Clark: This old Glen Campbell album is more than just a gentle reminder of Mom
Or maybe this is one of those weird, wild coincidences that defy Vegas odds or mathematical calculation.
It is the season for spooks and spirits and sounds unexplained in the night, after all.
So it seems fitting to recall the moment of hair-prickling gooseflesh that came shortly after I picked up an old Glen Campbell album on a recent afternoon inside my friend Scott Cooper’s garage.
“Gentle On My Mind,” the album cover read.
I may never be the same.
Cooper runs South Hill Hauling. He’s also a man of varied interests, like playing standup bass, fixing and reselling used motor scooters and collecting vintage vinyl.
Boy, does he collect. The last time I asked, Cooper estimated his record collection at somewhere north of 120,000, but I’m not convinced even he knows for sure.
So there we were in the garage behind his home on Spokane’s South Hill.
Cooper was doing some minor work on the Honda Ruckus scooter he sold me. Being president of Men Who Can’t Build, I was doing my best to stay out of his way.
That’s when I spied a stack of records that Cooper had culled from 13,700 albums he bought from the estate of another collector who had passed away.
I grabbed one and erupted in joy.
“Gentle On My Mind! I had this one when I was a kid,” I told him. “I learned to play every song on it.”
To prove it, I started crooning.
“Nothing’s quite as pretty, as Mary in the morninnnggg…,” segueing into, “Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wiiiiinnnd.”
And finishing with the namesake showstopper: “It’s knowing that your door is always open and your path is free to walk.”
Cooper went back to tinkering while I slid the record out of the sleeve.
And stopped. And gasped …
I’ve stayed overnight three times in houses that were supposedly poltergeist possessed. I’ve sat in séances, had my aura read (burnt umber, I think it was) and I’ve interviewed a score of alleged psychics.
Not once have I witnessed anything that I would store in a file marked “supernatural.” Until I saw my mother’s name written on the record album’s Side 1 center ring, that is.
“Carol Clark,” it read in handwriting that I must admit is eerily familiar.
“Cooper!” I yelled. “You’re not gonna believe this.”
Several questions came to mind:
Is this the same copy of the album I bought in 1967 and played to death on my KLH stereo player?
Is this really the signature of my mom who died last year at age 92?
If I’ve wandered into a “Twilight Zone” episode, will I get residuals?
“It’s absolutely her signature,” proclaimed Dave, my older brother, after I snapped a photograph on my iPhone and beamed it his way.
I’ve always been a diehard skeptic. Even now I keep looking for a logical explanation.
There are plenty of other Carol Clarks in the universe, I’ve told myself. Maybe it’s one of those.
Back when the album came out, 16-year-old Doug was hardly the only music lover to buy “Gentle On My Mind.” The album won two Grammys and stayed on the charts more than 75 weeks, after all.
And yet …
“It’s her,” repeated Dave. “If I had seen it on a piece of paper I would have recognized it. No question.”
My brother worked out the following scenario:
At some point, he reasoned, our mother loaned the album to a friend.
She wrote her name on it to get it back, but never did.
She and the friend forgot about it. Time moved on and the album wound up in a Goodwill store, as proved by the 99-cent price tag on the back.
The record was bought by the collector who owned it until death moved it again, this time to Cooper’s garage and my own nimble fingers.
“Maybe, but what does it all mean?” I asked Dave, who pastors a church in Richland.
“My world view is based on Christian theology,” he told me. “I’m not saying what it means, just that there’s more at work than meets the eye.”
Perhaps. The galaxy is a big and unfathomable place. I’d sure hate to vacuum it, anyway. But if my dear departed mother was trying to contact me from the Other Side, why can’t she just text me next week’s Powerball numbers?
A few weeks ago, my brother came to Spokane. During his visit we discussed the subject again. I told him I had waited for his presence so I could conduct the ultimate test.
Out of storage I hauled out a large plastic chest containing all those beloved records from my youth. Someday I will buy another turntable and enjoy them again.
But this time, with Dave looking on, I opened the lid and slowly flipped through the 100-plus albums one by one.
Jerry Reed. Simon & Garfunkel. The Beatles. Hank Williams. Clark Terry…
Glen Campbell was represented with “Galveston.” “Gentle On My Mind,” however, was MIA.
“I told you it wouldn’t be there,” Dave said. “That’s because SCOTT COOPER HAS IT!”
Not anymore. I retrieved the album from him on Monday and looked at it again.
Supernatural? Coincidence?
Don’t ask me.
Maybe it’s enough just knowing that, like the record, my mother will forever be “Gentle On My Mind.”
Doug Clark can be reached at (509) 459-5432 or dougc@spokesman.com.