YOU WON’T FIND STRAIGHT-AND-NARROW TRAILS IN JAMESS PAPPAS’ SONGS
By Buck Morgan
After most meetings, James is one of the last to leave. He has clean-up detail, and he makes sure that the ladies at the Center for Community Cooperation give the Dallas Songwriters a check mark each month. Then, after the chairs are straightened, the trash cans just so, the coffee, tea and water cart cleaned and in their spot, James hangs out with the other hangers on, people like Roger, Lisa, Joe, Casey, Alex, Tom, me and sometimes a first timer, people who like to talk about songwriting and about the songs they heard that night. Some nights James sets a time and a place to meet with someone to work on or record a song.
You all know James. He’s the barrel-chested guy wearing the pony tail and the vest, the guy with the huge, rough hands who sits in the back and often has a suggestion or comment on a song during Critiques.
He’s been a DSA member since 2000. In other words, forever. Only Barbe McMillen, Vern Dailey and Nancy Rynders have been members longer. The first time I met James was at a song swap about four years ago, back when we just had one. I was feeling out the group, trying to figure out what the DSA had to offer, and I found myself across the table from James and a friend of his named Lefty, or at least that’s how I remember him, because he had a right-handed guitar strung lefty. Bob Paterno was there that night, too. (Ironically, Bob is a left-handed guy who plays righty.)
James is unorthodox. I learned that straight away. He didn’t bring an instrument or lyric sheets. He brought a CD player with a 4-way splitter and four headphones, and he wanted us to hear a song he had done to entertain his kids when they were little. It was a cute song, but there were headphone problems that night.
Afterward, out behind the White Rock Coffee Shop, I stood and talked to James and Lefty. We talked and we talked. I rolled a cigarette. I think I may have rolled another. To look at James and Lefty, you’d think they might have a cigarette, too. But James doesn’t smoke. Seems like I suggested getting a beer, but James doesn’t drink, either. Of course, he used to do both, but he quit.
There’ve been a few turns in James’ life. He was born in Mobile, AL, but seasoned from age 12 in Kansas City. He’s lived and worked all over. James is always cooking up something, which comes naturally to a former chef. He worked as a hotel chef for 25 years: for the Fountainebleau in Miami Beach, for Westin Hotels in three cities, for Hilton Hotels in three cities, and for Adam’s Mark hotels in three cities. One of those stops was at the Anatole Hotel in Dallas, where he met his wife, Amelia.
Leave it to James to fall in love with a woman who didn’t speak English. Of course, he didn’t speak Spanish. He says it couldn’t be helped. They were in love, and they would figure out the rest later. So far they’ve managed 28 years, four grown children and seven grandchildren.
Today, James only cooks on keyboards, guitar and control board. For the last 10 years he’s run a successful business, Dallas Ice Sculptures. You may have admired some of his work at our Christmas parties. To see more, visit http://dallasicesculptures.com/ .
To claim the title of Songwriter of the Year, James produced four winners in five months. The first in June was a co-write with Roger Russell, “Small Town Girl.” Brooke Malouf took top honors in July, but the rest of the year belonged to James. In September, he won with “Dr. Love,” then in October it was “Hobo Gypsy King.” I believe James brought his guitar in November and broke tradition by singing “Again” to the group at the 2nd Tuesday meetig. And in December, when we don’t have critiques because of the Christmas party, he brought a beautiful ice sculpture of a Christmas tree.
Told you he was unorthodox.
