You have to hand it to Mr. Las Vegas. At 65 he's giving it all in this year's version of "Dancing with the Stars." The judges are also giving him every benefit of the doubt, even though they've had to use the "big but" theory in assessing his less-than-stellar performances.
"You brought Las Vegas to 'Dancing with the Stars,'" one said last night, while another made note of Wayne dancing to an Elvis song BUT they all said he had a long way to go toward perfection at the quick step, which looked pretty slow throughout the dance.
I don't really care if Wayne Newton can't dance; he's a nice man. Always has been, even when I thought he was kinda weird with that boyish face and high-pitched voice that got us all cued in to "Donka Shane." Well, so that's not the correct spelling but that's what we always heard coming from Wayne.
Later, I grew to appreciate and respect Wayne Newton, who eventually became the highest paid entertainer in Las Vegas. I've never been to Las Vegas to see him, but I have seen him in Calgary. And, my daughter had her picture taken with Wayne a number of years ago. Maybe the two of us need to go to Las Vegas one of these days and get a mother-daughter shot with him.
My Calgary sighting was about as unlikely as anyone could ever imagine. It was the summer of 1971. I had a new turquoise Ford Fairlane 500 sedan at the time. My friend Terry Greene and I had decided to go up to the Canadian National Arabian Show to help out our friends, the Balches who were showing a couple of horses up there. We knew we'd be bedding down in an empty barn stall, so we took along sleeping bags.
We had told Etta Balch to expect us around noon. Well, after stopping for breakfast somewhere above the border, we realized that we had many miles to go and that a noon arrival would be next to impossible. That was before cell phones, so we just couldn't call Etta and tell her to expect us to be a little later. So, I put my pedal to the metal and sent that car on down the freeway at speeds averaging 85 miles an hour.
Our mouths were going about that speed too, fast enough that I hadn't noticed the cop car on my tail for two miles. His lights went on as soon as my foot hit the brake. He never smiled while standing outside my car issuing me the third degree about speeding; my friend Terry laughed as I tried desperately to talk my way out of this one. He told me the fine was $65 or I could go to court and court didn't convene for another ten days, so I could be a guest of the province.
Then, he suddenly turned to walk away and told me to drive the speed limit. No ticket, nothing. Well, I did drive the speed limit from then on, and we did arrive about three hours later than expected. Etta wasn't really happy with us, but she did eventually warm up to our presence, telling us that Wayne Newton's Arabian horses were across the alley from theirs. We kept our eyes open for Wayne the rest of the day but knew, in our hearts, he just wouldn't come walking through the barns while all the gawkers were around.
He didn't.
He waited until 5 the next morning to show up. That's about the time I woke up from my barn stall bed, got up, opened the stall door, heading for the bathroom, looked out, and there stood Wayne Newton talking to his ranch manager. Not another soul around. I could not believe my eyes.
"Terry, wake up, Wayne Newton's out there," I whispered loudly. Terry didn't believe me and just wanted to keep on sleeping. "He's just outside across the alley. Terry, get up!" She finally dragged herself from her sleeping bag and peered out the door. Not nearly as impressed as I, she acknowledged his presence and then went back to bed. I had to go to the bathroom, and not wanting to appear like the unsophisticated gawker that I am, took great care to not look to the left or the right as I headed straight for the john.
On my way back, I allowed myself to make eye contact with Wayne. His eyes met mine. He stopped talking to his manager, and said, "Hi, how are you?"
"Fine," I said, moving on quickly but wishing I had the guts to walk up and talk to THE MAN, who happens to be very tall and even better-looking in person than he appears on television. I always regretted not taking that opportunity to at least get his autograph---so much so in fact, that when I attended another Arabian National Show in Albuquerque, New Mexico, I secured autographs for the whole family from Dirty Dancing's Patrick Swayze who also loves Arabians but can dance better than Wayne.
Later, Annie must have remembered hearing my Wayne story, and when she went as a youth judge to the Arabian Nationals, she was not the least bit shy about getting her photo taken with Mr. Las Vegas. Apparently he was as nice to her as he had tried to be with me that day in Calgary. Wayne has also been nice enough to award several free Arabians from his ranch to a deserving youngster who can write a good essay. Kellie Watts, whose brothers are Bob and Randy Ross of Sagle, wrote well enough one year to win one of Wayne's horses.
So, when I see Wayne doing his best to dance as a star with elegance and grace, I empathize, not only because I was not endowed with either but also because he is a very nice man and deserves the benefit of the doubt because of his generosity and likeable nature.
I hope he stays on the program for some time, and I'll always be happy to say, "Danke Schoen, Wayne."
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