An eerily uncanny recollection of random memories, real and imagined. But mostly real.

Monday, December 20, 2010

Christmas, 1975

By December of 1975 I had already been touring with Doc for about nine months, and enjoyed flying out most Friday nights or Saturday mornings to do concerts somewhere to the east. (There isn’t much west of L.A.) We could do concerts on Saturday and Sunday nights, and fly back Monday in time for the band to make The Tonight Show. If Johnny was taking a day off and a “Best of Carson” was airing, we could also do a Monday night show. Usually three nights, three cities. Good thing I liked flying, and could snooze on airplanes, often with Nancy on one shoulder and Christine on the other.

Then word came down that we were going to be playing at the Frontier Hotel in Las Vegas for 2 weeks, starting December 16. If you do the math, you’ll realize that this brackets the Christmas holiday. Maybe the showroom would be dark? Surely there wouldn’t be shows on Christmas day…

Yeah, right. It turns out that Christmas is very popular in Vegas, so lots of junkets show up just in time for the holidays. This was going to be unsettling for me, as I am a big fan of Christmas from way back, and had never been away from my (entire) family during the holidays before. But if you ignored the fact that it was Christmas, it might have been any other two weeks in Las Vegas, winter or summer. If there were any seasonal decorations up, you couldn’t see them for all the neon on the Strip.

So it was business as usual, two shows a night at 8 and midnight. And the showroom was always packed. Doc was a very big draw, no matter whom we opened for. As Christmas approached, I began morphing into Peggy Lee (“Is that all there is to Christmas? Is that all there is?)

Then, on Christmas Eve day I was moping around the casino when Rick, the road manager spotted me. “I’m going out to find a Christmas tree for Doc – want to come along?”

This was fabulous news, and I eagerly accepted. By the time we set out, it was already dark, and there weren’t many tree lots visible, if there had been any to begin with. We drove north on the Strip, into downtown, and kept going. Bupkis. Finally, in a parking lot next to a bowling alley in North Las Vegas we found a lone Douglas fir, free for the taking. It wasn’t a Charlie Brown tree, though it was close. But it was real and green and smelled like Christmas! We tied it to the roof of the car and made our way back to the hotel, whereupon Rick took the tree up to Doc’s suite. I didn’t see it after that. Never saw Doc’s suite, either.

And so we did the shows. The early crowd was enthusiastic and festive (and likely inebriated), which made the show fun to do. Then again, it was always fun. After the first show was over, Doc’s manger Bud came to the dressing room with an armload of packages. “Presents from Doc!” he announced repeatedly. “Merry Christmas!” This was very nice, and unexpected. We all opened them at the same time, as they appeared to be identical. Which they were, mostly. We each received a yellow T-shirt with Doc’s picture and “Today’s Children and The Now Generation Brass” on the front, plus our own first names in block letters on the upper left breast. (Just a little bit like the “Mickey Mouse Club.”) We also each received a blue sweatshirt, similarly decorated. Bud was beaming; I think perhaps the shirts were his idea…

Realistically, there weren’t a lot of places you could wear either of these without seeming like a self-promoting doof, but we singers thought it would be fun to wear them for the finale (“Ease On Down The Road”) of the midnight show. We changed into them while Doc was playing “MalagueƱa,” and surprised him when we took the stage afterward. The shirts were snug, and my partner Nancy T. was delightfully proportioned, which was kind of distracting, even to Doc. As we kept time to the music, the eyes in the picture of Doc’s face on Nancy’s shirt seemed to roll around. Doc leaned over to me and said “How come yours doesn’t do that?”

I don’t recall what we all did after the show, and I think that was probably okay. Besides, we had two shows to do on Christmas Day, and the day after, and… Christmas with my family would have to wait. I flew home to my Dad’s house on the 30th and we had a gift exchange there, then I went to my Mom’s house in Gig Harbor for more celebrating.

My brother was a senior at Central Washington State College in 1975-76, majoring in music (trumpet.) Around about Thanksgiving I got the idea that it would be nice if he had a new trumpet for his senior recital, and talked to Doc about it. Doc was playing a Getzen Eterna trumpet at that time (the “Doc Severinsen” model), so I thought that would be an ideal Christmas gift for my brother. Doc called the Southern California distributor, asked them to pick out a horn as if they were selecting it for him, and had it sent to my Mom’s house. At cost, a fantastic deal. My Mom and I split the bill.

The look on my brother’s face when he opened the box was priceless and unforgettable, and for the only time in his life he was at a loss for words. I explained how it had been selected for him by Doc’s people, but he could exchange it if he wanted to. Yuk yuk. (He still has it.) And although I have no idea what I received that year, it will always be my favorite Christmas.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Traveling at the Speed of Life

I was born in black-and-white. We had a rotary phone with a 5-digit number (44490). My namesake was an outfielder (alongside Willie Mays) for the New York Giants. In our town doors were left unlocked, and kids traveled in packs, not gangs. Young girls wore dresses to school, and shorts (on boys) were allowed only on the last day of the school year.

Then one day I woke up and there was color. My grandparents had bought a new console color TV, just in time for the annual airing of “The Wizard of Oz.” We crowded around the 19” screen, and when Dorothy opened the door out into Munchkinland, our lives changed. That movie was now more awe-inspiring than scary, and Danny Kaye (who hosted the event) had REALLY red hair! What else, we wondered, was in color? Not much, and for good reason; Bonanza had been filmed in color even while NBC was still broadcasting in B&W, and now that we could see the colorcast, it appeared to have been conceived and directed by Andy Warhol.

Then one day I woke up and my parents had divorced, albeit “amicably.” My mother had married right out of high school, one month shy of 18 years old, and at age 35 decided she wasn’t cut out to be June Cleaver. My father, Ward, was unswayable. They both remarried, and I now had two sets of step-siblings. I split time between both houses, and through deft misdirection was not fully accountable to either parent.

Then one day I woke up and was living alone at 17 in Burbank, CA. I had applied for early graduation from high school, and skipped my junior year in my quest to study to be a psychologist. But a fan letter to (and response from) a pretty TV news reporter shifted me to journalism, and in the course of interviewing a famous musician I was hired to be one of his backup singers, playing in Las Vegas and touring the US. An excellent alternative to college! My father helped me find an apartment, stayed a couple of days to get me settled, then left. My new family developed from selected neighbors, crewmembers at NBC, and Keno runners at The Sands (even though I was too young to gamble, with money anyway.) Life Was Good.

Then one day I woke up and was back in my home town, working “regular” jobs and doing musical theater. The gig in L.A. had ended, and I returned to my family “just to regroup.” I met and fell in love with the accompanist during one production, “Once Upon A Mattress,” and a year later we married. I continued doing shows, and was hired to sing with the Oregon and Seattle Symphonies Pops.

Then one day I woke up and it was our 30th wedding anniversary. My mom and step-mother had died the previous year, and my step-father had moved away to be with his kids. The wife and I never had children, but had loved and lost a series of precious pets. My father needs only minimal supervision (so far), but we’ve been down this road before. After years of “Are we there yet? Are we there yet?” I think that maybe yes, we are, and it’s as good a place as I thought it would be. Even better, perhaps.

But I’m not anxious to wake up again.