"Tell Laura I Love Her"

“Tell Laura I love her; tell Laura I need her; tell Laura not to cry-my love for her will never die.”

If you are of an age, then you were unable to say those words-you had to sing them. The year was 1960 and the transistor radio was the hottest commodity to hit the streets since the television made its appearance. With smart-phones being operated by four-year-olds these days, it’s hard to conceive what the attraction of a little, tinny-sounding box was, one that was most often held directly against the ear.

For those of us born in the fifties, the transistor radio represented freedom, both from the soothing sounds of KPOL, easy-listening &%#$, and the confines of the kitchen. Whatever KPOL played, it was Mama’s station and not ours. 

My earliest memory of transistor radios is my brother Brian’s two-transistor job, the envy of all of us in the household. “All of us” included six boys and one girl, my sister Jean, with number eight kid arriving that same year in March. Only one more to go for our baseball team, we all thought. Jean goes by JT now and has for as long as I can remember, but every once in a while I think of her as Jean, and it makes me feel warm and fuzzy.

It was accepted that it would be enterprising Brian who first brought portable music-and baseball-into our lives. I cherish the memories of the four older of us boys lying out under the stars, listening to Vin Scully broadcast the Dodger games. Never in the history of the universe, did we ever imagine such a scenario, and what was involved, other than a transistor radio?

“Cut on and belted into deep right field! Back goes Clemente, back to the wall! He leaps-it’s gone! Frank Howard has just done it again!”

As sweet as tuning into baseball was, there were endless hours during the day to fill, so we turned to AM pop music. We listened to KHJ (top 40 hits-Boss Radio, the Real Don Steele), KRLA (Casey Kasem) and KFWB (Wink Martingale). Later I would switch over to FM, and KMET became the only stop on the dial besides KFI, the Dodgers’ flagship station.

Noel, Eric, Brian, and the author of Mark's Work

Still in the infancy of my worship of music, I was smitten with Ray Peterson's song, “Tell Laura I love Her,” a syrupy ballad of teen-aged Tommy, who entered a stock car race in order to win prize money for a wedding ring. The ring was to be for Laura. During the race Tommy’s car overturns and bursts into flames, and with his dying breath, he implores Laura not to cry, for his love for her will never die.

Though it was probably played five or six times a day on KRLA, it didn’t matter-every time it came on it rocked my world. Mind you, I had no interest in driving stock cars, fast cars or any cars at age eight. The song just grabbed my soul and held it in a death-grip.

Whether they did it as a joke or as a genuine offering, my three older brothers awoke me one night, not long after I had gone to sleep, to enjoy yet another rendition of Tell Laura. In reflecting back on the incident, I can’t tell you what reaction they expected from me. What I do remember was that I was stoked. My favorite song! 

In case you think that’s all there is to the story, folks, nothing more than a goofy journey back to an era where being awakened from a dead sleep to listen to a smarmy song, produced what might be an unexpected reaction, you would be wrong.

I mentioned the number eight kid in our family arrived in march of 1960. That wold be Laura, my second of two sisters. Coincidence that her name is Laura? Could be yes, could be no-could be just maybe so. 

In any case, Laura, song or no song, I love you.

My sister, Laura, a minute or two ago