by Jim Fall
Maryville Daily Forum

Maryville, Mo. -
Back in December 1956, when I was just a boy, LaVern Baker and the Gliders took it to No. 17 on the pop chart. The second time around, in 1974, the group Black Oak Arkansas peaked at No. 25 with their version.

It was a goofy little song whose verses made little or no sense, not unlike a lot of the stuff that was popular around those times — or today, for that matter. But it had a catchy chorus that stuck in my head.

“Jim Dandy to the rescue!
“Jim Dandy to the rescue!
“Jim Dandy to the rescue!
“Go, Jim Dandy! Go, Jim Dandy!”

Well, some things change, some things never do. The words to that musical number are what they are and they won’t change. But after my experience last week, there’s a new twist to them, in my mind at least — a change I never thought I could, or would, admit.

From now on, my rendition will be:

“Sam Graves to the rescue!” etc., etc.

And that will come as much of a surprise to those who know me as it has to me.

–

There is this wonderful staff person in Graves’ Liberty office who knows passports, and obviously has connections in the immigration hierarchy.

“I can help you, Mr. Fall,” she said confidently. “Call me back in 30, 45 minutes.”

“Mr. Fall, go downtown to the passport office in the Federal Building (a $50 cab fare) and ask for Jose Padraza,” Rachel (I didn’t catch her last name) instructed me when we reconnected. I got there just before noon, when Mr. Padraza must have been at lunch. But shortly after 1, he came over to where I was sitting, with my luggage, in the crowded waiting area and told me to meet him at Window 1 (of maybe 15).

Two basically simple form completions and $135 later, he passed a receipt beneath an apparently bullet-proof shield and told me to “go to those windows over there at 2:30.”
“Thank you, sir, so very much,” I mumbled in awe of what I had just seen happen. The time required to secure a passport had been reduced from maybe as much as six to 10 weeks to less than three hours, after I finally got things started.

Gleaming new ticket to anywhere in hand, I returned to Bush (cabbies get their fares going and coming), secured my seat for the next morning’s flight, and was off to my reunion in Panama City.

“Sam Graves to the rescue. Go Sam Graves.”

Full Story:http://www.maryvilledailyforum.com/opinions/x544081566/Some-new-words-to-an-old-song