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 ARTIST
BY MOOD
BY TITLE
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.