Born in 1927 and placed in an orphanage in Los Angeles, Sam spent his earliest years on the streets learning the most valuable lessons of his life: how to read and relate to people. Sam felt that he had started with nothing, even less than those who typically invoke that phrase because he didn’t even have a family. His earliest years spent in the children’s home were difficult for Sam. Always a social being, he was frustrated by the company of children who wanted nothing more than to get out, get away. Ironically, Sam left many of those children behind when he ran away from the South L.A. Orphans’ Home. He ran away from the orphanage in 1936 and traveled the country on wheel, rail, and foot, spending invaluable time with early heroes and inspirations such as Jordan Lewis, directing him to his first recording session. He had met Abe Goodie in 1936 when the Dust Bowl Minstrel had visited the orphanage, and briefly joined him in his travels in 1937. In 1938 Sam travelled east and sneaked into the Spirituals to Swing concerts in New York. He also met John Roberts, who was on his way to a recording studio. The combination of the lifestyle and technology of recording music, the fantasy opened up to Sam in the comic pulps he saw beginning that summer, and the cartoons he saw in the theatre outside which he shined shoes all molded Sam into the media titan he would become. In 1938, after seeing the first King Cougar comic book, he realized orphans could be much more than he had thought. Typical urchin jobs kept him afloat, from shining shoes and running errands to selling newspapers and light labor, Sam was always a hard worker with an eye on the future.
By 1940 Sam had met the Parker Family in Texas, Chris Charleston in Oklahoma City, Mon Williams and Tad Dowd in Tennessee, Stovall Farmer in St. Louis, and was like a mascot to Jordan Lewis on the streets of New York. He had bussed tables for Dr. Byrd in the French Quarter, fetched sandwiches for Jet Nourre in Kansas City, and bird-dogged for Coy Carson one night in Birmingham. He walked horses for Len Lewis and Ray Vontour, tuned Paul Stellar’s guitars, and of course was Blind Vernon Jellison’s assistant for several months in San Antonio. No one questioned the reason of a boy with no apparent home or family; Sam was always big for his age and had been able to handle himself in any situation for a long time.
(I was worried when I agreed to provide this column for BAD CO. that people would grow bored with my memories. Then I recalled: Sam has been called the World's Most Recorded Man. From the time he could afford it, Sam made recordings of his conversations, meetings, even informal strolls through the park or elsewhere. It's why so many revelatory documentaries exist about Sam and the Park. Then I thought: Sam was always transparent about those recordings and the Park loves to release them to allow more insight into its past. Why not integrate them into these logs so you, the reader, get a better sense of Sam and those in his world? So whenever they're available I'll transcribe those tapes appropriate to the story and you can be right there with us.)
Sam, 1972: I knew I had met some important people, some great people, but you never really appreciate someone’s impact on your life at the time you’re around them. It’s later, when you see yourself using what you picked up from them, that you finally appreciate what they mean to you.
Seeing the country through the eyes of youth but at the side of entertainers who had seen much more, and all at a turbulent time in history (aren’t they all?), gave Sam an appreciation for the national character few others of any age could have matched. When he saw the nation come under threat Sam was back in California and saw Jet Nourre the night before he shipped out. The Navy would give Sam yet another perspective on the people of America, this time from different economic classes and a wide variety of educational and experiential backgrounds. Sam had crisscrossed the country twice before deciding to join the Navy in 1942. With his interest and ability in recording technology, he quickly established himself as a prodigy in radio operations and returned from service to follow a career in broadcasting.
Sam, 1963: I can’t say I was never happier than in the Navy, because I’m always happiest right where I am, but my time on the ship with the boys (Sam’s shipmates, who became the Navy Blues) taught me the technical things I needed to know to go along with the personal, the psychological side.
The Navy, of course, is where Sam first met Franz Amwerth and began their long, complicated association. I wanted to introduce Dr. Amwerth to Sam's story, because some people know how important he was to Sam's success, and many do not, and either way the story needs to be told. However, they first were acquainted when Sam was in the Navy and his crew was called upon to help the doctor get one of his experiments out of Europe. Since I wasn't there, I called on one of Sam's shipmates to get his memories of that event. At first I thought he might be reluctant to talk about it.
I was wrong. Once Red North started talking, he wouldn't stop. I'll be returning to his stories in the future for more about Sam's days before we met, but for now I'll let him tell you about the Incident at Sea.
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It had been a dull few weeks previously. We had left Liverpool on July 24 and hadn't even laid eyes on our special passengers. It was strange how that used to happen. We'd be sent on special missions, picking up people and packages and never knowing what was going on, but this time we sure learned.
We had been at sea for two days at that time and it was just getting light. A group of us were gathered around Sam in the radio shack, like we often were. He was a genius with that stuff and he'd finagle around until he picked up music for all of us. Course he was always up to that anyway. He useta tell us about meeting Jordan Louis when he was working at Dekka in New York before he signed up. In fact, he had found a Louis show that morning. I don't remember if he was picking it up live from somewhere or if it had been recorded, but the man was on fire. I remember it was Louis because the rest of were having to listen to Beefy Guignon rant about how no self-respecting white man would ever buy his music. Beefy was like that. He'd dance at the canteen no matter who played, but he couldn't stand people thinking he would associate with or support the coloreds. Think I heard his granddaughter might have changed his mind.
That morning was quiet, like I said. But then we heard a commotion on deck. We were under attack. The Germans had a squadron coming at us and they hadn't even shown up on our screens. Well, it wasn't the first or last time we'd see something like that. Sam was a whiz with the radio, but it wasn't up to him to keep everything on the ship working and sometimes things just happened.
So we scrambled, but it was pretty clear we were in trouble. There were a dozen planes and we had no one near us. We were supposed to be running alone so it wouldn't be obvious we had anyone important on board. Turns out it didn't matter and we were lucky we had who we did.
I'm amazed to this day that we heard what we did. Even over the explosions, the shouts, the planes, we heard that thing bursting through the doctor's cabin walls and tearing into the planes. It was seven and a half feet tall, and looked like a naked orange man. No hair, made like a G.I Joe doll, but it looked at those planes and next thing you knew it took off from the ship like it was just gonna jump off the edge of the world. It leaped up and caught hold of one of the planes, tore off the canopy, pulled the pilot out, and tossed him onto the deck. The fall and impact killed him, and the thing went on to the next. It either figured out or decided to start flying, so after it couldn't leap from plane to plane anymore it started flying after them. In the end we shot down four from the ship and the thing--Amwerth called it 'Quantum'--tore apart the rest. He didn't let any escape, and if they radioed anything back about it I guess their superiors didn't believe it. It wasn't until Amwerth was stateside that we started to hear about his mechanical soldier, and by then the home front was so thick with powered heroes he almost got lost. After the war, though, that was a different story--but I guess Miss Black will be telling that.
You know, for all that chaos that day, we only lost one man, and I don't know if the Navy ever knew it. See, it was a fella named Razak. He was a Malaysian refugee who had been on his own and travelled all the way from his home to England. He had helped out with the Royal Navy for a while, then he met Sam while we were on leave in Liverpool picking up the doctor. I think they fell in together because they were both orphans--rootless, you know? Anyway, Sam worked a deal with Skipper so Razak came aboard and enlisted, but since he didn't have any papers, proof of citizenship, or anything I don't think he ever hit the scrolls officially. Well, during the battle he was too close to the edge and an explosion carried him over the side. By the time we could look for him he was long gone. I felt sorry for the little guy. He'd been through so much I guess I thought he deserved to do more before he went out that way.
So this Quantum creature—I guess you’d call it an android now, but we just called him a robot (although I think Mike called him a golem)—he cut through those Jerry aircraft like the Black Flare or the Swing Sisters, or like the Hipster, the Swing Kids, or Midnight Cannonball were tearing up the Bundists back home. What we had yet to learn, though, was how his energy blasts would affect us all.
He really only let loose with those quanta-blasts once on the deck. After that, Amwerth told him to get in the air to do his fighting. I guess he hadn’t done any field tests and didn’t know how the overspill would react. I know this is supposed to be about Sam, but the only thing to tell about him here is how he was about the only one on the deck that day (besides poor Razak) who wasn’t affected. Eight of us were, though, and since the last of us has pretty much retired from the life we led after that day, I got clearance from the boys to tell our story.
The closer we were to Quantum that day, the stronger, the longer-lasting and the more diverse the abilities were we gained. I was second farthest, and I still have a level of strength a man a quarter my age would be happy with. In 1946, I could lift a tank and use it as a baseball bat. Now any physicist would tell you picking up a tank by its cannon shouldn’t work, so it seems maybe our abilities included some kind of telekinesis or...something. No one has ever fully explained how our quantum powers work, and we’ve had over 60 years to research them. But I’ll let Angel get into that. The point is, I got strong and tough—you still can’t cut me with any regular blade—and called myself Centurion. Vic de Vries became Steelsmith. He could generate and control these organic steel fingers. He could make cages, poles, even arms really. He, Mike Dudek, Greg Reiersen were all about the same distance away. Mike became Lodestone, able to control magnetism—and later, we found out, electronics, which came in damn handy from about the mid-50s on. Even after he retired, he worked for the military. They never found a way to exactly duplicate his powers, but he was invaluable to hundreds of missions. Greg called himself the Golden Ghost; we gave him hell for that, but none of us could come up with anything better either. He could manipulate gravity, as it affected him or anyone or anything else. He was the best flier among us.
Oh yeah. We could all fly. We were all stronger, tougher, and faster than we were before, more than most any other human—excepting some of those guys I mentioned above, and the other heroes of the age. Maybe Angel will have me back to talk about some of my old pals and some of the bastards we fought. (Sorry, Angel. That’s the Navy in me coming out again.)
So, Greg, me, Mike, Vic. Chet Whitshaw, the southern boy. God, he was a good fella. He picked up energy blasts. Could flatten a battalion all by himself. I know cause I saw him do it. Called himself Howitzer. He was also the fastest of us, which we always laughed about. A good ole boy like that, normally you could see the dead flies dropping off him, and now he was so fast, he’d disappear faster than a case of beer at Beefy’s house.
Ah, Beefy. Y’know, no one liked Beefy. He was a big guy with a small mind, fighting a war for his country while he bitched about having to ‘protect’ a bunch of Frogs, Russkies, Polacks, Stripes, Kikes, you name it, Beefy hated em. Now, remember, that’s his words, not mine; I’m just tryin to show you how hard it was to work with him, even before the powers. But after that, we knew we were stuck with him. If we tried to lock a guy like that out, it would mean we’d have to fight him, and with his powers, probably kill him. I’m not saying we never did that—it was a war—but it would have been tough. His powers? Beefy became Blackball; he could generate these black spheres of energy and use them to construct anything he thought of. Admittedly, that was his weakness—Beefy never could think of a hell of a lot—but he made an impressive opponent, and a time or two when we did have to fight him it was a challenge (yeah, we fought him—mind control. It was the fifties.) Another note about Beefy and his prejudices—I don’t know if he couldn’t figure out his teammates’ backgrounds or if he was one of these guys who hates a whole group of people but can’t deny an individual’s worth when he gets to know him, but he never seemed to catch on that Pete and Mike were Polish (Pete’s folks didn’t even speak English), Vic was Dutch, and I’m Irish-Italian. The best joke is that my wife Linda did some research on Beefy’s family tree after she joined us as Lady Blue, our coordinator, and found out his ancestors were Huguenots.
Pete Novak got a big dose from Quantum, too. He became the Caul, and I always wondered how hard that was on him—he was catatonic during that first fight, and we didn’t have time to deal with it right then. As it turned out, we probably couldn’t have anyway. His abilities were mental; his mind was instantly opened up with telepathy, telekinesis, precognition, postcognition—all that stuff the CIA has fooled with for years just switched on in his head. The way he described it he could reach out to any mind anywhere, human, alien, animal, anything. The overload shut him down for days and he went through the motions of life without communicating. When he ‘came back’ and tried to explain, he quit almost instantly because he could drop the thoughts directly into our heads. He may have been the most powerful of us, and he was certainly the best of us for having to deal with that.
That leaves Eli Feder, Sequoia. He was the toughest of us, even though he was the farthest from Quantum. He turned indestructible, and is able to impart some of that durability to others. We never knew if it was limited in any way, so we never asked him to ‘share’ with us, although Chet and Vic both took injuries during our adventures that led him to do so on his own.
And that’s how the Navy Blues were born. Now in the sixty years since, some of us retired and our kids and grandkids have taken over, since it turned out our abilities could be inherited. They have faded with each generation, but the Blues remain a pretty tough crew—tough enough we all figured it was okay to tell our story.
Finding himself in northern Mexico, he made a fortune selling Amwerth’s products over the radio and discovering the powerful new music coming from New York, Chicago, and Memphis. He began as an engineer assistant in 1945, but swiftly showed his enthusiasm and ability as a DJ, making his first million and setting the course for the rest of his life.
Sam, 1980: That music—Anthony Chess, Johnee O. Koehler, Red Eddie, Jet Nourre, Will Roberts—I could see there was something happening, something new and special coming that would change things. I didn’t realize how much, or what other changes were coming, naturally, but if you really knew people and saw the difference this was making culturally, you had to know things would be different.
When the people at Bop Archival Development City Office asked me to contribute to the website, I didn't know what they expected. I thought everyone was familiar with Sam's story and couldn't see myself adding to it. Then they explained that no one else shared the story with Sam the way I had and they really wanted my insights and point of view on the beginnings of Bop.
I suppose I should start at the beginning, when I met Sam. It was 1945 in Acuña; Sam was working at radio station XION and I was traveling with my uncle selling baby chicks from his farm. He and Sam made a deal and they both became rich from those chicks. It wasn't the last time Sam got rich either, but I'll get to that.
It was May 19, warm and steamy. My uncle had a nice car, but no air conditioning then, and colored folk weren't often welcome to stop for cool air...or anything else. When we entered the radio station, it looked like a madman's cell. Sam would announce the records and do the sales pitches, work the phone and make deals, answer the door and settle in guests...he worked ten-hour shifts every day on the air and another three or four hours on the phones. He was heard all over the States and Mexico, clear to Canada and almost to Europe. And he was wearing himself out. Seeing this, and knowing how successful Sam was, my uncle made Sam a deal. He had Sam hire me for a cut of the chicken money; as long as the chicks sold, my salary was paid. I would stay as Sam's assistant: answering phones, setting up interviews, eventually even running the board for him at times.
I suppose that was when people first started to think of Sam and me as a couple, but we weren't. In fact, we never were, much to the surprise of most people. Two people don't usually work closely together for almost 40 years without something developing, but Sam was different. He was totally devoted to the music, and would do whatever it took to see it survive and prosper. Everything else--the cartoons, the movies, even the Park and city--was ancillary for him, as long as it served the music.
That day was special for a lot of reasons, actually. I joined Sam, but he really wasn't alone. Dr. Amwerth was with him, like he had been since that day on the ship. But another old friend--a Navy friend--also joined Sam that day. Not as close to him physically as I was, because he was on his way to California, but Burk Wise was as close to Sam in business as anyone would ever be. Burk was a military cartoonist, creating instructional booklets and humor strips for Stars and Stripes. He knew what he wanted to do with his life already, and the lasting friendship he forged with Sam would prove beneficial to both men. He had been developing animated cartoons even while he was in the service, like Ted Siegel or Sparky Brown. Now that he was out he was on his way to Hollywood to sign contracts. He and Sam had been close and he wanted to offer Sam a role in the new business. Sam knew very little then about that kind of entertainment, but he had helped Burk get on his feet and both men knew they wanted to maintain a business relationship. Sam gave Burk $5000 to help cover his expenses getting across the country and setting up in California, and they signed an agreement giving Sam a half-interest in the new business. As much as Sam believed in his friend, he never expected the Wacky Boys to become the most successful animation and, later, film production house in the world.
Sam, 1967: Burk was always amazing. The ideas he would throw off in a half-hour would have kept a production house in business for a year. I wonder what the Wacky Boys’ output might have been if I could have kept him to just rolling out the ideas for others to develop, but Burk loved the pen and never wanted to stop drawing personally. And I can’t blame him, because no one else could do what he could with ink.
As a veteran Sam felt his duty to country strongly; his military service represents a large part of the training he received to achieve his technical accomplishments. He also felt the friends and connections he made in the military were the most important in his life, crucial for his later and ongoing successes. I never met anyone who loved his country more, or had a better grasp on how that country was composed and how to reach its people. In my opinion, that was Sam’s greatest skill: knowing, loving, and reaching America.
After the war, Sam and the doctor traveled the country a good bit scouting locations for the Park. Much as he had before enlisting, Sam sought out live music wherever he went. Now he was intent on building a resort area celebrating the music he loved, as well as capitalizing on the success the Wacky Boys were having in Hollywood. In 1953 Amwerth convinced him to check the Memphis area, which Sam did indeed relish. He was still undecided; he liked Chicago but was afraid the climate would never work out. He also visited Burk Wise in Hollywood in 1953 but was unsatisfied with land availability. He returned to Crittenden County, Arkansas, which had become his home base, and made his pitch to the town council of Rockville: he would be given carte blanche to tear down the town and construct, as he saw fit, the world’s first and only rock and roll theme park that is a city. In return, he guaranteed the residents of the county a higher standard of living for one generation—20 years of prosperity. If the residents chose to leave town, so be it. If they stayed, they lived and worked at Sam’s will—where and how he directed, with the promise of more money and better living conditions.
As promised, I want to bring you Sam’s own words whenever possible. Although it wasn’t the first time he touched the world’s stage, Sam’s appearance before the Rockville town council did mark a turning point in his career. It was the first instance of an increasingly familiar phenomenon, the successful media figure taking a serious role in politics. The derision Sam would soon face was merciless as his Park and his plan had to be successful to be taken seriously and the slightest misstep was judged catastrophic. For these reasons Sam tolerated no errors; his planning was complete and his execution flawless. The following is both a transcript and description of the recording Sam made of his proposal to Rockville. He insisted it be captured on film so there would be no misquotes, exaggerations, or elaborations later. Of course there were, but he squelched them quickly and the Park progressed all the better for it.
The Rockville Town Council meeting of November 18, 1953, began like any other, a little late, with the six members of the council and the mayor settling restlessly into their seats and talking about how soon it would be over so they could get home. They didn’t realize Sam had staff in the room already recording audio; he didn’t want to miss a thing. The regular business wrapped in a hurry—funds allocated to replace a bent road sign, committee meetings extended—then turned to the one new and curious item: the proposal from an out-of-state holding company to bring new commerce to their small town. The name of the company, Pandora Productions, was deliberately provocative and completely bogus. The address and phone number were mine, and I had a neighbor answer the only three times it rang. If Sam and a small handful of other strangers hadn’t been in town hall before the meeting started, I think they would have just redlined it altogether and headed home to Arthur Godfrey.
That wasn’t how it went.
Mayor Morris: Finally this evening, we have a representative from Pandora Productions with a business proposal for Rockville. Are you here, Mr. ...Nugetre?
Sam: Actually, Mr. Mayor, it’s Bop. Sam Bop.
(Naturally, this revelation met with a certain uproar from the council. There were only two other citizens at the meeting, one who had come about the sign and one who was waiting to be released for a DUI.)
Order, order! Well, welcome to Rockville, Mr. Bop! I’m sure we’re all eager to hear anything you have to say.
Thank you, Mr. Mayor. I hope the entire town will be as cordial toward my proposition.
(Sam ruffles some papers, clears his throat, and generally pretends he needs to prepare the pitch he’s had in mind for years.)
As I’m sure the council is aware, the nature of our country has changed since the war. Entertainment is becoming a higher priority for the American family. Automobiles are becoming a necessity for families, often two or more to a household. Those autos take the family to the drive-in, the theatre, visiting near and far. I propose to help Rockville seize an opportunity to bring those families here for fun with an entertainment destination unlike any previously seen.
(Here Sam unveils the first of several paintings of Bop City, with sweeping coasters and towering resort buildings looking like Monte Carlo. The council is stunned, then a couple members can barely contain their laughter. I still wonder if they thought Sam was delusional, or if one or both could see that if Sam thought it was a good idea, then Rockville had hit the jackpot.)
Gentlemen, this is Bop City, the world’s first Theme Park That is a City. It will employ every current citizen of Rockville, and several thousand more I anticipate attracting. It is fully self-sufficient, producing all the food, power, and other resources necessary to make a city thrive. Additionally, it will attract a half-million visitors in its first year of operation, with no practical upper limit.
Don Warren, Council member: Mr. Bop, forgive me interrupting here, but...what are you talking about? This is a small town! There aren’t two million people in the entire state! How do you arrive at those numbers, why would they come here, what would they do...what would we do with them?
(Mumbling among the council)
Mr. Warren, all your questions are quite valid, and believe me I’ve considered them thoroughly. If you’ll look over the brief I’ve prepared for each of you, you’ll see the numbers are not only accurate, but conservative. I offer Rockville a chance to be the vanguard of a new type of community, a new type of resort, for a new nation, and I offer this with no risk to the town. With the council’s blessing and the town’s cooperation, Rockville will be reborn as the prosperous community in which everyone longs to live.
Hezekieh Dinwiddy, Council member: Mr. Bop, what makes you think the good citizens of Rockville aren’t already living where they ‘long’ to?
Well put, Mr. Dinwiddy. Let me respond by sharing with you some numbers you may find interesting. Since 1945, the population of Rockville has dropped by 12%. That is measurable, but wouldn’t be alarming in a much larger town. As it is, it represents the loss of five graduating classes for Rockville. Interestingly, that is not far from the actual loss; Rockville is hemorrhaging its young people, and new people are not moving in. Between the loss of young natives, death, and lack of immigrants, this town will be abandoned in a generation. There will always be farmers, yes, but industrialization has passed Rockville by, and its youth are going elsewhere for better-paying jobs. I am offering those jobs: better pay, here at home, providing a stake in keeping Rockville alive.
But it wouldn’t be Rockville, would it, Mr. Bop? It would be Bop City. Your city.
True enough, Mr. Warren. Since I would be assuming the entire risk and responsibility for keeping the community alive, I would also like to position it with a name I believe would encourage its success.
Tavon Shields, Council member: I see your modesty has not been overestimated, Mr. Bop. In return for your generosity, what would be expected of the good people of Rockville--or Bop City?
Nothing and everything, Mr. Shields. I would assume full fiscal responsibility for the town for the generation I mentioned earlier; for twenty years I will guarantee every Bop citizen a higher standard of living than he or she would otherwise have experienced in Rockville. In return, I will be the decision-maker on the direction and future of the Park.
The Park? You mean the town? The city?
All of the above, Mr. Mayor. The town will become a city, and the City is the Park.
And you would be the emperor, huh?
Nothing so lofty, Mr. Dinwiddy. I believe you would find I have a reputation as a quite amenable employer and would hope only to broaden that reputation with this, the greatest undertaking my companies have ever considered.
Stackhouse Porter, Council member: And what if you fail, Mr. Bop? Where does that leave Rockville?
First, without becoming contentious, Mr. Porter, I would direct you to my business record. I have never experienced anything like failure. That said, again, I guarantee the future of every citizen with my personal assets. No one will suffer through this offer. If, after that twenty years, the Park is not seen to be a success, I shall happily withdraw and Rockville can resume its current path.
I think we all can see that a project such as you envision would be irreversible, Mr. Bop, but it is incumbent upon us as stewards of the town to review your proposal and share it with the citizens. Thank you for your time this evening. We will let you know something as soon as possible.
I’m sure of that, Mr. Mayor. Thank you, gentlemen.
_____________________________________
The abrupt way the mayor ended the meeting always puzzled me. I don’t know if he thought the other councilmen were going to become increasingly disrespectful to Sam or if he thought he needed to talk to them away from Sam before he lost every bit of his power.
The most strenuous objections came from two bodies: the farmers and the Morrises. The farmers saw the proposal as the forced extinction of their way of life. Sam’s initial plan—to build the city over the farmland and install light-diffusing lenses throughout the park—was shot down; the farmers refused to be ‘moles’ for Sam, and seemed ready to block the Park at any cost. Ultimately, Sam paid to relocate the intractable parties in toto outside the county. He agreed to move the houses, barns, even the soil itself to a depth that insured the families were in fact plowing their ancestral earth. Once finished, however, they enjoyed no promise of security like the townsfolk who remained. Some succeeded and some failed, the farmer’s life for centuries.
The Morrises, meanwhile, had been Rockville’s most prominent family for years. Morton Morris was elected mayor in 1942. His son Marvin practiced law in town. Both opposed Sam’s offer, knowing it represented at least a significant blow to the family’s power. Although the town was split on the decision, Sam prevailed at his mission in 1955 and construction began in 1956. Sam continued to travel the world gathering inspiration for the park.
Sam, 1975: Well, I never thought the music would go away, so it wasn’t that I wanted to institutionalize it or build a museum for a dead artform. I just wanted a kind of monument for the artists, the styles, the songs and records and movies and dances that defined the music to have a home. Not a tombstone, but a shrine.
Burk's first short, Manic Melody, was released in the fall of 1945 and was an immediate smash. It featured Hillbilly Cat, a seemingly slow-witted gray cat who reliably got the better of any situation (sort of like Burk himself, now that I think of it.) In Melody, 'Billy was hired to sweep up a theatre. The piano player arrived for work drunk and 'Billy changed clothes with him, stuffed him in a closet, and played his shift. The audience loved him and demanded the owner keep him. The owner was outraged and threw 'Billy out. It turned out the piano player was the owner's nephew and the owner's wife pummeled him with an umbrella for 1) letting her nephew get drunk and 2) letting him be locked in a closet. The owner had to retain his nephew-in-law, while 'Billy took a job playing piano across the street at his competitor's theatre. The audience, of course, abandoned the first theatre en masse and the short closed on 'Billy pounding the piano with a giddy smile while money rained around him.
It was a new kind of madcap cartoon, and more importantly featured the kind of music Sam had championed in the service when Burk met him: a raucous, rhythm-driven dance beat with a playful melody on top. Anthony Chess would have recognized it instantly, and in fact the Wacky Boys would produce promotional films for him and many other rock and roll pioneers in the next decade.
Even before the Park opened, Sam had encounters with parties opposed to his vision. Of course the Morris family was desperate to retain its power and schemed against Sam for years. (They seldom presented a direct, provable attack.) More direct but much less diligent were the organized crime bosses who began threatening Sam long before the groundbreaking. Here is a transcript of one of their later meetings.
Bop City, Sam's office, 1957
Sam meets with concerned businessmen
Sam: Come in and be seated, gentlemen. I hope your flight in was pleasant.
Joey Gargan: We didn't come here for pleasure. Don't build your toy city.
Well, I can't say you're overly subtle. I suppose we won't mince words then. We will build Bop City. Ground was broken over two years ago, Bop City Centre is nearly complete and we'll be hosting events there next year. We have previews of the Park scheduled now and we will have a hot opening in two years. Even if we could have been persuaded not to build, that day has passed.
Mickie Mannheim: It ain't too late to stop.
Mr. Mannheim, it was too late years ago. We will open, we will succeed. If this is the extent of your interests, I believe we are done.
Gargan: Slow down, Bop. You'll stop if we tell you to stop. You were warned to watch your business procedures before you ever started. You been building wrong and we can stop you now or stop you later.
Actually, Mr. Gargan, you can't stop us at all. We were well aware of Rockville's supposed building codes, despite no new construction we've seen from the last fifteen years approaching compliance. None of that matters now, of course. In line with the arrangement between Bop Original Properties and the state of Arkansas we are the building code authority for the Park. You people cannot intimidate us, extort from us, dictate to us, or otherwise impose your criminal practices on the citizens of Rockville or other interested parties. Again, I believe we are finished here.
Mannheim: You're finished, Bop! You're making powerful enemies, here!
Mr. Mannheim, have you ever asked yourself, "Why do we never hear of Sam Bop's enemies? He must have them. Who are they? Where are they?" Excellent questions. Perhaps you won't have to learn the answers. Good day, gentlemen.
<Sam stops recorder, leaves room, and the lights drop to brown>
Sam had other, mostly earlier meetings with these and other legitimate businessmen, but this short exchange was both the most intense and, as it would turn out in our opening year, quite pivotal.
In 1959, as part of Bop City's opening festivities, several of the most popular package tours were booked. Among them was a tour featuring Davey Viera, P.J. Richards, and Slim Laidlaw. The Winter Shimmy Showdown had played Cleveland, Indianapolis, Peoria, and St. Louis, and was on its way to Bop City when the plane the headliners were traveling in had engine trouble and crashed in a field in southern Missouri. Initial reports told of no survivors, and it looked like Bop would suffer under the onus of rock music's first tragedy. But as the world would learn, that was not to be the case, as this event was the catalyst for the creation of REWIND.
Despite Sam’s wealth, a concert series was inaugurated at Bop City Central in 1958 to defray costs and attract attention, and the park opened the following year. Initially opening with seven themes—Rockville, Billyville, Checkerville, Haley Heights, Kings Corners, Berry Fields and Vieux Carré—by 1961 Bop City had become the home of the Top Ten after adding Miller Swamp, Love Island, and Dolce Voce. (The Top Ten tag remained, even when Wheel City debuted the very next year, with the new theme unofficially replacing Love Island when L’Esprit de Noel established his realm away from the island.)
Sam, 1969: We expected to grow and keep growing. I made sure we had enough land to begin with, and then when we got the PINC it changed everything.
I've asked our old friend Chet Kicsson to offer his thoughts on what drove Sam to build the Park. Chet is uniquely positioned to offer this essay because he is currently writing Sam's biography, due from Jolene Press this fall.
Welcome back. Chet again. If you’ve been around the site you’ve probably read my old piece on Bop. If you haven’t, it follows this essay. Not like that makes me any authority on Bop…the city or the man. I guess they asked me to write this because they felt like I’d dealt square with them before and they wanted an outside voice for a change. I’m no saint, and Bop’s no charity, but I refused to be paid for this. Rob and Angel said they wanted an essay, and I told them if they paid me it made it a commercial. Besides, if I didn’t get paid, I could make them run exactly what I wrote. So, you’ve probably visited at least once if you’re back this far. Maybe it’s only your first trip to Bop. First time on the Comet or the Flying V, the Volcano or the Awe Chute. First Fight Seentm between Wallop and the Living Beat, or first dinner at Camelot. Did you meet Doo Wop Duck, or the Witch Doctor, or the Iconoclast? You must have seen a Jesse—they’re everywhere. Cuban Jesse, movie Jesse—hell, maybe you met Real Jesse.
It’s something, whether it’s your first trip here or your five-hundredth. I’ve been writing about music and musicians for 35 years, because I love it. I wrote my first, terrible review in middle school, about the best album I could ever imagine hearing: Hi Voltage’s ’74 Escape. It’s not a bad album, you know. I won’t say my tastes have matured, or evolved, or even changed—I’ve bought that album 6 times, one way or another. But as I grew older and realized there was more to music than three chords, a beat, and aggression, I also realized somebody out there likes almost everything. I can’t stand Corazon; I leave the room when it starts if I can’t turn it off. But I’ve interviewed those sisters three times, and I’ll tell you: some people love them more than air. And the band themselves are utterly devoted, sublime musicians, love a lot of the same things I do. Just went a direction I’m not into, but I’d never say that they aren’t great at what they do.
Sam at the 1978 debut of Caliland.
Bop City is like that, too. Everyone doesn’t like every part of it. I think that’s why Mr. Bop put so much into it while following his vision of what it could and should be. Some people have no use for theme parks, but you could live all your life here and ignore that aspect. Sam was never cynical or manipulative; he didn’t add anything to sate people who didn’t dig what he was laying down. Everything he did was for the glory and love of music he felt. The Wacky Boys studios and the Ranch were practical moves on his part and had a natural role here. He didn’t add Texasland and Caliland as any kind of sop; he saw the importance these regions and styles were having. Arrandem was a godsend for him. If he had been able to start Bop City the way he did Arrandem, I don’t know—can’t imagine—how the world might have been changed.
And how did Sam change the world (because he did, no question)? It’s easy enough to see that the Park changed things; no theme park had existed like it before, celebrating a single artform and welcoming everyone. That inclusiveness will stand as Bop’s greatest legacy—proving the viability and appeal of music its detractors denied. Without Sam and the Park keeping rock and roll in people’s minds it could have been the end by 1961, the music fading to an anomalous blip as MOR singers and easy-listening bands made life safe again. Would the folk explosion have happened? The British Invasion? The soul conversion? Possibly, but by creating a home for the music Sam declared its legitimacy and guaranteed its survival.
I don’t think any artform has ever had a cheerleader like Sam. And why? Why does popular music need a salesman? It’s there in the name—popular. People already like it.
Sam's last publicity shot, for the 1982 release of The Odyssey
I think Sam was afraid. With record-burnings, riots, airplay bans, cancelled concerts and blacklisted bands, and the disastrous year for music the year the Park opened—I think Sam believed it could all be wiped away. People like Sam and Adam Friehs would be squeezed into obscurity and the Hit Parade would trample the joyous noise Sam loved.After people learned about Amwerth’s Cassandra device, it made me rethink that, made me wonder if Sam was unwilling to put his faith in that technology or if something else drove him to pursue this living monument to music. You’d think a man with a machine that foretold the future would have some worries off his mind. But if anything Sam’s actions and plans seemed to defy what Amwerth told him. Of course, given the Big Change, that’s for the best, but surely Sam realized rock and roll was out of danger by then, and if anything he worked harder than ever.
So, why? What did Sam fear so that drove him to build a city on rock and roll, to prove rock and roll was here to stay? I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so devoted to music who did not play, sing, produce, write… his years as a DJ were as close to performing as Sam ever got. And honestly, for all his success in animation and film, he was not an artist or technician in those fields either.
What makes a man so devoted, obsessed with music? I’ve talked to the people who knew him best and longest, thinking I could assemble the puzzle. Angel Black, Burk Wise, Dr. Amwerth, Laura Kaempfe, Jesse Aron, Sam Soul, dozens of Sam’s confidants and acquaintances, hundreds, even thousands of people who passed through his life, thinking no piece would be too small to offer some insight. I audited and watched months of recordings Sam made looking for clues. Even my old ‘chauffeur,’ Billy Blue, offered his experiences with the man, and you know how hard it can be to get a word with Billy—or to distill the truth from it when you do.
So this was supposed to be an objective look at Sam, a bar-napkin analysis of what turned a California orphan into the most important figure in the preservation of American music in the 20th—and now the 21st—century. All I know is, if the Blues had a baby and the named it Rock and Roll, they must have left him in an orphanage in 1927. And we’re all forever lucky they did.
On the Park’s tenth anniversary, Arrandem opened and it was literally a new era for American entertainment. With access to an unlimited palette of space and no physical limitations, Sam and his Innoventors went to work designing the ultimate thrill/theme park.
Sam, 1976: I never liked segregating music. The truly fine musicians don’t pigeonhole themselves, so why should we? The divisions and breakdowns you see in Bop are not intended as anything more than helpful guidelines to let the guest find what he’s looking for, not to encourage him to visit the punk or British or rockabilly area at the expense of some other. So even though some people said I was keeping ‘their’ music separated, the truth is I always welcomed anyone and anything, any music people want to hear. Rock and roll was always like that—an inclusive music. ‘If it’s too loud, you’re too old’ is about as exclusionary as it gets. More appropriate is, ‘If your brother won’t rock, then your sister will.’ It’s there to have fun, to make you dance, sing, shake, writhe, rock your baby and roll your eyes, get up and get down, get on the good foot, get down on it, get rhythm, get ready, get real, real gone. Great Googly-Moogly and Great Balls of Fire, it’s what we all need and anyone can have. It is the blaze of life, and I’m glad to have played a part in keeping the flame lit.
Even after all the time I spent with Sam, I am sometimes amazed at the events in his life he recorded. Business dealings, press conferences, even informal gatherings were subject to being preserved in light and sound by Sam. But he also recorded personal moments that most people would never think of capturing, especially when others were involved.
I’ve mentioned before that people have thought Sam and I must have been involved romantically, and although the simple truth is that that was never the case, Sam was not without an interested party or two. The most celebrated—or notorious—was surely Laura Kaempfe, the self-professed “ultimate groupie,” who had been associated with the most famous acts of the folk and psychedelic era and had even parlayed her connections into a short but stellar recording career of her own. After tiring of hanging around the bands, she had moved on to the world of Bop, and had set her sights on the very top. Sam was usually immune to the lures of celebrity, having lived around the music industry nearly all his life and seen that fame and respectability are not synonymous. Still, Laura was beautiful, and her time in the business had brought out certain traits with which Sam was less familiar. He didn’t exactly fall for Laura so much as he found in her a spirit who loved the music nearly as much as he did, but in different ways, bringing an appreciation for the music he had never seen before.
To call what they had a romance is probably overstating it, although it was a whirlwind. For a time, Sam and Laura were inseparable (or, as Dr. Amwerth sometimes said, insufferable), seen everywhere in the Park and throughout the world. At the height of the disco/new wave era, SamandLaura were the Hot Couple, seen from Rodeo Drive to the Champs Elysees, Monte Carlo, Singapore, Cozumel, Miami, Sydney, Rio…their antics brought a new level of media attention to Bop City, which had never hurt for publicity. Some say it was Laura’s influence that produced the innovations in Bop during the period: Bad Girls, Caliland, and the Dance Romance resort. Certainly after Amwerth’s death in early 1976 his hand was no longer present in the Park’s development.
The level of Laura’s influence is more debatable because of Sam’s uncharacteristically low recording rate during the period. It may have been that he was distracted, less focused or concerned with recording than was his custom. Whatever the reason, we have a dearth of biographical material from the Laura Years compared to any other time in Sam’s life. The fact that we have the following is certainly an indication than Sam was returning to his normal state, or at least that he knew there was a change in the air.
August 14, 1981, 11:47 pm
Sam’s Apartment, Bop City
(Sam and Laura had just returned from seeing the Mannish Boys on their Can’t Look Away tour)
Sam: But what I don’t understand is, just this week you were talking about us going to Montmartre next month.
Laura: I know, Sam. That’s why I knew I had to tell you now, as soon as possible.
But what changed? What made you decide we’re not going to be together?
I…haven’t exactly decided that yet.
“Exactly”? “Yet”? What does that mean? That you’re going to decide it, that you don’t want to say it, what?
Don’t, please. Don’t make this harder.
I’m not making it anything at all. I didn’t even know it existed until now.
It’s not like I’ve been keeping it a secret
What, then? It only just materialized, or I was too blind to see it?
Sam, please! I…just didn’t realize I felt this way, and I think I need to follow my feelings. Especially since you’re always going to be involved with the Park…
I’m not involved with the Park.
What!? Sam, you are this Park! Without you, it wouldn’t even exist!
Well, that’s true, I built it, but it will certainly be here when I’m not. I can leave any time-
Even if you think you can convince yourself of that, don’t waste your time trying to convince me. You won’t ever leave your life here.
So is that the problem? My—life here?
No, Sam, it’s not a problem with you. No problem with you. It’s just my decision.
Ah. It’s not me, it’s you. That helps.
Don’t be that way.
I’m not any way. I’m not in your plans anymore, and I didn’t know it until just now, so I’m struggling a little to catch up.
I know, and I’m sorry-
No. Don’t say you’re sorry. It’s your life, your decisions. Just—go ahead. Do what you have to do to be happy, to have what you want. I’ll just stay here with my life.
Sam—
(silence, until Laura’s footsteps recede and the door opens and closes. The tape was never stopped, but ran off the reel)
This wasn’t Sam’s last personal recording, but it may have been his most personal. From August 1981, and of course he died less than a year and a half later, on Laura’s birthday. Even if it wasn’t a broken heart, he was never the same man.
A man like Sam is sure to attract his share of enemies over a lifetime. Whether through action or inaction, chance or design, anyone as successful as Sam has been will amass a string of business rivals, broken hearts, intellectual opponents, and failed friendships to match the successes. Sam is of course no exception, but his nemeses tend to be more visible, more public. The best-known of these is surely Ginger Wind.
Whatever her real name, if she ever was given one, it is lost to time. Ginger was born and raised in a north African brothel where she entered the workforce at the age of eight. She was traded and shipped throughout a system of such houses for years before she caught the eye of a warlord who seized her as his own. He added her to his harem, where she began to build the plan her life would follow. Over the next four years she rallied her colleagues and enticed the men in the chieftain’s circle to overthrow him. She had promised many of the men she would help him usurp the warlord; when the day came, she and the harem slew all the men and she became the warchief. With the late chieftain’s fortune she founded a community northwest of Dubai and began building a hedonist paradise. She has kept this rogue nation alive by providing pleasures found nowhere else on earth.
Despite almost untold wealth and a palette of entertainment Sam would never touch, Ginger Wind still envied Sam the technology and success he enjoyed. She saw the two of them as both siblings and ideally-matched lovers, a personal and professional partnership that would be unstoppable. Their interactions were never pleasant, and went from barely polite to unbearable in their short tenure. To give some idea, here is an excerpt from their first meeting in 1982:
Sam: Miss Wind, welcome to Bop City.
Wind: Please call me Lazula. I don’t believe in formality between the sexes.
Sam: I see. Well...Lazula, I understood your name was Ginger Wind.
Wind: I have no name. What I choose to call myself is my business, and Lazula serves my purpose. In my language, it means ‘enchanting one.’
Sam: What language would that be, Lazula?
Wind: I told you. My language.
Sam: Ah. So, what brings you to our Park?
Wind: You’re aware of the Pleasuredome, my park in Caigeastan.
Sam: Certainly. I wish you the best. Any such additional facilities raise the bar for all of us.
Wind: Well, I want to raise the bar with you, certainly. We are very similar, you and I. Orphans made to survive on our own at an early age, overcoming the trials and tragedies of an uncaring world, thriving and prospering in fields that might have rejected us. I believe we have much to offer each other, and would like to see us working closely together.
Sam: I’m not in the market for a partner, Miss Wind.
Wind: I told you, it’s Lazula, and I have much more than a partnership in mind.
Sam: As that may be...Miss Wind, the future of Bop City has always been under my exclusive control and that is a situation I have no desire to change. I appreciate your interest in our conjoined fortunes, but—
Wind: Obstinate man! Are you too blind to see what I am offering? Not just the opportunity to marry our fortunes for our mutual benefit, but privileges you have apparently never shared, privileges men around the world have killed and died to taste.
Sam: I believe we’re done here, Miss Wind. <to intercom> Angel, will you show Miss Wind out?
Wind: I know the way out. I know many ways.
________________________________________
The Pleasuredome would open in Caigeastan in 1984. Sam never saw it, and Ginger never spoke directly to Sam again. Sam knew there was nothing in her plans that interested him, and any plans she pursued involving Sam did not include his cooperation. While the Pleasuredome was and is a success, Ginger Wind has never given up trying to incorporate, or, failing that, subvert Bop City. Sam’s greatest enemy, and he never understood why.
I don’t want to give a skewed portrait of Laura Kaempfe here. She and Sam were certainly inseparable for a number of years (1977 to 1981) and the Park could hardly have done any better during that era. It was a severe economic climate, but Bop has always been particularly resistant to recession; conventional wisdom holds that Sam’s early diversification has protected the Park throughout its history.
The Park has never operated at a loss, but some periods have been rougher than others, requiring Sam to rely more heavily on Wacky Boys media, merchandising, and other investments. It also encouraged Sam to travel the world, and associating with Laura made that all the more attractive. Bad Girls was almost exclusively Laura’s brainchild, while Caliland was Sam’s gift to her, and the addition of Global Garden was a direct result of their travels. Much was made of Sam touring the world when he was so closely connected to American culture, but he argued convincingly that American culture is world culture and proved it with the debut of the theme. Some critics also thought it worth mentioning that Sam had chosen a companion half his age, but the usual responses were tossed about: Sam said she kept him young and Laura insisted she could barely keep up.
This was true; Sam spent the last years of his life at a run, opening new themes, developing new attractions, exploring the possibilities of Arrandem, quanta technology, animation and filmmaking, and as always recording his life. Laura stimulated Sam’s mind in ways he had never experienced and Sam brought the world to Laura in ways even her previous beaux couldn’t imagine.
Laura’s flings with Teddy De Kuyper or Scion or Jay Tyner were just that: flings, good for tabloid pics but with no spiritual reward for either party. Sam, though, spent months in Europe with her, toured Egypt, Morocco, New Zealand, cruised from Hawaii to Japan, and as much as Laura gained from it, Sam returned with an even greater feel for the extent of American influence on culture throughout the world. The initial feeling that put the Stardust Ziggurat in Littlepool gave way to the need for a theme that addressed world music. Global Garden exploded with New Jouka, Sudamera, and Reggaelia, and at that much of the world would see respect only when Arrandem provided the room for expansion, as Europe, Asia, and Australia were celebrated through connections from Global Garden and Littlepool. For example, when the Dijeridoods and, later, 2Xtreme hit American charts in the mid-80s, Australia demanded recognition and received it in space freed in Global Garden by moving some attractions to Winsorville in Arrandem. When the Outback opened in 1984 to honor Australia it was an immediate smash, as every new opening in the Park has always been. Laura’s influence was just as Sam had said; her younger perspective had kept him in touch with culture in ways that he might otherwise have lost.
We’ve lost Sam now, of course, but in a twist of irony Dr. Amwerth’s technology has allowed us to have part of him back in the form of Telegram Sam. In a move away from traditional quantaparts, Telegram Sam has no quanta powers. Naturally, no one can truly replace Sam, but having his quanta in the Park inspires all of us anew. T.S., as he has asked to be called, has reopened Sam’s offices throughout Bop City and plans to circulate within the Park, becoming a very visible ambassador while catching up on the changes and additions of the last decades.
Working with material gathered from throughout Sam's illustrious life, the quanta program is proud to introduce Telegram Sam, taking his place here in the Town That Rock and Roll Built to answer your questions about Bop's life and help preserve and celebrate the music that was Sam's life.
Sam outside the Lenono resort, 1965
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