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My dad had a great collection of old 78 rpm records back in the day. He favored male singers – what we used to call “crooners.” In addition to some of the well-known singers such as Tony Bennett, Billy Eckstine, and Bing Crosby, his collection included some names that have been mostly forgotten – names such as Art Lund and Don Cornell.
My favorite Lund recording was a wistful ballad called “Mam’selle.” I must’ve been about 12 when trying to sing those opening words to the song with Lund – “A small cafe, Mam’selle. A rendezvous, Mam’selle. The violins were warm and so were you, Mam’selle…”
I’m not sure I understood how violins could be warm or exactly the meaning of “rendezvous,” but that song really grabbed me with its inherent sadness of something lost, irretrievably lost. It’s funny, I can’t remember another song that Lund sang, but I remember that one and still sing it in the shower, although not very well.
Cornell, on the other hand, sang ballads with big arrangements such as “I’m the Jury,” which, I think, was also the title of Mickey Spillane’s first novel featuring private eye Mike Hammer. Cornell’s song was not linked to the Spillane novel. The song opened with the orchestra blaring and then came a dramatic pause as Cornell sang the opening lyrics- “I’m the jury and you’re on trial. My heart’s the victim, stolen by your smile…”
The lyrics sound corny today, and maybe they were back then, but not to my young ears. Cornell had a booming voice, and it was well suited to the dramatic arrangements he favored.
Some of the local guys, such as Al Martino, made it nationally with wonderful ballads that included “Here in My Heart” (I never could hit the notes in that song or come close to anything but a screech). My folks briefly met Martino one evening when he was an aspiring young singer. They gave him a ride home, and we never heard the end of it. It was almost as big of an event in my folks’ life as when dad acted as a bodyguard for undefeated heavyweight champion Rocky Marciano when he came to Philly. Dad had the photo to prove it. Martino went on to considerable fame playing the role of singer Johnny Fontane in “The Godfather.” Rumors abounded that Frank Sinatra had tried to discourage Martino from taking the role and that he had earned Sinatra’s eternal enmity by ignoring the advice.
There were local singers, such as Dick Lee, who never really made it to the national stage. Lee had a wonderful voice. He sang at local clubs, mostly in South Jersey, if my memory is correct. His ballad “All I Want Is A Chance” was as good as anything Martino did, and I’m not taking anything away from the latter. Making it big has always been a combination of talent and luck, with luck playing a major role. I thought of that one night, maybe 25 years ago, when I heard a guy who sounded eerily like Johnny Mathis singing in a South Philly establishment. The guy sounded more like Mathis than Mathis. He was a mailman.
My father always thought he had a great crooner’s voice. Most of us sound much better through our own ears than we do to those around us. In truth, dad sounded more like comedian George Burns than he did Dick Lee. You had to give him an “A” for effort. One time, my folks had given me a tape recorder as a Christmas present the year I was entering Temple as a communications major. The tape recorder didn’t resemble anything one would see today except perhaps at the Smithsonian. It was very large and the tapes were reel-to-reel. When I received the gift, I noticed one of the tapes had already been opened. The note with the gift mentioned that my family had recorded Christmas greetings. I listened to the greetings, one of which was from my grandfather, who in broken English, reminded me that my Brooklyn Dodgers were “no good.” Near the end of the tape, my father’s voice came on crooning like Burns doing a version of “All I Want Is A Chance.”
I am reminded that some years later, my father took my mom to see the Billy Frio Trio at the Venus Lounge on South Broad Street. As the show neared its end, Frio stepped to the microphone and announced that the audience was in for a special treat. The “treat” was my father crooning “The Shadow of Your Smile.” My mother practically ducked her head under the table as dad sang the song that was featured in the Elizabeth Taylor-Richard Burton film “The Sandpipers.” The only memorable moment from that film was this Johnny Mandel song. “The Shadow of Your Smile” became dad’s signature performance. He was undaunted by mom’s embarrassment.
The old crooners are pretty much a memory. There are a few like Steve Lawrence and Jack Jones who still perform. The most famous of them is the ageless Bennett, never out of date, still doing duets with Lady Gaga and singing saloon songs.
Dad believed in his own destiny; fame was just out of reach. Elusive. Eternal. Just one big break away. He could almost touch it. ■
