An Evening Out
Fri., October 17, 10:08 AM
I mentioned this in passing last month, and I realized I’ve got to tell the story. It takes place more than ten years ago, when Husband was still fairly active and interested in fun.
I should begin by telling you that both Husband and I were big fans of Jerry Vale. We even replanned part of our honeymoon so that we could stop off and see Jerry in concert. Knowing our preferences, one of our daughters tried for free tickets on one of those call-in radio shows. And she won, so we had two tickets to see Jerry Vale at Lake Compounce, an amusement park/music venue about forty miles north of here.
Husband was double excited because the kids at the Home had been taken there several times. So, in addition to getting to see Jerry Vale, he would get to see some childhood memories. I decided to go early enough that we could walk around before the concert was to start.
A couple of days before the concert, the promoters announced that Jerry had become ill. They had engaged Sergio Franchi as a replacement. Though I would have preferred Jerry Vale, I knew that Sergio had a good voice, and I was sure that the concert would be fine. (Besides, you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.) Husband was more than disappointed, he was upset. To begin with, “I wanted to see Jerry Vale, not this Frankie fellow.” In addition, he had no one to blame. Could he blame Jerry for getting sick? Could he blame the promoters for hiring a replacement instead of canceling the concert? He was just mad, and he bitched right up until we got in the car – and all the way to Lake Compounce.
I was driving; Husband always had trouble driving new routes, and I had been that way before. Now he had a new complaint: I was taking the wrong route. I don’t like the northbound interstate, so I was taking a parallel route, and he was sure I was going to get lost. We didn’t; we even got there in plenty of time. And Lake Compounce had changed in the last fifty years or so.
The rides were different. The vendors were different. “That didn’t have that last time I was here.” We walked over to the lake, and the dock had been enlarged. “They didn’t have that when I was here.” I offered to buy him something to eat, but he wasn’t interested. (He gets frugal at the darnedest times.) We walked by the parking lot, but “they didn’t have that when I was there.” Finally I snapped, “did they have cars when you were here?”
So we walked over to the concert area and found ourselves some seats. They weren’t reserved seats, but they were seats, not grass. (And they were free!) He was still grumbling when the show started.
The opening act was accordionist Dick Contino and his band. Husband perked up. He always like Dick Contino and wondered whatever happened to him. (I guess Contino had entertained troops sometime in the early fifties; that would have given Husband a connection.) Husband was feeling better.
Then came the star, Sergio Franchi, whom Husband had never heard. He had a beautiful voice, the kind that Husband appreciates. His choice of material comprised many songs that Husband loves. Husband sat there proclaiming, “beautiful, beautiful!” with nearly every number. As long as he didn’t try to sing along (he can’t carry a tune), I wasn’t too embarrassed.
All the way home – and after we got there – he kept telling me, “I never said I didn’t want to go!” Thank goodness I had witnesses. I was far too young to be losing my mind. We both had a good time, but I don’t know whether he remembers “that Frankie fellow.”
