The legacy of Otis Redding

Round Oak, Georgia (CNN) -- Otis Redding was proud to be a country boy.

"You know what, Otis? You're country," lashes Carla Thomas in her 1967 duet with Redding, "Tramp."

"That's all right," Redding quickly responds.

"You're straight from the Georgia woods."

"That's good," Redding says.

He meant it.

He was born in Dawson, in southwest Georgia, and raised in the central Georgia city of Macon.

But it was on his 300-acre Big O Ranch in this town, about 25 miles north of Macon, that he was most at home. He raised cattle and rode horses and worked in his barn, and he played with his children and welcomed others to his residence.

"He always wanted a ranch," says his widow, Zelma, recalling the "freedom I could see him have when he came home off the road." They bought the place in 1965 and moved in the next year.

But he was sharp, Otis Redding. He had to be. Black men didn't own 300-acre ranches in mid-'60s Georgia; Zelma Redding, who has since grown the property to almost 500 acres, remembers having to acquire some of the land quietly -- and some landowners refused to sell, though by 1965 Otis Redding was one of the biggest names in R&B.

He was also a businessman, sometimes flashy. In "Tramp" he reels off a list of cars, and his publicity claimed 200 suits and 400 pairs of shoes, according to Peter Guralnick's indispensable history "Sweet Soul Music." But more often he was painstaking. He wrote for others, developed talent with manager Phil Walden and pulled down thousands in concert fees.

A "natural prince," Atlantic Records producer and creative force Jerry Wexler called him.

And, man, could he sing.

"Redding was a marvel," wrote rock critic Dave Marsh, "one of the great live showmen ... a masterful ballad singer and a true rocker in the spirit of his boyhood hero, Little Richard."

It was that way from the beginning. At 17, he was winning talent shows at Macon's Douglass Theater, where he met 15-year-old Zelma with a "Hey, baby" ("He was a little out of line," she recalls with a smile). By the next year, he'd gained a manager in Walden, a college kid who would use Redding as the foundation to build a Southern R&B and rock empire.

As Guralnick recounts, Redding woodshedded with Little Richard's old band, the Upsetters, then guitarist Johnny Jenkins and his Pinetoppers, using some time during a Jenkins recording session at Stax Records in Memphis, Tennessee, to lay down "These Arms of Mine." It became his first hit in 1963.

"Pain in My Heart" became his first R&B No. 1 later that year, and from then on Otis Redding was a sensation. Soon backed by the Stax house band, Booker T. and the MGs, his voice had the fervor of church and the yearning of a romantic; Marsh describes "I've Been Loving You Too Long (to Stop Now)" as "the ultimate slow dance. ... [Redding sounds] as if in the grip of an undeniably exquisite passion that must be consummated -- now!"

The road was a constant -- Redding co-wrote "I've Been Loving You Too Long" in a Buffalo, New York, hotel room -- but once he had his ranch he became more of a homebody, Zelma Redding recalls.

Once Otis was offered a concert in Detroit, Michigan, with Smokey Robinson and the Miracles. The promoter was offering $10,000. "He said, 'I ain't goin'," she says. He was home and had just gone hunting. "It was the first time I saw him flat refuse."

Nineteen-sixty-seven had become Redding's biggest year. "Tramp" and "Knock on Wood," both duets with Thomas, hit the Top 40; in June, Aretha Franklin took the Redding-penned "Respect" to No. 1.

That same month Redding was a sensation at the Monterey Pop Festival in northern California, breaking through to what he called "the love crowd." In August he hosted a huge barbecue for 300 industry guests at the ranch, where people cavorted in its pond and sampled pork and beef.

"We had our own Woodstock," recalls Zelma Redding.

He was ready to try new things. Among them was a song he'd written with MGs guitarist Steve Cropper in California, "(Sittin' on) The Dock of the Bay," a departure from his previous work. He recorded it in two sessions, the latter December 8, 1967.

Two days later, 42 years ago Thursday, he died when his chartered plane crashed into Lake Monona near Madison, Wisconsin. He was 26.

"I called the pilot's wife," Zelma remembers. "She said, 'Otis is gone and Dick is, too.' "

The ranch offers testament to his glory. There are plaques for his best-selling songs. Grammy Awards. Gold records. A trophy for his induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. A U.S. postage stamp bearing his portrait.

His songs -- "Dock of the Bay," "Respect," "Fa-Fa-Fa-Fa-Fa (Sad Song)," "Mr. Pitiful" -- have been much-covered, his style influential, his talent undeniable. But Zelma Redding remembers the man, someone who welcomed busloads of kids to his property, who "never saw race," who "believed in life," who "loved people."

"I loved Otis Redding," she says. "That's the key reason for keeping the legacy alive. The music is first to some, but it's not the first thing to me."

A moving experience

Visiting memorial brings home cost of Vietnam: 58,228 lives

Downers Grove, IL - - When the Moving Wall, the traveling, half-size replica of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C., came to Downers Grove last week, the emotional impact was immense.

Veterans arrived in wheelchairs and with walkers to run their fingers along the wall and find the names of their fallen friends. With tears streaming down their faces, people took rubbings of the names of loved ones. School children stared in awe at the vast expanse of names. Some of them carried letters or souvenirs. One man walked the length of the wall -- roughly equal to a football field -- and read silently from the roster of 58,228 names.

"Probably the hardest were the mothers whose sons' names were on the wall," said Woody Kawaters, commander of Downers Grove American Legion Post 80, which sponsored the event. "There were a sufficient number of them that I'll dream about it. We'll never know what those 58,228 people could have done for society."

The Moving Wall was created in 1984 by a man who attended the dedication of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington in 1982. Struck by the powerful presence of the wall, John Devitt felt compelled to make it accessible to people not able or willing to travel to Washington.

The Moving Wall, like the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, lists the names of the 58,228 Americans who died in the war. It is one of two moving walls that tour the country.

The Moving Wall was warmly welcomed by the members of the community, starting with an escort into town by area fire departments, police and veteran bikers. Musical groups performed throughout the course of its stay, Oct. 1-5. The state commander of the American Legion as well as Vietnam veterans spoke.

The wall was never left alone throughout its stay, guarded around the clock by volunteers. Kawaters said there was a constant flow of visitors to the wall.

One of the chief reasons for bringing the Moving Wall to the area was the hope of providing closure.

"I was surprised by how many people haven't been able to go to Washington to see the wall," Kawaters said. "This is a good way for them to see the wall and hopefully find some peace."

The wall also helps educate people about the Vietnam War, said Kawaters who was pleased by the large turnout from schools.

"When people talk about war, they talk about dollars and cents," he said. "Those names on the wall are the real cost of the war. We try to bring that home to the schools that come over."

During the wall's presence in Downers Grove, the American Legion opened its library as a museum featuring memorabilia from the Vietnam War.

"The school kids got to see it," Kawaters said. "One gentleman brought in four drawings. He was a platoon officer and someone in his platoon was an artist who did charcoal sketches of four of their guys. Two of their names are on the wall."

Kawaters said an additional objective of bringing the wall to Downers Grove was to serve as a reminder of the great sacrifice of the people whose names are on the wall. Lt. Philip Lazzara of the Downers Grove Fire Department said he has made a ritual of reading each of the names on the wall during his visits to Washington, D.C., as well as to sites hosting the Moving Wall.

"Those people who are on the wall were sons and daughters and fathers and grandfathers and husbands and wives," he said. "I guess that's why I read all of their names. I want them to know that they're not forgotten. I want them to know that someone, somewhere in the U.S., is recognizing them for their sacrifice. I want them to know that someone out there is saying their name."

Kawaters is proud of the way the community embraced the presence of the wall. More than 250 people donated a total of $10,000 to sponsor the wall, he said, and countless volunteers helped throughout the wall's stay in Downers.

"I expected to get some crusty old vets who would donate a couple of bucks but I never expected the support that we got," he said. "I'm going to be writing thank you notes for the next three months."

Lazzara said he hopes people left the wall mindful of the greatness of America and the sacrifices made to ensure our continued freedom.

"We live in the greatest country ever," he said.

By ALEXANDER BASEK
New York Post