My "Pal Joey"

I was opening for singer Buddy Greco at “Palumbo’s Supper Club” in Philadelphia, PA when a very recognizable face came in one night at the 10:00 PM Late Show. To any young Philadelphia nightclub entertainer (especially the 17 year old me) Joey Bishop and the other members of Frank Sinatra’s Rat Pack were like Gods. We all wanted to be just like them and wanted to achieve the same level of fame (as well as the same level of paychecks).

Joey and his group were a wonderful, attentive audience. They applauded my songs, laughed at my weak patter and bad jokes and made my set a joy to perform. I introduced Buddy after I was done and headed to the dressing room. Since it was a Friday night and I didn’t have high school the next day, I decided to stay around and listen to Buddy’s act over the speaker in the dressing room area. When he finished and the patrons were leaving, I went back out to talk with him. We had developed the habit of spending time together after the last show on Friday and Saturday where Buddy would help me refine my act and teach me new songs.

Instead of Buddy sitting at the piano alone waiting for me, Joey and his party were there with him talking. I stopped, not wanting to intrude and, frankly, a bit awestruck (“Oh my God, it’s Joey Bishop!”).

Joey turned around and saw me standing there and said, “Hey, kid, come here”. I walked over and Joey put his arm around my shoulder and said, “You’re pretty good, kid. Buddy says you’ve been working together when he plays in Philly and you live here.” I stammered out “Yes. I live in Tacony”. Joey’s manner was such that I stopped being nervous quickly and soon we were talking like we had known each other for a long time.

At that time Joey was part owner of a Philadelphia club called “Joey’s Place”, run by his two sisters. He told me that he was going to be performing there in two weeks and wondered if I would be available to open for him. I somehow managed to say “Yes” and we settled the business details right then. Buddy was beaming – he liked to introduce me to other nightclub performers who might help my career along.

I finished my last high school class that day and headed to “Joey’s Place”. The house band and I went over my charts and rehearsed my songs. Then it was off to the kitchen and Joey’s sisters fed me dinner. Joey came in around 7:00 PM and we went over what we were going to do that evening. 8:00 PM rolled around and the early show’s audience started to arrive. I went on at 8:30 PM, did my act, introduced Joey and then headed off to the dressing room area. I repeated my act for the 10:00 PM late show audience, introduced Joey and headed to the subway and home to get some sleep before my next day’s classes at high school.

The week went by quickly, almost a blur. When I introduced Joey for the late show on Saturday, he whispered to me, “Hang around. I want to talk with you after the show”. He said it in a casual tone so I wasn’t terribly nervous that I might have done a bad job. The late show audience left and Joey and I sat down at one of the tables. He complimented me on how the week went and asked me what my future plans were. I had recently been in a Broadway show that had flopped and I was just finding my niche in nightclubs, so I told him that my goal was to advance from opening act to headliner and to move on to the bigger clubs and Las Vegas.  He said, “I think you can do it, Rich. You’ve definitely got talent and you know how to relate to the audience. How about working with me again in the future?”

I don’t remember how I got home that night – I think I floated.

Joey and I did work together after that and every engagement was a blast. Through Joey and Buddy I got to meet and work with Sammy Davis, Jr., Dean Martin and many other big names of the late 1960’s.

And on that unbelievable final night at the lounge of the Flamingo Hotel in Las Vegas a few days before going into the Army in April of 1969, Joey was there, along with Sammy and Dean, to give me a big send-off. A Night To Remember and Cherish - April 4,1969

Joey, indeed, was a Pal.

A Night To Remember and Cherish - April 4,1969

April 4, 1969 – a day that will live in my memory.

I had been a lucky teenager. I had gotten to know several major nightclub entertainers of the late 1960’s and would occasionally work as their opening acts in nightclubs and supper clubs in New York City, New Jersey and in my hometown of Philadelphia. One common trait of all these entertainers was their kindness toward me. They would “talk me up” to other entertainers and recommend me to them and mentor me, helping me to make my act better.

One of the first of those mentors and friends was fellow Philadelphian Buddy Greco. We had originally worked together at Scioli’s in Philadelphia. Buddy knew all of the members of the famous Rat Pack and through him I met and occasionally worked with Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr. and Joey Bishop. Doing two 20 to 30 minutes shows a night opening for them and spending time with them between and after shows was an education few ever had and I treasure to this day.

As a result of opening for Sammy Davis, Jr. at the Latin Casino in New Jersey, I got booked into the lounge at the Flamingo Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas. Nothing terribly fancy - I performed three 30-minute shows each night, mostly to the backs of the people playing the slot machines. But it was a step up the ladder as a club performer and might have led to something more if the military draft and Vietnam had not intervened.

About the middle of the week in Las Vegas, I got a call from my mother informing me that one of the guys who lived on our street (and shared a birthday with me) had gotten his draft notice, so I could expect mine any day. Wanting to have some choice, I went to see the military recruiters and ended up enlisting in the Army, with a report date of April 6. That night, I told the members of the house trio that was playing for me about my upcoming enlistment and that the last show on April 4 would be my last show before reporting.

When we finished my closing song on the second show, I noticed some strange looks from the trio, but I wasn’t sure what was going on in their heads. Being employed by the hotel, they had seen a lot of entertainers come and go and I was just one of many (or so I thought). I didn’t know it, but they had plans for my closing show.

Finally, it was time for my last show. The trio started the introduction to “Do Nothing Till You Hear From Me” (still my opening song when I perform today), I stepped out on the little stage, got maybe one note out of my mouth, and a voice from the side of the stage yelled “Hold it!”. Out stepped Joey Bishop. He said, “Ladies and gentlemen, my friend here is going into the Army in two days, so my friends and I thought we should stop by and give him a proper sendoff.” He turned and out stepped Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Jr. Hugs and handshakes all round and then the next 45 minutes were a blur. We all joked and sang and laughed. The slot machines became silent as almost all the people who had been playing stopped to watch, listen, laugh and applaud our impromptu entertaining.

I have very few solid memories of that show – much of it was and still is a blur – though I do vaguely remember doing a duet with Sammy on “Me And My Shadow”. We ended and the four of us went out to eat together.

The next morning, Joey drove me to the Las Vegas airport and I flew back to Philadelphia and the morning after I was officially sworn into the Army and left for Basic Training at Fort Dix, New Jersey.

Four years later, when my enlistment was due to end, I had a wife, a child and one on the way and almost all the nightclubs and supper clubs had shut their doors, so I re-enlisted to make a living and support them.

But those crazy, wonderful nights performing in the clubs, and especially that night in Las Vegas, will live in my memory forever.

Three Wonderful People and One Scared Little Kid

Having been a professional child and juvenile actor in New York City back in the 1960’s and then returning to the performing arts after retiring from the Army in 1996, I could write a whole book answering the question, "Who was the nicest celebrity you have met?  (in fact, I have written about some of those people in this blog.) If I am forced to pick just one I cannot, so I have to say my first on-stage “Mom”, the actress Mary Martin,

my first on-stage “Dad”, Theodore “Theo” Bikel

and my first on-stage “Uncle”, Kurt Kasznar.

I joined the cast of The Sound Of Music in 1960, after it had been running on Broadway for about 6 months. One of the boys who was playing Friedrich Von Trapp started to go through his voice change from Soprano to Bass, so they moved one of the boys playing Kurt Von Trapp into that role and hired me to replace the boy who had been playing Kurt. (Because of child labor laws, actors under the age of 18 can only do a maximum of 4 shows a week. Since a Broadway show does 8 performances, every child role has two or more actors alternating shows).

I had never been in a play before, not even at school, and knew nothing. Mary, Theo, Kurt (who was playing Max) - they all worked with me, mentored me and prepared me for my opening night. Mary personally taught me to dance the “Laendler” folk dance number (which she and I danced together at each performance) because I was having trouble learning it. Luckily, Mary had been a dance teacher when she was a teenager in Texas.

My “opening night” is something I will never, ever forget. I was standing in the wings in my sailor suit, waiting for Theo to blow my whistle signal, scared to death. Kurt looked at me and said the magic words in that wonderful Austrian accent of his, “Don’t worry, Richard. Nobody in the audience has the script.” Theo blew the whistle and Kurt said, “Go out there and kick ass!”. I stepped out on the stage with 1,500 people in the audience - and the first thing I saw was Mary’s beaming smile and I knew everything was going to be all right. Every scene with her, she focused that wonderful smile on me. Our dance went perfectly like we had been doing it every night for weeks.

I came out with the other kids at the end for the curtain call and we took our bows. Kurt came out and bowed, Theo came out and bowed, and Mary came out and took her bow - and then she came over to me and, in front of the cast and all 1,500 people of the audience, she gave me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. It was the official Seal of Approval - I was now an actor!

Over the next 9 years I was in small roles or the chorus of 6 more Broadway shows (most of which could be considered “flops”) - and Mary came to at least one performance of each show, coming backstage after the performance with a hug and a kiss and praise. And if I was the opening act at some nightclub or supper club In New York City or Philadelphia and she was in town - she was there leading the applause.

In 1962 I was cast as Friedrich Von Trapp in the National tour of The Sound Of Music - and since I needed to play the guitar in the show, Theo taught me “Edelweiss”.

Kurt and I remained close and I visited him in the hospital the day before he died of cancer in 1979.

There have been many, many nice special “celebrities” who have been part of my life so far - and Mary, Theo and Kurt definitely are at the top of the list.

What had been, before life threw me a curve

1967 - 1969 Philadelphia,  New Jersey, New York City

Between the years 1967 and 1969 when I went into the Army, with the help of two very special people, Buddy Greco (My “Buddy”) and Jimmy Durante (The Schnozzola - Jimmy Durante), I had established myself as an up-and-coming nightclub performer, even though I was still in my late teenage years. Whenever a big name performer came into Philadelphia to play one of the clubs there, I was on the list of local performers who was considered a solid opening act. Normally I would go on at 8:00 PM and at 10:00 PM, do a 20 minute singing act and then introduce the headliner. Between shows I would do my homework in the kitchen and head home usually while the headliner was doing his second show of the night.

So I thought, with that wave of nostalgia, that I would write a few words about some of those people who I had the opportunity to work with back then:

Jack E. Leonard

Imagine a nasty version and physically larger version of Don Rickles (Don always said he modeled his act after Jack E.). Jack E. pretty much invented insult comedy. He would rove around the room, going from table to table and insulting the customers – and they loved it. He would insult the band, the waiters, the bartenders, even me – but he did it in such a funny way, no one got offended.

Buddy Hackett

Buddy was a nervous wreck off-stage and a profuse sweater. He would have to change shirts between shows because the one he wore for the first show was soaked through by the time he told his last joke. Buddy, despite his chubby cherub looks, was the dirtiest comic I ever worked with. I will never forget one night, walking by his dressing room between shows. He was seated at the table with a pad of yellow legal paper and a pencil. He would scribble something, look at it, say “F**K”, crumple it up and add it to the scraps of paper littering the floor. I asked him what he was doing and he answered, “I’m booked to play the Ed Sullivan Show this Sunday, kid, and I’m trying my damndest to come up with five minutes of clean jokes. Leave me alone!” – and I hastily retreated.

Jack Carter

Like most comedians I worked with, Jack was very, very serious and self-contained. We worked together for two weeks – and I never really got to know him.

Al Martino

I rarely opened for singers, being a singer myself, but Al liked me and we got on well. Not terribly friendly but not unfriendly either. The only issue he had with me was making sure I didn’t sing anything that he was planning to sing, but that was easy to settle between us.

Dean Martin

Another one of those entertainers who Buddy Greco introduced me to and who I worked with several times. Despite his laid-back on stage persona, Dean was incredibly professional and meticulous in his work ethic. And, despite his image, "sober as a judge".

I would finish my act, glance over at the wings where he would be pouring apple juice into an Old-Fashioned glass and announce him "Now, ladies and gentlemen, direct from the bar - Dean Martin!"  He would come out, look at me and say loudly, "How did all these people get into my room, kid?" and I would exit.  He would then grab the audience, hold them in the palm of his hand and entertain them for the next hour.

Like many of the other performers, we would talk between shows and he would analyze my act and make helpful criticisms on how I could improve. We never talked much about personal things, just about entertaining, singing and music.

Sammy Davis Jr.

Sam was exhausting to be with - he had so much energy that, if they could have found a way to tap that energy, you could have had enough power to light every room in the Empire State Building. His regular opening act was Hines, Hines & Dad (Gregory & Maurice Hines and their father) but he was scheduled to play the Latin Casino in New Jersey for a week and “Dad” twisted an ankle – not good for a tap dancing act! Buddy and I were at Palumbo’s in Philadelphia and Sam came to see Buddy about 9:30 PM, while we were on break between shows, thinking to ask him to fill in for the Hines’. Buddy had a conflict so he said, “How about Rich?” (without telling me) and Sammy stayed. When I finished my closing song and was about to introduce Buddy (who I saw standing next to Sam in the back of the room), Sammy came running up, grabbed me, hugged me and told the audience that I would be opening for him at the Latin the next week. He never actually asked me, but I wouldn’t have said “No”.

The Latin Casino was packed every night. Sammy was marvelous - and even I wasn’t bad. Celebrities came down from New York City and Sammy introduced me to them – Bobby Darin, Dean Martin, Louis Prima & Keely Smith, Steve Lawrence & Edye Gorme, Redd Foxx and – Frank Sinatra (yes, dear reader, the hand that is typing this blog post once shook Frank Sinatra’s hand!). Based on that week, I got booked into the lounge at the Flamingo Hotel in Las Vegas (not as glamorous as you might think - think of the beginning of Whoppi Goldberg’s movie Sister Act.). Things were looking up!

My second day in Las Vegas I got a call from my Mom. A boy who lived down the street from us, born on the same day as I but only 4 hours later, had gotten his draft notice. I went down to the Selective Service office in Las Vegas, had my physical and found that I was 1-A prime draft material. I went to the various recruiters to see what was the best deal I could get rather than be drafted into either the Army or Marines as cannon fodder and enlisted in the Army in Military Intelligence.

My last show at the Flamingo was bittersweet. It had become my dream to graduate from Opening Act to Headliner and I felt I was almost there - and now Uncle Sam said “No, kid. You have to go to Vietnam”. 

Three days later, I was back in Philadelphia at the AFEES Station being sworn into the Army and heading off to Basic Training at Fort Dix, NJ. By the time my initial enlistment ended, the nightclubs and supper clubs were almost all gone, I had a wife, a son and another on the way. So I re-enlisted and eventually stayed in until I retired 27 years later.

The dream was gone – but the memories remain…

My “Buddy”

April, 1967 Philadelphia, PA

I was a 16 year old kid in high school, working on weekends doing local TV (Gene London’s Cartoon Corner’s General Store on WCAU - Philadelphia’s CBS affiliate), when one of my classmates asked me if I was busy the following week. I was a little confused because I knew she had a boyfriend but then she explained that it was about a possible job. Her grandparents owned a supper club/nightclub called Scioli’s and the headliner’s regular opening act was unavailable. She knew I was an entertainer and thought I might be right for the job.

So I went to the club and met Armando “Buddy” Greco. I sang for him, we talked, we shook hands - and the next night at 8:00 PM I was doing my 20 minutes set before introducing him. I did my homework in the kitchen and went back on for the 10:00 PM show, did my 20 minutes and introduced Buddy. After the second show, while the busboys were cleaning up, we sat together at the piano and he went over my set, giving me constructive criticism and making suggestions.

This was our routine for that whole week. When our last night of the engagement ended, Buddy handed me some sheet music to the songs he had been teaching me that week and said, “We’ll see each other again”.

Several weeks went by and the phone rang at home. It was Buddy and he was coming into Philadelphia to play Palumbo’s and wanted me to open for him (at, I might add, an increase in pay). And that led to another week together. Part of it, I know, was that he was originally from Philadelphia and, like me, he grew up poor and he had gotten his first big break, playing piano for the Benny Goodman Big Band when he was the same age I was then.

Other celebrities would come to see him and he would introduce me and give me a big build up. As a result, I became pretty established as a solid opening act whenever someone came into town to play the clubs. Through Buddy, I met and eventually opened for comedian Joey Bishop (another Philadelphia boy), singer Al Martino, comedians Buddy Hackett, Jack Carter and Jack E. Leonard (which led to my friendship with Jimmy Durante The Schnozzola - Jimmy Durante). On one very special night, Sammy Davis Jr. came - and that led to a week opening for him at the Latin Casino in New Jersey.

Between 1967 and 1969, I was a very busy kid with high school, nightclub work and chorus work in two different Broadway shows (both of them flops!)

Vietnam and the demise of the nightclub business ended that career for me, sadly. Buddy and I kept in sporadic contact and seriously re-connected a few years ago. He will be celebrating his 90th birthday in August of 2016 with a performance in Las Vegas (he and his wife, Leslie, live in England).

He is truly “My Buddy”.

Growing Up A Child Of The Sixties

I was born in Philadelphia, PA in 1951. I went to a public school that was racially integrated and had a few friends who were Black. Because my maternal Grandmother who lived with us was a bigot (she hated Blacks, Italians, Poles, Chinese, Japanese, Jews, French, Germans - basically she hated anyone who was not a Protestant who could not trace their ancestry to England, Scotland or Wales), they couldn’t come to my house so I would go to theirs. Aside from her, I never saw much racial discrimination or bigotry until my mother and I went to Washington, D.C. in 1961 when I was touring in a play.

There I saw legalized racial discrimination for the first time - separate restrooms, separate water fountains, etc.

At the theater I was performing at, the Whites were on the ground floor and Blacks could only use the balcony. When we took the bus from the hotel to the theater, we sat in front, the Blacks sat in back and if all the seats were occupied and a White person got on the bus, one of the Black people was required by law to give them their seat.

Because I was making good money as a child performer in Broadway musicals and on local TV, my father was able to achieve his life-long dream of going to college and seminary and becoming an American Baptist Convention minister. While in seminary, he became friends with several of his classmates - including a young man named Martin Luther King and another young man named James Reeb.

My father also was the Scoutmaster of the Boy Scout Troop that my brother and I were members. One summer, our troop went to Treasure Island Scout Camp and my brother and I got to know a kid from New York, another Boy Scout named Mickey Schwerner.

On August 28, 1963, my family and I were on the Mall in Washington, D. C. listening to Martin’s “I have A Dream Speech”

In 1964, Mickey Schwerner and two other Civil Rights workers were killed by the Ku Klux Klan and their bodies buried in an earthen dam in Philadelphia, Mississippi.

Martin spoke with my Dad - and Dad, Mom, my brother and I went to Selma and marched for Civil Rights. On Bloody Sunday, March 7, 1965, all four of us were arrested

On March 11, 1965, Dad’s friend, James Reeb, who had become a Unitarian minister, was beaten to death by the Ku Klux Klan in Selma, Alabama.

On April 4, 1968, Martin was assassinated. Dad was one of the many clergy who spoke at his funeral.

Are things worse now?

Are things more violent now?

To be completely honest - I do not know.

Different - yes.

Better?

Worse?

I do not know.

A Bad Day In East Berlin

Note: So many people have asked for a more detailed story about this incident that I guess I better get around to writing about it. Be advised that most of the names are pen-names or pseudonyms – some of the people are, or may be, still alive at the time I am posting this

August 1973:

As I have written in “Just Another Day At The Office...”, during the course of an investigation, we had convinced an East German agent who had been spying on the U. S. Air Force in his capacity as Head Bartender at the Wisbaden Air Base to become a “double agent” – to work for the West while still pretending to spy on us. “Heinrich” and I spent a lot of time together in the interrogation room and developed something of a rapport, if not a friendship. After his decision to affectively switch sides in the Cold War, he was handled by people within the American CIA and the West German Bundeskriminalamt (BKA).

Eventually Heinrich was recalled to East Berlin and was promoted within the Stasi (the Ministerium für Staatssicherheit or Ministry For State Security). He continued to send out information to his CIA & BKA handlers.

Intercepted communications within the East German intelligence agencies indicated that people within the Stasi were beginning to distrust Heinrich and were compiling evidence to arrest him for spying for the West. A decision was made to get him out before he was arrested. Heinrich, being naturally and logically paranoid, did not trust just everybody and would only “come out” if personally contacted by someone he knew wasn’t Stasi. I stupidly volunteered to be that person.

Armed with a very authentic-looking Austrian passport identifying me as a businessman from Salzberg, Austria who worked for a toy company (which fit my Southern German accent), I crossed the border between Austria and Yugoslavia and traveled through the various Warsaw Pact countries on a “business trip” until I got to East Berlin. I made contact with Heinrich and we started to a “safe house” that I had been briefed on where he would be smuggled out of the city and into West Berlin. (The original plan had me finishing my business trip and returning through Yugoslavia and Austria.)

Heinrich realized that we were being followed so we decided to split up a few city blocks before our destination. For whatever reason, the man following us decided to stick with me. I looked for a place to shake him, but made a mistake and entered a dead end street.

He called on me to stop and I did, turning to face him. He was pointing his gun at me (a Makarov pistol) so I put my hands up. I figured the worst possible situation would be that he would take me in, I would be interrogated and then held to be exchanged for some East German agent who had been captured by the West – which was normal practice in those Cold War days of the early 1970’s.

Some psychic sense, however, told me that he was not going to arrest me - he was going to shoot me. I did my best impersonation of a creature than has no internal skeleton and collapsed. His bullet, which was intended for my left chest, gouged across the top of my left shoulder. It felt like an incredibly strong man had hit me in the shoulder with all their strength. On the way to the ground, I got my own gun out and shot him twice.

We both laid there for a moment. I got up, went over to him and found that he was dead. I quickly searched his pockets and took his wallet and his Makarov. I somehow got the few city blocks to the safe house and passed out shortly after entering. The people there gave me emergency medical treatment and smuggled me into West Berlin the next day (I remember nothing about it. I remember collapsing in the hallway of the safe house and my next memory was waking up in a hospital in West Berlin).

Heinrich was given a completely new identity and eventually ended up in Waco, Texas where he taught German at Baylor University. We met once, years later, and had more than a few beers in celebration.

In my 27 years in Army Intelligence/Counter-intelligence I only had one or two scary experiences like this - most of the time it was pretty dull, hum-drum work. I wish it had all been dull, hum-drum work.