Barry Manilow Page 6

  Chapter Seven

  His admittedly half-hearted attempt at marriage a failure, Barry headed back to Brooklyn. His mother’s response to the situation was, “See, I told you so.”

  After a brief and uncomfortable stay with Edna and Willie, who were now constantly drinking and fighting with each other, Barry found an apartment in the Flatbush section of Brooklyn. It was in no way convenient – an hour to work and an hour home each day by subway – but the price was right and, for the first time in his life, Barry was alone, his own man.

  Bro Harrod, owner of the 13th Street Theater and producer of The Drunkard, was open to Barry’s musical ideas about the production and, eventually, let Barry replace the public domain songs originally included in the play with all original songs Barry had composed himself. Bro also became a mentor of sorts for Barry, who paid close attention to everything Bro did and tried to learn from him as much as possible about theatre production.

  The Jazz Partners were now defunct, but Barry started working as pianist for a jazz trio from eight until midnight on the weekends. He also started working with singers who were referred to him by those who’d worked with him in the past, like Jeanne Lucas. “He is the most gifted arranger I have ever known on the planet,” says Lucas. “And everybody knew it and people really wanted him to arrange their material.”

  Things seemed well on track again. Barry was back in Brooklyn, but at least he was on his own. He still had the security of his day job at CBS, while his nights and weekends were filled with the pursuit of his musical interests. It all seemed ideal until the day his mother knocked on his door to announce that he was about to receive new neighbours – them.

  Barry was horrified and felt, as he characterised it, “violated and outraged” by his mother’s decision to take the apartment above his without even bothering to ask his feelings on the matter. But, like the good son he’d always been, he kept his thoughts to himself, pushing his feelings of rage deep within himself where they would cause no trouble. At least not for anyone but himself.

  It would have been impossible not to realise the extent to which Edna and Willie’s relationship had deteriorated in the past few years when evidence of their violent discord came through Barry’s ceiling nearly every night, loud and clear. Their fights were fuelled by Edna’s insecurity, Willie’s infidelities, and above all, alcohol. Their drinking problems ignited all their other problems, so that everything they’d once had in common evaporated in the heat of their quarrels.

  As much as Barry wanted to keep his distance from his mother’s marital problems, it was inevitable that he would once again be pulled into their private hell. It happened after yet another prolonged screaming match between Edna and Willie, punctuated, as usual, by the slamming door as Willie once again stormed out in a fury. It was late, and Barry had just begun to drift off to sleep in the calm following the storm, when he was pulled back to consciousness by the ringing of the phone. It was his mother.

  “I think I’ve done something stupid again.”

  This was Edna’s third suicide attempt, and the second since she and Willie had moved in above Barry. The previous incident had seemed less threatening. Edna’s sister, Barry’s Aunt Rose, had suspected something was wrong with Edna when she’d spoken to her on the phone, and Rose had called Barry to alert him to a potential problem. Edna had again taken a bottle of sleeping pills, but Barry was able to revive her with a couple of pots of strong, black coffee, continually walking her around the room until she came out of it.

  This time, though, it seemed that Edna was running out of luck. Barry slapped her repeatedly, but couldn’t rouse her. He knew that to involve the police again would mean that his mother would be sent to a sanatorium, but he had no choice – better a sanatorium than a cemetery. He called the police emergency number, then rode with his mother in the ambulance to the hospital. It was the first time that Barry was not only scared by his mother’s actions, but deeply angry.

  He called his family to the hospital, but the sight of their worried faces only enraged him more. How could Edna do this to them? And to him? This couldn’t happen again. It wouldn’t happen again.

  He sat down with the doctor and recounted Edna’s entire history – the alcoholism, the fights with Willie, and all three suicide attempts. Yes, they would have to send Edna to a sanatorium. And maybe it was about time.

  Several weeks later Barry received a letter from his mother, writing from the Brunswick General Hospital. She explained to him that this latest suicide attempt had been brought on by Willie’s ten-day absence, during which time, she said, she never slept, yet never missed a day of work. She closed by spinning steel threads of guilt, designed to pierce her son through the heart and bind him to her forever: “You’re the only thing that’s keeping me going. I don’t believe in much any more, but I believe in you. In fact, you’re all I believe in.” Barry was Edna’s reason for living and Edna’s life, now, was clearly Barry’s responsibility. Forever.

  Chapter Eight

  The turbulence of Barry’s personal life was offset by continued small successes in his professional pursuits. Also, Barry and Jeanne Lucas had continued to grow close both personally and professionally with Barry continuing to accompany Jeanne to various auditions as both her musical and moral support. They were still regulars at after-hours clubs around New York, and had also started looking for jobs in the outlying resort areas as well.

  “We started auditioning for these people who booked the Cat-skills,” Jeanne recalls. “What an assortment of people! There was this one guy, I can’t remember his name, but he had the worst breath and he would lean down into your face as he played the violin in his office, because he wanted to play his violin and me to sing. And I remember looking at Barry and saying, ‘Don’t leave me alone with him, please!’ It was not a pretty picture.” But a job’s a job, and at this stage of their careers, neither Jeanne nor Barry felt they were in a position to be too choosy. “So we got booked at some of these awful places in the Catskills,” says Jeanne. “I mean, Blech’s Bungalow Colony, and just awful places where there’d be Barry playing the piano, somebody on the drums, somebody on the bass – waiters by day, musicians by night. They had a lot of pimples and you’d smell Clearasil on the stage.”

  The two continued to play club dates around Manhattan, with Jeanne as the headliner, Barry simply her accompanist. But there came a moment when that balance began to shift a bit.

  “I got a job at a place called Charlie Bates’,” says Jeanne, “and it was ‘Jeanne Lucas and Company’ – Barry loved that! I had 40 minutes on and 20 off, and my voice was getting really tired. So I said to Barry, ‘Could you please sing a song somewhere in my set because I’m not going to be able to make it four sets a night; that’s a lot of singing.’” Barry seemed a bit horrified at the thought of not only taking centre stage, but doing so as a singer. His response to Jeanne’s request was unequivocal: “No, no, no, no – I can’t sing, I can’t sing, I can’t sing.” But Jeanne knew that Barry had been working on his singing ever since the time she and Susan had teased him about it. Besides, she was desperate. “Yes, you can,” she told Barry. “Trust me, you can do it. You’ll sound wonderful. You’ll do it.” And, the clincher: “You’ve got to do it, otherwise I’m just going to get a bad throat and we’re not going to have a job.” That did the trick. Barry agreed to work on one or two numbers he could perform solo.

  When Barry bowed to this concession, Jeanne decided to go for a somewhat easier one. She said to Barry, “Maybe on a song or two you could do ‘ooh aah’ in the background with me so I don’t have to sing so much and you could carry part of the show?” After agreeing to sing a solo, what were a few “oohs” and “aahs” by comparison? Barry agreed to ooh and aah for Jeanne.

  Barry’s initial efforts weren’t quite stellar, but were still effective. “The first night that we did that, he was hunched over the piano, his head down, like he was so embarrassed he wanted to die,” Jeanne recalls. “He was play
ing the piano and singing, and he did an okay job. He’d really been working. And the thing that they really responded to was when we did a song or two and he did his ‘ooh aah’ – they really liked that.”

  While the audiences seemed pleased with the new arrangement, the owner of Charlie Bates’ Saloon was less enthusiastic. “I didn’t hire you to hear him sing,” he complained to Jeanne. “That’s not what I want. I want you to sing.” But Barry had been very good to Jeanne for a very long time, and she wasn’t about to jettison him at this point. She told the club owner, “If you don’t want him, then I’m gone.” And so they were.

  There were plenty of other clubs and resorts happy to take Jeanne and Barry on more favourable terms. Barry was still working on and off with The Drunkard in between coaching sessions with up-and-coming singers and his continuing full-time job with CBS, which continued to bring the financial security he felt he needed in order to pursue his real interests. With all the success Barry was having in his musical pursuits, not to mention the encouragement from Playboy, it’s hard to understand his reluctance to let go of the job at CBS and commit to music full-time. But no matter how many other music-related jobs he took on, he stubbornly clung to the job at CBS. That’s why Jeanne’s next bit of good news seemed, to Barry, to be more of a problem than a blessing.

  A booking agent had spotted Jeanne at one of her numerous gigs around the city and had called to say that she had an out-of-town booking that would be perfect for Jeanne and Barry – as a singing duo. Were they interested? Jeanne was definitely interested. It didn’t matter that the “out-of-town” part of the job meant Richmond, Indiana. It still sounded good to Jeanne, and she wanted to say yes.

  Barry was less enthusiastic. For one thing, they weren’t a duo, they were a singer and her accompanist. Barry might have been willing to throw a number or two into the middle of Jeanne’s act to save her voice, and even give some “oohs” and “aahs” for the good of the team, but he had never aspired to be a singing act, and couldn’t see Richmond, Indiana, as the gateway to that new career. But the main drawback was far more serious: if he agreed to take this gig with Jeanne, it would mean finally letting go of his job at CBS.

  Jeanne did all she could to persuade Barry that nothing dire would happen to him if he were to leave CBS. He was single again, supporting only himself. He’d never had a problem getting a job before, and it was highly unlikely he’d start having a problem getting jobs now. But, most of all, if he wasn’t willing to take any risks, what could he ever hope to gain? All powerful arguments. “But to leave a steady job for a gamble in music went against everything I had learned while growing up,” Barry wrote in his 1987 autobiography. “Without that almighty Friday paycheck you were a bum.”

  After much-soul searching – not to mention constant reminders from Jeanne that the agent was waiting for their answer – Barry went to see his boss, Richard Rector, director of broadcasting at WCBSTV. Barry laid out his entire professional history for Rector, his growing conflict between the musical and non-musical dual lives he’d been leading, and his reluctance to give up the security that his job at CBS afforded him. Rector told Barry essentially what Playboy had – go for it. If things didn’t work out musically, Rector assured him, Barry would always have a job at CBS. This time Barry was ready to listen.

  “I’ll always be grateful to Dick Rector,” Barry later said. “He was the last kick in the ass I needed. And I felt somewhat secure knowing I could always come back.”

  Reassured, Barry left his boss’s office and immediately called Jeanne to tell her the news. Harry and Ethel were going to Indiana.

  Chapter Nine

  On the plane ride to Indiana, Jeanne and Barry eagerly prepared for their Richmond debut. “We decided we would do some more duets because I really enjoyed doing those with him,” says Jeanne. “The poor people on the plane! There we are, singing away, and figuring out all the harmonies and things.”

  They arrived in Indiana with two duets prepared – ‘Georgie Girl’ to open the act, followed by Jeanne’s usual programme of solo numbers, then she and Barry would close with ‘Something Stupid’. But when the two arrived to check out the venue, it looked very much as though the title of their closing number could very well describe the entire Indiana sojourn.

  “We go to the lounge expecting – I don’t know what we were expecting,” Jeanne recalls. “We were all dressed to the nines and everything, and we walk in and there’s this guy playing a piano and this woman sort of playing these big congo drums. And they’re singing these songs we’d never heard in our lives, just dumb songs. And these were the people we were replacing!”

  Although it seemed unlikely, apparently the current act was going over big with the audience. The pianist and his drum playing partner, who Barry would later remember as having no teeth, had the crowd stomping, clapping, and singing along, shouting out for more numbers and encores of songs already performed. Jeanne and Barry retired to the bar to contemplate their future in Richmond. It didn’t look good. The bartender, recognising the duo from their publicity photo on the poster in the bar, seemed to agree. “You sure have a tough act to follow!” he told them.

  Apparently too tough. “We got up to sing the next night and we bombed,” says Jeanne. Barry had always taken great care in sequencing their performances, but the Richmond audience wasn’t interested in what Barry wanted. “They were asking for requests,” Jeanne says. “They wanted us to sing things like ‘My Bucket’s Got A Hole In It’, and all that. I didn’t know any of those songs! I’d never even heard of them!” It’s been said – and sung – that if you can make it in New York, you can make it anywhere. But if the folks who first expressed those sentiments thought New York was a tough city, apparently they’d never tried to make it big in Richmond, Indiana. Jeanne and Barry were unceremoniously shown the door.

  “And there we were,” says Jeanne. “We had really taken the plunge. I’d given up my apartment, I’d given away my cat.” And Barry had finally given up his job at CBS. “This was going to be the big time,” says Lucas. “This was going to be the road to success. We didn’t know what to do. All we had was enough money for two bus tickets to my mother’s.”

  Jeanne’s mother lived in a small suburb of Detroit. She and Jeanne had been estranged for quite some time. In fact, the rift between the two was so serious that Mrs Lucas had told everyone that her daughter was dead. Now here was her daughter appearing on her doorstep out of the blue. “That was a tough explanation to her friends, I’m sure!” Jeanne laughs. “I was dead, so I had to be resurrected.”

  Not only had Jeanne made a sudden trip back from the dead, but she’d brought a young man with her as well. “[My mother] was a little leery of Barry, I must say,” Lucas recalls. However leery she might have been, though, Mrs Lucas agreed that Jeanne and Barry could stay with her until the two figured out their next move.

  Since the pair had blown what little money they’d had left on the bus tickets to Michigan, the most important thing seemed to be to find a job. Jeanne and Barry spent their days at the upright piano in Mrs Lucas’ living room, working up a new act. Barry and Marty Panzer had previously written a song for Jeanne called ‘The Greatest Thing That Ever Came Down The Line’. It was a song which Jeanne had performed to win the title “The Most Promising Act in New York” awarded in a competition sponsored by NBC; that song went into the act, as did more duets for the two of them.

  Jeanne and Barry soon landed a job at Paul’s Restaurant and Lounge in Detroit. Direct from New York, the ad for their act read. It probably would have been a bit distracting had the ad more honestly read, Direct from New York Via a Disastrous Few Days in Richmond, Indiana.

  In fact, “The Finest Act in Detroit”, as they were billed, met with far more success in Michigan than they had in Indiana. Their meticulous preparations had paid off. The lesson Barry had learned from their ill-starred Richmond experience was that audiences might want something new, but not too new. To address that, he and Jean
ne had taken familiar songs the audience was sure to know, but had given each their own spin. This way the audience was hearing something new, yet still reassuringly familiar, while Barry and Jeanne weren’t falling over with boredom from performing the same old standards in the same old way. “And that’s really where we worked out a lot of our duet songs,” says Jeanne, of their frequent onstage experimentations. “We would try them out with people. We wrote a lot of material together; I would write lyrics and he would do the music. We had a lot of fun doing these things.”

  As could usually be said for life, things were going great – right up until they weren’t.

  “I got tonsilitis and I had to have my tonsils out,” says Lucas. It had looked as though the gig at Paul’s could have gone on forever, so enthusiastic was the audience reaction to the new act. But without Jeanne, there was really no point in Barry staying in the area. He decided to go back to New York while Jeanne stayed at her mother’s house and recovered.

  Even though he’d been assured that there would be a place for him at CBS should he decide he wanted to return, Barry has said that he never even considered going back. Even the constant hustling necessary to try to make a living by making music no longer seemed a drawback. “Even though I wasn’t finding fame and fortune in the world,” Manilow has written, “I was happier than I’d ever been. I was able to devote all of my energy to making music and each day was more rewarding than CBS had ever been.”

  Via ads in the trade papers and simple word of mouth, Barry let it be known that he was back in New York and eager to work. Soon he was once again busy coaching and accompanying singers and writing arrangements for their acts.