In fact, the Sweets and the band used to call me “the general,” because I insisted on having things done the right way. I was the oldest of the four women in the Sweets, and I felt responsible for them, but besides that, I just like for things to be in order. Estelle and I were usually on the same side about that, and Myrna and Sylvia were a little more slack. Whenever we needed to, though, we all came together as one. The main thing was that we loved singing—and we loved singing together.
All of that touring and performing paid off. In 1968, besides promoting our own singles and album, the Sweets got to work with some of the biggest names in the music business. We went to Nashville to do a session with Dusty Springfield, and we also did some studio work in New York with Jimi Hendrix on his Electric Ladyland album. And finally, the next year, we got to work with the biggest name of all, Elvis Presley.
When Elvis came back to the stage after doing movies, he wanted the Sweets to come to Vegas and back him at his first big gig at the International Casino. At first, we couldn’t believe it. But Elvis had heard our music back when the Drinkards sang at the Newport Jazz Festival, and I guess we made an impression on him, because he still remembered.
Anyway, the promoters flew us all out to Vegas in July 1969, and they set us up with a big suite at the hotel. When I first met Elvis, my mouth just fell open. This was before he gained all that weight, and he was a gorgeous man—I mean drop-dead gorgeous. And just the sweetest man you can imagine.
John came with us to Vegas, and he and Elvis hit it off. John charmed Elvis’s managers and crew, too, which would end up paying off for us down the road. While the Sweets would be rehearsing with Elvis, John would meet with “the boys” (and they really were good ol’ boys) in the coffee shop and chat with them. He learned a lot from those guys, as they’d been working in the entertainment game for more than a decade and knew it from the bottom up. John was able to put that information to use when I started as a solo act, and again later when Nippy’s career took off.
John just had a way with people—he was charming and could get along with anybody. I remember him hanging with Elvis during rehearsal breaks, joking about stuff most people would never have brought up. John would say things like, “Now, Elvis, are you sure you’re not part black? ‘Cause you sure got a lot of rhythm, man.” Elvis would give him that aw-shucks smile and come right back at him. “I don’t know about that,” he’d say. “But John, you do look kinda like my uncle. You’ll have to ask my daddy.” We’d be cracking up, just watching the two of them go at it.
I loved performing with Elvis, but in Vegas you do so many shows in a row that the repetition can get boring. So after a while, I’d start throwing in obbligatos—improvised counter-melodies that floated up over the melody. Whenever I did it, Elvis would always smile and look back at me. He’d tease me about it, too; he said there was something about the sound of those obbligatos that made him think I was squirrelly. So he started calling me “Squirrelly”—his special nickname for me.
Elvis loved singing gospel, and I think he felt something special about having four church sisters singing along with him. After the shows, when you’d think singing was the last thing on our minds, we’d all gather together and jam. And I don’t know if I’d ever met anyone who was as generous as Elvis was. He’d give people things for no reason—even people he barely knew. He gave all the girls in the Sweets lovely diamond bracelets. Mine was solid gold, and inscribed on the outside “To Cissy,” and on the inside, “Squirrelly.” I still have it.
I heard later that Elvis gave one of the girls a car; I believe it was Myrna. There wasn’t anything sneaky about it—I mean, he wasn’t looking for anything from her in return. That’s just the way he was, regular people, despite all the international fame. Elvis was always a gentleman when I knew him, though years later, the girls did kid me that he had a crush on me. All I could do was laugh and say, “Well, why didn’t you tell me that when he was living, you know?”
We were with Elvis in Vegas for almost two months, and by the end I was missing my children desperately. I knew they were in good hands with Phyllis and Bae, and I’d call them every evening just before their bedtime. But it wasn’t the same as being with them, and we all were suffering for it.
My oldest, Gary, never said much on the phone, but he was always one to keep his feelings to himself. And Nippy was so young, she was usually just running around the house, getting into some kind of mess she shouldn’t have been into. Or she’d be watching TV or listening to Michael Jackson, her favorite performer.
My middle child, Michael, was the one I worried about most. From the time he was little, Michael loved family more than anything. Whenever he’d go to a friend’s house for a sleepover, he’d call in the middle of the night, saying, “Come get me! I want to come home!” Michael was a momma’s boy, something he admitted then and still admits today.
When I was gone on tour, Michael always took it harder than the other two. He’d cry so pitifully on the phone, and it just made me want to get up, go to the airport, and fly right home. It broke my heart, but there was nothing I could do. I’d just let him know what I expected him to do the next day, tell him I loved him, and remind him to make sure he prayed before going to bed. I didn’t know what else to do.
Finally, in September 1969, the Sweets got a break from touring. While I was thrilled to get back home to Gary, Michael, and Nippy, I also knew the time had come to face up to the problem that was causing all of us such grief. Yes, touring brought in money, but being on the road was tearing me away from the most important things in my life. My children were growing up quickly, and I felt terrible not being there to help them with their problems, as if I’d just left them to find their own way.
Not only did I miss my children, but I’d also been forced to give up directing my beloved New Hope choir. And though I’d promised my father I would always sing with the family, I was away so much that I could only do it on holidays.
I realized just how far I’d strayed from my family that year when my brother Larry suddenly got sick and fell into a mysterious coma. Larry had been my closest playmate growing up, and I was shocked and upset when he fell ill. I rushed home from the road and spent several days by his side, praying. Larry eventually came out of the coma, but he was never the same.
On top of everything else, life with the Sweets was getting more complicated. The times were changing, and Myrna and Sylvia wanted the Sweets to change, too—they kept pushing me to liven up our act with more revealing outfits onstage, because that’s what other background groups were doing. I wasn’t having any of that, as I saw myself as a mother and role model for my kids, first and foremost. I was onstage to sing, not bounce around and flaunt my business—but the pressure kept growing to do just that.
What could I do? If we ever wanted to get away from Wainwright, money wasn’t just going to drop out of the sky—I was the one who had to make it happen. Touring with the Sweets was the only way I knew how to do it, but even that didn’t seem like it could last forever. The situation felt impossible, and one night I went into my bedroom, shut the door, and just started crying. I cried, and I prayed, desperately trying to figure out how to fix this mess. After a long while, I finally realized that I couldn’t, and that the only thing I could do was put my faith in God to take care of it. At that moment, I turned over my burden and trusted Him to show me the way.
The next morning, I got up, readied myself, and packed a bag for a road trip that would take me away for a week. I said goodbye to Bae in the kitchen, finished my coffee, and started walking out to the car, where John was waiting. The kids were already outside playing as John put my bag in the trunk. I went to hug them goodbye, but when I reached down for Michael, he pulled away from me, plopped his little self down on the curb, and started crying. My heart felt like it might tear in half.
John called to me, “C’mon, now, Cissy. They’ll be all right.” I looked down at Michael, his sweet face streaked with tears, and reluctantly turned toward the car, to leave him as I’d done so many times before.
Just