I remember my brother Oscar and his friend Richard sneaking into Richard’s bedroom with the album under his armpit covered by his jacket.
My parents decided to visit the Garcia family for a while on that Saturday afternoon in March of 1976. We kids attended Our Lady of Soledad School in East Los Angeles.
“Hey Oscar, there’s a record player in here,” Richard said.
Then I heard music and snuck a peek to see what they were up to.
“It sounds so nasty, play it again.”
This went on for about 20 minutes, the moaning and groaning accompanied by the erotic synchronization of “Love To Love You Baby,” by Donna Summer. This was the first time I heard her name.
Raised in East Los Angeles in the mid-1960s to the mid-1970s, we lived in the barrio with gangs and violence. Prejudice and bullying at school and home made life unbearable for me most of the time. My mother had an iron constitution and my father was an alcoholic. They were dedicated to their family and did their best. But a dysfunctional, traditional Mexican Catholic family home was not a place I wanted to be.
I escaped through disco dancing.
I struggled in academics, but excelled in art, sports, and dancing. Disco gave me an anchor of hope. It was like I plugged my body and soul into the electrical socket that provided climax without end.
Donna Summer became more to me than a superstar. I felt that she helped people heal. There were stories of a young boy who helped his mother hear for the first time while she was vacuuming after he kept playing “I Feel Love” at maximum volume. She miraculously began to sing along with the album and made the connection to sound. A girl who was a fan of Donna’s was in an auto accident and comatose for days. The doctor gave up hope for her. The young girl’s parents played one of Donna’s albums continuously in the hospital, which later helped the young girl regain consciousness.
I found her voice soothing and asked God for a blessing to meet Donna in person so that I could thank her for helping me cope with my turbulent teenage years.
Two of my brothers were DJs during the Disco era and went by the names of Circus Disco and Levissio Disco. During the week, they would practice for their weekend gigs by dimming the lights in our home, setting up the turn tables and the rainbow strip lights then blowing the referee whistle to the beat of Donna’s “Heaven Knows,” “Sunset People,” and “Once Upon A Time.”
My middle brother became my dance partner. We won several contests. During the summer of 1978, while at the annual carnival at my grammar school, a European film company videotaped us for their documentary on Disco in the United States.
Later that evening, we competed in the festival’s dance contest before about 500 people.
We danced to Cheryl Lynn’s “Star Love,” with six other couples as the disco lights fluttered across the dance floor. Finally, he and I were competing with only one last couple. With our every twirl and dip, the crowd cheered us on in rhythm with the thumping disco beat. A shouting match ensued as the disc jockey stirred up the crowd with a succulent deep voice.
“What do you think, people? Number One or Number Five?”
The crowd bellowed for minutes. Finally, a judge tapped the other couple on the shoulder, and the DJ announced us as the winners. A mob of friends and community members charged at us. We were surrounded by people pulling at our clothes, hugging us and shouting. For a brief moment, we felt what it’s like to be a celebrity, with people out of control. All I remember is a tall man yanking us out of the crowd and escorting us onto the stage, where I finally caught my breath. The song “San Francisco” by the Village People played as he announced our names and placed medals around our necks. It felt like an Olympic moment. Then Donna’s “Last Dance” packed the floor.
In 1995, Donna Summer gave her usual August concert at the Universal Amphitheater. I never understood how people went hysterical for groups like the Beatles or Elvis until I finally saw Donna Summer in person. I screamed so much that by the end of the concert I could barely hear my voice.
My friends and I lingered on and chatted inside the concert hall.
“I just want to meet her once and then I’ll die in peace,” I said to my friends.
Out of nowhere two white, gay young men in their late twenties put their after-concert reception party passes on each of my thighs and said, “You go girl, and meet Donna Summer!”
“Come on Fab, this is your chance,” one of my friends said.
My heart began to race as fast as the beat to “Once Upon a Time.” I made my way down the stairs from the concert hall to where double doors lead to the back stage courtyard. My hands began to sweat, my legs to tremble. I almost hyperventilated. I was alone among music-industry folks, the press and media. I said a little prayer.
Donna was being interviewed about a hundred feet away by a film crew. It was a separate section from the immediate crowd and guarded by security. I turned to my left and bumped into her nephew. His pass was different than mine, which caught my attention. So I asked him about it. His pass allowed him entry to the family room. Only God could have sent me this angel. After telling him how important it was for me to meet his auntie, I convinced him to lend me his special pass and get closer to Donna.
I made my way into the family room and stood by the water fountain alone. No one asked me a single question. How could anyone miss me? I was the only Chicana in the room. Everyone else was black or white. I learned after reading her biography that her nanny, Rosa, was Latina, so I guess that’s why no one questioned me. I kept praying, hoping that she would come into the family room for a quick minute so I could say hello and get her autograph, or a hug.
Minutes passed. I continued to pray. Then with a gentle push, she opened the door and peeked her head into our area, calling three little girls to come to the dressing room. They were standing near me – her daughters or nieces, I think. I froze and then on impulse I followed the girls. My entire body trembled as I made my way four feet through the backstage door.
And there I was — Donna Summer, her bodyguard, and me.
“Mrs. Summer, can I please have a minute to share something very important? It would mean the world to me.”
I told her how important she had been to me during my turbulent teen years and how her music and singing had been a true complement to my life. She took my hand as I continued to share and tears rolled down my face. For years, I told her, that I had prayed for this meeting and that I believed in miracles because of this special moment. She gently took my other hand and with a soothing voice looked into my eyes and told me that everything I said was very important to her and she really appreciated me, too.
I felt like I was talking to a friend I hadn’t seen for years. After a few minutes of warm exchanges, I finally asked for her autograph. I only had a pen so she removed the hospitality sign from the wall and signed it.
With tears in my eyes, we hugged and I thanked her for making my dream come true. The moment felt so wonderful that I didn’t want to let her go. Her bodyguard finally gently touched my shoulder and told me that I had to let her go. She handed me a tissue as I collected myself and took a deep breath.
She thanked me for coming to the concert and said that it was nice to have met me. As she and her bodyguard watched me leave, I said thank you and found my way through the double doors alone. As I got to the base of the staircase, I began to sob and thanked God for a phenomenal gift. I felt as if I had gone to her house to visit, leaving very peaceful, happy, and validated.
I climbed the stairs holding on to the railing as my legs trembled and my heart beat as fast as the rhythm to “Heaven Knows.” All I could say was, “Oh my God, this was like a dream.”
My friends were waiting for me in the lobby. They shrieked as I showed them Donna’s autograph, and hugged me hard.
“You did it, Fab, you really did it!”
I filled them in on the details over dinner at Denny’s and it was about then that I was sure that when I’m cremated, I want Donna’s autograph to go with me, while “Last Dance” plays.