Once we got inside the airport we were greeted and welcomed by the promoters who booked the various shows I would be doing across the country. Someone said they had set up a press conference for me, but I barely even knew what that meant. “Oh, you don’t mind, do you?” they asked.
I told them I’d be happy to do it, but I had to ask, “Will somebody be there with me to translate?” Here I was about to give a press conference for the very first time for members of a press who didn’t even speak the same language I did. It was all quite overwhelming! They assured me I would have an excellent translator and that everything would be fine.
When the interviews began, someone from the press would ask a question in Japanese. My translator would convey it to me in English, I would respond, and he would then give them my response in Japanese. Someone asked a question and the translator kind of hesitated. He said, “You may not understand this question, but they want to know if you mind people throwing things at you when you’re on stage.” I must have looked a little horrified. He said, “Just smile, I’ll explain it to you later, but it’s all right.” He made up an answer for me and then we moved on to the next one. I forgot to come back and ask him what they were talking about, but I would find out soon enough.
One of the first jobs we worked in Japan was at a Tokyo military base. We were driven there by Japanese promoters who spoke English. The three of them got in the front seat of the car while Daddy and I rode in the back. After some polite conversation, they began speaking to one another in Japanese. They were talking so fast and, of course, we didn’t speak the language, so Daddy and I had no idea what was going on. Finally, Daddy tapped my leg and whispered, “Hey, Wanda, let’s have some fun.” He started talking to me in Pig Latin and I responded in kind. We were going back and forth as fast as we could when those guys up front all started looking at one another. When they realized we weren’t really speaking English, one of them said, “What is that you’re speaking?” Daddy and I had a good laugh. We tried to explain what we were doing, but it’s hard to explain something like Pig Latin! I don’t think our humor translated.
I didn’t take any musicians with me for the trip. They had arranged for a group of Japanese players to travel with me, and they were really good. I have pretty high standards when it comes to backing bands, and these guys were solid. I didn’t even take a guitar, figuring they would certainly make one available. I had only ever played acoustic guitar, but all they could round up for me was an electric. I’d never played one in my life, but I guess the notes are all in the same place, so I made do. After a couple of shows I was pretty comfortable with it.
After performing at some military bases and dance clubs in Tokyo, we headed to Osaka for a weeklong run at the Daigeki Theater. The first night was such a strange experience for me as I learned about the difference between Japanese and American audiences. There was a walkway that jutted out into the audience. I was out there singing when, all of a sudden, different girls from the audience started to come up on the stage to bring me small gifts. I remember a little net with tangerines in it. Others brought some dolls, and one even brought a handkerchief with embroidery on it. I didn’t quite know what to do. I’d never had fans climb onto the stage with me before. I’m very protective of my stage, so I didn’t know what to think at first.
I noticed the audience didn’t applaud very much, but they seemed very appreciative of my performance. I was singing a song near the end of the show when a small object suddenly fell at my feet. It seemed like it came from the balcony. Then another one appeared. Before long there were all these unraveled streamers everywhere. I asked my translator about it when we got offstage. “Oh, yes,” he said. “That’s what they were asking about at the press conference when someone asked if you liked having people throw things at you when you’re on stage. That’s our way of showing acceptance and appreciation. If you can reach out and hold one, then do so, but if you can’t that’s all right.” I thought that was really interesting. They might not have clapped, but these little crepe paper streamers were their way of connecting with the performer. They would hold on to one end, and you could kind of play tug-of-war with them. I had certainly never encountered anything like that in an Oklahoma honky tonk, but once I understood it, I really enjoyed it.
After a week in Osaka we went on to Nagoya, Toyama, Kanazawa, and back to Tokyo. We took trains to a lot of these different places, and the Japanese people really endeared themselves to me along the way. They were so interested in me, and I just loved them. I remember going to a department store to get some things I needed. I was walking around trying to find something and noticed there was a small crowd following me. Every time I looked back the crowd was getting bigger. They didn’t disturb me; they just wanted to see what I was doing. They were taking pictures and watching my every move. I had never experienced anything like it. When we played the military bases, they were American audiences, but when we performed in theaters I don’t know if the Japanese audiences could really understand anything I was saying. It was a complete mystery to me why they liked me so much, but I’m glad they did!
Somewhere along the way, Daddy and I went to a little club that featured country music. I can’t remember if I was working there or if we just decided to go, but it was amazing. They couldn’t speak a word of English, but were singing American country songs phonetically and doing a great job. I got up at one point to go to the restroom. When I walked through the door, it was men on one side and women on the other. I went to the women’s side, but when I walked out of the stall, there were all these men in there! I thought, What in the world is this? They started moving toward me and saying, “Autograph? Autograph? Autograph?” I just had to laugh. It gave me a little glimpse of what Elvis must have gone through every single day. It was fun to live like a superstar for a few weeks, but I don’t think I would want that to be my life every day.
After a couple of days back in Tokyo, we took a train down to Okinawa. There was an American military base there, so we got acquainted with some of the soldiers. We were doing a theater show in Okinawa for a couple of weeks, and it was nice to get a little taste of home. The guys would come out to where we were staying, have drinks with Daddy, and listen to his stories. He always kept people laughing, and I think he really enjoyed creating an environment around us that was more familiar to him.
I thought Japan was an exotic wonderland, but Daddy was just a farm boy from Oklahoma, and I think he felt like a fish out of water sometimes. He was just big enough that we’d go in these little tea houses and he’d be knocking everything over with his knees. And he had a terrible time remembering to bow when greeting someone. He used to say, “I don’t know how many people I gave a black eye to when they went to bow and I accidentally extended my arm to shake hands at the same moment!”
Daddy always liked to eat a good breakfast. I remember we were at one of the Japanese hotels one morning when he headed down to the restaurant while I slept. When he came back he said, “I had the damndest time I’ve ever had trying to get something to eat. I wanted rice, so I figured they could get me a bowl of rice and some milk for sure. Well, it wasn’t easy at all. First, they brought out a big ball of rice on a plate. I told them I wanted it in a bowl, but then they brought out a bunch of little tiny bowls of rice. I didn’t know what I was gonna do!”
Eventually, one of the promoters met him at the table, and Daddy finally got him to understand what he wanted so he could translate. The waiter brought a large bowl of rice to the table, with a glass of milk and some sugar. “Well, I poured that milk over the rice and mixed in the sugar,” Daddy continued, “and that promoter practically gagged. He made the funniest face. He’d never seen nothin’ like that before! He sure didn’t know what to make of this ol’ boy!”
The next day the promoter told us that he’d explained to his kids how he’d seen Daddy pour milk and sugar over rice, and they insisted on trying it. “It was pretty good,” he told us with a wink. I don’t think it’s too u
ncommon for people to eat that in Japan today. Maybe Daddy is responsible for introducing them to a little Oklahoma country breakfast tradition!
I’m sure it wasn’t easy for Mother to be working every day and settling into a new house while her family was halfway around the world in Japan for more than a month and a half. I appeared on several TV shows while we were there, and one of them worked it out to call Mother so I could talk to her on the air. That was a lot of fun and it was good to hear her voice. As great a time as we were having, I think that made me and Daddy a little homesick.
One of the things I did in Japan to feel more connected to home was reignite my interest in photography. I had taken a course in high school for a half credit, and it was probably my favorite class. I just loved learning about the camera’s settings, F-stops, and the differences in various lenses. I even developed my own photos by turning the bathroom of our little house in South Lindsay into a makeshift dark room. It wasn’t until Japan, though, that I got my first really good camera. I bought a Pentax, and this Japanese guy who was traveling with us showed me how to use the settings. He took some photos of me to demonstrate what a good, clear picture it could capture, and I was amazed. There’s one of me jumping in the air, but the shot was crystal clear. Of course, today I have a camera on my phone that probably takes even better photos than that, but at the time, it seemed like a miracle. For the rest of the trip I was taking photos and practicing with that camera. Had I not been a singer, I think I would have enjoyed being a traveling photojournalist.
We finished the tour back in Tokyo for a six-night run at the Kokusai Theater, which held five thousand people. There was a huge mural outside one of the theaters with my picture on it. I’d never seen a photo of myself that large before, so it was exciting and strange.
These final Tokyo shows were the most elaborately produced of the whole trip, with choreography and a few costume changes. We spent considerable time rehearsing the day before the show began. The promoters had some very definite ideas about the presentation, and I pretty much went along with whatever they wanted since I was working for them. For “Fujiyama Mama” they had me enter the stage on a rickshaw. We had elaborate backdrops, dancers, and the works. They even put me in this cowgirl outfit I didn’t want to wear. If they’d let me design it, there would have been more fringe and less material! I was horrified when I saw it had matching gloves and everything. I probably said I wouldn’t wear them, but Daddy likely talked me into it.
The Japanese dancers on the show taught me how to put a robe around my shoulders to wiggle in and out of costumes when guys might be around backstage. That was a helpful skill I would use many times in subsequent years. They also taught me that if you put a little sparkle right along the edge of your lips, it makes them look wet when you’re onstage. This was before lip gloss and all the tools we have at our disposal now, so I brought that tip home with me, too.
Another beauty tip I picked up in Japan was how to back-comb my hair. I got my hair done while we were there, and this woman was ratting it with her brush. I thought, What in the world is she doing? Of course, we couldn’t communicate with each other, so I just let her do whatever she was doing. When she combed it over, I was amazed. My hair looked so big! At the time, you needed to have big hair if you were gonna be a girl singer! I was thrilled.
Despite being a big star in Japan, I think I was only paid $100 per show. If I remember correctly, I believe I performed thirty-six shows while we were there, so you can do the math to figure out that the glitz and glamour of show business isn’t always what people imagine. But, of course, I would have done it no matter the pay. It was such a wonderful trip, and I look back on it as one of the fondest memories of my life. I always joke that I loved playing in Japan because it’s the only time I was the tallest person around. Of course, the real reason I loved it is because the fans were so wonderful to me and made me feel like the most special person in the world. I think it rained every day we were there, but I recall everything being beautiful, thanks to the radiance of the people. I will never forget their kindness. That wonderful nation holds a very special place in this Fujiyama Mama’s heart!
Chapter 14
With my band, Bobby Poe and the Poe Kats, and other musicians.
BOTH SIDES OF THE LINE
When I got back from Tokyo in April of 1959, I did a three-week run of shows at the Showboat in Las Vegas with Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys. Not only did they play their own sets, but they also served as my backing band when I did my part of the show. Bob even stayed out on stage with his fiddle and trademark cigar. I was really excited to have the chance to play with Bob and his legendary band. After all, this was the group I was so impressed with as a child when Mother and Daddy took me to those dances in Los Angeles. It’s not an exaggeration to say that Bob’s band played a big role in planting the seed in my mind that I wanted to be a girl singer one day.
As exciting as the idea of performing with The Texas Playboys might have been, the reality was not exactly ideal. Those guys were an amazing Western swing band, but they couldn’t get the feel for “Fujiyama Mama” or “Hot Dog! That Made Him Mad” to save their lives. It was awful. I wish I could sugarcoat it or put a positive spin on it because I wanted it to be amazing. But it was just absolutely terrible. That was the moment I decided it was time to do something about my stage show.
During those first few years of touring, I played with pickup bands wherever I performed. Sometimes, if I was on a package show, there was a house band that performed with us at the various tour stops. Other times, the regular band at a nightclub where I was playing might step in to back me up. In some instances, the show’s booker might put together a group of players from the local musicians’ union. I met and worked with some great players in those years, but you never knew what you were getting until you arrived at the venue.
I remember one time I arrived at a club for a rehearsal with the house band before that night’s show. When we pulled up the guys were out having a cigarette in the parking lot. They told me they were all set up, had tuned their instruments, and were ready to go when I was. I was impressed by their professionalism and decided I liked these boys immediately. We started swapping stories like musicians do and, for some reason, I wound up saying, “I’ll tell you one instrument I just can’t stand, and that is a dang accordion!” Everybody laughed and we went on talking for a few minutes.
Finally, the leader of the group said, “Well, let’s head on in and get started.”
“That sounds great,” I said, “but I didn’t even get you boys’ names and what instruments you play yet.”
They went around the circle, and the last fellow said, “My name’s Chet and I’m the accordion player.”
Whoops. Like I said, you never knew what you were going to get. That was a good band, and ol’ Chet was a good accordion player, but it just never was my thing.
Even though I ran into some really good pickers, I just as often encountered some real disasters. Sometimes we couldn’t get into town in time to rehearse, but there were plenty of instances where we were stuck with a group that just didn’t want to rehearse. It’s embarrassing to me to go onstage with a band that’s not any good. My audience has paid their hard-earned money to see a good show, and I want to give them the very best.
By late 1957 I was getting tired of the endless gamble of using pickup bands. Daddy and I talked to my agent, Jim Halsey, who suggested I find a good group and take them on the road with me. The challenge was that I needed guys who could play both country and rock and roll, but he said he knew of a band that played extensively around Kansas and Oklahoma that would fit the bill. Halsey introduced me to Bobby Poe and the Poe Kats, and we hit it off. They started touring with me and opening my shows. Then they would back me up for my set.
In addition to Bobby Poe, the band included teenagers Vernon Sandusky on lead guitar, Joe Brawley on drums, and a black piano player named “Big” Al Downing. This was a time when you hardly ever saw
interracial bands outside of the jazz world. I wasn’t raised to be prejudiced, and it didn’t bother Daddy at all. Mother, however, was from a different time and a different mind-set. She was a good-hearted person, but there wasn’t much of an opportunity for cross-racial interactions in her world. She was polite, but she didn’t really know what to make of this new situation, which was pretty unusual in 1957. I remember the first time the band came by the house for a rehearsal. Mother was a little horrified that the neighbors might see Al coming in and out of our house. With time, however, she came to love him, and she was able to move past some of those unfortunate attitudes of an earlier time.
It wasn’t always easy for Al when we were out on the road as a mixed-race band. America was a segregated country in the 1950s, and he often couldn’t eat in the same restaurants and cafés where the rest of us did. He’d tell the other guys what he wanted to eat, and they’d bring his food out where he’d eat in the car. He couldn’t use the same restrooms or drink out of the same water fountain. It was heartbreaking for me to get a glimpse into a world I hadn’t really had to think much about before. It made me mad to think that this great guy would be treated so disrespectfully for absolutely no reason but the color of his skin.
I worked at quite a few NCO clubs on military bases in that era, and I recall a particular show we were doing up in Montana or Wyoming. We didn’t have any kind of road manager or anything, so the guys in the band set up all the speakers and gear before opening the show with at least a thirty-minute set before I came out. The manager at this one NCO club hadn’t paid any attention when the guys were setting up and doing their set, but when I went on he came out to see how it was going. That’s when he noticed Al at the piano. Before long, this guy worked his way up to the bandstand and got my attention.
Every Night Is Saturday Night Page 14
