The Sunday Memory Drawer - When The Stars Are Out On Summer Nights

 

Holy shit!

I'm looking at the internet and rubbing my eyes.  This could have been a photo that my father took with that damn Argus Technicolor camera of his.  Because I clearly remember this image on the Boardwalk at Atlantic City.  We went to see this show.

Then it hit me like a ton of bricks.  I had actually seen Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons perform.  At the Steel Pier that you see above.  And at Freedomland in the Bronx.  I don't know how I had forgotten this.

My mom was a big fan and wouldn't miss seeing them.   And, of course, it was during the summer at Atlantic City that we actually went to see somebody perform live.

Back in the day, my family didn't venture out beyond the local movie theater when it came to entertainment.  Heck, I didn't see my first Broadway show until I was 15.  I didn't go to my first rock concert until I was in college.  The closest I had come to seeing stars in person was when they showed up for a ten minute walk-on during a movie promotional tour that landed at one of the Mount Vernon movie theaters.  That was as close as we ever got. 

I wonder now if this caused an issue between my parents.  My mom was a big fan of top 40 music.  She went out to buy the 45 rpm discs of all the big hits.  She sang along to them while she cleaned the house.

Music was a big deal to her.

My dad?  Meh.  

He would listen to nothing but WNEW AM 1130 on the car radio.   And then tune into the Polka Party on WFUV every Saturday night.  That was it.

So, another question that goes begging for an answer through the ages is whether my parents ever went to see a musical star perform in person.  I'll never know the answer.   My guess is...no.  Nein.  Nyet.

And this makes our summer vacations in Atlantic City even more important.  And it explains now to me why my mother always seemed to be focusing on who was appearing at the Steel Pier while we were there.

She'd call ahead weeks before to find out.  The entire vacation, usually accompanied by another family, was planned around the performance schedule at the Steel Pier.  It was tricky since stars only showed up there for two or three days at a time.  They would then move on.  If your vacation was ill-timed, you'd be stuck with some dog.   But, not with my mom handling the logistics.

And that's how we ended up seeing Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons on the Boardwalk at Atlantic City.  The place was jammed.  Me and the rest of the kids got dragged along.  My dad and the representative male figure of the other family?  My guess is that they passed the time in a nearby gin mill.

And here's yet another photo that my dad could have taken.  Because on a subsequent summer, Mom got to see Paul Anka at the same venue.  There was a meet-and-greet line.  I shook Paul Anka's hand.  I was probably eight years old.  I was already taller than him.

Lo and behold, there was one more summer and one more concert at the Steel Pier.  Mom called ahead.  Who was on the schedule for our week in the sun and the surf?

Lawrence Welk and the Lennon Sisters.

You would have thought my family hit the million dollar lotto.  The show that played on two...count 'em...two different TV sets in my house every Saturday.  And we would be seeing them live.

Naturally, I was bored out of my skull.

But, of all people to make an appearance for the show?  My father.  Lawrence Welk was sacred.  He was German.  He played polka music.  That was good enough for him.  Two degrees of separation for my dad.

We got an added bonus when the Freedomland amusement park opened just ten minutes from our house in Mount Vernon, New York.   It was a foolhardy attempt by some idiot to recreate Disneyland.  In. The. Bronx.  But, since there was no freakin' way that my family was going to get to Anaheim, California any time soon, we sucked in the swamp air of Freedomland on multiple summer nights. 

They had a musical band shell at Freedomland and suddenly the Steel Pier was at our doorsteps.  Mom regularly checked the newspapers to see who was appearing.  One night, we ventured out to see Frank Fontaine, who played "Crazy Guggenheim" on the old Jackie Gleason Show.

Okay, going by the picture, you know his act was an acquired taste.  But he was on the Gleason Show.  We watched the Gleason Show.  We went.  My father was a fan.  He showed up, too.

A month later, my mother was on the moon again.  Coming to Freedomland:  Frankie Valli and the Four Season.  I didn't understand the reason for a repeat viewing.  I questioned the outing.  Mom was not hearing a thing.

"Don't argue with me.  We're going."

Yes, ma'am.

One year later, guess who showed up at Freedomland.   The bubble king and those four sisters.   We're not, are we?

"Don't argue with me.  We're going."

This time, an appearance by Lawrence Welk ten minutes away from where we lived emptied out the whole house.   My grandmother and grandfather came along.  This was monumental.   The only places they really went were the supermarket, the bank, and the doctor.

It was odd seeing Grandma and Grandpa out amongst the living.  In an amusement park, no less.

I don't remember much about the performance that night, except I probably dozed off two or twenty times.  Indeed, the oldest generation was not impressed.

"He looks better on television."

Given that their TV set only got black and white, that didn't say much for Mr. Welk's complexion.

"Next time we stay home."

And, as far as I can remember, that was the last concert we ever went to as a family.

Dinner last night:  Prime rib at the Smoke House.