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16 -- PORT PERRY STAR -- Tuesday, June 19, 1984 Photos and Story by Cathy Robb ' The Hawk, doing what he does best. Now THAT'S entertainment. » A Bass player Steve Hogg (left) It's a rare sight, The Hawk without his hat, but off it came when leadership can- didate Jean Chretien took the stage last Wednesday in Ottawa. Nineteen year old Robin Hawkins, Ron- nie's second oldest son, has been playing guitar for two years and now plays rhythm in his dad's band. He says it's been tough at times, being the son of a celebrity, especial- ly sorting out your real friends from those who just want to ride on your coat-tails. .- and drummer Dave Lewis run through some music together on the bus trip fo Ottawa. Hawkins' band also includes Bill Dillon on lead guitar, Lyle Muskat on piano and Robin Hawkins on rhythm guitar. aE a THE HAWK: 25 years and kicking Get ready, Hawkins swoops down on Port Perry July 14 EVEN RONNIE HAWKIN'S normally optimistic promoter, Steve Thomson, is worried. Somewhere in the neighbourhood of seven thousand Liberal delegates are gathered under the snowy white awning of Jean Chretien's illustrious beer tent in downtown Ottawa, settled down on a red-carpeted parking lot amidst sky-scraping office buildings and fancy hotels. There's enough beer flowing to keep Brewer's Retail in business until the next election and the delegates who have come to find a new leader have found a par- ty instead. Things are steaming. A French Canadian songstress poured into a leather dress and fish-net stockings has warmed up the audience but a youthful band of breakdancers, led by a Michael Jackson clone, has turned the audience on to a point of no return. Thriller and Billie Jean are thumping through the hordes of hand-clapping Chretien faithful. Media hacks from across the country have their cameras pointed at the contort- ionists onstage and at the throng of screaming Jackson fans while Steve Thomson sweats it out. He's worried, allright. Wondering how The Hawk, a middle-aged rockabilly singer is going to pass muster with an audience geared up with the likes of 'Jackson'. Thomson eyes what's going down onstage with naked concern, his fingers tightening inside the pockets of his preppie summer pants. He's got a lot riding on this gig. It could mean a lot of good exposure for The Hawk. Or a lot of bad exposure, depend- ing on how things go. Ronnie Hawkins, on the other hand, looks as though he couldn't give a tinker's darn. He's mingled in with the crowd enjoying the Jackson clone as much as everyone else, a drink in one hand and a butt in the other, cackl- ing away to himself. A Legend In His Spare Time. "Michael Jackson, son, has more talent than Sammy Davis Jr. on speed," he drawls with a sweet Arkansas "They offered me one m | wouldn't take it." twang that has manag- ed to survive more than 20 years in Canada. And yet tonight, the young superstar look- alike will offer no com- petition whatsoever for The Hawk, who comes swooping down on the Liberal throng like the Prime Minister himself, all grin and gusto. This is Rompin' Ronnie Hawkins in top form, the shaman per- former who has grown men and women shriek- ing for an encore, sing- ing along with Forty Days, dancing madly to Bo Diddley and fervent- ly crying out for Who Do You Love. nestles a sleepy cat. Furniture, art, musical equipment and the head of a stuffed black bear consume the room, threatening to take over the entire house. It looks like The Hawk is moving, and he is, as soon as he can find a buyer for the ranch. In the meantime, nearly everything he has collected during the last couple decades, every- thing from crystal chandeliers and antique cars to Hawkins mem- orabilia and records, is being auctioned off June 30th at the Stoney Lake farm to help pay off the "I'm too old for this," Hawkins says. But by gawd, he's having fun! He says "I'm too old for this", as he soft shoes across the stage, but there's a wild gleam in his eyes. The Hawk is having fun, by gawd, and so is everyone else around him. Thomson relaxes. LETT] Ronnie's Three R Ranch house on two and a half scenic miles of Stoney Lake front, is in total chaos. A trip through the kitchen door means wading knee-deep through mounds of crumpled newspaper, in the middle of which finally enormous debts he accumulated from a poisoned business deal. "I owe more than the Canadian national debt", he jokes, the first in a series of one-liners that pepper all Ronnie's conversations. Once thought to be worth some $3 million, Ronnie has managed to dig himself a financial holé he's finding awful tough to crawl out of. He's already sold his other properties and now faces leaving the Three R ranch, his summer home for the (Turn to page 17) illion dollars to come fo Nashville, but living 3 J 5 7 3 43 tr el 4 a apn iN a