(For a list of individual artists with commentary, please scroll down.)

I began doing studio work in 1965. The term “studio musician” elicits a variety of responses, from admiration (a lot of people) to “sell-out” (jazz critics in particular).  In well over forty years as a studio musician I have had the privilege of working with some of the world’s greatest musicians and playing a lot of interesting, beautiful and challenging music.  Sure, there were rare occasions where the challenge was staying focused (or even awake), and occasionally a colleague wasn’t up to the demands of the job, but for the most part it has been a great way to earn a living. 

The people I worked for came from a variety of backgrounds, from those with conservatory educations in jazz and classical music to rock and pop musicians who got their training on the job.  But almost without exception (almost) they were talented people who made going to work fun and often exciting.

Among the composers, conductors, arrangers and producers I worked for are Ron Abel, Brian Adler, Allen D. Allen, Gerald Alters, David Angel, Gil Askey, Burt Bacharach, H.B. Barnum, Dee Barton, Harold Battiste, David Bell, Richard Bellis, Ian Bernard, Shelly Berg, Charles Bernstein, Elmer Bernstein, Peter Bernstein (the composer, not the guitarist), Lou Blackburn, Terence Blanchard, David Blumberg, Leland Bond, Sonny Bono, Richard Bowden, Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart, Bruce Broughton, Bobby Bryant, Harold Budd, Chris Butler, Billy Byers, Joseph Byrd, John Cacavas, John Cage (one piece involved a bouncing basketball), Sean Callery, Edward Cansino, Larry Cansler, Chris Caswell, Paul Chihara, Stanley Clarke, Richard Clements, David Cohen, Stephen Cohn, Buddy Collette, Manuel Compinsky, Frank Comstock, Bill Conti, Stewart Copeland, Carmine Coppola, Don Costa, Robert Craft (see Lazy Dogmas Of Impossibility), Leigh Crizoe (who had a different name in those days), Mike Curb, Hoyt Curtin, John D'Andrea, Martin Davich, Hod David, Don Davis, John Davis, Peter Davison, Richard DeBenedictis, John Debney, Bert DeCoteau, George Del Barrio, Nick De Caro, George Delerue, Milton Delugg, Eumir Deodato, Frank DeVol, Steve Dorff, Carmen Dragon, Richard Dufallo, John Du Prez, Harry "Sweets" Edison, John Ehrlich, Jack Elliot, Don Ellis, Bob Estey, Percy Faith, Vinnie Fanuele, Sid Feller, Allyn Ferguson, Ralph Ferraro, Frank Fetta, Jerry Fielding, Bob Findley, Clare Fischer, Tom Flaherty, Bob Florence, Dan Foliart, Lukas Foss, Lawrence Foster, Charles Fox, Ian Freebairn-Smith, Evelyn Freeman, Terri Fricon, Gerald Fried, Paul Gemignani, Pia Gilbert, Alexander Goehr, Billy Goldenberg, Maurice Goldman, Jerry Goldsmith, William Goldstein, Miles Goodman, Ron Grant, Dave Grusin, Bobby Hammack, Joe Harnell, Anthony Harris, Jimmie Haskell, Neil Hefti, Leonard Heifetz, Ken Heller, Richard Henn, Christopher Hogwood (whose crimes against music should not go unpunished), Bill Holman, Craig Hundley (who became Craig Huxley), Michael Isaacson, Gordon Jenkins, Quincy Jones, Artie Kane, Elliot Kaplan, Dana Kaproff, Eddie Karam, Fred Karlin, Mickey Katz, Roger Kellaway, Jackie Kelso (John Kelson, Jr.), Art Kempel, Hial King, David Kitay, Kenneth Klein, Oliver Knussen, Karl Kohn, Nelson Kole, William Kraft, Ernst Krenek, Marvin Laird, Ben Lanzarone, Jack Lee, Sylvester Levay, James Levine, Alan Lewis, Michael Lewis, Mort Lindsey, Michael Lloyd, Jerry Long, William Loose, Alexina Louie, Teo Macero, Peter Matz, Dennis McCarthy, Matthew McCauley, John McDaniel, Gil Mellé, Bruce Miller, Bob Mitchell, Grover Mitchell, Henry Mollicone, Eugene Minor, Guy Moon, Hal Mooney, Angela Morley, Peter Myers, Frederic Myrow, Oliver Nelson, Roger Nichols, Ted Nichols, Patrick O'Hearn, Tommy Oliver, Steve Orich, Johnny Orvis, John Oseicki, Gene Page, Johnny Pate, Michael Patterson, Antony Payne, Don Peake, Howard Pearl, D’Vaughn Pershing, Bill Peterson, Stu Phillips, Don Piestrup, Basil Poledouris, Ray Pohlman, Reg Powell, Bob Prince, Spencer Quinn, Ron Ramin, Don Ralke, Don Randi, Don Raye, Mac Rebennack (Dr. John), George Rhodes, Lucas Richman, Nelson Riddle, Lorin Rinder, Pete Robinson, John Rodby, Shorty Rogers, Leonard Rosenman, Milton Rosenstock, Laurence Rosenthal, Lance Rubin, David Rubinson, Pete Rugolo, Leon Russell, Craig Safan, Gerhard Samuel, Eddy Samuels, Andrea Saparoff, Walter Scharf, Lalo Schifrin, Nan Schwartz, Misha Segal, Bernardo Segall, Marc Shaiman, Ralph Shapey, Joe Sherman, Sahib Shihab, David Shire, Lawrence Shragge, Bebu Silvetti, Michael Skloff, Jack Smalley, Mark Snow, Dorrance Stalvey, Leonard Stein, Fred Steiner, Mort Stevens, Christopher Stone, Billy Strange, Horace Tapscott, John Tartaglia, Michael Tilson Thomas, Joel Thome, Ken Thorne, Jack Tillar, Jack Tracy, Jules Vogel, Jeannine Wagner, Roger Wagner, Shirley Walker, Richard Warren, Carrol Wax, Jimmy Webb, George Wilkins, Patrick Williams, Lynn Willis, Brian Wilson, Stanley Wilson, Charles Wourinen, Frank Zappa, Michael Zearott, Robert Ziegler, Harry Zimmerman and others. I was a member of the bands on the Carol Burnett Show (1968-71), The Jimmie Rogers Show (1969), Your Hit Parade (1974) and the Dinah Shore Show (1970-80), as well as numerous movies, records, commercials and TV shows.

There have been too many individual artists to name them all here.  A partial list includes ABBA, Anna Maria Alberghetti, Muhammad Ali, Betty Allen, Steve Allen,

Cleveland Amory,

 Amory was booked on an episode of Dinah! (See Dinah Shore, below) along with Zsa Zsa Gabor and Robert Fuller, an actor with a brief career on some forgettable tv shows.  Amory was a well-known advocate for animal rights, Fuller an avid hunter.  Zsa Zsa was clearly shocked that someone considered shooting animals a sport.  "Why can't you shoot at clay pigeons?" she asked him.  His scornful expression was no doubt the best acting he had ever done.

Ed Ames, Hedva Amrani, Anacani, Lynn Anderson, Julie Andrews, Paul Anka, Susan Anton, Ashford & Simpson, Frankie Avalon, Lauren Bacall,

Pearl Bailey,

Never having met Leona Helmsley, I will have to go with Pearly Mae as the “Queen of Mean”.  She hired a saxophone player (mid-1950s) who took a train from Boston to San Francisco to join her band.  With him was his wife, in her ninth month of pregnancy.  They arrived in time for the rehearsal but too late to find their accommodations.  The saxophonist’s wife accompanied him to the rehearsal but was barred from entering the hall because of Pearl’s “closed rehearsal” policy.  The policy remained in place even after the circumstances were explained to Pearl and despite the fact that it was raining. 

Pearl was a Republican and a supporter of Richard Nixon, whose “Southern Strategy” is thought to have contributed to his victory the 1968 election.  According to Nixon strategist Kevin Phillips:

"From now on, the Republicans are never going to get more than 10 to 20 percent of the Negro vote and they don't need any more than that... but Republicans would be shortsighted if they weakened enforcement of the Voting Rights Act.  The more Negroes who register as Democrats in the South, the sooner the Negrophobe (sic) whites will quit the Democrats and become Republicans.  That's where the votes are.  Without that prodding from the blacks, the whites will backslide into their old comfortable arrangement with the local Democrats."

Pearl Bailey, meet Sammy Davis, Jr.  (See Sammy Davis, Jr., below.)

And her nanny-goat vibrato militates against any consideration of her as a serious singer.

Gary gave up a successful career as a comedian to manage Lucy's career.  He was hilarious on their appearance on Dinah!

The Beach Boys,

The first time I was called for a session with the Beach Boys, Plas Johnson said, “Don’t make any plans for the rest of the day.”  (See Brian Wilson, below.)  (See Buddy Collette, Jewell Grant, Bill Green and Plas Johnson, below.)

Harry Belafonte,

Some performers achieve a little recognition and act as though they had discovered the cure for cancer or brought about world peace.  Harry Belafonte, who has actually worked hard for world peace, treated everyone with respect and was a professional in every way.  I asked him about Tony Scott, his musical director in the early 1950s, a clarinet player and arranger who had a tendency to disappear from time to time.  He spoke warmly of him but had no idea where he was. 

Tex Beneke,

Tex never seemed to get tired of the Glenn Miller association.  One former Miller sideman said, “Sometimes I wish Glenn had lived and the music had died."  Sometimes?

Tony Bennett,

I worked with Tony, a nice man and legendary singer, on TV shows and at the wedding of Bud Yorkin, a TV producer (All In The Family, Sanford and Son, etc).  Imagine my surprise when I got to the wedding and found out who the singer was.

Jack Benny, David Benoit, George Benson, Ken Berry,

David Birney and Meredith Baxter,

David Birney and Meredith Baxter starred in a tv series, Bridget Loves Bernie, which was cancelled after one season.  According to some sources the cancellation had more to do with objections to the inter-religious marriage depicted than to ratings.  During its run, they appeared together on Dinah's Place.  Birney insisted on doing a cooking segment and explained how to make a peanut butter sandwich.  It was pretty dumb and bombed pretty seriously.  After the show, as I sauntered to my car, I passed them in the parking lot and heard him berating her for her "lack of professionalism."  Funny, I saw it the other way around.  On a subsequent show, he apologized to Dinah. 

Joey Bishop, Shecky Green, Alan King, Jan Murray, Don Rickles,

There is a "show-biz" axiom that says "comedians say funny things, comics say things funny."  I never heard any of them do either.  Jan Murray told a very long, very boring story with no point and no punch line, his voice rising, the cadence increasing as he went on.  From time to time he would raise his right hand and say, "true story," as if that somehow made it funnier.  How did any of these guys ever get his second gig?  

Billy Bland,

A one-hit wonder, his Let The Little Girl Dance made it to #7 in 1960.  During rehearsal for a show at the Regal Theater in Chicago, Billy was out supervising his chauffeur (when he should have been inside rehearsing) as the poor guy wiped the raindrops from his rented limousine.  It got worse. (See On The Road At 18.)

Bill Black,

Elvis’s erstwhile bass player.  During each show at the Regal he would turn to the house band and announce, “Look out Basie (or, variation, Brubeck), Bill Black’s in town.”  (See On The Road At 18.)

Ray Bolger,

Got a lot of mileage out of one song and one dance.

Erma Bombeck, Debbie Boone,

Pat Boone,

Once, when Walter Murphy (remember A Fifth Of Beethoven?) and Pat were guests on Dinah!, Pat asked me (I was the closest musician), with a very serious expression, what Beethoven would have thought of Walter’s adaptation.  I explained as well as I could about Beethoven’s use of development.  I found Pat’s “conversion” to Judaism a little disingenuous.

Victor Borge,

The show was about celebrities and their offspring.  When Dinah asked each of the kids for a few words about his/her parent, the answers, predictably enough, were celebratory.  No "Mommy Dearest" here.  Victor's daughter, Rikke, the last to answer, broke the spell.  "Well, I kind of like that tie," she said.

Barry Bostwick, David Bowie,

Terry Bradshaw,

 Yes, that Terry Bradshaw; remember when he became a country singer?  I’ve heard worse.  (See Dennis Weaver, below.)

David Brenner,

Teresa Brewer,

Known for her novelty songs, Teresa was a jazz singer married to a jazz record producer, Bob Thiele.  She worked with Duke Ellington, Dizzy Gillespie and Count Basie.  Talk about Music, Music, Music.

Alicia Bridges,

James Brown,

 Rather improbably, I thought, he sang As Time Goes By on Dinah’s Place and sang it great.

Roscoe Lee Browne,

Bobby Bryant,

Bobby was, in the words of a mutual friend, “kind of stand-offish” but once I got to know him I found him to be a warm-hearted guy.  He was a great trumpet and flugelhorn player.  One of my favorite gigs in my long career was a series of ten half-hour shows that were telecast at 6:30 AM during Black History Month.  How did he get NBC to use live music on a show that aired at that hour?  Bobby did the writing and he and I and a wonderful guitar player, Mike Anthony, comprised the ensemble.  Later, Mike and his wife moved to Albuquerque to open a dance studio, far out of the rat race.

George Burns, Harold Burrage, Phyllis Bryn-Julson, Yul Brynner, Jeanie Bryson, Peabo Bryson, 

Carol Burnett,

 (See Buddy Collette’s autobiography [with Steven Isoardi], Jazz Generations, for his recollections of the Carol Burnett Show.  They may surprise you.)  (See Buddy Collette, Jewell Grant, Bill Green and Plas Johnson, below.)

The Cake,

I got a call late one night from Mac Rebennack (“Dr. John”) to play clarinet on a record date the next night for a group called The Cake.  The arranger was Harold Battiste and the ensemble was four clarinets (two b-flat clarinets, an alto clarinet and a bass clarinet) as well as a string quartet, harpsichord and guitar.  Harold’s music was beautiful, sort of like a classical piece from the eighteenth century.  We asked him how he happened to write for alto clarinet, a pretty unusual instrument (see Lazy Dogmas Of Impossibility) and he said, “Because I wondered what one sounded like.”  Actually, he already knew, having written a quartet for the same instrumentation when he was a college student.  We also recorded that piece that night.  The other clarinet players were Jim Horn (2nd clarinet), John Neufeld (alto clarinet) and Plas Johnson (bass clarinet).  A fantastic session.

The Captain and Tennille, Barbara Carroll, Jack Cassidy,

Dick Cavett,

 Chad And Jeremy, Len Chandler,

Weird voice and cornball persona but you could set your watch by Carol hitting her cues. 

Ray Charles,

Among other things, I played the little oboe solos on Eleanor Rigby.  I think Ray changed every note in every part and by the time we finally got a “take” it may have been back to the way the arranger, Sid Feller, wrote it in the first place.  Sid was practically in tears by the end of the session, but I don’t think there was anything malicious about Ray’s “corrections.” 

Chubby Checker,

Chubby may have had a few other hits, but I wonder who can name any besides The Twist?  He sure got a good ride out of it.  In the 1980s I worked with him on a Monday afternoon at Warner Bros.  The previous day I had played a concert that included the 2nd Brandenburg Concerto of J.S. Bach on which I played oboe and Phil Ayling played flute.  On Chubby’s date I played flute and Phil played oboe.  We got a kick out of how the music business works.

Cheech and Chong, Cher, The Chipmunks, Roy Clark, Robert Clary,

Rosemary Clooney,

Rosemary Clooney, like Teresa Brewer, was best known for her novelty songs and was also a jazz singer.  Teresa was a good singer, Rosemary a great one.  Her ballad, Have I Stayed Too Long At The Fair? on Dinah! was one of the most beautiful and expressive performances I’ve ever heard.

Joe Cocker,

It was either a “sweetening” session, where we overdub over prerecorded tracks, or maybe it was the basic track itself, but Joe wasn’t there, not unusual under the circumstances.  I remember a woodwind quartet or quintet with a fine flutist, Andy Kostelas, and Jackie Kelso, who was the contractor and (legendary) clarinet player.  At one point the arranger, Leon Russell, told us to improvise but said, “I don’t want none of that Scooby-do s**t.”  Jackie translated it for us: “No bebop, folks.”

Holly Cole,

Buddy Collette, Jewell Grant, Bill Green and Plas Johnson,

 In June 1964, not long after I turned 23, Sheridon Stokes, on the verge of a huge career as a studio flutist, introduced me to Buddy Collette.  We read through some flute quartets and quintets.  (The others were Louise DiTullio, also headed for tremendous success, and Libbie Jo Snyder, another fine player.)

We met again the following week and Buddy invited me to participate in a “self improvement” (he called it) project, a little woodwind ensemble that rehearsed at his house once a week.  I got there to find Buddy, Bill Green, Plas Johnson and Jewell Grant.  I had never heard of Jewell Grant but of course the other names were well known to me.  (Students of jazz history may remember Jewell from recordings he made in the 1940s, usually on alto saxophone, with, among others, Benny Carter and Charles Mingus.  In Buddy’s group, he only played baritone and bass clarinet.  Jewell was a nice guy and an excellent player.  I never really got a chance to know him as he died not long after we met.)

I had met Bill Green once a few years earlier but Plas was known to me only by reputation.  He was about the hottest musician in town in those days.  Almost from the beginning they all began trying to help me into the music business.  Bill sent me to sub for him on numerous occasions.  One time it was a record date where I met Bill Perkins.  There was a rehearsal with Oliver Nelson which lead to other work, including sessions for The Six Million Dollar Man and a gig at a private jazz club in Beverly Hills, The Jazz Suite, where Oliver’s band was the opening attraction.  Once, Bill sent me to play 2nd alto with Willie Smith, one of the all time great lead alto players. 

Another time it was a gig at the Greek Theater in LA.  Two woodwind sections had been hired, one for the Judy Garland Show on the first half of the bill, the other for The Los Angeles Ballet on the second half.  Judy was having her problems and on the day of the show it was not certain that she would be able to appear.  As curtain time approached and there was no sign of Judy, the decision was made to move the ballet to the first half of the show.  The problem was that the ballet orchestra woodwind players had been called for 9PM and only a few of them were there for the earlier starting time.  The music was already on the stand and I noticed that most of it was music I had played on a couple of tours with the San Francisco Ballet, the most recent one having been only a few months before.  One of the other saxophone players, Joe Skufca, had been the oboist and contractor for our tour.  He gave me a wink and mouthed “not a word!” and said to the contractor, “we can play that.” 

The contractor, a former horn player (see LTD, below), looked skeptical, but they had no other choice except to cancel the entire engagement and refund a lot of money.  So with the woodwind section from the Judy Garland Show, we did the ballet music.  After eight weeks on tour, neither Joe nor I really had to look at the music (which we did to preserve the illusion that we were sight-reading it) and the flutist, a doubler named John Rotella, played it as if he had been on tour with us.  After all this time I guess it’s OK to fess up now. 

If Bill and Buddy were unceasingly supportive, recommending me, sending me to sub, introducing me to everyone that might be interested, Plas seemed almost on a mission to get me work.  Immediately we teamed up in our own little self-improvement effort, trading lessons (tenor saxophone for clarinet) several times a week.  I ate dinner at his house, hung out with him when he wasn’t working, went to hear him when he played a club (pretty rare at that stage of his extraordinary career) and he would take me along to recording sessions to acquaint me with protocol and introduce me to the musicians and contractors. 

There is little mystery about Plas’s success.  He’s a fantastic saxophone player with a unique sound and a gently sardonic wit that pervades his solos, which take surprising twists and turns.  He is a great section player, able to sublimate his personal sound when he has to, and is excellent on the other saxophones as well.  He has a beautiful sound on flute, big and intense and well controlled.  The problem from my standpoint was that there was no way I was going to be able to imitate him.  He told me that Jackie Kelso had him down to such an extent that if he didn’t remember some detail of the session (which would have been difficult given the amount of work he did), he couldn’t tell which of them he was hearing.  I’m not sure I believe that, but Jackie did do a remarkably accurate imitation.  I found a Buffet bass clarinet for Plas and his clarinet mouthpiece (Boosey and Hawkes) and he picked out a tenor saxophone (Selmer Mark VI) and mouthpiece (Berg Larsen 130/0) for me, both of which I still play. 

It was Plas who convinced me to take up the oboe.  Other people had suggested it (Sheridon Stokes, for one) but I had resisted, aware of the time and effort (and frustration) that went into making reeds.  In October, 1965, Plas and I went to a World Series game and afterward, on the way back to his house, he brought up the oboe again.  He said that it would open doors that would otherwise be difficult to open and reminded me that once I was established I could always give up the oboe if I still didn’t like it.  The argument made sense; it took a while (about four months), but one day I turned to the LA Times classified ads, the first time I had ever done that, and saw an oboe for sale.  An omen for sure.  I bought the oboe and have experienced the time and effort (and frustration) that goes into making reeds ever since.  It has worked out, however.  (See Look Both Ways.)

Finally, Plas engineered it for me to replace him on the Carol Burnett Show, which gave me a base of operations as well as a little financial stability and the chance to sit in a section with Buddy Collette, John Bambridge and Chuck Gentry and learn from them.  Plas was probably the most significant person in terms of my career and I will be forever grateful.

Post Script: Buddy Collette died shortly after this page was added.  There are a lot of good stories from the forty-six years we knew  each other.  There were jazz clubs, restaurants, ACLU fund-raisers, meetings in his home about the future of the musicians union, concerts with his band, times we just hung out and of course the rehearsals with Plas, Bill and Jewell.  Once, I sat next to him in movie theater while we watched him on-screen, talking about Eric Dolphy.

Buddy’s generosity was legendary and his kindness and consideration unfailing, but I think the best description was the one Sonny Criss gave me: “Who else do you know that everyone likes?”

Plas is still going strong.  His sound, technique and imagination are undiminished.  He still records, plays clubs and concerts, finds new songs to play and new ways to play old songs.  I expect to have the privilege of hearing him for years to come.

Judy Collins,

Tim Conway,

Tim never failed to break up Harvey Korman when he was a guest on The Carol Burnett Show.  It was fun watching Harvey trying to stick to the script--and failing.  

Ry Cooder,

The persuasive powers of Joseph Byrd, an extraordinary arranger, composer and scholar, were apparently too much for Ry to withstand.  Joseph convinced him to participate in an album to be called Jazz, and wrote some very interesting arrangements of pieces by Bix Beiderbecke, Jelly Roll Morton, Bert Williams, etc.  Ry seemed ill-at-ease throughout the project and even aborted one session in a fit of petulance.  I worked on the album but not the brief tour or TV show that followed, which ended, according to participants, with Ry locked in his dressing room and Joseph, who only appeared with his back to the camera, all but ignored in the credits.  Among the musicians on the album was Earl Hines.  Earl and I were on different sessions and I didn’t get to meet him. 

Several years later my nephew, Eric Epstein, a heavy metal guitar player who lives in Columbus, Ohio, bought an lp by one of his favorite bands.  The record was the one he wanted but the inner sleeve was from Ry’s Jazz album and my picture was the first thing he saw.  How’s that for a coincidence?

Michael Crawford,

Sonny Criss,

From the first time I heard Sonny Criss, in 1956, I was hooked.  His passionate playing and the burning intensity of his sound were unlike anything or anyone else I had ever heard.  I would go to hear him whenever I could but never had the nerve to introduce myself.  In 1965, Plas recommended me for a gig with Harry “Sweets” Edison.  The show was at the Friars Club, a showbiz hangout where old time comedians ate lunch and told each other jokes.  I got to the rehearsal and set up my tenor and clarinet and began to look through the music.  Someone sat down next to me and said, “Sweets, will you introduce me to the tenor player?”

“David, I’d like you to meet Sonny Criss,” Sweets said.  I shot up out of my chair and only landed after what seemed like about a minute.  Sonny smiled.

That night, before the gig, Sonny’s alto, the only saxophone Selmer ever made with an inscription (“To My Son from Mrs. Lucy Criss”) was lying in the open case.  I bent over to look at it and when I straightened up I saw Sonny looking at me with an amused expression. 

The gig had other surprises, too.  Mickey Katz, the “musical director” of the Friars Club, brought his clarinet and soloed on I Found A New Baby, in sort of a jazz-meets-Klezmer style.  The notes were right, the style pretty weird.  Jimmy Bond, who had “forgotten” the rehearsal (Sweets called him at home and he said he would be there that night) also forgot the gig and we worked without a bass.  Earl Palmer, one of the most successful drummers in history, read the charts flawlessly at the rehearsal and then didn’t open the book at the gig and made every tempo change, meter change, style change, dynamic change, etc., perfectly.  That pretty much sums up my experience with him over the next thirty years. 

The show was billed as “A Tribute To John W. Bubbles”, the famous dancer (Buck and Bubbles).  When he was called upon to speak, Mr. Bubbles thanked the Friars but most of all thanked a guest who couldn’t be there that night, Eddie Fisher, for the resurgence of his career.  He went on at some length.  Seated at the front table was the Friar who had organized the tribute, Harry Karl, described as a “shoe magnate”, along with his wife, Debbie Reynolds, whose divorce from Fisher had been very public.  They both frowned.  (See Debbie Reynolds, below.  She deserved better.)  (Also, see Eddie Fisher, below.)

During the song by Lil Greenwood and René Robin, which included the line “Even ol’ Sonny Criss was there”, Sonny played a solo, which, as usual, brought down the house.  After the gig, Mrs. Katz, Mickey’s wife, told Sonny, “You’re a Heifetz”.  Somehow, we wound up at the other end of the room, Sonny with his alto.  I said, “You sure can play fast”. 

“That wasn’t fast,” he said.  He grabbed my arm and pulled me into the kitchen, played a chorus of I’ve Got Rhythm changes in about eight seconds and said, “That’s fast”.  (Later, when I got to know him, I referred to his fantastic technique and he said, “It’s just a means to an end, David, just a means to an end.”)

I asked him if I could buy him a drink.  He said, “From the time I was eighteen ‘til I was thirty-five I drank enough to float a battleship.  The doctor told me if I had one more drink I would die.  You can buy me a Coca-Cola.”

I heard Sonny frequently over the next few months and he would always spend part of his break with me.  On his thirty-eighth birthday, he worked at The Golden Bear, a club in Huntington Beach.  A few days later, he called and asked what I was doing the next day. 

“Nothing.” 

“Can you come over to my house?” 

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I’ll tell you when you get here.  Bring your alto.”

“OK.  What are we going to do?”

“You’ll see.

Sonny lived on Mary Ave. in the Watts section of LA.  I had known that from the time I joined the musicians union and looked up his name in the directory.  He gave me directions and we agreed on 10 AM.

When I arrived, his mother answered the door and sent me to a little building in the back yard where Sonny was waiting with his alto.  There was a pool table in the middle of the room and a metal rack with suits, the kind you see wheeled along the sidewalk in the garment district in New York.  There was an upright piano, the old kind, ornate, and on the music rack was a Handel oboe sonata.  Sonny grinned and looked a little embarrassed and said, “My mother asked me to play for her luncheon club.  You know how it is, they hear her son is a musician…Usually I play jazz but this time I wanted to try something different.”

He had learned the notes and wanted advice on the baroque style.  One of my idols was asking me for a music lesson.  We spent the next three hours on the sonata.  At one point he asked me about an articulation I used, a kind of bouncing semi-staccato which had no real application in jazz and which he had never encountered before.  This from a man who never found a teacher that didn’t wind up asking him how he did it!  I tried very hard to justify his confidence and when we finished he thanked me and asked me if there was anything he did that I would like to know about.  My mind raced.  Even though I had sublimated my interest in jazz to my interest in earning a living, I thought fast and asked him about the bridge to Cherokee.  He thought fast, too, and boiled it down to four scales.

Until the end of his life, twelve years later, we remained friends.  There were stretches of months when he would live with his mother and stepfather and not leave the house.  Then he would call and we would go to a basketball game or to a club or just hang out.  He came to one of my concerts where I played a piece, Black Flowers (which was mostly silence), by Harold Budd.  After a pretty depressing gig one night, I went to hear him at Marty’s, a club where Bill Green had worked for years, and he invited me to sit in.  One day when I complained about the kind of work I was getting (and not getting) and told him I thought about giving up, he said, “well, music brought us together”.  The ultimate psychologist.  That cheered me up immediately.

In early 1973 I had a new girlfriend, a classical pianist who was open to my suggestion one night that we “go to hear some jazz.” When we got to the club and were seated, Sweets Edison was soloing and Sonny had the neck of his alto off and was trying to adjust the position of the reed.  The club was dark and he couldn’t line it up the way he wanted to.  He left the bandstand and headed for the door; outside in the light from the street he would be better able to see what he had to do.  As he passed our table he handed me the body of his alto without pausing.  Every eye in the club was fixed on us.  He came back a moment later, reclaimed the alto (I had had time to show her the inscription and explain its uniqueness) and told us he’d see us at the break.  The ultimate wingman!

Once he called to tell me that he had moved into a place in Inglewood and invited me to visit.  When I arrived I found him in a bare apartment, listening to a Lester Young recording on an old phonograph.  We sat around (on the floor) for a while and someone came up the steps.  He opened the door and a young woman came in and handed him a pile of posters advertising a concert for a scholarship fund.  He introduced us and she stayed for a few minutes.  After she had left the subject changed to saxophone mouthpieces.  I asked him about his and without a word he went into the bedroom and returned with his alto.  He handed it to me and said to try it.  (I would never have asked.)  It was a Selmer metal “Jazz” mouthpiece and practically played itself.  Long before we had met I would hear him in clubs and he never seemed to have the same mouthpiece twice.  It was easy to see why he never changed after he got this one.  The alto, the Selmer with the inscription, was the best alto I have ever played, including to this day.  I was so overwhelmed that I didn’t think to ask him if the mouthpiece had been altered; no Selmer mouthpiece I have ever played was anything like that one.  When I got up to leave he said, “Sometimes things get tough and I have to pawn my soprano--but never my alto.  Sometimes I can’t afford my own place, but I have nice clothes and my car (a new Mercedes two-seater!) and I have that nice woman bringing me posters.” 

I asked him how he did it.

He looked a little embarrassed and said, “I don’t know.”

Sonny’s recordings are wonderful but hearing him live was an experience I doubt anyone ever forgot.  (See Melissa Manchester, below.)  (See Marlene Dietrich, below.)

Bing Crosby, Scatman Crothers, Dap Sugar Willie,

Sammy Davis, Jr.,

I wonder about someone with that much fame and fortune who has that constant need for attention.  Every gesture was a huge one and he was always “on”.  If I remember correctly (and mostly I do), Sammy was a guest on the very first Dinah! show.  The other guests were Jack Benny and Tom Bradley, who had been elected mayor of Los Angeles the previous year.  At one point Sammy approached the mayor who said, softly but sternly, “don’t hug me”.  That was a reference to the Republican convention where Sammy endorsed--and hugged--Richard Nixon, a crook who went on to win the presidency and who subsequently resigned in disgrace after he was caught defiling the Constitution. 

I worked on a number of Sammy’s records as well, including Mr. Bojangles.  Invariably, he would make a reference to my pretty substantial and very black beard (remember, it was a long time ago): “You look just like my rabbi.” 

Once I responded, “Why is anyone surprised you’re Jewish?  Every Sammy Davis I know is Jewish.”  I got a hug for that one. 

I always felt that beneath it all he was a nice guy.  (However, see Ben Vereen, below.)

Pam Dawber,

Marlene Dietrich,

The Marlene Dietrich Show ran for three weeks at the Ahmanson Theater in the LA County Music Center.  She seemed businesslike and professional at rehearsals.  Her musical director, of whom she was very proud, was Burt Bacharach.  You almost would have thought he was the star the way she introduced him at the concerts.  Burt seemed like a nice guy and is a good musician but so was his replacement when Burt left after the first few shows to fulfill other commitments.  The replacement (I can’t remember his name) was an excellent pianist and conductor and a nice guy, but he wasn’t Burt Bacharach and she began to lean on him pretty heavily and for no reason.  We all felt sorry for him--Pete Christleib even invited him to his parents’ house (Pete’s father was a pretty famous bassoonist) for dinner one night.  Although there had been no problems during his stewardship, other than in her imagination, Marlene freaked-out and demanded that Burt be brought back to finish the engagement, which he was.  After the last show she left cheap champagne for us in the basement dressing room.  Each of us was given her picture, stamped with an autograph.  I gave mine away. 

(Incidental information: Frank Strozier a great and under-recognized musician was the lead alto player.  I played 2nd alto, Pete Christlieb played tenor saxophone and Meyer Hirsch played baritone.  Great section.  Meyer was beginning to be successful but quit playing to work for and eventually become a photographer.  During the engagement, Pete and I participated in Sonny Criss’s album Sonny’s Dream, one of the highlights of my life.  

Jackie DeShannon, The Eagles,

Billy Eckstine,

 A very nice guy, a great musician and a dedicated advocate for jazz, he employed Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker early in their careers.  I worked with him on Dinah! and at a three day “Unity” festival in Sacramento with Bobby Bryant’s band.  He was completely accessible--hung out with the band in fact--and loved to talk about jazz.  And he always spoke his mind.

       (See Sonny Criss, above.)     

Absolutely hilarious but you had to be there. 

_{After his father died, Mercer took over the Duke Ellington Orchestra and brought it to Dinah!  The saxophone section had three musicians, Dave Young, Lenny Spivak and Harold "Geezil" Minerve, who had made contributions to jazz history and one, Ron Brown, who soon would make his own contribution and whose remarkable career continues to this day.  (I can't remember the name of the 2nd tenor player.)}

_{Geezil had a huge, powerful sound that evoked the Ellington Orchestra of old.  I didn't find out until later that he had worked with Ernie Fields on two occasions--before and immediately after WW2-- during which two of my bandmates, Luther West and Jack Scott, had been on the band.  I'll bet he had some interesting stories.  (See On The Road At 18.)}

During a break I went to get some coffee and saw Mercer, his wife and small child staring at me.  It was a little awkward until I broke the ice.

 

"Mr. Ellington," I said, and he corrected me: "Mercer."  I told him that I was a member of the Dinah! show band and that it had been my ambition at one time to play Jimmy Hamilton's chair with the Duke Ellington Orchestra if he ever left.  

 

"It's too bad (!) you're so well established," he said.  I told him that I didn't take anything for granted.

 

"Well, give me a call," he said.  Then he explained the stares.  "My son wanted to know if you were Henry Winkler."  

 

Marilyn McCoo was a couple of years behind me in grade school.  My mom met hers at PTA.  Both her parents were doctors and from the time I was seven or eight until we moved away a few years later they were our family doctors.  The families became close and spent a lot of time together.  When the Fifth Dimension appeared on Dinah! I (re)introduced myself and Marilyn remembered us.  A few years later I worked at a fundraising show for Meharry Medical College, the alma mater of both her parents, whom I saw for the first time in about twenty-five years.  I remembered giants, at least seven feet tall.  In fact, they were normal size.  We had a nice reunion.

Eddie Fisher,

Eddie was best known among musicians for his difficulty with rhythm.  People who had worked with him said that the conductor sometimes had to go as far as to mouth the words so he could stay with the orchestra.  I worked with him on The Jimmie Rogers Show.  (See Jimmie Rogers, below.)  Coincidentally, Jimmie’s conductor, Eddy Samuels, had previously worked for Eddie.  Eddy was the pianist on Jimmie’s show; Frank Comstock was the arranger/conductor and of course he would be the one to have to deal with the problems.  To make matters worse, Eddie (or someone in his management) got his signals crossed and was a day late.  Eddy Samuels was normally a very good-natured, funny guy, but when Eddie failed to show up and I said, “Boy, his time really is bad, isn’t it?” Eddy’s response was a not very jovial, “very funny.”

Ella Fitzgerald,

I had very limited experience with Ella but my impression is that she was as nice and sweet as she sounded.  I had the feeling that despite all the acclaim she was a little shy. 

Jane Fonda, Tennessee Ernie Ford,

Redd Foxx,

Right around the first time I worked with Redd (See On The Road At 18), there was a TV commercial for some cleaning product that featured “The White Knight” riding his horse and turning things white with a touch of his lance.  At the Regal Theater, Redd turned that into a bit about the White Knight riding through Harlem.  He pantomimed the lance trick and when he got to me he said, “Looks like he already got him”.  Redd’s presence was evident in the halls of the Sutherland Hotel, too, but not in such a way that I can recount it here.

Aretha Franklin,

Probably the greatest lip-syncher ever.  You already know about her singing.

Bonnie Franklin, Penny Fuller, Robert Fuller (see Cleveland Amory, above), Zsa Zsa Gabor (see Cleveland Amory, above), Kelly Garrett,

Marvin Gaye,

 (See On The Road At 18.)

Gloria Gaynor, Bobbie Gentry,

Dizzy Gillespie,

During commercial breaks on Dinah! the band would play for the audience.  One tune featured a solo by Ray Pizzi and Dizzy was so impressed he hired him on the spot for a session he was doing the next day.  After the show he invited the band to his dressing room.  Truly a nice guy.

Mickey Gilley,

Jakob Gimpel,

I played Beethoven’s G major piano concerto with him in a pickup orchestra at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion of the LA County Music Center.  The highlight of the gig as far as I was concerned was the guy sitting behind me, the 1st clarinet player, Don Ransom. 

Mona and Renee Golabek,

The Poulenc Concerto For Two Pianos with another pickup orchestra, this one conducted by Manuel Compinsky.  Manny had been the violinist in the Compinsky Trio (with his brother Alec and sister Sara), a famous chamber ensemble in the early and middle years of the 20th century.  He was a formal guy but funny, with an English accent and a very soft voice and you couldn’t help but have a good time when he was around.  I met him when he recruited me for Mount Saint Mary’s College, where he taught chamber music.  Some thirty years later, I attended a reception at the college and was surprised that my adviser, Sister Maura Jean, was dressed informally; no more habit.  Manny walked in with his new girlfriend, a woman perhaps half his age.  Sister Maura Jean said to me, “Every time I see Mr. Compinsky he’s with a different woman.”  I couldn’t think of a response

 “Hey,” she said, “more power to him!”  It may have had something to do with the Second Vatican Council, but don’t ask me.  Like a lot of the guys in the music dept. at MSMC, I’m Jewish.

Peter Graves,

 An excellent clarinet player.  He seemed a little shy and didn’t say much. 

Teresa Graves,

Joel Grey,

 Mickey Katz’s son.  (See Sonny Criss, above.)  He is a good deal more reserved that his parents seemed the night I met them.

Lil Greenwood and René Robin,

 (See Sonny Criss, above.)

Robert Goulet,

Like Sammy Davis, he never missed an opportunity to mention my beard.  Big personality--too big perhaps--but not at all difficult to work with, at least in my experience.  My most enduring recollection, though, was getting to one of his sessions early and hearing Jack Nimitz trying out baritone saxophone reeds.  Man, what a sound!

Ilene Graff,

Merle Haggard,

 (See Johnny Paycheck, below.)

Dora Hall,

Dora Hall started her career in vaudeville and then gave it up when she married the guy who owned the Solo Cup Company, you know, the little paper cups in the holder by the office water cooler.  Years later, he produced a TV special and some records for her.  He made a point of showing up at the sessions and beginning each of them with a diatribe against the musicians union.  Imagine, musicians expecting a living wage and decent working conditions.  (See Osmond Bros., below.)

Marvin Hamlisch,

Marvin wrote the theme song for a short-lived tv series called Beacon Hill.  It featured an alto saxophone player who sounded great.  No one seemed to know who it was and we assumed it had been recorded in New York.  On one of Marvin's guest appearances on Dinah! I asked him the musician's name.

"I don't know, just someone the contractor hired," he said. 

John Rodby (see The Dinah Shore Band, below) heard the exchange and told me of a recent conversation with Henry Mancini who had also asked Marvin the musician's identity.  Marvin's answer was, "who remembers the names of sidemen on sessions?"  Well, Mancini for one (see The Young Americans, below) and a lot of other people, I guess, or a lot of us would be out of work.

Herbie Hancock, Richard Harris, Isaac Hayes,

Joe Henderson,

I hired the orchestra for Terence Blanchard's Jazz In Film cd and Joe was one of the soloists.  When he arrived for the session I was introduced to him and told him I had heard him at a club in Hollywood a few months before.

"Oh, I've improved a lot since then," he said.

Marilu Henner,

Freddie Hubbard,

Sweetening sessions for Freddie’s record Bundle Of Joy.  He wasn’t at the sessions.  About a dozen or so years earlier, I had played 1st clarinet at the Cabrillo Music Festival in Aptos, California.  One of the violists was Dennis DeCoteau, a nice guy and interesting and I spent some time with him.  I never saw him after that but knew that he had become the conductor of the San Francisco Ballet.  When I walked into Freddie’s date I saw a man I believed to be Dennis on the podium; but what would Dennis be doing here?  He saw my confused look, guessed right and said, “No, I’m his twin brother, Bert.  

Janis Ian, Jermaine Jackson, Jan and Dean, Conrad Janis,

The Joffrey Ballet,

Elliot Kaplan, who had studied with Paul Hindemith and Nadia Boulanger, was not only a great film composer but wrote chamber music, ballets and operas.  His opera, Gulliver, was commissioned for the opening of the Tyrone Guthrie Theater.  He did several pieces for the Joffrey Ballet including Two A Day (a reference to vaudeville), which included soprano saxophone solos in two of the ten movements.  He said he wrote it with me in mind and asked them to hire me when they did the piece in LA.  There were to be five performances spread out over the run but the co-director of the company, Gerald Arpino, got mad, left and took his ballets with him after the second performance.  Because we had a union contract I was paid for the other three performances but the music was so beautiful and so interesting and fun to play I sure missed doing them. 

Elliot’s music was always exciting, challenging, beautiful and interesting.  Once when we had played a particularly difficult “cue” (as the individual pieces in a film score are called), I asked the librarian to make a copy for me so I could frame it and hang it in my studio.  By the time he got back to the stage, about an hour later, we had played two more cues that were even harder.  (For more on Elliot Kaplan, ask Ron Brown [the great saxophone player, not the government official] the next time you see him.  Mention my name.)

Grace Jones, Shirley Jones,

Andy Kaufman,

A truly weird guy, he had the entire Dinah! staff in an uproar when it was announced that his alter-ego, Tony Clifton, would appear on the show.  A memo actually circulated reminding everyone not to call him Andy.  No mistakes!  It even got so bad that we started calling one staff member, Andy Belling, Tony just to avoid any misunderstanding.

KC & the Sunshine Band, Sally Kellerman, Chaka Khan, B.B.King,

Eartha Kitt,

 Gladys Knight & The Pips, Kris Kristofferson, Major Lance, k.d. lang, Linda Lavin,

Carol Lawrence,

 Great vibrato.  A lot of flute and oboe players could learn something from her. 

Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gormé,

Dinah asked them the secret of their long marriage and Eydie said it was because, “In all the years, we have never had a serious conversation about anything.”  Good singers and very funny people.

Vicki Lawrence, Peggy Lee, Michel Legrand, Peter Lemongello,

The Lettermen,

The call came a few minutes after the date had started.  The contractor, Ben Barrett, nobody’s favorite person, had forgot to hire three flute players.  I raced to Capitol Records and only as I entered the building did I stop to wonder what I had gotten myself into.  I calmed down very quickly when I saw Arthur Gleghorn, then the premier flutist in LA, sitting in the room.  I had met him once before but this was the first time I would work with him.  He made it easy for Jay Migliori, the other last-minute flute player, and me.  Jay and I talked it over and decided that he would sit across from Arthur and I would sit next to him and we would compare notes on the break.  Arthur, in his own quiet way, had a real presence; you could feel the excitement when he entered a room.  Nevertheless, he was a nice guy, friendly and helpful and his playing was spectacular.  Arthur died in 1980 and eventually I bought one of his flutes, the very one he played that night, Powell #849.  “It’s a dandy,” wrote Verne Powell, but it’s not what made Arthur great.

Jerry Lewis,

 A boorish, obnoxious clod.  What on earth is (or was) the appeal?

Jerry Lee Lewis,

Jerry Lee played Iago in a rock musical version of Othello called Catch My Soul and, despite the lurid headlines he had generated over the years, seemed like a nice guy.  During rehearsals he hung out with the band.  He showed up for work on time, knew his lines and didn’t cause any problems at all.

Liberace,

Abbey Lincoln,

Abbey worked on the Black History Month show that I did with Bobby Bryant and Mike Anthony in the mid-1970s.  She was incredibly intense, riveting, a little frightening in fact.  (See Bobby Bryant, above.)

Hal Linden,

Another fine clarinet player, like Peter Graves, but with no discernible humility.  What did he accomplish that made him so (self) important?

Little Richard, Priscilla Lopez, Gloria Loring, The Los Angeles Philharmonic,

LTD,

The guy who hired me for the session had a license plate that read “BIRDIZ”.  I waited while a horn-player-turned-contractor struggled with his part.  (Same guy as in the Greek Theater incident: See Buddy Collette, Jewell Grant, Bill Green and Plas Johnson, above.)  When it was my turn, a voice from the booth said, “We need the oboe”. 

“Oboe?” said one of the singers.  “We must be coming up in the world.” 

Jon Lucien, Lorna Luft,

Frankie Lymon,

His appearance at the Regal Theater in 1960 was described as a “comeback”.  He was all of seventeen years old.  He tore it up.  (See On The Road At 18.)

Paul Lynde, Loretta Lynn,

Jackie “Moms” Mabley,

Moms was in her seventies when I worked with her.  She dressed in a bathrobe and slippers and worked without her teeth.  She was very funny.

Taj Mahal,

 Probably the worst lip-syncher ever.  (See Aretha Franklin, above.)

Melissa Manchester,

Melissa liked to talk about her father, a bassoonist with the Metropolitan Opera when my oboe teacher, Bill Criss, played co-principal oboe there.  Two of the most influential musicians in my life were William “Bill” Criss (1921-1984) and William “Sonny” Criss (1927-1977).  (Actually, Sonny was William Mansfield Turner before he was adopted by his mother’s second husband, Willie Criss.)  They had more in common than just their names.  Each was a unique and fantastic musician and each was a little difficult--maybe “thorny” would be the word--although I got along great with both of them.  Bill had the most beautiful sound of any oboe player and played classical music with the kind of intensity that characterized Sonny’s jazz playing.  As with Sonny, you could hear Bill's heart in every note.  I sure miss those guys.  (See Sonny Criss, above.)

Chuck Mangione,

 Chuck sure laughed a lot for a guy who, one would hope, wasn’t stoned when he appeared on national TV.

Barry Manilow, Julienne Marie, William Marshall, Dean Martin, Steve Martin, Johnny Mathis, Maureen McGovern,

Rod McKuen

You never know what you’re getting into.  The call usually comes from the contractor’s answering service and goes like: so-and-so has a record date (or TV film, or movie, etc.) for you.  You are given the date, time, length of call, place, leader, etc. 

This time (1968) it was at United Recorders with Eddie Karam, a fine arranger.  The singer was Rod McKuen.  I was told to bring flute, oboe and English horn.  What I wasn’t told (you almost never are) is what I would be doing with them, in this case, solos on each instrument. The music included one of Eric Satie’s Gymnodédies, and the orchestra was sizable.  The session went very well, word got around and it provided a boost at the beginning of my career.  A couple of years later I worked with Rod again, this time at the Hollywood Bowl.  During a lull I spoke to him.  The record had never been released, he said, although another version of the piece, recorded in England (where it is cheaper to record) had been issued.  Several years after that, he came to Dinah’s Place.  I spoke to him and he said he remembered me from that session and although the record had never been released he would send me a copy.  He wrote my name on a little piece of paper and put it into his pocket.  Months later, at Christmas, I received a beautiful… Christmas card.  Once again, this time on Dinah! I spoke to him.  (He’s very accessible and a nice guy and I know that pestering guest stars is not good for career longevity; I acted judiciously.)  He laughed when I told him about the card and said this time he would attend to it himself.  Soon after, I received a package with what appeared to be every record in his (own label’s) catalog.  But still not the Gymnopéde I had recorded. 

Harvey Newmark, my favorite bass player (see Look Both Ways, Otherworld Music and The Davie Code), occasionally works with Rod and agrees that he’s a real nice guy.  I wonder if…nah, I give up.

Harold Melvin & the Blue Notes, Robert Merrill, Ann Miller, Roger Miller, Liza Minnelli, The Monkees, Chris Montez, Dudley Moore, Rita Moreno,

Walter Murphy,

 (See Pat Boone, above.)

Anne Murray,

Holly Near,

A fine singer, Holly is an extraordinary human being, selfless and generous.  She could have had a much higher entertainment industry profile but chose instead to work her entire life for social causes and peace.  A fantastic person.

The New Seekers, Wayne Newton, Olivia Newton-John, Phil Ochs, Donald O'Connor, Ludwig Olshansky, Tony Orlando & Dawn,

The Osmond Bros.,

Nice kids.  Some of the sessions were at a studio called MGM Fairfax (later called Cherokee) and some were in a studio in an apartment building the Osmond’s owned in West LA.  At one of the sessions in the apartment building, their father, George, started the session by telling us “if it weren’t for the musicians union we would make some real money.”  Shades of the Solo Cup guy (see Dora Hall, above).  I don’t think “we” included the musicians.  And I'm pretty sure the Osmonds made some real money.

Buck Owens, The Pacific Symphony, Priscilla Paris,

Dolly Parton,

I worked with Dolly on the set of a TV movie, Unlikely Angel.  She made everyone around her, extras, crew, band and all, feel important.  She posed for pictures with anyone who asked and if they didn’t like the way the first one turned out she would pose again.  Her brother in law, one of the musicians, told me she was always like that no matter how long or difficult the day or what the circumstances.  And on heels that looked like stilts! 

Michelle Patzakis,

I worked on her cd What Sweeter Christmas. The instrumentation included string quartet, wind quintet, harp and piano, with some synthesized percussion.  Not all the instruments were on every track.  She sings beautifully and Shelly Berg’s orchestrations should be studied for how to achieve great variety with relatively few resources.

Pat Paulson,

Luciano Pavarotti,

 (See Dennis Weaver, below.)

Johnny Paycheck,

Dinah asked Johnny Paycheck (or was it Merle Haggard--I can’t tell country singers apart) what kind of music he liked.  “Anything with a heart and soul,” he said.  I considered finding out how to contact him so I could send him a Bach Aria Group recording, but thought better of it.

Peaches and Herb, Minnie Pearl, Bernadette Peters, Esther Phillips, Scotty Plummer, Iggy Pop,

Prince,

I think the reason Clare Fischer lasted so long with Prince is that they never met. 

Carsten Radtke,

A fantastic and versatile guitarist, Carsten plays jazz, Bach and Berio.  Needless to say, we hit it off immediately when we met at Music Omi in 2001.  (See Look Both Ways.)  (See artomi.org.)

John Raitt,

Tony Randall,

 Dinah Shore asked Tony when and where, if he had his choice, he would like to have lived.

“1828 Vienna,” he said.  She asked him why.

“Because Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert and Schumann were there.” 

 Oh?

Mozart died in 1791.

Haydn died in 1809.

Beethoven died in 1827.

Schubert died in 1828 (one right out of five!).

Schumann lived 1810-1856 (but doesn’t seem to have spent much time in Vienna and none of it when he was eighteen.)

Tony was actually a nice guy, however historically challenged he may have been.  On another show, near the end of our run, the only time he ever sang on the show, he was very complimentary when I played a clarinet solo in one of his arrangements.

Boots Randolph, Kenny Rankin, Johnny Ray,

Debbie Reynolds,

Beneath the slightly manic exterior is a heart of gold.  During the time Jerry Fielding was blacklisted, she employed him to write arrangements for her nightclub shows, a brave thing to do.  (See Jazz Generations, Buddy Collette’s autobiography [with Steven Isoardi], for more about Fielding and the blacklist.)  She once gave funny T-shirts to the band on Dinah!  And she is said to have been an excellent French horn player.

Marlene Ricci, Marty Robbins, Robert and Johnny,

Jimmie Rogers,

Near the end of my first season on the Carol Burnett Show I began to worry about how I was going to get through the summer without depleting my savings.  My goal was to accumulate $500 so I could pay the rent ($125 a month!) on my apartment in West LA.  The other musicians were older, well established and in some cases very well known (Buddy Collette, Red Callender, Jimmy Rowles, Don Fagerquist, etc.).  Some had trips scheduled, others had studio work, some just planned to stay around home.

I expressed my concern to the baritone saxophone player, Chuck Gentry, another legend, who sat next to me.  “What are you worried about? he asked.  They’ll rerun the show and you’ll be making money hanging out at the beach.”

Then the producers announce that there would be no reruns that summer, there would be a summer replacement show starring Jimmie Rogers.

“See,” said Chuck.  You’ll do the summer show and make a lot more than $500.

Then the producers announced that our conductor, Harry Zimmerman, would not do Jimmie’s show.  Instead it would be Frank Comstock, who had no idea who I was.  Ditto Frank’s contractor, Bobby Helfer, the biggest contractor of that era.  Back to square one. 

A little Twilight Zone music if you please: Jimmie and his wife separated and Jimmie moved in with his road manager, Gene Behrman, who lived in the same twelve unit apartment building where I lived.  Jimmie heard me practicing and we got to talking and I told him I was in the Burnett Show band.  He asked me if I would like to work on his show.  I said I would but that Frank Comstock (who turned out to be a very nice guy and a fantastic arranger) might have other ideas.

“But it’s my show,” Jimmie said.  He went to a meeting in Lake Tahoe, where Frank was working, and when he mentioned it Frank was initially skeptical.  Jimmie held his ground and finally Frank agreed that if his two regular oboe doublers, Gene Cipriano and Jules Jacob, turned it down, he would hire me.  They did and he did.  It was a huge boost to my career; it led to my introduction to Bobby Helfer and almost immediately I was working full time.

Jimmie had had big hit records and made movies yet remained a sweet, humble guy.  He went to bat for me and I will never forget it.

Kenny Rogers, Roy Rogers and Dale Evans,

Timmie Rogers,

Timmie showed up at CBS with Redd Foxx one day and there was a pistol sticking out of his back pocket.  At least it stayed in his pocket.  (See Danny Thomas, below.)

Linda Ronstadt,

Mickey Rooney,

 I was riding with Buddy Collette on Wilshire Blvd. near Crescent Heights one day and Mickey honked his horn and yelled a greeting to Buddy.  Buddy is that kind of guy: famous people want to be seen with him.  Another time it was Sammy Davis, yelling to him from his Rolls-Royce.  Hanging out with Buddy was always an adventure.  (Read Buddy Collette’s autobiography [with Steven Isoardi], Jazz Generations.)  (See Buddy Collette, Jewell Grant, Bill Green and Plas Johnson, above.)

Diana Ross, Buffy Sainte-Marie, The San Diego Symphony, The San Francisco Ballet, Ronnie Schell, Seals and Crofts, Neil Sedaka, George Segal, Doc Severinson, Ravi Shankar,

William Shatner

I worked on Shatner's first album.  He got to the session, discovered he couldn’t sing and talked the lyrics.  No one seems to think it’s a very good record.

George Shearing,

Shirley & Lee (and, years later, “Shirley & Co.”),

When I was a kid, despite the best efforts of my parents, who played recordings of The Nutcracker and The Love For Three Oranges for me, the only music I listened to was pop.  The Four Aces and Frankie Layne were favorites, but I also liked The Crows and The Chords, r&b groups that crossed over onto the pop charts.  In ninth grade I discovered r&b for real.  I was fascinated, not the least by Shirley & Lee.  Her squeaky voice, his bad intonation-- what more would I need to annoy the grown-ups around me?

In 1960, I worked with Shirley & Lee at the Regal Theater.  (See On The Road At 18.)  Some fifteen or so years later, I looked at the day’s schedule on Dinah! which listed something called Shirley & Company.  Sure enough it was her, Shirley Goodman.  I spoke to her but she didn’t remember me (or Redd Foxx’s joke).  I asked her what became of Lee.  What does become of an r&b singer when the magic fades before the big money comes rolling in? 

“Oh,” she said, “he finished his masters and he’s a social worker in New Orleans.” 

 That’s what becomes of an r&b singer when the magic fades before the money comes rolling in.

Dick Shawn, Lucy Shelton,

Dinah Shore,

Dinah was great and I loved working on her show.  She had been a very big star for a very long time with all that goes with it--including a lot of people telling her what they thought she wanted to hear--yet she was easy to work with, fun to be around.  In all the years I worked with her, I don’t remember anything to suggest she was less than genuine.

She had been away from TV for several years when Dinah’s Place started in 1970.  Despite a lot of fumbled balls at the beginning while the producers completed their on-the-job training, the show was a hit.  The show was cancelled after the fourth season, in which it won an Emmy.  Word was that the cancellation was the work of one executive at NBC who didn’t like Dinah, perhaps the only such person in the world.  (I always interpreted Oscar Levant’s “I can’t watch Dinah Shore, I’m diabetic” as affectionate.  I guess Dinah’s “Buttons and Bows” image left more of an impression than her “Chamber Music Society Of Lower Basin Street one.)  CBS jumped in immediately and Dinah!, a ninety minute daytime talk show, began in September of that year.

Maybe the producers’ training wasn’t so complete after all.  Dinah’s Place had had one song, Dinah’s, in each show and if there was a musical guest (or an unmusical one who sang anyway) maybe one more.  Someone multiplied the music budget by three (thirty minute show to ninety minute show) and calculated what the music would cost.  Someone, however, didn’t take into account that the new show was often wall-to-wall music; costs soared and immediately budget experts were dispatched to the Coast to figure out what was wrong.  It was pandemonium at first and although it calmed down after a while, there was always a sort of tension. 

The executive producer the entire ten years was Henry Jaffe.  Somehow, Henry and I hit it off; he had no relationship with any of the other musicians or in fact any of the other workers except some of the writers.  One day, after a month or so of Dinah!, I returned early from lunch and saw him sitting alone in the audience.  He invited me to sit with him and said,

“I was born during the recession of 1907 but I did all right for myself.  There were many years when I made more than a million dollars.  This is the first time I’ve ever worked for anyone else (CBS) and I’ve never made this much money.” 

At some point CBS bowed out and Henry, Dinah and an accountant, Murray Neidorf, owned the show, which went into syndication.  Money became even more of an issue.  The band was cut from eight to six and there was considerably less music.  One night, on the way home from work, I stopped at Canter’s Delicatessen to get a bagel for the next morning.  Henry, his daughter, Margaret, and a comedy writer, Jay Burton, were having dinner and invited me to join them.  Henry started in almost immediately.

“Why do I have to pay you to double?”  (“Doubling” means playing more than one instrument and the union contract requires higher pay.  See Lazy Dogmas Of Impossibility.)  “After all, I’m giving you year-round work.” 

I asked him why he didn’t bring it up at negotiations when the contract expired.  (I knew it was pretty safe; that issue had been settled years ago and was not likely to change.)  He brushed off the suggestion.

He started in on the bandleader, John Rodby, a fantastic pianist and arranger.  (See The Dinah Shore Band, below.)  I told him that I didn’t think any musician in the world could have done that job (or a lot of others) as well.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, “what about André Previn?”  I pointed out that Andre was probably not available to work for scale on a daily TV show.

He calmed down and as I left he said, “anyway, you’re a fine fellow.”  I never found out what the attraction was.

At the start of Dinah! Carolyn Raskin was hired as “Co-Executive” producer.  One day, at the beginning of rehearsal, no one was in the studio but Dinah and the band.  Dinah commented on how nice the weather was.  John Rodby, who lived in Woodland Hills and ordinarily took the freeway to work, said, “yeah, I drove through Topanga Canyon and along the coast today.” 

There was a pause and Dinah said, “what do you say we get out of here?”  We snuck out of the studio and crossed the parking lot to a large outdoor market separated from CBS by a chain link fence.  We walked around to the various stalls, bought food and went up to the roof of the studio and were in the midst of a picnic when Carolyn tracked us down.   Relations with the band were strained ever after.  At one point, she had a party for the entire staff--but not us.  When someone asked where the band was, she said, “The kind of money we pay them, they can have their own party.”  Dinah heard that and didn’t like it.  She invited us and our guests to her house for dinner and a showing of Young Frankenstein, recently released.  If you never had dinner at Dinah Shore’s house you don’t know what you are missing.

Fred Tatashore worked his way up from stage manager to producer, third in line after Henry and Carolyn.  Fred did most of of the nuts-and-bolts stuff; he was capricious and arbitrary and often indecisive but he was a genius at putting together incendiary combinations of guests.  One show included Tom Waits and William F. Buckley (see Tom Waits, below.)  Another paired Sammy Davis, Jr. and Ben Vereen (see Ben Vereen, below).  Yet another included songs by Dennis Weaver and Luciano Pavarotti (see Dennis Weaver, below).

The Dinah Shore Band,

The band was fantastic.  Quickly, word got around that our versatility was such that no one need bring a backup band onto the show; we could play their music as well as, or better than, the people who traveled with them.  It was true.

Dinah’s Place started with a six piece band.  The leader was John Rodby, who had worked with Dinah for a couple of years at that point.  When she decided to return to performing after a hiatus, she called several people who had worked with her previously.  None were available; all recommended John Rodby, not long out of college and living a pretty spare existence.  She was immediately impressed.  John apparently knows every song ever written and can play them in any key, in any style at any tempo.  His technique is extraordinary, his touch beautiful.  He is a great jazz player and has a degree in (classical) piano performance.  And he’s hilarious. 

John’s first engagement with Dinah was at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in New York.  The orchestra at the Waldorf in those days was said to be “unruly” at best.  That was the word Dinah used and she’s very polite.  She said that from the beginning of the first rehearsal John had them sounding disciplined and professional and that the performance went smoothly.  Between shows, he knocked on her dressing room door.  He told her that it had been the first time he had ever conducted an orchestra.  By then she had been completely won over but she told us that if she had known that, she would have hired a more experienced conductor for that engagement.  Needless to say, when Dinah’s Place started, John was to be the leader.  From the first rehearsal of the first Dinah’s Place show, the band sounded great.

At the beginning, the band included Dick Hammergren, a trumpet player John had met on Si Zentner’s road band.  Dick had settled in Las Vegas after leaving the road and when Dinah’s Place started he commuted to LA for the show while keeping his Vegas gig.  Soon, he moved to LA but after a few years quit and moved to Denver.  His replacement was Warren Luening, one of the most successful trumpet players in LA history.  So successful, in fact, that he was hardly ever there.  A number of fine trumpet players subbed, primarily Bob Findley, a great player and arranger, renowned teacher and all-round nice guy.  Like Warren’s, Bob’s success was inevitable.  Others were Bobby Shew and Bill Stapleton, jazz players who had no trouble handling the commercial requirements.

The original bass player was Don Greif who had traveled with Dinah on her tours prior to the beginning of the TV show.  He was replaced early in the second season by Ernie McDaniel, a great musician and a friendly, funny guy. 

John Morell was the guitar player, a great jazz and commercial musician who came from a family of guitar players.  His father, Lou and his brother Tom were both successful studio musicians.  John was touring Europe with Shelly Manne when the show started and for the first few weeks Mike Anthony (see Bobby Bryant, above) replaced him.  John left the show during the first year of Dinah! and was replaced by Barry Zweig.

Mark Stevens, was a versatile drummer who could play in any of the styles (and there were many) that were required over the ten years. 

When the show expanded to ninety minutes the band expanded to eight with the addition of Ray Pizzi on reeds and Randy Aldcroft, trombone.  That lasted until Henry Jaffe and Murray Neidorf took over and returned to the six-piece instrumentation.  Over the years, Mike Altschul, Vic Morosco, Lanny Morgan and Bob Hardaway subbed on reeds.

John Rodby would never “phone it in”.  Over the ten years I don’t ever remember an arrangement that didn’t have something of musical interest, no matter how restrictive the assignment or limited the performer.  Sometimes he would be writing for the evening show (we taped two a day, three days a week) while the afternoon show was still in progress, but as harrowing as things could get or as fast as he had to work, there was never anything perfunctory.  It’s too bad that band couldn’t have existed independent of the show.

Lonnie Shore, Bobby Short, Beverly Sills,

Frank Sinatra,

 Trilogy was recorded live (no overdubs) by a 100 piece orchestra, a huge chorus and Frank, a real pro. 

Frank Sinatra, Jr.,

Red Skelton, Grace Slick, The Smothers Bros., Suzanne Somers, Jim Stafford, Sylvester Stallone, Starbuck, Kay Starr, Gloria Steinem, Barrett Strong, Sally Struthers, Tom Sullivan, Loretta Swit, David Tanenbaum,

Danny Thomas,

Danny Thomas was a guest on Dinah! on several occasions and on one of them, after the show had finished, he stood next to the bandstand while we were packing up, took a gun out of his pocket and proceeded to load it.  It got real quiet.  The next day at rehearsal we told Dinah what had happened.  She told us another story.  She said that he kept a knife in a holster at his ankle.  One day on the golf course he forgot it was there, felt something, reached down and almost cut off his finger.  Like Timmie Rogers, a good guy to stay away from.  (See Timmie Rogers, above.)

Irma Thomas, Mel Tillis, Tiny Tim,

Mel Tormé,

A fine singer but thoroughly self-absorbed.  He was a guest all three years I did the Carol Burnett Show and occasionally on one or another of Dinah’s shows. 

The arranger on the Burnett Show was Harry Zimmerman, a little crotchety and very arbitrary but a good arranger, if a little old fashioned.  Harry had written a typically lush background for one of Mel’s appearances and Mel decided to flex his muscles.  He started to change the arrangement a little at a time.  He would suggest (demand, actually) a change and we would rehearse it.  Another change, another run-through.  After each alteration he would ask Red Callender, our bass player and a jazz legend, “that’s a good idea, isn’t it Red?”  

“It must be lonely at the top,” Red said.

Finally it was just the way he wanted it and the show went fine.  The next night I went to a revival theater in Hollywood to see a couple of 1930s movies.  During intermission I was on the stairway to the rest room and ahead of me was Mel Tormé.  But Mel wasn’t going to the rest room; he invited himself into the projectionist’s booth and (I paused just outside to listen) suggested a better lens.  It must be lonely at the top.

Liz Torres, Tina Turner, Jerry Vale,

Sarah Vaughn,

Sarah Vaughn was a fantastic singer and a great musician, and, according to Ernie McDaniel, who knew her pretty well, a very nice person.  Billy Eckstine spoke of her lovingly.  (See Billy Eckstine, above.)

Ben Vereen,

Although he was more subtle about it, Ben had the same need as Sammy Davis, Jr. for attention.  Once they were booked on the same Dinah! show and Ben began to talk about Sammy.  He spoke glowingly but never once referred to him by name, only as “this man”.  He was alone on camera, seen in close-up for the entire long soliloquy and anyone who tuned in after it had started would have heard the nice guy with the angelic face saying wonderful things about someone.  But who?  As the segment wore on (and on) and the camera never strayed from Ben, Sammy’s face became contorted with rage.  None of that was caught on camera, no doubt a wise decision by the director, Glenn Swanson.

Bobby Vinton,

Tom Waits,

Another of Fred Tatashore’s brainstorms paired Tom Waits with William F. Buckley.  I was able to speak to Tom briefly and asked him to ask Buckley why, if he’s so smart, he’s always wrong.  Tom declined. 

“It opens up a can of worms,” he said.

During the show there was a question and answer session with the audience and someone asked the very same question.  Tom turned to the band and smiled and gave a thumbs-up.  Later in the show, Dinah asked each of the guests (I don’t remember the others) what he or she had learned in high school.  The answers, predictably enough, were long on platitudes until she came to Tom.

“I learned to smoke,” he said.

Jimmie "JJ" Walker,

Dennis Weaver,

Yet another unusual combination was the show that featured two singers, Dennis Weaver and Luciano Pavarotti.  Dennis had been a guest on Dinah’s Place and had attempted, without much success, to recite Desiderata--remember the poem that was for a while thought to have been written in 1692 but turns out to have been a 20th Century creation by someone named Max Ehrmann?  This time Dennis chose to send us into overtime with a song.  He rehearsed first, before Pavarotti, with only the piano, bass, guitar and drums.  Warren Luening and I went to the Green Room to watch Monday Night Football.  After a while, Robert Wagner, another guest on the show, stuck his head into the room.

“Who’s winning,” he asked.

I couldn’t resist.  “So far it’s Dennis Weaver but Pavarotti hasn’t finished warming up yet.” 

Dennis seems like a nice guy, he just can’t sing or recite. 

Anson Williams,

Paul Williams,

After budgets had been cut and ratings were starting to slip, Dinah! became a show called Dinah And Friends, the friends being revolving co-hosts Don Meredith, Fernando Lamas, Charles Nelson Reilly and Paul Williams.  They were all nice guys and, I think, added to the show.  Paul spent his breaks hanging out with the band.  He was very successful as a songwriter and singer, but he was just one of the guys around us. 

Roger Williams,

Brian Wilson,

Brian’s sister-in-law, Diane Rovell, called me for the session, to be held at his mansion in Bel Air.  (Plas Johnson was right.  See The Beach Boys, above.)  I arrived in plenty of time for the 2PM start but was told that Brian had just awakened and was meditating.  Then came breakfast (his, not ours).  Finally, at around 4:20, we were ready to start. 

The music was written on school notebook music paper and copied in soft pencil.  The notes didn’t stand out much from the paper and it was a little hard to read.  It was notated chorale style, four parts and not rhythmically intricate.  I was told to play the third line on English horn, which meant transposing, something I’d rather not have to do, especially since I had to pick my notes out of the four.  Brian’s father came into the studio, said something about Lawrence Welk, and counted off the rehearsal.  Strangely, the session went smoothly and didn’t go all that far overtime.

One of his other sessions was held at a studio in Hollywood and involved ten saxophones, bass and drums, too much for the studio in his house.  Of course none of us were told what to bring and the studio was full of woodwind instruments, probably over a hundred.  When Brian arrived, less than an hour late, he stood in the doorway, slapped himself on the forehead and said, “Oh, I forgot the arrangements.”

He asked what we had brought and settled on seven tenors, two baritones and a bass.  He proceeded to construct an arrangement on the spot and we finished quickly. 

For all his peculiarities, in my experience he was not difficult to work with.

Barry White, Nancy Wilson, Henry Winkler, Stevie Wonder, Chuck Woolery, Tammy Wynette,

The Young Americans,

Another gift from Plas.  (See Buddy Collette, Jewell Grant, Bill Green and Plas Johnson, above.)  The show, Henry Mancini and The Young Americans, was at the Greek Theater in LA and Plas sent me to sub for The Young Americans half.  Almost all of Mancini’s regular woodwind players did the show.  (Ronny Lang was the exception.)  It was a fantastic opportunity to work with a lot of great, successful musicians.  Among them were Ted Nash, Bud Shank, John Lowe, Harry Klee and Ethmer Roten, (who had “the best flute sound I’ve ever heard,” said Mancini) and it provided a big boost to my career as well as a real learning experience.   

Henny Youngman, Pia Zadora, Frank Zappa,

and more…