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Qualified to satisfy you | page 1, 2
White paints a benign self-portrait of a believer in peace, love and astrology. But like a romantic dinner disrupted by an unforeseen fart, some of White's tales unexpectedly break the spell. They show a man whose fierce pride is occasionally backed by his street instincts. "Fed up and angry, I pulled my .357 Magnum out of the big leather coat I was wearing and without saying a word laid it in front of me on the table," White says of one meeting with startled record company executives. The negotiations concluded to Barry's satisfaction. "I prefer to deal in truth, not deception," he insists. "Trust, not trickery." Thus spake Barry White: Speak truthfully, and carry a .357 Magnum. As a black man coming of age in the '60s, some of White's best stories show a side of that decade white folks never knew. His first tour saw him playing drums for Jackie Lee, who was then riding an R&B hit called "The Duck." It took him to the legendary Apollo Theatre in New York, where he met legends like Smokey Robinson backstage. After that auspicious beginning, the tour literally and figuratively went South. White and Jackie Lee were thrown in jail in Hattiesburg, Miss., for talking back to rednecks; woke up in a Louisiana motel to see the Klan packing up the caravan for a little trip; and faced down a group of white boys in a parking lot after a show (while headline act Slim Harpo hid his white girlfriend in the trunk of a car). The capper: White stopped at a pay phone in Mobile, Ala., to call his wife back in L.A. "Baby, get me area code 213," he told the operator. "Just a minute, sir, the lines are tied up," she replied. Moments later the phone booth was surrounded by police cars. "You called our operator 'baby,'" drawled one cop. "Where you from, boy?" "California." "See, that there's the reason you don't know. Our niggers, they know how to talk on the phone. We get another call in this state that you called some operator 'baby,' you goin' to jail. Hear that, boy?" White showed them. He's spent most of the last 30 years cooing "Baby, baby, baby" to women all across that state and every other state besides. Along the way he's learned not only of the awesome power of love, but also of the awesome power of "The Simpsons." His appearance on the snake-whacking episode won him fans who weren't even alive when he was rumbling his way through the boudoir stereo systems of the '70s. White's devotees include Muhammad Ali and the Sultan of Brunei, who has arranged private Barry White concerts (Elton John concerts too, among others) for groups of about 20. And one day White came face to face with a man whose private yacht is stocked only with the music of Barry White. "Mr. White, I'm one of your biggest admirers," the fan enthused. "I can't tell you how much I love your music. I listen to it all the time!" In what may be the least surprising revelation in the book, the yacht owner is identified as Sen. Ted Kennedy.
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