Little Girl Blue

by Randy L. Schmidt

  Karen and Richard returned to members of Spectrum in hopes of reassembling the original group to cover additional vocal harmonies. “We can’t sing six parts,” they explained. “Would you like to come back?”

  “No, thanks,” said Leslie Johnston, who was still singing lead for another group. “I knew that with the Carpenters I’d just be a backup,” she explains. “So they became famous and I didn’t!”

  Former Spectrum bassist Dan Woodhams did accept the invitation to join the group, as did guitarist Gary Sims following his return from a stint in the Army Reserve. High-spirited college friend Doug Strawn was recruited to play multiple reed instruments. He also sang and had a great musical ear after years of experience fine-tuning chords in various barbershop quartets like the Dapper Dans, who had appeared on Your All-American College Show in 1968. Bob Messenger, the introverted and eldest member of the group, was equally adroit on bass guitar, saxophone, and flute. The group assembled was one of multiple talents with a common thread of determination to please Karen and Richard. Each would later learn that was not easy to accomplish, but they remained steadfast in their efforts nonetheless.

  John Bettis was managing a club called the Babylon in San Francisco when a patron gave him a copy of Cashbox showing “Close to You” at #3 with a bullet. He immediately returned to Los Angeles but did not wish to sing with the group. Instead he signed on as a writer with Almo Publishing for a salary of seventy-five dollars a week. For years he would spend six days a week, fifty-two weeks a year, on the A&M lot. He likened it to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer in its heyday, only smaller.

  The new group spent months rehearsing daily on the A&M sound-stage, where they tweaked every nuance and worked to accomplish the optimal mix between microphones and instruments. For the singers, pure, tall, and unified vowel sounds and shapes were of prime importance for the desired blend. Each chord was isolated and tuned. Passages were rehearsed a cappella with each singer trying a different vocal part until the finest balance was achieved. For the earliest gigs, most of which were one-nighters, rented cars and a Ryder truck were the standard means of transportation. Karen, Richard, and the guys in the band would unload, set up, perform, tear down, and reload for each appearance. Family friend Evelyn Wallace was asked to set up a bookkeeping system to keep track of the group’s earnings and expenses and began working from the Carpenters’ home in order to set up forms, pay bills, and distribute any remaining money between Karen, Richard, and the band.

  The Carpenters continued as the opening act in a series of shows for Burt Bacharach, including a run at Westbury Music Fair in New York and a week-long stay at the Greek Theater in Los Angeles. “The five-member group is at its best on whisper-like vocals on their hit and the Beatles’ ‘Ticket to Ride,’” wrote Los Angeles Times music critic Robert Hilburn. “They were far less effective on up-tempo efforts like ‘Can’t Buy Me Love.’ The group received only fair response.”

  Receiving far more than “fair response” was “Close to You,” which was climbing the charts and gaining widespread recognition. As a result the Carpenters were booked to make numerous television appearances as guests of David Frost, Ed Sullivan, and Johnny Carson. Seeing Karen and Richard at the premiere taping of The Don Knotts Show during the summer of 1970, college friend Dan Friberg came to understand the magnitude of the duo’s newfound stardom. “That was when I knew they were hot stuff,” he says. “If I didn’t realize it before, I sure did at that point.” Following the taping, Friberg went backstage, where Karen called out to him in the hallway, and the two exchanged hugs. “We just found out it went to #1!” she exclaimed.

  In just two months the “Close to You” single secured the top spot on the Hot 100, where it stayed for four weeks and quickly sold two million copies. “Everything seems to be going the way we wanted it to be,” Karen said in a 1970 interview. “The records are selling like mad, and we’re just flipped. It’s out of sight, you know. I’m happy. . . . I think the greatest thing that’s happened so far is having the #1 record in the country, having it go over two million records, and having it be the biggest single that A&M Records ever had. I think that’s the greatest feeling in the world. . . . I really don’t know what we’re going to be doing in five years, but I hope it’s the same thing.”

  SELECTING THE right follow-up single to “Close to You” was of utmost importance. It occurred to Karen and Richard that “Close to You” might be their one and only hit, but they believed strongly in their recording of “We’ve Only Just Begun,” which by then had been completed and was ready for release. An ecstatic Jack Daugherty came to Roger Nichols one afternoon at A&M. “Roger, you’ve got to hear this song,” he said. “I think it’s a smash.”

  Nichols remembers being surprised by his enthusiasm. It was merely a bank commercial. He and Williams certainly never figured it would become a monster hit. “When I heard it I thought I was going to faint,” he says. “I still think to this day it’s one of the greatest records ever made. I’m not just talking about the song, I’m talking about the record. That record is something else. I just freaked out when I heard it. It was unbelievable.”

  “Begun” displayed all the great qualities of the Carpenters sound and their capabilities as artists. At only twenty years old, Karen was already showing skill as an instinctive vocalist and a master at phrasing. In one breath she sang, “We’ve only just begun to live,” something most other singers of this song never knew or cared to do. Her delivery was compelling, her interpretation convincing. “The thing about Karen’s voice is that it’s a strange combination of innocence and sensuality,” Williams explains. “She had the sound of a bride when she sang that, so it’s innocent and sensual at the same time.”

  “We’ve Only Just Begun” was released alongside the Close to You album in August 1970 and within eight weeks was at #2 on the Hot 100. The song lingered for four weeks, unable to push the Jackson Five’s “I’ll Be There” or the Partridge Family’s “I Think I Love You” from the top spot. Whether it was #1 or #2 made little difference in the grand scheme of things. “Begun” assured the Carpenters were not one-hit wonders, and it went on to become the wedding song for an entire generation of newlyweds in the 1970s.

  Mark Lindsay’s recording of “Begun” had been put to tape before the Carpenters’, but his remained an album cut. “Mark’s was a lovely record,” says Paul Williams, “but when people heard Karen sing it, that song belonged to her. It’s her song.”

  As the Close to You album gained momentum and the group’s popularity grew, word of the song “Mr. Guder,” written some three years earlier about the Disneyland supervisor of the same name, reached the ears of its inspiration. Victor Guder returned from a hiking trip in the High Sierra to stacks of mail. Picking up a copy of a trade paper he read a review for Close to You that mentioned “Mr. Guder” by name. He immediately called his secretary and asked, “Do you guys know anything about this?”

  “No, we were waiting for you to read it,” she said.

  “Well, I’d like to hear the record!”

  Obtaining a copy of the LP, Guder shut the door to his office and placed the needle to the vinyl.

  Mr. Guder, say, Mr. Guder

  Someday soon you may realize

  You’ve blown your life just playing a game

  Where no one wins but everyone stays the same

  “We were kind of shocked at first,” Guder says, “but that’s just part of the game we play. When you’re working for Disney or working for a public company . . . you’re vulnerable to all that stuff. But you know, it didn’t faze us as negative at all. It was done when everybody was kind of anti-establishment, and it was a gimmick they used. They were reflecting the Disney image, ‘coat and tie,’ ‘shine your shoes.’ That’s what Disney stands for. It was very cleverly written.”

  Richard later admitted “Mr. Guder” was written out of anger. “Looking back, it’s a bit harsh, really . . .,” he explained. “We were a little rebellious and we were finally fired. We wro
te this song. But now that the years have gone by and I’m looking back at this, it really wasn’t a very nice thing to do because the man was just doing his job.”

  “Mr. Guder, party of two,” a waitress in a Newport Beach restaurant called as Victor Guder and his wife awaited seating. As if on cue, the house band began playing the tune. “We sat there and enjoyed it very much,” Guder recalls, “and then had our dinner.”

  HERB ALPERT was mindful of the Carpenters’ inexperience with the music industry and made numerous efforts to surround them with his most trusted friends and associates, many of whom he had known and respected since the beginning of his own success. He showed care and concern for all artists on the roster but seemed especially protective of Karen and Richard. He viewed A&M Records as a family label, as perceived by radio host Dick Biondi, who called it the “White Motown” during a 1970 interview with Karen and Richard. “Every direction we could have gone, we didn’t go unless Herbie checked it,” explained Karen several years later. “All I can say is thank heavens for Herb Alpert, because he protected us in every way. There aren’t a lot of people in this world who would do that.”

  Shortly after the Carpenters’ arrival at A&M in 1969, Alpert had forwarded a copy of their Offering album to his manager, Sherwin Bash of BNB Management, and suggested he listen and consider representing the act. “The vocal harmonies, the construction, the thoughts, and the songs were all very good,” Bash recalled, “but there was one thing that I thought was very, very special. It was a girl’s voice that I’d never heard anything like before and I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything like since. There are so many people in the world today who are good. . . . Good is not good enough in our business anymore. This was an exceptional voice that was totally identifiable. Listening to that voice for the first time, I knew that radio could never submerge it, camouflage it, or confuse [it for] anybody. That voice coming out of that radio would be immediately identified for the ages.”

  Karen and Richard met with Sherwin, and it was agreed BNB would represent their professional careers. Ed Leffler drew the contract on the Carpenters and was assigned to supervise the act. This especially pleased Karen, who had developed a bit of a crush on the handsome gentleman. Leffler was equally charmed but by Karen’s talents. “I hadn’t seen him this excited in a long, long time,” says Frenda Franklin, Leffler’s wife at the time. “Eddie came home and said, ‘Oh my God, there’s something you’ve just got to hear. You’re just not going to believe this!’”

  When the Lefflers drove to Santa Monica one evening to see the Carpenters perform in a small club, Frenda was equally entranced by Karen’s vocal abilities. “They got up on this little stage,” she recalls, “and all of a sudden this sound came out. I was just dumbfounded. It was unbelievable. She had something that just pulled you in.”

  But after meeting Karen, Frenda was not as impressed with her personality. “I didn’t like her much,” she says. “I thought she acted like a spoiled brat. She wasn’t particularly friendly to me either, but I was used to that. If you’re around show business a lot it is like that. Karen was the only girl in the band, and I remember thinking, ‘My God, she’s so rough around the edges!’ She was very much a tomboy. Actually, ‘tomboy’ would be putting it mildly. She always had this façade so nobody could get through.”

  BY THE fall of 1970 the Carpenters were the hottest young act in the recording industry, with two hit singles and a hit album on its way up the charts. Capitalizing on the duo’s newfound popularity, A&M Records reissued the Carpenters’ debut album, Offering, with a new cover and title, Ticket to Ride. Sales of that record quickly soared to over 250,000 copies. Between December 1969 and December 1970, the Carpenters’ personal appearance fee jumped from two figures to five figures. Additionally, the first royalty check from A&M Records arrived in the amount of fifty thousand dollars. “I’d never seen anything like that check in my life,” Karen said. “We stared at it all through dinner. That is when you start noticing a change. You feel the same inside. You’re the same person, but when you’ve been through the sort of financial situation we grew up with, you realize you have an awful lot of money.”

  Although the Carpenters had three gold records—the “Close to You” single, Close to You album, and “We’ve Only Just Begun”—they still lived on Fidler Street in Downey in a $27,000 house. In search of a new home, Agnes, Evelyn Wallace, and real estate agent Beverly Nogawski spent several days driving around the residential neighborhoods on Downey’s northeast side. The only orders from Karen and Richard were that the new house must be big and have a swimming pool. The ladies were especially taken with a newly constructed home situated on a cul-de-sac near the San Gabriel River. With no FOR SALE sign in the yard or anything suggesting the sprawling split-level ranch-style home was on the market, Nogawski knocked on the door and brazenly asked the owners to sell their house. “I’ve got people interested,” she told them. The owner, who happened to be the home’s builder, was in the process of separating from his wife, and their divorce was imminent. After much discussion they agreed to sell.

  On Thanksgiving Day 1970 Harold, Agnes, Richard, and Karen left their house in south Downey and settled into their new $300,000 real estate investment located at 9828 Newville Avenue. The five-bedroom house was huge compared to their previous residence but still quite modest in relation to the fame that awaited them. Reporting on their investment, Forbes magazine called it the duo’s “suburban dream home,” and the details of “chez Carpenter” were published in a 1971 A&M Records press release.

  The home—which they themselves designed and decorated, with the help of an interior decorator—was made for comfort, relaxation and precisely those leisure-time activities they prefer. The living room is a bastion of tranquil elegance. It’s decorated in cool colors—white, blue, green—and lavished with velvet, crystal and glass. The dining room is ideal for California meals: it features a glass-top table elegantly supported by a carved wood base. The Spanish-style den is stunningly fabric’d in black and red and ocelot, and features a pool table over which Richard and Karen spend many hours poking cues. To facilitate another favorite sport of the Carpenters, there’s a big swimming pool, and there are plans for the building of a fish pond. For an ace cook like Karen, the kitchen of the new house is a dream come true: there’s everything in the way of household conveniences from a trash-masher down to “a refrigerator that shoots ice cubes.”

  Karen selected one of four upstairs bedrooms but was appalled by the gaudy wallpaper and proceeded to redecorate in shades of yellow and black. The king-sized bed and its black fur bedspread became home to her overflowing collection of stuffed animals. “They all have names,” she told Teen magazine a year later. “That’s Gru-pig and there’s Marsh-field,” she said, pointing to a checkered pig and oversized pink dog.

  Richard claimed the large master bedroom downstairs, but Agnes objected. “No, you bought this for us,” she said. “You told us you were going to buy us a house, so it’s ours. We get this bedroom.” He settled for two of the rooms across the hall from Karen’s and tore out a wall to create one large space.

  Many of the duo’s music industry associates wondered why two budding superstars would choose to stay in Downey and live at home with their parents when they could be on their own enjoying the fruits of their labor somewhere nearer to Hollywood. “We can live a normal life here,” Karen explained in 1972. “Roam around, do whatever we like. Everyone knows who we are everywhere we go, but here they don’t bother us. Sometimes cars pass slowly by the house and people look in, but we expect that. Our friends are here from school—the kids Rich went to college with and my high school friends.”

  Karen and Richard justified the decision saying they were on the road so much it would make no sense to leave a house sitting empty. In truth it was easier to stay, and neither wanted to rock the boat. Both felt a great obligation to their parents for their support during their formative years. Agnes had been laid off from North American
Aviation several years earlier, and Harold was still working his printing job. He retired only when it became obvious his children’s success was enduring. YOU PUT US ON THE ROAD was Karen’s needlepoint inscription to her parents in a design that illustrated a yellow brick road leading to an emerald dollar sign.

  To keep their new residence tidy, Agnes was encouraged to hire a housekeeper. Beverly Nogawski suggested her own employee, Florine Elie, who lived in nearby Compton. Florine’s cleanliness and work ethic won even Agnes’s approval, and for the next quarter century Elie spent five days a week working for the family. Even so, she admits she was never a real fan of their music: “I’m a Pentecostal person. I just listened to gospel music.”

  MANAGERS SHERWIN Bash and Ed Leffler soon discovered numerous red flags within the Carpenters’ accounting records. They found that Agnes Carpenter had taken charge of her children’s finances and essentially put Karen and Richard on an allowance. According to Bash, “Even though they were making hundreds of thousands of dollars, they were treated by their parents—especially their mother—as if they were still children at home and on an allowance. The allowance part didn’t bother me, but not having someone who was sophisticated in the handling of monies, tax consequences, and contracts did. It was an area I knew would become a serious problem for the two of them.”

  Going through what Sherwin called a “library full of bank books” they realized Agnes had opened numerous savings accounts in banks all over Downey and throughout the surrounding area. She had been careful to see that the accounts never exceeded the maximum amount insured by the government. When one account reached its limit she would move on to another bank and open a new account. Evelyn Wallace was juggling as many as five different checkbooks at a time and all the while trying to reserve adequate funds for taxes, but there was no formula in use. She would simply set aside extra funds in hopes it would suffice at tax time. The job quickly became too much for her to handle, and she asked the Carpenters to hire a professional accountant. But Agnes was paranoid. She had heard too many stories of managers and accountants running off with their stars’ money and was confident her children’s finances would be safe if left in her control.