Free Traveling Soul by Todd Mayfield

drinks … Vee-Jay had the luxury of having everybody promoting Vee-Jay. Vee-Jay set the standard. Vee-Jay kept you in the know. We all took some pride in the fact that it was
the
black record company, and to even be indirectly affiliated with them gave us all welcomed credibility.
    Muszynski scheduled an audition for the Impressions with Vee-Jay’s A&R man, Calvin Carter, on April 5. With better intentions than taste, she selected several songs that were “an inch away from being country,”according to Jerry, and had the Impressions learn them. “We thought they were ridiculous, but we went along because we didn’t want to hurt her feelings,” Jerry said. “We … tried to make them as soulful as possible.”
    In one version of the audition story, when the Impressions arrived that snowy day, they knocked on the door at Chess Records first. They made eye contact with a security guard sitting inside but he didn’t let them in, so they crossed the street and went to Vee-Jay. While romantic, this version doesn’t square with the other facts known about that day. First, Eddie recalled unsuccessfully offering “For Your Precious Love” to Chess Records before meeting Muszynski, which makes a return to Chess unlikely. Second, Muszynski scheduled an audition at Vee-Jay, which makes a spur-of-the-moment drop-in at Chess equally unlikely.
    Regardless, when the Impressions reached Vee-Jay’s offices on Forty-Seventh Street and South Parkway they met label president Ewart Abner, a thin, dapper Negro with kind eyes and an immaculately trimmed moustache. He sat with his ever-present Great Dane slobbering by his side. Abner was a slick man, a charmer, and one of the most powerful men in the business. Trembling, the Impressions climbed the stairs to the rehearsal room and played a few of Muszynski’s numbers for Carter, who sat unimpressed. “Do you have any original material?” he asked. They played a few originals, which Carter liked better, but still not enough to sign the Impressions.
    The audition had just about reached its end, and it looked like another failure. My father put down his guitar and everyone stood in awkward, nervous silence. Carter said, “Gee, I really want to record you guys, but I don’t really hear that hit song.” Then, an idea struck him. “Sing something you’re ashamed to sing. Sing something you don’t usually feel like singing in public.”
    They only knew one other song, so Dad picked up his guitar, plucked a few chords, and Jerry let out a velvety blast, “Your precious love means more to me …” The group fell in behind him in perfect harmony, and by the time the song ended, Carter’s eyes beamed with the electricity of a man who suddenly
believed
. He shouted, “That’s it! That’s it! That’s theone! Abner, get me some contracts. Vi, you, Eddie, and Abner better talk.”
    My father stood in stunned silence trying to play off the bottle rockets of emotions shooting through him. Then, as if his mind wasn’t blown enough, Pookie Hudson and the Spaniels—one of his favorite doo-wop groups—walked into the room. “Hey, y’all, sing that ‘Precious Love’ song again,” Carter said to the Impressions. “I want them to hear it.”
    Just then, paranoia set in. Dad and the group had heard horror stories of crooked producers hiding tape recorders in their desks, stealing songs from unknown youngsters desperate for a break. “Here comes the rip off,” Jerry thought. “He likes our song and he wants [the Spaniels] to record it. That’s why they called them and told them to come over right away. This ain’t no accident. I’ll bet that bastard’s got a tape recorder in his desk.”
    They nervously played the song again. As soon as they finished, the Spaniels started slapping hands and telling stories about what the