for David Lehman
506: My father's 78s were housed in a look-don't-touch cabinet.
He bought most of his records at the Commodore Music Shop, managed by Jack Crystal (lower right), Billy's father. If my father happened to be there on March 14, 1953, he might have seen Billy Crystal in the shop for the first time on his 5th birthday.
Each acquisition required a round-trip subway from East New York to East 42nd St., plus browsing, sampling in a listening cubicle, choosing, doubting, finally possessing a sphere of vinyl, silent in the hand until prodded (literally) to reincarnate the act of creation, at will.
But I didn't fully appreciate my father's commitment to his collection until after he died when I discovered a meticulously handwritten index in a spiral notebook with handmade tabs.
BY MOOD
507: A couple of titles summoned memories of my father's favorite radio shows.
508: You see, my father had a milk route when I was young.
While he was making his rounds in the middle of the night, I'd make-believe a ballroom, perhaps festooned with candy canes, serving milk and cookies at the bar, my father conducting an orchestra of baseball players and zoo animals, using his baton to summon milkmen from all over the world for the matinee.
509: Writing students: Make believe ballroom milkman's matinee. Go!
510: The case of 78s made the move with us from Brooklyn to Lynbrook (a short drive from Long Beach, where the Crystal family lived). My father gradually stopped playing the records, and the case wound up as a reliquary in my sister's bedroom. Since my father's death in 2001, the records have been stored in my sister's and brother-in-law's basement, where I recently spent some time on the floor with them.
Some of the sleeves crumbled to the touch...
...not surprising since it had been at least 65 years since Jack Crystal gently shelved them.
511: My father rekindled his music connection when he and my mother started making brief trips to Las Vegas (which he continued to do after she died). He especially liked the lounges, which often featured top acts like Louis Prima and Keely Smith featuring Sam Butera.
After Prima died, Keely and Butera brought their lounge act to the Desert Inn, and my father took me to see them. We laughed when Sam said, "Keely and I have something in common. We both got fucked by Louis Prima." My father and I were on musical common ground as he basked in my enjoyment.
512: I wish I could tell him about a just-discovered connection with Keely Smith.
In January 1959, My father's mother took my sister and me to Alan Freed's Rock and Roll show. We collected a bunch of autographs, including Charlie Gracie, whom we approached in a coffee shop.I can still picture him eating by himself, appreciating the attention.
We also got signatures from Jackie Wilson and one of the Moonglows, but, at the time, the prize was getting autographs from Buddy Knox, Jimmy Bowen, and both Rhythm Orchids.
Buddy Knox continued to record as a solo artist, while Jimmy Bowen—who is still with us at 85—focussed on producing for the likes of Glen Campbell, Reba McEntire, and Dino, Desi & Billy.
He also produced—and married—Keely Smith!
While my sister and I were meeting Jimmy Bowen in 1959, Keely was on her way to winning a Grammy with Louis Prima for "That Old Black Magic." Nine years later, Keely Smith's husband Jimmy Bowen won the record-of the-year Grammy for producing Sinatra's "Strangers in the Night" (loved by my father and me).
513: During my early days as a poet and poetry teacher, I wasn't sure if my father fully understood or appreciated what I was doing with my life. Did he worry that I was turning away from my clear path as a journalist? We didn't talk of such things, but he found a way to tell me: "I bought a record and can't wait to play it for you!"
My father and I were on common ground as I basked in his enjoyment.
Wonderful post, and how pleased I am that you dedicated it to me! Just as you expected, I loved the Jimmy Dorsey orchestra (and singers Helen O'Connell and Bob Eberle). When I was eight years old, Louis Prima and Keely Smith introduced me to "That Old Black Magic." Lovin' the spin that I'm in!
Posted by: David Lehman | July 18, 2023 at 07:16 PM
Love the tribute!
Love the music of that era.
I have a few versions of Tangerine sung by Hellen O’Connell
Posted by: The sister | July 18, 2023 at 09:16 PM
Wonderful post!
Posted by: Terence Winch | July 19, 2023 at 09:13 AM
What a heartwarming story. Those connections with your Father through his records were a bond that was truly special and meaningful. Your sense of the power of words through poetry is a natural consequence of that relationship. I loved your story.
Posted by: Elaine Wohlstadter | July 19, 2023 at 03:34 PM
The first recording of "Strange Fruit," sung immortally by Billie Holiday, was released in mid-1939 on Commodore Records, the small label practically shop-distributed by the record store of the same name. If for nothing else, NYC's Commodore Records shop, run by jazz aficionado Jack Crystal (Billy's father, as noted elsewhere), gave us a gift that keeps giving: a 10-inch, 78-rpm record comprising four songs sung by Billie Holiday: "Strange Fruit," "Fine and Mellow," "Yesterdays," and "I Got a Right to Sing the Blues." (N.B. Milt Gabler was vitally involved in that undertaking.) A short, reliable, musical/discographical history of "Strange Fruit" is David Margolick's STRANGE FRUIT: BILLIE HOLIDAY, CAFE SOCIETY, AND AN EARLY CRY FOR CIVIL RIGHTS, published in 2000. Perhaps the most devastatingly memorable rendition of the song I've heard since Holiday's classic 1939 recording is Rene Marie's conjoining "Dixie/Strange Fruit" track on her 2001 album VERTIGO. That track will take the top of your head off!
Posted by: Dr. Earle Hitchner | July 22, 2023 at 12:12 PM
I'd be negligent if I didn't post the names of the outstanding musicians who accompanied vocalist Rene Marie on that shatteringly impressive "Dixie/Strange Fruit" track on her album VERTIGO: Mulgrew Miller on piano, Jeremy Pelt on trumpet, Jeff "Tain" Watts on drums, and Robert Hurst on bass.
Posted by: Dr. Earle Hitchner | July 22, 2023 at 12:22 PM
One further attenuated connection (or, in Yiddish, a bubbeseh nagel): I went to summer camp (ca. 1964-5) with Phoebe Snow (née Laub). Yep, she could sing like nobody's business.
Posted by: Peter Frank | July 24, 2023 at 07:29 AM