Hear Them Roar

My Mother never said to me, “Helen Reddy is my favorite singer.”  She didn’t have to.  I spent many an after school afternoon or weekend morning sprawled out on the floor in front of the Hi-Fi, listening to my parents’ record albums.  Me Father had a lot of one-offs but he had two Nancy Wilson albums and three Peggy Lee albums, a perfect indicator that these ladies were of particular interest to him.  It was the same thing with My Mam.  Mama had one Carole King album, one LP by The Mamas and The Papas, two Carly Simon records, one disc of Carpenters music, and so on, and so on… But Mommy had four Helen Reddy records, more than she had of any other singer.  She had the albums I Am Woman, Long Hard Climb, Free and Easy, and Helen Reddy’s Greatest Hits.  These are, inarguably, Helen Reddy’s best albums and proof positive that My Mam had impeccable taste (as evidenced by the Carole King album she had, Tapestry, and the Carly Simons, Anticipation and No Secrets - again, those women’s best albums).  Mama loved to play these records on the weekend, especially on sunny Saturdays when the family would do house cleaning day - everyone did their share but, a true blue Mama’s Boy, I made sure to stay with her until it was all done.  Mommy was particularly fond of songs that either made her dance (Delta Dawn, Ruby Red Dress), sing (Peaceful, Angie Baby), or feel strong (I Am Woman), but she always enjoyed a bit of whimsy and faux tap dancing, whenever Helen sang “I do a little tap dance” on the song “A Bit O.K.” from the Long Hard Climb album.  Mama wasn’t an athletic person and although she loved to laugh, she wasn’t perky in any kind of way that could lend itself to a time step.  Nevertheless, when this song was on the stereo there was always a chance that My Mam might burst into an amateur time step, and that vision alone is worth everything in the world to my beating heart, which is probably why Helen Reddy became my favorite singer.  If My Mother loved Helen Reddy, I loved Helen Reddy.

Over the years, my Mother’s interest in music waned a bit.  She still sang, she still danced, when there was music on to which she could dance, but Mama did not take the time out to go over to the record player (or, eventually, the CD player) and take out a disc and turn it on.  She played the radio in the car and boogied from the driver’s seat.  She danced to the music that other people listened to.  But Mama stopped indulging in music.  She never lost her love of Helen Reddy, though, she just got her fix from the hi-fi in my room, frequently coming in to sing along to “Brazzle Dazzle Day” whenever I played the Pete’s Dragon soundtrack.  There was a bond between me, My Mam, and Helen Reddy.

So it was one of the pleasures of my life to treat My Mam and Pap to Helen Reddy’s nightclub show when she played Rainbow and Stars in New York City in the Nineties.  I had worked with Helen, making her photos for The Sweater Book when she played Broadway in Bloodbrothers.  I loved her very much, and it was my pride and honor to make those photos.  When I showed Mama and Daddy the contact sheets of the black and white film, and the test prints for the book, they were mightily pleased, quite happy, and visibly proud of their boy.  So, when Helen was announced for a Christmas show in the cabaret club at the Rainbow Room, I set it up, and my family and I went to the Helen Reddy show.  Mommy and Daddy liked nightlife but they didn’t do it very often, so this was a special adventure for us, particularly because (as is the way in cabaret) Helen was waiting to greet guests in the lobby after the show.   There she stood with our mutual friend Richard Hillman, saying hello to strangers and friends, patrons and fans, and, as we stepped in, Richard was gracious enough to say, “Helen, you remember Stephen Mosher from The Sweater Book,” which was generous of him because people did, in fact, not remember me.  I was merely a shaved head behind a Minolta, people didn’t get to look at my face, and I wasn’t prominent enough for people to remember.  In front of my parents, it appeared that Helen Reddy knew me, and that kindness went a long way.  More to the point, Helen was extremely warm and welcoming with Me Mother and Father; my parents went home happy, excited, satisfied, and under the impression that their son had done something with his life.

Years later, Helen wrote a memoir.  There was a signing at the Barnes and Noble in Chelsea.  Like all good fans, I got in line, I got my book, I paid full price, I did the walk through, and I got Helen Reddy to sign two copies of her memoir - one for me, one for Mama.  Again, gracious and kind as ever, there was Richard Hillman to make sure that I was not embarrassed, with a gentle, ‘Helen, you remember Stephen Mosher from The Sweater Book.”  Four times in my life, I was with Helen Reddy, always with Richard Hillman, and four times she was not just Woman, she was a Lady.  

Me Mother kept that signed Helen Reddy memoir on her living room coffee table from the day that I gave it to her, in a stack with a signed copy of Jerry Herman: The Lyrics, and The Sweater Book.  When Mama moved into the Memory Care Facility where she has lived for the last two years, I wrapped her copy of Helen’s book up in a sweater, packed it in my case, and carried it home to New York, where it sits with my own copy and my Helen Reddy record albums, some of the last remaining record albums that I have.

My favorite memory regarding Helen Reddy and My Mam is a memory upon which I reflect every single day of my life.  

My parents loved to dance.  They were good at it, too - they moved like a couple who knows each other, they moved like they had been taught to dance at a dance school, they moved like a couple dancing in a ballroom dance competition.  They were so smooth and in sync, so fun and so romantic.  Many times throughout my youth (and a little of my adulthood) they would turn on the stereo, roll back the rug, and dance around the living room.  One of their favorite songs to which they would cut a rug was Helen Reddy singing “Dance In The Old Fashioned Way.”  I think of it every day.  I listen to that song every day.  I dream of seeing them dance that way again, even though I know it will never happen.  The last time I ever saw them dance like that was on their fiftieth wedding anniversary and I am so happy that I was there to catch them in action with my camera.  The memory of my loving, devoted, adoring Mommy and Daddy dancing together lives on in my mind and in my heart, and in the music of Helen Reddy.