Before he even knew what an epiphany was, Bobby Tomlinson had one.
A multi-ton electromagnet couldn’t have tugged on the first-grader any stronger than the street-beat percussion section of the Goldsboro High School Marching Band in North Carolina. The Marching Earthquakes, they were called.
And the ground shook beneath young Bobby’s feet as his destiny was set, right then and there. In the just-published The Embers, The Bobby Tomlinson Story, the legendary drummer recalled that 1950s epiphany. “Music became my passion, my solace and my purpose,” he told the book’s co-author Chris Jones.
Chris grew up in Alma, 39 miles from Jesup, my hometown. We are graduates of the University of Georgia, and we share a love of music, especially Carolina beach music. It’s a genre that was defined and labeled by Bobby and his iconic band, The Embers.
Last year, as Chris was researching, he reached out to me about The Embers and their connection with my hometown. I am not a member of The Cooter Ridge Armadillo Hunting Club. But of course, I knew to whom to send him for answers—Jeff Hires, Mark McGregor, Grant Lewis and J.W. (Booger) Harvey.
But first, there’s another hometown connection.
In the 1960s, a Jesup band—King David and the Slaves—was making a name for themselves at South Carolina’s Myrtle Beach, which was emerging as the mecca of beach music and shag dancing. Bobby Tomlinson remembers The Embers opening for King David’s act, filled with many of my friends, including high school classmate Randall Bramblett.
“We were just kids,” said Randall. “We were having a good time at The Beach Club. We also played backup for a number of R&B groups such as The Platters and The Tams. But The Embers were the quintessential beach-music band.” Today Randall—the Athens musician, songwriter and singer—continues to crank out albums and take his talent on tour.
And Bobby remembers the beginning of his band’s long-standing friendship with the Cooter Ridge fellas. One night in Jesup, The Embers’ lead singer, Jackie Gore, was belting out a Jackie Wilson medley when he walked among the audience to share the mic with folks in the Cooter Ridge audience. After the show, Jackie asked about the guy who rocked the house, hitting the high notes. It was Jack Brinkley of King David & the Slaves fame.
Bobby’s dream of a band came true in high school, and the founder of The Embers kept his seat at the drums for 60 years. As he approached 80, he decided to retire his sticks. But not until The Embers had risen to national fame, and Bobby was inducted into several halls of fame. Now 84, Bobby is lured back occasionally for special gigs.
The founder of The Embers and I are eight years apart in age, and our hometowns are separated by 387 miles. But after dark, we both tuned into Nashville’s WLAC to listen to R&B tunes spun by deejay John R.
Bobby vows those late-night radio shows were the spark that ignited the path to his future. And years later—when he owned clubs—he got to meet many of the WLAC stars: Clyde McPhatter of The Drifters, Jerry Butler, Chuck Berry, Ray Charles, Fats Domino, and the list goes on and on. Looking back on his life of music, Bobby said, “I guess I put myself in the right place at the right time. And if I die tomorrow, I’ve had a ball.”
Bobby and I learned that we also share a love of something else—Jesup. He’s a fan of my hometown and his host of friends there.
According to Chris, the book project started in 2010 with Bill Benners and Skip Crayton. But along the way, it took a detour. “They invited me,” Chris said, “to join the party and turn their stories into a book.” The retired corporate executive said, “This was a thrill for me. The Embers are a legend. And Bobby just doesn’t remember events. He relives them.”
During my UGA days—1966-1970—I heard fraternity brothers talking about pilgrimages to the beach-music mecca. One of The Embers’ signature songs is “Far Away Places.” That’s what Myrtle Beach’s Ocean Drive (OD) was for me—a “far away place.” I never got “there” because of two things: a flat wallet and my 1968 Dodge Coronet 440 wouldn’t run on fumes.
But for almost 60 years, the oxblood Weejuns—dancing in my daydreams—haven’t stopped shagging to OD jukebox favorites and especially “I Love Beach Music.”
Thank you, Bobby Tomlinson and The Embers.
Thank you, Chris, Bill and Skip. Your book did for me what all good reads should do.
It “got me there.”
dnesmith@cninewspapers.com
