Truth in Music - Chapter 3

In today . . . The 9th Circuit Court has overturned the Nevada District Court ruling in Herb Reed's Manager's suit against long time concert promoter Larry Marshak's use of The Platters name. Their decision is based on a Supreme Court decision. The manager, who never had anything to do with the success of The Platters, has been trying to get rights to the trademark since Reed passed away a year ago. It's interesting, but odd, to watch the court cases continue - for more than 60 years now - after everyone involved with the structuring and success of the group has passed on with the exception of 90 year old, retired publicist/manager Jean Bennett. We'll be keeping an eye out here at the Snare to see what happens next since there are still at least two cases in court at this writing. We're still waiting for the truth in Truth in Music. So far there has been none.

Doing Downtown

There has been so much talk about what is going on in downtown Las Vegas I had to take a tour.  The Grand, where the old Lady Luck stood, is now open as is the Downtown Container Park a.k.a. Tin Can City.  There are now many bar open or opening on East Fremont.  There was little, if any, business in any of them. 

We started the tour at the Downtown Container Park.  This is a complex of shipping containers that, from the outside, put a ghetto to shame.  It is really tacky!  However, once inside, there is an very energetic parklike setting with a stage and a couple of dozen businesses in 10' x 20' containers - all that have interesting decor.  The places I stopped in weren't selling much of anything except odds and ends, but more power to the entrepreneur.  There several of bars that were rather busy, but the complex had only been open four days when we were there so they could have been curiosity seekers like us.  I was fascinated that there was a guard at the exit making sure no one took alcohol out of the park.  Most of the casinos on Fremont now have outdoor bars.  People have been walking around with drinks since I first came through town.  But what's in the Downtown Container Park stays in the Downtown Container Park.  Most curious of all were the fast food restaurants.  I can't imagine any of them staying in business for long.  Why would anyone stand in line to get a plate of ribs and beans for $14.95 when they can go down the street to Main Street Station of The Fremont for a fabulous, all you can eat buffet for less.  Time will tell.

We walked across the street to the El Cortez.  While Jackie Gaughan is still the spokesman, we've been told that the casino is under new ownership.  They haven't made many changes but they have upgraded the washrooms.  I always judge anyplace by their washrooms.  I love the ones at the El Cortez.  They have a warm feel.  The mirrors are fantastic and I would love the lighting fixtures in my living room. 

We went across the street and walked through the Medical Arts Building.  It is meant to be a hangout for the artsy crowd, but it is disgusting.  You could feel the dirt hanging in the air.  There was a little coffee bar that I believe had food.  I would not eat there. 

We moved on to the Grand.  I was looking forward to seeing it.  There has been great publicity about this new casino.  Coming up to the parking lot was a delight.  The old, huge, ugly white geodisic dome of the Lady Luck days was gone replaced by a new classy entrance.  But that's where the class ended. 

As we stepped through the doors, I looked down expecting to see some type of grand flooring.    My first thought was "I've seen this somewhere before.  It looks like it's salvage from another hotel" . . . but it was nice.  Not great but nice.  I was sure I had seen the carpeting in another casino.  It too, although it was in good shape, looked like salvage.  A casino is a casino is a casino.  They are big barns with slot machines, bars and gaming tables.  The only thing that sets one apart from another is what's on the floor and hanging from the ceiling.  What was on the floor was not impressive.  The casino was brightly lit.  There were a few people at the bar in the center of the room.  I don't remember seeing anyone playing the machines.   There was a "yuppie bar" - haven't used that word in years - down a hall at the back.  There were several people there.  We went up the escalator and I was wowed by the chandeliers.  But that is because I was wowed by them when I saw them in the convention area of the Venetian.  I don't know if these were salvaged from the Venetian or new but they are beautiful - and much to big for the low ceilings at the Grand.  The Grand reminded me of the failed remodel of the Gold Spike.  Only time will tell how it does.  It's not a place I would go back to, especially when the coffee shop steak is $31.  Come on people.  This is Las Vegas.  If I we're going to pay $31 for a steak, we want atmosphere and service not a short step up from Denny's.

It was on to the D.  I like this place more every time I go in.  The first thing the new owner did - before any remodel - was clean it.  I didn't know you could make old stuff shine and smell so good!  After cleaning, they began with a carpet change.  I love this carpet.  The Stratosphere did new carpet a couple of years ago.  I love it.  I would like a piece in my living room.  Which I like better is a toss-up between the Stratosphere and the D.  I think, when it comes to casino, the D is the winner.  But I wouldn't want it in my house.  And the new restrooms are well-done.  If you like modern, the red and black of these rooms is "cool."  There is one problem at the D - the volume of the piped in music.  The D has has a second floor, and they have done something fun.  The second floor is Vintage Vegas with old machines - coin in and coin out on some of them.  The music there is for the older crowd, but the volume is too high.  Instead of making your sit, listen and play a machine it makes you want to get up an dance.  Downstairs - heaven help them - they have chased business away with the loud, banging, distracting "music."  It's not a nightclub.  It's a casino!  I've been going to this property since the mob owned it decades ago.  I have never seen empty tables no matter the time of day or year.  However, on our tour, there were only about three people at the tables.  I realize that the rap crap is now Golden Oldies, but keep it down!  People don't even know why they're getting up and leaving, they just do.  And the bimbo Go Go girls.  Stop!  I have no problem with Go Go Girls.  I was one.  Actually I was one of the first ones, but there is a place for them, and it is not distracting gamblers.  They have expanded their showroom, but time will tell how that goes.

The Fremont is still the Fremont.  Not elegant.  Not classy.  A casino where people can go and enjoy themselves while losing their money without distraction.  And they have a good buffet. 

The Four Queens.  Same as the Fremont - except they don't have a buffet. 

The Golden Nugget - semi-upscale gambling hall.  It's THE place for entertainment downtown!

The Bayou and the Golden Goose - thank goodness they haven't changed.  'Nough said.

Then there is the Golden Gate.  If you can do it wrong, these new owners have succeeded.  The Golden Gate is the oldest property downtown, and they invented the Las Vegas Shrimp Cocktail.  There was always at least a twenty minute wait in line for the shrimp cocktail or hotdog.  That area is gone and has been replaced with slot machines no one was playing.  The tables, which were once busy 24/7, were sparse.  Again there was the loud, banging drum beat that drives people out.  And the restaurant . . . it breaks my heart.  This was my favorite place in town!  They had a great menu.  Wonderful specials.  Good food.  And elegant atmosphere.  A couple of years ago they screwed up the ceilings.  Some of that has been repaired.  But it is no longer a Las Vegas Casino restaurant.  It's DuPar's.  It I want to go to an inner city coffee shop, I don't need to come to Las Vegas.  AND, they have been closed down by the health department at least twice in recent months.  This is the restaurant I used to recommend to everyone coming to town.  Never again.

The Plaza has to be the biggest loser of all.  Once a typical casino and money maker it was beginning to become the downtown hangout when Barrack had it.  But there are new owners, and you can always tell when a casino is not doing well.  The highly taxed slot machines begin to come out and gaming tables go in to take up floor space . . . and then lounge areas are added to take up more space.  I don't know that the Plaza ever had many slot players, but the tables were always busy.  Again, like the D and Golden Gate there were no more than a half dozen people at the tables. 

It's not even worth talking about the Las Vegas Club.  Once a hangout where old time Las Vegas blackjack and craps players had been going for years it is now virtually a ghost town.  There were few players.  It was dark, dirty - but not nearly anything like the Medical Arts Building - and the Ogden Street side is completely closed. 

Binions - Can't figure out what is going on there.  The hotel is closed.  The casino had some business, but not like the days of the World Series of Poker.  It's Ogden Street side is also closed to gambling with a t-shirt shop displaying its wares in the entrance and a small, cramped Elvis Museum taking up some floor space.

The California Club caters to a clientele from Hawaii.  They always seem to be busy.  No entertainment.  A couple of bars, restaurants and fast food places.

Last and certainly not least is Main Street Station - the jewel of downtown.  I thought The Grand was going to give Main Street Station a run for it's money.  But the Grand barely compares to the older casinos.  On the other hand Main Street Station has the best food, best priced and most elegant decor of any buffet in town.  We usually hold business lunches at the Triple 7 Brewery.  The atmosphere and menu are terrific.  When it  comes to what is on the floor and ceilings of a casino, Main Street Station is the winner - not just downtown but in Las Vegas. 

So there was our tour.  The new.  The disappointing.  The odd.  The dirty and the prefectly beautiful.

Gay Marriage

Someone asked me the other day what I thought about gay marriage.  I laughed.  "Better you ask me what I think about marriage in general," I said and launched into the following lecture.

Marriage is a legal and binding contract regarding property rights.  It has nothing to do with love or sex or children.  Well, the children part is wrong.  It has everything to do with children inheriting property.  That's why, if you're not married, the kid is a bastard and isn't entitled to anything - which has created a huge market for attorneys in this post-women's lib, drop your drawers society we now live in.

If a person writes a will, he/she can leave their property to anyone they want.  They can set up whatever trust they like for whoever they want.  But if you don't have a will, marriage a.k.a. property laws prevail.      

So when you're signing on the dotted line for a marriage license, forget about love and sex and cheating and a family and happy home and all the other mushy stuff people get married for today, and think about what that contract really means which is - who gets the house and the cars and the kids and who gets to visit in the hospital and who gets to make decisions for you when you're sick.

Personally, I don't care if Fido and Bowzer get married to insure their dog houses are inherited by the right partner.  So if two guys or two gals want a legal and binding marriage contract to protect property rights, more power to them.  But, please . . . please . . . please . . . if you're a woman don't introduce me to your partner as your wife or your husband.  That's screwed up!!

Wife is a woman.  Husband is a man.  Those titles are achieved when a man and woman get married.  Fido and Bowzer, Susie and Sally, Ben and Burt have PARTNERS!  But that's my opinion, and I'm old - thank goodness - and I still believe in waiters and waitresses, chairmen and chairwomen and mailmen and mail-ladies.

Marva Whitney - Soul Sister #1



Have you ever had a "phone buddie"?  Someone you've never met in person, but, through happenstance, met on the telephone and became friends.   That was Marva Whitney and me.  We never met, but we spent hours on the phone.  Marva had called Jean Bennett hoping Personality Productions could help her get some bookings.  Personality had already been sold, but Jean had Marva call me anyway.  I told her there was nothing Jean or I could do to help, but we started to talk about "Playboy After Dark."  I had worked for the agency that booked the atmosphere people.  Marva had been a guest performer.  Those had been good days.  We were young, full of energy and still full of hope, despite that fact showbiz had already kicked us a couple of times.  Now were weren't so young anymore, but we were certainly not ready to quit.  Marva would call me early a couple of times a week around seven in the morning.  I'd always be asleep and groan about the early hour.  She always sounded like she had a horrible cold.  Her voice would be thick and scratchy.  My first words were always, "Are you all right?"  Gramps usually answered the phone at the hour, and after I'd hung up, he'd want to know if she was all right.  I told him that after we talked a bit, her voice sounded better - but never great.  Marva and I talked about her bookings, her band in Japan, and about seeing if we could get her booked in Las Vegas.  She sent me copies of her new CD, and she gave me the highlights of James Brown's funeral.  We talked about the reception she received in Europe, and we planned for the future.  All the time I protested there was nothing I could do, but at the same time I thought just maybe I could.  Every conversation had a "when are you coming to Kansas City.  I don't know.  Can you come to Las Vegas" moment.  The last time I talked to her was a little more than a year ago.  She sounded amazing!  Her voice was clear as a bell.  I kept saying, "You sound great."  She told me about being on stage in Australia.  One minute she was singing.  The next thing she remembered was waking up on a gurney.  They said she'd had a stroke on stage.  She didn't sound like it.  She didn't think the diagnosis was right.  She said her doctors here couldn't find anything wrong.  She thought she'd had a reaction to the chemicals in the smoke machine used in the show.  Her apartment had flooded.  She was moving - into a senior's complex.  Seniors!  Old people.  But it would be fine.  It was a nice place.  She was working with someone new and was excited about the future.  I kept telling her how good she sounded and said that in 2013 I was going to concentrate on writing and publishing.  If I didn't do it now, it would  never get it done.    January 1, 2013, I sat down and uploaded the first of five books to Nook and Kindle.  January 3, 2013, Marva was laid to rest.  I didn't know she had passed away until a couple of months ago.  I had emailed her, and when it came back I thought I had the wrong address.  She had changed it at least three times.  I wouldn't have been on her "people to call list."  We were only phone buddies.  And I've been sitting in this chair ten and twelve hours a day writing, typing, editing, posting and re-posting to the exclusion of everything else.  A couple of times Gramps had asked if I'd heard from Marva.  I said no, but she was probably on the road.  She'd call when she was back.  Because she had sounded so good, it never entered my mind that anything could have happened that wasn't fabulous.  Maybe I was right, because now she's singing with the angels.  And what could be more fabulous than that!  RIP my friend.

Sixty Years of HIts: Straight From the Horse's Mouth

This is interesting.  Press releases, letters and photos exactly as written over a 50 year period.  Seems there was never a press release about The Platters that went out of the Personality office that did not mention Buck Ram.  Not one in 50 years!  It's pretty amazing that this whole who's the owner, who started the group thing has been going on that long, but here's the truth without opinion, dreams, wannabes and do-gooders personal opinions.  The Platters were the #1 group of the 50s.  I doubt there are many people under fifty who give a rats behind about the group or the behind the scenes goings on, but it's interesting that so much of the court's time is being spent on the matter in 2013.  Perhaps Judges Navarro, Pro, Segal-Ikuta, McKeown, Wallace, and Magistrates Foley, Johnson and others and their office staffs should take a look at the truth as written at the time it was happening and stop wasting the taxpayers money on something that means nothing to the public.  But I won't hold my breath.  In following this, I have learned that the courts have nothing to do with the truth.  The only thing that matters is if one attorney can put their lie over with no regard for the truth over the other guy who may or may not be telling the truth.  I've started watching some of these Forty-eight Hour Mysteries on television with a whole new attitude.  Just how much of what these prosecutors and defense attorney make-up do the judges and juries believe.  That makes me think about OJ and Sam Shepard again.  What a pile of horse manure those two trials were!!

No Truth in Truth in Music - Chapter 2

And the saga continues . . . It has been flying around the last few days that Jon Bauman has submitted his personal statement, or perhaps a statement on behalf of Truth in Music or the Vocal Group Hall of Fame, in a court case brought by Herb Reed Enterprises (Herb is dead) against Monroe Powell stating that Buck Ram began a new company in 1970 to promote a group called The Buck Ram Platters. I can tell you for a fact that is not true. This case is yet another battle over the ownership of the name The Platters. If you count the little skirmishes that lasted a day or two, there have been at least a hundred cases over the last sixty years. The correct information is that Personality Productions managed The Platters from 1953 until 2006. Buck Ram SOLD Personality, a management company representing thirty-three acts at the time, to Jean Bennett in 1966. Buck stayed on as Music Consultant. That's it. He washed his hands of the whole Platters mess on 1966 - except for music. On that score he had the final say. Buck had been a successful songwriter when Herb Reed and the other "original" singers were in diapers. The guys who started the group before Reed and Tony Williams joined were younger and weren't even born when Buck was hanging round the Apollo with Ella Fitzgerald, Duke Ellington and Chick Webb and writing songs with them. It is true that The Platters began to be referred to as The Buck Ram Platters about the time Bennett bought the company because of all the counterfit groups springing up around the world. But it was not Jean - or Buck - who began referring to the group as The Buck Ram Platters. It was the bookers. They wanted to make sure they were getting the group whose music and performance came directly from the master. Although Buck threw in finacial support if needed, Jean, not Buck, fought the battle for the group and the name from 1966 until she'd had enough. With Buck and all the singers passed on, I'm still trying to figure out what these people bringing lawsuits today - and there are at least two and maybe more in courts at this moment - have to do with The Platters or the success of the group. Herb Reed did not start the group. He was reportedly in the Army when they began. They were originally a bunch of high school kids. Cornell Gunter was 16. Herb Reed and Tony Williams were 25 or 26 years old when they got involved. And what has Bauman or Reed's manager, who is apparently now claiming rights to the name, got to do with The Platters?

Politics

I started to write something about my opinion of politics the other day, and the computer froze up. I guess even an inanimate object has an opinion about the direction the world is taking. Seriously, I don't understand politics. Everyone I've known personally who was involved in running the government has either been a drunk or nuts. There are some exceptions but those have been raked over the coals and had their careers destroyed. It's my experience that it does not pay to be honest in politics. The bad guys will always get you. There are lots of labels in politics I don't understand. I know being a Democrat or Republican or Liberatarian is a club of people you like that you can join and vote with. It's like picking a church or joining Girl Scouts or Boy Scouts or a fraternity or soroity. I was a communist for awhile. When I first came to Las Vegas I thought it was cool that you could register as an Independant. American Independant to be exact. I later found out that American Independant in Nevada is the communist party. Hmmm. Wonder if Obama could have run on that ticket in Illinois too? I guess the New Party he ran on doesn't exist anywhere but Wisconsin now. But that's what confuses me. All the names and labels and parties no one has heard of. I understand the TEA Parties. Taxed Enough Already makes sense to me. I don't understand why there are so many "groups" of TEA Party people. From the days when I had cable I know that the people involved are older, washed and combed, carry guns - big guns - shout down politicians and don't leave a mess behind them. I don't get the 99 Percenters. They are apparently ticked off because there are some smart, rich, ruthless guys out there who have more - lots more - than they do and think those people should give them some of what they have earned. Why? And I don't understand why they think it's all right to destroy public and private property and cost taxpayers millions of dollars. Seems to me there are some snapped synapses there. Then there are liberals and conservatives, righter wingers and left wingers, progressives and the "extreme," John Birchers and who knows what else. It's nothing but a bunch of name calling that accomplishes nothing. I know that during the last election I thought if I heard Harry Reid say "extreme" one more time I was going to scream. Oh, that's right. I did scream. Several times. In the privacy of my own home. If I'd gone to one of his rallies, I'm sure I would have been screaming "Shut up, Harry" at the top of my lungs. I also don't know why Harry has to keep going on television and saying idiotic things. Is anyone so stupid that they don't know Harry is President? Nothing goes to Barry without going through Harry first. If Harry doesn't like it, it sits and mellows on this desk. Gee, to think, we have a Mormon President without the election process. How's that for a joke on all the people who think religion matters in politics. Actually, the only thing in politics I like is the Constitution. It is amazing how brilliant the founders of this government were. I find George Washinton interesting for someone with wodden teether. I don't care that Jefferson slept with a slave. I don't think Lincoln was a great or brilliant president. He was a guy who failed in business sixteen times until he discovered politics, and, like Obama, he was a great speech maker. I think FDR was the worst president in the history of the country. I liked Jerry Ford until I learned that all the "diversity" crap started under him. I was sure Carter would take the country down the toilet the first time I saw him on television, and I was right. Reagan was the ultimate great speaker who increased the national debt by a bizillion dollars, and I don't understand the adoration. I'm not sure what I think about Nixon. I don't think "opening up" China was a good thing. One the other hand, I know that Watergate was a SEX scandal that got blown out of proportion because a bunch of guys broke into an office looking for info on SEX. They broke into Hank Greenspun's office, the newspaper publisher in Las Vegas, too because he was the one feeding Jack Anderson info about politicians coming to Las Vegas for hookers. NOTE: In Las Vegas they are not hookers. They simply have a job. Girls who work in outcall servies and strip bars make the BIG bucks. My opinion of George H. W. Bush, Clinton and Obama is the same. They are - as many before them - proof that the country is run by congress.

Global Warming. . . Cooling . . . Warming . . .

It has been a hot one in Las Vegas this summer. We broke the temperature record set in 1902! It makes me wonder about Global Warming. When did the Global Cooling begin that has kept us so far below the 117 degree for a century? And how soon is another of those cooling periods going to begin. It's hot!!

It's Called Neighborhood WATCH!

I was about eight or nine when the Sam Shepard murder trial was in all the newspapers.  It fascinated me.  I would get up every morning and hurry to get dressed for school.  Then I would spread the Chicago Tribune out on the living room floor and on my hands and knees read every word of the story in the right hand column of the front page.  I remember my mother, on more than one occasion, having to tell me,  repeatedly, that I had better leave for school or I'd be late, and I could finish the article when I came home.  If I didn't have time to finish the long articles that were continued somewhere in the first section of the newspaper, all I would think about at school was getting home to finish reading.

I was fascinated, not because of the bushy-haired man Shepard said was in his house, but because I could not believe anyone could make up stories the way they were and print them in the newspaper as fact.  It fascinated me then.  What has happened in the Travon Martin case disgusts me now.

When I cancelled the cable, it was because there is nothing worth watching on television.  I couldn't see paying to watch informercials, reruns and screaming housewives.  I didn't realize until this morning that the straw that broke the camels back was FOX's Bill O'Reilly and his "reporting" on the Martin case.  Granted, O'Reilly is not a journalist.  Like Sean Hannity he is simply stating his opinion.  Well, here's mine.

Georege Zimmerman just got away with murder.  Unlike O. J. Simpson or Robert Blake or any of the thousands of people whose names we'll never know who are acquitted of a crime there was no expression of relief on Zimmerman's face.  He wasn't even cocky.  He had a self-righteous smile.

In one of snippets of "news" I get from the newspaper, on the internet and YouTube I heard one of the jurors say she "felt sorry" for George.  What?  Why?  Zimmerman was a guy who got out of his car, tracked down the seventeen year old and, when Martin Stood His Ground, shot the kid dead just feet from his own back door.  What is there to feel sorry for about Zimmerman?  Why would you have sympathy for a guy because he got his head cracked open for approaching someone and pointing a gun at him?  If I were fighting for my own life, I hope I'd be able to crack the guy's head wide open too.  People like Zimmerman terrify me, but Gramps disagreed with me.  

Gramps is eighty.  He thought the verdict was right until I personalized it for him.

Gramps had a good life and made a good living selling Rolls Royces and Mercedes to rich people.  The other day we went through his closet to give his old  clothes, many things with the tags still on, them to the Salvation Army.  What is left is about twenty pair of shoes, still in the boxes either unworn or that will never be worn again.  He has about twenty new shirts left, and he kept one sports jacket and a three piece suit.  He needs none of it because he won't wear any of it.

Gamps days are now spent sitting on the patio, smoking and watching sports.  He seldom goes anywhere, but he also does not sleep at night.  He naps during the day.  At three in the morning he is a familiar sight in the neighborhood, walking in circles, sometimes in the middle of the street, smoking.  He's a one man neighborhood watch.  He knows everything that goes on after midnight.  All of that would be fine, except that he doen't wear his good duds.  He was worn the same dirty, torn levis for a least a month.  His Hawaiian shirt is stiff with sweat from the hot Las Vegas days.  The soles of his twenty dollar, discount store running shoes are taped to the tops with duct tape, and his fingernails are long, dirty and jagged.  Don't misunderstand.  He is not senile.  He's as sharp as any forty year old.  He walks like he's forty and looks twenty years younger than he is.  When the palm fronds fly in a wind storm, he can't wait to climb on the roof and work in the yard cleaning them up.  So how could I personalize the not guilty verdict to him?  It was easy.  He looks like he's homeless.  His big excursion of the day - or middle of the night - is to walk to the 7-11 to get cigarettes and a coke.

Our neighborhood has Neighborhood Watch.  We're two blocks from the Strip and strange people, frequently drunk, wander through the streets at all hours.  But no one from the neighborhood patrols the streets carrying a gun.  We do exactly what the name says.  We watch, and when necessary, we call the cops.

Had there been a George Zimmerman in our neighborhood Gramps could have been the one murdered. 

I told Gramps to imagine this.  It's two in the morning.  He decides to walk the four blocks to the 7-11.  While on his way home, Zimmerman is doing his armed patrol of the neighborhood.  Unlike our immediate neighbors, Zimmerman does not know who Gramps is and decides he looks suspicious.  He calls the cops.  The cops tell him to stay in his car.  They're on their way.  But Zimmerman doesn't heed the authority of the police.  He decides he knows more than they do and tracks Gramps. 

When Gramps ducks behind a bush to get out of the wind to light his cigarette and try to get a look at the suscicious guy in the truck casing the neighborhood, Zimmerman disobeys his instructions from the police, gets out of his vehicle and confronts Gramps. 

I know Gramps.  He's not taking any crap from anyone.  When Zimmerman demands to know what Gramps is doing.  Gramps demands to know what Zimmerman wants.  If Zimmerman had taken one step toward him, Gramps would have swung.  And Gramps, at eighty, would have died at the hands of a wannabe cop packing a gun. 

Gramps didn't say anything when I got through putting him in Trayvon Martin's shoes.  He quiety lit a cigarette and banged at the computer keyboard griping, "I can't watch my games on this thing.  All I can get is the scores."  But I noticed that when he went to the 7-11 the next time, he changed his clothes and put on his khakis and a clean shirt.  He looked nice, except for the duct taped running shoes.

Where is the Truth in Truth in Music?

Twilight Time

Reaching back twenty-five years to my time working for Jerry Kushnick brings to mind several conversations I had with Morty Nevins, one of the writers of the instrumental version of "Twilight Time." 

Prior to working for Kushnick I had spent six months as the assistant to songwriter Buck Ram.  Even though my tenure with Buck was short we became close friends from the moment we met.  He was the same age as my father.  They had lived in the same neighborhood in Chicago.  Buck was friends with (and possibly related to) Frankie Laine, and my mother, at fourteen, had been the newsletter editor for Merry Gardens, the ballroom where Frankie Laine got his start.  So Buck and I immediately had common ground.

Buck was amazing.  He could spin a dream like no one I have ever met.  He was one of the top five songwriters of BMIs first 50 years.  You may not know Buck's name, but you know that of the other four on the list:  Paul McCartney, Paul Simon, Jimmy Webb and Kris Kristofferson, and Buck, the elder statesman of the group, was pretty good company for them to keep. 

Buck had a string of hits under his belt dating back to the 1930s including "At Your Beck and Call," "Remember When," "I'll Be Home for Christmas," Ella Fitzgerald's "Chew Chew Chew Your Bubble Gum," and The Platters greatest hits, "Only You," "The Magic Touch," "The Great Pretender" and "Twilight Time" and more.

When I met Buck, controversery had followed him and his songwriting for decades beginning with "I'll Be Home for Christmas." When his Publisher, Mills Music, sued Kent and Gannon's publisher for poaching their song, Mills Music won the suit, but Buck, forty years later, still had trouble on occassion having his name included as a writer, and he had to put up with a lifetime of bull about him suing and it not being his song, etc.

The truth is the song began as a poem Buck wrote for his mother when he was sixteen and a student at the University of Illinois.  He was not going home for Christmas but wrote he would be there "if just in reverie."  Kent and Gannon changed the line to "if only in my dreams."  But that's another story for later.

This is about "Twlight Time," and it's one for the "it's small world" category.  Jerry Kushnick was the opposing attorney, representing Morty Nevins the lawsuit.

I had no way of knowing that Kushnick had anything to do with Buck, and Buck certainly didn't remember Kushnick's name.  And then Morty Nevins walked into the office.

Morty was a little guy.  Maybe 5'5".  He had his hair dyed black and was carrying a notebook in his arm like a school boy with a piece of stationary sticking out that said "The Man Who Wrote 'Twilight Time'."  I immediately knew who he was and was loaded for bear to protect Buck.

The result of about nine hours of talking to Morty was interesting, and I wound up liking Morty very much.

Morty had run into Kushnick in the drugstore in Beverly Hills.  Morty's daughter was putting together a book of cartoons she had drawn, and he wanted someone to represent them.  Who better than his old attorney, despite the fact they hadn't seen one another for twenty years.  Kushnick told Morty to come to the office, and they'd talk.  When Morty showed up, Kushnick told me, "I don't want to talk to him.  He's crazy.  Get rid of him."

Morty wasn't going anywhere.  Kushnick had told him to come in, and he was going to wait until they talked.  That was when I saw that piece of stationary sticking out of his notebook and had the opening for me to come to Buck's defense.  I began with, "You wrote 'Twilight Time.'  How did you get involved with Buck Ram?"

I thought Morty was going to blow a gasket at the mention of Buck's name.  "You know him?" followed by a few derogatory comments flew from Morty's mouth.

"So tell me your side of the story," I said.

That was Morty's opening.  And I listened.  Morty waited for three hours for Kushnick.  In between answering the phone, running back and forth to Kushnick's office to report that Morty was still there, and typing a note or two, Morty and I talked - and talked - and talked.  Or, rather, Morty talked and I listened as he raked Buck over the coals for "stealing his song."

Morty didn't leave until Kushnick sneeked out the back door of the office.  Morty's parting words to me were, "I'll be back."  And a few weeks laterm sure enough, he was back, and the scenario repeated itself.  I told Kushnick Morty was there.  Kushnick wouldn't see him, and Morty waited for three hours until Kushnick, once again, sneeked out the back door.

In those three hours Morty told me the story of his group, The Three Suns, being managed by Buck.  They first met him when they hired him to arrange an instrumental they had written called "Twilight Time." They had paid him twenty-five dollars.  Buck did the arrangement once, and they didn't like it.  He did it a second time.  They didn't like that one either so Buck hired a friend for twelve dollars and fifty cents to do another arrangement.  They didn't like that one either, and the song sat around for two years.  Suddenly it had lyrics, Buck's name as writer, and a couple of very angry - at least Morty - instrumentalists.

After the first time I met Morty, I asked Buck about him and the story.  Buck refused to talk about it.  There were two things I could never get him to make a peep about - "Twilight Time" and The Platters second lead singer, Sonny Turner.

Morty came back a third time.  Again, the same routine.  Kushnick refused to see him.  Morty refused to leave.  Kushnick sneeked out the back door.  But Morty and I finally had a meeting of the minds when he told me about the "Twilight Time" they had written being an instrumental, it sitting around for two years with nothing happening, and Buck adding lyrics and turning it into one of the biggest hits of all time. 

I said to Morty, "What would have happened if Buck hadn't put lyrics to it  and made it a hit?"

Morty got an odd look on his face.

"Wouldn't "Twilight Time" still be sitting in a box somewhere - forgotten?"

His expression changed ever so slightly, and I could see my words were having an effect. 

"Maybe, instead of hating Buck for "stealing" your song, you should thank him for turning it into a hit.  You won the lawsuit.  Your name is on it, but without Buck it never would have happened."

He was quiet for a moment, and then said very thoughfully, "You're right."

"So are you going to let all that anger go so you can get this book done without bringing any negativity to it?" I chided. 

He nodded.  About that time Kushnick sneeked out the back door so Morty left.  I never saw him again.  I walked out on Kushnick a couple of weeks later.  I don't know if Morty ever came back or if Kushnick finally relented and spoke to him.  And Morty passed away shortly after.  He had cancer, and he'd never said a word as he waited and waited to see Kushnick.  

Buck's wife did tell me the story behind "Twilight Time," some time later - under her breath while Buck sat next to us.  According to Lucille, Morty and the Three Suns had written an instrumental with the title.  Buck, as a teenage, college student/poet had also written a poem titled "Twilight Time."  He put his poem to his own music but did use the hook from The Three Suns song.  The result of that marriage was a huge hit, and "Twilight Time" is now one of the most covered songs on YouTube.  

I'm sure there was more to the story neither Morty or Lucille told me because, after more than two decades, Lucille still harbored some anger over the situtaiton herself.

#

The Late Night Wars

The time for Jay Leno to leave the Tonight Show is fast approaching.  Which, for me, brings up twenty-five year old memories of  pre-"Late Night Wars."  At least I think that's the title of the movie.  It's was the movie that trashed Helen Kushnick and made vastly false statements about her.  So 25 years after the fact, here's the back story.

I worked for Helen and Jerry Kushnick.  I was in the office eight to ten hours a day holed up with them.  Jerry was the socially cool one in public and a total ass in real life.  Helen was the a nice, pushed to the wall, stressed out woman who always referred to Leno as "such a nice boy," although he was only three and a half years younger than she.

Leno was Helen's exclusive client in the husband and wife management team.  She brought him with her as her client when they moved General Management to California.  But it was Jerry who got Jay the Tonight Show guest host gig - through guilt tripping Henry "Bombastic" Bushkin, Carson's attorney.

According to Jerry, and I heard the story over and over again, he, Ed Hookstratten and Buskin had been law partners in New York when they first got out of school.  Jerry had, according to him, the "good" clients - like Johnny Carson.  He did Carson's divorce from wife #2.  He represented Brooke Shields' father in his quest to stop her mother from "exploiting" her. 

But Jerry's heart was in the music business.  He took six weeks off from the legal practice to decide whether he would accept a corporate attorney job offer to work from RCA.  He decided not to take the job, but when he returned to his office, it had been stripped.  File drawers were hanging open.  All of his client's files - and clients - were gone.  His partners had even taken the lighting fixture from the ceiling.  Jerry said he sat in that office with bare wires hanging from the ceiling for two years, and looked up every day swearing that he would get even soem day.  

The split didn't destroy the lines of communication between the three completely.  He talked to Bushkin. If he hadn't, Leno would never have guest-hosted the "Tonight Show."

Jerry met Helen, who was a writer's representative, when he called her office for some menial thing.  Helen could be very foul mouthed, and by the end of the conversation she had told him to "Fuck Off" and hung up one him.  Jerry found that interesting.  No woman had ever spoken to him like that.  When she called a few hours later to apologize after she "found out who I was," and he asked her to dinner. 

Soon after, they were married, moved to California and worked the management business Jerry had started with Jimmie Walker.  Helen still represented writers.  She did most of the work in that department, but Jerry, at 6'4" and 250 lbs. (at least) was still the Ruler of the Roost everywhere except when it came to Leno.  Helen made all of those decisions.  Believe me, there were huge fights, with glassware flying down the hall at Jerry's head when it came to what Leno was going to do and not do.  A little bit of a thing, Helen actually slammed the ten foot tall door to her office so hard that the frame came out of the wall.

But I digress.  How did Leno get the guest host job?  According to Jerry, wanting to please Helen and knowing that the job was Leno's dream, he called Henry Bushkin and said, "You owe me for what you did with the law practice.  Carson was my client, and you stole him.  I want you to get Leno on as the guest host.  That's the least you can do.  He's a good kid."

According to Jerry, no one wanted Leno, and no one liked him for the job - except Freddie DeCordova.  But after a few more phone calls and a little more guilt tripping of Bushkin, Leno got the gig.

Helen was happy.  Jerry was happy because Helen was happy.  He went to every show with Leno.  He also went to every shoot for the Doritos commercials with him.  I believe it was because Jerry wanted to be a performer himself not because Leno needed a guardian.

The PR about the success of Joan Rivers or Leno as guest hosts was just that - PR.  Leno got about four fan letters a month - I answered them - and a hundred headlines to use on the show.  And Helen's focus was securing the show for Leno not screwing over anyone.

Helen certainly had nothing against Arsenio Hall.  Despite the stories out there, she came back from FOX one afternoon and said, "I just told Patty Bougouis (sp) that they had better offer Arsenio whatever money he wants before someone else gets him."

That's the truth about Helen trying to put a stop to Arsenio getting a show.  She encouraged FOX long before Hall ever went to Paramount.  Helen might have gotten bitchy about which stars went on which shows once Leno got the "Tonight Show," but Carson put limits on those who were on his show too.  The difference . . . Helen had no tact.

Helen and Jerry had represented both Letterman and Leno as well as Jimmie Walker and Elaine Boozler.  She wasn't about to do anything to harm Letterman, and she already knew he wasn't going to get the show.

Christmas 1987 or maybe 1988, half of Hollywood was on the Big Island in Hawaii.  Helen was at the pool talking to Brandon Tartikoff about Leno being put on the Tonight Show permanentaly after Carson left.  The day they got back she told me, Tartikoff said, "We have done the research.  Letterman will never get the show because he won't be able to hold the audience.  And Jay won't get it either if he doesn't learn to to something besides hold up newspaper headlines."  She was worried about what they could get him to do.  She didn't know if he could do anything else except his signature bit.

The PR was that Leno wrote all the jokes himself.  That was not true.  The absolute rule was to stop everything whenever anyone came in the door claiming to have sold Leno a joke.  Every morning before he was to be on the "Tonight Show" the fax with the night's jokes would come in from somewhere in Pennsylvania.  I don't remember the fellows name.  It's been too long.

Frequently, guys would come to the office and say they had talked to Leno backstage, given him a joke, and he had told him to come get their money.  True or not, they were paid immediately.  So what was Helen going to do to make sure Leno became the permanent host?  I don't know.  Jerry ticked me off so bad one day, I walked out.  Helen called later that afternoon and thanked me for putting up with him as long as I did.

What I do know is that Carson fired Bushkin a few weeks before I left.  I will never forget the smile of satisfaction on Jerry's face when he told me he had offered Bushkin space in the office if he needed somewhere to hand his hat.  Jerry didn't expect him to, nor did he, accept.  But Jerry was gloating while continually repeating that he was not gloating. 

And Helen delivered for Leno. 

Jerry died before Carson left the show, and Helen secured it for Leno.  She did it on her own, and it is a shame she was portrayed by Cathy Bates in the way she was.  Helen and Bates did have similar hairstyles.  That's as far as it went.  Helen had the best body on a woman her age I've ever seem.  Helen never shuffled down a hall anywhere in her life.  She walked with direction and a clip in her step.  And I can't imagine Helen, for one minute, walking around with a telephone headset on wheeling and dealing.

Until she was pushed into blowing up, Helen was extremely quiet.  I always thought her true desire was to be an interior designer.  She sat quiety in her office all day with her pencils and paper designing rooms.  She kept a tax number so she could shop at the Pacific Design Center on Melrose.  And you can see Helen's taste and design all over the original set of the "Tonight Show" when Leno took over.   

And, as far as Helen flying off the handle, Jerry used it to his advantage when he didn't have the guts to disagree with someone himself.  He would rile Helen up.  She would go nuts, and Jerry would come in to do damage contol as the nice guy.  He wasn't.

The truth about Helen is that, when she was about to go off half-cocked, all you had to do was put your hand on her shoulder, say "I'll take care of it," and she would calmly go back to her drawing.  As for the "Late Night Wars," that was in other people's heads because years before it had been decided Letterman would never get the show.

Las Vegas - 2013

A few days ago I wrote about my walk down the Las Vegas Strip after watching a half dozen episodes of the old "Vegas$" television show.  This morning I got up thinking about what the Strip used to be and what it is now.

Five years ago the Strip from Twain/Spring Mountain was a thriving, exciting place to be.  The bus stop in front of the Westward Ho and across the street from the Riviera always had dozens of people waiting to get on.  Now there is nothing but a deteriorating construction site. 

(NOTE:  the names of streets in Las Vegas can change two or three times in as many miles) 

The Stardust was a city block long with spitting fountains in front and a fascade that frequently won the Las Vegas Review Journal's "Best Of" award - for worst front.  It was pink and purple and reflective with a flashing neon sign and palm trees and landscaping.

For five years that same space has been a vacant lot with steel girders for buildings that may never be built and a half finished building rising in the air.  The property was recently sold, but that does not mean it will have completed buildings on the site any time soon. 

Tommy's Steak House, perhaps the best place for steaks in Las Vegas until five years ago, was housed in the Algiers, across the street and slightly to the north of the Stardust on the site where the  unfinished Fountainbleau now sits. 

There was a wonderful souvenier store attached to the Algiers.  A great place for tourists to get one of those t-shirts that says, "My Grandparents went to Las Vegas and All I Got was this Lousy t-shirt."  Now there is nothing but security guards and ferral cats. 

There are no plans to finish the Fountainbleau or immediate plans to raze it, although there has been some talk in the papers about tearing it down.  For what?  Another vacant lot for years to come. 

Las Vegas does a wonderful job of promoting itself.  It's too bad the county can't do something about developers whose dreams are bigger than their pocketbooks and who don't have the business savvy of the M.O.B.  It makes me wonder, who are the bigger theives?  The M.O.B. skimming a few million bucks while giving back to their customers or the corporations trying to squeeze every penny they can out of the public and giving nothing in return.  When looking at the two and a half miles of dirt and half built buildings, it's obvious who the smarter group is. 

The Neon Snare

The Neon Lady and

the Neon Knight

taking in the

neon sites

All dressed up

to go downtown

Hail a Cab

to get around

Play the slots

on Fremont Street

Stay inside

to avoid the heat

Watch a show

and stiff the waiter

Promising to

catch him later

Find a slot

that won't stop paying

Forget the time

and keep on playing

The Neon Lady

and the Neon Knight

Have to rush

to catch their flight

Almost miss it

but have no fear

They'll be back

to do it next year

This is a tribute to what used to happen in Las Vegas.  It is now difficult to find any machine that "pays,"  and people come, bring their kids, look at all the big buildings, pay a big price for a hotel room and go to Disneyland the next year.

"From Behind the Potted Plant" is available on Nook and Kindle.

I Miss Las Vegas . . . and I Live Here!

About six weeks ago I got so tired of nothing on television but screaming white trash housewives, infomercials and rerun after rerun after rerun I cancelled the cable.  I was nervous about it.  I've watched a couple of soap operas since they first aired.  Would I miss them?  Then I learned I could watch them on my computer and that opened up a whole new world.  It took a month to figure out I can watch all of network television on the internet . . . with no reruns - unless I want them.

I do admit to being addicted to MSNBC, CNN and FOX.  But, despite my addication, I was fed up with the constant 24/7 political blabbering.  At least MSNBC fills in their lack of substance with prison shows, but enough is enough.  Now I read the news on the internet or buy a newspaper.  I can watch Scott Pelle any time I want (he's so cute with that white hair).  But this isn't about my disapppointment in the level to which television has sunk.  It's about Las Vegas and the reason I miss Las Vegas despite living here.

In my search for things to entertain me on the internet I discovered episodes of VEGA$ with Robert Urich as Dan Tana from the 70s.  I sat and watched and watched until my behind got tired.  Then I decided I needed some exercise and took a walk down the Strip from Sahara to Convention Center Drive down Convention Center Drive to Paradise and through the LVH (formerly the Las Vegas Hilton and prior to that, when Elvis began appearing there, the International).  That is one beautiful hotel done right.  They have new ownerhip, or at least conservatorship in bankruptcy, and it looks good.  They've even made good use of casino space that wasn't drawing by increasing the bar to include a lounge/nightclub.  I won't be going to see if there's any business.  I have no desire to listen to a D.J. play that thumping noise they call music today.  For me, if I'm going out, I want to see the musicians playing the music.  I want to "feel their vibe."  And that's the beginning of what I miss about Las Vegas.

The city is no longer the entertainment capital of the world.  Unless they're acrobats flying through the air or rolling across the stage in elaborate costumes and make-up there are virtually no entertainers left, and showgirls are a dying breed.  Sure, there are one night concerts.  So what.  You can get that anywhere across the country.  Las Vegas is supposed to be special.

People used to plan their trips around the entertainers who were in the showrooms for at least two weeks at a stretch.  I remember seeing Kenny Rogers and the First Edition in the lounge at the Sands in the afternoon free of charge, and I was the only one there, but the music was there.  The live bodies of entertainers were performing, and everyone in the casino knew they were there.  They didn't have to be sitting in the lounge to enjoy the entertainment.

At one time in the 70s the marquee at the Desert Inn had nine acts on it.  None of them were D.J.s or canned music - we used to call that a Sock Hop.  They were live, talented performers, some of them with full orchestras. 

And Las Vegas architecture is gone.  Las Vegas is supposed to be big, gaudy and neon with its own identity.  Of course, there is virtually no architecture left on the walk I took.  The old El Rancho site at the Strip and Sahara has been a vacant lot for decades.  Across the street the Sahara is closed, under construction and going to be called something like SLS.  Its best Las Vegas feature, the neon dome at the entry, has been demolished.  The water park next door has been closed for years and is a vacant desert lot.  The old Thunderbird/Silverbird/second incarnation of the name El Rancho which stood vacant for years has been demolished.  The half built Fountainbleu has been standing - half built - for years and is known as cat city for all the ferral cats is houses. 

At least Circus Circus stands as it did in every episode of VEGA$.  It is a beacon in a very dim stretch of land.  Next door Slots a Fun, described as "this used to be an awsome place," by someone walking though at the same time I was, is now an empty cavern with slot machines on either end and chairs and beer pong tables in the center.  It was a great little dive.  Now it doesn't live up to dive standards.

They moved the McDonald's and demolished Denny's when they tore down the Stardust, and the wonderful Westward Ho with its horrible entertainment and great neon umbrellas is gone as is everything for the next half mile on the west side of the Strip. 

As I looked across the street, I smiled and silently thanked the new owners of the Riviera for keeping the name and whole Las Vegas cainso aura.  They've got a tough row to hoe sitting out there surrounded by nothing.  The La Concha with it conch shell exterior and the round check-in/gift shop of the El Morrcco  are vacant lots.  Even the half priced show ticket kiosks were closed. 

But hallelujah!  The wonderful, wonderful Peppermill stands proud.  I don't know that the food is as good as its reputation, but I can tell you that the bar is still the sexiest bar I've ever been in.  They have added a lot of neon since the last time I was there.  For a split second I thought "no!"  Then I thought,  Cool!  This is the place in Las Vegas where you take someone to romance them.

They have turned the Silver City Casino into a Ross Dress for Less, and of course, a Walgreens.  What would the world be without a Walgreens on every major corner?  Not as good as it is.  I love going from one store to the other in any state and always feeling at home.  They haven't changed much since they built the first one in my hometown when I was ten.  It's perfect and a success story from which Las Vegas developers could learn.  If it ain't, broke don't fix it.

The indoor skydiving place is still there.  I tried it once.  Thought I was going to die and sprained my finger when I slammed into the wall.  The guy who flies with you told me I was the ONLY person he'd ever had smash into the wall.  I believed him.  I watched a lot of people before I tried it.  I won't be doing it again, but anyone with a little adventure in them, and strong bones, might want to give it go. 

Next on the stop was the Royal Resort.  This place used to be, by far, the biggest dive in town.  It is now the best place in town.  It's a small hotel with a few slot machines, has a great bar, a fantastic restaurant, fabulous outside dining and tremendous decor.  If you're looking for romance, go to the Peppermill.  If you're looking for a drink and a little upscale intimate atmosphere, make it the Royal. 

The Bank of America building still stands in it's mirrored glory on Convention Center Dr. as it did in episodes of VEGA$.  It is mostly empty since the D.O.E.,  Bank of America and the Public Utilites Comission left.  Who cares.  It's a beautiful building -- by Las Vegas standards.

The homey Landmark Pharmacy is now vacant as is most of the space in the Somerset Shopping Mall.  It's sad the property has been allowed to run down, but at the height of the Real Estate boom in Las Vegas it was sold for many, many millions, but the deal fell through.  Now it languishes in growing ruin.

My personal favorite, the wonderful, wonderful Landmark with its spire reaching into the sky, seen so many times on VEGA$, is gone.  I used to seek up a back service stairway from the suite floors in the middle of the day and sit, alone, looking over the city, watching it expand into the desert.  Now, in its place, is a parking lot.  I may miss the Landmark more than anything that has disappeared into dust in the last fifteen years.

As I walked down Paradise to my little house in the neighborhood where the casino executives used to live, I couldn't wait to get back to my computer, Dan Tana and VEGA$ and immerse myself in what used to be and what should still be Las Vegas architecture and gaudiness.

Speaking of gaudy.  Just because it's new and has trees and walkways in front doesn't mean they haven't done Las Vegas interior gaudy one better in at least one of the new casinos, but that's for later. It's back to Dan Tana and, remembering the Desert Inn and listening to the operator page Burt Cohen and Ralph Lamb.  Those were the days.