Hey pallies, here is a great retellin' of our Dino and the jer's last gig together at the Copacabana...especially loves how the jer describes why he and Dino were such a huge success...'caused they loved each other so much...if you wanna read this in the original, just click on the title of this Dinopost. Do wanna thank Eddie Deezen who put this amazin' piece of Dinoprose together.
MARTIN AND LEWIS' FINAL PERFORMANCE
THE DATE WAS JULY 25, 1956.
THE PLACE WAS THE WORLD-FAMOUS COPACABANA NIGHTCLUB IN NEW YORK CITY.
DEAN MARTIN, THE SUAVE, SMOOTH, BARITONE SINGER AND HIS HILARIOUS COMEDY PARTNER, JERRY LEWIS, WERE ABOUT TO GO ONSTAGE FOR THE 2:30 A.M. SHOW.
IT WAS TO BE THEIR LAST OF THREE SHOWS THAT NIGHT, AND ALSO THE FINAL APPEARANCE OF THE MOST POPULAR COMEDY TEAM IN THE HISTORY OF SHOW BUSINESS.
AFTER EXACTLY TEN YEARS TOGETHER AS A TEAM, THE PAIR HAD MADE 16 MOVIES (ALL 16 WERE MONEY-MAKERS), HOSTED A VERY SUCCESSFUL TV SHOW, AND WERE THE #1 NIGHTCLUB ACT IN AMERICA.
BUT WHY WOULD SUCH A HUGELY SUCCESSFUL PARTNERSHIP POSSIBLY WANT TO SPLIT UP?
THE COMMON PERCEPTION WAS THAT "DEAN WAS LAZY", HE WANTED TO PLAY GOLF AND RELAX, AND JERRY WAS A FIERCELY-DRIVEN WORKAHOLIC, NEVER WANTING TO STOP PERFORMING.
AND THERE WAS SOME TRUTH TO THIS THEORY, BUT THE HEART OF THE MATTER WAS MUCH DEEPER.
DEAN WAS, QUITE SIMPLY, SICK AND TIRED OF BEING KNOWN AS "JUST ANOTHER STRAIGHT MAN", AND EVEN "A STOOGE" FOR HIS EXTREMELY TALENTED PARTNER.
DEAN HAD GROWN TO HATE THE MARTIN AND LEWIS FILMS, CLAIMING HE PLAYED "AN IDIOT" IN ALL OF THEM. THE PLOT WAS PRETTY MUCH ALWAYS THE SAME: DEAN SANG A SONG OR TWO AND GOT THE PRETTY GIRL, WHILE JERRY GOT ALL THE LAUGHS AND WAS USUALLY THE CENTRAL CHARACTER.
THE REVIEWS FOR BOYS' MOVIES, TV SHOWS AND NIGHTCLUB APPEARANCES WERE STARTLINGLY SIMILAR. WHILE ALL THE CRITICS RAVED OVER JERRY'S BRILLIANT COMEDY, DEAN WAS MOSTLY LOOKED UPON AS A MARGINALLY TALENTED AFTER-THOUGHT.
AND SO, AFTER WRAPPING UP FILMING ON THEIR FINAL MOVIE, HOLLYWOOD OR BUST, THE PREVIOUS JUNE, DEAN AND JERRY ANNOUNCED TO A SHOCKED PUBLIC THAT THEY WERE GOING TO SPLIT UP AND GO THEIR SEPARATE WAYS (THE RIFT, AT THE TIME, WAS SO DEEP THAT DURING THE FILMING, DEAN AND JERRY DID NOT EVEN SPEAK TO EACH OTHER. THEY WOULD FILM THEIR SCENES AND AFTER THE DIRECTOR SAID "CUT", THEY WOULD EACH WALK AWAY TO THEIR SEPARATE CAMPS).
DURING THIS LAST ENGAGEMENT AT THE COPA, A BIT OF HIDDEN ANGER POSSIBLY CAME TO THE SURFACE, AS DURING ONE OF THEIR COMEDY ROUTINES, DEAN SLAMMED HIS FOOT DOWN ON JERRY'S WITH THE FORCE OF A PILEDRIVER ("IT WAS AN ACCIDENT", CLAIMED DEAN TO THE PRESS).
POOR JERRY HAD TO PERFORM IN BEDROOM SLIPPERS FOR THE NEXT SEVERAL PERFORMANCES.
BUT NOW IT WAS TIME FOR THE END.
EVERY CELEBRITY ON SHOW BUSINESS WAS THERE - IT WAS TO BE THE BIGGEST NIGHT IN THE GLORIOUS HISTORY OF THE COPACABANA NIGHTCLUB.
BEFORE DEAN AND JERRY CAME ONSTAGE, THE BEAUTIFUL COPA SHOWGIRLS DANCED ACROSS THE STAGE IN THE INTRODUCTION ROUTINE.
JERRY NOTICED THAT THE GIRLS HAD TEARS IN THEIR EYES AND WERE CRYING AS THEY PARADED BY HIM.
JERRY, AS USUAL, CAME ONSTAGE FIRST, DID HIS COMEDY SCHTICK, AND INTRODUCED "MY PARTNER, DEAN MARTIN."
DEAN DID HIS USUAL THREE SONGS (INTERESTINGLY, THE ONLY AUDIENCE MEMBER DEAN AND JERRY CALLED UP ONSTAGE THAT NIGHT WAS THEIR MUTUAL FRIEND, SAMMY DAVIS, JR.).
THEN THE TWO TORE UP THE PLACE WITH THEIR USUAL HYSTERICAL ACT i.e., DEAN ATTEMPTING TO SING AND BEING INTERRUPTED BY JERRY, DEAN STANDING OFF TO THE SIDE WHILE JERRY MUGGED, AND DEAN PLAYING STRAIGHT MAN AND JERRY GETTING MOST OF THE LAUGHS.
UNLIKE OTHER STAGE ACTS, WHO PLAYED OUT TO THE CROWD, MARTIN AND LEWIS WERE UNIQUE, IN THAT THEY "PLAYED TO EACH OTHER".
THE TWO, AS ALWAYS, BROKE EACH OTHER UP.
"I KNEW 90% OF THE AUDIENCE WAS LOOKING AT JERRY", DEAN WAS TO LATER LAMENT ABOUT THE PARTNERSHIP, BUT WHO COULD ARGUE WITH THIS KIND OF SUCCESS? - THE MONEY WAS POURING IN BY THE MILLIONS.
THE END WAS NEAR- AND MANY WOMEN (AND MEN) IN THE AUDIENCE WERE NOW OPENLY CRYING..
MORE CLOWNING, MORE SINGING, THE BOYS DID SOME IMPRESSIONS - BIG LAUGHS, BIG YOCKS FROM THE CROWD.
AND FINALLY- THE END- THE TWO SANG THE SONG PARDNERS FROM THE PREVIOUS MOVIE THEY'D APPEARED IN.
THE CROWD WENT BERSERK, APPLAUDING, WHISTLING, ROARING, STANDING.
DEAN AND JERRY WEPT OPENLY AND GAVE EACH OTHER A HUG.
JACKIE GLEASON JUMPED UP ONSTAGE AND DRAMATICALLY SAID "FOLKS, THIS CAN'T BE ALLOWED TO HAPPEN!"
MORE APPLAUSE.
BUT DEAN AND JERRY SHOOK THEIR HEADS WEARILY.
THE TWO LEFT THE STAGE AND ENTERED THE ELEVATOR TOGETHER, WAVING OFF ANY OTHER PEOPLE FROM JOINING THEM. (ONE WONDERS WHAT WAS SAID ON THAT JOINT ELEVATOR RIDE TO THE BOYS' SUITES.)
JERRY CRIED HYSTERICALLY IN HIS DRESSING ROOM.
DEAN CAME IN AND THE TWO CRIED IN EACH OTHERS ARMS.
FINALLY, THEY SHOOK HANDS AND WISHED EACH OTHER LUCK.
THE GENERAL CONSENSUS WAS THAT JERRY REALLY WAS DEVASTATED BY THE SPLIT, BUT DEAN WAS ACTUALLY A BIT RELIEVED AND ANXIOUS TO MOVE ON TO A NEW, SOLO PHASE OF HIS CAREER.
THAT NIGHT, JERRY HAD TO SLEEP UNDER SEDATION.
DEAN'S WIFE WAS TO SAY THAT DEAN CAME HOME, THEY WATCHED SOME TV, AND SHE MADE THEM BOTH FRIED EGG SANDWICHES.
JERRY WOULD GO ON TO BE THE MOST POPULAR COMEDY MOVIE STAR OF THE '50'S AND THE EARLY '60'S- AND OF COURSE, HE WAS TO BE RECOGNIZED AS THE GREAT CRUSADER FOR MUSCULAR DYSTROPHY.
AND DESPITE "EVERYONE'S PREDICTIONS", DEAN MARTIN WAS TO GO TO MAKE MANY EXCELLENT MOVIES, HOST A HUGELY SUCCESSFUL TV SHOW, AND GO ON TO BECOME A GIANT STAR - FINALLY - IN HIS OWN RIGHT.
SADLY, THERE BARELY EXISTS ANY FOOTAGE OF THE LEGENDARY NIGHTCLUB ACT.
YES, THEIR WONDERFUL FILMS ARE STILL THERE- AND THEY ARE AWESOME- BUT ANYONE WHO ACTUALLY SAW DEAN AND JERRY LIVE SAY THEY WERE THE FUNNIEST STAGE ACT IN SHOW BUSINESS HISTORY.
TOGETHER, MARTIN AND LEWIS WERE A MAGICAL, POWERHOUSE ACT.
TRUE, DEAN AND JERRY WERE BOTH HAD LEGENDARY SOLO CAREERS, BUT AS WITH THE BEATLES: "THE WHOLE WAS GREATER THAN THE SUM OF IT'S PARTS."
WHY WERE MARTIN AND LEWIS SO SUCCESSFUL?
WELL, JERRY, WHEN ASKED THE SECRET OF THEIR HUGE SUCCESS, WAS ALWAYS TO GIVE THE SAME ANSWER:
"IT WAS THE LOVE WE HAD FOR EACH OTHER. YOU COULD HAVE GIVEN ANY OTHER TWO GUYS THE SAME MATERIAL AND THEY WOULDN'T HAVE MADE A NICKEL."
ALTHOUGH HE WAS A HUGE STAR AS A SINGLE, JERRY LEWIS WAS NEVER TO PERFORM AT THE COPACABANA AGAIN AFTER THE SPLIT WITH DEAN.
Posted at 12:01 AM in PEOPLE | Permalink
Comments
Hey pallie Eddie, man what a touchin' remembrance of our Dino and the jer's last gig together...have just finished watchin' the two vols. of Martin and Lewis flicks...they are just so wonderful...I especially loves "Artists and Models"...just 'bout the most perfect movie ever...and yes, I would have to agree with the jer that what made these two so great together was the love they showed for each other....
Friday, February 29, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
Dean Martin Featured In New Murder Mystery Novel, "Lady Killer," by Lisa Scottoline
Hey pallies. like this is so, so Dino cool. Where will our Dino turn up next? Here he is in a new murder mystery novel tagged "Lady Killer" by Lisa Scottoline. Here is the first chapter that has our Dino's honor bein' defended by some of his Dinolovin' pallies. If you wanna read this in the original format, just click on the tag of this Dinopost.
Posted on Sun, Feb. 17, 2008
Book Excerpt
"Lady Killer" by Lisa Scottoline
Mary DiNunzio returns
The lawyer from South Philly is floored when her high-school nemesis shows up, terrified and looking for help. But first, a Dean Martin moment ...
By Lisa Scottoline
Inquirer Columnist
CHAPTER 1
Mary DiNunzio sat across from the old men, deciding which one to shoot first. Her father, Matty DiNunzio, was the natural choice because he was the most stubborn, but his three friends were tied for second. They sat next to him at the conference table, a trinity of Tonys - Pigeon Tony Lucia, Tony-From-Down-the-Block LoMonaco, and Tony Two Feet Pensiera, who was called Feet, making him the only man in South Philly whose nickname had a nickname.
"Pop, wait, think about this," Mary said, hiding her exasperation. "You don't want to sue anybody, not really." She met her father's milky brown eyes, magnified by his bifocals, as he sat behind an open box of aromatic pignoli-nut cookies. Her mother wouldn't have let him visit her, even at work, without bringing saturated fats. Besides the cookies, waiting for her in the office refrigerator was a Pyrex dish of emergency lasagna.
"Yes, we do, honey. The club took a vote. We wanna sue. It's about honor."
"Honor?" Mary tried not to raise her voice. She loved him, but she was wondering when he'd lost his mind. A tile setter his working life, her father had always been a practical man, at least until this meeting. "You want to sue over your honor?"
"No, over Dean's honor."
"You mean Dean Martin?"
"Yeah. He was a great singer and a great man."
"Plus a great golfer," said Tony-From-Down-the-Block.
"Great golfer," repeated Feet. "And Bernice disrespected him. In public."
"But Dean wasn't there." Mary stopped just short of saying, He's dead. Or, Are you insane, too?
Tony-From-Down-the-Block nodded. "Dean Martin wasn't his real name, you know. It was Dino Crocetti."
Mary knew. Dean Martin, born in Steubenville, Ohio. Adored his mother, Angela. "Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime." She hadn't grown up her father's daughter for nothing. In his retirement, her father had started the Dean Martin Fan Club of South Philly, and she was looking at its four copresidents. Don't ask why there were four copresidents. The fifth had to step down from prostate problems.
Mary asked, "How does it avenge his honor if you sue?"
"Mare," Feet interrupted, indignant. "Bernice insulted him. She called him a drunk!"
Mary winced on Dean's behalf. Her father shook his head. Tony-From-Down-the-Block reached for another pignoli-nut cookie. Feet's slack cheeks flushed with emotion, trumping his Lipitor.
"Mare, she hollered at him like a fishwife, in front of everybody. The mouth on that woman. So Big Joey hollered back and before you know it, he's holding his chest and falling down onna floor. She gave him a heart attack." Feet pushed up the bridge of his Mr. Potatohead glasses. "That can't be legal."
"I saw on Boston Legal, it's motional distress." Tony-From-Down-the-Block brushed cookie crumbs from a red Phillies T-shirt, which matched his unfortunate new hair color. He was single again, a fact that his red hair blared like a siren. Also that he might not own a mirror.
"That's how they always are, that club," her father said. "They never shut up. Sinatra this, Sinatra that. They think Frank was the best, but Dean had the TV show. They forget that."
"Dean was the King of Cool, 'at's all," added Tony-From-Down-the-Block, and Mary's father turned to him.
"Don't get me wrong, Sinatra was good, my Vita loves him. But he hogged the spotlight. A show-off."
"A showboat," Tony-From-Down-the-Block agreed, and Mary listened to the two men have the same conversation they'd had a thousand times. Pigeon Tony sat silently on the end, dunking a cookie into his coffee. At only five-foot-two, he was more wren than pigeon, with his bald head inexplicably tanned, his brown-black eyes small and round, and his tiny nose curved like a beak. He was quiet because his English wasn't that good, and for that, Mary felt grateful. Two Tonys were enough for one lawyer.
"But, Pop," Mary interrupted, trying to get them back on track. "Big Joey's fine now, and Bernice didn't cause his heart attack. He weighed three hundred pounds." Hence, the Big part. "In an intentional infliction case, you have to prove that the act caused the harm. And the statement she made wasn't outrageous enough."
"How can you say that, honey?" her father asked, stricken. "It's outrageous, to us." His forehead wrinkled all the way to his straw cabbie's hat. He was wearing an almost transparent sleeveless shirt, dark pants with a wide black belt, and black socks with pleather sandals. In other words, he was dressed up.
"Mare," Tony-From-Down-the-Block interjected, "the drinking wasn't for real on Dean's TV show. They put apple juice in the glass, not booze. It's show business."
Feet's face was still flushed. "Yeah. They just spread that rumor to make Dean look bad. They're always trying to ruin his reputation. Can we sue about that, too? If Dean was alive, he could sue, so why can't we? He can't help it he's dead."
Mary sighed. "Slow down, gentlemen. It costs money to sue. Even if I don't charge you, there are filing fees, service fees, all kinds of fees. You have to have money."
Feet said, "We have money."
"Not this kind of money."
"We got seventy-eight grand in the kitty."
"What?" Mary couldn't believe her ears. "Seventy-eight thousand! Where'd you get that?"
"Dean's got a lot of fans," Feet answered, and her father added:
"Dead fans. Angelo, you know, the barber down Ritner Street. Remember, his wife Teresa passed two years ago, and they had no kids. Also Mario, who had the auto-body shop on Moore, and Phil the Toot, got that nice settlement from the car accident. He passed, too, poor guy." Her father paused, a moment of silence. "They left their money to the club. We had three hundred and twelve dollars before that, but now we're rich. We can sue anybody we want."
"Anybody says anything bad about Dean, we're suing," Feet said.
"We don't even care if we lose," said Tony-From-Down-the-Block. "It's the principle. We're sick of Dean gettin' kicked around. It's gotta stop somewhere."
"Right!" Mary's father pounded the table with a fleshy fist, and Pigeon Tony looked up from his coffee. Her father and the Three Tonys looked determined, their lined faces an Italian Mount Rushmore.
"Gentlemen, how's it gonna look if you sue?" Mary fought the urge to check her watch. She had so much else to do and was getting nowhere fast. "Your club is mostly male, right?"
"Yeah, it's true." Her father shrugged his soft shoulders. "What are you gonna do? Dean was a man's man."
"It's 'cause of the Golddiggers," Feet explained, and Tony-From-Down-the-Block sighed like a lovesick teenager.
"Weren't they somethin' else?"
Mary gathered the question was rhetorical. "As I was saying, your club is mostly men. Isn't the Sinatra club mostly women?"
Feet interjected, "It's not a real club, like us. They call it the Sinatra Social Society. They don't even have bylaws, just parties."
"Their name don't even make sense," Tony-From-Down-the-Block said. "It has too many s's. You oughta hear 'em. Sounds like snakes with dentures."
"Women," Feet said, but Mary let it pass. A flicker of regret crossed her father's features. He knew where she was going, and she went there.
"Pop, let's say you take the Sinatra club to court and even that you win. How's that gonna look? A group of men beating up on a group of women? Is that really what you want?"
Her father blinked.
Feet and Tony-From-Down-the-Block exchanged looks.
Pigeon Tony dropped his cookie into his coffee. Plop, went the sound, and a pignoli nut bobbed to the black surface.
Mary pressed on. "Is that what Dean would have wanted?"
"No, he wouldn't want that," her father said, after a minute. "But we don't like people insulting Dean," Feet said.
"Plus, we gotta set the record straight," said Tony-From-Down-the-Block, and Mary got an idea.
"Tell you what. Why don't I call Bernice and ask her to apologize. Then you get what you want and nobody gets sued. You can even put it in the newsletter."
"You sound like your mother," her father said with a wry smile, and Mary laughed, surprised. Her mother would have sued. Nobody loved a good fight more than her mother. She'd take on all comers, armed with a wooden spoon.
"Bernice Foglia will never apologize," Tony-From-Down-the-Block said, and Feet shook his head.
"She buried two husbands, both from heart attacks."
"Let me try, gentlemen. Let's not get crazy." Mary needed to resolve this fast. She had three hundred things to do. Her slim BlackBerry Pearl sat next to her on the table, its e-mail screen dark and its phone set on Silent. She hated being tethered to the device, but it was corporate oxygen nowadays. Mary touched her father's hand. "Dad, why don't you take the money you'd use on a lawsuit and do something positive? Something good, in Dean's memory. Something that honors him."
"I guess we could buy somethin' for the playground," said her father, cocking his head.
"Or sponsor a softball team," said Tony-From-Down-the-Block.
"Or have a party," said Feet, and on the end, Pigeon Tony looked up.
"O andare al casinò."
And for that, Mary didn't need a translation.
Fifteen minutes later, she had ushered them out of the conference room, hugged and kissed them all, and walked them out to the reception area. The elevator doors slid open, and the Tony trifecta shuffled inside, followed by her father, to whom she gave a final hug, breathing in his characteristic spice of mothballs and CVS aftershave.
"I love you, Pop," Mary said, surprised by the catch in her throat. It was paranoid, but she always wondered if it would be the last time she would see him alive. The man was perfectly healthy, but she couldn't shake the thought. It was a child's fear, and yet here she was, over thirty, with no excuse except a congenital flair for melodrama.
"Love you, too, honey," her father said softly. He patted her arm and stepped back into the elevator. "I'm so proud a you -," he was saying when the stainless-steel doors closed, leaving Mary facing her blurry reflection, wearing an unaccountably heartsick expression and her best navy blue suit.
"Mare?" said a voice, and Mary turned, recovering. It was Marshall Trow, their receptionist, walking from the hallway in a blue cotton shirtdress and tan espadrilles. Her usual smile had vanished, and her brown eyes were concerned. "I just put a friend of yours in your office. I didn't want to interrupt your meeting."
"No problem." Mary switched her BlackBerry back on, and e-mail piled onto the screen, making a mountain she could never climb, like an electronic Sisyphus. "What friend?"
"Her name is Trish Gambone."
Trash Gambone is here?
"You know her, right?" Marshall blinked.
"Sure, from high school. Here?" Mary couldn't process it fast enough. Trash, er, Trish, Gambone personified every slight she'd suffered at St. Maria Goretti High School, where Mary had been the myopic straight-A president of the National Honor Society, the May Queen, and the all-around Most Likely to Achieve Sainthood. During the same four years, Trish Gambone had flunked Religion, chain-smoked her way through Spanish I twice, and reigned as the quintessential Mean Girl.
"She said she had to see you and it was confidential. She was beside herself."
"Upset?"
"She was crying."
"Really?" Mary felt her heartbeat speed up. A classic fight-or-flight reaction, but she didn't know which to do.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Posted on Sun, Feb. 17, 2008
Book Excerpt
"Lady Killer" by Lisa Scottoline
Mary DiNunzio returns
The lawyer from South Philly is floored when her high-school nemesis shows up, terrified and looking for help. But first, a Dean Martin moment ...
By Lisa Scottoline
Inquirer Columnist
CHAPTER 1
Mary DiNunzio sat across from the old men, deciding which one to shoot first. Her father, Matty DiNunzio, was the natural choice because he was the most stubborn, but his three friends were tied for second. They sat next to him at the conference table, a trinity of Tonys - Pigeon Tony Lucia, Tony-From-Down-the-Block LoMonaco, and Tony Two Feet Pensiera, who was called Feet, making him the only man in South Philly whose nickname had a nickname.
"Pop, wait, think about this," Mary said, hiding her exasperation. "You don't want to sue anybody, not really." She met her father's milky brown eyes, magnified by his bifocals, as he sat behind an open box of aromatic pignoli-nut cookies. Her mother wouldn't have let him visit her, even at work, without bringing saturated fats. Besides the cookies, waiting for her in the office refrigerator was a Pyrex dish of emergency lasagna.
"Yes, we do, honey. The club took a vote. We wanna sue. It's about honor."
"Honor?" Mary tried not to raise her voice. She loved him, but she was wondering when he'd lost his mind. A tile setter his working life, her father had always been a practical man, at least until this meeting. "You want to sue over your honor?"
"No, over Dean's honor."
"You mean Dean Martin?"
"Yeah. He was a great singer and a great man."
"Plus a great golfer," said Tony-From-Down-the-Block.
"Great golfer," repeated Feet. "And Bernice disrespected him. In public."
"But Dean wasn't there." Mary stopped just short of saying, He's dead. Or, Are you insane, too?
Tony-From-Down-the-Block nodded. "Dean Martin wasn't his real name, you know. It was Dino Crocetti."
Mary knew. Dean Martin, born in Steubenville, Ohio. Adored his mother, Angela. "Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime." She hadn't grown up her father's daughter for nothing. In his retirement, her father had started the Dean Martin Fan Club of South Philly, and she was looking at its four copresidents. Don't ask why there were four copresidents. The fifth had to step down from prostate problems.
Mary asked, "How does it avenge his honor if you sue?"
"Mare," Feet interrupted, indignant. "Bernice insulted him. She called him a drunk!"
Mary winced on Dean's behalf. Her father shook his head. Tony-From-Down-the-Block reached for another pignoli-nut cookie. Feet's slack cheeks flushed with emotion, trumping his Lipitor.
"Mare, she hollered at him like a fishwife, in front of everybody. The mouth on that woman. So Big Joey hollered back and before you know it, he's holding his chest and falling down onna floor. She gave him a heart attack." Feet pushed up the bridge of his Mr. Potatohead glasses. "That can't be legal."
"I saw on Boston Legal, it's motional distress." Tony-From-Down-the-Block brushed cookie crumbs from a red Phillies T-shirt, which matched his unfortunate new hair color. He was single again, a fact that his red hair blared like a siren. Also that he might not own a mirror.
"That's how they always are, that club," her father said. "They never shut up. Sinatra this, Sinatra that. They think Frank was the best, but Dean had the TV show. They forget that."
"Dean was the King of Cool, 'at's all," added Tony-From-Down-the-Block, and Mary's father turned to him.
"Don't get me wrong, Sinatra was good, my Vita loves him. But he hogged the spotlight. A show-off."
"A showboat," Tony-From-Down-the-Block agreed, and Mary listened to the two men have the same conversation they'd had a thousand times. Pigeon Tony sat silently on the end, dunking a cookie into his coffee. At only five-foot-two, he was more wren than pigeon, with his bald head inexplicably tanned, his brown-black eyes small and round, and his tiny nose curved like a beak. He was quiet because his English wasn't that good, and for that, Mary felt grateful. Two Tonys were enough for one lawyer.
"But, Pop," Mary interrupted, trying to get them back on track. "Big Joey's fine now, and Bernice didn't cause his heart attack. He weighed three hundred pounds." Hence, the Big part. "In an intentional infliction case, you have to prove that the act caused the harm. And the statement she made wasn't outrageous enough."
"How can you say that, honey?" her father asked, stricken. "It's outrageous, to us." His forehead wrinkled all the way to his straw cabbie's hat. He was wearing an almost transparent sleeveless shirt, dark pants with a wide black belt, and black socks with pleather sandals. In other words, he was dressed up.
"Mare," Tony-From-Down-the-Block interjected, "the drinking wasn't for real on Dean's TV show. They put apple juice in the glass, not booze. It's show business."
Feet's face was still flushed. "Yeah. They just spread that rumor to make Dean look bad. They're always trying to ruin his reputation. Can we sue about that, too? If Dean was alive, he could sue, so why can't we? He can't help it he's dead."
Mary sighed. "Slow down, gentlemen. It costs money to sue. Even if I don't charge you, there are filing fees, service fees, all kinds of fees. You have to have money."
Feet said, "We have money."
"Not this kind of money."
"We got seventy-eight grand in the kitty."
"What?" Mary couldn't believe her ears. "Seventy-eight thousand! Where'd you get that?"
"Dean's got a lot of fans," Feet answered, and her father added:
"Dead fans. Angelo, you know, the barber down Ritner Street. Remember, his wife Teresa passed two years ago, and they had no kids. Also Mario, who had the auto-body shop on Moore, and Phil the Toot, got that nice settlement from the car accident. He passed, too, poor guy." Her father paused, a moment of silence. "They left their money to the club. We had three hundred and twelve dollars before that, but now we're rich. We can sue anybody we want."
"Anybody says anything bad about Dean, we're suing," Feet said.
"We don't even care if we lose," said Tony-From-Down-the-Block. "It's the principle. We're sick of Dean gettin' kicked around. It's gotta stop somewhere."
"Right!" Mary's father pounded the table with a fleshy fist, and Pigeon Tony looked up from his coffee. Her father and the Three Tonys looked determined, their lined faces an Italian Mount Rushmore.
"Gentlemen, how's it gonna look if you sue?" Mary fought the urge to check her watch. She had so much else to do and was getting nowhere fast. "Your club is mostly male, right?"
"Yeah, it's true." Her father shrugged his soft shoulders. "What are you gonna do? Dean was a man's man."
"It's 'cause of the Golddiggers," Feet explained, and Tony-From-Down-the-Block sighed like a lovesick teenager.
"Weren't they somethin' else?"
Mary gathered the question was rhetorical. "As I was saying, your club is mostly men. Isn't the Sinatra club mostly women?"
Feet interjected, "It's not a real club, like us. They call it the Sinatra Social Society. They don't even have bylaws, just parties."
"Their name don't even make sense," Tony-From-Down-the-Block said. "It has too many s's. You oughta hear 'em. Sounds like snakes with dentures."
"Women," Feet said, but Mary let it pass. A flicker of regret crossed her father's features. He knew where she was going, and she went there.
"Pop, let's say you take the Sinatra club to court and even that you win. How's that gonna look? A group of men beating up on a group of women? Is that really what you want?"
Her father blinked.
Feet and Tony-From-Down-the-Block exchanged looks.
Pigeon Tony dropped his cookie into his coffee. Plop, went the sound, and a pignoli nut bobbed to the black surface.
Mary pressed on. "Is that what Dean would have wanted?"
"No, he wouldn't want that," her father said, after a minute. "But we don't like people insulting Dean," Feet said.
"Plus, we gotta set the record straight," said Tony-From-Down-the-Block, and Mary got an idea.
"Tell you what. Why don't I call Bernice and ask her to apologize. Then you get what you want and nobody gets sued. You can even put it in the newsletter."
"You sound like your mother," her father said with a wry smile, and Mary laughed, surprised. Her mother would have sued. Nobody loved a good fight more than her mother. She'd take on all comers, armed with a wooden spoon.
"Bernice Foglia will never apologize," Tony-From-Down-the-Block said, and Feet shook his head.
"She buried two husbands, both from heart attacks."
"Let me try, gentlemen. Let's not get crazy." Mary needed to resolve this fast. She had three hundred things to do. Her slim BlackBerry Pearl sat next to her on the table, its e-mail screen dark and its phone set on Silent. She hated being tethered to the device, but it was corporate oxygen nowadays. Mary touched her father's hand. "Dad, why don't you take the money you'd use on a lawsuit and do something positive? Something good, in Dean's memory. Something that honors him."
"I guess we could buy somethin' for the playground," said her father, cocking his head.
"Or sponsor a softball team," said Tony-From-Down-the-Block.
"Or have a party," said Feet, and on the end, Pigeon Tony looked up.
"O andare al casinò."
And for that, Mary didn't need a translation.
Fifteen minutes later, she had ushered them out of the conference room, hugged and kissed them all, and walked them out to the reception area. The elevator doors slid open, and the Tony trifecta shuffled inside, followed by her father, to whom she gave a final hug, breathing in his characteristic spice of mothballs and CVS aftershave.
"I love you, Pop," Mary said, surprised by the catch in her throat. It was paranoid, but she always wondered if it would be the last time she would see him alive. The man was perfectly healthy, but she couldn't shake the thought. It was a child's fear, and yet here she was, over thirty, with no excuse except a congenital flair for melodrama.
"Love you, too, honey," her father said softly. He patted her arm and stepped back into the elevator. "I'm so proud a you -," he was saying when the stainless-steel doors closed, leaving Mary facing her blurry reflection, wearing an unaccountably heartsick expression and her best navy blue suit.
"Mare?" said a voice, and Mary turned, recovering. It was Marshall Trow, their receptionist, walking from the hallway in a blue cotton shirtdress and tan espadrilles. Her usual smile had vanished, and her brown eyes were concerned. "I just put a friend of yours in your office. I didn't want to interrupt your meeting."
"No problem." Mary switched her BlackBerry back on, and e-mail piled onto the screen, making a mountain she could never climb, like an electronic Sisyphus. "What friend?"
"Her name is Trish Gambone."
Trash Gambone is here?
"You know her, right?" Marshall blinked.
"Sure, from high school. Here?" Mary couldn't process it fast enough. Trash, er, Trish, Gambone personified every slight she'd suffered at St. Maria Goretti High School, where Mary had been the myopic straight-A president of the National Honor Society, the May Queen, and the all-around Most Likely to Achieve Sainthood. During the same four years, Trish Gambone had flunked Religion, chain-smoked her way through Spanish I twice, and reigned as the quintessential Mean Girl.
"She said she had to see you and it was confidential. She was beside herself."
"Upset?"
"She was crying."
"Really?" Mary felt her heartbeat speed up. A classic fight-or-flight reaction, but she didn't know which to do.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Dinoamoreday Dinovid "Since I Met You, Baby"
Hey pallies, gotta tell you dudes that since I met our Dino, I am a totally different man.....Dean Martin has adjusted my attitude in every Dinoway possible...and I loves Dino more and more every single Dinoday. Here is our great man's one and only music vid, "Since I Met You, Baby"...created by his boypallie Ricci and shown on MTV circa 1982. On this Dinoamoreday 2008, I propose a toast to our Dino, our King of Cool, our Master of Hip, our Ruler of Randy....may your Dinoleagacy continue to Dinoglow and Dinogrow....Dino you are da man...and we are your ever Dinoaddicted Dinodevotees.....
Monday, February 04, 2008
Dean Martin Dinocalendar Dinopix for February 2008
Hey pallies, February is the month of amore and no one does amore like our Dino....so it has been a hard choice of which Dinopix to use especially since Dinoamoreday is February 14. Finally Dinodecided to use the album cover from "The Silencers" 'cause it features our Dino with all those hot babes and cool chicks sharin' his round bed. So this is the Dinocalendar Dinopix for the Dinomonth of February.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Dinoreview of Dinoplay "Sway Me Moon"
Hey pallies, here is a wonderful review of the Dinoplay "Sway Me Moon." Just so Dinocool to see how our great man has become the center of this play. If you wanna view the review in it's original form, just click on the title of this Dinoblog Dinopost.
REVIEW: "Sway Me, Moon" shines
Posted by arts_reviews
Posted: February 2, 2008 - 3:15 am
Arlitia Jones: At her day job, chopping meat. Photo: Bill RothBy Dawnell Smith
Every time Dolly waits anxiously by the gate for her husband, another layer of truth unfolds--the lies and promises that get people through the day, the grudges and regrets that follow them to the grave.
"Sway Me, Moon" doesn't so much worship its characters as love them to death; the dense and poignant play about a broken son who tends his aging mother doesn't so much bask in the light of the moon as hover in its shadow.
The story centers on an old woman, Dolly (Linda Benson), who lives with her son Angel (Dean Williams) and finds refuge in fantasies about a lifelong romance with Dean Martin (Frank Delaney). Worn out and bitter, Angel tries to cope with his mother's fading memory and incomprehensible delusions while working a demolition job at the site of an unnamed terrorist attack.
He shows up angry in the first scene and only gets worst, leveling his greatest rage at Verita Ramos (Dana Fahrney), an old widow whose son died in a toppled building.
"It's an ugly world, and that's one ugly woman," Angel says to his only hope and love interest, Raizy (Lacey Ruskin).
As madness crosses all borders, from the real to fantasy, personal to political, past to present, literal to metaphor, crazy Dolly begins to sound more and more sane. When she calls Angel a "destruction worker" instead of a "demolition worker," she speaks the truth; when she sets her sights on getting Angel and Raizy together, she knows it's their only way out.
The script by poet and playwright Arlitia Jones of Anchorage cuts to the emotional viscera of irony and rends every delicate hope in half, leaving only the fissure to chew on. (Of course, I know Jones from poetry classes and readings, and have always admired her work.)
Through language and cues, the play moves deftly between worlds and textures, from the hardened city where Angel bulldozes concrete and flesh to the theatrical sashay of Dolly's "Sway Me" crooner, Dino.
Except for a few flubs here and there, the actors hit their mark on opening night, especially the flawless Benson as Dolly. Angel's inner conflict drives the plot, but Dolly anchors every character to the others, every perspective to the story.
Benson flushes out Dolly's nuances and humor without coming off affected. In some ways, Williams has a harder task playing Angel, an acerbic shell of a man on the brink of his own insanity. His performance started off stiff on Friday night--maybe even by design--but grew more fluid as the show wore on.
Throughout, Dean Martin songs set the mood as musical interludes and accompaniments, adding lightness and levity to ravaged terrain. The set and props looked great too, from the alluring peach tree to the screen door, symbols of longing, entrapment, connection and hope.
Savagery and compassion spring from the same sources.
Schatzie Schaefers directs these elements without losing sight of the big picture, namely the rubble within and around us all, and the many ways of seeing through it. If anything, the production could use a little more time to settle into itself and smooth around the edges.
But, then, couldn't we all. As serious local theater, you don't get much better than this.
"Sway Me, Moon" by Three Wise Moose Productions continues on Fridays and Saturdays at 7 p.m. and Sundays at 4 p.m. until February 17th at Out North , 3800 Debarr Road. Tickets cost $18 online, $20 at the door (279-3800, www.outnorth.org). An additional Valentine's Day performance will take place at 7 p.m. Thursday, February 14.
add new comment
1 February 3, 2008 - 1:04pm | dino_martin_peters
Dinoplay
Hey pallie, thanks for a wonderful review of "way Me, Moon." This sounds like a first rate production, just wish that miles and money make it impossible for me to view it. Dino has been my passion for decades and I love how our great man is centered in this play.
REVIEW: "Sway Me, Moon" shines
Posted by arts_reviews
Posted: February 2, 2008 - 3:15 am
Arlitia Jones: At her day job, chopping meat. Photo: Bill RothBy Dawnell Smith
Every time Dolly waits anxiously by the gate for her husband, another layer of truth unfolds--the lies and promises that get people through the day, the grudges and regrets that follow them to the grave.
"Sway Me, Moon" doesn't so much worship its characters as love them to death; the dense and poignant play about a broken son who tends his aging mother doesn't so much bask in the light of the moon as hover in its shadow.
The story centers on an old woman, Dolly (Linda Benson), who lives with her son Angel (Dean Williams) and finds refuge in fantasies about a lifelong romance with Dean Martin (Frank Delaney). Worn out and bitter, Angel tries to cope with his mother's fading memory and incomprehensible delusions while working a demolition job at the site of an unnamed terrorist attack.
He shows up angry in the first scene and only gets worst, leveling his greatest rage at Verita Ramos (Dana Fahrney), an old widow whose son died in a toppled building.
"It's an ugly world, and that's one ugly woman," Angel says to his only hope and love interest, Raizy (Lacey Ruskin).
As madness crosses all borders, from the real to fantasy, personal to political, past to present, literal to metaphor, crazy Dolly begins to sound more and more sane. When she calls Angel a "destruction worker" instead of a "demolition worker," she speaks the truth; when she sets her sights on getting Angel and Raizy together, she knows it's their only way out.
The script by poet and playwright Arlitia Jones of Anchorage cuts to the emotional viscera of irony and rends every delicate hope in half, leaving only the fissure to chew on. (Of course, I know Jones from poetry classes and readings, and have always admired her work.)
Through language and cues, the play moves deftly between worlds and textures, from the hardened city where Angel bulldozes concrete and flesh to the theatrical sashay of Dolly's "Sway Me" crooner, Dino.
Except for a few flubs here and there, the actors hit their mark on opening night, especially the flawless Benson as Dolly. Angel's inner conflict drives the plot, but Dolly anchors every character to the others, every perspective to the story.
Benson flushes out Dolly's nuances and humor without coming off affected. In some ways, Williams has a harder task playing Angel, an acerbic shell of a man on the brink of his own insanity. His performance started off stiff on Friday night--maybe even by design--but grew more fluid as the show wore on.
Throughout, Dean Martin songs set the mood as musical interludes and accompaniments, adding lightness and levity to ravaged terrain. The set and props looked great too, from the alluring peach tree to the screen door, symbols of longing, entrapment, connection and hope.
Savagery and compassion spring from the same sources.
Schatzie Schaefers directs these elements without losing sight of the big picture, namely the rubble within and around us all, and the many ways of seeing through it. If anything, the production could use a little more time to settle into itself and smooth around the edges.
But, then, couldn't we all. As serious local theater, you don't get much better than this.
"Sway Me, Moon" by Three Wise Moose Productions continues on Fridays and Saturdays at 7 p.m. and Sundays at 4 p.m. until February 17th at Out North , 3800 Debarr Road. Tickets cost $18 online, $20 at the door (279-3800, www.outnorth.org). An additional Valentine's Day performance will take place at 7 p.m. Thursday, February 14.
add new comment
1 February 3, 2008 - 1:04pm | dino_martin_peters
Dinoplay
Hey pallie, thanks for a wonderful review of "way Me, Moon." This sounds like a first rate production, just wish that miles and money make it impossible for me to view it. Dino has been my passion for decades and I love how our great man is centered in this play.
Friday, February 01, 2008
"Sway Me Moon" Dinoplay Interview
Hey pallies, ever since I read 'bout the new Dinoplay "Sway Me Moon" bein' staged in Alaska startin' this weekend, I have been eager to learn more 'bout this. Just Dinodiscovered that Alaska Public radio broadcast an interview this Dinoday with the playwright, the director, and the lead actress in the show. Click on the title of this Dinopost to go to the original site and there you will be able to listen to the interview. If you just wanna hear 'bout the role that our Dino plays, move the timer to 'bout 10:50 and you will hear 'bout a minute and a half of Dinopatter. The Dinocharacter even sings in the production.
Stage Talk: Sway Me Moon
Fri, February 1, 2008
Posted in Stage Talk
This week on Stage Talk, host Mark Muro chats with Schatzie Schaefers, Linda Benson and Arlitia Jones from Sway Me Moon, a play about the effects of modern events on the lives of ordinary people. Sway Me Moon opens tonight 7:00 PM at Out North in Anchorage.
HOST:
Mark Muro, actor and theatre critic
GUESTS:
Schatzie Schaefers, director, Sway Me Moon
Linda Benson, actress, Sway Me Moon
Arlitia Jones, playwright, Sway Me Moon
ORIGINAL BROADCAST: Fri, Feb 1, 2008 at 1:30p.m.
Stage Talk: Sway Me Moon
Fri, February 1, 2008
Posted in Stage Talk
This week on Stage Talk, host Mark Muro chats with Schatzie Schaefers, Linda Benson and Arlitia Jones from Sway Me Moon, a play about the effects of modern events on the lives of ordinary people. Sway Me Moon opens tonight 7:00 PM at Out North in Anchorage.
HOST:
Mark Muro, actor and theatre critic
GUESTS:
Schatzie Schaefers, director, Sway Me Moon
Linda Benson, actress, Sway Me Moon
Arlitia Jones, playwright, Sway Me Moon
ORIGINAL BROADCAST: Fri, Feb 1, 2008 at 1:30p.m.