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AN INTIMATE AUTOBIOGRAPHY

DEAR CHILDREN

MICHAEL DARDENELLE

©2020



To my children
Scott

Your humor continues to make me laugh.
Your loving ways always astound me.
Your values inspire me.

Kathryn

Your determination amazes me.
Your generosity humbles me.

Your love for others encourages me.

For what you have given me,
For what you continue to give,

Love.

Always and Forever
Dad



In Loving Dedication
to my Grandmother

for imparting into me the beauty,
the passion, and the love of the arts

Grandma, I hardly knew ye . .



Prologue…………………….…..……………..Page 1

In The Beginning………….…………….. …....Page 5

Soundtracks Of My Life.………….………….Page 21

Those Pesky School Years ………………………….Page 45
The Other Three ……………………………………Page 53
The Album …………………………………………Page 60
The Valley Master Chorale…………………………Page 63
Looking ahead ……………………………………..Page 70
Just For The Record ……………………………….Page 74
Those Good Old Barbershop Days …………………Page 99
Gay Men’s Chorus of Los Angeles ……………….Page 123
Contrafactum………………………………………Page 133
The Fat Lady Has Sung……………………………Page 149

Head To Toe………………………………...Page 151

Ear, Nose and Throat …………………………….Page 175
The Eyes Have It ………………………………….Page 177
Hear, Hear! ………………………………………..Page 203
Who Nose? ………………………………………..Page 223
Swallow …………………………………………..Page 227
The Mind Is A Terrible Thing To Waste …………Page 230
It All Happens Above The Waist …………………Page 236
It All Happens Below The Waist …………………Page 246
Pain In The Rear ………………………………….Page 252
Feet and Toes ……………………………………..Page 266

I Can’t Do This Alone ……………………….Page 276
Dad…………………………………………...Page 277
Mom ………………………………………….Page 279
Georgia……………………………………….Page 286
Scott ………………………………………….Page 288
Kate ………………………………………….Page 290
Carlos ………………………………………Page 293
The Littl-ies ………………………………….Page 296
And When I Can’t (Someone will) …………….Page 300

It’s Off To Work I Go..………..…………….Page 319

The Hot Rod Years………………………….Page 339

On A Personal Note………….……………...Page 387

Our Family Tree . ………….……………….Page 407

My Father ……………..……………………Page 417

My Mother..…………….…………………..Page 433

Eye Of The Beholder……….……………….Page 443

Epilogue …..…………….………………….Page 486

In Closing………………….………………..Page 499

DEAR CHILDREN Prologue

Dear Children

A Letter From Your Father

Dear Scott and Kathryn:

I have wanted to write something like this for a
long long time and made a promise to myself that I
would start it on or before my 40th birthday. Today is
January 22, 1987, and I don’t know how much I will

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DEAR CHILDREN Prologue

do today, or how long of a letter this will be, or even
if I will ever finish it. There are SO many things yet
left to be done in our lifetimes, it hardly seems fair to
those things to sit at a computer and write a letter that
may never end.

It seems to be the fashionable thing to do these
days: That is, to write letters to one’s children in the
hopes that when they are old enough to read and
understand what it is their parents are trying to tell
them. Celebrities all over the world have taken a
liking to doing exactly what I am doing right this very
second. But I want you both to know about me, my
childhood, my dreams, my regrets, really, just
anything I can happen to remember on paper that I may
have forgotten to say in your lifetime or mine. I have
had such a fulfilling life; not that it’s over mind you,
but I want so much to share with you the past as best
as I can remember, and also to tell you what I hope for
the future.

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DEAR CHILDREN Prologue

I chose this format to express myself to you
because I can sometimes think better in my head, and
put it on paper, and this way, you can always have a
written record of my feelings - - perhaps to share with
your spouse, your children and your grandchildren. I
want them all to know the kind of person I am, and
why I am raising you the way I am, with your mother
right there beside me.

I hope as you read this, you will laugh, you will
cry, perhaps you will become bored with parts of it,
perhaps you will want to read portions of it over and
over again because a particular part may be of great
interest to you. Whatever the reason, I hope you will
feel proud enough of me and this letter to cherish it,
and to cherish the memory of your father after I have
died.

If I fail to recite it throughout this letter, if only
through an oversight, please remember that you two
are my comforts of life, my light that shines forever,
and I love you both more than I could ever express on

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DEAR CHILDREN Prologue

paper or even in words. A father's love is eternal and
unconditional.

So, enough talk about me.
Let’s talk about me.

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DEAR CHILDREN In The Beginning

In The Beginning
I can often close my eyes and remember quite
a bit of detail about quite a bit of things, yet sometimes
my mind seems to wander and drift into la-la land a
bit. . .as if searching for just the right detail for just the
right moment. So many people keep their memories
private and are quite protective of them, while I, on the
other hand, don’t mind revealing the details of my life,
if only to a degree. I guess that makes me an open
book.
I think the earliest moment of my life that I
remember was that of a birthday party I had when I

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DEAR CHILDREN In The Beginning

was two. Now, I don’t know if I remember the party,
or if I just remember the pictures I have seen or
perhaps stories I have heard. Maybe a little of all
three. But I do remember living in Venice, California,
near the beach at Santa Monica. We lived on Warren
Avenue, just off Lincoln Blvd. Again, I can close my
eyes and picture the house and its floor plan. THAT
much I do remember. The small two-bedroom house
was then just right for my family and me: Dad and
Mom, and brother Allen. It had the typical size
backyard for homes of that type in that area. It was
somewhat deep with a detached one car garage. We
only had one car, so a then unheard of two car garage
was not only unnecessary, but not available.

See what I mean about drifting? Getting back to
the birthday party: I was dressed as a clown, and now
that I think about it, I can remember sitting in the
backyard at a redwood picnic table with all my little
friends seated around that table eating...should I say

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DEAR CHILDREN In The Beginning

devouring…the proverbial ice cream and cake. I wore
the stylistic clowns pointed hat and standard coveralls
that all children wear when their mothers dress them
up as a clown. I was a rather chubby two-year-old, and
the clown outfit was something to see. Now I find out
from Grandma that the clown outfit was indeed a part
of my life and not just made up for this writing. But it
was in October 1949 for Halloween, that I was dressed
up as a clown. (See what happens to your mind when
someone clouds it over with the real facts?) A clown.
How original. And yes, there was a Halloween back
then.

A lot of these facts should probably be verified
somehow, but my sources are somewhat limited: I
only have Grandma and Grandpa to check about the
details. And you know how private Grandpa is.
Name, rank, and serial number is about all we ever get
out of him. Grandpa’s the kind of guy who will tell
you what time it is when you ask him. I, on the other

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DEAR CHILDREN In The Beginning

hand, will tell you how to make the watch. Grandma
has sometimes shared some of my past with me, but
again, that too can be somewhat limited. Most
everything I write to you will be my own recollections
of what I consider a very happy childhood.

While we lived in Venice, a cousin, Arjay (R. J.
For “Rosemary Jeanne”) came to live with us. Arjay
was Grandpa’s sister’s daughter. She was an attractive
woman with blond hair and a soft way about her. Her
mother, Anita, or RiRi as we always called her, was
older than Grandpa by several years, and was always
kind to all of us. I never knew why Arjay came to live
with us. I don’t even know if I remember her living
there. Maybe I have just heard stories. Then again, I
don’t know if it was Arjay who came to live with us or
if it was Uncle Bob, Grandma’s brother. Now I’m
getting confused, and beginning to think, “who cares?”
Gee. Maybe it was BOTH! Oh, well. I saw Uncle
Bob tonight and questioned him about this paragraph.

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DEAR CHILDREN In The Beginning

Forget all that stuff about Arjay. She really did exist,
but not at our house. It was, in fact, Uncle Bob who
lived with us. He was only 26 at the time, and he lived
with us about a year or so before he married Esther.
He likes to tell the story about Uncle Allen and me
sleeping on the lower bunk of the bunk beds while he
slept on the top. Uncle Allen, so it is told, used to get
all excited when Uncle Bob jumped down from the top
bunk onto the floor. Big deal!

We lived in Venice for about 4-5 years, I guess.
While there, I remember Grandpa cutting his finger
quite badly on a pair of lawn scissors. It was his little
finger, as I recall, and it was cut so badly that he had
to be taken to the emergency hospital. The actual
details are kind of fuzzy, but I do remember sitting in
the black Ford waiting for Grandma to get him ready
to go. As I looked out the car window, I could see
Grandpa on the parkway where he had cut himself. He
was calm, as he is under most … should I say ALL …

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DEAR CHILDREN In The Beginning

conditions. I remember him bleeding, but not making
a fuss as most people would have made had it
happened to them. Anyway, I presume that everything
at the emergency hospital turned out okay. He still has
10 fingers and doesn’t talk about the incident. Maybe
because it was so long ago, or maybe because that’s
Grandpa.

Across the street and a couple doors down lived
the people who came to be Grandma’s and Grandpa’s
lifelong best friends, Frank and Rose Salter. They had
two kids who were just about the same ages of Uncle
Allen and me. Dick Salter was just about Uncle
Allen’s age, and Sherry Salter was a few years younger
than I. Dick and Uncle Allen used to play with each
other constantly and try to get each other in trouble all
the time. Dick was usually the instigator. You know
Uncle Allen: Real easy going and not much of one to
get someone else into trouble. That was Dick’s
department. The incidents they usually got into drew

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DEAR CHILDREN In The Beginning

the Salter parents over to our house more often than
not, and over the years, they became the best of
friends. Later during this letter, you will undoubtedly
read about how Grandma and Grandpa still maintain
their friendship with Rose Salter. Frank died several
years ago of cancer, and Dick died in June, 1961 of
leukemia. The City of Hope chapter that Mom and I
belong to was named after Dick Salter, but you
probably already know that.

Now is where my mind may start to drift. It’s
January 31, and about 1:30 in the morning. Mom had
to do something at work, so I’m biding my time till she
comes home. Work, brain, work!

After several years of living at the beach in Venice,
we all moved out to the San Fernando Valley, probably
in about 1950 or so. The Valley, so it was called, was
very new and not much in the way of anything like it
is today. We moved to 16421 Vose Street in Van
Nuys, right near the then very small Van Nuys airport.

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DEAR CHILDREN In The Beginning

(Today, that airport is the largest non-commercial
airport in the world.) The house was a small but
comfortable 3-bedroom 2 bath house that cost
Grandma and Grandpa about $8,000. There are no
zeros missing. Eight thousand dollars. We spent
about 6 years there, and if I really put my brain to
work, I’ll bet I could name every neighbor we had. We
lived next door to two lesbians, Helen and Dorothy,
and on the other side, the Schaeffers: Rand, Marce,
their daughters Toni, Pam, Lila, Marcy and their sons
Bobby and Jerry. Marcy and I were only 6 months
difference in ages (her birthday is July 26) so we grew
to become good friends; childhood sweethearts, you
might say. She was the one I wanted to marry, had I
asked at the tender age of 5 or 6.

So here we are in Van Nuys. New friends, new
neighbors, and Grandma Irene 300 miles away living
in Las Vegas, Nevada. She had married Oscar Belinda,
who was an entertainer there, and a wife must go

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DEAR CHILDREN In The Beginning

where her husband goes. She didn’t like it there, but
she made do. She eventually divorced Oscar (there is
a God!) and moved back to California where she
belonged. And that is probably all you will ever hear
or know about Oscar Belinda.

Uncle Allen and I went to Hayvenhurst Avenue
School, just a couple blocks away. It was a real old
school then, and believe it or not, the grounds are still
there. It’s not a school anymore, though, it’s the Van
Nuys Airport Administration building. But back in
1952 or so, that’s where I went to kindergarten. The
only thing I can remember about kindergarten was
sleeping on those stupid woven mats that everyone
did, from the beginning of time, sleep on at school. I
can close my eyes and picture myself in that big ole’
room where all the 5-year olds kept vigil every day
while their moms and dads went to work.

The kindergarten playground was just outside the
door, and completely enclosed with a fence that stood

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DEAR CHILDREN In The Beginning

about three feet high. It had a couple of huge trees
inside the yard, and was a comfortable security zone,
knowing that we were safe from everyone. Outside
the fence was Hayvenhurst Avenue (hence the name
of the school), which was a terribly busy street. The
street was tree lined, and had houses on each side, but
still was very busy. We never gave a second thought
to crossing Hayvenhurst Avenue. Ever. I would
imagine I spent many happy days in that playground.
The details are kind of fuzzy, but for crying out loud,
it was a long time ago. As I look back, I remember our
home in Van Nuys as one filled with the love that only
comes from a family as close as ours. You kids are a
constant reminder of the happy days my brother and I
spent as children. Grandma and Grandpa were the
kind of parents Mom and I are. Oh, we had our share
of fights, yelling, screaming . . .just like you do and /
or did. I don’t know how old you’ll be as you read this
(I don’t know how old I will be when I finish writing

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DEAR CHILDREN In The Beginning

this!) but right now, you fight like cats and dogs.
(Editor's note: as of this writing, April 1994, nothing
has changed) Anyway, Uncle Allen and I were the
typical brothers, loving each other one minute and
fighting with each other the next. To this day, though,
I hold a special place in my heart for my brother. He’s
just the best. (Keep in mind this portion was written
many years ago when the book first started. Times
change.)

Our house had a big backyard with a big tree in the
center of it. I used to go out there and have a picnic
lunch under that tree. Who knows, maybe some of my
creativity started out there. I don’t remember spending
a lot of time thinking and creating when I was young.
Oh, I’m sure I did. I just don’t remember, and it seems
rather trivial to try. Our yard had a redwood fence in
the back that was about 2/3 the way to the back wall.
Beyond the grassy area and that fence was gravel, and
off to the right behind the garage was the incinerator

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DEAR CHILDREN In The Beginning

we all had in that neighborhood for burning our own
trash. In those days, that’s what you did with old
papers and garbage. We probably had a can pick up
service, and most likely the City of Los Angeles, and
we had a garbage disposal in the kitchen for the
discarded food. Although it may sound funny now,
but garbage disposals were not in every home. They
weren’t reserved for the “rich” necessarily, because if
they were, we wouldn’t have had one. We weren’t
poor, mind you, but certainly not rich.

Shortly after we moved into the house on Vose
Street, we acquired a pet. I’m sure there was much
discussion about what kind; dog or cat, black or white,
you know, the whole thing. Well, Grandma was
allergic to cats, so that took care of that. But she
wasn’t allergic to dogs, so one sunny day, we got to
pick out our pet who came to be as important a
member of our family as any one of us.

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DEAR CHILDREN In The Beginning

We picked out this little blond puppy, part cocker
spaniel, part springer, so she didn’t have the real long
fluffy ears of a spaniel, but she had the face of one, and
what a face it was. I loved that face! This was a face
to fall in love for! In fact, the picture you have seen in
Grandma and Grandpa’s living room for so long is
identical to what she looked like. So now Uncle Allen
and I have gained yet another responsibility. Taking
care of the dog. But boy, did we have fun. . .for a
while. Soon, it got to be old hat for me, and she was
left to be cared for by Uncle Allen. She wasn’t just his
dog, but she seemed more at ease with him throughout
her years. I guess he didn’t tease her like I used to and
remembered more than I did that dogs are people too
and had to be fed on a more regular basis than I fed
her.

So what’s the dumb dogs name?? Well, we played
with many names, all of which I don’t recall, but we
found when we put her down in the deep back yard,

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DEAR CHILDREN In The Beginning

she would run back and forth throughout the length of
the yard chasing the shadows of the planes that flew
overhead from the Van Nuys Airport. We named her
Jet and as I sit here typing this, I become kind of
saddened, because she was so much a happy part of
my childhood that I like to remember best. She used
to take a folded pair of socks. . .didn’t matter whose,
and chew on them behind our couch. I remember
Grandma getting really mad when she did this.
Grandma would just have folded the laundry, and there
was Jet waiting for that pair of socks. If the clean
clothes were put on our beds to be put away, Jet would
climb up on the bed and get a pair of socks to chew.
Our couch was just far enough away from the wall
where she could slither in, and she would stay behind
the couch for long periods of time chewing on the
socks. You would think, “Why didn’t they get her her
own pair?” Wouldn’t work. This was not meant to be
a dissertation about a dog, because there’s really not

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DEAR CHILDREN In The Beginning

that much to tell. But she was part of our lives, and
even now as I write, 18 years after her death, she is
remembered perhaps privately but very fondly by four
people who miss her very much.

In 1957 our home was purchased by the City of
Los Angeles an eminent domain so they could enlarge
the airport. What once was a field of grass and weeds
where some of the kids would play, is now an extended
runway.

Many happy years were spent on Vose St. It was a
cul-de-sac street with I think 8 houses. Our neighbors
were all fond of each other and we had a nice little
commune type of street.

I think if I close my eyes I can picture that street
and the house I grew up in. A small 3 bedroom 2 bath
home that I remember fondly.

I also remember one of the neighbor girls, Judy
Favia, climbing a tree a few blocks away on
Monogram Avenue, just a block or so north of Vose

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DEAR CHILDREN In The Beginning

St. She slipped on one of the branches and fell on
another, causing a serious gash in her leg that had to
be treated in an emergency room.

I remember moving. I don’t remember the move
and what I had to do to participate in it.

But that was then.

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CHILDREN Soundtracks Of My Life

Soundtracks Of My Life
Thank you for the music, the songs I'm singing

Thanks for all the joy they're bringing
Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty,

What would life be?
Without a song or a dance what are we?

So I say thank you for the music
For giving it to me

To me, life without music is like life without air.
I was probably born singing. If I could have, I
probably would have put on a show in the delivery
room at St. Vincent’s Hospital in Los Angeles that
cold winter night of January 22, 1947.

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CHILDREN Soundtracks Of My Life

Music has been such a critical part of my life for
as long as I can remember. I do enjoy most kinds of
music, and always have. Some of my fondest
memories of my childhood somehow revolve around
music. I hope they always do.

My grandmother, Louise Juanita Molineaux
Hutchison Axe Dardenelle (another story for another
book, trust me…) was a pianist and artist. She
imparted her talents onto her children, one of which
was my Dad…who couldn’t sing his way out of a wet
paper bag but was a hell of an artist. I believe her
musical talents trickled down to me, though I never
knew her because she died 11 months after I was born.

Did I grow up in a musical household? Not
really. We were just an average American family. My
parents enjoyed music and listened to it. I had a
propensity for music at an early age and that fool
accordion had my mother insisting I take the accordion
lessons. I was probably 6 or 7 years old. I'm glad she
made me take those lessons even though I had to

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CHILDREN Soundtracks Of My Life

practice an hour a day. I’m glad she wanted me to do
that. I would have made a lousy baseball player.

One of the first songs I remember from early
childhood days was “Crying In The Chapel”. I
remember driving one night from Los Angeles to San
Jose to visit some relatives, up the coast on the dreaded
highway 101. I couldn’t have been more than 5. I
don’t know why it’s the first song I remember, but then
I don’t know why I remember half the things I write.
Whenever I hear that song today, it reminds me of that
trip to San Jose with my family.

Some of my favorite songs are those that were
written and sung so many years ago when my parents
were young. We usually had some form of music in
our home, so it was only natural that I would grow up
liking and remembering those old songs. I never got
into the jazz scene, or opera or hard rock. Easy
listening, mellow kind of music suits me just fine.

When I was about 7 years old, my aunt Anita, my
dad’s older sister, gave me a 12 bass accordion that

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CHILDREN Soundtracks Of My Life

belonged, I believe, to her mother many years before
that. I practiced and practiced, as much as one could
on a little 12 bass accordion and begged my mother to
let me take accordion lessons. We argued about that
brown squeezebox for a long time. I think I wore her
out because she finally relented, and after several
weeks…no, maybe months…of accordion lessons and
learning notes and other musically related things, I
was able to play my very first song. The song was
called “My Dog Towser”. I remember how tinny it
sounded on that little squeeze box, and how much
richer it sounded after I got my new accordion. I
would be willing to bet that if I were given an
accordion right this minute, I could play “My Dog
Towser” without a flaw.

Here’s what it was, folks. Almost identical as best
as I can remember, what my first accordion looked
like. Can you imagine what I looked like playing that
thing??

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CHILDREN Soundtracks Of My Life

Bass, chord chord, bass, chord chord….C, F and
G.

When I was 8 years old, my parents and Grandma
Irene pooled all their hard-earned bucks…about 500
of those hard-earned bucks… and brought me a bright
red 120 bass accordion. How well I remember waking
up that birthday morning and going out to the living
room to find that accordion, slightly tilted in its gray
box with the red fleece lining. It was really a sight to
see, and I was so excited I could hardly wait to pick it
up and start

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CHILDREN Soundtracks Of My Life

playing. Speaking of which, It was so huge I could
barely handle it.

I began my lessons at “Arnie Hartman’s School of
Accordion” in Van Nuys, where I was taught the
basics of music by his mother, whose name I cannot
remember (I guess it was Mrs. Hartman).

A search of the web (God, I love the internet)
found a picture of Arnie Hartman. I was shocked
beyond belief that one showed up...and it is just like I
remember him.

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CHILDREN Soundtracks Of My Life

Every Saturday morning, I would go to the music
school to play back the lessons I had learned the week
before. As time went on, and my lessons continued, I
learned “The Clarinet Polka”, where one Saturday, I
came in, ready to go, knowing every note in the score.
I sat down, very confidently, I might add, and began to

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CHILDREN Soundtracks Of My Life

play. Well, Mrs. Hartman sat there with me with her
accordion strapped to her hefty frame (which was not
a pretty sight), ready to play along with me. Was I
surprised when, as I began to play “The Clarinet
Polka”, she began literally pounding the notes on HER
accordion in an effort to distract me. I stopped playing
and asked her what she was doing. “You play your
way, and I’ll play mine.” Is that the way it’s supposed
to work?? I think not and told her so. What she was
trying to do was distract me and have me hold my
concentration. If that’s what she wanted, then that’s
just what she got. I continued to play and showed her
that neither “The Clarinet Polka” nor Mrs. Hartman
were a match for me. So there.

All my musical life, I was somewhat of a
nonconformist. The basics were there, but I usually
did things my way (kind of like now.) Instead of
reading the music, I would play by ear, and hoped it
sounded okay. It usually did, which was frustrating,
because I thought my way sounded better than what

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CHILDREN Soundtracks Of My Life

was written. Through the years, I continued to play
the accordion, although I stopped lessons rather early.
I would usually practice about 1/2 hour before my
lesson, rather than the hour per day like I was supposed
to. One time, I remember I didn’t know the lesson at
all and practicing 1/2 hour in advance was not going
to make Mrs. Hartman happy, so I took one of the
treble keys and bent it upwards so it couldn’t play. It
put the accordion out of commission for a couple
weeks till it could get fixed, but it relieved me for a
while. I told my mom that the key got stuck as I was
putting the accordion away.

As the years passed, I would play the accordion as
I chose, but generally enjoyed playing popular songs
that were being played on the radio. I especially liked
the music of Connie Francis. So many of her songs
became my songs. “Who’s Sorry Now” was a favorite.

When I was in the fourth grade at Hayvenhurst
Avenue School, my teacher, Mrs. Ebner, said I could
bring my accordion to school. I was really excited

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CHILDREN Soundtracks Of My Life

because I have always enjoyed the limelight (there’s a
shocker, huh?) So, when the day came, I lugged this
stupid accordion to school, and for about half an hour,
I was the star. The applause from my fourth-grade
peers rang in my ears for days. I was good. I don’t
remember what I played, but I can assure you, “My
Dog Towser” was not one of the songs.

I always enjoyed singing with the class, and fondly
remember the Christmas recitals that we had in our
schools. One year, we had to make the mats we were
to sit on, out of newspapers. Each piece of paper was
folded into a strip approximately 2 inches wide by 20
inches long. Each strip was woven into another, and
by time it was done, we had a mat that was about 20 x
20. This was supposed to protect our clothes from the
dirty floor on which we sat while we were not
performing. Now that I look back, what kept the
newsprint from getting our clothes dirty? We looked
like little ladies and gentlemen in our dark pants and

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CHILDREN Soundtracks Of My Life

white shirts and bow ties. We looked like ladies and
gentlemen, but we sang like little kids!

I credit my grandmother Louise for a lot of the
musical abilities and talents I have. She was an avid
pianist, author, artist. I wish I had known her, but she
died when I was very young. Oh, the questions I would
have for her now. I hope that she would have been
very proud of my accomplishments had she known.
Maybe she does.

My first recollection of a recorded song that I can
relate to an artist (aside from "Crying In The chapel"
where almost anyone could have sung it) was "Come
On-A My House" by Rosemary Clooney. Rosemary
Clooney was very popular back in the 1950's; she had
many many hit records and a very popular television
show. Black and white. I remember she used to come
on at 10:00. starting off her show with "Tenderly"

"The evening breeze, caress the trees, Tenderly.”

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I lived for that show. She was so pretty; she sang
so beautifully. I just loved her music. When she
played Las Vegas. as she often did, I would ask
Grandma's husband. who, as I mentioned, was an
entertainer in Las Vegas, to get me an autographed
picture of Rosemary Clooney. I couldn't have been
much more than 4 or 5 then, but I really enjoyed
listening to her.

My taste in music has generally been pretty steady.
I like all kinds, except opera and jazz. I could never
bring myself to get into that kind of music. I detest
hard acid rock. Never liked it, never will. I will go out
of my way to avoid listening to hard rock. That is not
music, it is noise. It's a shame these days to imagine
that some of these rock groups are as successful as they
are, when all they do is get up on stage, strip, or set
themselves on fire, or in general just make a public
spectacle of themselves. It is a disgusting display of
what they conceive music to be.

As the years went on, I became attached to Les

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Paul and Mary Ford, who were the first to do multiple
recordings; that is, Les Paul would play the guitar and
Mary Ford would sing. She would then listen to the
first track she recorded and record a second track on
top of it to harmonize with herself...multi-track
recording. Then she would listen to the two tracks and
record a third. And so on, and so on, and so on, until
16-20 tracks were used with her voice. The finished
product was more like a choir than a single person. It
amazed me that one person could make a sound like
that. Now, as I record, and sometimes overdub with
myself, I am reminded of Mary Ford who popularized
the whole thing. The most tracks I have ever used was
on a song called "Chronicles", which is the prelude to
"No Other Name But Jesus" (from the album of the
same name). It had 8 tracks in harmony with myself.
and as we added echo and other sound effects to it, it
became very stirring. It's a work I am most proud of.

Along comes Connie Francis. The first musical
love of my life. I have no idea what ever got me started

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on Connie Francis. In the late 50's early 60's, when
she was just a teenager herself, she came on the scene
with "Who's Sorry Now", a song she was forced to
record by her father, and one that became an overnight
sensation. It was an old song when she recorded it, but
she re-did it and made it popular all over again. The
song launched her career into what would last over 60
years. and make her the most popular female vocalist
in the history of recorded music.

As my grammar school days turned into junior
high school days so did grow my infatuation with
Connie Francis. I bought every record I could get my
hands on. It didn't matter whether it was a 45 (possibly
obsolete as you read this) or a 33 album. Tapes were
not invented yet for home use, to say nothing of
Compact Discs. At one time, I was the proud owner
of EVERY Connie Francis album she ever made.
There were Spanish albums, Italian. German, Jewish,
even Japanese. There wasn't an album she made that
I didn't own. They became worn and old, and

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eventually had to be retired to the garbage bin but I'm
starting to collect them again, getting whatever I can
wherever I can.

When I was in junior high school, I had an
assignment in my journalism class. Being on the
school newspaper was a great interest to me, and I did
all I could to please Mr. Wauchope, the journalism
teacher. My assignment was to write a feature story
on a musical artist that was popular at that time. Did
I dare choose Connie Francis? You bet I did. But, as
always, I was going to do it my way. I contacted
MGM records for whom she recorded, and got an
address in New York where I could write her. And
write her I did. It was one of those letters that wasn't
supposed to sound like a fan letter because I was doing
this for class. And it started out to be like a letter for
class, but it sure didn't end up that way. It became full
of mush and was definitely written by someone in
junior high school who had a crush on her. It sounded
that way because it was written that way.

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My greatest thrill was the night I went to the
Coconut Grove at the Ambassador Hotel in Los
Angeles where we saw Connie Francis in person. She
was great, and I was on a cloud. If I were to die
tomorrow, I would die knowing that I saw a Connie
Francis concert.

Connie Francis went into seclusion in the 70s after
she was raped at knife point in the hotel where she was
appearing. She has gone downhill ever since, having
been committed to several mental institutions by her
father and herself. She now says, according to the
National Enquirer (Yes, I still read it!), that she was
making her comeback, and based on her story in her
book "Who's Sorry Now", she will be making an
album of inspirational songs. I will undoubtedly buy
it. if and when it ever comes out, and I hope her
comeback is successful. Still number one in my book:
Connie Francis.

As I continued to follow Connie, one thing led to
another and I was able to meet her and we became

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friends. We spoke often on the telephone and through
emails until came the day in 2014 when I sent her my
album “When Sings The Heart” (more on that later) I
got a call from her, thinking it was a thank you for the
album. No, instead she was ranting over something she
thought I had put up on YouTube to sell. Someone by
the code name “Bandstand Mike” was the culprit but
she thought I was “Bandstand Mike”, and she began
yelling at me for selling her royalties. I was taken back
and said, “Connie, what are you talking about??” She
said “don’t play innocent with me. I will contact my
lawyers and have you arrested for piracy! I know who
you are and what you are doing.”

This pissed me off because I had NO idea what she
was talking about, but I wasn’t about to be threatened
for something I didn’t do. “You listen to me, Connie
Francis. And you listen good: We have lawyers in
California too, and if you think for one minute you’re
going to threaten me, I have news for you. I’ll sue you.
Do we understand each other, Connie Francis??” The

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call ended.
I got a call back a few days later from someone

who said he was associated with her, and he
apologized profusely on her behalf, saying she got the
name wrong because she was on pain medication. He
said she would call me back personally to apologize.

Her apology came in December, 2015...18 months
later...in the form of a signed publicity picture of her
in a very nice frame.

I returned it with a little note that said, “Connie: I
never want to hear from you again. I don’t want your
publicity picture, I don’t want the frame, and I am
throwing every Connie Francis album I own in the
trash. The trash, and all of your music has been deleted
from my computer playlists. I want nothing further to
do with you. Ever.”

I never heard a word back.
Singers come, and singers go. As popular as
Connie Francis was in her day, along comes another
who takes the music world by storm. A young girl

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from Brooklyn, New York, with this funny bump on
her nose who looked like the devil, but who sang like
an angel. makes her musical debut. Never, never will
I ever forget the sounds of "People" sung by a girl
who, despite her looks and funny last name, told
everyone she knew that she was going to be a star, and
she would not change her name because she wanted
everyone back in Brooklyn to know who she was.
Streisand was a funny name for a performer. but
Barbara was determined to make the name Barbara
Streisand known. As she started out in the business
and made that decision not to change her name. she
wanted to be different. Sounds a bit like me, huh? So
instead of changing her last name, she changed her
first: Barbara became Barbra. Barbra Streisand is a
legend, and by far my favorite of female vocalists.
Sorry Connie. You may have been a good singer, but
you were a lousy condescending person.

As I collected Connie Francis albums, I now have
a collection of Streisand albums, tapes and compact

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discs that would rival any record store. Her movie
career, both starring in and directing. is one to be
admired by any artist. She's one of those funny
actresses that has more talent in her little finger than
most people have in their whole body. One of her
early albums is entitled, "Simply Streisand". It should
really be titled, "Simply... The Best" because she is.

One group that made a lasting impression on me
and those of my era, was a folk singing trio who didn't
change their names at all. All they ever did was simply
not use their last names of Yarrow, Stookey and
Travers. They did, though, use their first names, and
became the most popular folk singing trio of all times.
They were then, and they are now, and always will be,
Peter, Paul, and Mary.

"If I had a hammer, I'd hammer in the morning,
I'd hammer in the evening, all over this land.

I'd hammer out danger, I'd hammer out warning
I'd hammer out love between my brothers and my
sisters.

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