On Christmas last year, my brother got, well, drunk. Which, I hasten to add, is OK, because he hardly ever does that, and because he let me drive him home, and that led us to the strange night in Obetz where we met the dog sitting at the bar.
Anyway, my Christmas present to my brother that year included a couple of CDs. One was a Robert Goulet collection, selected for one song — “Come Back to Me,” one of those Broadway B-sides I remember hearing a thousand different singers performing on the Merv Griffin Show. And part of being a happy drunk that Christmas night included him playing that song over and over. So now, with Goulet’s obituaries in the papers and the tributes pouring in, I’m not thinking of “If Ever I Would Leave You.” I’ve got three or four lines stuck in my head:
Don’t get lost in Korvette’s
Don’t get signed by the Mets
Take a train, take a plane,
Don’t give up cigarettes,
Come back to me…
There’s nothing like a great baritone, is there? Sigh.
I liked him in “Atlantic City,” m’self.
Off to carve pumpkins. Come back for pictures.