[published in Sierra Seasons Magazine]
I used to think that fairy tales were just for tiny tots. Despite the song “Young at Heart,” which proclaims “Fairy tales can come true, it can happen to you,” I just assumed that the star-dust magic of fairy tales glittered only in the lives of little children.
But then, unexpectedly, I found myself in the middle of a fairy tale all my own.
Here’s my story:
More than half a century ago, I heard an amazingly beautiful voice singing “Be My Life’s Companion and You’ll Never Grow Old.” I even remember the moment I heard this rich male voice….
The year was 1952. I was five and about to enter Kindergarten. That particular day, I was visiting my Aunt Clara (and favorite cousin, Nancy). Nancy and I were heading into the back yard to play, when, as I passed the kitchen table, I heard the most beautiful voice I’d ever heard coming out of my aunt’s radio. A man’s voice singing, “Be My Life’s Companion and You’ll Never Grow Old.”
Caught by the voice and the words of the song, I stopped still, and stood beside the table, a little tom-boy in braids and jeans, listening intently. The voice belonged to a singer named Julius La Rosa.
At the time, I had a crush on Hop-a-long Cassidy, that handsome, white haired cowboy with the big black hat, but when I heard Julius sing, my heart turned completely to him. I loved his voice, loved the words of the song and I especially loved his name. Julius La Rosa was fun to say. It felt and sounded like music.
For the next few weeks, I wandered around singing “Be My Life’s Companion” while I climbed trees and threw stones in Crooked Lake, near my house. My singing such a grownup song entertained and delighted the adults in my life.
But a five-year old’s attention span is short, and soon I was on to other things — the Howdy Doody Show and Kindergarten. Julius La Rosa faded from mind.
Until August 2007.
By then, I’d spent most of my life as a writer for newspapers and magazines, and was beginning to think about retiring. I lived with my husband in the California Gold Rush foothills of the Sierra Nevada. And on this particular August afternoon, I was trying to clean and organize my office.
I turned on PBS as I sorted through files. The show “Moments to Remember: Music of the 50s” was airing. While I sifted through piles of notes on my desk, I sang along with Rosemary Clooney, Ed Ames and Frankie Lane, enjoying old familiar songs from the ‘50s.
And then, suddenly, Julius La Rosa burst onto the screen singing “Eh Compari.” I couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t thought of him for more than 50 years. But there he was! His gorgeous smile, his sparkling eyes, his honey-rich voice. He looked like he was having the time of his life.
I felt like I was in a time warp “How old is he?” I wondered. I was 60. But watching and listening to him, I felt suddenly five again… and in love.
I knew I had to write him a fan letter. The desk clean-up stopped. I sat at my computer and wrote the best letter I could, telling him how much he had meant to me when I was pre-kindergarten and how today, at pre-retirement, his singing worked its same magic on my heart.
I found his website and saw that he was performing March 17 in Palm Desert, so I also wrote that my brother, Pete, who lives near Palm Desert, and I would try to make his performance. I wrote:
“It would be such a thrill to watch you in person…to be part of a live performance by the love of my 5-year-old heart.”
Once I finished the letter, I searched in vain for his address.
I even emailed on-line stores selling his CDs, asking how to contact Mr. La Rosa. But no one could help.
Back at his website, I noticed that he had sung at a New Jersey dinner club several times. Perhaps the club had his address. So I put my letter in an envelope, addressed it to Julius La Rosa in care of the club, adding “Please forward” and mailed it.
I wondered if my letter, dropped at our tiny Angels Camp Post Office in Calaveras County, would actually make it to the La Rosa residence.
Ten days later, a letter arrived from New York and when I opened the envelope, two pages, embossed with “Julius La Rosa” at the top, fell out. I sat at the kitchen table reading the letter over and over again.
“I have a favorite line from the many songs I know. It’s from Lorenz Hart’s “My Funny Valentine.” The third phrase in the song says: ‘you make me smile with my heart’ – and that, dear lady, is what your lovely letter of August 4th made me do,” he wrote. “Do try to make our show in Palm Desert. Promise too that you’ll let me know so we can meet and exchange a big hug – appropriate thanks for your warm letter!”
At the end of the letter he typed his telephone number. I was stunned.
I called Pete and we made plans to see “That’s Italian!” March 17 at the 1,127-seat McCallum Theatre in Palm Desert.
The next day during my morning workout at our local gym, I told the other women about getting a letter from Julius La Rosa. The older women sighed and explained who Julius is to the younger women: Big star from the ‘50s, gorgeous to look at, beautiful voice.
The following morning, a gym member who works for a thrift shop, said several magazines from the 1950s had come into the store and one of them had Julius on the cover. “Do you want it?” she asked.
“You bet.”
She brought me a 1952 Hit Parade Magazine. His picture filled the cover. I stared at the youthful face with its full head of thick, Italian curls, and thought, “This is what he looked like when I was crazy about him. Cute as a button!”
At Christmas, I sent the La Rosa’s a Christmas card and note saying that Pete and I would be at the March 17 concert.
He wrote back:
“Delighted that you’re planning to see the show. Don’t forget to let me know.”
And, before I knew it, it was March 16 and I was flying from Sacramento to Riverside County.
During the one-hour plane ride, I tried to imagine what would take place at the McCullam Theater. Would he peak out of the curtains and spy us in our seats before the show? Would we stay in our seats after everyone else left and then would he come and see us? Would he ask me to raise my hand during his performance? How would I actually get to meet him?
The evening of the concert, we drove to Palm Desert for dinner. Pasta seemed the appropriate prelude to a “That’s Italian!” concert. While we were eating, Pete asked, “Did you bring a piece of paper to write him a note and let him know you’re actually in the theater tonight?”
I had not. So, I immediately took a paper napkin and wrote that I and my brother were in seats F26 and F27 and we were looking forward to meeting him.
When we entered the theater, amid a stream of well-dressed, older couples, I asked a ticket-taker how to get a note to Mr. La Rosa. She took me to the head of security. I explained that I’d flown in for the concert at the invitation of Julius La Rosa and I wanted him to know that I was present for the show.
The head of security promised he would personally deliver my note. Then Pete and I found our seats.
Soon the lights dimmed, the curtain rose and the 14-piece Harry James Orchestra filled the place with rousing music. Blue and red stage lights heightened excitement, as the four stars — Julius La Rosa, Frankie Randall, Dick Contino and Pete Barbutti – walked out on stage.
Julius wore a tux with a crisp black tie and a deep, wine-red silk in his breast pocket. He looked (as Billy Crystal would say) mahhhvahless!
Frankie Randall sang “Got the World on a String” and “For Once in My Life.”
Then Dick Contino, who the concert program said was a teenage heartthrob in 1948, played his accordion with such artistry that he actually brought the audience to its feet.
And then it was all Julius La Rosa – full of graceful energy – taking center stage.
I felt like he was there just for me. In fact, as I realized I was actually seeing him live and in person, time slowed down and I became fully present. I was, as they say, totally in the now.
~ ~ ~
Julius walks the stage, talking to the audience as if we are his personal friends. He says he is 78, but moves like a much younger man.
He still has curls, although they have receded and they’re silver at the edges.
When he sings, “I Love You More Today Than Yesterday” his voice is fresh and rich. He hits the high notes with ease. His face is alight, as if he loves the music, loves singing every word and note of it.
He asks for the front lights to come on and I imagine it is so he can try to see us sitting there in F26 and F27.
He talks about his family and his grandson whom he loves.
Then he sings, “You’re Nobody Until Somebody Loves You,” face shining with the pleasure of the song.
Next is “Eh Compari” a lively, fun tune that the audience claps to.
He ends with “Make Your Own Kind of Music” and the applause is intense.
I could have listened for an hour.
After intermission, there is more music. Comedian Pete Barbutti comes on stage and makes us laugh.
Then the four stars come out together and share an Italian love fest with members of the audience…there’s more music, lots of applause and the show is over. The curtain closes.
“Now what?” I wonder. “How do I meet him?”
Pete and I hang around our seats while everyone else files out.
Eventually, when it is clear that no one is coming to meet us, we go to the lobby. It is nearly empty.
I find the theater manager and ask if he can phone Julius for us. He dials a cell phone, but says that Julius is in a party and there are scores of people talking to him and he’s too busy to take a phone call.
“Well,” I say. “How can I actually meet him? I flew here yesterday from Angels Camp specifically to meet him.”
He tells us to go outside and around the theater to the stage door and Julius will come out that way when he leaves the party.
Pete and I leave the theater, walk down the sidewalk, around the building, across a narrow asphalt parking area, to the stage door and stand there.
“Now I feel like a real teeny bopper,” I say. “Actually, this is kind of disappointing.” I’m standing there, my high heels growing ever more uncomfortable as the cool darkness surrounds us. Staring at a nearby dumpster, I wonder how long I’ll have to wait.
Another woman is also standing by the stage door, and after about 10 minutes, a man opens the door from inside and asks her if she is waiting for someone in particular. She says, “Please tell Raymond that Bev is out here.”
“Okay,” he says and starts to close the door.
I hurry over and say, “And could you please tell Julius La Rosa that Sunny Lockwood is out here waiting.”
“Sunny,” the man says. “You’re on the party list. You’re supposed to be in there.”
“I’m on the party list?”
“Yes, you and your companion,” he points to a sheet of paper with my name and many others on it.
I suddenly understand how I’m going to get to meet Julius. Pete and I follow the man down a long hall to the party room door.
The place is packed with people holding glasses of liquid refreshment. As we enter, the CEO of the theater is toasting the stars, saying the show was a great success and he wants the four to come back again.
I scan the room, trying to see the voice I have loved since I was five. Pete points past a stout, older man right in front of me, and there he is – Julius La Rosa — surrounded by adoring faces.
He’s engaged with the crowd – talking, laughing, his face alive with emotion.
I squeeze through the crowd until I’m directly in front of Julius. He looks at me expectantly. His eyes are large, brown and alight. His tie is undone, hanging down in two black strands and his shirt is open at the top.
I start to introduce myself, but the party noise overwhelms us. He leans forward, pointing to his right ear, saying that I have to speak loud and into that ear.
I lean very close and say, “I’m Sunny Lockwood from Angels Camp.”
He gasps and he pulls me to him in a heart-felt embrace, holding me and swaying back and forth, saying, “You’re the one who wrote the beautiful letter!”
Then he holds me at arms length and says, “And you came a long way, didn’t you.”
His warm hands cup my face and his own features are so animated that I feel like I’m being welcomed by a long-lost relative. He leans in and kisses my cheek.
I’m levitating. Right there. In the middle of all those people and all that noise, nothing exists but Julius and me and I’m floating.
After I catch my breath, I say, “I brought you a present.” His eyes widen with surprise.
I hand him the Hit Parade magazine in its clear plastic cover and he bursts out laughing. “Look at all that hair I had!” He shouts and shows the magazine to the men nearby. Everyone laughs.
Then I point to the little Xerox of my kindergarten photograph, that I’d tucked into the corner. “See,” I say, “When you looked like this” I point to his cover portrait, “I looked like this” I point to my kindergarten picture. He laughs heartily.
“You were wonderful tonight,” I say.
“That’s why I dedicated it to you,” he says, and he starts to sing “I Love You More Today Than Yesterday” to me. This is heaven. I’m not even breathing. I’m just listening, listening to his beautiful voice singing to me.
After a few bars, he says, “You know, your letter made me feel good.” He squeezes my arm. “And I gave you my phone number,” he says accusingly, like I should have called.
“I was too star struck.”
He shakes his head, face radiating affection. “Your letter,” he puts his hand on his heart, “It made me happy.”
I look at Pete, who has been snapping pictures the whole time, our eyes meet and we know without a doubt that Fairy Tales Can Come True.