Bernie Ebbers and The Tempations

Written by Roger Wright

Bernie Ebbers andrepparttar Temptations.

If you don’t give a heck aboutrepparttar 118069 man withrepparttar 118070 Bible in his hand. . . . --Mack Rice

No. Not those temptations.

I mean The Temptations. And I am not talking about whoever is touring underrepparttar 118071 name today. I am talking about Melvin Franklin, Otis Williams, Paul Williams, Eddie Kendrick and David Ruffin. The real Temptations.

Having all, except for Otis Williams, moved on . . . .

I wonder if Bernie Ebbers, frowning and dour, white beard and cheap, stained raincoat, pushing his way pastrepparttar 118072 TV cameras onrepparttar 118073 Manhattan sidewalk; I wonder if Bernie maybe just for a split second heard a street radio, that great bass line holding uprepparttar 118074 introduction so well thatrepparttar 118075 tune immediately gets ingrained in your soul so deeply that you don’t even know how it got there; I wonder if Bernie heardrepparttar 118076 same song I did when I learned he’d been convicted and pronounced guilty on all counts; I wonder if Bernie heard:

“I got sunshine, on a cloudy day!”

And as we walked throughrepparttar 118077 throng, his lawyers clearing a path, I wonder if Bernie looked up intorepparttar 118078 narrow band of New York City Sky; and saw all five original smiling Temptations on a floating Motown stage that hovered just in front and above Bernie Ebbers head, an unseen orchestra playing asrepparttar 118079 Temptations came alive aboverepparttar 118080 packed and vibrating New York City street. Bernie watched them dance:

And when it’s cold outside. I gotrepparttar 118081 month of May. I guess you say What can make me feel this way?

As Bernie looked up, not really sure what he was seeing or why he was seeing it, he thought: “Nothing can surprise me now. I didn’t now it would all turn out this way. But nothing, nothing can surprise me now.

And who exactly are these five black men, all smiling, dressed in fine white silk suits?”

Bernie didn’t really even hearrepparttar 118082 shouts ofrepparttar 118083 reporters and they all bounced into some unseen and unknown compartment in his brain. A compartment he kept locked. Forgetting long ago where he had hidrepparttar 118084 golden key. But he could hearrepparttar 118085 Temptations sing and he marveled atrepparttar 118086 unity in their dancing moves.

I got so much honey The bees envy me I got a sweeter song Thenrepparttar 118087 birds inrepparttar 118088 trees I guess you say What can make me feel this way. . . .

He watchedrepparttar 118089 dancing spin like flowing silk. He was entranced that there was such unity. It was as ifrepparttar 118090 dance andrepparttar 118091 tune andrepparttar 118092 words were allrepparttar 118093 same. Coursing like blood through some sort of larger life force, some sort of life force inrepparttar 118094 way those five men smiled and moved on that floating stage that hovered just above Bernie’s line of sight. He heard and watched them sing:

My girl, My girl, My girl Talking bout my girl!

And as we was jarred into a back seat of a big black car,repparttar 118095 5 men who sang and danced with a unity of some sort of spirit Bernie had just never known before,repparttar 118096 5 men vanished---Bernie closed his eyes and heard onlyrepparttar 118097 sound ofrepparttar 118098 bass—the lines “My girl” fading and thenrepparttar 118099 bass rising again to a newer, even more powerful line.

The newer bass line rose into a groove that was even deeper, not loud---but deep. it was as if this single bass line packedrepparttar 118100 power of a locomotive, a brutal black metal, coal fueled fire box locomotive just likerepparttar 118101 one that ran between Winona Mississippi where Roebuck Staples was born in 1915; and Clinton Mississippi where inrepparttar 118102 late 1990’s most everyone worked for Bernie; a locomotive bass line, that just shookrepparttar 118103 earth---not from its noise---but from its simple power. And thenrepparttar 118104 voice of old Pops Staples asking Bernie:

Abe Lincoln, Bob Dylan and John Bolton

Written by Roger Wright

Connecting Abe Lincoln and John Bolton Thru Bob Dylan

He gives power torepparttar faint and strengthensrepparttar 118068 powerless. Isaiah 40:29

Abraham Lincoln had a sinus headache.

September in Washington DC. The day brought news ofrepparttar 118069 battle at Manassas and it looked like there was no stopping Lee. Lincoln's head was throbbing. Maybe writing out his thoughts would help. Dipping quill into ink and unrolling a piece of parchment to write, he stretched out is long legs and fluttered his arms in small circles to begin--looking like some tall, gawky Art Carney procrastinating in a way sure to make Jackie Gleason start hollering.

But he couldn’t write. His head just hurt too much.

So he went to put on a record album. (This was before CD’s were invented.) Maybe that would help him relax. Easerepparttar 118070 throbbing pain.

Thumbing throughrepparttar 118071 albums filed in a wooden crate—made from rails he had split himself—he slipped out an early Bob Dylan. “With God on Our Side.” Plunking it on torepparttar 118072 White House turn table, he movedrepparttar 118073 arm on torepparttar 118074 vinyl,repparttar 118075 needle inrepparttar 118076 groove and then gave that bad boy a spin. Leaning back with his eyes closed behindrepparttar 118077 big White House desk that would someday be used by Warren Harding, Chester Arthur and George W Bush, Abraham Lincoln shut his eyes and soaked inrepparttar 118078 Dylan lyric:

Oh my name it is nothin' My age it means less The country I come from Is calledrepparttar 118079 Midwest It’s taught and brought up there The laws to abide And that land that I live in Has God on its side.

Lincoln smiled, his eyes still closed, as Dylan went on:

Ohrepparttar 118080 history books tell it They tell it so well The cavalries charged The Indians fell The cavalries charged The Indians died Ohrepparttar 118081 country was young With God on its side.

And asrepparttar 118082 Dylan permeated into every pore of that craggy, rugged frontier face, his big sad eyes opened, he picked uprepparttar 118083 pen and he began to write, trying to figure out what to do next. Lincoln wrote:

Cont'd on page 2 ==> © 2005
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