Is My Bow Too Big? How I Went From Saturday Night Live to the Tea Party (25 page)

Well, my song doesn’t sound very “Christian,” especially next to a hymn, but I meant it to be satirical. One day in 1983, Jim McCawley, the talent scout, told me that Johnny Carson wanted me back on
The Tonight Show
for my 3
^rd
appearance, but I had to have something “really big.” I had already used up my A material and my B material on the other two appearances, so I squeezed my brain. Punk rock was the new thing and it was anti-establishment, and loud and coarse. I mused that it was the opposite of the discipline of my gymnastic training and the godliness of my Bible training. What if I sang a punk rock song while doing my old balance beam routine, thus mixing the two genres, sports and music, and mixing the two attitudes, rebellion and discipline. I had never seen anyone sing while doing a gymnastic routine; a new art form was born. It was an idea similar to my Dad doing a gymnastic trick on his car instead of on gymnastic equipment. It was also similar to him talking about Jesus in the gym, instead of only in church. Psycho-therapists would say I do not “compartmentalize.” My faith overlaps my gymnastics which overlaps my music—the lines are blurred; it’s all a big blur. My husband says I love chaos.

I tried to think of something I was angry about, because punk rock sounded angry. I quickly remembered that my Furman University gym coach, Nancy, had withheld the important information that I had qualified for Small College Nationals in Nebraska. So I never went. I didn’t know I’d made it. So I’d made it, but I’d missed it. My dad found this out from an old coach buddy, Gaza, who told him that my name had been read at the competition roll call, but I wasn’t there. Nancy was fired. Here was my opportunity to get revenge, in a nice way, and to perform my beam routine nationally, at last.

I hadn’t practiced my balance beam routine for five years. I was 23 now and gymnasts peak at age 14. So, I found a gym in Pasadena and asked the coach if I could “work out” and get my tricks back. He said no. He was afraid I’d get injured and sue him. So I told McCawley, and he promptly paid the coach a visit, assured him that NBC would cover any expenses, falsely promised the coach that his team would appear on the show, and I signed a paper. Then, I worked out every day for three months. I got back most of my old tricks, the one arm back walkover, etc., and McCawley had a 13 foot, 4 inch wide wooden regulation beam delivered to the
Tonight Show
stage. I was terrified. Although
The Tonight Show
is “taped,” they never do a re-do. There is no “take two.” They treat it like a live show. I did not want to fall off the beam, because I thought it would be funnier if I actually did not fall. More impressive too. I let A.F.K.A.S. play my song, instead of “Ross” the show’s excellent pianist, just to give him the thrill. I had a small sip of Bailey’s in the dressing room, and prayed, and, with volumes of adrenaline coursing through my veins, I pulled it off, “almost” falling only once! I knew my Dad would be proud to see those hours of repetitious workouts in our sweaty backyard gym paying off. It wasn’t the Olympics… it was better! I jumped up on that old piece of wood, did some of the turns and tricks we’d stolen from Olga Korbut and Cathy Rigby, and sang,

I tried to be a centerfold in Playboy

They told me I was too flat,

I tried to be a solid gold dancer

They told me I was too fat

I tried to be a secretary

But I thought I was smarter than the boss

I tried to be a Baptist missionary

But I got hung up on the cross.

I need a little love.

I am an angry woman

I got a streak in my hair

Life is such a delicate balance

Don’t lean too far right or left or people will stare

I don’t need therapy or self esteem

I don’t need counseling or Carvel ice cream

What do you think I need?

We all need a little more lo-o-o-ove!

Then, I did a big, straddle jump off the beam, landed in the Olympian victory pose and bowed. Thunderous applause. I ran over to the highly coveted, grand fromage, star-making, Holy Grail of couches, sat down and Johnny Carson said, “That’s very dangerous, what you do. I don’t mean the gymnastics, I mean the singing.” Huge laughter.

On April 15, 2010, the Tea Party Express bus dropped me off at Freedom Square in Washington, D.C., where I sang my Commie song for an understanding throng and CSPAN. Chris Cassone lunged out of the crowd with his wonderful smile. He was scheduled to sing his song,
Take Our Country Back
, at the sunset Tea Party event in front of the Washington Monument. I really wished I’d been invited to that one. He asked me to be his “backup singer.”

“But I don’t know the words,” I say.

“Just repeat after me,” he says smiling.

“Okay.”

He gets me backstage and this is a really big event. I’ve never seen anything like it. Knowingly, Chris has gotten me into a situation where I’m literally rubbing elbows with the Freedom-Works people. After a while, they realize I’m semi-famous and ask me to do four or five minutes. I say, “Why yes, okay, and I just happen to have my ukulele with me!”

Because of Chris, I get to sing my song in front of the massive crowd who shouts along with me, “There’s a Communist Living in the White House.” I tilt my head toward the White House behind me. The Washington Monument is in front of me. My heart swells with this newfound pride for my country, the land of the free and the brave, where you can peacefully disagree with the government and not be jailed or executed.

I call my mother afterward and she says, “Oh no, Vicki, I don’t want you to be killed.” That’s exactly why I have to do it! When did it become dangerous to sing a song against the government? I’m an American. I was born with freedom of speech.

As the sun sets, I hug strangers—fellow Tea Partiers who proudly wear this label as a symbol of love for our country. We have just rediscovered our blessed America, like a man who finally notices the magnificent roses growing in his backyard. Many of us have taken our freedoms for granted because we were born with them. We are not the greatest country in the world by accident. We have not given the lives of our young men and women all across the world in vain. There is a reason we are the first responders to any country in need. We used to fear God and obey him. We had God’s love in our hearts and His power at our side.

There’s a Communist Living in the White House

It seems these days I’m in a haze

and I can’t concentrate on things,

Can’t eat or sleep, feel incomplete,

and kinda scared and creepy.

I look over my shoulder lots

and shudder when I watch TV,

I bite my nails and cuticles

and watch my words very carefully.

I bite my lip a lot and fidget

with the buttons on my blouse.

Why?

There’s a Communist Living in the White House!

Why aren’t people shocked or something?

Why aren’t’ people up in arms?

Does anyone read history or see red flags

Or hear alarms?

The streets are filled with deaf and dumb

As I squeak like a mouse,

“There’s a Communist Living in the White House!”

My husband really misses me.

My parents think I’ve gone crazy.

Only Glenn Beck understands me,

And of course, Sean Hannity, and Huckabee,

But you know, beside those three

And the sweet people who drink the Tea,

(and Levin, Ingraham, Monica, Rush, Hewitt,

Savage, Gallagher, Zig)

There is no one else who can see

The Communist Living in the White House.

You may ask, “Do you have any facts to support this supposition?”
¹

I’m jittery, my teeth I grate,

I twitch, I shake, I ruminate.

Lately, I’m perplexed and pinched,

In pain, I pout and ponder (good alliteration)

Maybe I have lost my mind

Or have been drugged by some narcotic.

Maybe I’m in a movie called 1984

Or maybe I’m just idiotic.

If I’m in a dream, fast asleep,

I think I will just try to keep

My eyes shut ’til this goes away

And I awake to a happier day,

When my ukulele does not play

This song of dire distress and dismay,

This song called,

There’s a Communist Living in the White House!

There’s a Communist Living in the White House!

There’s a Communist Living in the White House!

P.S. My daughter Scarlet recovered and delivered a very healthy baby girl appropriately name Ever Grace.

_______________

¹
Why yes, I do. See
Appendix I
: Evidence Obama is a Communist.