Riley B. King

by Frank M. Roberts

November 2015

Kenny Rogers once sang -- "you picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille." Well, Lucille has left the building to join his 'boss', B. B. King. Like Clementine, 'they are lost and gone forever'. However, the great music they made together will, as they say, live forever.

Riley B. King, born on a Mississippi plantation, the undisputed 'King Of the Blues' died in Vegas on May 14. He was 89, and he left a 'guitar giant' legacy. So did she -- Lucille, that is. The guitars - plural - were black Gibson's. He, and one of them share a burial site.

Many, many moons ago, I shook hands with King, gave the Lucille du jour a tap on the strings, and had a pleasant conversation. I was reviewing a concert in Virginia Beach and, as you can probably figure out by looking at him, he was a very friendly soul who liked to talk about anything and everything -- as long as it was music.

For about a year, King was not in good shape, reportedly suffering from dehydration and diabetes, a killer combination. In October, he collapsed in mid concert. He was in 'mid career' when I met him, and had the pleasure of listening to him, watching the earnestness he put in his performance.

Performances? Seventy years of them, a career best described as 'fabulous'. During that time he was the winner of 15 - yes, 15 Grammy awards. Try that on for size, you young bucks. He is quoted in the book, "Off the Record: An Oral History Of Popular Music," that "people all over the world have problems," adding, somewhat prophetically, " as long as people have problems, the blues can never die."

And, as long as people have access to his music, the name, B. B. King will always be around, and so will Lucille, the name given his trusty guitar(s).

Yes - there was a Lucille -- a flesh 'n blood Lucille. King made her famous, but the two never met. She came from Twist, ARK and, in effect was 'born' in the early '50s. The 'birthplace' was a concert in that li'l town. Here is the story:

Two men were fighting over a woman whose name was - you guessed it - Lucille.

During the melee, the men knocked over a kerosene stove and set the venue a-fire. Music lover King ran back into the club, risking his life to save his $30 Gibson. He 'rescued' it and named it in honor of 'that' woman. Since then, he constantly picked on his 'Lucille's.'

King's daughter, Patty, has been handling the estate and, here's hoping that the sensationalism connected with the death of so many celebrities these days, does not affect the gentle man I met, and listened to, so many moons ago.

* * * *

A man I met many times, because he 'concertized' in Hampton, VA. yearly for many of those moons, was Conway Twitty. He came up in conversation with the docent I met during Murfreesboro, N. C. recent piggie fest. The very nice gent who was in charge of 'my' room in the fantastic Jefcoat Museum there, went through some of the Twitty albums I had on display.

We talked about some of the titles of the revered singer's library, and how they almost, but not quite, crossed, as 'they say' the line.

He thumbed through the albums - yes, albums - large, flat 33 1/3 ALBUMS - and found such Twit hits as "Tight Fittin' Jeans," "At Least One Time," "How Far Can We Go?", "Slow Hands," and the topper, "You've Never Been This Far Before." I asked Conway about those titles one time - as have many, many others - and his standard answer was something like, "they're about my wife."

The song that really made some station executives nervous - it was banned by some stations - was "You've Never Been This Far Before," which was not, according to Twitty, about the loss of virginity, but merely an ode to love involving newlyweds.

Anyway, the ladies, both married and 'un' loved the guy, welcoming each visit with squeals of delight. When talking to him - and he was very low key - you couldn't help but like the guy. I saw him upset only once, and that was when his bus nicked a car on the way to a concert. No injuries or major damage, but the event frayed his nerves a little.

During the visit to the Jefcoat Museum, there was a steady flow of visitors, and I delighted in being able to talk about the stars whose musical efforts were on display in 'my' room. The only bothersome note came from two Murfreesboro residents, father and son, who lived a few blocks from the museum, and didn't even know it was there.

* * * *

Political notes: One of President Truman's advisors, George Allen, found the White House offices so over-crowded, he couldn't get a desk or telephone - so - he walked down Pennsylvania Avenue and transacted his business from a drug store telephone booth. Telephone booth? Remember 'em?