BOBBY DARIN
Our house in Laurel Canyon smelled like grass when I got home from the
Crescendo club where I’d been backing the Chad Mitchell Trio, opening up for Lenny Bruce.
Bob and Artie were sitting cross-legged on the floor,
around the coffee table, rolling joints.
"Hey man. How'd it go?" Bob asked, holding his breath to
keep in the pot he'd just inhaled.
"Great! I got an offer for a new job."
"What do you mean a new job? I thought you were going to
work with us. You've even been on the cover of TV Guide with the
Christys." Art murmured, handing me a joint.
"Do you know who Bobby Darin is?"
"Yeah man! “Splish Splash”! Who doesn't know him? You mean he
offered you a job?" Bob sounded excited.
"He told me he'd give twice what I was making with Chad Mitchell."
"Oh, you gotta' do it man, you gotta' do it!" Bob cheered.
I looked over at Artie who was nodding his head, "Yeah I
guess you'd better take it. The Christys will never pay that
much."
"You know this Darin thing sounds good...but I'm not sure I
can get up and meet him at seven in the morning."
"He wants you there at seven? That means you have to get up
at six. That's crazy! Musicians don't get up at six in the
morning, they go to bed at six in the morning and singers can't
sing that early. How are you going to audition that early in the
morning?" Artie huffed.
"No..No Jim, I think you'd be crazy not to do it. Bobby
Darin's like Frank Sinatra. At least you gotta' go and find out
what he want's you to do. You're nineteen...this could be your
big break. Do you have an alarm clock?"
"Yeah Bob.....and I think you're right. I'm gonna' hit the
sack. See you guys tomorrow."
"I know you won't be sorry man." Bob encouraged.
I arrived at Darin's house on Sunset Plaza Drive, promptly
at seven in the morning It occurred to me that maybe this early
hour was his way of testing my reliability. Bobby met me at the
door and showed me into the dining room.
"Have a seat. Help yourself to coffee and sweet rolls. I'll
be back in a minute." The authority that he exuded made me feel
like a child even though he was only a few years my senior. My
eyes explored the multi-leveled house and I caught a glimpse of
Sandra Dee, his wife, as she walked through the living room in a
red sweat shirt and white shorts.
"Okay Jim, this is what I want you to do. I'm going to add a
folk segment to my show. I'll do fifteen minutes with the band
and then I'll bring you out. Then just the two of us will do a
few folk songs. You'll sing harmony and play your 12-string.
You even get your own spotlight."
"Great." I managed before gulping. I was waiting for him to
make me audition.
"We start rehearsals at the Flamingo Hotel in Las Vegas next
week. Charlie Mafia will take care of all the arrangements. Write
your phone number on that pad over there."
There was no audition. The show last night must have made
the right impression and I walked out of his house feeling like I
had just been adopted by a rich godfather.
A week later Bobby's band and I were on a plane to Vegas.
Bobby was nervous about flying, so he and Sandra drove.
Returning to Las Vegas with a headliner was like a
victorious homecoming. The main showroom was bigger than the Riviera
lounge I'd played with the Chad Mitchell Trio and I had a great
spot in Bobby Darin's show at the Flamingo, the
original Las Vegas Hotel.
Bobby carried just a rhythm section with him on the road and
would hire a fourteen-piece horn section in each town. Rehearsals
would last all day but I was only required to be there for thirty
minutes to work on our folk segment. I had to be on time and in
tune. Bobby was a perfectionist and didn't tolerate sloppy
habits.
Bobby's drummer, Ronnie Zito, was the band clown. He kept
us all entertained by asking the hotel operator to page funny
names such as, "Daryl B. Moretocum," "Felix Sydded," and "Amanda
Reconwith."
Opening night I watched the beginning of the show from the
wings. Stage fright reared its ugly head again and my palms were
sweating. I decided to check the tuning of my 12-string. Suddenly
it sounded way out. It had sounded fine just minutes before in
the dressing room but now my nerves were distorting my sense of
pitch. Frantically I tried to get it in tune before my entrance.
The stage went black and I walked to my microphone in the dark.
Bobby was taking off his jacket and tie, as I tentatively moved
to center stage and started playing, "It Makes A Long Time Man
Feel Bad," Miraculously the guitar was in tune. The song's
opening lick was fast and intricate. I had to summon all of my
concentration to get it right. Bobby walked over to his
microphone. Two small spotlights, side by side, illuminated our
faces and were the only lights visible on the stage. We sang the
song together and the audience exploded into applause.
Sandra Dee and Peter Fonda were in the audience. They had
just finished filming "Tammy and the Doctor." After the show they
came backstage and I met Henry Fonda's son, Peter. I realized
that Bobby attracted a more diverse audience than had my previous
employers, from little old ladies, to movie stars. Peter and I got to talking
and we discovered that we had a friend in common. Stormy McDonald.
He had been my friend at the Latin School of Chicago and Peter's
best friend in collage. We kept in touch after that meeting.
Bobby Darin was the master and I became his apprentice. He
didn't mind that I followed him everywhere. I wanted to learn
everything I could from him about performing, acting, songwriting
and just living. When I asked him what it took to make it in show
business he advised, "The most important thing is to get up in
front of audiences as much as you can. It doesn't matter how good
you are in front of your mirror at home, you have to test under fire."
One night in the casino while he was playing roulette, he
turned to me and said "I get waves "What do you mean?" I asked.
"You have to have 360 degree peripheral vision and get
waves, you know, like knowing where the ball is going to land
next." He put his chips on the six. The ball landed on twenty
two. He shrugged "It doesn't always work. Let's go over to the
lounge. There's a trio I want to check out."
We walked into the lounge and stood at the bar. The placard
on the side of the stage read "The Newton Brothers."
"That lead singer's great but he needs to get rid of those
two brothers. I think I'll go back stage and have a talk with him
after the show." Bobby leaned over to the bartender and asked,
"What's that lead singer's name?"
"Wayne...Wayne Newton."
Later that week, Jackie Cooper caught our show at the Flamingo.
He liked what he saw and wanted to use me as a banjo
playing character in a new television series that he was
producing called "Petticoat Junction." The script struck me as
being way too square, so I turned down the part. Bobby couldn't
believe that I had actually turned Jackie Cooper down. He said
that it was a good break if I wanted to get into acting but I
just couldn't see myself being a Hollywood hillbilly.
Bobby said now you'll probably never work in the movies.
A friend in Hollywood named Baxter Taylor had loaned me a
fine sounding 12-string guitar. It was a Gibson Hummingbird
6-string that he had converted to a 12-string. With the six extra
strings, there was over 256 pounds of pressure on the frail neck.
One night, after I had concluded my part of the show, I leaned
the guitar up against the piano. The piano was on casters to
make it easier to move around the stage. During the next segment
of the show, Bobby put his hand on the piano and moved it back
just far enough to send the guitar crashing to the hard-wood
floor. The tuning head snapped off, completely destroying the
guitar. The next day Bobby bought me a new Gibson 12-string.
After Bobby’s show I would walk up the strip to the Sahara to watch
Insult comedian Don Rickles.
One night I was the honored recipient of Don's jabs. He
said, "There's a kid back there who works for Bobby Darin. He's
been in the business about two weeks and he goes around saying
'I'm a star, I'm a star'." I didn't know how he knew about me but
his acknowledgment really made me feel like part of the show
business community.
Don used to make fun of everyone including Frank Sinatra.
He would make jokes about Frank being the boss. "Did Frank tell
you, you could leave the casino so soon?" One night, I used
Frank's name flippantly on stage during Bobby's show. After the
show as I walked past Bobby's dressing room, he shouted, "Hey
Skinny McGuinny (His nickname for me) get in here, I want to talk to you!"
"What did I do?" "You don't talk about Frank Sinatra in this town and get
away with it! What were you trying to do out there?"
"I thought it would be funny." I said sheepishly.
"It was stupid! What made you think you could say that
anyway?"
"I saw Don Rickles do it at the Sahara and it worked for him."
"He is the only person who can do it. You keep your mouth
shut about Frank. Do you hear?"
"Okay. I won't do it again."
After changing clothes I went into the lounge to watch
Lionel Hampton and his band. When they finished their set, Danny
Barahanos, Lionel's conga player, and my friend from the Miriam
Makeba tour, came over to my table.
"Hi Jim. Lionel wants to talk to you. Join him at his table
with his wife"
"Wow everybody wants to talk to me tonight." I mumbled to
myself as I walked over to Lionel's table.
"Hi Jim, have a seat. What are you drinking?"
"I'll have a coke."
"You know I've been watching you and I like what I'm
hearin’” "Thanks."
"Danny's been telling' me you two've been jammin' at the
clubs across town and you're doin' some mighty fine pickin'. How
would you like to do a record for me?"
"Lionel hold on, some people aren't quite ready for the big
time yet." Mrs. Hampton interjected
"Well maybe not just yet but I keepin' my eye on you. We got
to go. Talk to you later Jim."
"Thanks Mr. Hampton."
Bobby was having problems with his health. He'd had
Rheumatic fever as a child and had heart trouble as a result.
His voice was starting to give out from the heavy schedule and
his doctor told him to get out of the performing end of the
business for a while. He planned on moving his family to an
elegant apartment on East 57th street in New York. There he could
concentrated on his publishing company, TM Music.
"Hey McGuinny, come here I wand to talk to you. I'm not
going to be performing for a while. I'm going to devote
attention to my publishing company. Why don't you move to New
York and try your hand at songwriting in the Brill Building? I'll
give you thirty-five dollars a week. With that and money you can
pick up from sessions and playing in the Village, you can buy a
lot of cheeseburgers."
I thought for a minute. It was a big drop in pay but it was a chance
to get back to New York. The scene in the Village and the prospect
of working in Tin Pan Alley were irresistible. "Will you pay for my
plane ticket to New York?" He laughed and said, "Sure."
I walked away feeling that I still had a godfather and I was going
home to the Village.
Greenwich Village
