The Disco Duck recalls the co-hosts with the most | Mark Hinson

Milton Wynn, a friend since childhood, died this month. He was in his early 60s. Far too young to pass away from heart failure. Bum ticker, as the old folks say.

Sigh.

Wynn was co-host of the 1977 Junior Revue, an annual talent-variety live show in the auditorium at Marianna High School. He shared emcee duties along with Melvin Wooden, who also died young in 2010. An inflammatory disease got him if my memory serves me well.

Wait, this column gets funnier. I swear. Don’t run away.

Recent column: Age with grace: Pinko the cat is getting long in the tooth | Mark Hinson

Wooden, a large man with a larger personality, decided the Junior Revue would be the perfect platform to perform the Rick Dees parody song “Disco Duck.” Did I know anyone who sounded the way Donald Duck talked? Hint-hint. He knew I could sound the way Donald Duck talked.

I don’t remember who talked me into wearing a duck costume, complete with swimming fins for feet and a bright yellow bill, but I soon had a tail feather to shake.

Ducking around onstage

As we stood backstage in the auditorium, about to go onstage for the morning show, I freaked out. Melvin and I were going to bomb in front of an audience of ninth graders and sophomores. And, to make matters worse, we had two additional shows to do. One for the juniors and seniors in the afternoon and another for the paying public in the evening. We were going to go down in flames three times.

“We are getting on that stage,” Melvin said. “Just be sure to come out on your cue.”

“Yeah, that’s easy for you to say, you’re wearing a tux and I have on a stupid duck suit,” I said.

Melvin did the talk-sing opening to the song. The set-up seemed to take forever. When my duck part started, I stepped from behind the curtain in my ridiculous get-up. I was expecting crickets. Or boos. Booing was part of the deal.

The Junior Revue was notorious for being a tough room. We’re talking The Apollo Theater on Amateur Night. The audience at The Junior Revue once threw pennies at one student who did a scene from “The King and I.” Mean and vicious.

“Disco Duck,” here we go. Gulp.

Melvin and I got washed over by a roar of laughter. Yeah, it was brainless. Yeah, it was obvious. Yeah, it was cashing in on a trend. But it killed. You don’t know how good that feels.

I figured it was a fluke. The young kids fell for it. Surely, the upper classes were not so gullible.

Wrong.

The second show’s audience members fell on the floor. Howling. The laughter got even louder when the parents and public came to see it. Melvin and I were an undeniable hit. That doesn’t happen many times in life.

Past column: That time I took Dolemite and Lenin to see the pope | Mark Hinson

Waiting for Dolemite

College. Military service. Different cities. Marriages. Work. Kids. Life got in the way after high school. I would see Milton on occasions, but we lived in different cities. Melvin and I lost touch.

In 2003, the comedian Dolemite (aka Rudy Ray Moore) came to do his hilariously raunchy stand-up act at The Top Flite Club in Tallahassee. Eddie Murphy later played Dolemite in a bio-film for Netflix. I wrote a preview article on how Dolemite’s rhyming music-backed patter in the ‘60s and ‘70s paved the way for rap.

On the night of the sold-out show, I took my college-age nephew, his blond roomie, and my attorney, who picked out our front-row center table. I know this column is for a newspaper and website in Florida, a state run by people who think race in America never mattered, but we were the only pasty-skinned people in the packed club. Everyone should be a minority occasionally. Gives one perspective.

The opening comic certainly noticed the four Caucasian nitwits up front. He looked down from the stage at our table and said, “Y’all could have sat anywhere you wanted but you chose to sit here. I tell you what, I’m not even going to (bleep) with you. I’m going to let Dolemite (bleep) with you.”

He proceeded to make the audience laugh. Though a massive fellow two tables back guffawed very loudly and had a lot to say between jokes. If there was going to be trouble, it would come from that guy behind me.

When the opening comedian finished, the evening’s emcee came on. He talked about my newspaper story praising Dolemite except he mispronounced my name. After he repeatedly wanted to know if “Mark Henderson was in the house,” I put it together and stood up. A spotlight hit me.

The hulking man two tables back began to bellow my first name over and over.

“You better hush up or you’ll end up on the front page of tomorrow’s newspaper,” the emcee said to the heckler.

“My dog don’t bite,” the man shouted.

Wait a second, I knew that voice. I turned around.

“It’s me. It’s Melvin.”

Like a scene from a movie, Melvin and I ran toward each other as the spotlight followed us. My nephew freaked out because he thought Melvin, who was built like a football linebacker, was going to pulverize me. Instead, we embraced in a bear hug. The club erupted into applause. These kinds of reunions rarely happen in such cinematic glory in real life.

Melvin and I caught up. We returned to our seats in time to watch Dolemite, who ended up sitting on a stool at our table and incorporating us into his act. I grinned so much that my face muscles hurt when it was all over.

So long, you two

Now the Junior Revue co-emcees Milton and Melvin have been reunited in the afterlife.Tonight, I will pour a glass of red wine and put on “Disco Duck” at full blast. I will sing along in my duck voice, “Ah, get down mama/ Oh, mama, shake your tail feather.”

And, yes, I will shake a tail feather in their honor.

Mark Hinson is a former senior writer for the Tallahassee Democrat. He can be reached at mark.hinson59@gmail.com.

This article originally appeared on Tallahassee Democrat: The Disco Duck recalls the co-hosts with the most in Marianna