The Credit Bomb Goes Boom

It's demoralizing reading about the meltdown in today's financial markets. Bank foreclosures, respected brokerage firms tanking, insurance company and bank bailouts, and sad to say, a serious erosion in investments for big and little players alike. I don't mean to depress you, but our reliance on credit has been our undoing. People getting mortgages they had no hope of paying off, greedy Wall Streeters coming up with "smoke and mirror" credit instruments that eventually sank us all, and consumers buying plasma TVs on plastic instead of waiting until they could afford to pay for them. OK, OK, I said I didn't mean to depress you and I'll stop now. You can read the headlines as well as I.

In the 1950s, credit cards were for the rich. If the average person couldn't afford something, they either saved up for it or did without. When credit cards first started being offered to "Joe the Plumber" it was the gasoline companies who led the charge. It was hard to get a credit card, even if it was only good for gas. The application form was pages long, you needed some type of credit history that demonstrated your credit worthiness, and they actually checked your information to make sure you were kosher. Many were refused and told to come back when they were better risks.

Today credit cards get mailed unsolicited to anyone with a pulse. The biggest deadbeats on the planet have wallets full of credit cards! If one is turned down by a store, they just whip out another. It never enters their empty heads that these bills will come due, they just keep swiping those cards until there is smoke coming off them. When the s**t hits the fan, they blithely declare bankruptcy, as if that solves everything. Soon their credit is trashed and they can't buy a pack of gum without cold cash.

Looking back, I remember that my parents never even had a checking account. Bills were paid in person in the days when the phone, gas and electric companies had offices in convenient locations, and people who (shocking) spoke English and took your money with a pleasant "Thank You". Insurance companies sent agents to your door to collect weekly premiums. My parents had a life policy, I think with Prudential, and their man rang our bell every week to pick up that week's payment....twenty-five cents! Some stores would allow you to buy on the "layaway plan" meaning you made installment payments on whatever item you bought, but only when it was paid off did you get to take it home. Banks offered "Christmas Clubs" where a customer could deposit as little as fifty cents a week starting in January and collect a whopping $26 at Christmas time to go shopping.

If you went for a bank loan, or even worse, a mortgage, you walked into that granite and steel building with a feeling of foreboding. You knew you would have to convince the meanest, most tight-assed bean counter that if he loaned you any money, he would be damned sure to get it back. The guy was ramrod straight with silver hair, a starched collar and a pocket watch that he looked at frequently to remind you how precious his time was, and that you'd better not waste any. He never smiled, never offered you coffee or a balloon for your kid...he just glared at you through those steel-rimmed spectacles and your blood froze. Bank tellers were cheerless folk ensconced behind steel bars waiting to take your money. It was far from a "customer friendly" environment, but deep down you knew your money was safe.

Today's banks are tiny storefront affairs with open cubicles, buckets of lolly pops and, and sappy elevator music. I can't tell if I'm in my bank or Starbucks. The bank manager looks like he or she should be behind the fryer at Wendy's. Your friendly banker will give you a wheelbarrow full of money if you pinky-swear to give it back.
NO, NO, NO.

Banks have to go back to being mean sons-of bitches. Credit card companies have to start actually checking who they are extending credit to, and brokerage houses have to stop this insane practice of "short selling" stock (delivering stock only on the buyer's promise to pay at a future date). Regulators have to (here's a novel thought) enforce the freakin' regulations!

I know we need credit to keep the economy moving and growing. All I'm saying is to set some reasonable parameters. It should be hard to get a loan. If you make a bad investment, why should I have to bail you out? Credit is like crack-cocaine, and consumers need to be weaned off. We can climb out of this hole, but it will take some tough love, baby.

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Neighborhood Characters: Sophie and Joe

Joe and Sophie were married to each other, probably because no one else would marry them. I think Sophie may actually have been a distant cousin of my mother from the days when Mom lived in Camden, New Jersey. She always referred to my mother in her drawly, rural Jersey accent as "Cumarrrr Frances". (The word "comare" in Italian was used for the word godmother,or a very close friend of the family...then it became a slang term for mistress or lover, as Tony Soprano will gladly tell you.)


Where shall I begin? Sophie was less than five feet tall and more than five feet wide. She had a porcine face with a snout-like nose and innumerable chins, one of which was home to a large, black mole with hairs sprouting out of it. Her hair was worn severely combed back into a tight bun. To complete the picture, she wore rimless glasses that greatly magnified her lifeless brown eyes. Sophie always wore brown dresses....I think it had something to do with a religious sodality to which she belonged. Because of her weight, her legs were always wrapped in ace bandages, and her feet, dainty for her size, were shod in clunky brown shoes that looked like they were taken off a dead Quaker.



Sophie never worked to my knowledge, but she did have a "job" of sorts; she fell down. Once, after slipping on an icy sidewalk, Sophie was hoisted to her feet by the apologetic store owner and offered some cash to forget her mishap. I'm guessing that this incident triggered a miracle of sorts for Sophie, kind of like Bernadette's vision at Lourdes, because after that, she fell down on a regular basis. Every store owner in the neighborhood dreaded the sight of Sophie lumbering down an icy sidewalk toward his store. In a way, her periodic flops did a world of good for everybody in the neighborhood. Because of Sophie, there wasn't an icy sidewalk to be found in all of East New York.



Her husband Joe, or "Goombah Joe" as he was known, was a perfect partner for Sophie. If "Harmony.com" existed back in those days, Joe would have been the one and only match to Sophie's application. Joe was a retired sanitation man. His appearance was striking.... short and stocky in stature, with a dark, swarthy complexion, a hawklike beak for a nose, and a full head of jet black hair streaked with grey. His legs were bowed, and he had a rolling gait like Popeye's when he walked. He always dressed in a rumpled, ill-fitting suit that looked like he had picked it up along his route before retiring.



He was also partial to bizarre neckties that he fastened to his shirt with not one, but three tie-pins. I can still see them like the rungs of a ladder climbing up his shirt....one was in the shape of a sunburst, one was his Holy Name Society pin, and I can't remember the third. One final note about Joe, he insisted on planting a fragrant kiss on my cheek every time he saw me. Now kissing among Italians was not unusual, but Joe loved garlic, and his breath could kill a small mammal. I soon learned to duck him. He found it funny, but I knew my very life depended on it.



When Goombah Joe was working his garbage route, he rarely passed up any trash that had life left in it. Their small apartment was strewn with crap. As much as I hated visiting them, I must confess that the curiosity of what I might encounter lying around on the floor was a powerful draw. There were three-legged chairs, assorted pots and pans, single shoes (collecting these completely mystified me unless Joe anticipated losing a leg), broken picture frames, parts of musical instruments...you name it, Joe had it. Since they had no place to store these treasures, they just lived with them. It wasn't unusual to have to move a toaster with no electric cord before you could sit down.



Sophie and Joe were, shall we say, thrifty. I think they may have originated the custom of leaving the "envelope" empty when they attended a wedding until they saw the quality and quantity of the food and drink. If everything was to their liking, they may have thrown caution to the winds and sprung for a $20 wedding gift. They are also among the few people I have ever seen taking "leftovers" home from a wedding. Sometimes on my birthday, Sophie would glance around to make sure my mother wasn't looking, and then take a quarter wrapped in a tissue and press it into my hand like she was slipping me the Hope diamond.



Characters were abundant in my old neighborhood. As the old TV show "Naked City" used to say: "There are over 8 million stories in the naked city". Sophie and Joe were one of them.





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Christmas in the Hood

Christmas was always a special time for families in our Brooklyn neighborhood. It was probably the one time that people who watched their pennies all year splurged without guilt. For us kids, it wasn't just about the presents. There was a whole different feel in the air...an excited hustle and bustle as everyone rushed around buying and decorating trees, shopping for food and gifts, building snow forts, and of course, buying out the fish store for the traditional, Italian Christmas Eve feast. (We rarely ate fish in my house, although Mom would grudgingly prepare the smelly, salted-cod dish called "Baccala" for my father.

A word about Christmas trees. Back then there were no "tree farms" whose sole crop was fat, perfectly shaped Christmas trees delivered just in time for the holidays. Trees were usually scrawny affairs, with sparse sections that had to be turned toward the wall so that they wouldn't show so much. Fast forward fifteen years and meet Belle, my sweetheart of a mother-in-law. Just as I was lucky enough to meet and marry my wife Jasmine, I was equally lucky in having such supportive in-laws like Belle and Ray, who always treated me like a son.

Anyhow, Belle was not so accepting of nature's imperfect Christmas trees. She would have Ray drill holes into the trunk of the tree and insert extra branches to fill out its shape. There is a famous poem by Joyce Kilmer that concludes with the lines: "Poems are made by fools like me, but only God can make a tree". I guess Belle never read that one.

Rewind back to the fifties. Not only Christmas trees, but Christmas decorations were far from perfect in those days. Tree lights were not the strings of tiny, low-wattage bulbs we hang now, but the large, 9 watt-per-bulb babies that got very hot. There was a particular type of light that featured a small reservoir of colored fluid at the base, topped by a tube-like stem at the top. It was supposed to look like a candle. As the fluid in the base heated up, bubbles would continuously rise up through the stem. It looked very pretty, but was probably responsible for many fire insurance claims.

It wasn't customary back then, as it is now, to start the Christmas season in early October. We had enough respect for the Thanksgiving holiday to celebrate it properly before the mad rush to Christmas. Traditionally, the appearance of Santa Claus at the end of Macy's Thanksgiving parade was the official beginning of the Christmas season. Now, greedy retailers want us to start shopping just after the Fourth of July.

Christmas Eve was spent at Grandma and Grandpa Camardi's house on Hull Street. (See 10/6/08 post: "Those Who Came Before" for their story.) Fried zeppoles were a special treat, cooked in a large tub of hot oil and sprinkled with powdered sugar. While the adults rolled up the rugs and danced, the kids got to play a great game we called "Spin for Pennies" A brass, spinning top-like device was spun by each kid in turn. Whoever it pointed to would then follow the different instructions written around the perimeter of the top such as "take one" meaning whoever's turn it was would take one penny out of the pot. The best result if it was your turn would be "take all" meaning you got the whole pot. This was the kiddie equivalent of three sevens on the slot machines. (I later found out that the game we played was a Jewish one called "Dradle". Who knew?

Christmas day itself was the same then as for kids today...fevered excitement. We had to wait until Christmas morning to open our gifts. As I think back, I don't remember ever being disappointed. I now realize how much my parents had to sacrifice to get the three of us what we really wanted, and love them all the more for it. Later that day we would gather at Aunt Anna's and eat like the Russians were in Newark. Italians ate the equivalent of at least three dinners on holidays.

My final Christmas memory is of borderline arson. People didn't keep their trees very long in those days. They dried out and became dangerous. One or two days after Christmas, trees would be put out for collection by the Sanitation Department, unless we beat them to it. We would gather up all the trees we could find and pile them up in a vacant lot across the street from my house. (You see of course where this is going.) After a while we had a crackling blaze going, with flames three stories high. Young boys are fascinated with fire, and we just kind of stood around watching it burn out. One windy year, some airborne embers threatened the neighborhood and the fire department was called. Funny how things work out...my son Mike is now an FDNY Lieutenant, helping to put out the fires that idiot kids like me used to start. Karma at its best.

It seems like maybe three months between Christmases these days. Growing older means that time moves along at warp speed. Watching "Its a Wonderful Life" every year reminds me that I've been blessed with a great family, and nothing gives me more pleasure than spending the holidays with them. Even though its only October, Merry Christmas everyone.

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"C'mon, Pull My Finger"

Most Catholic churches in the fifties held what were called "Confraternity Dances", usually on Friday nights. They were for teens, mostly from the local parish, but some became so successful that outsiders frequently attended. The dances usually featured a live band, and the better-known places like St. Fortunata's church on Linden Blvd. had great Latin bands like Tito Puente and Prez Prado that went on to achieve fame. My friends and I traveled as far as Manhattan and the Bronx to go to places that had the best music, and therefore the best selection of ladies. Oh yeah.

We usually traveled in groups of four or five guys. True, it was a dance, but when you ventured outside your home turf, it was nice to know that somebody had your back. The social dynamic at these functions was most interesting. Usually the girls would sit on one side of the dance floor and the boys on the other. Asking a girl to dance required a long walk across the dance floor (in full view of all assembled) and running the risk of getting shot down in flames. This is the true meaning of courage. Guys tended to set their sights low early in the evening, and only if they were rewarded with some success, did they aim higher.

One of the biggest assets in our group was my buddy Phil. He was not only tall and good looking, but unlike the rest of us, had taught himself how to dance from watching American Bandstand on television. (This was a great show with Dick Clark that featured Philadelphia teens dancing on-camera, with guest appearances by the up and coming rock and roll artists of the day.) The kids on the show were regulars, and soon became so popular that they had a following all their own. Anyhow, Phil was our babe magnet, and the rest of us were like the fish known as "remora" who attach themselves to sharks and feed off the leavings of the shark's meals.

Once Phil had established a beach head, the rest of the landing party would bring up the rear. Usually the girls he danced with had friends who mistakenly assumed we could all dance like Phil. Imagine their surprise when they discovered what "spastics" we were. It required some fast talking and no small amount of charm to overcome our "terpsicorically challenged" performances on the dance floor. Phil was our "Trojan Horse", there to lure the unsuspecting ladies into our waiting arms.

We dressed in jackets and sometimes neckties for these dances. (This was back before people appeared in public in pajama bottoms and ratty t-shirts.) Being on limited budgets, there was one shameless fashion trick we used to make our wardrobes more appealing; when men's crew-neck sweaters came into vogue, we simply took our old V-neck sweaters and wore them backwards. This clever deception was never noticed since we typically wore jackets over our sweaters, Hey, it's a meat market out there, and we had to compete, damn it.

Our feelings and behavior toward the opposite sex were so naive and klutzy. This was a whole new universe for teen boys with raging hormones and absolutely no clue about how to talk to girls. Nothing in our experience prepared us for socializing with young ladies who, for some reason, were not bowled over by our sure-fire "pull my finger" gag. Luckily, the girls knew what freaks we were, and treated us like wild beasts who could be tamed with kindness and soothing words. Schools should encourage classes in social interaction starting in fifth grade....not so much sex education, but just how to behave in the presence of the opposite sex.

It's too late for my generation, but have mercy on our grandchildren.

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Can You Hear Me Now?

In a time when we all carry cell phones that are compact, mobile, take still and video pictures, and on some models even give us driving directions, it's remarkable to note that in my lifetime, telephones were once a luxury. In fifties Brooklyn, people with phones had officially "arrived". Early telephones were a far cry from the sleek instruments we use today. They were heavy and clunky looking, with a rotary dial (no push buttons); you could choose from any of the following colors: black.

If you asked someone from fifties Brooklyn what their "area code" was, they would probably quicken their pace to get away from you. Telephone numbers then consisted of just seven digits, a two letter "exchange" designation followed by five numeric digits. (Is that an oxymoron?) For example, my first phone number was HYacinth 8-6927. (Don't ask me where my car keys are, but this I remember.) To reach me you would dial the first two letters of the exchange (in my case HY) followed by the remaining digits. Exchanges had names like MUrray Hill, GRamercy, MElrose and WAverly. Some phone numbers became a part of popular culture like Glen Miller's great swing tune PEnnslyvania 6-5000 and John O'Hara's novel BUtterfield 8. (Also a movie with Liz Taylor.)

To make a long distance call required the assistance of a phone company operator. They had to make the connection for you...no direct dial. "Collect" calls, where the person on the receiving end paid the charges, were also possible. The biggest scam in the history of the telephone involved people who were travelling. They would make a collect call to someone to let them know they had arrived safely. When the operator asked the person being called if they would accept the charges for the call, they always said no. In this way they knew their loved ones had made it to their destinations and didn't have to pay for that information.

It wasn't uncommon for people who had no phones to give out their neighbor's telephone number in case of emergencies. If they got a call, the neighbor would ring their bell and they would come in to take the call. (This was in the days when neighbors actually spoke to each other.) Another option was to go down to the local candy store to make your calls using a pay phone. They were installed in lovely wooden booths with upholstered seats and a light that went on when you closed the door. Some even had little fans to keep you cool. They were probably roomier than some Manhattan "efficiency" apartments. One problem with pay phones was people using "slugs" or round metallic discs instead of nickels to make calls. (Criminals were a lot thriftier in the fifties.)

Rural telephone service in the fifties was even more primitive. Local calls could not always be direct dialed and an operator had to "ring" the party you wished to call. Residential customers often shared a "party line" in which two or more customers are connected directly to the same line. In order to distinguish one customer from another, operators developed different ringing patterns. If the call was for the first subscriber to the line, the ring might be two short rings, if the call was for the second subscriber, the ring would sound another way, such as a short ring followed by a long one, and so on. All subscribers on the line heard all rings, The polite ones only picked up if the ring pattern was theirs. Only common decency kept them from listening in to all calls on the party line. (Our aim is to entertain and to educate.)

In about 50 years, telephones have gone from a wonderful convenience to a giant pain in the ass. In place of the friendly Ma Bell operator who took care of all your service needs, you now have to call six different "service providers" until you find one who condescends to come out, usually to tell you that you need to call someone else. Voicemail means you can never duck an unwanted call. But the biggest pain of all is the pinheads whose empty and endless cell phone conversations you're forced to listen to all freakin' day. Who cares what you're doing for dinner tonight, or that you saw the cutest blouse at Macy's today...just shut the hell up.

There, I feel better now.

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Radio Days

"Radio Days" is the title of a 1987 movie in which Woody Allen recalls the golden age of radio. A series of vignettes involving radio personalities of the day is intertwined with the life of a working class family in Rockaway Beach, NY circa 1942 (the year I was born). The movie is a sweet reminiscence of Allen's own childhood, and anyone who grew up during that period knows that Woody got it right. From the 1930's to the early 1950's, radio was the pre-eminent form of entertainment for most American families. Whether it was after dinner listening to well-known family favorites like Jack Benny, or up in your room under the covers in the dark listening to scary stories on Lights Out, the radio, fueled by your imagination could take you anywhere.

When I say radio, I'm talking about a serious looking piece of furniture that dominated living rooms the way your plasma TV does today. Early radio manufacturers included Crosley, Admiral, Philco, Atwater-Kent and many others. My wife recently bought me a couple of CD sets of old radio shows, and listening to them was a thrill. (I thrill easily these days.) They brought back wonderful memories of some favorites from my radio days:

In an earlier post, I mentioned that Joe DiMaggio was one of my childhood heroes. The Lone Ranger was another. He and Tonto always turned up wherever they were needed, never shot to kill, never waited around to be thanked, and left behind a silver bullet to remember him by. All together now, as he and Tonto ride into the sunset: "Who was that masked man?"

Adventure shows were plentiful. I liked The Green Lantern, Gene Autry, Sergeant Preston of the Yukon, and The Third Man starring Orson Welles. Welles also voiced The Shadow, whose opening line was: "Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of Men, the Shadow". Typically these shows featured a cliff-hanging ending guaranteed to have you glued to your radio for next week's episode.

We had spooky shows too. The one that I remember best was a show called Lights Out. It began with a man saying in a deep, other-worldly voice: "L-i-i-i-ghts Out". When I think about the graphic gore in today's horror films, I smile thinking about how these two lousy words scared the crap out of me. The show later transitioned successfully to TV and scared me even worse.

Comedy shows were also popular. Jack Benny, Groucho Marx, Ozzie and Harriet, and a show that eventually became a favorite of mine when it moved to television, Amos and Andy. The show was driven off the air by pressure from African-Americans who considered the show racist. I can see their point for the radio show, which starred two white men, but the TV show had an all black cast and was less racist than some of the TV shows on today that depict blacks as horrible stereotypes.

The characters on Amos and Andy represented blacks from all walks of life in truly funny situations. The show was an example of other shows of the day that depicted ethnic families in funny situations. Some examples: Luigi Bosco (Italians); The Goldbergs (Jews). Cancellation of the show not only deprived viewers, but put a lot of black actors out of work.

It's hard to convey what radio meant to us. Kids today, with their laptops, video games and cell phones would probably find it incredibly tame. For us it was a magic carpet.

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What Ever Happened to Good Manners?

Recently, while walking in the park behind three young mothers wheeling toddlers in strollers , I heard one of them casually remark: "So I said to him, twenty bucks? Jesus, it's only a f***ing pumpkin!"

I can hear her kid in a few years: "Hey Mom, where's my f***ing juice box?" Using foul language in mixed company is commonplace. I hear conversations in public places that make me cringe. What ever happened to good manners?

The "me first" attitude of too many people today diminishes the world in which we live. The little niceties we used to observe seem to be vanishing. Here's an example. Respect for authority is no longer taught to many children.

If a kid misbehaves in school, the parent comes hunting for the teacher's head without ever learning the facts in the matter. Many kids never hear the word "No". As a result, they grow up to become anything ranging from seriously annoying to cold-eyed serial killers. Hint: A well-timed spanking will do more than 50 time-outs.

Etiquette used to be taught in schools. Simple courtesies like holding doors open, giving your seat to an elderly person, even social skills like how to set a table, or make an introduction reminded us that consideration for others was something that was expected of us. We need to get back to that.

People today seem to have the attention spans of moths. They are too busy either jabbering into their cell phones, surfing on their laptops, or engaging in some other self-centered activity to even notice there are actually other people around, much less act with any consideration for them. In a typical day, you might be asked to deal with the guy who guns his car in front of you as the light changes; the thoughtless loudmouth who asks when you're going to start having kids; the customer service person reciting moronic, memorized platitudes.... it goes on and on.

Modesty in dress is another breach of good manners. I see women today showing more cleavage in church than most husbands in my day saw on their honeymoons! I see 200 pound women wearing Spandex pants! Don't even talk to me about Speedos. "Casual" has come to mean wearing your pajama bottoms to Waldbaums. Look at any old movie or TV show and notice how the people were dressed. Women wore dresses or skirts and blouses, men wore suits and ties, and I'm not talking the wealthy or business class, but everyday folks. I know we'll never get back to that, and that's OK, but there must be some middle ground.

I stopped at Burger King the other day to buy a dangerously unhealthy breakfast. The manager had set up shop at a rear table and was interviewing young people for jobs. One kid was wearing a heavy metal t-shirt and cut-off jeans, another a doo-rag with his pants falling off his behind.... you get the picture. People just don't care how they look. For my first job interview as a low-level bank clerk, I dressed like Gregory Peck in "The Man in the Grey Flannel Suit."

I know, I know, I'm just a cranky old man who's bothered by everything. That's probably true, but nonetheless, that doesn't make my point any less valid. Parents, instead of worrying about what brand of sneakers your kid is wearing, or if his computer or plasma TV is the latest model, teach the little heir some manners. All the crap we buy them does not compensate for failing in our responsibility to pay attention to what kind of person they are becoming.

If you think manners are no longer important, think again. They affect how others perceive us, and tell others about how we perceive ourselves.

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Rock Around the Clock

Popular music in the fifties was in transition. Big band and swing music was still popular, but the post-war generation was searching for a musical form they could call their own. That search ended in 1954 when Bill Haley and the Comets recorded "Rock Around the Clock". I still wanna boogie whenever I hear that song.

Rock Around the Clock created a sensation when first released, and received additional exposure in the movie of the same name. The film was banned in many countries after reports of teenagers ripping up the theater seats in their excitement over the loud, raucous music on the soundtrack. Rock and Roll was born.

There were so many rock groups in the early days that it would be difficult to name them all. Some were "one-hit-wonders" while others had real staying power. I liked The Platters, Dion and the Belmonts, The Diamonds, The Temptations, The Shirelles, The Four Seasons and The Ronettes.

Besides the groups, there were also individual performers whose unique style made them an integral part of the early history of Rock and Roll. Some of my favorites:

Elvis. Perhaps more than anyone, Elvis Presley personifies the definitive rock and roller. His songs and movies of the fifties and sixties propelled him to the top of the charts. Even after the Beatles and the British invasion of rock, Elvis kept reinventing himself and made comeback after comeback. If I had to pick one person to represent the genre, it would have to be "The King".

Connie Francis. Born Concetta Rosa Maria Franconero in Newark, NJ, Connie's breakout hit was "Who's Sorry Now". That was followed by top sellers including: "Where the Boys Are", "Everybody's Somebody's Fool" and Stupid Cupid". She had such a distinctive sound, and in hit after hit, connected with the teens to the tune of 24 gold albums.

Jerry Lee Lewis. One of early rock's wild men, Jerry Lee burst onto the music scene around 1956 with such piano-pounding hits as “Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On” and “Great Balls of Fire”. Through a life marked by controversy and personal tragedy, Lewis has remained a defiant figure who refuses to be pigeonholed. Still recording today, he is accorded "icon" status as one of the great rockers of all time.

Little Richard. "A-wop-bom-aloo-mop-a-lop-bam-boom," the famous opening line of "Tutti Frutti" (1955), launched Little Richard's career and remains his signature tune. Along with Elvis, Little Richard, with his slick curls, stiletto-thin mustache, and outrageous behavior helped define early rock and roll. Other memorable hits include "Slippin' and Slidin'," "Long Tall Sally," and "Good Golly Miss Molly."

Johnny Mathis. I couldn't do "fast dances" as a teen, so I prayed for a Johnny Mathis record so that I could get out on the floor. Johnny's romantic ballads like "Wonderful, Wonderful", "It's Not for Me to Say" and his first number one, "Chances Are". With 75 albums and over 100 million records sold, he remains one of my generations favorite performers. On behalf of all the acne-plagued Romeos with two left feet, thanks Johnny.

Roy Orbison. I have a CD of Roy Orbison's Greatest Hits, and it's mind boggling just how many mega-hits this guy put out. Roy had one of the great rock and roll voices: a forceful tenor with amazing range, which he displayed on songs like “Only the Lonely”, “Oh! Pretty Woman,” "Crying"and "Dream Baby". Sadly, he left us too soon at age 52.

Dick Clark. Many people know Dick as the old guy who ushers in the New Year on channel 7. His TV show, "American Bandstand" was the venue for new rock and roll artists in the fifties. The show debuted in 1957, and featured Philadelphia teens (who became celebrities in their own rite) dancing in a studio, and guest artists performing their latest songs. Dick was a rock impressario who launched many a career on his show, which lasted into the 1980s.

I love all kinds of music, (except rap) but there will always be a special place in my heart for the unforgettable doo-wop sounds and artists of the fifties.

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