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Sterling said that all good women come from Escondido. Kathy, his second wife, was the daughter of the jewelry store owner in the El Camino Real Mall. I was his third wife and had grown up in Valley Center and Escondido. While riding the school bus to and from Orange Glen High School, I heard the radio play "You're the First, the Last, My Everything," about ten times a day. I never dreamed that song would one day be significant personally; or that I'd ever meet the guy who wrote it, let alone marry him.
My boyfriend's mother worked as the credit manager at Arnold's jewelry store. She often told us stories about Arnold's son-in-law. "He's really big in the music business," she said. "He's the road manager for Barry White and wrote the song, "You're the First, the Last, My Everything."
I remember strolling through the mall and wondering how someone ever met a guy like that. Four years later, I was working at Avis-Rent-A-Car when a dashing older man walked by and asked for directions to the gift shop. He then walked by again and again before stopping to talk to me. When I told him I was studying music at Palomar College, he whipped out a business card and said, "Why don't come up to Hollywood to audition for me?"
Wasn't this every girl's dream? As I stared at the card, I got a little dizzy.
I'd been singing in a club in San Luis, Mexico and belly dancing at Haji Baba's in Mission Valley on weekends. Every entertainer dreams about getting "the big break" but I never really thought I'd get one.
The following week, I was a wreck as I drove north to Tinsel Town. I was really too nervous to go there, but I didn't want to have any regrets in my old age. I'll admit I didn't do much singing that day--just a lot of fooling around. Later, I cut a demo album with none other than Mohammed Ali. He was getting out of boxing and decided to try something different, although he didn't sing. He had a speaking part at the end of the song.
For my twenty-first birthday, Sterling and I went to Vegas. I saw the marquee out in front of Caesar's Palace with Tom Jones' name on it. I went wild. When we finally got up to our room, Sterling picked up the phone and said, "Yeah Gordon (Tom's manager), This is Sterling Radcliffe. I've got a girl here who is really crazy for Tom. Can you do something about getting us into the show tonight?"
I didn't believe Sterling when he said I was going to the show as Tom's personal guest, until we bypassed the ticket window and the long line of women. An usher lifted the velvet rope for us and escorted us to front row seats, center stage. We were then each given a silver carafe with our own bottles of champagne.
By the time the show started, I was so drunk I hardly knew who was on stage, but I do remember vividly that Tom dropped to one knee and sang a few bars of "Pussycat, Pussycat" to me. When the show was over, Sterling thought I was too wasted to get back stage, but I said I'd make it if I had to crawl.
Tom came out of the dressing room grinning as if he loved getting the attention; and, I loved giving it to him. If I'd had my way, I would have given so much more...
A few months later, Sterling flew to Hawaii to make an album with George Benson. He sublet the apartment and I temporarily went home to San Diego. A few days before my birthday, I picked up a package that said "Do not open 'til November 14." Never having been one to put off instant gratification, I opened the gift right at the table in the Post Office and gasped. Inside a velvet box sat a massive diamond ring.
The middle-aged lady standing next to me saw the ring and began hugging me. "Congratulations, honey." she said while I thought, "If she knew that the guy who gave me this ring was a year older than my dad, she probably wouldn't be so happy."
In 2007, my daughter and I were planning to attend a recording session in Hollywood. I hadn't spoken to Sterling in years, but suddenly he invited me to meet N'Kenge, Ray Parker Jr., and Ray-J. He never called with the exact date and time, and when I called his house to find out what happened, his son answered the phone. Wayne told me that his dad had died in his sleep, possibly the same day I had last talked to him.
I was in shock. We talked a bit about the "good old days" and I told him that his dad was fun. He was always up to something interesting like producing an album or designing his own jewelry, and he knew a lot of celebrities. While living with him, one of those celebrities called and said, "Hi sweetheart! This is Vic Tayback. Is Sterling home?"
After the session, I was going to Vegas where Sterling lived. He said we'd take in some shows and go to Hawaii. Now that my daughter was grown and out of the house, I could go whereever I wanted. But reliving the past wasn't meant to be. The medical examiner determined that Sterling died of a heart attack.
Rain poured down in sheets that day, as if the sky were crying right along with me. I played "The First, The Last..." for the first time in years and recalled the day I complained that Sterling hadn't written a song for me.
"Okay, let me think," he said. "You're not the first, but I hope you're the last and you certainly have got everything."
I still chuckle at that.
I was making a call to 411 to get a phone number when the operator heard the song in the background. "Isn't it a little early for Barry White?" he asked.
I told him the reason I was playing it. "That's amazing," he said.
It is amazing. People like Sterling don't come along everyday. And now there are no more memories to be made.
In memory of Peter Sterling Radcliffe, May 31, 1930-January 18, 2007
Sterling said that all good women come from Escondido. Kathy, his second wife, was the daughter of the jewelry store owner in the El Camino Real Mall. I was his third wife and had grown up in Valley Center and Escondido. While riding the school bus to and from Orange Glen High School, I heard the radio play "You're the First, the Last, My Everything," about ten times a day. I never dreamed that song would one day be significant personally; or that I'd ever meet the guy who wrote it, let alone marry him.
My boyfriend's mother worked as the credit manager at Arnold's jewelry store. She often told us stories about Arnold's son-in-law. "He's really big in the music business," she said. "He's the road manager for Barry White and wrote the song, "You're the First, the Last, My Everything."
I remember strolling through the mall and wondering how someone ever met a guy like that. Four years later, I was working at Avis-Rent-A-Car when a dashing older man walked by and asked for directions to the gift shop. He then walked by again and again before stopping to talk to me. When I told him I was studying music at Palomar College, he whipped out a business card and said, "Why don't come up to Hollywood to audition for me?"
Wasn't this every girl's dream? As I stared at the card, I got a little dizzy.
I'd been singing in a club in San Luis, Mexico and belly dancing at Haji Baba's in Mission Valley on weekends. Every entertainer dreams about getting "the big break" but I never really thought I'd get one.
The following week, I was a wreck as I drove north to Tinsel Town. I was really too nervous to go there, but I didn't want to have any regrets in my old age. I'll admit I didn't do much singing that day--just a lot of fooling around. Later, I cut a demo album with none other than Mohammed Ali. He was getting out of boxing and decided to try something different, although he didn't sing. He had a speaking part at the end of the song.
For my twenty-first birthday, Sterling and I went to Vegas. I saw the marquee out in front of Caesar's Palace with Tom Jones' name on it. I went wild. When we finally got up to our room, Sterling picked up the phone and said, "Yeah Gordon (Tom's manager), This is Sterling Radcliffe. I've got a girl here who is really crazy for Tom. Can you do something about getting us into the show tonight?"
I didn't believe Sterling when he said I was going to the show as Tom's personal guest, until we bypassed the ticket window and the long line of women. An usher lifted the velvet rope for us and escorted us to front row seats, center stage. We were then each given a silver carafe with our own bottles of champagne.
By the time the show started, I was so drunk I hardly knew who was on stage, but I do remember vividly that Tom dropped to one knee and sang a few bars of "Pussycat, Pussycat" to me. When the show was over, Sterling thought I was too wasted to get back stage, but I said I'd make it if I had to crawl.
Tom came out of the dressing room grinning as if he loved getting the attention; and, I loved giving it to him. If I'd had my way, I would have given so much more...
A few months later, Sterling flew to Hawaii to make an album with George Benson. He sublet the apartment and I temporarily went home to San Diego. A few days before my birthday, I picked up a package that said "Do not open 'til November 14." Never having been one to put off instant gratification, I opened the gift right at the table in the Post Office and gasped. Inside a velvet box sat a massive diamond ring.
The middle-aged lady standing next to me saw the ring and began hugging me. "Congratulations, honey." she said while I thought, "If she knew that the guy who gave me this ring was a year older than my dad, she probably wouldn't be so happy."
In 2007, my daughter and I were planning to attend a recording session in Hollywood. I hadn't spoken to Sterling in years, but suddenly he invited me to meet N'Kenge, Ray Parker Jr., and Ray-J. He never called with the exact date and time, and when I called his house to find out what happened, his son answered the phone. Wayne told me that his dad had died in his sleep, possibly the same day I had last talked to him.
I was in shock. We talked a bit about the "good old days" and I told him that his dad was fun. He was always up to something interesting like producing an album or designing his own jewelry, and he knew a lot of celebrities. While living with him, one of those celebrities called and said, "Hi sweetheart! This is Vic Tayback. Is Sterling home?"
After the session, I was going to Vegas where Sterling lived. He said we'd take in some shows and go to Hawaii. Now that my daughter was grown and out of the house, I could go whereever I wanted. But reliving the past wasn't meant to be. The medical examiner determined that Sterling died of a heart attack.
Rain poured down in sheets that day, as if the sky were crying right along with me. I played "The First, The Last..." for the first time in years and recalled the day I complained that Sterling hadn't written a song for me.
"Okay, let me think," he said. "You're not the first, but I hope you're the last and you certainly have got everything."
I still chuckle at that.
I was making a call to 411 to get a phone number when the operator heard the song in the background. "Isn't it a little early for Barry White?" he asked.
I told him the reason I was playing it. "That's amazing," he said.
It is amazing. People like Sterling don't come along everyday. And now there are no more memories to be made.
In memory of Peter Sterling Radcliffe, May 31, 1930-January 18, 2007