Barry Manilow Read online

  Joe Manilow simply steered clear of his wife whenever possible, and otherwise gave in to her every wish and command. He was a sweet man who didn’t like contention, and he had never really felt a match for Esther, in any sense of the word. Edna’s older sister, Rose, had married early and moved out of the state altogether, mainly to remove herself from Esther’s vice-like grip over her life. This left Edna as the main focus of Esther’s smothering control, a situation which, for the headstrong Edna, could only be characterised as untenable, at best.

  So it must have been with an enormous mixture of relief and trepidation that Edna came home one day, at age 19, and announced that Harold Pincus, an Irish Catholic chauffeur, had asked her to marry him – and she’d said yes.

  Chapter Two

  It should come as no surprise that Edna’s announcement of her engagement to Harold Pincus was met by her mother with uncontrolled fury. Every mother dreams of a better life for her daughter, but the prospect of Edna marrying a Brooklyn-born chauffeur was almost more than Esther could bear. Beyond that, Harold was Irish and, even worse, Catholic.

  The enmity between the different ethnic and religious groups living side by side in Brooklyn was very real, and often turned very ugly. For a Jewish girl to marry a Catholic boy was nearly as unthinkable as the Jewish Harry Pincus’ marriage to Catholic Anna Sheehan had been. And Harold’s Jewish-sounding name was little consolation to Esther. The fact that he was a Pincus meant nothing in the face of his Catholic upbringing.

  But Edna couldn’t be shaken from her resolve to marry Harold. He hardly had the good looks of a movie star, but, then again, neither did the skinny, buck-toothed Edna. But Harold was a gentle man, with a joyous sense of humour which was incredibly attractive to the fun-loving Edna. The two also shared an all-encompassing love of music. Whether it was records, radio, or musical theatre, Harold loved to surround himself with music. He had a beautiful singing voice and was often called upon at social events to perform a number or two. Edna shared this love of music, and she also loved to sing and entertain. “They lived music”, a friend observed of the couple.

  Beyond this shared love of fun and music, marriage for Edna offered the perfect escape route from her suffocating life at home with her parents. To a young woman raised in the early part of the 20th century, marriage was seen not as a journey, but a destination. It was the end of the story, the happily-ever-after. Two radiant young people looked deeply, soulfully into each other’s eyes and vowed to have and to hold, sealed with a kiss. The music swells, a happy tear is shed, and the film fades to black. Of course the tragedy is that very few of these fairy tales, in reality, end with a “happily ever after”.

  Still, undaunted, Harold and Edna set their fairy tale in motion with a trip to the Kings County Clerks Office late on Wednesday afternoon, June 3, 1942 where they obtained their marriage licence. Four days later, at 1.00 p.m. on Sunday, June 7, they were married by Rabbi Abraham Levin at the Rabbi’s home on South 8th Street, just a block away from the Manilows’ apartment on Broadway. The ceremony was witnessed by Alfred Howe and Frank Miller. It’s not known whether either Edna’s parents or Harold’s mother attended the brief ceremony.

  For the newlywed Mr and Mrs Harold Pincus, reality set in quickly. As she had hoped, her marriage to Harold had given Edna an escape from the suffocating restrictions of life under her mother’s roof, if only briefly. She and Harold had barely had time to set up housekeeping in their own apartment just blocks from both Edna’s parents’ apartment and Harold’s mother’s apartment when Harold received a letter that effectively revoked Edna’s new-found freedom. “Greetings from the President of the United States,” the letter began. Harold had been drafted.

  The attack by Japanese war planes on the US Naval installation at Pearl Harbor on the Hawaiian island of Oahu on December 7, 1941 had provoked America’s entry into World War II, a conflict that had already been raging in Europe for over two years. At first only the best and strongest young men in the country were called to fight for what many optimistically believed would be a quick victory. But as the war raged on and the best and the strongest America had to offer were killed off by the thousands, the armed forces couldn’t afford to be quite so picky about who they called into service.

  The United States Army must have been desperate indeed to want to induct Harold Pincus into its ranks. When Harold reported for his physical, he needed only to take off his shoes to be declared unfit to serve. His mangled stump of a foot, the souvenir of his youthful bid for freedom from Brooklyn and all the poverty and despair it represented, could now be Harold’s ticket out of the war. That is it could have been, had Harold so chosen.

  But at 22, Harold found himself still poor, still Brooklyn-bound, still caring for his ageing mother, and now further burdened by the responsibility of a wife, a wife who came with a nagging, domineering mother who hated him. His deformed foot could be his ticket out of the war, but the world’s war could also provide Harold with a brief respite from his own personal struggles at home. It was not an opportunity he planned to let slip by.

  Beyond that, there was a certain stigma attached to being a draftaged male not in uniform. Explains a friend of Harold’s, “They said to him, ‘you could be out on a medical discharge’. He used to laugh. Just to get a uniform and be one of the boys, he didn’t sign to get out.”

  Harold convinced the officers presiding over the selection process that there were any number of duties he could fulfil in the Army that would be unaffected by his deformed foot. Yes, he would need a special prosthesis to make up for the missing portion of his foot. But after all, he’d been a chauffeur for several years. If he was up to that, surely the Army could find something for him to do? Anything? Incredibly the Army agreed, and Harold finally found his way out of Brooklyn, if only as far as a camp in the deep south where he stood guard over enemy prisoners of war. The prisoners were, for the most part, grateful simply to be out of the line of fire and receiving three square meals a day. Harold, their guard, was just as grateful to be in uniform and out of Brooklyn.

  Edna, left behind in Brooklyn after only a few months of married life, had little choice but to move back in with Esther and Joe in the cramped, sixth-floor walk-up on Broadway. Far from being sympathetic over Edna’s situation, Esther used the circumstances to ridicule and criticise her daughter even more severely than before Edna had married. Hadn’t Esther told her that the Irishman was no good? Hadn’t she begged Edna not to throw her life away on such a bum? And now where was she? Nineteen years old, married without a husband to show for it, and living back under her parents’ roof.

  But that wasn’t the full extent of Edna’s situation. Not only was she married with no husband to show for it, but, she soon realised, she was also pregnant. Anticipating her mother’s reaction to this latest turn of events, Edna wisely kept the news to herself. It was only early in 1943, when nature was on the brink of making the situation obvious to anyone who cared to glance at her waistline, that Edna confided in her parents.

  Edna’s fear of telling her mother about her pregnancy had been well founded. “You stupid girl!” Esther reportedly screamed at her daughter when she made what should have been her joyful announcement. And, in case her displeasure and disapproval were not fully evident, Esther punctuated her remark by punching her daughter in the face with such force that she broke Edna’s nose.

  The next few months in the tiny apartment would have been even more miserable than those that preceded them had not Edna taken such an obvious pleasure in the impending birth of her child. As spring gave way to the oppressive summer heat, Edna busied herself preparing for the new arrival. Perhaps motherhood would provide the escape that marriage hadn’t. For once Edna would have someone to love her without question and without criticism; one single human being who would be utterly dependent upon her, who wouldn’t leave her, and who would love her no matter what. It would be a boy, she told everyone who would listen, a beautiful boy.

  She was right. O
n June 17, 1943, Edna gave birth to a son she named Barry Alan Pincus. At last she had her beautiful baby boy.

  Chapter Three

  “Show Dad You’re Glad He’s Your Dad,! Father’s Day, June 20th !”On the day Barry Pincus was born, the New York Times was filled with ads reminding conscientious wives and children that no father would feel fully appreciated without a gift of Flan-L-Tex Washable Slacks (only $3.95 “At All Convenient John David Stores”). Ads for “Holeproof Socks” and “Luxurious White Broadcloth Shirts” were accompanied by drawings of “typical” fathers – impossibly tall, trim, and tucked in, their hair slicked neatly back, some with dapper moustaches, most puffing on a pipe. “Yes, he’s tough, gruff and He-manly,” reads an ad for Seaforth shaving products. “No presents for him! No remembrances! ‘He’ll do the giving.’ But you know Father. You know it’s only because the old softy’s afraid he’ll be forgotten that he pretends he wants to be forgotten.”

  When it came to being forgotten, Harold Pincus was given little choice in the matter. As with every other aspect of her home and family, Esther immediately took over control of the new baby. Edna was not that far out of childhood herself, having passed out of her teens only a few weeks before Barry’s birth, so it was a relief to let her mother take primary responsibility for the child’s upbringing. Edna went back to work and became little more than a sweet smelling entity in her little son’s life. Grampa Joe was the very embodiment of love and kindness to his grandson, but he was completely powerless in the home, any resolve he may once have possessed crushed between the boisterous youth of his younger daughter and the iron-fisted contempt of his wife. It was a house dominated by women, but specifically one woman – Esther.

  The rigours of even domestic military life proved too much for Harold, and, after only nine months of service, he was honourably discharged from the Army on June 30, 1943, just two weeks after his son’s birth. But even after so brief an absence, by the time Harold returned home from military service, a family unit had been established that very deliberately excluded him.

  Harold had finagled his way into the Army in order to escape Brooklyn and his overwhelming responsibilities there, to be “one of the boys”. But in a strange twist of fate that echoed the accident on the freight train which had marked him for life, Harold was now being forced to pay a bitter price for his second great bid for freedom.

  Though she often tried, Edna had never really been able to stand up to her mother. When Harold returned to Brooklyn, Edna was faced with a choice – try to resume a life with a man she’d barely had a chance to know before he’d left her for the Army, or remain in a relatively comfortable situation living with her parents. The second option had much to offer. Edna enjoyed her job, and was rising through the ranks there. She enjoyed dressing nicely, associating with people outside of Brooklyn, and socialising with her friends whenever she wanted to, secure in the knowledge that Barry was being well cared for by her mother. In fact, since Barry’s birth, Esther had focused so much attention on the baby that there was little time left over to harangue Edna, finally giving Edna a measure of the freedom she had previously hoped to achieve by marrying and moving out of her parents’ home.

  Given that, there was no longer any real advantage to life with Harold that Edna could see. Should she choose Harold over her mother, she knew she would no longer be able to count on Esther’s support. Edna would no doubt have to quit her job and stay home to take care of her child.

  But perhaps the real deciding factor between life with Harold and life with her parents was Harold’s desire for Barry to receive the same traditional Catholic upbringing his own mother, Anna, had made sure Harold had had. But according to Jewish belief, a child born to a Jewish mother is Jewish and, as such, should be raised according to Jewish beliefs and customs. The thought of Barry Pincus – son of Edna Manilow and, more importantly (at least as far as Esther was concerned), grandson of Joseph and Esther Manilow – being raised as a Catholic was simply unthinkable.

  For Harold these religious differences were also causing problems, not only personally but professionally as well. It was shortly after he returned from the Army that Harold began using the surname Keliher rather than Pincus. The name Keliher had no real meaning to him, having simply been the name of his mother’s second husband. But the most lucrative jobs to be had in Brooklyn at that time were offered by Schaefer Brewery, the majority of whose workers were Irish Catholics. Certainly Harold was an Irish Catholic, too, but his father’s name – Pincus – proclaimed him a Jew, if falsely. Despite the United States’ and their European allies’ victory over Hitler and his campaign to exterminate the Jews of Europe, the US was rife with feelings of anti-Semitism, which ran unchecked – and largely unacknowledged – in the brewing industry. “Everybody was polite,” says a former brewery employee, “but nobody wanted to hire you – people just were not comfortable.” The best way Harold could see around this dilemma was to simply assume a new surname. It wasn’t that he was lying about his heritage – he was half Irish and had certainly been raised a Catholic. So he decided to abandon the Jewish half of his identity completely, along with his family name.

  To Esther, Harold had seemed bad enough as an Irishman with a Jewish name. Now he was presenting himself as the complete Irish Catholic nightmare – Harold Keliher. It was more than Esther would stand, and much less than she thought Edna should settle for. The iron opposition Esther posed was more than either Edna or Harold could bear. So, reluctantly, Harold moved back into his mother’s one-bedroom flat, took a job at Schaefer Brewery as Harold “Kelly” Keliher, and began a lengthy and ultimately futile struggle to become a father to his son. In her corner, Esther Manilow made sure that any contact between father and son would require a battle, with Barry as the prize.

  As Barry grew into a toddler and began walking and talking, it’s unclear how much he may have sensed of the conflict that surrounded him. A visitation schedule had been agreed for Harold to spend time with his son. Each Sunday Edna would dress Barry in his best clothes so he could go with his father to see Anna, Harold’s mother. But gradually it seemed that whenever Harold would call for his son, the Manilows were always able to come up with some excuse why his visits had to be cancelled: Barry was sick, or Barry was tired, or Barry was simply “away”. It was Esther’s hope that if she could keep Harold and Barry apart long enough, the child would eventually lose all memory of having had a father at all and Barry would be truly and wholly hers.

  As unfair as it might seem to him, Edna begged Harold not to fight her mother’s wishes, as it would only result in grief for all concerned. Much like the long-suffering Grampa Joe, Harold was a man who avoided confrontations. But there finally came a point when Harold had been given one excuse too many, and the situation reached a boiling point, ironically a situation that involved Joseph Manilow.

  Walking toward the Manilows’ nearby apartment for his prearranged visit with Barry one Sunday, Harold caught sight of Joe Manilow leading Barry by the hand in the opposite direction. This was simply the end of Harold’s patience with the Manilows and their nonsense, and Harold approached Joe to confront him. As soon as he caught sight of Harold, Joe hastily picked Barry up and clutched the child to his chest. “I’m supposed to have him today,” Harold said firmly. He was fed up. This was his son – not Joe’s, not Esther’s, but his – his and Edna’s. Indeed, it seemed to him that the two people with the least authority over Barry were his actual parents. It was simply wrong, and Harold wanted it to stop – immediately. He reached for Barry, trying to wrest the terrified child out of his grandfather’s arms, but Joe resisted. Harold certainly wasn’t about to beat up an old man holding a child – his child. He relented, the brief confrontation ended, and Joe took Barry home.

  That wasn’t to be the end of it. Whether at Esther’s insistence or of his own volition, Joe Manilow called the police and filed an assault complaint against Harold, who received a summons and had to appear in court to defend his actions. Time h
as lost the official results of that hearing, but the personal results were clear: Harold admitted defeat. He was no match for Esther – no one was. From that point on, Harold chose to keep an eye on his son only from a safe distance.

  For all the bitterness and ill will Esther Manilow could dish out to the adults around her, when it came to Barry, she radiated total love and absolute approval. It was as though Barry had been sent to redeem all Esther’s past hardships and disappointments; all the pain life had dished out to her was washed clean through the pure, undiluted love she received from Barry and which she herself showered upon him. It was, in fact, a deluge of such all-consuming love that at times it seemed Barry would drown in it.

  “Gramma loved me,” Barry wrote in his 1987 autobiography, Sweet Life. “I mean really loved me … She was very protective. Too protective. I had no friends for the first ten years of life … Gramma kept me pretty much to herself during those years.”

  In reality Barry had two grandmothers who loved him, not just one, a fact that has somehow gotten lost over time. Harold’s mother, Anna, was also obliged to suffer the consequences of Harold’s differences with the Manilows, which drastically reduced the amount of time she was allowed to spend with her only grandchild, whom she adored. The elementary school Barry attended was just around the corner from Anna’s apartment and, during the school’s recess periods, Anna had taken to standing outside the chain link fence surrounding the schoolyard to watch Barry at play; he was the very image of his father.

  Ironically, it was Edna who was most responsible for seeing to it that her estranged husband’s mother was able to enjoy more personal time with Barry. After Harold stopped calling for Barry, on a regular basis Edna would dress Barry in his finest clothes and take him to Harold’s mother’s apartment for dinner or just a visit. “Anna idolised him,” says Annie Keliher, Harold’s second wife and widow, who began dating Harold in the late Forties, after her own divorce. “[Barry] would go over there and Anna would stand on her head. She would just take him and show him off; he was her little guy.”