I was opening at Palumbo’s nightclub in my hometown of Philadelphia, PA for a comedian named Jack E. Leonard. Being much too young to be working legally in nightclubs (I was 15 years old), I was working with fake ID under the stage name “Dick Hamer”. Two shows a night – at 8:00 PM I would come out , do approximately 20 minutes of songs, introduce Jack E. and then go sit at a table in the kitchen and do my high school home work. I went on again at 10:00 PM, did my 20 minutes, introduced Jack E. and then left by the backdoor and took the subway home. Dad was going to school at night to finally get his college degree and my brother was in college as well, so my paychecks were an important piece of the family budget. It didn’t matter much to me – for I loved performing and dreamed of the day when I would move up from opening act to headliner.
It was an Saturday night, the last night of the engagement, when I noticed at the back of the room during the second show a face that I had seen often on TV. It was probably the most famous nose of the day – Jimmy Durante.
I don’t know if it was his presence or what, but I gave one of my best shows that night. Since I didn’t have school the next day, I stayed through Jack E’s show and when it was over, with the blind courage of youth, I walked up to Jimmy and introduced myself. He shook my hand and, before releasing it, he asked, “What are you doing next week?” I told him I didn’t have anything planned and he said, “Well, I’m opening here Monday night for the week. Are you available?” I was speechless – and when he told me how much I would get paid (almost twice what I had been getting), I could barely stammer out, “Yes”.
My last class on Monday ended at 2:30 and I raced home, changed into my working clothes (I was probably the only kid in my neighborhood to own his own tuxedo), grabbed my music and headed to Palumbo’s for rehearsal. Jimmy put a special bit for me in his act, so in addition to my 20 minutes, I would stay on stage after I introduced him and we would do a duet on Cole Porter’s “Friendship”. He would then give me a big hug and I would head to the kitchen to do my homework. At the late show, after our song, he would give me that big hug and whisper in my ear, “Go home, it’s late and you’ve got school tomorrow”.
The week ended, with great audiences every night. After the last show, Jimmy told me, “How would you like to work with me the next time I’m in town, Dick?” Of course, I said “Yes”. And for the next two years, whenever Jimmy worked at any of the clubs in Philadelphia, or at the Latin Casino across the river in New Jersey or at Steel Pier in Atlantic City, I opened for him. The paychecks got bigger and I went from 20 minutes to 30 minutes. Between shows we would sit and talk. He would critique my act, giving praise where he thought I deserved it and constructive criticism as well. And every night, after we sang our duet, there would be that big hug and some whispered encouragement in my ear. And even though I had abandoned the stage name of “Dick Hamer” and was using my real name, Jimmy always called me “Dick”. I really hated that nickname but Jimmy was special and I never corrected him.
In the spring of 1969, knowing that I might get drafted any day, I decided to get some choice in what Army job I would do, so I enlisted. I was to report on April 4 for basic training. On April 2, Jimmy called me on the phone to see if I would be available to open for him at The Frontier Casino in Las Vegas in May and, for the first time, I had to say “No” to Jimmy. He understood and asked how long I had enlisted for. I told him 4 years and he said, “Well, Dick, how’s about opening for me then? We’ll make a date for summer of 1973 – Vegas.” Naturally I said, “Yes”.
That Christmas while at the Defense Language Institute in Monterrey, CA I got a beautiful card from Jimmy and his wife Margie and another in 1970 while I was in Vietnam. I finished my tour in Vietnam in May of 1971, got married and left for Germany and there were cards on my birthday and at Christmas. Christmas of 1971 there was another card and tucked inside, as in the previous Christmas cards, was a note “Don’t forget – you and me in Vegas in ’73. Love, Jimmy”.
Jimmy had a stroke that next year, 1972, which confined him to a wheelchair and we never did get that chance to play Vegas together. We kept in touch with letters and cards and I re-enlisted in the Army, eventually serving for 27 years. Jimmy passed away on January 29, 1980. I sometimes wonder how different my life might have turned out to be if he hadn’t had that stroke, I hadn’t stayed in the Army and we had played Las Vegas together that year.
He was a one-of-a-kind man and we will never see his like again. I found this YouTube clip from a TV special he did in 1972 – it’s probably one of the last things he did before his stroke.
Be awful nice to 'em goin' up, because you're gonna meet 'em all comin' down.
- James Francis Durante 1893 -1980
Good night, Jimmy old friend - and good night, Mrs. Calabash, where ever you are...
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