A boy named Shel

Thu, 27 May 1999 16:00:00 +0000

It was break time, and I hadn't even put the guitar down when Shel Silverstein came up to the edge of the stage, took it out of my hand and said, "Rik, I've got a song for you." He headed for the rear of the bar, sat me down at the only empty table, gave me a conspiratorial grin and began:

Ev'ry morning I want you to wake up early,

cook me a great big T-bone steak

Serve it to me in bed, go out on the street and hustle,

Bring me back all money you make

Rub my body with sweet-scented oil

Cool me with a[n] electric fan

And then run to the church, get down on your knees

Say, "Lord, I wanna thank you for that man."

And I call that Truuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuue Love ...
There were three more verses, each more outrageous and less politically correct than the last, and when he'd finished, I was on the floor. "I can't sing that," I said. "I'll get killed!"
"Uh-uh," he said pointing over at Frazier, our model-handsome bartender. "If he sang it, he'd get killed. You look like a math teacher. You sing it and people are gonna laugh." His comedic instincts were infallible. I've been milking that tune for 30 years.
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A boy named Shel