The File on Bobby Darin, Chapter 8

Chapter 8

In the back room of the St. Moritz bar, Winchell, Nina and Dick, with the aid of a telephone and a messenger boy, laid out plans for that evening’s show at the Copa.  Nina was adamant, Bobby would not be performing tonight.  Winchell and Dick had the understanding that they would not need to confer with Bobby on this point.  A replacement would have to be arranged.  Walter Winchell put in another call to Jules Podell, and very soon a call came in return with the information that Bobby would be replaced that evening by Louis Prima and Keely Smith.  Podell could be heard over the line cursing Bobby and entertainers in general as he spoke to Winchell, but the Copa manager was clearly prepared for all contingencies.  Prima and Keely had a dynamite lounge act, had played the Copa many times before, and it was certainly possible to have them up and running for tonight’s show.  They were friends of Bobby’s and happy to oblige.  Dick Behrke would be dispatched back to the Copa to meet with the musicians and the stand-in performers.  It would be like opening night all over again!  An opening night without Darin.  Dick never imagined such a thing could happen, and yet here they were, the three of them, putting a night without Bobby into motion. 

Dick departed from the St. Moritz, and Nina went back up to Winchell’s room to check on Bobby and relay that evening’s plans to him.  He would not be happy, but he could do nothing but agree at this point.  Walter Winchell remained in the back room of the bar to call his wife in Westchester.  He explained that he would not be able to get home this evening as planned.  June Winchell was always happy to see her husband, but she knew that he was married to Broadway long before he ever met her, and she was accustomed to change her plans at short notice.

“June Bug,” he said into the phone, “you won’t believe what’s been going on here today!  Are you sure you don’t want to come into town and see the show tonight?”

At that moment, June Winchell was assisting her daughter to adjust the hemline of
a party dress.  Cradling the phone on her shoulder as she pinned the dress, she said, “Oh Walter, you know I love you, but I hate the City.”

Winchell had made the offer to see her in town, knowing full well what her response would be.  “Okay, sweetie, have it your way.  Kiss the kiddies for me, and I’ll call you tomorrow.”  And he would call her tomorrow.  It was a rare day that passed without them speaking at least once on the telephone.  A little more affectionate banter, and he hung up the receiver, his familial duties discharged. 

Dick arrived back at the Copa, his mind in a whirl.  He would have to gather the musicians and assist in a lightning-fast rehearsal with bandleader Louis Prima and his wife, the singer Keely Smith.  Dick would bet that they had some of their own musicians with them, so substitutions would have to be made.  Feelings might be hurt.  Dick had never been in charge without marching orders from Bobby before this, and he wondered if he was equal to the task. 

When Dick made his way to the stage, however, he found that preparations for the show were already well in hand.  Louis Prima, an Italian-American swing musician with dark, unruly hair that was barely slicked back from his forehead, was on the stage, conferring with Lips the trumpet player.  A new man was seated at Ronnie Zito’s drum set.  Ronnie was in front of the stage looking up at the three of them.  Prima was obviously already in charge and issuing orders.  He had the physique of a linebacker and a smile that was almost too large for his jovial face.  He was unpacking music charts onto a small table, laughing and talking nonstop with the musicians. 

Dick sidled up to Ronnie and said in a low voice, “So, you heard?”

Ronnie turned reluctantly away from the men onstage as he tried to follow their conversation.  He fervently wished at that moment that he knew shorthand, so that he could take down every word they were saying.  “Yeah,” he said in a low voice, “Podell told us, Bobby is sick, and Prima and Keely are going to fill in!  Is Bobby okay?”

Dick lowered his voice even more.  “Yes, I think he will be fine, it’s just the old trouble, you know.”

Ronnie nodded and considered in silence.  Like the death of Polly, Bobby’s illness was a matter simply not discussed among his friends.  They were never sure who knew exactly what, and they were all afraid of betraying a confidence, even when they knew almost nothing, so silence seemed to be the most judicious way to handle the matter. 

Dick observed, “So, you got bumped out of the cockpit?”  He indicated the thin man in shirtsleeves who appeared to be about forty years old sitting at Ronnie’s drums.  A cigarette dangled languidly from his lips, but beneath the hoods of drooping eyelids, he was paying close attention to instructions from Prima. 

Ronnie nodded, “Yeah, that’s Jimmy Vincent, he’s Prima’s guy.”

“You don’t mind being bumped?”

Ronnie smiled broadly.  “Are you kidding?  I’ll be able to say Jimmy Vincent played MY outfit!  And I’m going to get to watch him up close tonight.  Maybe I can pick up a few tricks!”  Ronnie leaned forward in his seat to observe the sainted Jimmy Vincent.  Ronnie was as happy as a kid who had gotten into the movies for free, so it was clear that Dick would not need to worry about him. 

Dick knew there was no time to lose, so he left Ronnie to mount the stage.  “Hello, Mr. Prima,” he began, about to introduce himself.

Prima barely looked up from his sheet music as he pencilled some notes into the margin.  “Hey there, kid, thanks a lot!  Do me a favor, will you, and run to the kitchen and ask Jules to get me an espresso.”

Dick began again, “Hello, Mr. Prima, you don’t—.”

Louis Prima reluctantly took his eyes off  the music and finally fastened them on to Dick.  “’Hello, Mr. Prima,’” he repeated.  “Hey kid, we’re way past that!  Try to keep up with me here.  One espresso, please, now, if you don’t mind?”  When Dick looked at him in blank silence, Prima mimed drinking coffee, holding an imaginary cup to his lips with his pinky finger daintily extended.  “Kid!” he said, “espresso, demitasse, capeesh?”  Prima began to speak a bit more slowly, as though he thought Dick might be having trouble processing his simple instructions.  When Dick was at last able to tell Prima who he was and what he was doing there, Prima exploded once more in laughter, pounding Dick on the back in welcome and shaking his hand so vigorously that Dick began to fear that his arm would be wrenched from its shoulder socket.  “Kid, oh kid,” Prima howled in delight.  Dick divined that his name for the evening would be Kid.  “I’m sorry, kid, but Mr. Podell just put us onto this gig, and we don’t have much time, see?  So let’s get ready so Keely can come in and get her cues from us, okay?” 

The next two hours went by in what seemed like minutes as the Paul Shelley Orchestra did a lightning-fast rehearsal of the Prima/Keely act.  This lighthearted entertainment was planned as meticulously as any military campaign.  As Dick watched, he went from desperation to joy, then back to desperation again.  So many things could go wrong!  How did people do this night after night, in hundreds of cities and towns across the country?  Louis Prima was an old pro.  It looked as though he had been working under just such conditions from his infancy.  Tempers flared momentarily as he worked through the music score with these new men, but a tense moment was generally diffused with laughter, and they just kept steaming ahead through the song lineup.  There was no actual rehearsal with Keely Smith.  Everything was laid out before she arrived backstage, moments before the opening.  Prima needed to dash through the kitchen to make it to the dressing room to prepare for the show.  When he saw Keely waiting patiently for him in the wings, he thrust his sheet music aside, threw out his large hands in welcome as though he had not seen his wife for a month and exclaimed, “There is she is, that’s my baby!”  He went over to Keely with a small piece of paper on which he had made just a few notes about the song order and the comedy bits that the two of them would throw in here and there between songs.  Carefully rehearsed, they would have the feeling of complete spontaneity when the band was behind them and the spotlight was on.  The man and wife team put their heads together for a brief conference, and then they were ready to go. 

Dick had taken a few minutes from the rehearsal to get dressed for the show.  He felt very shaky about going forward with this without Bobby, but he knew that the Copa crowd simply had to be entertained that night.  This would keep the momentum going for Bobby’s own booking, and that was a good thing.  He could not make himself think of Bobby back at the St. Moritz.  He knew Bobby would have been elated to see Prima putting the band through its paces.  But it could not be helped; Dick would relay all the details to him tomorrow. 

And he would certainly remember to tell Bobby what happened next.  Seconds before the show was about to begin, Walter Winchell strode up to Dick, wearing a tux that was a few years, at least, out of fashion.  Still, Winchell with his crisply cut silver hair and immaculate grooming (his fingernails were trimmed and buffed) did cut an imposing figure.  “Hi Dick, we all set to go?”

‘We?’ thought Dick to himself.  “Well,” he said, indicating Keely and the orchestra, “they’re all ready, yes.”

“Oh, didn’t Podell tell you,” Winchell said, “that I’m going to be the Master of Ceremonies tonight?”

Dick coughed in order to cover a laugh.  “Emcee?  Why, no, Mr. Podell hasn’t spoken to me.”  Not tonight, and not ever, thought Dick. 

Winchell administered a hearty slap on the back to Dick to help get rid of that cough.  Dick did not think he had ever been slapped so much in his life as on this day.  “Well, he and I talked it over, Podell, I mean, and he agreed that I should say a few words to the audience, don’t you know, about Prima and Keely helping Bobby out, and to assure them that Bobby is fine and will be on the job tomorrow.”

Dick had actually not had a moment to think about that, and he had to agree, Winchell was more of a public speaker than Dick would ever be.  It would also add a nicely absurd touch to what was bound to be an unusual evening.  Dick decided to relax and just give in to whatever might happen next.  “I think that’s a great idea, Mr. Winchell,” Dick finally said, and by the time he said it, he found he actually meant it. 

Winchell looked relieved to find that Dick would not argue with him about it.  So Winchell was going to take the Copa stage after all!  He nodded happily and said, almost as an afterthought, “Say, Dick, keep this for me for just a moment, will you?  Podell doesn’t like guns on the stage.”  He handed a small-caliber revolver to Dick just before turning neatly on his heel and walking out to introduce the replacement act for Bobby Darin.  Dick could not have said what kind of gun it was, as this was the first time in his life he had held one in his hand.  He began to wonder if Bronx Science had really taught them what they needed to know to live in this world.  He placed it in his pocket because he could not find a spot to set it down out of the way, and stood riveted to his spot just offstage.  He could not for the life of him ever remember what Winchell said when addressed the Copa audience.

What he said did not matter, because in the next instant, Keely Smith appeared in the spotlight.  Dick moved in the shadow behind her briefly to take his place before the orchestra.  All eyes were upon Keely, dressed in the simplest of black silk cocktail dresses with white gloves reaching to her elbows, outlining shapely arms that swayed with the music of the orchestra.  She tapped the lapel of Dick Behrke’s tux and said in a silky voice, “Hey young man, will you run out and get me a meatball sandwich, please?”  She spoke low and sultry, but into the microphone so the audience could overhear.  Fortunately, this was a prepared “bit” in the act, so Dick smiled and bowed, “Certainly, Miss Smith!”  He passed his baton to Louis Prima and exited the stage.  Keely led the audience in applause for Dick.  She nodded her head in approval, and her black silky helmet of hair glistened in the spotlight above her luscious olive complexion and shining dark eyes.  Then she got down to business and wowed them with some of That Ol’ Black Magic.

Dick poured himself gratefully into a chair just offstage.  It was then that he felt Winchell’s gun still in his pocket.

Continued in the next chapter

The File on Bobby Darin, Chapter 9  (E) Winchell visits the Prime Minister of the Underworld. #1456119 by Gisele