Crescendo

by Allen Cheney

Pete took a sip of his beer and stared off into the distance. It was a disconnected gaze, the kind that Fred knew all too well. One that signaled pain and suffering. And stories too dark to share. But Pete shared them anyway.

  “My father was killed. Castro’s guys were after us, and we had to run. Leave everything. Everything. You know what it’s like to run for your life? I was just a kid, really. Sixteen when I finally landed here in New York. All alone. Had to start over from scratch. I know people say that all the time, but I’m not exaggerating when I tell you I didn’t have a nickel to my name.”

  Fred listened, realizing that, by comparison, his own experiences may not have been all that bad. He drifted back in time, remembering his parents giving him the keys to their old Ford. It wasn’t much of a wedding present by some standards, but it was the most valuable thing Grady and Velma had to offer. And they had given it to Fred. Sure, the engine stalled when he came to a stop, and the muffler rattled as he drove around LaGrange, but looking back now, Fred could see the sacrifice his parents had made for him, even if it was too little and too late.

  As Pete and Fred shared stories, they built an understanding. Winnie had always been a compassionate soul, but she didn’t know the pain Fred carried. How could she? She’d lived a different kind of life, one without trauma. But Pete? Pete knew suffering. And that was enough to start Fred’s healing, a journey that would prove to be much more challenging than anything he had ever done.

  Back in Columbus, Winnie continued to teach and care for Allison until the summer rolled around and Fred’s studies drew to a close. After two years of graduate work, his chance had finally come to perform his master’s recital at Riverside Church, where six of Dr. Coci’s students presented their masterpieces for the city’s top scholars and musicians.

  In May 1965, as Fred took his place at the organ, he could hardly contain his excitement. He had long dreamed of playing this instrument—considered by many to be one of the best organs in the world. Now he gave his all to Louis Vierne’s Organ Symphony No. 1 in D Minor, a powerful piece Fred had perfected under Dr. Coci’s careful instruction. As his hands and feet mastered the stops and pistons, the instrument became Fred’s voice. Just as he had been moved to tears as a younger man when he’d first entered this beautiful sanctuary, his body now hummed with the tonal vibrations, his heart throbbed with deep emotion. When he reached the powerful crescendo, the applause of the audience washed over him. He looked out at the many friends and mentors he had gained in the two years since leaving Georgia, and his spirit filled with pride. He had done it! He had dreamed of playing this organ, studying at Union, working with a gifted choir, creating music in New York City . . . and he had achieved every one of those goals! The only thing missing was Winnie.

  With Fred’s graduation on the horizon, it was time to make a career decision, but first, the Bernardsville congregation surprised the young couple by hosting a graduation party. Like all things with the elite community, the party was no small affair. They flew Winnie up for a champagne celebration at Lincoln Center, which in the next year would become the breathtaking new travertine home of the Metropolitan Opera House. The generous hosts had filled the room with floral centerpieces and delicious hors d’oeuvres. The choir members, their families, and nearly the entire church congregation gathered in the solid-glass building to celebrate.

  There, they offered Fred a permanent position as their part-time music director and organist. In addition, Mac McClure again insisted Fred was the man for the A&R job with RCA. And when another friend recommended an almost-unheard-of affordable rental in Bernardsville, it became evident that the family was meant to stay up north.

  After the party Fred and Winnie took their time as they walked the long way back to their seminary apartment. Strolling alongside Central Park in the crisp night air, Winnie leaned close to her husband, and Fred draped his arm around her shoulder. Together they reminisced about their romantic weekend away from Chautauqua all those years ago. How free they had felt then. Full of dreams and summer love.

  “I’ve always believed you could do anything you set your mind to,” Winnie said, turning to reveal the streetlights reflecting in her bright eyes. “And now look at all you’ve accomplished, Fred. A master’s degree from Union, not to mention the one you already had from Auburn. Plus your studies at Juilliard and Columbia.”

  “Now a job offer from RCA.” Fred smiled, the good news still sinking in.

  “And . . . leading a church in one of the most affluent suburbs, a choir stacked with talent. Your work with Emile that seems to be leading you straight to the top.”

  Fred, too, felt proud. As a boy, his life had centered on meeting his basic needs and doing whatever it took to survive. He’d always been determined never to let Winnie and Allison know that kind of suffering. Now with two jobs on the table, he’d found a way for him to continue exploring his musical talents while also providing his family the security he’d always craved. Plus, Winnie would be able to pursue her own talents in the choir and continue lessons with Emile. Maybe they really could have it all.

  It didn’t take much to convince Winnie this was the best decision. After all, she, too, loved New York and had grown close to their many friends from the Bernardsville choir, but she was a mother above all else, and she feared bringing Allison back to the city that had made her so sick, not to mention her original concerns about someday rearing a teen so far from the safety of their southern community. While she didn’t voice any of these thoughts, Fred knew her well enough to know what she was thinking.

  Pulling her close, he aimed to reassure her. “Don’t worry. We won’t be here forever.”

  Twenty-one

  During the summer of 1965, Winnie, Fred, and Allison quickly settled into a comfortable new rental home in Bernardsville. Allison soon started second grade and was instantly accepted by her peers, many of whom she’d already gotten to know at church. Winnie focused her efforts on the family, and Fred launched his career with RCA while continuing to lead the choir on Wednesday evenings and Sundays.

  The prosperous Bernardsville community was filled with the kind of people who had big ideas and even bigger wallets, so when Fred suggested rebuilding the church’s organ, the congregation came through with a resounding “Amen!” plus the funds to get it done.

  Winnie took pride in helping Fred with the music program and performing in the choir under his direction. She was once again singing solos, much to the admiration of the church members, who became increasingly impressed with the family’s extensive talent. Allison, too, was becoming a gifted singer whose abilities were being refined. With one foot in the bustling cultural center of New York City and the other planted within the quiet New Jersey suburb, the family had found their fit.

  Each weekday Fred would tackle the commute to RCA Recording Studios on 23rd Street in downtown New York. His new position seemed a world away from the public schools he’d left in Columbus, and he couldn’t have been more excited to see what the future might hold. Knowing Fred’s talents, Mac had hired him at a higher level than the typical entry role, so Fred was given his own office suite, a personal secretary, and a hefty expense account. Of course, he had a lot to learn from the more experienced producers who had worked with a plethora of talented stars, but Fred was an eager study and determined to rise to the challenge.

  As one of the gatekeepers, Fred would help decide if a singer should be offered a record deal. Then, once he signed a new act, he would work to build the artist’s career. As a result, Fred heard dozens of auditions a week, but occasionally Fred found himself at odds with his fellow producers and executives. One day those in power listened to one of the new artists being pitched. Excited, Fred raved to the other producers, his enthusiasm palpable. They all agreed the young woman presented unusually tremendous vocal talent. But unlike Fred, they took one look at her and said no.

  “Admit it,” Fred argued. “She’s got one of the strongest voices you’ve ever heard.”

  �
��Doesn’t matter,” another producer said. “She’s got no sex appeal. We sell a package, Fred. A fantasy. Someone who can grace an album cover and bring fans to a frenzy from the stage. This,” he said, pointing through the glass at the woman, “won’t do.”

  As Emile had said back in Atlanta, many people have one, maybe two star qualities, and unfortunately for the gifted young vocalist, there was nothing Fred could do to convince the executives that she was worth the gamble. Even when he played the track back and said, “This . . . this is stunning!”

  Like many times before, Fred left the room greatly disappointed, convinced they were letting a superstar walk away. And a few times he was right. Some went on to sign with other labels, becoming successful recording artists with Gold and Platinum Records.

  Such frustrations became common in his new position, with Fred frequently at odds with the traditional ways of thinking. Much to Fred’s surprise, he soon realized he was one of the few A&R guys at RCA who could read music. Thanks to the perseverance of his high school teacher, Mrs. Dudley, Fred now had a skill many others in the industry lacked. In combination with his natural ear, these gifts proved beneficial beyond the recruiting stage, allowing him to provide valuable input as a physical producer on many projects, creating music in the recording studio whenever given the opportunity.

  Soon Fred was instructing musicians and tweaking the roles of various instruments during sessions. The only problem was that A&R men were expected to stay in the control room. Fred was the producer, and, as such, he could give direction, but he was asked to remain behind the glass. To Fred, a man with proven musical genius, that restraint became difficult to tolerate.

  One day proved particularly trying. The musicians were not in sync. The pianist was missing his mark, and by the seventeenth take, Fred had lost patience. He’d been warned never to enter the studio midsession, but he defied protocol and left his designated place. He moved to the piano bench, where he took a seat.

  “Listen,” he said matter-of-factly.

  The musicians were stunned. He was the A&R guy, the producer, not the musician. Yet here he was playing the piece better than the studio pianist who had landed the gig. The pianist was not offended. He was inspired and interested in improving his work, but his union boss was having none of it. The burly man stomped toward Fred and slammed the cover over the keyboard, missing Fred’s fingers by a hair.

  “You do that again, I’ll break both your hands,” the man shouted, acting more like a mafia boss than a union rep.

  With tense situations occurring more frequently, Fred began to feel hemmed in, and he yearned for more control in the creative aspects of the business. When he expressed his frustrations to Mac, his superior explained, “You probably have more talent than all of us combined, Fred. And, I agree, you could work wonders with these musicians. However, you were hired to manage. To collaborate. To seal the deal and keep more coming down the line. If that’s where they want you to spend your time, you’d better do it.”

  In the RCA Camden division Fred was also responsible for coordinating cover songs or rerecordings. He found this work inspiring, staying full nights in the studio with leading artists such as Perry Como, John Kerry, Ed Ames, Sam Cooke, and Nina Simone. One record at a time, he was learning the music industry and finding joy in working with the talents on his roster.

  Because many of the artists had expressed interest in creating albums for kids, RCA Camden soon launched a children’s division and promoted Fred to head it. While still managing his other roles within the corporation, the new opportunity excited him, as he would now be working closely with artists the likes of Arthur Godfrey and Rosemary Rice—the entertainer he’d long admired for her role in Mama, with “I Remember Mama” as the TV show’s theme song. Rosemary had played the spunky oldest daughter, Katrin, and if there had been one entertainer who had meant the most throughout Fred’s teen years, it was Rosemary. Now she was working side by side with him! He couldn’t believe his luck.

  A mother of two, Rosemary especially enjoyed it when Fred would bring Allison to visit the studio. Mesmerized by the city, Allison liked to see the iconic statue of Nipper the dog before riding the fancy elevator up to her father’s sleek executive office. Along the way she’d count the Grammys and Gold Records displayed throughout the building. She’d then stretch to peer over Fred’s oversize desk, examining the state-of-the-art sound system that never failed to delight. She loved sharing that cherished time in the dimly lit chambers with her father where, through her child’s eyes, Fred spent his days making magic. The wonder was real, and the possibilities felt infinite, not only to Allison but to Fred as well.

  With Fred being a teacher at heart and a father above all, his happiest days at RCA were spent helping Allison learn the ropes. She was beautiful, with big blue eyes and angelic features that drew sweet compliments from the secretaries and studio hands. At only seven years old, Allison was already getting to know the many musicians, producers, engineers, and others in charge of moving a song from an artist’s mind to the listener’s ears. Winnie, too, had become friends with many of Fred’s coworkers and clients, and soon the talented family had made a strong impression.

  Rosemary was a good-natured soul who not only became Winnie’s best friend but also became another mother figure in Allison’s life. People sometimes joked that, like Rosemary, Allison had been “born singing.” She’d been performing for church and school since she was a very young child, and with so much talent around her, she seemed to process the world through song, just like her father. With Fred producing children’s albums now, it only seemed natural for Allison to begin singing on studio recordings, especially with her father working behind the glass. To no one’s surprise, she was a natural at the microphone and quickly developed a reputation for being a “one-take wonder.” This rare ability made her a studio favorite, as no one wanted to waste time or money on multiple takes.

  With Fred and Winnie’s careful supervision, Rosemary took Allison under her wing, not only featuring her on her own albums at RCA but connecting her with other leading artists as well. Like Rosemary, Allison soon expanded her work beyond record albums. She began singing jingles and taking part in film shoots around the city, entering America’s living rooms through radio, TV, and print as she became the face and voice of many major brands, including Mattel, General Mills, Mighty White Toothpaste, Kleenex, and her favorite, Suzy Homemaker. It seemed an ideal balance, as Winnie was able to protect her young daughter within the safe and stable family life in Bernardsville while traveling with her to record in the city when the right opportunities arose.

  One night, Allison and Fred were the only two left in the studio, wrapping up a late session for an album, The Wonderful World of Children’s Songs. Fred took a seat at the piano as his daughter collected her score. Fred smiled as his talented little girl twirled and hummed to herself, fearless and free. Had he ever known such a feeling? Had poverty and dysfunction robbed him of this? He never wanted Allison to know the dangers and struggles he had known. He never wanted her to feel unseen, unsafe, unwanted. Unloved.

  The magic of the moment overtook him, and he began to play “Honey Bun,” the playful tune from South Pacific and one of Allison’s favorites. She moved to the piano and lifted her voice across the empty room as if the whole world existed only for her and her song.

  By the time the music ended, Allison was seated next to Fred on the bench. He let his hands rest on the keys as he turned her way. “You’re my everything,” he said softly.

  She looked up at him and smiled.

  “You really are,” he insisted. “You’ve got the most wonderful spirit inside you, Allison. I love you more than you could imagine”

  She laughed. “I love you too, Daddy.”

  “You’re one in a million, you know? Recording music with people who have Gold Records and Grammy awards. You’re holding your own with some of the biggest singers out there.”

  “It’s fun.”

  �
��It’s fun because you’re a natural. You’ve got a real gift, Allison. Don’t ever doubt that.” Then he looked her in the eye and said, “You can do anything you want in this life. Anything at all.”

  Twenty-two

  Fred’s position at RCA was becoming a family affair, and it was a positive experience for all. Along with the many glamorous benefits of Fred’s job came plenty of nights on the town funded by the company. Winnie frequently accompanied Fred, as he could acquire tickets to any show they wanted to see. Whether in a grand concert hall, a Broadway theater, or on a smaller stage, the couple experienced it all. In between shows they would socialize with the leading talents, Fred trying to discover the next new star to sign with RCA while spoiling the clients he’d already secured.

  In the evenings Winnie and Fred often joined A-listers at trendy hotspots such as the Gaslight Club, a throwback to the Prohibition-era speakeasy, where guests had to provide a password and drinks were served in coffee cups. One night they were meeting friends there when Fred leaned in and whispered, “I’ve got exciting news.”

  Winnie smiled. Unlike Fred, she loved surprises. She tugged his dinner jacket, barely able to handle the suspense.

  “You know that album I produced last year, How the Grinch Stole Christmas?”

  “Sure. Dr. Seuss?”

  Fred’s eyes twinkled. “It’s been nominated. For a Grammy.”

  “Oh, honey!” Winnie cheered, just as their friends were arriving. They prodded her to share the news. “He’s been nominated! For a Grammy!”

  Fred brushed away the praise.

  “Always so humble,” Winnie beamed, giving him a celebratory kiss. Elaborate toasts began to circulate, and a festive night followed in honor of the creative work Fred’s team had produced. In the early hours of morning, when the couple finally worked their way out of the party, they buzzed about the Grammy all the way back to Bernardsville. Once at home, Winnie sent the sitter home and turned on the radio, low enough not to wake Allison. Through the speakers, the voices of Barbra Streisand and Judy Garland filled the room, singing “Get Happy.” Winnie smiled as the lyrics to another song summed up her thoughts: “Happy days are here again.”1