One could feel the excitement and anticipation growing among the one hundred and 50 or so folks who had gathered in this theatre. It was nearly showtime. The magenta curtains that concealed the stage were bathed in the warm glow of a single beam of light spelling, in perfect cursive form, a single word: Anita.
Anita. The reason we had all gathered on this cool June afternoon. Anita. America's Sweetheart, the billboards in and around Eureka Springs proudly proclaimed and who was I to disagree? Anita. The very name conjures up magical images: Miss America, orange juice, The Battle Hymn of the Republic. And it was magic we had come here today hoping to witness.
The lights dimmed, the curtains were drawn back and the performance began. A six piece combo began to play an unfamiliar tune in a manner which suggested to me nothing so much as group shock treatment. It seems impossible to imagine a group of trained musicians playing in such a bland and insipid manner without the benefit of some mind-numbing, personality-stifling laboratory experiments. These guys would have Laurence Welk yawning and checking his watch.
Soon, they were joined onstage by a pair of Sweeney Sisters -esque singers. One of these songbirds immediately chastised the second row of the audience for not smiling back at the stage to her satisfaction. This pair took turns singing gospel songs so mundane and unremarkable that I can remember nothing of them except the subject matter.
Soon, though, things liven up a bit. As an unseen announcer chimed in, "Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Anita Bryant!" from the back of the room, down the aisle, past the totally empty rear two-thirds of the theatre swept the woman we'd come to see. Pausing at each and every row (once she reached some that were occupied), she thrust out her hand to the startled folks who had the misfortune to be seated at the end of a row, gave them a brisk pump and moved on.
"I'm sorry," she said, "I can't get to everyone right now, but I'll see you after the show." Truth be told, I didn't really see anyone reaching out to grasp her hand but perhaps the bright lights were playing havoc with my eyes.
Anita looks pretty darned good for a woman of her years and she can still sing pretty well, but what she does best is talk. Rather than sprinkle in a little patter between songs, she opts to sprinkle the occasional song in amongst the stage patter (or should I say prattle). We were not viewing, as she pointed out repeatedly, the usual show seen nightly here at the Anita Bryant Theatre. That nightly revue reportedly features a little country, a little rock 'n' roll (nobody rocks like Anita!), some hits from the Big Band era, a few showtunes and some gospel. I don't know whether or not she does any rapping.
This, though, was the Sunday Special; kind of an old-fashioned Sunday afternoon get-together, she said, in which the featured music was gospel. Okay by me if it was some good old hand-clapping, foot-stomping gospel music but, alas, that was not to be. This was gospel lite; soothing, relaxing music you could listen to at work, in your car, even at the dentist's office. And talk, lots of talk. So much talk your mind begins to wonder: Where should I go for lunch next Tuesday? Did I make a B in English back in seventh grade, or was it a B-? Where did I get that little cut on my index finger? Why do zebras have stripes?
Unfortunately, I couldn't stay for the entire show. I was due in Branson, Missouri, but I did get to hear Ms. Bryant sing the very first song she ever performed in public. She was, she said, two years old and she sang Jesus Loves Me in church. She recreated that historic moment for us on this Father's Day afternoon, and believe me, you haven't lived until you've witnessed a 50-something woman singing "Jesus Loves Me" in a squeaky little two-year-old's voice. Poor Anita; someone's giving her some bad advice.
On to Branson, where I was to see my old friend, Diane Monnett Cooper and her family. I last saw Diane on her wedding day a decade or so ago. She and her husband left soon thereafter for Branson and I took off for New York. Ten years and four children later (all hers), we got to catch up a bit.
It was a brief visit but I got to meet Diane's kids (Connor, Kristin, Lucas, and Rebecca - all delightful) and her babysitter, Rebecca. I also had the opportunity to speak a bit with her husband, Kris, whom I had met only briefly those long years ago. Diane and I took in the Loretta Lynn show (she tends to ramble on aimlessly ala Anita but when she gets around to singing, it's a good show), split a pie at the local Pizza Hut and visited an attraction called Waltzing Waters, sort of a Monster Fountain set to music. We even spent some time discussing two subjects that conventional wisdom says should be always avoided -- religion and politics -- without any problems. You know you're with a good friend when you can safely broach those topics.
Continue on the American Odyssey.
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