Hi, I’m Scottie.

I’m from Los Angeles and was born into a musical empire.  My mom was a secretary for a music publisher and worked for Verve Records.   My father got his start as a A&R man (Artist and Repertoire) for Imperial Records, and went on to become a well known and sought after music composer, arranger and conductor in the biz.   We lived in the Hollywood Hills, our home had a pool, and we always had neighborhood kids over to swim.  I have fond memories of my dad lifting me up and tossing me into the deep end, and then swimming back to him and doing it all over again! 

As picture perfect as we all seemed to any outsider, and our neighbors, real life was very different.  It is difficult for me to remember the exact specifics  of living in such a chaotic household, but I do remember always needing to “take the temperature of the room” before entering.  My younger brother and I would always experience our parents screaming at the top of their lungs at each other.  We had to “walk on eggshells.”  At least, I did.  Anything could set my mother off.  One day, my brother and I were just playing.  Kids make a little noise sometimes, right? My father came downstairs and said to us, “You know, your mom is like a bomb with a lit fuse.  You don’t know how long the fuse is.  Anything could set it off.”  Basically, he was saying, “if she had another one of her ‘episodes,’ you kids might just set it off.”  Looking back now, I’m positive that my mother struggled with bipolar disorder and I believe she was also borderline Schizophrenic.  She was very difficult to be around and scared me and my friends.

Finally, my father had reached his limit.  He said, “Barbara, that’s enough!” and then he walked out on all of us.

I blamed myself for him leaving.  My parents didn’t say, “Hey, we still love you two, we just don’t get along.”  In retrospect, I understand why he had to leave: 1) To preserve whatever sanity he had left, and 2) so he could continue his career and just focus on the music.  With my dad out of the house and my mom unpredictable, I always seemed to be getting in trouble, regardless of whether it was my fault or not.  I felt like the “scapegoat.”

When my father left, of course, my mother went ballistic: “Oh my god!  We’ll be homeless! We’ll be on the streets of Skid Row!!”  Nothing could be further from the truth, but my mother put this fear into us.  So, then I decided, “Hey, let’s help out Mom! Let’s make some pictures and sell them!” We were so naïve.  So, we had our crazy crayon pictures in hand, on typewriting paper (hardly, a masterpiece) and went to peddle our wares.  We walked all up and down the streets of our neighborhood, by ourselves.  (Mind you, I was only 5 and my brother was only 3 years old…)  We really were scared that our mother was so worried, and I really thought we could help her with these little sales of “art.”  We knocked on all of our neighbors’ doors and had no takers.  “Go away, kid!”  We were getting really discouraged.  My brother seemed he was ready to give up.  I said, “I see there is one more house up there in the cul-de-sac.  Let’s try that and if that doesn’t work, we’ll go home.”  The last house we went to, a nice gentleman, Charlie, opened the door and greeted us.  He was so kind.  He looked at all our pictures and said, “Wow, these are terrific!” (They weren’t.)  He gave us $5.00 for all of them!  Then he said, “Hey, I have a couple of daughters your age.  Would you like to meet them?” (That’s how I met my lifelong best besties, Vicki and Chrissy.) 

My dad left when I was 5 years old, but he always came to take care of us almost every weekend.  He always supported us and our household and he would take us out to fun places like Beverly Park (now, the Beverly Center!) where we would ride the ponies and I loved being on the Ferris Wheel with my dad. On many Sundays, he took me with him to Temple Israel of Hollywood to learn Jewish doctrine and traditions.  (My father was an orthodox Jew, then became progressive.)

By the time I turned seven, my dad was taking me to work at the music studio.  He gave me strict instructions: “Sit here! Don’t fidget!”  As I tried to sit quietly, I watched in amazement as the wonder of making great music came together.  My dad led the orchestra and, mid-measure, stopped everybody and made suggestions about how that section of the music should be played.  The music would start up again and he would repeat that, until it sounded the way he wanted it.  I was even more amazed when I saw two young women enter and start singing a song that they didn’t know.  I couldn’t wrap my mind around how they were able to do that.  Later, my dad explained to me that they were reading music and sight-singing.  It just seemed like magic to me! So, at 7 years old, I decided “that’s what I want to do!”  I became a professional session singer at the age of 7, despite my father’s wishes against me joining such a cutthroat profession.

Music was my dad’s world, but he knew the music industry and didn’t want his little girl working in it, because he knew how hard it would be for me.  Nevertheless, he let me start taking piano lessons so that I I could learn to read music, and later on, my parents enrolled me in the Dick Grove School of Music.  My first paying gig was singing with other kids for a Shasta beverage commercial, and with that, I was able to join the performers unions, SAG and AFTRA.  My second paying gig was singing on the Carpenter’s famous song, “Sing,” and I got to be one of those kids on that hit record! I was hooked and being a session singer became my life’s calling.  

While my father was away, my mom was always having raucous parties at the house.  She invited friends, co-workers, psychics, and magicians, and there would be lots of smoking and drinking.  She gave us kids a ouija board, until “Uncle Don” convinced her to get rid of “that evil thing.”    (It was not until my late teens, after the suicide of a friend, that I started taking drugs.)

When I turned twelve, my dad said, “I missed you kids!” and he moved back home!  By this time, his first Grammy was ancient history and he was the “go-to” music composer/arranger for the studios which made many Hollywood motion pictures, and for famous pop music artists.  He went to work every day and he came back to the same chaotic household that he left seven years prior.  My parents never seemed to stop arguing and there was even a time when they broke windows and threw our furniture onto the curb.

As I entered my twenties, I realized commercial success as a session singer and there was no shortage of calls for me to sing on numerous TV shows, film scores, and commercial jingles.  On the weekends, I worked with several different live cover bands and we played many wedding receptions, bar-mitzvahs, and corporate gigs.  I had recording sessions, many friends, boyfriends, parties, and cocaine whenever I wanted it, because I had money.  I began experimenting with crystals and pendulums, “Angel Cards” (really, tarot cards), and I ascribed to New Age philosophies.  I studied Science of Mind and was on my way to becoming a practitioner of it.  Life was good, or so I thought.  But still, no matter how successful I had become on the outside, on the inside, I felt very empty, like there was a big hole inside me, like something was missing.  You know?

The IRS caught up with me, though, and friends who I had “loaned” money to, didn’t come to my aid when I needed it.  They were all AWOL.  They deserted me.  For a brief time, I was homeless.  Then, I lived in the worst part of L.A., while I continued to work.  Short of money, I quit the coke and alcohol, and I switched to coffee.  I moved far away from my drug buddies, and I was a nervous wreck!  Somehow, I had lost my way.  In retrospect, through what I can only attribute, now, to God’s grace, I found a place of refuge at a “cabin in the woods” in La Crescenta to get away from it all.  My landlady allowed me to pay month-to-month, whatever I could afford; she was so kind to believe in me, even when I didn’t.  It was a place where I could relax and be immersed by the solitary sound of wind blowing through the trees.

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire!”  I started visiting an Ashram to “get free” from my funk, and I learned to “dance with demons.”  There, I was taught that there were many paths to God the Father (which, by the way, is complete heresy, because the Bible says Jesus IS THE ONLY WAY to God the Father and to Heaven.) I also married, argued a lot with my new husband (reminiscent of my parents), got cheated on, and then was divorced!  I became distraught, but I sensed someone saying, “Scottie, time to let this go now.”  That made me feel some peace about a 7-year relationship ending, but I started drinking again.  I was hurt and felt sorry for myself.  Even when I wasn’t drinking, I saw demons, and that terrified me.   

On March 3rd, 2011, I was traveling to New York for a concert with Connie Francis.  I felt like a trainwreck!  I was so depressed, and finding my only solace in a bottle of alcohol, I cried out: “God, if you’re there…please change my life!  I can’t continue living like this!”

When my manager and I arrived in New York that evening, we were on our way to go clubbing.  As we started to cross the boulevard, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the bumper of an SUV.  It hit me and my body went flying.  When I came to, I found myself on the sidewalk with incredible pain emanating from my ribs.  Then, I recognized my road manager by my side. 

“Where are we?  Why are we here?”

“Scottie, you’re here to sing with Connie Francis.  Don’t you remember?”

“Who is Connie?” I said, as I drifted back into unconsciousness.

The emergency services took me to the nearest hospital: Bellevue State Hospital!  Yeah, that’s the one with the psych ward and the emergency room!  As I came to, again, this thought came clearly to my mind: “Oh, my God! Jesus is the Way!  Yes, I promise to find a church!…and stop thinking about the stupidity of my ex-husband!”

These thoughts were very unexpected, since I stopped going to church when my dad left home, and since it had been forty years since I was last in a church, having responded to an altar call on a chance visit to Bel Air Presbyterian Church when I was just 9 years old.

When I returned to California, I assessed all of my New Age paraphernalia and let out a gasp.  It felt disgusting and dirty to me.  “Ewww!”, I said, as I picked it up and threw it all in the trash can. I didn’t want anyone else finding this stuff and using it.

Linda, who I knew was a Christian, was friends with Angie, my landlord.  So I called Linda to ask her if she would help me find a good church.  “Let’s go church shopping!” she said.

We visited a bunch of churches, and after a few months, I settled at a Bible-teaching church in my neighborhood.  It didn’t take long for the church people to realize that I had a good singing voice.  I did not let on that my dad was a famous composer, nor did I tell anyone that I sang professionally.  They insisted that I join their choir, but I got such a blast out of singing, anyway. 

Since I didn’t grow up going to church, I didn’t know the Bible.  After some years, I began distinguishing between New Age teaching vs. what the Bible taught.  After more years of receiving Biblical instruction, I had a much better understanding of the major doctrines of the Bible, especially of Christ’s completed work of redemption for all of humanity for all time.  I began saying, “I am a member of this church,” and after putting my faith in Christ for salvation, I said, “I am a Christian.  I belong to Christ.”

***

Before knowing Jesus Christ, I was paralyzed with fear.  I was like a “ping-pong ball,” bouncing my way, aimlessly, through life.  Now, in Jesus Christ, I walk in confidence, clinging to and being transformed by the awesome truths of the Bible, like these ones:

“Fear not, for I am with you; Be not dismayed, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you, Yes, I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.” (Isaiah 41:10, NKJV)
“Jesus said to him, 'I am the way, the truth, and the life.  No one comes to the Father except through Me.'” (John 14:6, NKJV)

God gave me a wonderful earthly father who allowed me to share his love for music; he was my hero.  Through God’s great mercy, fifteen years ago, I came to know my Heavenly Father’s abounding love for me, also.

I am imperfect and I remain a “work in progress.”  Yet, in all of these things, I am content with what I have now:

My focus is Jesus.  I have the hope of heaven.  AMEN!!!

***
Over nine years ago, I had the opportunity to work with my dad on re-imagining a different version of the same award-winning ballad for which he won his Grammy Award: “Ode to Billie Joe.”  My dad wrote a completely different string section for this new version of the song and he hired the string musicians to perform it.  After transposing the score one step up for me, he passed away.  Two years ago, I recorded it and I was tremendously honored to release this new version of the song as a tribute to the life of my dad.

-Scottie