked with Roy Orbison again, but Dick wore Roy’s shoes for many years, always telling anyone who would listen about Roy’s generosity.

I had no idea what to expect when I entered the packed movie theatre in the mountain community of Lake Arrowhead, where we were visiting our vacation retreat for the weekend. The movie attendees ran the gauntlet of teenagers to boomers.

When the lights lowered and the lead character of “Hair Spray,” an overweight teenage girl named Tracy Turnblad, resplendent under a towering, sprayed-stiff-as-a-board, flip hair style sings (or should I say noticably lipsyncs) a song about her love for Baltimore, I knew we were in for a treat. Her cheerful, positive, over-the-top performance set the tone for more to follow.

Filled with shots of a smoke filled teachers lounge, pregnant women smoking and drinking in a bar, rats on the street, and teenagers sitting on the trunk of a convertible as if on parade, the film makes a minor statement about the excesses and naivete that were part of that time. But nothing gets in the way of the pure joy and upbeat singing and dancing which so perfectly reflects the tenor of 1962.

The film turns into a musical about integration, as a no-holds barred march ends segregation forever at the local televisions station and the previously separated races are finally allowed to dance together.

The star was Tracy Turnblad (Nikki Blonsky), but John Travolta plays her mother and had the audience in hysterics by the end of the film.

Since 1962 was the first full year Dick and I toured the U.S. as teenagers, singing rock and roll, for me the film brought back the exuberance and joy of the era. What could be more exciting than spending an evening dancing to rock and roll?

Mark Shaman and Scott Whitman Marcshiman wrote the words and music to the most innovative and delightful musical score, which perfectly captured the various genres popular at the time, including the amazing soul performance of Queen Latifha as she leads a group down the street to march for equal rights.

With Michelle Pheiffer acting as queen of mean and Christopher Walken as the quirky but lovable dad, this movie starts out with one big smile, moves through the tears and joys of love and ends in hysterical laughter. Through it all the music and dancing rule the day.  If you want to feel good, check out “Hairspray.”