An Open Letter to Smokey Robinson

An Open Letter to Smokey Robinson

Dear Smokey:

“And maybe you’ll go away and never call/And a taste of honey is worse than none at all,” poured out of the battered transistor AM radio as two mascara teared fifteen year olds keep a constant vigil at the silent phone.

Whatever heartfelt teenage tragedy I was lamenting over, Somkey, you always made me feel worse; which at fifteen was better, because you can really get off on feeling sorry for yourself, syrupy love poems and True Confessions. In 1966 it was Smokey, me and unrequited love — what a threesome. In fact, I’ve grown up with you, Smokey. You were my Dear Abby, my Ann Landers, my prime confessor. You had more impact on the teenage dilemma than Clearasil.

But oh those cold Friday nights babysitting at the Walter’s, when David Timassey was at the High School Hop with Janis Ballentine and Smokey despaired: “The Love I Saw In You Was Just A Mirage.” How much harder can you hit the nail on the head?

Now those awkward anguishing days are long gone, packed away with V-neck sweaters, ID bracelets and the “in crowd,” but I’m feeling sorry for myself again. Not for the lost football jock .. . but because Smokey’s leaving.

Smokey! How could you orphan a generation of frustrated preteeners, stranded without anyone to share their misery, define it for them, transcend it? Who are they to turn to — the Jackson Five? (“Although she may be cute/She’s just a substitute/ ’Cause you’re the only one.”)

Smokey! How could you stride into the Pontchar-

train like some down-beat daddy-supreme, wearing dyed persian lamb with a complimenting robin’s eggblue skull cap and smiling, ever-so Mr. Show Biz. How long can I be comforted by Gblden Hits Volume Two?

Smokey! Have you betrayed us? You were my soulmate. It wasn’t your gentle woe-and-sorrow voice or that you were soooooo slick. It was just that Misery Loves Company.

Sure, we all know you have things to do. Albums to produce. Movie scripts to write. Talent to discover. Sure your family is growing, but I thought you were giving us a lifetime of devotion . ..

You’ve traded countless shoulders to cry on, Smokey, for Vice Presidency over the Town of Soul, with “Ooo Baby Baby” as the National Anthem. I can see it now ... the star comes off the door and William Robinson, Vice President is lettered in.

Well, we’re going to have to get used to it. But for now, we can deal with the past. Rewind the tape and let us see 1958. This is your life, William Robinson: when you wouldn’t let the Five Quills sock you out at those parties; being better than the other neighborhood minstrels; always knowing the Four Tops were the most feared group on the block; and finally making it, shaking it, and now breaking it.

Smokey, it’d be o.k. if you were only going to a go go. And anyway, That’s No Way To Say Goodbye.

for the CREEM Kidz