Train Me

I like trains and have taken a train trip on every continent I've ever visited --the Bullet Train in Japan and the Blue High Speed train in France are two of the better ones and was stuck on a local milk run from Germany to Paris as punishment for making someone mad (that's another story for another time) . I used to take the train back and forth to Las Vegas every weekend and wish they would start that up again. Yesterday my friend Brenda Tyson and I rode Amtrak to San Diego to see Obba as "Sammy" at the Old Globe (he was magnificent!) It was a fantastic trip in business class that's a bit pricey but worth it. One of my favorite train rides was a while back taking the train home from New York, after my plane kinda crashed at JFK. Actually the wheels only collapsed on landing causing a bad skid narrowly missing a building that would have hurt us seriously. That was close enough to a real crash to make me reluctant to get on a plane. So the train it was. You can't take a direct train, it had to be a sleeper overnight to Chicago and change to the Southwest Chief for the rest of the trip. I had a great stateroom with a recliner and giant window to watch the world roll by, a bed made up by the lovely steward and my food delivered to the room, I was ready to be productive--writing across country was the idea. I didn't count on the scenery, the rhythm and the rocking of the train. Lulled into sweet comfort, sleep called me and called me again. A wonderful experience and the next time I have three days that I can disappear, look for me rockin to the clickety-clack. I'm Ruth Adkins Robinson

Under the Stage at the Apollo, Don't Look Down

I got an email from a friend at the Smithsonian about an upcoming exhibit they are doing celebrating 75 Years of the Apollo Theatre in Harlem. I was able to point them in a few needed directions like where they could get the mouthpiece from Dizzy's horn, who has the best backstage photos and other items. It all made me miss all the time spent onstage, backstage and under the stage working on "Showtime at the Apollo." There are some stories to be told about those years, but I'll save them for another day. Other events take up this space today. As she has done consistently for 25 years, Suzanne de Passe grabbed me to work on "Motown Returns to the Apollo." They were in the middle of a renovation, so we taped the show with no carpets on the floor and other fun stuff. Sammy Davis Jr, Bunny Briggs, Sandman Sims, Harold Nicholas and a couple of other old hoofers performed the Dance Challenge Segment that I always thought was the genesis for the film "Tap." During rehearsal Sam brought me a young man he introduced to me like this "this is the only cat who can do everything I can....Obba Babatunde." The years would roll out and Obba would prove that he does sing, tap, act, do comedy, ride in the rodeo, do impressions of everyone, but the greatest impression ever is when he turns into Sammy. About five years after Mr. D died, Obba came over to where I was producing "Oscar's Black Odyssey," turned his back and turned around and WAS Sam. The impact was so great I burst into tears. Even now, he will call me on the phone as Sam and it unnerves me. That was a show that won another Emmy and other related awards. Three of the people involved in that were also involved in "The Apollo at 70: A Hot Night in Harlem," the great, charismatic producer/director Don Mischer, SdP and me. Writing on that show was insane because I knew Ray Charles was dying, but couldn't tell anyone. So I had to write his tribute in words that would work if he was still alive or if he had died. Either was possible, we were taping in March and it didn't air until mid-June. The segment was amazing, Willie Nelson drove 1500 miles to talk about Ray and country music. Blair Underwood flew all night from his location in Texas to come do the 'talk' and James Ingram, once Ray's drummer, sang. As it turned out, Ray's funeral was on Saturday and the show aired on Sunday. Mischer and de Passe had gone in to do another edit at the last minute. I don't want to talk about the funeral except one note. I stood by Stevie Wonder and said "I don't think I can walk by the casket and look at him." Stevie said, "We'll walk down there together and neither one of us will look down." That sillness gave me the strength to walk and get out of the building before falling apart. Next to me was Sandrine Follette, the Frenchwoman who'd flown here for the first time in ten years. She was my friend even when she leapt into his bed. Neither one of them knew that I knew. Friends close, enemies closer. At differing times, both of them were both.--Ruth Adkins Robinson