INTERVIEW: RUBY KEELER IN 1971

When I interviewed Ruby Keeler for The New York Times in 1971, she admitted she was worried that Broadway audiences might not say “Yes, Yes, Ruby” to her comeback in “No, No, Nanette.” As it turned out, she had absolutely nothing to worry about. --GUY FLATLEY

That woman wincing in pain is the star of the show, a spoiled-rotten dancer who has finally been floored by a fracture of the ankle. The other girl, the one twisting her hanky and rolling her eyes heavenward, is the sweetest kid in the chorus and she has been chosen to step in for the fallen star. On opening night. It’s enough to give a girl the jitters, and it does. How on earth is she ever going to memorize all those lines and master those devilish dance steps?

The year was 1933, the movie was “42d Street,” the slave-driving director was played by Warner Baxter (seen above pointing at the sweet kid's leg). And making her movie debut as the humble hoofer who came back a star was Ruby Keeler, in real life the young bride of the beaming Al Jolson.

“It was a funny line, wasn’t it?” Miss Keeler laughs, remembering her classic scene with Warner Baxter. She wasn’t laughing then, however. “I was scared to death. That’s me, I guess. I’m scared to death now.”

The reason that Ruby Keeler is scared to death now is that she will soon have to go out there and come back a star again. This time for real, on the real Broadway stage. The show, a revival of Vincent Youmans’ 1925 hit “No, No, Nanette,” has been a surprise smash out of town, with the warmest applause going to Miss Keeler, who stars as the sunny, tap-dancing aunt of Nanette.

“I’ve been away a long time,” she says, biting her lip and nodding to one of her fans in the genteel dining room of Boston’s Barclay Hotel. Ruby, a youthful 60, is still pretty, with bright blue eyes, soft gray-blonde hair, and shapely legs.

“My last show on Broadway was ‘Show Girl’ in 1929,” she says. “This is a big step for me, and a frightening one. And yet it’s a wonderful thing to have happened to a woman of my age, just at this time – when I’m sort of lost. My husband – Lord love his soul – died two years ago. We had been married 27 years. It had been John’s first marriage, though I don’t know why – he was so handsome that all the gals liked him. Once I became Mrs. John Lowe, it never entered my mind to be anything else. Not that I hated the movies I had been doing. I enjoyed them; but I always felt there had to be more to life.”

Ruby’s husband, a socially prominent broker, built a large house in Newport Beach, south of Los Angeles. “Not a showplace – well, yes, it was a showplace, but comfortable, lived-in. We had a stable and a few horses. Then, when John died, my friends urged me to sell the house. All five of our children are grown now, and there is so much work that needs to be done around a large house. John had always loved keeping things just right, and I wasn’t able to do that. It killed me to sell that house. I had to sell the horses too, but I couldn’t bear to watch when the men came to take them away. I had seen them as babies.”



Then, out of the blue, producer Harry Rigby called with the “No, No, Nanette” offer. Her name had been suggested by Busby Berkeley, the show’s 75-year-old “production supervisor” and the wizard who had sent Ruby reeling through some of her most lavish Hollywood dance numbers. So now she is bound for Broadway, where she had been rated a hot new talent before she decided to shuffle off to Hollywood with Al Jolson.

“When I was 13, I was dancing at Texas Guinan’s. It was during Prohibition, so it must have been a speakeasy. But we called it a night club. It was small, but I guess anybody who was anybody went to the Guinan club. All the stars. I remember Miss Guinan as a very large and very wonderful woman, warm and kind to us and always singing.”

In 1927, Flo Ziegfeld, who had spotted Ruby tapping her toes and tossing her curls in a musical called “Lucky,” summoned her to his office and signed her up for “Whoopee,” with Eddie Cantor. “I went on tour with the show,” Ruby says softly, “but I didn’t get to New York, even though I received nice reviews. You see, I got married in Pittsburgh and Mr. Jolson, who should have known better, said, ‘Ruby, I want you to come to California with me.’ ‘But what will I do about the show?’ I asked. ‘Better come to California with me, Ruby,’ he said. And so I did, which wasn’t a very nice thing for me to do to Mr. Ziegfeld.”

Ruby’s marriage to Jolson, which ended in divorce, is not one of her favorite subjects. “I really prefer not talking about my life with Al. It’s not that it was an overnight thing; we were married 11 years. It’s just that my life since then – my husband, my children – has been so full that what came before seems an entirely different life.”



When Hollywood got around to making “The Jolson Story” in 1946, they called Ruby and asked her permission to portray her marriage to Jolson. “‘I would rather you not do that,’ I said. They said, ‘O.K., we’ll call you Pearl or Julie.’ I never saw the movie, but I hear it was good. Al was a great entertainer. I do not know that some of the things in the movie were true. When I opened on Broadway in ‘Show Girl,’ Al did stand up in the audience and sing. But not because I was about to faint, as the movie apparently made it seem, but because Al liked to sing and when he felt like singing, he sang.”

When Ruby’s second marriage took place in a Catholic church, some cynics sneered. “People thought the church was showing favoritism, but they didn’t understand. Al and I were married by a justice of the peace, even though Al’s father was a cantor and one of the most truly religious men I have ever met. So, in the eyes of the church, my marriage to Al was not a blessed marriage. I don’t think Al ever practiced any religion, but he did go to mass with me once or twice. You know, he was very proud of the fact that I continued to go to church. He loved to be able to say to people, ‘Oh, Ruby’s not here now. She’s at mass.’ Of course, I couldn’t receive communion. And though I wasn’t thinking about that at the time of our divorce, the Lord was taking care of me, even then. I could not have gotten back into the church – to receive the sacraments – if I had stayed married to Al.”

Al Jolson may not be one of Ruby’s favorite subjects, but Flo Ziegfeld is. She came back to Broadway – Jolson did not stand in her way this time – in the legendary producer’s “Show Girl,” not long after her “Whoopee” walk-out.



“I’m very proud that I was in a Ziegfeld show. He was a wonderful, wonderful man. I remember once, years after I had retired, one of our mares was having a filly. We knew that she was ready, so we were all out leaning over the fence, watching. Then the mare dropped this white, white buckskin. Skinny white legs in long black stockings, and about six long lashes on each eye. ‘She’s beautiful!’ I said. ‘She looks just like a Ziegfeld girl. We’ll have to name her after Mr. Ziegfeld.’ ‘Who’s that?’ the kids wanted to know. ‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘We must call her Ziggy.’ And we did.



“As the kids got older, they realized that I had been in the movies, and on the stage. Every once in a while, they would hear me mention Mr. Ziegfeld, but it didn’t mean much to them. Then Kathleen went to see ‘Funny Girl,’ and when she came home, she said, ‘Mom, did you really know Flo Ziegfeld?’ ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Did you call him Flo?’ ‘No,’ I said. ‘Well,’ Kathleen said, ‘Barbra Streisand called him Flo!’”

Ruby enjoys an enviable rapport with her children. “Oh, we’ve had our arguments but, basically, we all feel alike. The one thing that frightens me about so many young people today is this dope thing. I’m terribly against marijuana. Kathleen and I were talking about it not long ago. I hope and pray that she doesn’t smoke it. I said to her, ‘Kathleen, how many of your friends smoke marijuana?’ ‘A great many,’ she said. And me, with my Irish, I said, ‘Well, don’t you bring those friends in this house!’ ‘Mom,’ she said, ‘you don’t understand. What about all those cocktail parties you older people go to?’ ‘But a person doesn’t go to a cocktail party to get drunk,’ I said. ‘You have a couple of drinks and you leave.’ I truly think that kids are being brainwashed with this idea that marijuana is no more harmful than alcohol. How many 14-year-olds have you seen lying drunk in the gutter? Yet they start so young on drugs. It’s as if they just can’t wait to destroy themselves.”

One of Ruby’s sons is a Vietnam veteran. “When Johnny was in Vietnam, I was terribly worried. I’d hear reports on the news, names of places being attacked, and I would wonder, ‘Is Johnny there, with the mortars hitting all around him?’ Johnny isn’t for the war, but he feels that even if it is a mistake for us to be there, we are there and the boys should have more support. He was all for President Nixon’s Cambodian move, but he doesn’t go screaming up and down the street, waving a flag. Just before we left California, a package came for him. He opened it and inside was a Bronze Star. ‘Johnny!’ I said. ‘How did you get that? What did you do to earn it? Why didn’t you tell me you won a Bronze Star?’ ‘Well, Mom,’ he said, ‘I wasn’t sure the package was ever going to get here.’ That was all he said. But, the Bronze Star – they don’t give that to everybody, do they?”

Johnny is now the assistant stage manager of “No, No, Nanette,” and Ruby’s sister Gertrude is serving as her secretary. “We were always a close family. When I went to Hollywood, I took my mother, my father and my three sisters with me. My sisters were in the chorus of ‘42d Street.’ They were Busby Berkeley girls. Gertrude still does extras.”



Ruby is relieved that in “No, No, Nanette” she can put her best foot forward and leave the carrying of tunes to others. She will have one duet with Jack Gilford, but that will be a patter song. “I can talk a song, I just can’t sing. One thing that was difficult for me at first was learning lines again. I still walk up and down backstage thinking, ‘Now, what are my lines in this next scene?’ I never really had a lot of lines to learn before, especially on stage. I’m not an actress. You certainly can’t call what I did on the screen acting.

“When I began rehearsing for the show, my legs were...well, I was like a runner who hadn’t raced for a long time. But having Busby there helped. Some people said to me, ‘Don’t do it, Ruby,’ when they heard I was going to go out there and dance. But, so far, I think it’s working out all right. Who knows – maybe some night it won’t. My three daughters came on opening night in Boston. It was the first time they’d seen me perform. They’ve seen my movies on television, but they’re looking at a young girl in those pictures, not their mother. Now the kids say a prayer for me before matinees. If all goes well, I’ll have them come to New York for the opening.

“I am apprehensive about the Broadway opening, but the fact that we’ve been so well received all along the way does generate some excitement, don’t you think? The audiences have been having fun; in the ‘I Want to Be Happy’ number at the end, they’re smiling and singing and swaying along with us. It’s like having a party in your own living room. I’ve prayed as much as anybody that they’ll like us in New York, too. Especially for the sake of the kids in the show. It’s their careers.

“It’s different for me,” Ruby says, brushing a curl from her face and smiling the smile of the sweetest kid in the chorus. “I can always go home.”

Ruby Keeler died on February 28,1993 at the age of 82...



SOURCE

SHEMP HOWARD: THE PART TIME STOOGE

Last year I wrote three articles on the Three Stooges. I wrote about the golden age of the Stooges with Moe, Larry, and Curly. However, another stooge who filled in after Curly got sick and late died, should not be forgotten. I consider himself a part time stooge and that is Shemp Howard.

Born on March 11, 1895 Shemp was eaised in Manhattan, New York. He was the third of the five Horwitz brothers and of Lithuanian Jewish ancestry. Shemp Howard, like many New York-based performers, found work at the Vitaphone studio in Brooklyn. Originally playing bit roles in Vitaphone's Roscoe Arbuckle comedies, showing off his goofy appearance, he was entrusted with speaking roles and supporting parts almost immediately.

He was featured with Vitaphone comics Jack Haley, Ben Blue, and Gus Shy, then co-starred with Harry Gribbon, Daphne Pollard, and Johnnie Berkes, and finally starred in his own two-reel comedies. (A 1934 Gribbon-Howard short, Art Trouble, also featured the then unknown James Stewart in his first film role.) Shemp would seldom stick to the script, and would liven up a scene with ad-libbed, incidental dialogue or wisecracks. This became a trademark of his performances. Late 1935 Vitaphone licensed rights to produce short comedies based on the "Joe Palooka" comic strip. Shemp was cast as "Knobby Walsh" and although he was only a supporting character, Shemp became the comic focus of the series, with Johnny Berkes and Lee Weber as his foils. Shemp costarred in the first seven shorts, released during 1936 and 1937; nine were produced all together, with the last two done after Shemp left Vitaphone to move to greener pastures on the West Coast.

Away from Vitaphone he attempted, unsuccessfully, to lead his own group of "stooges" in the Van Beuren musical comedy short The Knife of the Party. Otherwise, Shemp Howard's solo career was very successful. He followed his brothers' lead, moved to the West Coast in 1937, and picked up supporting actor roles at several studios, predominantly at Columbia Pictures and Universal Studios. He performed with such comic greats as W. C. Fields, with whom he played the bartender in the 1940 film The Bank Dick, and the comedy team Abbott and Costello, who would reportedly trim his scene-stealing material. He also lent comic relief to Charlie Chan and The Thin Man murder mysteries, and was in several Universal B-musicals of the early 1940s, among them Strictly in the Groove, How's About It?, Moonlight and Cactus, and San Antonio Rose, in which he is paired with Lon Chaney, Jr. as a faux Abbott and Costello. In most of these, his improvisational skills are highlighted. He was briefly teamed with comedians Billy Gilbert and Maxie Rosenbloom for three B-comedy features in 1944–45. He also played a few dramatic parts, such as his supporting role in Pittsburgh (1942) starring Marlene Dietrich and John Wayne.

From 1939 onwards, Shemp appeared frequently in Columbia's two-reel comedies, co-starring with Columbia regulars Andy Clyde, The Glove Slingers, El Brendel, and Tom Kennedy. Howard was given his own starring series in 1944; he was working for Columbia in this capacity when his brother Curly was felled by a debilitating stroke on May 6, 1946. Shemp reluctantly replaced Curly in Columbia's popular Stooge shorts, knowing that Moe and Larry would be out of work if he refused. Initially, Shemp rejoined the Stooges on a temporary basis until Curly recovered, but as Curly's condition worsened, it became apparent that Shemp's association with the Stooges would be permanent. (Prior to replacing Curly on film, Shemp had substituted for his brother in some personal appearances in the early 1940s.)

Shemp's take as the third Stooge was much different from Curly's. While he could still roll with the punches as the recipient of Moe's slapstick abuse, he was more of a laid-back dimwit versus Curly's energetic man-child persona. And unlike Curly, who had many distinct mannerisms, Shemp's most notable characteristic as a Stooge was a high-pitched "bee-bee-bee-bee-bee-bee!" sound, a sort of soft screech done by inhaling. This was rather multi-purpose, as Shemp uttered this sound when scared, sleeping (done as a form of snoring), overtly happy, or dazed.

Shemp appeared with Moe and Larry in 73 short subjects and the feature film Gold Raiders. He suffered a mild stroke in November 1952, though he recovered from it within weeks and without noticeable effect on his remaining films with the Stooges (largely remakes of earlier films that recycled footage to reduce costs).

On November 22, 1955, while returning home by taxicab from attending a boxing match (one of Shemp's favorite pastimes), Shemp died of a heart attack. Shemp was lighting a cigar after telling a joke when he suddenly slumped over on his friend Al Winston's lap. Moe Howard's autobiography states that Shemp died on November 23, 1955 and most subsequent accounts point to that date because of Moe's book. But much of Moe's book was finished posthumously by his daughter and son-in-law, and some specific details were confused as a result.

The Los Angeles county coroner death certificate states that Shemp Howard died on Tuesday November 22, 1955 at 11:35 PST; confirming that, Shemp's obituary appeared in the November 23 afternoon editions of L.A. newspapers, establishing the night of November 22 as the date of death. He was entombed at Home of Peace Cemetery in East Los Angeles, the same place his brother Curly was buried.

Even though Shemp was no Curly, the shorts he made with the other Stooges and every other film appearance was worth seeing. Shemp did not appear with the team in all of their short, but on even his solo work he was a stooge at heart and a stooge that should be regarded with comic admiration...

MOVIE REVIEW: POSSESSED

To the average movie watcher today, Joan Crawford is simply the subject of a campy movie about an abusive mother. To see the real Crawford acting is much different that seeing the Faye Dunaway version of Joan Crawford. Crawford was an excellent actress who is often overlooked by Hollywood. The years have not been kind to her memory. A good example of great Joan Crawford acting is the movie Possessed.

Possessed is a 1947 Warner Bros. film starring Joan Crawford, Van Heflin, and Raymond Massey in a tale about an unstable woman's obsession with her ex-lover. The screenplay by Ranald MacDougall and Silvia Richards was based upon a story by Rita Weiman. The film was directed by Curtis Bernhardt and produced by Jerry Wald. Joan Crawford was nominated of an Oscar for her superb acting in the film.

Louise Howell (Crawford) is an emotionally unstable woman working as a nurse to the invalid wife of Dean Graham (played by Raymond Massey) in the Graham home. Louise is in love with neighbor David Sutton (played by the underrated Van Heflin), an engineer, who loathes her smothering obsession with him; he ends the relationship and leaves the area to Louise's great hurt. Shortly after, Graham's wife drowns. Louise remains in the home to care for the two Graham children: young Wynn and college-age Carol.



Time passes and David re-enters the scene, having taken an engineering job with Graham. He is surprised to find Louise with the family. Louise — still obsessed with David — makes a pass and is rebuffed. Moments later, Graham proposes to Louise and she accepts to salvage her pride.

Carol takes a fancy to David, much to the consternation of Louise, who tries to dissuade Carol from establishing a relationship with him. Louise's mind begins to decline with her obsession over David; she hears voices, has hallucinations, and believes her husband's first wife is still alive.

When David and Carol consider marriage, Louise tries to end their relationship. Graham is concerned about Louise's mental state and tries to persuade her to see a doctor. Believing her husband, David, and Carol are all against her and trying to put her away, Louise bursts into David's apartment and kills him in a schizophrenic episode.



The psychiatrist to whom Louise has recounted her story pronounces her insane and not responsible for her actions. He laments that he had not seen her sooner, as he is sure that if he had, the tragedy could have been avoided. He tells Graham that he intends to help Louise back to sanity, though the process will be long and arduous, with much pain and suffering in store for her. Graham pledges his full support and vows that he always be there for her, no matter how difficult it becomes.

Crawford spent time visiting mental wards and talking to psychiatrists to prepare for her role, and said the part was the most difficult but most rewarding she ever played.

During production director Curtis Bernhardt accidentally kept referring to Crawford as "Bette" as he had just finished filming A Stolen Life with Bette Davis. Crawford tried unsuccessfully to convince Warner Bros. to change the film's title to The Secret since she had already starred in a film by the same name earlier in her career. Even though Joan Crawford is not my favorite actress, this movie showed she had range and was not just some tabloid Mommie Dearest...

MY RATING: 9 OUT OF 10

MY FIVE FAVORITE GENE KELLY MUSICALS

The month of August marks the 100 anniversary of Gene Kelly's birth. It seems like only yesterday he was dancing with Judy Garland or performing an intricate number on roller skates or a cartoon mouse. Luckily Gene Kelly left his mark in countless great musicals that we can watch over and over again. Here are my five personal favorite Gene Kelly musicals...

5. SUMMER STOCK (1950)
This is often an overlooked Gene Kelly musical. The movie is best remembered as the last movie that Judy Garland did at MGM. Her weight throughout the movie radically changed, but Kelly has some appealing dance numbers. I think one of his most energetic dances of all time was the dance to "Dig Brother Dig". This movie also marked the third and final time Kelly and Judy would appear together on film. It is an amazing example of his talent.

4. SINGIN IN THE RAIN (1952)
At first I wasn't even going to put Singin In The Rain on my list. Sure, I love the movie, but is it my favorite musical - no. I think the number that puts this beloved Kelly musical over the top for me was the "Broadway Dance Ballet" Kelly did with Cyd Charisse. I like the title number Kelly did in the rain, but I have seen it so much. I think the "Moses" number with his co star Donald O' Connor is truly great. Still though, the image of Kelly dancing in the rain with his umbrella is one of the most memorable cinema moments.

3. ON THE TOWN (1949)
This was one of the first Gene Kelly movies I saw back when I was starting to watch classic movies when VHS or even Beta first came out. Gene was of course great in the movie, but On The Town's appeal to me is the cast as a whole - Kelly, Frank Sinatra, Jules Munshin, Ann Miller, Vera-Ellen, and Betty Garrett was like a dream team of musical greats. My favorite number is Ann Miller's "Prehistoric Man", but Kelly took his talents to new heights in this movie with some pretty tricky choreography.

2. FOR ME AND MY GAL (1942)
Watching Gene Kelly in this movie, it is amazing it is his first film. He really had a commanding presence on the screen. This was the first movie he was paired with Judy Garland in, and they made a great team. From the title number to their terrific performance of "Ballin The Jack" they really looked like they were having fun together. For Kelly's first movie he did not really play a nice guy but in the end his character grew. It really was an amazing performance for Kelly just starting out. All of the songs were old even by 1942's standards, but Kelly and Judy brought new life to all of them.

1. BRIGADOON (1954)
My stepfather, who is a 6ft 4in hunter, introduced me to Brigadoon when I was younger. The movie did not do well when it first came out, but I think since then the film has gotten more recognition. Kelly himself was disappointed with the movie because he wanted to film the musical on location in Scotland. MGM refused and shot the entire film on the backlot. One of my favorite numbers was "Almost Like Being In Love", and Kelly's version of the song is another memorable musical moment. Cyd Charisse and Van Johnson also are perfect in their roles as his love interest and his best friend respectively. The movie was one of the last of the great MGM musicals made, but Brigadoon is another example of why 100 years after his birth, Gene Kelly is still remembered...

RIP: TONY MARTIN

I had the pleasure of meeting Tony Martin in 1999, and I have never forgotten the experience. He will be missed...

Tony Martin, Debonair Pop Troubadour, Dies at 98
By FRANK J. PRIAL

Tony Martin, the debonair baritone whose career spanned some 80 years in films and nightclubs and on radio and television, died on Friday at his home in West Los Angeles. He was 98. .

His death was confirmed by business manager, Stan Schneider.

Mr. Martin’s long life in show business began in the late 1920s, when he formed his first band at Oakland Technical High School in California. He was still performing in nightclubs around the country well into the 21st century.

“Tony Martin may be his generation’s Last Man Standing,” Stephen Holden wrote in The New York Times in January 2008. The occasion was a five-night engagement at Feinstein’s at Loews Regency in New York, where Mr. Martin sang his hits from half a century earlier while dropping names of colleagues he had outlived, like Bing Crosby and Perry Como.

After a chorus or two of, say, “The Very Thought of You,” Mr. Martin would interject: “Ray Noble, lovely guy. I met him when I did the Palladium in London, and he asked me to sing that song.”

A few lines of “I Don’t Know Why” would recall Russ Columbo, who popularized it. “I was working with Woody Herman in Tom Gerun’s band in Oakland,” Mr. Martin would tell his audience, “when we heard that both Columbo and Bing Crosby were singing with Gus Arnheim’s band down in L.A. So we drove down to hear them.”

Mr. Martin spoke familiarly of Crosby and later singers. Crosby, who was almost 10 years older than he was, was the first of the popular male singers to develop the laid-back persona that Frank Sinatra would make his own. But Mr. Martin rarely appeared out of black tie. Young swains of the 1950s preparing for their first prom could avail themselves of a popular tuxedo model called the Tony Martin.

In a sense Mr. Martin represented an earlier fantasy, stemming from the 19th-century European operettas and musicals, that of the impossibly elegant troubadour warbling to equally elegant (and mythical) audiences at nightclubs and balls. In the 1940s Mr. Martin was to popular song what Fred Astaire was to dance.

His popularity later helped propel a successful performing partnership with his wife, the dancer and actress Cyd Charisse, in nightclubs and on television. Their marriage lasted 60 years, ending with Ms. Charisse’s death at 86 in June 2008.

Tony Martin was born Alvin Morris in San Francisco on Dec. 25, 1913; his family moved across the bay to Oakland soon after. His parents were well-off Jewish immigrants from Poland who wanted him to be a lawyer. He attended St. Mary’s, a Christian Brothers college in nearby Moraga, where he was in the class of 1934 for a time. “I left in 1932,” he once said, “after one of the brothers told me I was flunking everything and should stick to music.”

He headed for Hollywood, where a new name, his good looks and his voice soon had him working steadily, mostly in small parts, starting with that of a sailor in “Follow the Fleet” (1936), a song-and-dance feature starring Astaire and Rogers. Later that year he appeared in “Sing, Baby, Sing,” starring Alice Faye, whom he married in 1937. That marriage ended in divorce in 1940.

In 1941, in one of the high points of his screen career, he serenaded Judy Garland, Hedy Lamarr and Lana Turner as they floated down a staircase in a number staged by Busby Berkeley in MGM’s “Ziegfeld Girl.”

He eventually won larger roles in musicals like “Here Come the Girls” (1953) and “Hit the Deck” (1955). But his acting rarely drew critical praise, owing at least partly to the sort of films with which his career began — mostly the escapist fluff that audiences were demanding in those grim Depression days. In reviewing Mr. Martin in “Sing and Be Happy” in 1937 Bosley Crowther of The New York Times wrote that the only depth in the film was to be found in the dimples of Mr. Martin and his female co-star.

Mr. Martin made his radio debut in the early 1930s on “Lucky Strike Hour.” He later became a regular on “The George Burns and Gracie Allen Show.” For a time in the 1950s he was the host of “The Tony Martin Show,” a 15-minute television variety series.

From 1938 to 1942 he recorded constantly, mostly for Decca. His hits included “Begin the Beguine,” “There’s No Tomorrow” (an adaptation of “O Sole Mio”) and “I Get Ideas,” taken from an Argentine tango and much criticized at the time for its supposed sexual innuendo.

In World War II Mr. Martin served briefly in the Navy then switched to the Army amid rumors that he had tried to buy a Navy commission. The rumors persisted after the war, even though Mr. Martin had served honorably in the Pacific, and several major labels refused to record him.

He signed instead with Mercury, then a small independent label based in Chicago. When one of his Mercury discs, “To Each His Own,” became a million seller, RCA Victor, one of the major labels, offered him a contract. He remained with RCA for the rest of his career.

Mr. Martin married Ms. Charisse on May 15, 1948, in a City Hall ceremony in Santa Barbara, Calif. They had a son, Tony Martin Jr., who died in 2011. Survivors include Ms. Charisse’s son from her first marriage, Nico Charisse, and two step-grandchildren.

In 1976 Mr. Martin and Ms. Charisse were co-authors, with Dick Kleiner, of “The Two of Us,” a book chronicling their lives together as performers and business partners.

In her last years Ms. Charisse appeared at most of Mr. Martin’s performances, usually sitting quietly in the audience. But she performed with him again in 1997, when they participated in “A Celebration of MGM Musicals” at Carnegie Hall, a show that blended vintage film clips from the 1940s and ’50s with reminiscences by the films’ stars. Mr. Martin later adapted this format for his club dates.

After a sequence from “Ziegfeld Girl,” Mr. Holden of The Times wrote: “Mr. Martin, now 84, came out and sang a beautifully nuanced, pitch-perfect ‘All the Things You Are.’ The voice, with its virile overtones, seemed only to have grown richer over the years, and the audience response was rhapsodic.”

SOURCE

HISTORY OF A SONG: IN THE GOOD OLD SUMMERTIME

This summer has been a particular hot one where I am. The grass is brown, the heat is unbearable, and I am almost looking forward to fall and winter. I remember whenever I would go out with my grandfather in the summer, he would sing an old song that was written before his father was even born called "In The Good Old Summertime".

"In the Good Old Summer Time" is an American Tin Pan Alley song first published in 1902 with music by George Evans and lyrics by Ren Shields.

Shields and Evans were at first unsuccessfully trying to sell the song to one of New York's big sheet music publishers. The publishers thought the topic of the song doomed it to be forgotten at the end of the summer season. Blanche Ring, who had helped Evans arrange the number's piano score, was enthusiastic about it and at her urging it was added to the 1902 musical comedy show "The Defender" she was appearing in. The song was a hit from the opening night, with the audience often joining in singing the chorus.

"In the Good Old Summer Time" was one of the big hits of the era, selling popular sheet music and being recorded by various artists of the day, including John Philip Sousa's band in 1903. It has remained a standard often revived in the decades since.

The song appeared in many films, including the Judy Garland film named after it: In the Good Old Summertime (1949). The book Elmer Gantry opens with the title character drunkenly singing the song in the saloon.

The song appeared in an episode of the hit PBS show Arthur, and featured in the 1930 Laurel and Hardy short Below Zero in ironical terms, sung during a snowstorm.

The chorus is used with a slight twist in Baylor University's song, "That Good Old Baylor Line."

Billy Murray and Blanche Ring had the biggest hit version of the song, but my favorite version was Bing Crosby's version from 1954. Bing must of liked the song because he recorded it again on his last album "Seasons" in 1977. It's amazing that this song about our warmest but most fun season is over 100 years old...

RECENTLY VIEWED: MARTY

With the passing of the great Ernest Borgnine, TCM recently aired a tribute to him with a showing of all of his movies that made him famous. It is sad to say that up to that tribute, I had not seen the great movie Marty. Marty was the movie that propelled Borgnine to stardom and nabbed him an Oscar in 1955.

The film stars Borgnine as Marty Piletti, a heavy-set Italian-American butcher who lives in The Bronx, New York City, with his mother (Esther Minciotti). Unmarried at 34, the good-natured but socially awkward man faces constant badgering from family and friends to get married, pointing out that all his brothers and sisters are already married with children. Not averse to marriage but disheartened by his lack of prospects, Marty has reluctantly resigned himself to bachelorhood. In spite of his failed love life, Marty maintains an optimistic outlook on life characterized by his frequent outbursts such as "Perfect!" or "Fantastic!".

After being harassed by his mother into going to the Stardust Ballroom one Saturday night, Marty connects with Clara (Betsy Blair), a plain schoolteacher who is quietly weeping on the roof after being callously abandoned at the ballroom by her blind date. Spending the evening together dancing, walking the busy streets, and talking in a diner, Clara and Marty discover many affinities that they share. He eagerly spills out his life story and ambitions, and they encourage each other. He brings Clara to his house, and they awkwardly express their mutual attraction, shortly before his mother returns. Marty, delighted with his new-found love, takes her home by bus, promising to call her at two o'clock the next afternoon, after Mass. In an exuberant scene, he punches the bus stop sign and weaves between the cars, looking for a cab, a rare luxury matching his mood.

Meanwhile, his cranky, busybody widowed aunt moves in to live with Marty and his mother. She warns his mother that living alone, when children marry, is a widow's fate. Fearing that Marty's romance could spell her abandonment, his mother belittles Clara. Marty's friends, with an undercurrent of envy, deride Clara for her plainness and try to convince Marty to forget her and to remain with them, unmarried, in their fading youth. Harangued into submission by the pull of his friends, Marty doesn't call Clara.

That night, back in the same lonely rut (among his regular cast of male friends), Marty realizes that he is giving up a chance of love with a woman whom he not only likes, but who makes him happy. Over the objections of his friends, he dashes to a phone booth to call Clara, who is disconsolately watching television with her parents. When his friend asks what he's doing, Marty bursts out saying:

“You don't like her. My mother don't like her. She's a dog and I'm a fat, ugly man. Well, all I know is I had a good time last night. I'm gonna have a good time tonight. If we have enough good times together, I'm gonna get down on my knees and I'm gonna beg that girl to marry me. If we make a party on New Year's, I got a date for that party. You don't like her? That's too bad! Hey, Ang, when are you going to get married? You're 33 years old, and all your kid brothers and sisters are married. You oughta be ashamed of yourself.”

Marty then closes the phone booth's door and calls Clara. In the last line of the film, he tentatively says "Hello... Hello, Clara?".

The role of Clara was intially going to be reprised by actress Nancy Marchand, later of Lou Grant and The Sopranos fame, who had portrayed the character in the television version. However, actress Betsy Blair was interested in playing the role and lobbied hard for it. At the time, Blair, who was married to actor Gene Kelly, had been blacklisted due to her Marxist and Communist sympathies. It was only through the lobbying of Kelly, who used his major star status and connections at MGM to pressure United Artist, that Blair got the role. Reportedly, Kelly threatened to pull out of the film It's Always Fair Weather if Blair did not get the role of Clara.

The cast was nearly perfect and in addition to Borgnine and Betsy Blair, look for Frank Sutton in a supporting role as one of Marty's friends. He would later go on to fame in television's Gomer Pyle in the 1960s. The movie deserved every award it received, and I've got to say that Borgnine really made you feel for the Marty character. The character was a poor sap, but a good person. There is a little bit of all of us in the Marty character I believe. I highly recommend this movie to anyone wanting to see an Ernest Borgnine movie or anyone who just wants to see a good movie...

MY RATING: 10 OUT OF 10